Home > Art, Erotica, Girl on Girl, Lesbian, Nudity, Sex, Stories > Leslie Loves Lavender – Part 2

Leslie Loves Lavender – Part 2

Leslie in Art Class. Illustration by Juan Puyal.

Leslie is inhibited. It has to do with the way she was brought up. She is having trouble filling in part of her drawing. To find out about that and what happens when she and Katie are abducted, read on.

If you missed Part 1, here’s a link to it:

Leslie Loves Lavender–Part 1

Leslie Loves Lavender

Part 2 of 3

Chapters 5–8

by Matthew Dyne

Chapter 5. Leslie

Leslie’s mother and father were ministers. Their flock was a church in an ultraconservative town in upstate New York. As a child Leslie had grown up highly repressed. She’d first been schooled at home, then in a religious school for young women. She hadn’t been allowed to play with boys since she was ten, and her movements and behavior were proscribed and controlled lest she be an embarrassment to her parents and their church.

Though fiercely controlling and strung tight, Leslie’s mother was artistic, and Leslie had always had art supplies to play with. Art was the only endeavor in which she was allowed to be free. She had talent, and she won accolades in school and in contests.

What saved Leslie from a life of misery, probably by being forced into a marriage of convenience—convenience for her parents that is—was that her mother and father were so isolated from the outside world that, when Leslie said she wanted to go to art school, they were happy to grant permission. If they had known anything about what an art school was like, they would have locked their only child away in a tower.

Leslie left home, and at first was scandalized when she saw how the other students acted, and what the other girl’s wore. But she was a woman now, no longer a girl, and she had needs—powerful sexual needs that burst into bloom as she realized that, for the first time, she was on her own, and free. Like many a repressed young woman she began behaving in ways that were opposed to the dogma she’d been programmed with, but the repression had taken its toll—she’d been wounded—she had limits beyond which she could not go, except in the reaches of her fertile imagination.

Her first big breakthrough came with her first life drawing class. The model was a man, and she’d never seen a man naked, even in pictures. She’d only imagined what one might look like from seeing baby boys and farm animals. For a long time she could only draw the model from the waist up, but her instructor, assuming Leslie’s reluctance was motivated by technical insecurity, ordered her to draw the model’s whole body. She finally ventured down below and sketched his legs and, at the very end of class, drew his penis in. That night, she masturbated freely for the first time.

She had played with herself before, touching herself with compulsions that partly overcame her inhibitions. Over time, she’d brought herself to be quite wet, but she was always afraid her mother would find evidence on the sheets, or smell her secretions in the air. At home, Leslie could never let herself go. But, after that first life drawing class, her floodgates opened. She went home to her apartment and couldn’t stop lying on her bed with her legs spread, rubbing herself in wild abandon. After two hours of practice, she fingered herself to her first orgasm, which frightened her with its intensity. The feelings were unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She was afraid they might never stop. For long moments she couldn’t bear the exquisite agony of even the slightest movement of the fingers pressing on her clitoris. She thought perhaps something was wrong with her, and that she might have to go to the hospital, which was an option without possibility. She wondered if those unbearable sensations would ever stop, and if she would be able to function with those sensations going on between her legs—she didn’t think so.

After the sensations abated she realized what had happened, and she was never the same again. But that was only the beginning of Leslie’s sexual awakening. What really opened her to lust was the first semester of her second year when she took a course named “The Nude From Prehistory to the Nineteenth Century – Art or Pornography?”

The professor of “The Nude” was an old guy, definitely past his prime. Maybe he couldn’t get it up at all any more but, whatever his reasons, he liked to titillate, and he especially liked to titillate the women. The fourth week of class he introduced a collection of slave paintings; by Gerome, Rosati, and others, and then he got the life drawing teacher to talk one of his models into being tied and displayed in a mock slave market, completely naked. They raised her arms and tied her stretched between two pillars. The professor outlined an imaginary scenario: he had the model turn to look over her shoulder, petrified with fear of an imaginary crowd of men approaching her, led by her master, accompanied by a slave master carrying a fierce whip. It was the kind of modeling Katie would have loved to do.

