And to think that I hadn't wanted to pick up this ticket.
My name is Jenny, and I'm a senior at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. While I've been studying towards my bachelor's degree in computer science, I've been working part time at the IT Help Center. Sometimes I serve as a liaison for some of the departments that are trying to integrate more technology into their classrooms, and the department that's lately taken on the challenge of updating themselves is the School of Psychology.
A service ticket had come through the system a few days ago, asking for the help of a tech to make sure things are set up correctly for the return of students after Thanksgiving break. I'd stayed on campus, one of the few who had, so I'd taken it. Most of the time these tickets are a drag at best, and a hair-tugging experience at worst. The professors, by and large, mean well, but they've been successful because they've found a method and stuck with it, and a lot of times they don't really want to learn new things, like how to set up the equipment themselves, or learn how to use it on their own. Nice people, but stuck in their ways. Don't get me wrong, this goes for professors in the sciences as well as the arts. It just boggles my mind how some of the music and art professors were shockingly on top of it all, while some of the people in the chemistry and mathematics department refused to budge beyond using analog slides and projectors.
Analog slides. In 2015.
Anyway, back to the present. It's 7am on a Friday, and I'm sipping at a hot cup of coffee as I walk across campus. My first stop is the office in the Lederle Graduate Resource Center lowrise building to pick up the run-down sheet, the cabling I'll probably need, and a fresh packet of zip ties. You have no idea how handy those are, especially in classrooms that are only just catching up from their 70's vibe. The chances are good that I'll have to come back here for something else, but I glance over the service request form one last time. The projector's already been delivered, and the professor, someone named Dr. Chastain, already has a laptop with the appropriate system requirements for hooking up to the system.
I put it all in my backpack and lock up again. It's strange to be here during off hours, especially when campus is on break. Nearly everyone is gone and it's so quiet, and nearly every office and hallway is dark. In the wan morning light outside, my reflection stands out against the somewhat dusty windows of the first floor – my black, shoulder-length hair is gathered into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, and a few locks in front are left free to serve as long bangs to tuck behind my ears. I'm about as Irish American as you could ever hope to find, with fair skin, green eyes, and a frustrating metabolism that leaves me whip thin even at my 5'8" height. I mean, clothes shopping is easy, but the whole small tits and ass thing gets frustrating. And this morning, what with my jeans and my baggy school hoodie, those curves are just completely hidden.
Well, whatever. My love life has been pretty non-existent since I left my hometown behind. All over again I grit my teeth at the stupid choices I'd made back then. I'd wanted to fit in with my class mates so badly. I'd dated mean girls, hung out with shitty people, and did stupid things. My aunt and uncle, oddly tolerant of my homosexuality, were still overall negligent, terrible people, and my cousins were even worse, physically abusive. Moving up here to start my freshman year was like a god send.
Still, though, I've been single the entire time. Ridiculous, given how LGBT friendly this region is. I'd had it in my head that there'd be girls all over the place for me, alternative girls and preppy girls, nerdy girls and sporty girls and arty girls. And there had been... and I'd choked every time. Every single time. The problem has been with me, and that's been a slap in the face.
Being left to my own devices this Thanksgiving break (I hadn't been invited back home, and I hadn't been planning on going anyway), I'd done little but work on projects and watch porn. I've been burning through various archives – redtube, pornhub, youporn, xhamster – and in so doing I've found myself drawn, like a needle's drawn by a magnet, towards the femdom videos. Hot, severe women in charge of these pretty girls. Touching them, pulling their hair, slapping them. Its hot to watch the girls eat out their mistresses, or kiss them, but for some reason what I like best is the spanking part. I couldn't even explain why. I've never experienced something like that, but every time the videos go that way (and I have at least ten different ones bookmarked), my pupils dilate, my cheeks flush, and my pussy just aches. I feel like it's some dirty secret, which, of course, only makes it hotter.
