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There was a young woman housesitting the building across the street. Monica could see her jumping around in the backyard, doing some kind of silly exercises, her long, brown ponytail swinging in the air. Her perky breasts bounced with her movements, and Monica wondered idly if the same happened to her ass, or if it was too tight for that. Too bad the hedge was in the way. The sight alone would have been a small but welcome compensation for the atrocious music that was somehow necessary for the girl’s workout.
Monica narrowed her eyes at the girl. She would give her one chance to prove that she wasn’t just some rude, tittering little airhead—one chance. After that, the girl would see what Monica was capable of.
—
Of course the girl just laughed breathlessly. “Sorry, sorry!” she grinned and turned the music down. Down, not off. Looked like she had missed Monica’s point completely.
Monica’s lips stretched into a chilly smile and she let her gaze drift down the little interloper’s body. It was a very well-formed body, there was no question about that. The ass was just as delightful as Monica had suspected. It would look even better painted cherry-red with paddles and canes. Possibly rope marks, too.
“I guess I got too carried away,” the girl was saying, still far too cheerfully for Monica’s liking. “Anyway, I’m Samantha, though please call me Sam! I’m watching my uncle’s house for the next two weeks. What’s your name?” And she smiled up at Monica guilelessly, her large brown eyes bright and cheerful.
"Monica."
Samantha-call-me-Sam’s smile faltered slightly at the cool response, then she rallied herself, saying, "Monica! Very nice to meet you. I'll try not to be too much of a nuisance, hehe!" Then she bounced back to her uncle's house. Her shorts barely covered her ass. It was simply intolerable.
—
"I'm sorry!" gasped Sam and ran after the yipping little dog as it made its great escape across Monica's yard. Monica pressed her lips tightly together to stop herself from snarling in a very unattractive way. She tracked the girl’s path with her eyes fixed firmly on that pert little ass. Today she wasn’t wearing those atrocious shorts, but the denim miniskirt wasn’t much better. It was far too tight for running wildly around. Not to mention—
—oh yes, there she went, bending down to pick up the ridiculous dog. Her panties flashed when the skirt inevitably rode up. They were bright pink. Such a flashy color, almost like she was holding up a sign that said ravage my cunt! Monica pursed her lips and waited patiently as Sam jogged back, holding the dog in her arms.
“Housesitting, dogsitting… quite a busy young lady, I see,” Monica said dryly when the girl stopped in front of her. Have you ever tried facesitting? she wanted to inquire, but managed to hold her tongue.
Sam only laughed breathlessly. “Oh, I wish I was doing only that, sitting, but there’s so much to do! Hedges to trim, dogs to walk—”
“Well, you better get back to it. Take care of your uncle’s… dog.”
“Oh, this isn’t Matt’s dog!” Sam said earnestly, as if that would have interested Monica at all. “It’s actually my brother’s. But since I was already here, and there was nobody else to take care of Mr. Buttons, I agreed to take him. My uncle doesn’t mind either, don’t worry!”
“I wasn’t,” replied Monica evenly, and for some reason that sent Sam into peals of laughter. Thankfully, the dog started to fuss, so Monica was saved from further painfully awkward small talk. Sam waved to her with a big smile on her face and went back to her uncle’s house, ponytail swishing.
—
“I wanted to apologize,” said Sam earnestly, standing there on Monica’s doorstep, and held up a platter of…
“Cookies?” Monica blinked at them.
“I… yes. I didn’t know what else to bring. I made them myself, they’re very good! Although…” she trailed off and cast a shy glance at Monica’s midsection. “You look like you don’t care for such frivolous things.”
Monica tried to keep herself in shape, that was true. It was also equally true that it took a lot more work for a woman in her forties than for a slip of a girl in her… how old was Sam, anyway? Surely older than a teenager. Not that Monica cared. Sixteen, twenty-six, it was all the same to her.
Nevertheless, she sensed an opportunity here.
“Well then, come on in,” she said and arranged her face into a charming smile. It seemed to pass muster, because the girl beamed and stepped inside. Monica closed the front door and let her smile loosen into a shape more true to herself, until she was grinning viciously at the closed door. Yes. She had finally caught her quarry.
