In Which Events Take Place
Steff excused herself to return to Viktor’s room… or her room, I guess. It was almost as weird to think about her living on the “boys’ side” as it was to think that she had a penis.
I asked Ian if he wanted to come to breakfast with us in the morning. He asked if it would be okay if he came by my room a little early. I didn’t make him specify what for.
Amaranth and I helped Two and Hazel clean up the mess in the kitchen. The fact that Hazel participated in this chore allayed some more of my doubts about the genuineness of her friendship with Two. I didn’t have any real cause to doubt that… I was simply being protective, I guess.
Amaranth carried one of the chairs back, over my protests… but as that resulted in the two of us being in my room, I didn’t really mind. I wasn’t surprised when she closed and locked the door behind us. As soon as we were truly alone, our privacy assured, I felt the need to admit my total flouting of the no-yelling rule. I don’t know if it was my recent experiences with Ian, or what, but somehow it felt most natural to do this on my hands and knees, my head bowed to the floor.
It was really a surprisingly comfortable thing to be down on the floor, literally beneath somebody… I felt like I could have admitted anything to her without fear in that position.
“I’m glad you told me, baby,” she said, leaning down and touching me gently on the head.
“Only…”
“Only what?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I should be punishing you, after today,” she said, giving an unsteady laugh.
“You’re my owner,” I said, looking up at her incredulously. “I gave myself to you. You asked me what I wanted, and I said to be yours. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Well, of course it does!” she said, affronted… then her cheeks flushed pink and she looked away, abashed. “Of course it does, baby,” she said, quietly. “Take off your clothes.”
I stood and did as I was bid. Things had kept piling on top of other things throughout the day, which had stopped me from ever really focusing on the need for punishment for more than a moment… but it had always been there, like an itch. Now that my attention was focused on it, it seemed incredible I’d been able to ignore it at all.
I throbbed with the need.
Amaranth picked up my paddle, the “Strap of Smiting,” as the leather store proprietor had called it, from where it lay on my dresser. She directed me to stand at the end of my bed, bent over with my legs spread. I waited for the spanking, but she was in no hurry. She reached past me to lay the strap on the bed, then put both her hands on my ass, and squeezed.
“You like it when people play with your butt, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and she began to knead.
“You like it when I bite your butt,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. Honesty and submissiveness compelled this answer… it wasn’t something I’d have readily admitted otherwise. On the scale of weirdness, it was almost up there with Ian and his ball thing.
“Do you love it?” she asked. “Do you love it when I bite your butt?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Very much.”
“I don’t think I’ll be doing that tonight,” she said, sighing. “I love it, too, but what you need tonight is discipline, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She lapsed into silence… but didn’t stop massaging my ass, though. I think she was lost in thought, and only doing it reflexively or out of habit.
That didn’t stop it from feeling incredible, though.
“I think,” she said, “that we need a new rule. Every day that you are very good, you’ll get a light, bare-handed spanking and a loving bite. Every day that you are very bad, you’ll get a heavy paddling with the studded side. Every day that you’re a little good or a little bad, you’ll get something in between. Do you understand this rule?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Would you say you were good today, or were you bad?”
“I was bad,” I said. All the times I’d lost my temper, all the people I’d yelled at… Steff, Ian, my fighting instructors… especially Steff and Ian… flashed into my head. “I was very, very bad.”
“You accepted Steff for who she was, even after you found out her secret,” Amaranth said. “You didn’t lose your temper or back down from Puddy. That was very good.”
“But… that wasn’t really anything special,” I said, suddenly afraid that Amaranth wasn’t going to give me the punishment I needed. She was always so willing to see the good in everybody… too willing, in my case. She didn’t understand that whatever good I did was only me trying hard to act good… the bad came naturally, easily. “You gave me a rule about losing my temper, and I broke it… I keep breaking it. It’s an important rule, but I can’t even follow it for a single day. I’m bad.”
Amaranth sighed, and her hands froze in place.
“Do you need to be punished, baby?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you want it?”
This took me by surprise. Of course I didn’t want my ass to be severely beaten with a metal-studded paddle… that hurt. It was a punishment. The whole point of it was that you didn’t want it.
On the other hand, though, I did want to be treated fairly for my violation of the simple rules Amaranth had given me. I wanted her to know I took them seriously, even if I wasn’t capable of following them.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I will punish you. You’re so fixated on your butt, you know,” she said, putting one hand on each cheek, fingers outstretched. She spread them, her thumbs pushing against the edges of the tight hole. “I don’t think it will be too terribly long before you’re ready to give our Steff her wish.”