All these thoughts flit through my mind as I walk past the campus center and student union, around the pond, and past the library and Goodell. Tobin looms up in front of me, the building's structure of the same bizarre Bauhaus nature, sturdy and practical, as many other parts of campus. It's an all cement facade in sandy brown, the waffled appearance inset with glittering, dark windows, given the hour. This part of campus is quite near the athletic fields and the gymnasium. Given that my only real athletic hobby is bicycling (mostly out of necessity, given my lack of car as of a year ago), I'm not around this part of campus much.
Luckily the main door to the building is unlocked. Dr. Chastain noted that she'd be in her office, room 204, to meet me, and we could spend some time working out the details of getting this system up and running. I spot a stairwell and climb it, then look around the quiet, dark hallway. Room 204 must be around here somewhere. My sneakers sound uncomfortably loud in the utter quiet, and I flush a little, feeling creeped out by the situation until, at last, I come upon a door with the number 204 tacked up on it. There are some notices put up – office hours, class times, test schedules. If anything, this Dr. Chastain is very organized, which puts her ahead of many professors on campus. Maybe this meeting won't be as excruciating as I've been dreading.
After taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. Am I too early? I guess that's better than being late. The coffee isn't sitting very well in my stomach, so stupidly I take another sip. And as I do, the office door unlocks and opens, and I find myself looking at the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She must be near forty, but she's the sort of woman who's aged beautifully, with high cheekbones, bold features, dark brown eyes, full lips, a smattering of freckles, and long hair the color of chestnuts. It's pulled back into a lazy braid, with a few coils that have come loose to caress her cheeks and ears.
We stand in silence for a moment, myself stricken mute with nerves, and she with confusion at how ridiculous I must look, until, thankfully, she smiles. It's like being allowed to breathe again, and I can feel my cheeks heat up just a little. Swallowing, I tentatively ask "Doctor Chastain?" God, why does my voice have to sound so thready?
Her smile grows just a touch. "Yes? You are here about the projector, are you not?"
My knees nearly turn to water – she has a French accent. Oh God help me. "Yes, Ma'am." It's taking every ounce of will power I have not to whimper. I really need to get laid. This is embarrassing.
The woman's smile only grows even more, as if the way I'm falling to pieces pleases her, and she turns away from me to fetch something in her office. Only then do I realize that she's dressed in a pair of black slacks, black pumps, and a somewhat loose, black cashmere sweater. It hangs off her shoulder, revealing a black undershirt that jealously clings to her body beneath. Her curves are understated but feminine, and she stands just slightly taller than I do, forcing me to cant my head just a little when she approaches the door again, laptop bag slung over her shoulder. "Let's go."
I take a step back, nibbling on my lip as I listen to the jingle of her keys and the thick mechanism of the door lock clunk back into place. Her steps are sharp and confident, and I walk alongside. At one point we pass a trash can and I dispose of my cup, now mostly empty by now. Why hadn't I thought to bring water? That was stupid. Maybe there's a fountain around.
"What is your name?" she asks conversationally, her eyes remaining forward as she leads us down a few hallways towards a larger classroom. When we get there, I can see that it's one of those more petite auditoriums, two stories tall, with maybe eight to ten levels of seats and room enough for about one hundred people.
"Jenny O'Neill, Ma'am."
Again she smiles, easing the laptop bag from her shoulder to rest on the counter top that also serves as a lectern of sorts. "A pleasure to meet you, Jenny." Her elegant hands, with nails tinted a dark red, pull out a slender laptop that, thankfully, looks quite new. I'd be so terribly disillusioned if she'd pulled out something ancient. "I will admit, I did not expect someone to help me on such short notice. Did you not go home?"
I set my backpack on the counter as well, standing on the side opposite her, and shrug. "No. I had a lot of work." It's not like I need to excuse my behavior – I'm twenty-two. Still, I can't meet her eyes, and I can tell that she knows I'm lying. With a swallow, I meet her gaze, which seems full of consideration, without judgment. Again a hot coil squirms around my guts, and I clear my throat and focus on the cabling.
