by James Grey
I try to take in what she’s saying. Am I really wet down there? It’s the second time she’s said it. I just can’t believe this punishment is doing anything to me. I don’t understand.
“You need to taste this,” continues Carrie. “Taste your arousal. Taste why you have to thank me.”
And with that she traces the leather tip across my cheeks. Oh God, it’s leaving a moist trail. She wasn’t kidding. Holy hell, that’s embarrassing.
Now she prods my lips with it, pushing them apart. “Suck it,” she orders. I do as instructed, genuinely curious now. I taste leather but I taste the moisture too. Yes, it’s that dewy nectar I’ve supped from my fingers so many times.
The association with arousal is so strong that I’m inflamed. No doubt about it this time. I can’t stop myself. It’s beyond weird, but I want to dip my fingers down there once more. I don’t suppose I should do that right now.
Carrie speaks again: “This isn’t about your pleasure, you know. Stand up, you selfish slut. We’re not done yet.”
I wriggle out of the fireplace, barely hearing her abuse now. It’s a relief to stand upright again, though I’m exposed, giddy and feeling a little sooty.
“Your response has excited Miss Jackson, I believe. You’ll need to take responsibility for that, just as you will for all of your misdemeanours. So now, lick her pussy until you bring her to climax.”
Nothing shocks me any more around here. Deep down, I think I knew this wasn’t going to end with my physical punishment. This latest twist barely makes my heart skip a beat. I think I’m going to be okay with it, though I’m not really sure where to look.
Miss Jackson smiles her warm, comforting smile at me as she gets up from her desk, but says nothing as she unclips her skirt and drops it to the floor. She’s wearing red panties. Keeping her blouse and shoes on, she moves around in front of her desk and sits on it.
She beckons me to come over. “Thank you Carrie, you may sit now,” she says.
It looks like my moment of truth cannot be delayed any longer. What I couldn’t contemplate with the lovely Sarah, I am going to have no choice but to do now. I may not find Miss Jackson attractive, but at least I’m feeling aroused.
I try to think positive thoughts as I cross the room towards my mentor. Miss Jackson is sweet and makes me feel comfortable. I wasn’t expecting to perform a sex act on my mentor herself, but it’s far from the biggest surprise I’ve had this week. She’s smiling, and that calms me.
I’m sure I’ll figure out what to do when I’m up close. It’ll come naturally, right? I’m a woman, I should surely know what’s where. This moment has been coming for a couple of days now. I’m curious, and, after what I’ve just been through, I feel ready. Getting thrashed with your head in the fireplace puts things nicely in perspective.
“Take your time and take charge, Emma,” Miss Jackson murmurs. I nod, nervous but feeling brave. I feel my breathing quicken, but it’s a long way from the I-can’t-possibly kind of hyperventilation I would have felt a few days ago. I’m about to go down on my teacher!
It’s kind of exciting.
My first woman.
She motions to the spare chair, and I pull it up so I’m sitting at a comfortable height, within easy reach of the edge of the desk. She places her feet on the chair arms, spreading her legs wide in front of me, and wriggles towards the edge. She leans back, taking her weight on her hands. I think she’s done this before.
Right. I can do this. I couldn’t ask for a better angle. She’s tilted her hips up towards me, and all I need to do is lean in. Is every measurement of every piece of furniture in this place perfectly calculated for sex?
I take a deep breath and nose gently towards her centre. The red fabric is still there, but I can smell her arousal. My nose touches the material and I breathe in the scent of a woman. I’ve never been so close to it. I…like it.
I find myself nibbling, sucking and biting at the wet cloth that stands between my lips and hers. Despite the audience and my general uncertainty, it seems I want to savour this. I hear her sigh softly as I lick lovingly up the warm strip of red, then kiss gently on the inside of each thigh.
I must be dripping on her chair again. In my head, I’m shaking my head. Not a single one of my friends, family or colleagues would ever believe this if I told them. And I grin out loud at the thought. It makes me sizzle.
These panties must come off now. Yes, it’s time I stop denying. I want a pure, unfettered pussy experience for my first time. That’s right, pussy. I want to taste a vagina.