But it wouldn’t do to scare her off too soon. Monica wiped the cruel smirk from her face and turned to her “guest” again. Sam was looking around curiously, her eyes wide with wonder. It almost made Monica want to preen—she was very proud of her beautiful house, after all. Sam, in her short, tight denim skirt and a ratty hoodie, didn’t fit in at all, bless her heart. She seemed oblivious to the fact though, just grinned happily and expressed her wonder in a breathy, wide-eyed manner, oohing and aahing at everything.
Monica nodded curtly and gently herded her “guest” towards the kitchen.
“The little dog is back with its owner, then?” she inquired. The wretched little creature with the atrociously stupid name, she didn’t say. She just needed to know that Sam wasn’t expected anywhere too soon.
“Mr. Buttons, yes! Back with Jordan.” Sam threw a quick smile over her shoulder, then gasped when they arrived in the kitchen. “Ooh, this is so cool! Is that real marble?”
“Indeed it is,” Monica said with a faint smile. “Just put the tray down there. Do you want something to drink with them?”
“Milk?” said Sam hopefully, then grinned and ducked her head self-consciously. “It’s just that, you have to have milk with cookies, it’s the law!”
Milk. Of course. Monica sighed internally. That would limit her options a bit—she had been counting on the taste of alcohol to hide any… additions. But maybe she had something that would work in milk.
“I’m afraid I still have all my milk in the downstairs fridge,” she said smoothly. “Just wait here, I’ll be back in a moment.” Somehow she felt that such an insufferably good girl as Sam wouldn’t go rummaging through her possessions.
Indeed, when she came back with two glasses of milk, Sam was obediently standing where Monica had left her, though she was also looking restless, like she wanted to bounce around. (The girl certainly shared some traits with her brother’s ridiculous little dog.) However, she smiled brightly at Monica and thanked her profusely for the glass of milk. She happily ate at least three cookies in the time Monica delicately nibbled on one, then gulped down the milk.
It didn’t take long after that. Monica caught Sam’s drooping body just before she hit her head on the sink, then eased her down, arranging her prone body to the floor.
Smiling to herself, Monica gazed at the unconscious girl, then set down her untouched glass of milk. It was time to get to work.
—
Sam woke up to a terrible taste in her mouth. Her neck also felt a bit stiff and she groaned when she tried to move her head. Where was she? What had happened, that she felt so terrible? She was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten drunk or anything—that one ill-advised time with her ex-boyfriend in high school had been quite enough.
“Back with us?” said a cool, melodious voice. Sam whimpered and opened her eyes slowly. The light hurt her eyes, and she squinted at the figure standing in front of her.
“M-monica?” she mumbled. “What… what happened?” She squirmed a little and finally managed to turn her head. They were in a… basement? It was relatively empty, just a few shelves and cabinets lining the walls. Sam was sitting in the dead center of the room—except.
Except she wasn’t sitting. She was leaning against something hard, a wooden box maybe, and her legs were bent at the knee and—
She let out a tiny, frightened sound. She was tied up. Her legs were spread and shackled to the sides of the weird wooden box. She was sort of kneeling—most of her weight was resting on her shins, but there was soft padding under them, so it didn’t actually hurt. Her arms were drawn behind her back, restrained too—Sam could feel the leather cuffs around her wrists when she tried to tug them free. However, while she was struggling against her restraints, she noticed that her arms were actually inside the box, the position drawing her body into a taut arch that made her chest stick out.
“What is happening?” she moaned, a sheen of tears making her vision blur. She blinked them away and finally saw Monica clearly.
She barely recognized the older woman. Gone was her demure, dove-gray sheath dress and elegant high heels. Now she was dressed in a short, tight, black leather dress, one that accentuated her curves boldly and—and left her breasts completely bare. The tight bodice of the dress was pushing them up and emphasizing their fullness, but—Sam could see her nipples. They were larger than hers and had huge dark areolas around them.
Monica was looking at her with a small smile on her lips, which were painted a much darker shade of red that Sam had previously seen on her.
“Nothing to say?” Monica smirked. “That’s a first.”
She walked closer to Sam, letting her hips swing alluringly. As she moved, the skirt rode up, and Sam could see that she wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Quickly she averted her eyes, but then her gaze caught on the thing that Monica was carrying in her right hand. Even Sam recognized it as a riding crop. Oh god.