John-Leon Gerome, The Slave market

It was a four-hour class, a tour de force for the model, who was untied every thirty minutes to take a break. By the end of class, she was drenched with sweat. And Leslie was drenched with sweat, and dripping from her vagina. She ran home as fast as her legs could carry her, threw her pads and pens on the floor, ripped her clothes off, jumped into bed, spread her legs wide, and had so many orgasms that she lost count. She kept waking through the night to have more and then, in the morning, as she was leaving for class, she turned around and stripped all her clothes off again, leaving them strewn on the floor as she raced to bed one more time to splay her legs and her worn-out pussy open and do it again and yet again. She missed all her classes before noon. That’s the day she learned what it was like to be really sore.

Yes, Leslie had grown up highly repressed, and her powerful sexual feelings had propelled her to overcome some of her inhibitions, but at first only in the privacy of her bedroom. Leslie’s mother and father loved her, she knew that intellectually, but they rarely expressed love in a way that satisfied Leslie. Her parents, particularly her father, were not well equipped with parenting skills. Perhaps if Leslie had been a son her father might have done better. But he didn’t know how to talk to a girl and, once Leslie reached puberty, he could barely look at her. He fell back on what he was comfortable with, which was to demand accomplishment with perfection, as he defined it, and to enforce his demands with stern admonition. Leslie suffered, always trying to meet the unrealistic goals of her father, trying to obtain his approval—trying to feel loved.

Until Leslie left home, her father, her two uncles, and the church elders were the only men she knew well, and the only ones she was allowed to receive attention from. But Leslie was exceptionally beautiful and, when she got to school, she got attacked, figuratively, by half the guys in her classes—the other half must have been gay. The lines of her curves, the proportions of her body, the grace of its transitions, the symmetry of her features and, above all, the perfection of her skin—perfectly smooth and without blemish—grabbed one’s attention when she walked into a room. Among strangers, double-takes were the norm. Katie had voiced the type of beauty Leslie had when she looked at Leslie’s breasts and said she’d like to have a copy of her in marble: Leslie’s beauty was classical.

Leslie reveled in the attention she now got from the men around her, and she quickly learned how to get more of it. She learned how to use makeup in ways that were subtle, but attractive. She learned how to dress—her clothes were always color coordinated, artistically designed, constructed with quality, and tasteful but sexy. She got from men a lot of what she had always wanted from her father, which was unconditional admiration. But there was a point beyond which she still could not go.

Though Leslie loved to flaunt her body from beneath her clothes, and have men desire her, she couldn’t imagine any circumstance in which she would be willing to let a man see her undressed. Even undressing in front of women she found trying, and in gym class, which was mandatory, she tried to hide herself and change as privately and quickly as she could. Taking her top off for Katie on the Cannes beach was a courageous sacrifice, and the reason she did it—the only possible reason she could ever bring herself to do it—was that she’d fallen in love with Katie. She loved Katie’s free-and-easy ways, her sweet, gentle teasing, and that Katie clearly desired her and made her desire known in kindly and sensitive ways. And also, importantly, Katie was a woman, which meant that Leslie could fall in love without needing to confront that mysterious sexuality of men that intimidated and frightened her. She’d never fallen in love before. She’d never even thought about falling in love with a woman and, though she’d fallen hard, she had yet to realize it consciously.

Chapter 6. Taken For a Ride

They took the women to the parking lot under the Hotel Metropole and parked in an isolated spot. Beef and Emile stayed in the van, hovering threateningly over the women. Jimmy went to their room and collected a suitcase full of clothing and lingerie. He returned, and they were quickly on their way, heading out of town on the highway toward the hills.

Jimmy closed the curtain between the driver and the rear of the van. “Let’s see what we got,” he said, and he turned on the lights. “Let’s look at this one first,” he motioned to Leslie, and he and Beef brought over a couple of boxes to sit on, and they made themselves comfortable by Leslie’s legs.

The women were strapped face down on fully reclined seats, with their arms at their sides. They were strapped at shoulders, waist, and legs, and the strap ratchets pulled the webbing tight so they couldn’t move at all. Leslie’s dress had ridden part way up and her beautiful smooth thighs were exposed. Jimmy rested a hand on the back of Leslie’s left thigh and curved his fingers to the sensitive skin on its inside. Leslie shrieked. “No! Don’t! Don’t!” And she started screaming and crying, and thrashing within her bonds, trying to move away from the hand that had barely touched her. Katie had turned her head, and had watched as Jimmy put his hand on Leslie, and she was as surprised as Jimmy at the extremity of Leslie’s reaction.