The process of getting everything hooked up is sort of like riding a bicycle. It's a pain in the ass at first, but after doing it enough times it becomes habit. I've brought a printout with instructions, and I let her follow along as I carry out each step and explain. Luckily, when the laptop finally gets booted up, the image of her desktop is presented on the large screen on the wall, just as it should be.
My eyes widen, however, at the image.
Her background is a black and white artistic photo of a nude woman, resting on a couch. There's nothing obscene about it – the woman is only in repose – but it's so entirely sensual that I flush, staring like an idiot. Of course, Professor Chastain only glances between me and the projection, then laughs. "Ah yes, I suppose I should change that back before classes resume."
I can feel my voice strain as I say "she's... um... uh..." Shit, say something. "...nice."
Professor Chastain goes through the settings and selects a bland, light blue gradient background, then looks over at me. "Better?"
No. "Yes, Ma'am."
That makes her chuckle, and she takes a moment, her arms crossed over her chest as she considers all the steps. "Very well. I would like to go through setting it up again. I will do it while you watch. Alright?"
I take a seat in the front row, if only to give me a moment to recover as well as prevent me from wanting to reach over and do it all myself. It's not like Professor Chastain needs the assistance, though. Watching it done one time seems to have been enough, and once again the sight of her new, bland desktop background comes to life on the screen. She takes out a small remote, and opens up a power point presentation, flipping through a few slides to get a feel for how it will look and work. I'm not paying any attention as I read through a few messages on my phone, and I only look up when she's shut down the computer and detached everything.
She looks pleased as I walk over. "Jenny, thank you for your help. It is good to be assured that this will work. My classes shall run more smoothly, I think."
And for some reason, just to make conversation, I ask "what class is this for?"
"Human sexuality." The smile she gives me only grows as I flush, and she chuckles. "Most students react that way."
I take out my inventory sheet and mark off the particular cable set she'll be borrowing for the rest of the semester, and then package up the rest and put it into my backpack again. "I'm kind of surprised the room's this small. Wouldn't everyone want to take this course?"
"No, surprisingly. I think for some it is unnerving. I show pictures, of course, and sometimes videos, to introduce concepts. Things, perhaps, that young people have not encountered yet but, of course, should be knowledgeable about if they are to work with patients."
For a moment I swallow, and daringly ask "are you teaching it next semester, maybe?"
My heart sinks when she looks at me with a touch of pity, and says "it is for psychology majors only, I'm afraid."
"Oh... um. Okay." I deflate, hefting my bag onto my shoulder. "So, do you need help with anything else, Ma'am?" My eyes don't quite meet hers, and I'm sure the disappointment is poorly hidden.
"No. Thank you for your help, and please enjoy the rest of your break."
I nod and smile a little, then head for the door. And just as I make it to there, she clears her throat. "Jenny? Is there a way to contact you, if I should have any questions?"
My heart flutters a little, for absolutely no reason. Still, I take out a pen from my bag and walk back over to the counter to write my cell phone number on the corner of the instruction sheet. "I might not always answer calls right away, but you can leave a voice mail, or text me. I'll get back to you."
"Marvelous," she purrs. And the smile she gives makes my breath almost steam past my lips. "Have a lovely day, Jenny."
I can only nod, struck dumb all over again as I quickly walk out of the class room and, as quietly as possible, flee down the dark hallways and out Tobin's front door.
Chapter 2After dropping off the unneeded equipment back off at the LGRC, I make a bee line to my dorm room in McNamara, up in the Sylvan living area. The ride up the elevator feels like it takes hours, and when I get off at the fourth floor I storm down the cream painted brick-walled hallway until I get to my suite at the very end. I've got one of the single rooms, and soon I'm in it, tossing my backpack in the corner before I take a seat in my desk chair.
Did that just really happen?
Nothing happened. Don't be stupid. Nothing happened.
But she asked for my number! That happened!