“Why are you doing this?” Sam gasped, her frightened eyes glued to the riding crop. Why? She couldn’t understand. Had Sam offended her somehow? She had been nothing but nice to the older woman: to be honest, she had been quite desperate to gain her approval, because Monica was just so interesting. So beautiful and elegant, in a very mature way. Very calm and collected.
Or… at least she had been. Now her calmness felt more like a hard shell that hid something cruel beneath it. Something cold and calculating.
It didn’t make her any less beautiful, though. In fact—Sam swallowed down nausea at the thought—this evil, hard side of Monica made her even sexier, somehow.
“Do you know what I hate?” Monica said softly and stopped right in front of Sam, leaning over her, so close that their chests were almost touching. “Loud, exhausting, bratty young women. That constantly bother me and push into my personal space.”
“I’m—I’m sorry!” Sam squeaked, not knowing what else to say. “I know I should have left you alone, and I will, I won’t come back again, so please—!”
Suddenly Monica scrunched her nose and slapped a hand over Sam’s mouth. “God, that smell,” she muttered. “This is why I never drink milk. Ugh. But since I knew this would happen…” She released Sam’s face and went behind her, to the other side of the box, and a moment later came back carrying a bottle of… mouthwash?
“Rinse your mouth with this, then spit it out.”
Sam stared at the woman, stunned to silence. In the end Monica sighed and pinched Sam’s nose so that she had to open her mouth, then forced her to take the corkful of mouthwash. It was utterly humiliating, for some reason even more humiliating than being tied up like this. Sam rinsed her mouth as well as she could, then spit the mouthwash into a plastic cup that Monica held next to her face.
“Much better,” Monica smiled and patted Sam’s cheek. Sam avoided her eyes, face crimson with mortification. Still, she had to admit that it was an immense relief to get rid of the foul taste in her mouth. The crisp, minty aroma had also made her more alert, and now she was even more uncomfortably conscious of her situation.
“Please, why are you doing this?” she said in a trembling voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I bothered you, I just—”
“Bothered me?” Monica repeated thoughtfully. “You did more than that, I’m afraid. I like peace and quiet, and you and your… music, and that stupid little dog, and your constant chattering… it has been the opposite of peace and quiet.”
Sam swallowed. The older woman made it all sound so childish and silly. “I’m sorry,” she said once more, in a tiny, miserable voice—and Monica slapped her. Sam cried out in alarm and met the other woman’s cold eyes. Her cheek stung, but what hurt her more was the act itself. Nobody had ever raised a hand against Sam, not even her brother when they were kids.
“It’s nice of you to apologize,” Monica said, sounding amused. “I’m glad to see you have at least some manners hiding… somewhere there.” She waved her fingers vaguely over Sam, then sniffed disdainfully. “But I’m not interested in apologies.”
“Then what—” Another slap cut off Sam’s words and she sniffled, keeping her face down and letting the tears slide down her heated cheeks. Now both of them were stinging. The older woman had a surprising amount of strength in her arms.
“In fact… I don’t want to hear your voice at all.”
—
The ball gag was huge and awkward in Sam’s mouth. She hated it. She hated everything about this, of course, but—especially the ball gag. She couldn’t stop the trickle of spit that dribbled from the corner of her mouth. She already felt so young and grubby and undignified compared to the steely elegance of Monica—why did the woman have to make it even worse? Literally forcing Sam to drool?
“Since you apologized so prettily, I feel like I have to be honest with you,” the other woman said with a warm smile. It was an even more chilling sight than her usual restrained twitch of lips. “I would have done this anyway. With or without your apologies. With or without your remorse. Because, my dear child,” she said and carefully folded Sam’s skirt up around her waist, revealing her panties. “The only way you could ever apologize to me is through your flesh.”
Then she brought a pair of scissors to Sam’s crotch. Sam let out a muffled cry through her gag, but Monica just put a calming hand to her lower stomach. “Shh. Stay very still, and you won’t be hurt.” Sam swallowed a whimper, but tried to keep her trembling body perfectly immobile. Monica’s sharp scissors pierced the fabric of Sam’s panties. Snick, snick, went the scissors, and suddenly cool air hit Sam’s cunt. Her clit and labia were now completely exposed.