Katie called out Leslie’s name, trying to get her attention. “Leslie, Leslie, over here.”

“Don’t let them rape me,” Leslie cried out. “Please, don’t let them.”

“Nobody’s going to rape anybody,” Jimmy said, but neither Katie nor Leslie believed him, and Jimmy’s prick told a different story. Fuck, he said to himself, I’m hard as a fucking rock… If I could get away with it… They’d never do the show… Big Mike—she’d be the last fuck I’d ever get to do. “No one’s going to hurt you,” much, he thought to himself, “but I’m going to feel you good. You’d better get used to it.”

“No!” Leslie protested. “Please, please let us go.”

“I’ll let you go tomorrow. Tonight, you’re going to make me a lot of money.”

Leslie started sobbing. Katie got Jimmy’s attention. “Take my hands out, and take hers out too—I’ll hold her hand.”

Jimmy thought it was a good idea. “I’m going to untie your hands—your feet too,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid, and I’ll let you stay that way.”

Jimmy and Beef untied the women’s hands and feet, but left straps around their middles. Katie took Leslie’s hand and squeezed it encouragingly. Then she let go, put her hand on Leslie’s back, and petted her soothingly. “Let the man do what he’s going to. I won’t let him hurt you…” If there’s any possible way I can do that, she thought.

Jimmy lifted Leslie’s dress up her thighs exposing the dark hollow between her legs, which were shut tight. Then he lifted her dress over her buttocks and up to her waist. He sat back. He looked at Beef, who looked at him. They both looked at Leslie. She had no panties on.

“Let’s turn her over,” Beef said.

“Just a minute, this is too good.”

Jimmy took Leslie’s shoes off—he wanted to complete the picture. Katie could feel Leslie trembling. “Easy, I’m with you,” Katie crooned, trying to calm Leslie. “I’m with you, my good friend” she said, as she stroked Leslie’s back, caressed her neck, and touched her cheek.

Jimmy was not a complex man. Under other circumstances, he might have jammed his hand between Leslie’s legs and squeezed her hard right from the outset. But he’d never seen the likes of the woman strapped tight before him and even he, with his primitive brain, didn’t want to defile such a rare and pretty creature. He started at Leslie’s feet and slowly stroked his way upward.

Leslie squirmed and squealed, trying to move away, but there was no escape. Katie continued to talk to her, soothing her, telling her that her friend was with her. Jimmy reached the apex of his travels and forced his hand between Leslie’s legs, which she was trying desperately to keep closed. He firmly gripped her, and then squeezed, rhythmically stimulating her. Leslie fought as hard as she could to repress her sexual feelings, but it didn’t take long before her distress at being exposed and felt turned to distress at becoming aroused.

It was horrifying and humiliating, because it was brought on by a man. A strange man. A brutal man who had kidnapped her. The first person, other than herself, who had ever touched between her legs.

“Oh” she said.

“Oh… Oh…” she said with each deep breath, despite how hard she wanted not to give the man the satisfaction. She couldn’t help it—for the first time the hand of another person was squeezing her vulva, and in a way which she had never done to herself. It was too much to resist. When he started squeezing her between thumb and forefinger around her clitoris she became so humiliated by her own reactions that she wished she could die.

Katie was jealous. She wanted it to be her hands treating Leslie to her first orgasm to come from another person, and she decided to do something about it. “Hey,” she shouted. “That’s enough. Leave her be.”

Her words pissed Jimmy off, so he came and smacked her on the back of her head. But, even before he smacked, the shock of Katie’s words brought Leslie back from where she had fast been heading. She was glad of it because, even though she’d been in the throes of powerful sexual feelings, she didn’t want to be brought to orgasm by Jimmy any more than Katie wanted her to be.

“Maybe you want your turn,” Jimmy said to Katie. “You don’t want your girlfriend to have all the fun, is that it?”

“Where are you taking us?” Katie asked, hoping to distract him.

Jimmy smacked her on the back of the head again. “Ow” Katie said. “That hurts.”

Jimmy motioned Beef over and they held Katie down and strapped her arms again, and then Jimmy lifted her dress up to her waist. Her wispy blue panties were exposed, barely more than a ribbon covering her pussy. Each man took a leg and spread her wide. She didn’t fight them—she didn’t want to be smacked again. Jimmy slid his hand under the ribbon covering her sex.