Immediately I wake up my laptop and do a quick search for her on the university's website. Sure enough I find her profile page on the psychology department's website. Doctor Celene Chastain. Her picture is still pretty, her expression one of confident amusement, and I read through her CV. She's actually from Quebec, having gotten her initial degrees there before traveling to Boston to get her doctorate. Her area of study, however, makes me flush and nearly melt in the chair.
Paraphilias. A quick google search, and I learn it's simply an academic term for fetishes.
So, this gorgeous, French Canadian goddess has devoted her academic career to studying fetishes. And she asked for my number. And she had a beautiful naked woman on her desktop and didn't care that I'd seen it. I feel dizzy and rest my elbows on my desk, cupping my face in my hands with a groan. My heart is only just starting to beat at a normal pace when, suddenly, my phone vibrates on the desk on my right.
It's a text, and it says "If you are free today, would you like to have lunch? It will be my treat. It can make up for Thanksgiving." Despite there being no name attached, I know that it must be her. I just stare at the screen for a moment, breathing in and out almost shakily with nerves. This is so unreal. I try to temper my hopes with the reality that she's probably just taking pity on me. That's all it could possibly be. Look at her! I glance at my computer screen and see her picture again. She could have anyone she wanted. And maybe she already does. So don't be stupid. Just answer the text.
"That would be nice, actually. Where should I meet you?" It takes me a few tries to type that all up without errors, given how clumsy my fingers have become.
"Rao's Cafe, at noon. I will see you there."
\\\
Rao's is probably the stereotypical hipster haunt in all of downtown Amherst. I've been there many times, though more often than not it's crammed with people. Today, however, it's a lot more peaceful. I've decided to simply walk from my dorm all the way downtown. It's really not a long hike, but the exercise and the chilly air help calm my nerves. By the time I step inside at 11:55, my cheeks and ears are pinked with cold, and I'm more than ready for something warm to eat.
Nervously I look around, and it takes a bit of searching before I spot Doctor Chastain off in the corner of the extension room to the left of the main entrance. It's quiet in here, with light music pumped in from the speakers, and I can see that she's busy attending to some paperwork. She's wearing earbuds and looks completely focused, so I dither maybe ten feet from the table, shuffling, until her eyes flick up and catch sight of me.
"Ah, Jenny!" she chirps, pulling her earbuds free and gathering them up in her elegant hands, slowly coiling them with practiced ease even as she looks at me. It's hypnotizing. "You look half frozen – are you well?"
She packs up her laptop while still regarding me, and I smile self-consciously. "Oh yeah. I just walked." I shrug and add "I live in Sylvan." A swallow as she gets up from her seat and stands next to me. "Thank you, um, for this, Doctor Chastain."
"Celene," she corrects. "When I am out of that hideous building, I am Celene."
My blush deepens a little. "Thank you, Celene."
"But of course. Now, to lunch. I am famished."
We head over to the main counter, where behind the glass is a display of all kinds of sandwiches, treat bars, pastries, and the like. The heavy scent of artisan coffee blankets the air, but I opt for a bottle of juice and a wrap. Celene gets a sandwich and a cup of tea. There are a few minutes spent lingering around the end of the counter, and then our meals are handed over to us and we go sit down again, back in the spot that she'd vacated.
Some ten minutes later I sip at my juice, just starting to relax in my chair. My wrap is long gone, and I'm getting over the horrible anxiety that I will say or do something humiliating in front of this woman, and venture to say, "I'm not used to Rao's being so empty."
"Oh yes. I usually do not come here when it's so packed. I can hardly think under those circumstances." She takes a sip of her tea, and leans a little more against the backrest, regarding me. "I hope you do not think it odd that I invited you out today. I suppose it is not often done here. But, ah, you seem far from home, and Thanksgiving is a time for home."
My mood sinks a little, and I take another sip of my juice. "My home isn't a good place. I'm not really welcome there anymore."
Celene's concern is discrete but genuine, and she gives me a moment before saying softly "it is their loss, then. You are a nice girl."
My eyes meet hers shyly, and I'm not sure why such a little compliment makes me feel so moved.