“Does it hurt?” I asked as she stood there, squeezing my ass and putting gentle pressure on the opening. I felt like a scared little girl… well, as much like a scared little girl as one can feel when discussing being anally violated by a female friend who happens to have a penis, and not have it be completely creepy. “Does it hurt as much as they say it does?”
“Well,” Amaranth said, weighing her words carefully. “It can, but it doesn’t have to… if you take it slow, and do the proper preparation, it can be nearly painless… even completely painless, but I would think that’s hard to pull off the first time, and… well…”
“What?” I prompted.
“Well, I think given your strength and resilience, it’ll probably feel like the first time every time,” she said. “And, I don’t think Steff’s interested in taking her time, you know?”
“She’s going to want it to hurt,” I translated.
“Yes, baby,” Amaranth said. “She’s going to want it to hurt, at least the first time… after that, she might be more tender. But the first time, I think she’s going to make it hurt as much as she can.”
I shivered.
“Why does Steff want to hurt me so much?” I asked.
“I think because she hurts so much,” Amaranth said. “But she doesn’t want to hurt you, baby… I mean, she doesn’t have something against you, or anything.”
“I know,” I said.
“Anyway,” Amaranth said, putting her hands on my hips and pulling me back towards her. When I was pressed against her as close as I could be, she ran her hands up my sides, pulling my torso upright. She cupped her hands around my breasts. “I don’t mind giving you a little pain, myself.”
Her fingernails, which were long and sharp, caught at my nipple, pinching it. My breath caught in my throat.
“I don’t know what it is about you that brings it out in me,” she said, releasing my nipple and pinching the other one. “Maybe it’s your… vulnerability.”
She let go of that nipple and trailed one finger around each of them in circles of opposite directions. It was like there were strings connecting them to my head and to points lower, and to each other, and Amaranth was tugging firmly on each of those strings.
“Or maybe it’s your invulnerability,” she went on, oh-so-casually, as she grabbed both at once. Her nails dug in twice as hard. I cried out sharply, and she let go. The sensitive protrusions throbbed with heat, the cool air in the room biting icy cold upon them.
“Maybe it’s knowing that I can do anything to you without harm,” she said. “There’s limits to how far I can go… practical limits, that would end this body and send me back to my field… but you…”
She squeezed my breasts, though gently. I tensed, wondering if she was about to test my lack of limits… but then she simply released me.
“Ready for your punishment, baby?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, bending over once more.
I prepared myself for the swish of the paddle and the impact of thirty-five points of metal in the soft flesh of my ass, so lovingly tenderized by Amaranth… and was surprised at the slap of her palm instead.
“Amaranth…” I began, confused.
“Shh,” she said, giving me another stroke on the other side. “You don’t question when you’re being punished. I’m the owner, you’re my toy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. She hadn’t asked anything, but it felt like a “yes, ma’am” moment. She rewarded me with a throaty little purr.
“I’m going to give you ten strokes with my hand,” she said, even as she administered the third, “and then ten with the flat side, and then ten with the studded side. Do you think that’s enough?”
I was torn. Before, when I’d really transgressed, I’d been punished with far more abandon… but she’d obviously put thought into this sequence. I realized she’d stopped, holding back the fourth spank while she waited for my answer.
“If you say it’s enough, then it is,” I said finally.
She purred again.
“That’s a very, very good answer, baby,” she said, giving me another firm swat on the rear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get what you need… we’ll go up and then down. After the studded side, ten more with the flat side, and then I’ll finish you off by hand. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, jumping in surprise at another, surprisingly painful slap. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” she said. “We’ll call those warm-up blows… you keep count for me, starting now.”
With that, she fell into a rhythm, and I counted off the hits one by one. My ass was extra sensitive from all the attention she’d given it. As usual, I felt the familiar feeling growing within me, of mounting pressure and mounting pleasure. For some reason, it seemed a lot closer to the surface today. I felt like I was ready to burst when I counted off the tenth stroke, and then the pressure had a chance to subside while Amaranth hefted the paddle and squared off.
It took much longer to reach ten with the strap… it was almost as if Amaranth could feel what I felt, and was carefully nursing me along without pushing me over the threshold. Well, probably she could feel it… or at least had a good idea about it.
She paused for almost a minute after the second time I reached ten. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t question when I was being punished. I felt the budding sensation slip down. There was a sense of deflation that reminded me oddly of Ian, after he’d spent himself.
