Geoffrey's Rules (11 page)

I was being taken in hand. I turned the phrase over in my mind as I waited in dread and arousal for what would come next. I was in his hands, and I would feel his hands—and I would feel more. The very thought made me suddenly try to move myself against the cushion, the cushion designed for putting girls over in order to fuck them. At the feeling of the plush against my bareness there, I couldn’t help a little moan.

Geoffrey’s voice came from right behind me, where I realized now he was taking his time to look at me, the naked girl whom he had taken in hand. “You
are
shameless, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, but it was also menacing. “Shameless and naughty and wanton. You don’t know who’s behind you, do you, and you’re trying to have a little wank on my cushion. I could have invited the neighbors in, or your apartment-mates, to watch you get caned…”

I couldn’t stand it—I cried out just at the power of his verbal humiliation.

“And now they would be watching you degrade yourself with this lascivious display. It’s not bad enough that your cunt is shaved—what kind of girl shaves her cunt for a man?—nor is it bad enough that it’s glistening with your naughty juices, even after you’ve already been spanked today in an attempt to help you control your lewd behavior. No, Chloe has to rub herself against her master’s nice cushion.”

I was panting at the very thoughts he put in my head. I heard him move around to the left side of the bed. Was the cane in his hand already?

“Six of the best, now, for a very naughty girl.”

Oh, no. It must be. What did it look like? What was it going to—?

I heard the sound of it going through the air; I gripped the far corners of the cushion convulsively, and then I felt it, at the same time as I heard it strike me across both cheeks, right upon my sit-spot, just the way the books said. I gave a little yelp that sounded to me like the sound a dog might make if you stepped on its paw. Sharpness was what I felt at first… but then burning.

Then, for the very first time, I felt the tapping. Geoffrey brought the cane lightly down upon my bottom, as he said, “Count, naughty girl.”

“One, sir,” I said. He kept tapping. I had never realized how important the tapping was; it was a crucial communication from chastiser to miscreant. Geoffrey was telling me that he was going to cane me again in just a few moments, but that even if I was only going to receive six actual blows of the cane, the point of the experience was that I, a naked girl, was laid out before him, my clothed master, to receive my punishment. The cane itself was not only the implement that inflicted that punishment but also the symbol of Geoffrey’s authority over me, and when he tapped my bottom lightly with it to let me know that I would soon—but only when he wanted—be struck again, he was telling me that my bottom was his, because I was a naked slut, and he was a man who knew how to punish a naked slut with a cane.

He struck again. The whoosh was louder, the impact sharper.

“Ow!” I yelled. “Java" was at the tip of my tongue, but “Two, sir” came out instead. I felt myself wriggling desperately to try make the sting feel less.

Now he laid the cane across my backside for a long moment before he tapped again. “You will learn to hold your bottom up and present it properly, Chloe. No extra strokes for this wriggling today—but I’m sure there are many extra strokes in your future.”

He pulled the cane back, waited while I thought about the stroke about to fall, and hit me with the hardest blow yet.

My cry rewarded him accordingly, dying at length into a whimper. I desperately wanted to ask if that was the hardest he was going to hit me. I could almost bear it if it was.

My “Three, sir,” sounded like it was coming from a long distance away.

The cane struck without any tapping, and now I was screaming. I managed “Four, sir,” but I was on the verge of yelling “Java” when another stroke landed; the pain now seemed to be coming in exquisite waves that were spreading the low flame of warmth from my spanking through my loins. I realized I was entering subspace for real, for the first time, and I welcomed the feeling that I was no longer my body, but something more: Geoffrey’s girl, his possession.

“Five, sir,” I breathed.

Then he started to rub, holding each cheek in his hand in turn and squeezing gently and possessively before he ran his fingertips over the places where his cane had been. I had perhaps always imagined that something might feel like that—that the mingling of pleasure and pain I felt might actually exist, but actually feeling it was like travelling to some distant realm where there were unicorns, and knights rode the countryside bearing not swords and shields but straps and canes to punish naughty maidens.