"Judging by your reaction to my computer background: is it because you like women?"
I freeze, the color draining from my face. "I uh... no. I mean... I do... but..."
Celene smiles a little. "I am too forward, but it is good to know, perhaps, that bigotry was not part of it." The look she gives me is almost one of satisfaction. Not because she made me feel unsettled, but because she got the piece of information she wanted. "If my forwardness bothers you, I shall make an effort to be more reserved."
I can't look away from her eyes, and I feel my pulse jump up into my throat. "No... no... forwardness is fine" I say softly, and I only realize that my fingers are gripping the edge of the table desperately.
She smiles knowingly all over again, and murmurs for me to wait here as she takes up our dishes. I can only watch shyly through my eyelashes as she walks them over to the other room and deposit them back on the counter, and I feel the heat rise all over again in my cheeks as she returns to the table stands behind her chair, shouldering her bag. She moves around the table and places her hand with gentle firmness on my shoulder, squeezing just enough, just long enough, until I gasp and look up into her eyes directly, attending to her fully. "Let us take a walk, Jenny."
"Yes, Ma'am." It's hardly more than a whisper.
I follow her without a word as we leave the coffee shop and head back towards campus. Instead of heading down the main thoroughfare of North Pleasant Street, she takes us down smaller, quieter side streets in residential neighborhoods. There's no one around but the two of us, and I realize how pleasant it is to walk in silence with her. I'm comforted by her presence, as if she will keep an eye on the things I'd miss.
It's only when I'm feeling somewhat back to normal when she chuckles. We're halfway down a small path that cuts through a narrow, wooded lot behind the visitor parking lot on campus, sheltered by the trees. My eyes turn to her, and I smile a little. "What?"
"I have been wondering... what did you hope to get out of my class, were you to take it?"
Again I blush, and I stuff my hands into my jeans pockets. "I don't know. It just... it seemed like something I'd want you to learn more about from you." My gaze sinks to the path directly before my feet as I walk.
The feel of her hand on my shoulder is light, but immediately my feet slow down, then stop. I turn to look at her, confused, then nervous as her other hand gently cups my chin. A single step brings her closer, just that little shift breaching the barrier between what's platonic and what, suddenly, isn't, and she purrs "You still can, Jenny."
My breath sticks in my chest. The statement was so bold, and I know that she isn't talking about academics anymore. She shifts closer, watching me the entire time, waiting for signs that I'm uncomfortable but finding none, until at last she tilts my head up that much more as her lips press softly to my own.
I haven't been kissed in so long, and I've never been kissed like this. Her hands slowly move, until the one that had been at my chin cups the back of my head, and the one at my shoulder slides down my arm, her touch slow, gentle, but definitely possessive. Slowly, nervously my hands slip from my jeans pockets and come to rest on her hips over the black wool coat she's wearing, and I can feel how ready her body is beneath the fabric. I feel dizzy, like she lured me out here to have her way with me. It feels so lurid and forbidden – she's a professor and I'm a student. There's probably something in the student handbook about this, and how it's very bad.
But it feels so, so good.
Her lips part from mine slowly, and only just. She's still close enough that when she whispers, "you're such a good girl," her lips still caress against mine, and I can feel her warm breath on my skin. She nips at my lower lip, then chuckles, shifting back just a touch. "I have probably kept you too long already."
My eyes, dilated and huge, stare at her, and I shake my head. "I have nowhere I need to be." Yes I do – with her. But that sounds so needy. The thought of being teased and dropped is awful, especially by someone as perfect as she is. Already she has me wrapped around her finger, and I only just met her this morning. I swallow past a tense throat, and my voice trembles as I beg her. "Please..."
She smiles, her eyes narrowing with dark delight. "Please what, Jenny?"
Slowly her gloved hand slides in to cup the back of my head, and I almost fall to my knees, my legs turning to water. I'm flushed and out of sorts, but even so I keep it together enough to say "Please... Mistress."