It was such a strange sensation. Sam was still wearing the rest of her clothes: t-shirt, skirt, socks, even her sneakers. Only her hoodie had been lost somewhere along the way. But now there was also the hole in her panties, and the fact that she was otherwise dressed made her cunt feel even more exposed.
“Mm. Perfect,” purred Monica and slid her fingertips slowly over Sam’s clit. Sam squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block the sensation away, but it was no use. Slowly, gently Monica brushed her fingers over it, a teasing touch that should have felt only irritating, but which left Sam moaning and begging wordlessly for more. “I do love a waxed pussy,” the older woman was saying, and now her fingers were exploring the soft skin around Sam’s clit. “So silky-soft. Has anyone ever eaten you out?”
Sam shuddered, suddenly overcome with the vision of Monica doing that, Monica putting her beautiful, proud mouth to Sam’s pussy, and—
A sharp slap right over her clit interrupted her thoughts.
“That won’t happen now, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Sam whimpered and looked at the other woman pleadingly. She just didn’t understand what Monica wanted. If she hated her so much, then why had she gone through all the trouble to—to dress so sexily, for one thing? Her heavy boobs were practically in Sam’s face.
“Mm, no,” Monica smirked, as if reading her thoughts. “I have something far better in mind. Your clit is pretty large already, isn’t it? So plump and juicy.” She pinched said clit, hard enough to make Sam cry out. Sam’s pain seemed to only amuse her, though. “I can make it even juicier.”
Then she stepped back and picked up the riding crop she had abandoned at some point. She swished it in the air and looked at Sam contemplatively. Then she smiled, said: “No time like present,” and struck Sam with the riding crop, right between her legs.
Sam shrieked with pain and tugged on her restraints uselessly. Monica’s eyes narrowed and she licked her lips, then took aim again. The narrow head hit Sam at the same spot: again she shrieked as the pain burst over her most tender parts. The head of the leather crop was just large enough to cover her whole clit: there was no part of it that didn’t hurt. She moaned and almost choked on her next breath—one that she didn’t have time to draw properly, because the crop was already hitting her.
Why? she wanted to ask, but the gag stifled her words and turned them into muffled wails and sobs. Monica didn’t seem affected by Sam’s tears: if anything, they made her smile deepen and her eyes gleam with cruel joy. She didn’t lose control, though, but kept the same steady, measured pace. Again and again the narrow strip of leather struck Sam’s clit, making it dance and twitch in the air, filling it with sharp, bright agony.
“Look at you,” Monica murmured, like she was proud, and let the crop fly one more time, now with all her strength behind it. Sam shrieked and shuddered through the pain as it seemed to pierce through her whole being. The last dregs of her control broke and now she was sobbing uncontrollably, squirming helplessly, as if that would have stopped the throbbing ache in her clit. If only Monica allowed her a small break from the torment, just a moment to let her breathe—but no: though she wasn’t hitting her anymore, she was now pressing the crop against her clit, rubbing the rough leather over her tender flesh. It was both too much and not enough: too abrasive, too painful, but not giving enough stimulation either, which—
Wait. Why was Sam…
“Mm, look how wet you are,” Monica purred and went smoothly down on one knee to take a closer look at Sam’s aching pussy. There was nothing subservient about her position, though. She might have been kneeling, but she was in control, there was no doubt about that. And now she was… oh god, sticking her fingers into Sam’s humiliatingly wet hole. “Oh yes,” Monica breathed and licked her lips again, eyes trained on Sam’s pussy with laser focus. “I knew you would love that. Knew as soon as I saw the outfits you like to wear—the way they barely cover your ass. Always shaking that ass! You were practically begging for someone to ravish you.”
Sam shook her head rapidly. What was Monica even saying? They were just clothes! And it was summer! And anyway, there hadn’t been any boys around, Sam had thought that it would be fine, that nobody was going to look.