His fingers pushed against her, and he slid his hand far up with his middle finger exploring her crease. He rubbed gently but insistently, not hurting her, but teasing her purposefully. It wasn’t long before he felt her becoming wet, and heard her sounds of arousal and distress, even as she tried to hold her feelings in check.

Katie now felt Leslie’s hand on her shoulder, and on her back, and then on her neck and cheek—calming, petting and soothing her as she had done to Leslie. She felt love, and caring, and ministering—those things that had been so thoroughly and finely inculcated into Leslie during her upbringing. Leslie had rejected God as her parents knew him, but she had learned from her parents how to bring God, as she knew God, to others. Through her touch, Katie was pulled towards her emotionally in a way more powerful than even those compulsions excited by the stroking of her sensitive pussy. Katie grabbed onto Leslie and her caring, not with her hands, but with her feelings, and it allowed her to be distracted enough to repress her sexual stimulation and not become orgasmic. It was tough going, but Katie forced herself to stop responding to Jimmy. She looked at Leslie. “Thank you” she mouthed silently.

“I love you,” Leslie mouthed back. Tears filled both girls’ eyes.

Chapter 7. Katie

Katie had a strong sexual nature. She liked sex a lot, even more than her friends seemed to. Sex was a strong thread in her artwork, it was never far from her thoughts, and she knew that intense desire was a trait inherited from a line of women stretching back at least as far as her great-grandmother.

Katie’s great-grandmother was born in 1895, and was an activist in the Free Love movement during its heyday. She would have called herself a Communist, though it didn’t mean the same then as it does now. The most important thing it meant to her was that she was free to have sex with anyone she wanted to, and society could fuck itself.

Katie’s grandmother was born in 1918, and was a Socialist, active in the labor movement of the Thirties, but what being a Socialist meant to her was the same as what being a Communist meant to her mother: that she was free to enjoy sex without inhibition, and the mores of the day be damned.

Katie knew her grandmother well. She’d taken care of her until she died a few years previously. And her grandmother told Katie how much she liked sex, and she told Katie many funny and lusty stories such as about the day Katie’s grandmother and grandfather had been discovered screwing before they were married, because someone had come to the door, and Grandpa had to answer, but in his rush he didn’t put on his belt which he always wore.

“Don’t ever take any shit over sex from anyone,” her grandmother said to Katie. She didn’t mind using coarse language either. “Don’t get yourself in trouble, but have as much sex with a good man, or a good woman, as you want, and never regret it.”

Katie’s mom turned twenty in the sixties. She was a hippy flower child in the era of The Pill, before herpes and Aids put a damper on licentiousness. Katie’s mom had learned about sex from her mother, and also loved it in a wild and uninhibited way, and Katie knew that the gene that had done it for her great-grandma, her grandma, and her Ma, was not recessive.

“I’m going to let you sit up,” Jimmy said, “but I’m tying you to your seats. “No fucking around. You do what I say, and you’ll get home none the worse for wear. No one’s going to rape you—no one’s going to hurt you.”

Jimmy and Beef turned Leslie over first, and put her seat up and let her sit comfortably, but with a strap around her waist buckled behind the seat where she couldn’t reach it. They tied her wrists to the arms of her chair and wouldn’t let her pull her dress down. It was still bunched around her waist, but she kept her legs closed. She couldn’t hide the upper fringes of hair peeking out enticingly, though.

Katie was tied likewise, with her dress around her waist, and Jimmy stripped her panties from her. “Let’s see the front view,” Beef said excitedly.

The men pulled their boxes over to Leslie first. Each took one of Leslie’s legs and they spread her wide. Leslie groaned with embarrassment, and kept her eyes toward Katie, who tried to smile encouragingly. The men were agog and, when Katie looked down between Leslie’s legs, she was too. Three mouths opened. Three jaws dropped.

Katie had never seen anything so beautiful. Leslie’s sexual center was as perfect as the rest of her classically formed figure. The outer lips were white vignetting to the bright pink of her arousal, and were accented and adorned with waves of curly auburn fluff. The leaves of her inner labia were formed and tinted as if by a goddess—their color that of the purest coral, their shape like the waves of the fluted hem of that lovely dress Leslie wanted so badly; and those coral petals forming her most private entrance, now all wet and wanting, were arranged in an oval of perfect symmetry. Her clitoris, hooded too in pure coral pink, was as perfectly smooth as a mountain ridge adorned with the melting snows of a spring thaw, and thrust up as a range risen from great Mother Earth.