I begin to paw at the straps, wondering how I’m going to get this done with any grace at all.
“It unties, Emma!” she says helpfully.
Aha! That’s good news. I find the tiny clasps on the sides, and the whole thing disintegrates. The front drops away and she tilts her hips towards me a little more.
And wow. Miss Jackson may not be a supermodel, but she has an undeniably gorgeous womanhood. It’s classically neat, a model pussy. It’s entirely waxed, and looks as appetizing as a classic Sunday lunch. I can see all of her slit, right down to the bottom, where a tiny bud of wetness is poised. Soon, surely, that will be a trickle. I can’t wait to put my lips to it. That’s where I need to taste.
This, now, is as much about my pleasure as hers. Everything has changed for me. I remind myself, over and over, that I’ll never have a first time again. This is big.
I run my hands down the backs of her thighs, and gently grip the sides of her buttocks. At this, she arches her back a little further, and I pull in as close as I can. My own legs spread to full width so my knees don’t crash into the desk, and that makes the whole room get a ton sexier. What is it about throwing open my legs that always drives me so wild?
And that pain in my ass? If anything, it seems to be heightening my lust right now.
Something makes me close my eyes as I move in again, memories of my first kiss stirring in the depths of my mind. I stop with my tongue an inch from that spot where her nectar hovers, and the smell sensation spirals. Mmm, yes, that, right there, is the smell of sex. I fill my lungs with it, let my tongue cascade a little further over my bottom lip, and sink into her.
And now my thirsty tongue drinks. Just a tiny tickle at first, her wetness on its tip, and an enormous shudder of thrill passes through me. Of everything I’ve done this week, this feels the naughtiest. Not only is my tongue brushing a woman’s darkest place, but it’s my teacher too. And my legs are open, and I’m naked, and I’m being watched. Holy hell, does life get any sexier?
I pause on my tiny amuse-bouche, tickling, teasing us both. I felt her breath hitch, and it hasn’t yet unhitched. I smile to myself between her legs, as I dance on just that spot, tiny circles, like a honeybird grabbing every last drop
of nectar.
I moan quietly, taking everything from this moment, imprinting every smell and taste sensation on my mind. And then I find myself really moving.
She sighs with satisfaction as I grant her all of my tongue, one full lick moving all the way up her length. Along her wet crack, no concessions, diving in wherever it can, tasting the sweetness of her crevice. It’s divine, sensual and my own legs feel weak. I reach her clit, and my own begins to burn.
I return to where I began, and lick all the way up again. And again. I can’t take this smile off my face, and my eyes open again. There is nothing but pussy in my face. It’s a reminder of where I am and what I’m doing. Wow!
I take my time, switching from long licks to deep probes inside her. I move my hands, pulling her wider so I can lap up more from her core, before exposing her clit to my eager, curious tongue.
My suspicions were correct. I know exactly what to do. I’m guided by the sighs and groans of another woman; guided by what I know I’d want. Add in the dash of intense passion I’m feeling, the drunkenness I’m drawing from this beguiling drink, and I seem to have a woman close to the edge. Two women, actually.
Finally I focus on her clit
, nibbling now and then, kissing and sicking occasionally, but mostly just little hits with my tongue. I’m giving her exactly what I’d want right now. I slide my finger inside her squelchiness and she responds in sounds and breath and movement.
I thrust gently, surprisingly myself at how natural it is to keep that rhythm while holding my tongue’s delicate pulse. She clearly loves it. And I can feel myself beginning to seep. I have no shame.
She explodes loudly around my face, and I grin as I keep working, allowing a second wave to hit her, and then a third. She is not a talker, but her groans and yelps tell me everything. I have made my teacher ecstatic. My punishment is forgotten – surely?
I pull back in satisfaction, and all I see is Miss Jackson, head thrown back, eyes still closed. Suddenly I am acutely aware of my own need. I am only barely aware of Carrie sitting next to me. The warm feeling in my belly dominates everything. It has slain the pain.