Her voice is a warm hum of approval behind her lips, and she pulls me into another slow, simmering kiss. My eyes fall closed and I press up against her. Celene's hand slides around my waist to keep me near, rubbing slowly at my lower back at first before it slides down, cupping my ass possessively. Immediately I groan hotly into her mouth. Every electric memory from those videos I've been watching bursts to the forefront of my mind, and my hips buck against hers.
And then she spanks me, just once.
The clap of her gloved hand on my tense, jeans-covered cheek sounds loud in the cold, thin air, and I shiver. My hands grip at her coat desperately. How... how is it that I'm so close to cumming already? We've only been kissing! But my pussy's wet, so so wet, and it aches. One touch would do me in. Just one touch from those gloved fingers, sliding into my pants, and down between my hot, eager lips.
"Shall we go to my car?" she whispers against my burning cheek, and all I can do is nod, biting my lip.
Chapter 3It's difficult to walk at first, but her arm around my waist helps support me up to the beginning of the visitor parking lot. We walk in silence to her car, parked behind Tobin, and every step, every second, I've got a hundred-yard stare, seeing nothing but the possible scenarios that await me. Is this really happening? Even when she opens the door for me and I slip into the passenger seat, it's difficult to believe.
This is so stupid – what if she's a psychopath or something? I grope for my phone in my pocket and check it. Fully charged. Okay. Well... if this goes crazy, hopefully I can call for help. This is so so so stupid. And yet I say nothing, desperate to get to our destination, wherever it might be.
She takes us towards Hadley, and the vistas change from suburbs to farmland. Her house is little, tucked into a thick copse of trees far from the road. We jostle a little as her sedan slowly heads down the gravel track of her driveway. At last we park, and she kills the lights and the engine. "Here we are," she says with a smile, her tone conversational enough to help snap me out of my trance just enough to let me walk on my own.
Celene leads me inside, and the interior is elegant. The furniture looks very sturdy, and the colors of the walls are rich and indulgent – dark reds, oranges, blacks, violets – warm, sultry colors that match the iron and glass nature of the coffee table and side tables. Book shelves, also in iron, hold a number of textbooks, and then I notice the art pieces.
Beautiful women, in repose, in action, alone, together, dressed in silk or steel or leather – my eyes widen as I stare at each one, and then I come to the last. It shows a naked, collared girl kneeling beside a woman seated in a chair. All you can see are the Mistress's legs clad in black nylons and pumps, and she sits at a breakfast table, the bottom edge of a newspaper making everything seem so mundane and casual, when it's anything but.
The kneeling girl's face is downcast, but she's not upset or ashamed. She's... serene. Happy. Despite being naked, she doesn't look cold or humiliated. She's comfortable, and the way her body just leans against her Mistress's leg speaks of trust and affection. It's not just sex.
My face flushes, and I realize how much I want that. To be happy and cared for, like that girl is. And at just that moment, Celene moves up behind me, her hands gently sliding over my hips to pull me slowly, gently back against her. A slow, silent breath slips past my lips, and I let myself rest against her. Her warm hands don't move to undress me, only hold me close, and she presses her lips against my cheekbone, her hair just tickling my ear. "That one has always been my favorite," she admits softly.
"Why?" I breathe, closing my eyes.
Her chin rests on my shoulder, the cotton of the hoodie a comfortable cushion as she thinks. "Because there is nothing sexual in that image. There is love, and trust. Companionship. Acceptance, hmm? That is hard to find in this world. It is beautiful."
My heart flutters in my chest, and I swallow, feeling faint. Celene must feel that something's wrong, because she gently guides me to sit on the couch. I feel like my fingers are cold and tingling, and I'm dizzy. Anxious. She murmurs that she'll be back, and I nod. Within a minute she comes back with a glass of ice water, and she guides my hands to cup around it. "Drink, Jenny. It's alright."
I shakily sip at the water. "What's... I don't get it... I'm sorry."
Celene just smiles comfortingly. "That picture and... this..." she gestures vaguely, but means, of course, whatever is happening between us. "This is all new to you, is it not?"