But someone had. Someone had looked, but it wasn’t the person Sam had anticipated. That person was now slowly fucking Sam’s hole with her fingers, her other hand still holding the crop and rubbing it over Sam’s clit. Now it was really, actually starting to feel—no. Sam swallowed. There was no way in hell she was actually enjoying this! She bit her lips and told herself that the intense sensation was pain, and only pain. She tried to focus on that part, that deep-set ache, and not the part that made her cunt twitch and the bottom of her stomach tingle.
But then Monica let her fingers slip out and straightened up. She looked at Sam with narrowed eyes, then seemed to make a decision. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, and she rolled her hands, then stretched her neck languorously. Sam’s heart started to beat so fast that it felt like it would trip over. She knew what was going to happen and shook her head desperately.
She was still shouting muffled protests through her gag when the crop struck her again. She screamed, stomach clenching, all her muscles straining against the pain. Her clit had already been so sore, and now Monica layered even more agony over it. She went faster this time, a feverish light in her eyes. Each stab of pain made Sam cry out, even when it started to hurt her throat. Short, ragged, desperate sounds that she just couldn’t hold back.
She barely even noticed it when Monica stopped: the pain was still pounding in her clit, impossible to escape, like the crop was still hitting her.
“Shh, darling, shh,” Monica crooned and put a hand to Sam’s cheek. Unthinkingly Sam pressed closer to it, until she realized what she had done and flinched away, breath stuttering. Monica didn’t let her escape, but instead grabbed her chin in a shockingly tight grip. Her slim, yet powerful fingers dug into Sam’s flesh as she forced her head to stay still, letting her dark gaze travel slowly all over Sam’s tear-stained face. Finally she smiled and released her, patting her cheek.
“You took that so well!” Monica said, still in that humiliatingly sweet tone of voice. Like she was praising a child, or a—a pet. “Look at your little clit! So pink and pretty, and plump too. Makes you want to torment it a bit more, doesn’t it?” She raised one eyebrow and slipped her fingers between Sam’s folds again.
Sam closed her eyes and swallowed a sob. Her mind tried to skitter away from Monica’s words, but they echoed in her mind. Torment her clit. Torment it. But hadn’t Monica done that just now? What more did she want? What more could she do to Sam’s clit, to—to torment it? Her clit twitched as murky visions filled her mind, frightening and strangely arousing visions that she couldn’t even picture properly, because she had no frame of reference for them. She hadn’t even known that people did something like this. Hurt other people—there.
Monica’s fingers were teasing that place now, spreading Sam’s slickness over the aching tip of her clit. Then she let out a hum and picked up something else. Sam flinched, expecting more pain, some other cruel tool that Monica was going to use, but no such thing happened. Instead something round, cool, plasticky was pressed against her clit.
“Let’s see what kind of sounds you’ll make from this,” said Monica with a wicked smile and turned the thing on. A buzzing sound filled the air and Sam yelped, then moaned out loud when pleasure burst over her aching clit. The pain was still there, her genitals still felt just as bruised as before—but it only seemed to make her more receptive to the pleasure: her nerve endings were practically shrieking with the overwhelming stimulus. She was probably shrieking too, but she was only half-aware of the rest of her body.
“Oh, that’s good,” was Monica saying breathily, somewhere in the periphery of Sam’s awareness. The vibration went up a notch, and Sam whimpered hopelessly. She didn’t want to feel good, the situation was too terrifying, too utterly humiliating—but it was inescapable. The pleasure burrowed deep into her flesh, seeming to spread upwards from her clit, warming up the rest of her body. She could feel the first tremors of her orgasm, and tried to fight against it, because no, she would not give in—and yet, when the vibrator suddenly turned off and cut off her mounting pleasure, she wailed with disappointment, straining her hips forward like that would bring the feeling back.
“Mm, not yet, dear,” Monica said with an indulgent smile. “Young people, so greedy. It’s all about instant gratification with you, isn’t it? Besides—this has been terribly one-sided so far. Why won’t you do something nice for me next?” Her fingers pushed in slowly again, stretching Sam’s wet hole. The drag of her knuckles sent shivers down Sam’s spine. How could even her pussy lips be that sensitive? Also—what did Monica mean? Wasn’t this all for her own amusement?
“What do you say? Oh, I’m sorry,” the older woman said with a tinkling laugh. “How silly of me. Of course you can’t say anything. Just a moment.”