A minute goes by. She gathers her breath, and stares right at me. There is a dazed look in her eyes, but also a twinkle. I’m not sure what happens now. I’m burning up inside, that’s all I know.
“Thank you, Miss Carling,” she says to me without moving. “You may dress and leave.”
But…what about me? Another crush of disappointment. This place!
I sigh, perhaps not as quietly as I might, and nod. I’m a little indignant, but resigned to do as I’m told. I don’t let her eyes catch mine as I rise, make myself appear respectable, and let myself out. My pride won’t let her see the need I can’t hope to hide right now.
Chapter XXI
Thank God Sarah is in her room. I go there without even thinking. Lust churns in me like a bubbling whirlpool. I am so ready, so desperate. I appear in her doorway, and I give her a look.
And she just knows. It’s a girl thing. I don’t want to look her in the eye either. Because I feel bad at how I ruined things yesterday. It should have been her, it should have been us. I’ve already taken another girl, but she could have my own virginity.
“I’m ready…oh, Sarah, I’m sorry…I need…”
She hushes me, pulls me into the room, and closes the door behind me. It no longer even crosses my mind that the bedroom doors don’t lock in this place.
“Please…” I whine at her, panting like a desperate puppy, “Just please…”
“I know,” she smiles. “Shh, calm down now, Sarah’s going to make you happy.”
How does she know?
A minute later I’m flat on her bed, minus my jeans and panties once again. Beyond the whiteness of my t-shirt, Sarah’s pretty head bobs between my splayed knees. She’s working my folds with gusto.
I curl my shoulders and close my eyes as the tickle begins to build into something more. I don’t think about the thrashing, or how I licked Miss Jackson. I think only of the impossibly delicious sensation coating my vagina. But what happened in the last hour has played its part. I’m not going to be able to hold on for long.
It doesn’t help when she starts moaning with pleasure just at the same moment I do. The pleasure of exploration…I know it all too well. Only this time, there’s a mutual affection thing going on. It suffuses my feelings with a syrupy extra dose of warmth.
It’s bizarre to hear womanly moans coming from the one pleasuring me. Bizarre in a good way. A super-good way. It’s a double-dash of wicked naughtiness that ignites me and takes me closer.
My orgasm takes me by surprise. I squeeze her torso with my knees as her deft tongue-work sends me off the edge of the cliff and I soar out into space, my joy like the free flight of a gull riding the sea breeze. It feels like it won’t stop, this long wave of pleasure carrying me forth.
It’s beautiful, it’s exhausting, and it takes me a long time to return to earth. I actually forget where I am for a moment. When at last I open my eyes, I feel like I’ve woken with amnesia. Then Sarah’s face swims into my blurry vision, and I’m overwhelmed by gratefulness and the need to kiss her deeply. Over and over.
We spend several minutes, our mouths locked together, and then I push her down on the bed and we swap roles. Yes, I’ve done this before. Her eyes shine in anticipation and thrill as I grin at her, then feast on my second pussy in the space of half an hour.
I feel nothing but thrill and pride (where did that guilt go, Emma darling?) as I bring her to climax with my now shameless tongue. A tongue that, today at least, no longer knows what depravity is. I’m glowing.
We lie and cuddle for a while. She tells me of how she blew four of the men for her morning assignment, who then came on her face as one. Rupert was one of them, but I just giggle at the notion. She returns the favour as I tell her of my adventures with Carrie and Miss Jackson. I grumble that it’s all Petra’s fault for making me get caught.
“Move in with me,” Sarah says, suddenly earnest. “What good is she doing for you? Any at all?”
I think for a moment, then pull her closer. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Sold! Let’s stop pretending, huh?”
She just smiles back at me, and we snuggle some more.
I feel like being indulgent this afternoon. Things are starting to fall into place. My jealous flame for Rupert seems to be dying, and I’ve got this lesbian monkey off my back at last. And what’s more, I feel somehow stronger and prouder after my beating in the hearth.
Most importantly of all, I’m out of the hell-hole that was my room with Petra. Not sure if this room switch is strictly allowed, but I think they’d surely approve of my reasons. If they want to beat me again, so be it. Apparently it turns me on! My butt sure does feel bruised though.