I cried out over and over in an agony of pleasure as he rubbed, while he said, “Hush, my girl. Hush. You’re doing very well. Just one more.”

“Oh, sir,” was all I could say. “Thank you, sir.”

His hand left my bottom and a moment later the cane tapped again and again, and then a third time, and then he struck with the most forceful blow yet. For a tiny fragment of a second, I thought my backside had actually caught fire, the burning was so intense, and I had a strange and wonderful fantasy in which I was being caned with a burning brand, and then he was rubbing again, and the burning had transmuted itself into that incomparable submissive pleasure of knowing that you have borne your punishment pleasingly.

“Well done, my good girl, well done,” he said. “You’ve earned all the pleasure I can give you tonight.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, weakly.

“You may rise. Come and join me on the couch.” As I shakily climbed off the cushion and then the bed, I saw that there was a little loveseat in one corner of the enormous room. Geoffrey sat and beckoned me again onto his lap. I winced a little at the feel of his slacks against my bottom, but even that discomfort became delicious a moment later.

I turned my face up to his, and he bent down and kissed me. There was an erotic urgency in this kiss that I had not felt from him before; it was the kiss of man who was not simply dominating me or even taking me in hand. Geoffrey was telling me, with his tongue, that he was going to fuck me, and I was going to take it. I seemed to dissolve around the edges as his tongue delivered the message, and his left hand, cradling my head at the back, reinforced the silent communication by taking hold of my braided hair firmly and ensuring that my mouth was at his service.

He broke the kiss. “Oh my God,” I panted. He kissed again, even more aggressively, but for a shorter time.

He said, softly and sternly, “Get up and go into the bathroom, Chloe, and put on the things you find in there. Then come back in here. I don’t think I’ve ever needed a blowjob as much as I need the one you’re going to give me.”

Of all the dominant things he had said to me, this struck me, after the kisses and the feeling of being enfolded in his arms, as the most offensive, but at the very same time, the very hottest. I blushed furiously, and I cast my eyes down to his shirt buttons, but I felt my nipples stiffen and my moisture flow.

I whispered, “Yes, sir,” and got up, thinking about what awaited me in the bathroom, the open door to which I saw at the other end of the room. And, then… then I was going to… I had to, because Geoffrey had said I would, and rule one said that Geoffrey gets his way.

I had managed to sleep with two guys without giving a blowjob or even really having my mouth near a penis. I suppose that’s what happens when you choose boys who are too polite to ask for fellatio, let alone command it. In the books I read and the videos I watched, I loved it above all when it looked as if the heroine or the actress didn’t really like having a penis in her mouth, and the hero or actor resolutely took his pleasure there nonetheless, moving her hair out of the way so that he could watch his cock command her lips, or even putting his hands around her head and holding her still while he used her mouth. Face-fucking. It was a whisper even in my imagination. Now I was going to have my face fucked.

But first… first, even worse (and even hotter), I was going to be dressed properly to have my face fucked. With bowed head I entered the bathroom, yet another huge, beautifully-appointed room. Gleaming white and black tiles accented the latest in sink technology. An enormous jacuzzi tub made me blush anew as I couldn’t help imagining what Geoffrey would want to do with me inside it. Thinking about the possible ramifications and sub-meanings of Geoffrey having his way was beginning to be a constant strand of my consciousness.

The lingerie was laid out on a little teak bench: white lace. Thong, garter belt, stockings. No bra. Clothes for Chloe to be fucked in. My fingers trembled as I picked up the thong. I had never had the courage to buy anything like it, but I had always, always wanted to put on a white lace thong and look at myself in the mirror and know that there was a man waiting to enjoy me—to have his way. I sat and pulled it up to my knees; I stood and donned it fully, drawing breath at the wicked feeling of the lace against my newly hairless labia and mons. Every time I moved even a little, I felt the lace rub against my most sensitive place, and I could feel that I was already beginning to dampen my new panties.