Miserably I nod, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. She was nice enough to invite me into her house, and in repayment of that generosity I have an anxiety attack.
"I was like you, long ago." She takes a seat next to me on the couch, letting me have my space, but still being near enough that I know she's not rejecting me. It's so subtle... how is she doing it? "I thought that such feelings were simple. Desire, love. They are not. Not for everyone. My predilections are different. I long for such a relationship as that." She looks fondly at the picture, then back at me. "I have been in a few, and they have all been wonderful. The women I was with – I cherished them, and they cherished me."
"I thought I'd had that," I admit softly, meeting her gaze timidly. "But... it wasn't. It was meanness that I gave into. It always hurt. I don't know what I want, Celene."
Very gently, Celene smiles. "Yes you do, Jenny."
My eyes are filled with guilt as I look at her, and I swallow, taking another sip of water. "I know. But I just met you."
The other woman chuckles. "Such things must start somewhere? Perhaps it will only be today? But what a lovely day that would be. I wouldn't think less of you tomorrow, regardless of what happens tonight."
For a few moments I look into my water glass, bucking up my courage. And then I set the glass aside and move, straddling Celene's lap. My chilly hands cup her warm cheeks, my fingers sinking into her chestnut locks, my thumbs caressing her cheekbones. And then I kiss her, eyes closed, and melt against her. I want her. I want her so much. I don't care about anything else – my need for her is reckless and intense.
Such an onslaught might put off the other college girls, and I think now that this is why I've been so timid. This is who I am and this is what I want, and I knew they wouldn't want it. But Celene, oh... Her hands move, one moving into my hair and pulling out the elastic. My black locks tumble down, and her strong, capable hands slide through them, until at last she grips a fistful by the roots.
I shiver and grow still and tense, and she guides me away from the kiss, tilting my head back, and back, until I have to look at the ceiling. My cheeks are blazing hot and I'm gasping open-mouthed, especially when I feel her other hand unbutton my jeans. "You will say Stop when you want to take a break. That is your safeword, Jenny. Tell me what your safeword is."
The feel of my pants and underwear being pushed down around my ass to bunch at my thighs makes me shiver, and my hands reach out to her shoulders so that I can brace myself. "M... my safeword is Stop."
"Good girl, Jenny," she purrs with pleasure, kissing along my arched neck. "Now," she breathes against my skin, "count for me."
For a second I'm not sure what she means, until her free hand, the one that had unfastened my pants, cracks down against my left ass cheek. I grit my teeth and close my eyes. "One," I growl softly, my fingers gripping at her shirt. I gasp and groan as her hand massages the sting into my skin, and then she strikes my ass again. "Two!" I say with a shudder, my back dipping.
The hand in my hair draws me close to her, but instead of kissing me, she lets me hug my arms around her shoulders. I hide my face against her neck, her sweet-smelling skin so warm against my cheek and lips. Her hand slaps my right cheek and I whimper, muttering "Three."
"What was that?" she chides, quickly pinching the string of the last strike.
I squirm and bite my lip, making sure to clearly and loudly say "Three!"
"Good girl."
Both of her hands explore the curves of my ass, the tips of her fingers just curling around to dip in and caress against my desperate pussy. I moan and shudder, hugging her tighter, but those touches only tease. My hips roll just a little, shyly, as I try to push my needy flesh against her touch, but she keeps her fingertips just out of reach, chuckling as I whine with frustration and hug her more tightly.
More slaps come, each sting building on the last, and I shudder, announcing the count each time and making sure it's loud and clear enough for her to hear. How red is my skin? Her hands aren't being gentle at all. After the last count of ten, she rubs slowly over my cheeks, making me hiss and shiver with delight. I can feel a trickle of desire slowly slide down my inner thigh, wetting my skin so that the air swirling around her spanking palm is felt even more keenly between my legs.