Have I started something serious with Sarah? The looks she gives me suggest she’s fallen hard for me. I think I might be heading that way too, but I’m wary. I’ve already been burned once in this place. It’s good to keep things in perspective. It’s the end of the first week, and I resolve to enjoy my remaining time with her without overthinking it. I’m sure next week will have its own twists and turns.
There’s a group lunch on the terrace, now that the sun has come out. Miss Tottingham appears before we’re served, and addresses all of the trainees.
“Ladies, you’ve made it to Friday lunchtime,” she smiles. “Congratulations, you’re doing well. I trust you’re all a little sore, for all the right reasons.”
I can’t help smirking as I catch Latifa’s eye. Petra, sitting with Lilia at the far end of the long, white-clothed table, doesn’t even seem to have heard the joke.
“It’s time to unwind,” Miss Tottingham continues. The staff will be clearing out for the weekend, and we’ll leave you in the safe hands of Miss Honeywell. On Monday morning, you’ll all meet with your mentors to review your first week and map out your second week’s training. You’ll be spending more time in the classrooms, and things will get more practical and specific. There’ll be fewer surprises.”
I’m relieved to hear that again. This week’s salacious activities would have been exhausting enough without so many of them being unexpected and against the run of play. I never knew how much intensity that could add, and it’s left me mentally shattered.
“Between now and then, you all need to recharge,” she goes on. This is as sweet as I’ve seen any mentor since we arrived. I hope it means the fake aloofness is on the way out. “This afternoon is for relaxing, and with a bit of luck the sun will stay out. Tonight, Christopher is at your disposal to drive you to a local pub. I suggest you take the chance, as he’ll be away Saturday and Sunday. It’s a classy cocktail place, so do glam it up a bit.
“Take it easy on the weekend, girls. The grounds are yours to explore as always, and if you wish to go out walking in the surrounding countryside, Miss Honeywell will let you out and provide you with packed lunches. A little exercise never hurts in your chosen profession.”
She winks, and I gulp. It hits me just how deep a hole I’ve dug for myself. I’m halfway to being a qualified prostitute. For the very first time all week, it actually seems possible I might go through with
this life change. From here, it’s downhill all the way.
I look out at the spread in front of me: the flawless grapes, the fancy cheeses I can’t name, the thin-sliced salmon, the dazzling salad. I’ve never eaten as well as I have this week. I’ve never used gleaming cutlery like this. I think of my infinite wardrobe, and the fine, expensive lace I can feel nuzzling my butt cheeks. I think of chauffeurs, and butlers. And the life-changing sex.
My heart beats a little faster as I think about how I’m going to hide this from my parents.
We’ve been tricked again. The bastards!
Cocktail bar? Christ, that was a bald-faced lie. The eleven of us have just tumbled into the country pub to end all country pubs. About a dozen old men, mostly with a pint of dark ale in their hands, turn around and peer at us. A couple of them are actually smoking pipes.
There’s a Labrador tied up next to the bar. He’s lifts his head from where it rested on his paws, and gives us a quizzical look as we spill into the room. Even the animal knows there’s something not right about a group of gorgeous young women, mostly in heels and tight black dresses, coming into a place like this.
I know this kind of joint. The carpets smell of beer and there’s a copy of every major newspaper in the rack. Terrific on a Sunday afternoon, in jeans and a t-shirt. But on a Friday night? After good-mood Emma dressed up in a daring red number that went pretty bold on cleavage? Thank God I’m not alone. Safety in numbers.
“Jesus, really?” says Alyssia, turning to us. “They’ve brought us to the wrong place! Has Chris gone already?”
We all turn and peer out of the window. In the dusk, we can see the limo just pulling out into the road. He’s not due back for three hours.
So we’re trapped. Sarah and I raise our eyebrows at each other. Jane screws up her nose, making herself look really ugly. Carol looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and hide. Petra is looking around the room, like a house buyer determined to find signs of damp. Latifa bursts out laughing.