The thong was something a girl put on because she knew a man wanted to take it off, or to make her take it off, or just to take the thin strip of lace that covered her shaved vulva and pull it aside and have his way wherever and however he wanted. I saw myself thus in Geoffrey’s mirror and I shuddered, thinking about his cock, the cock I now was going to suck because he had said so. The thought of it—of seeing it, hard, in front of me, of having Geoffrey take my head and hold it still and rub his cock against my lips, of learning at his knees my duty to his manhood—made me weak in my knees. I found myself holding onto the counter to steady myself. I fought against a strong urge to break rule four.

I turned to look at the garter belt, still lying on the bench. I wasn’t sure I even knew how to put it on or, especially, how to fasten the suspenders to the stockings. Uncertainly, I picked the thing up, contemplating the construction of the lovely fabric. I sat on the bench, and pulled it over my feet and up my thighs, thrilling at the way the suspenders caressed the aroused flesh of my upper thighs. On fire with the feeling, I stood and pulled the belt up all the way, until it encircled my waist. How could something so utilitarian in basic function be so incredibly sexy—and submissive, even?

I sat again and took one of the sheer white stockings, with the lace tops. I rolled it quickly into a ring, and slipped it over my right foot. If I had not already been transformed into the purely sensual being I felt myself to be right then, the mere whisper of the silky nylon over my legs would have accomplished the change in a moment. In a reverie, I stood and found that the clipping of suspenders to stockings was not really a challenge.

Not wishing now to see myself in the lingerie until it was complete, I quickly did the same with the other stocking and then stepped to the mirror. The sight made me breathless; something about being forbidden to cover my breasts, small but shapely, with their little pink nipples, reinforced the submissiveness of the garter belt and thong. It was bridal, too, I saw; this was my first time submitting, so I was in a way Geoffrey’s virgin-bride… That made me think of the relationship in a way that I both did and didn’t want to. Was Geoffrey the marrying kind? At this moment, it hardly mattered, because he was going to have his way even though I was nothing more than his submissive slut; Geoffrey’s cock was about to get sucked by the girl in the white lace thong and garter-belt because she knew his rules and she didn’t want another spanking.

Instinctively, I clasped my hands in front of me—in front, that is, of my beautiful new garter-belt and panties—as I left the bathroom and made the long walk, as it felt, to where Geoffrey patiently awaited me, seated on the little couch. “Do you like your new lingerie?” he asked with a smile when I stood before him.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you very much.”

“Hands behind your head so I can see, please.” Yes, I thought, shame renews its strength like a phoenix, flaming my face and pussy back into white-hot conflagration whenever my master wants to enjoy violating my modesty.

“Very nice. Turn around please so I can see my bottom.”

I obeyed.

“Lovely. You may turn back around and kneel in front of me.

My heart was going a mile a minute as I complied. His way. Rule one.

“You may sit back and rest your hands in your lap, Chloe, while I instruct you. As an avid reader of erotica, you won’t—I think—be surprised to hear that my cock and what I want to do with it is something to which I expect you to defer. As far as you are concerned, my cock is the most important thing in the universe. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To be owned by me is to be devoted to serving my penis and to striving to serve it better and becoming more skillful at giving it pleasure. Will this be the first time you have a cock in your mouth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, not just because I must confess to liking being the first man to put his cock in the places on a girl’s body where a man can take his pleasure, but also because it means you won’t have bad habits to unlearn. I imagine you do watch porn from time to time, though?”

I blushed. “Yes, sir.”

“But I wager you’ve never tried to behave like a porn actress in bed with a boyfriend?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. I do want to warn you, though, that the vast majority of what you see porn actresses doing when they give head is almost entirely unwelcome and will get you spanked. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your guide to how to please me will be my instructions to you, and your most important task will be to make your mouth submissive—to try as hard as you can, that is, to give me my way. Because it is your very first time, you shouldn’t worry about being punished; even if you did something very displeasing or disobedient, I would warn you before I punished you.”