And Leslie’s clitoris itself, its tip just barely peeking from the smooth folds of its hiding place, teased them all. Katie could barely contain herself. Her nature drew her yearningly toward that sweet soft nubbin—she wanted her lips around it, her tongue tasting Leslie, and giving her all the pleasure that Katie could ever hope to offer. Katie moved unconsciously toward Leslie until her bonds restrained her.

Jimmy reached to touch that sweet clitoris peeking out from hiding. Everyone watched as he moved his hand, finger pointing, toward it. Leslie shrieked, “Don’t! No! Don’t!” But it didn’t stop him and, when he touched it, she arched up as if electrified and screamed “Nooo!” She tried as hard as she could to get away. Jimmy had his fun with her, for a long time, making her scream repeatedly, while Katie looked on with jealousy and anger.

Then they turned to Katie, and Jimmy and Beef directed their attention to her as the van hurtled down the highway. “Open your legs,” Jimmy ordered. He wanted to humiliate her by making her expose herself. Katie raised one leg and opened wide, and set her leg to rest upon her bound wrist.

Jimmy looked at Katie, Beef looked at Katie, and Leslie looked at Katie, and again three jaws opened slack. When everyone looked at Leslie their thoughts were that no woman, between her legs, could be more beautiful; and as unrealistic and nonsensical as that claim might be, it was close enough to true to make the point. But the view of Katie was something else, something vastly more elemental, something that excited primitive urges lurking deep in the recesses of the collective unconscious of men and women alike. It was a view of raw femininity stripped to its core.

Katie sat with one leg up, not both. Both would be vulgar and, though Katie didn’t want to excite those men and give them what they wanted, she couldn’t help herself, for that’s the way she was—sexuality embodied. She sat with one leg up, spread open, her pubic hair wet and in disarray, her face up, her chin out, her expression fearful but trying to be courageous. She didn’t know what they would do to her, but she knew that if they started exploring her, and didn’t hurt her, she might not be able to resist her urges, and she’d be shamed in front of Leslie.

While Leslie’s vulva were small, tightly closed, and raised so you could imagine gripping and squeezing them between the fingers of your closed fist, the swell of Katie’s was wide, and her lips would open even if her legs were only slightly parted. The flesh inside looked raw and wet, her hair was wild and full of loose curls. Though she tried to fight the men when they took her, now she was frightened, yet though she was frightened of what they might do to her, and that there was no escape, she still emanated the message “Fuck Me.” She wished she could turn it off, but she couldn’t.

Jimmy pushed her leg down, and he even pulled down her dress—the view was too much for him. He wanted to fuck her badly and, in other circumstances he would have, and forcefully if he had to. But, because of his need to deliver her in a condition in which she could participate in what awaited the women, he couldn’t take her now, and to look at her without taking her was more frustration than he could stand. So Jimmy did the next best thing. He sat behind Katie’s chair and pulled its lever and reclined her, and he put his hands into the bib over her breasts, and under the lace trim of her bra and into the cups nestling Katie’s fruit, and he punished her by giving her breasts a good feel all over, and by pulling her nipples and tweaking them until they plumped and hardened, and he heard her panting and other sounds she couldn’t help but make. He figured he’d gotten the best of her.

Chapter 8. Sons of France

“No one’s going to get raped. No one’s going to get hurt. I’m getting a hundred euros a head to have you serve dinner and put on a show for the guys.”

Katie was frightened. She imagined what kind of show they would want, and didn’t trust that anyone could guarantee things wouldn’t get out of control. Leslie was frightened too, and mortified by the idea that she would have to be naked and on display as a form of entertainment for a group of men.

Jimmy and Beef went forward to talk to Emile. Katie put her leg out toward Leslie and grabbed the hem of Leslie’s dress between her toes and pulled it downward. Leslie raised her butt to help, and between the two of them they got Leslie covered up. “Thank you,” Leslie said. “What are we going to do? I can’t stand this.”

“We’re going to stick together. Whatever they do, I’ll be there with you. Try to lean on me.”

“You’re so much better at this than I am.”

“It’s not like I get a lot of practice.” Both girls laughed.