Then, without warning, she started again… so fast and hard that the second blow landed before I’d counted “one.” When I said, “two,” she corrected me and made me start over. Any fear that I wouldn’t be sufficiently punished was soon laid to rest… she made it almost impossible to keep up, especially when I was crying out in pain with each jolt, and we started over several more times. Not once but three times I felt the dam break within me and found myself overwhelmed with paroxysms of pleasure along with pain… and that was three more times that we started over.
Strangely, this time the release of the feeling didn’t diminish it, but only seemed to increase the intensity of the next eruption. I felt like I was on fire, and not just where the metal bit into my backside. For several terrifying moments, I feared I would lose control of my infernal side and actually burst into flames… but then, amazingly, I heard myself saying “ten” and it was over.
The change back to the flat side was a welcome bit of relief, a bit like a cooling down period. She fanned the embers inside me to keep them alive, but they didn’t flare up again. The smooth leather was almost soothing on my sore skin. It was like a lover’s kiss. I’d been punished severely, and now I was being forgiven… more than that, absolved.
She verbally shushed me when I tried to count, after she relinquished the paddle and returned to her bare hand. She was using all of her art now, the familiar-yet-unpredictable pattern of hard and soft, teasing and stroking and slapping. She was doing more than fanning the embers now… she was kindling a fire. Though, in a way, it was almost more like sculpting water now. I could picture her grasping at some amorphous liquid with her hands, coaxing it upwards into a shape… my shape… only to watch it run between her fingers and collapse back into a puddle. Somehow, bit by bit, she fought to keep it in a coherent form… and somehow, bit by bit, I felt the knot of pressure growing again.
I remembered how much harder and more time-consuming it had been to get Ian off each successive time, and was struck once again by the astounding similarity between the feeling I got from being spanked and the act of orgasm. That wasn’t an observation I was going to share with anybody any time soon. Being spanked on a regular basis was plenty weird. I didn’t want anybody thinking I somehow actually got off from it.
I broke, for the fourth and final time, and actually collapsed. My knees buckled. My elbows buckled. Before I could fall, Amaranth’s arms were around my middle, and she hugged me from behind.
“Is that enough punishment?” she asked in my ear.
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered shakily.
“Good,” she cooed, and kissed the side of my neck. “Now, let’s get ready for bed.”
“What?” I asked, surprised. Was she staying? Two nights in a row?
“I want to sleep with you tonight,” she said, in a mock-stern tone. “I suppose I don’t need to ask my toy’s permission for that, do I?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “But…”
“I had some really stellar sex between classes,” she said, turning me around to face her. “I mean, just plain amazing… and then Steff gave me quite a work out… and it’s just been an emotional day for all of us. This isn’t going to be an all-the-time thing, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Anyway,” she said. “I think it’s high time you started pleasuring me, in a more direct fashion.”
“I… I can’t,” I said, closing my eyes. I didn’t know specifically what she had in mind, but I had a strong suspicion where she had in mind.
“It’s not on your blacklist… you were very specific about not penetrating anybody but me. Besides, you did it before,” Amaranth said. She came closer, and I could feel her warm, sweet breath coming down on my face. “Remember? That first weekend here, underneath the tree? You remember that, baby?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“You didn’t want to admit it, but that was your first time,” she said. “The first time you had sex.”
“It wasn’t actu…” I began, but she put her finger to my lips and I fell silent.
“I need you to do something, baby,” she purred. “I need you to admit what we had… what you did. When I take my finger away, I need you to say it. This is important to me, and I know honesty’s important to you… so… it’s time to be honest. You were in me, baby… your fingers slipping inside me, snaking in and out… your thumb on my clit… my body writhing at your touch…”
She released me.
“No,” I moaned.
“No, you didn’t?” she asked, the displeasure audible in her voice.
“I did,” I said.
“You did what?” she asked, looking down at me over the top of her glasses.
“What you said.”
“You fucked me, didn’t you?” she said. “With your hand.”
“I… yes,” I said.
“Yes, what?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, though I knew this wasn’t what she meant.
“Yes, ma’am, what?” she pressed.
“Yes, ma’am, I… I fucked you,” I said. The last few words were a little garbled, but not too badly. She didn’t make me repeat it, and for that I was grateful.
“You can do it again, then,” she said.
I tried to respond, to nod or shake my head… either… anything… but I couldn’t.
“Look at me,” she said.
I blushed harder and squeezed my eyes tightly shut.
“Look at me,” she said again, her voice taking on the tone of command. My eyes flew open and I looked up at her.
“Don’t look at my eyes, baby,” she said, pushing my head lower. “They aren’t me. They aren’t who I am. Look at my pussy. That’s me… that’s who I am, my essence made flesh. Do you want to touch it?”