Soon, though, each strike makes me whimper and flinch. They're starting to hurt too much. I'm stubborn – I want her to keep going. What if this is the only time I can do this? I need to make it count! But her strikes sting and throb, and the rough caress makes me shudder. It's becoming too much, and with great reluctance I say at last "Stop, Mistress."
Immediately Celene's hand moves away, her touch light on my hips to soothe me. "Good girl for using your Safeword," she murmurs warmly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. For doing such a simple thing right, it feels so wonderful to be praised. It's like... like I've aced a difficult test, like one of my programs worked perfectly the first time out. My cheeks hurt from how broadly I'm smiling, and as she gently urges me to move away from her, she insists that I stand on my feet.
My legs are so wobbly, and I don't understand why she's making me go through something so difficult like keeping my balance until I pull my pants back up. As the cotton of my underwear and jeans slides over my red cheeks, I hiss and groan, gritting my teeth. "Oh fuck," I breathe, biting my lip as I finally get my jeans up completely and button them.
Celene just looks up at me with seductive, sadistic delight, crossing one leg over the other comfortably. "You have a choice, Jenny. You may continue to stand, but you may not touch yourself. Or... you may sit, and use your fingers to cum."
My eyes widen. Oh, what a hellish choice. I can feel my face and neck heat up, and I whimper even as I move over to sit on the couch next to her. It's like sitting in a bath that's too hot – I slowly ease my full weight down, hissing as the burn in my ass reheats. It's bearable, just barely, and I quickly unfasten my fly and slide my right hand inside. Oh god, I'm so wet. Out of habit I slouch a little to give myself a better angle, and the burn makes me cry out and arch my back. My pussy, strangely, aches all of a sudden, and my fingers hurriedly rub in firm circles over my lips and clit.
The back of the couch is soft beneath the back of my head, and I close my eyes, breathing harder and harder. I know Celene is watching, but I don't care. No, scratch that – I do care. I want her to watch. My toes curl inside my sneakers, and my feet push up onto their tiptoes as I whine behind tightly-pressed lips. I'm so close. Yes, oh come on!
Suddenly, I find my jaw is gripped firmly, and my head is turned before I'm kissed hotly. I shudder all over, tasting Celene's tongue as it pushes into my mouth and caresses against my own. Her hand slides up under my hoodie to grip and knead at my breasts behind the sports bra I wear. Without realizing it, my finger pushes into my slit with the same speed and rhythm that her tongue takes my mouth.
I'm entranced – it's like she's controlling everything by the sheer force of her personality. I'm her puppet, her plaything, her girl. And I want it. I need it. This is what I was looking for when I came to this part of the state, what I was afraid to show people. The realization makes me feel so good, and I shiver, then jerk, my two fingers burying themselves and writhing hard until, at last, I cry out into her mouth. It feels so unbelievably good, my eyes rolling up, back arching, heart nearly stopping. Nothing's ever felt so good, not with anyone. She slowly breaks the kiss, her kisses trailing over my cheek to my neck, and I feel boneless against the couch. My fingers are almost aching within the clench of my heated satisfaction, the hot, thick desire sliding over my palm and knuckles.
It's quiet in her living room, like everything in the world is serene and still. Beneath my shirt, her hand caresses my stomach slowly, helping me to calm down. My head turns until my cheek rests on the cushion, my wide, adoring eyes looking into hers. For a little while all we can do is look at each other, and I realize after a moment that our breathing has fallen into synch. She looks a little surprised herself, and a slow smile grows on her lips.
I can't help but smile shyly as well, and she leans in to briefly kiss the corner of my mouth before whispering "perhaps we should talk. I wish to see you. Tomorrow. The day after, on and on." She almost looks a little shy, turning away to take a breath before looking back at me. "I want you, my darling Jenny. You are her. You are in every way her."
The girl in the picture. My smile grows, and when Celene shifts to sit closer, I lean against her, my cheek on her shoulder. It's so comfortable there. "Maybe I should get you a newspaper," I murmur, and I smile brightly as she happily laughs.
"Yes, I think you must," she whispers against my forehead, kissing it. "I think you must."