The van came to a stop in an alley next to a church. Jimmy and Beef unstrapped the women and took them out, and Emile walked to the back of the van to get the suitcase of clothing that Jimmy had taken from the women’s hotel room. Leslie, being an expert on Christian art and architecture, was momentarily distracted by the church which she identified as Romanesque, circa 1100—old, cold, musty and dark.  Also being an expert on Christianity and its denominations, and personally experienced with the running of a small town church, she studied a sign by the church side door and gleaned a lot of information from it, among which was that the congregation was Evangelical. “Humph,” she said to herself with a scowl on her face. Katie wondered what she was thinking.

The men hurried the girls, treating them roughly, not into the church but to a building on the opposite side of the alley. A sign at its entrance proclaimed, “Sons of France.”

Once inside, the door was locked and guarded to prevent entry by unexpected persons, such as someone’s wife. The police would not be a problem—the police chief was present, though not in uniform—he was a Son of France too. Katie and Leslie were handed over to a group of men. They were all well, though informally dressed. Jimmy left to get the head count and get paid. Beef sought out Big Mike, who was a friend of his—birds of a feather. Emile went to find a friend too. If truth be known, he didn’t like women, though he wouldn’t admit that to Jimmy or the other men. He knew a few of his kind in the Sons, and went looking for them.

“Thank you girls for coming,” the leader said. “My name is Jacques.”

“We didn’t come willingly,” Leslie said. Her French was much better than Katie’s. Where she’d grown up the population was American and French Canadian, and there were more French Canadians in her father’s congregation than not. French and English were equally her first languages. “We were abducted. Please let us go.”

Jacques seemed to consider her request, but Leslie saw him staring at her nipples which were clearly revealed through her lingerie dress, and she put her arm across them in embarrassment. “Please,” she begged, and tears filled her eyes. But her begging made Jacques’s cock harden. She saw him adjust himself, and knew that begging would only further engorge him.

“Take your arm down. ’Don’t hide yourself, or I’ll punish you severely. I may anyway—it’s something I like to do. I advise you not to provoke me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie said meekly, lowering her arm and her eyes. From birth she had been programmed to defer to men in charge, and she accepted his order as something to be obeyed. I wonder what he means by “punish,” and by “severely,” she thought with dread. I don’t like pain, I can’t take it, I hate going to the dentist. A new rush of fear burst forth along with a flood of new tears. Jacques noted her teardrops, which she tried to wipe from her eyes with her arm. He smiled sadistically.

“Nice dress,” he said. “Take it off.”

Katie felt sad as she watched Leslie being forced to strip. There was nothing she could do to help her, and she felt guilty because she found Leslie being stripped arousing.

Jacques grabbed Leslie by her upper arm and held her tightly while his hand felt all over her ass. Then he slid it under her legs, forcing her to spread. His fingers played at the entrance to her vagina, going in a little way and circling to open her. Then he put two fingers up inside her, and bent her forward and fucked her with them until she was nice and wet.

“Oh… oh…” she squealed, as she tried not to hump in time to his probing, wanting to get away, yet finding it difficult to be able to resist the heretofore unknown pleasure of a man’s, or even a woman’s, fingers exploring her vagina. It was horrible, but it felt so good, and her reactions shamed her. “Oh, God…” she kept saying to herself. “Oh, God… Oh, God”…” she panted as she squirmed. And then she squealed, “Oh… Oh… Oh…” as Jacques found a particularly sweet spot.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Ohhh,” she answered, out of control and panting. Jacques had a much more refined touch than Jimmy. Katie watched Leslie approaching her orgasm while Katie waited her turn.

Jacques took his fingers out of Leslie and began rubbing her clit, sliding its hood over the clitoris beneath. He was good at it—he’d had a lot of practice. Leslie was panting and rutting, and with every breath the sound of a woman being fucked would sing in the high reaches of her vocal cords, and harden the cock of every man within earshot, and flood the pussy of Katie and inflame her jealousy.

Leslie started squealing and thrusting in earnest. Jacques knew she was close. And then, he tortured her. He pulled away, turned her quickly with his forceful grip on her bicep, and spanked her ass hard with a big roundhouse smack that raised her off the ground with its splat. “Ahhh!” she screamed. The blow burned terribly.