I didn’t. I wasn’t a lesbian. I’d proved it three times already that very day. Spanking and biting and pinching and other things, they were just play… just games. I loved Amaranth… I was in love with her… but I didn’t need to have sex with her. I had a boyfriend. I’d sucked his dick. I liked his dick. I didn’t like pussy.
“Mack,” Amaranth said, in a warning tone. “When I ask a question, you need to answer it. Do you want to touch it?”
I didn’t. I did not.
“Last time. Do… you… want… to… touch… my… pussy?”
“Y-yes,” my traitorous, treacherous mouth said.
“Then you will. You can close your eyes, if it makes it easier,” she said gently. I did so, grateful for the small mercy. She took my hand in hers.
“You have such small hands,” she said, running her fingers over mine as if she were massaging them. “Such pretty hands, you know that?”
I blushed, giggling.
“Does this tickle?” she asked, not stopping.
“No,” I said. “No, ma’am.”
“Then what’s funny?”
“People don’t have pretty hands,” I said.
“You do,” she said. “You and Twoey both have such little, delicate hands. Honestly, you’re lucky I don’t eat meat or I’d just gobble them right up.”
I became aware that her ministrations had taken on a very particular pattern, with her thumb and forefinger circling around each of the fingers of my hand in turn, rubbing up and down their lengths. I felt a sort of pang, a dull ache inside me, in the place where the bursts of pleasure came from. I remembered how Steff had responded as I’d sucked her fingertips… even as Amaranth raised my hand to her lips and began to slip her lips around each finger.
“Pretty little hand,” she said. I didn’t resist as she pushed my fingers together and bent them slightly inwards, keeping them in the position she put them in. “Clever hand.”
She took my hand, bent into the desired shape, and guided it down between her legs. I didn’t realize what she was doing before it was done… but then it was too late.
My hand was cupping her pussy.
I was conscious at first more of her thighs pressing in around it, as if to hold it in place… but the pussy was unmistakably there. It was a warm mound beneath my hand. I could feel the surprisingly soft curls of her neat patch of hair against my wrist.
The warmth seemed to seep through my palm, spreading up my wrist and arm and then permeating the rest of my body. It was answered by another, entirely different sort of heat in my face… and another, not-so-different heat from below.
“Do you like that, baby?” Amaranth breathed.
“I… I…”
I couldn’t answer. I had two very powerful conflicting thoughts chasing each other through my head.
My hand was undeniably touching a pussy, and pussy was dirty. It was the sickest, most disgusting thing found in the whole of anatomy. It was a festering sore, an open wound that never healed but still left scars. I really didn’t believe, as my grandmother had, that it was a punishment for some especial wickedness women had that men lacked… but that myth existed to explain the simple, inescapable truth: a woman’s parts were gross, disgusting.
Everybody knew this.
On the other hand, though, it was Amaranth’s. Amaranth was not gross. Amaranth was not disgusting. Amaranth was perfect and pure.
Perfect and pure pussy? It was such an inherently paradoxical idea, it was no wonder I couldn’t speak. Did I like it? I loved it. I couldn’t wait to get away, and wash. I loved it.
“You’re my toy,” she whispered. “My sex toy. My fuck toy.” I felt a delicious shudder run through me. “That’s what you are, isn’t it, baby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered back.
“Now, don’t think,” she counseled quietly. “That’s the good thing about being a toy… you don’t have to. Don’t think, just answer when I ask. Do you like my pussy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well,” she said, somehow putting a lascivious spin on that word. She wiggled her hips, pushing against my hand. What had just been a generalized warmth beneath my hand became concrete and alive as the folds of her vulva slipped and slid beneath my touch. “You’re my fuck toy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed.
“So… what are you waiting for?” she asked.
Nothing, it turned out.
“Last time. Do… you… want… to… touch… my… pussy?”
“Y-yes,” my traitorous, treacherous mouth said.
“Treacherous organ!”
– Nick Scipio –
I’m reminded of something my mother once told me; she’d been scared off of sex by her mother for years when she was younger because my grandmother had convinced her that woman where ‘garbage cans’, and the man ‘dumps his garbage in the woman’ during intercourse.
My grandmother is a very old, third world religious sorts. I guess I understand why Mack has a bad idea when it comes to sex.
That, also that sex in general is somewhat disgusting when you think about the actual processes involved in it.
The same being true for many other bodily functions; not that it stops them from being somewhat interesting as well.
Body stuff is all disgusting. Eating, breathing, defecating, it’s all pretty messed up stuff.