She was full of all kinds of feelings—the tumescence of her sexual tissues, the emotional pain of her abduction, her humiliation, the frustration from unfulfilled lust—albeit abusively induced—and the sting of the spanking on top of that. She grabbed Katie in desperation trying to hug her for comfort. “Oh, Katie,” she implored, “Help me”…”

Jacques laughed and pulled her away. “Find a bra and panties in that suitcase of stuff you brought, and a slip, a short one if you’ve got it. Put them on. That’s all you get to wear for now. Your job is to greet men as they come in the door. And, if they want to look you over, you let them. Understand?

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“That’s right. Yes, sir. And it’s ‘Yes, sir’ to every man in here.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll great the men at the door” she said, still breathing hard, but receding from the intensity of her stimulation and spanking.

“Take the men’s coats. Hang them up. Take their briefcases. Get them a drink. Anything they ask for. Make yourself useful.”

“Yes, sir,” said Leslie, while thinking to herself, Anything they ask for? The other thing she was thinking was, I wish I was in my bed all by myself and I could come, and then hide under my covers and sleep for a week.

“You’re next,” Jacques said to Katie.

Jacques pulled Katie over to a row of chairs. He sat on one, and laid Katie over his lap, face up. He worked the top of her dress down to her waist, and the bottom up, and he spread her legs wide, one tucked behind the row of chairs, and one on the floor, exposing her completely. “Put your arms over your head.”

Katie stretched her arms out straight as Jacques had ordered, and Jacque took his time exploring her as a group of men watched. He started at the swell of her abdomen and ran his hand over its sensitive skin, and then he put his finger in her navel and poked her to get her to squirm and try to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her tightly with an arm around her holding her on his lap. Then he explored and played with her breasts, trying to gauge which one was the more sensitive, which nipple got the more erect, and which parts yielded the greatest reaction. Besides her nipples, Katie liked to have the sides of her breasts stroked, and Jacques was quick to discover that and take advantage of it.

Then he moved on down to her mons, and he smoothed over and patted it, teasing Katie by not moving to those parts she now badly wanted touched. He’s not going to let me come, she thought. This is hell.

Then Jacques ran his fingers up and down her slit, opened the lips of her cunt, and ran his fingers up and down its insides making her wetter and wetter, and more and more wanting to get fucked for real. If he wants to fuck me I’ll let him, she thought. It would be worth it. Oh, please let me come.

“What did you say,” Jacques asked?

“I want to come so bad. Please let me come, Mr. Jacques, sir. Please” she begged, now humping his fingers with serious intent.

Jacques put his fingers in the opening of her vagina, and Katie let out an “Oh,” or an “Ah,” with each gasp of breath as she tried to fuck the fingers he maddeningly wouldn’t put in.

Then he did, and he fucked her slowly, pushing all the way in, and then out, searching for and running his fingers along the ridge behind her clit with each stroke. “You want to come?”

“Yes, sir… Yes, Yes. Please, please,” she begged, now bucking wildly.

But he wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let her get any further than that, and Jacques rolled Katie off himself and tumbled her unceremoniously onto the floor. She wound up on her hands and knees. “Ohhh” Katie moaned in frustration, looking up at Jacques imploringly.

“Save it for later” he said.

“I could come now and later, if you let me.”

“I bet you could. Get up. I want you in a dress. The nicest one you’ve got that when you bend over I can see down the front. No panties. I want to see all the way down the front. Do you understand?

“Yes, sir” Katie said quietly as her head lowered in submission and resignation. Her bright red pussy wept for attention.

  1. February 6, 2011 at 5:54 am

    First class Matt….congratulations. I loved it…”She wondered if those unbearable sensations would ever stop, and if she would be able to function with those sensations going on between her legs—she didn’t think so” a great line…also I do love Katie 😉

    • February 7, 2011 at 10:46 am

      I’m glad you picked out that line to comment on. That’s what happened to me the first time I had an orgasm. I was playing around, playing around, playing around, and then, and then, Pow! You know how it is. Orgasms are so intense you can barely touch yourself while it is happening. The first time was scary. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t know how long that sensation would last. I did flash on having to tell my parents and go to the hospital, but I couldn’t imagine moving or talking or dressing with that feeling going on, on my penis.

      Sometimes they say when advising youths about touching a girl that her clitoris is so sensitive it can be painful to be touched. I know what that means.

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