She pulled her fingers out and went to remove the gag. Sam let out a whiny groan when the pressure on her lips eased—but before she had a chance to say anything, or even lick her sore lips, Monica’s mouth was there, her tongue moving over them instead. It was a slow, careful kiss, but no less possessive for it. Sam felt dizzy from it: neither of his boyfriends had ever managed to kiss her like this, so sensually, consuming her in such a way. It should have been disgusting—Sam didn’t really like kissing with tongue—but instead, Monica seemed to discover some hidden spots inside her mouth, spots that made pleasure tingle all over her body and left her even more breathless than before.
Finally Monica ended the kiss with a sigh, nipping Sam’s lower lip with her teeth once, before backing away. Her gaze was dark and heavy with arousal.
“You’re very distracting, you know,” Monica murmured and pressed her thumb against Sam’s mouth. “Always have been. All that bouncing around… do you have any idea what it does to your ass? Or your tits?” Her eyes fell to Sam’s chest. “I’d love to see how they move when you’re bouncing on my cock. Would you like that?”
Sam blinked at her and tried to wrap her head around the words. “Your… But you don’t have…”
Monica chuckled and shook her head with a pitying expression. “Of course I do, you stupid girl. Just because I don’t carry it around, doesn’t mean I don’t have one. Would you like to see it?”
Sam felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her cunt ached, the bruising pain still echoing in her clit—but she was also so aroused that she wanted to scream. She had been so close. It would have taken maybe seconds for her to come, if Monica hadn’t stopped.
She was still struggling with the words when Monica’s eyes narrowed. “Still fighting me, are you? See, I tried to be nice, but I see how it is.” She picked the crop up again, then stood between Sam’s spread legs. A cold dread filled Sam as Monica took a few swings through the air.
“No, please!” she gasped, shaking her head desperately. “Please wait—!”
Her words shattered into a scream when the leather crop struck her again. Now it was even worse than before, if that was even possible: her clit, swollen and eager with arousal, was so much more sensitive to the pain. It was unbearable. She could take only a couple of swats before she broke into desperate, incoherent sobbing and pleading.
“Please don’t—I’ll do anything, anything, I’ll sit on your cock—please! Please let me! Please stop!”
The pain stopped. There was a moment of stillness, broken only by Sam’s shuddering gasps.
“You want it?” Monica said finally in a silky voice. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Sam sobbed and couldn’t bring herself to care about how humiliating it was. “I want your c-cock.”
And Monica’s eyes gleamed with triumph.
—
The girl was down to just her t-shirt and shoes, her ruined panties and skirt discarded somewhere. It was a delightfully humiliating state of undress, but it still needed something more. Monica pursed her lips, then pushed the t-shirt up, revealing…
“A sports bra?” she said, unimpressed. It was pink and black and utterly boring. However… Monica pulled it down, all the way under Sam’s boobs, and smiled when that made them push up. The girl only trembled and bit her lip. Her bare breasts were now framed by her t-shirt and bra, and while it didn’t squeeze them together as much as proper bondage would have done, the effect was still quite fetching. Her pink little nipples stood up nicely, and Monica wondered idly if she should put clamps on them—but no, it was time to move forward. No more detours.
Sam’s breath caught when Monica wrapped the leather collar around her throat, then clipped the leash in place. Again she had to pause for a moment to drink in the sight: the girl, half-naked, her whipped cunt pink and swollen, her hands still restrained behind her back. The fearful, apprehensive look in her eyes—and the flush of desperate arousal that accompanied it. The way her eyes kept wandering to the thick, black dildo that stood between Monica’s legs. Monica’s smile widened. Yes, no matter how much the girl whined and complained and denied it, she was loving this. It was always the cute, innocent little things: they broke so beautifully, couldn’t get enough of Monica’s little punishments.
“Come on then, pet,” she said and tugged on the leash, turning to walk to the back of the room. Sam’s lips trembled, but she followed obediently. Good for her. The other option for the leash would have been a clamp on her clit, and Monica was sure the girl would have hated that a lot more. She smirked to herself, then sat down on the bed that stood at the back. It didn’t have blankets or the like covering it, just the mattress and one single pillow. It was not for sleeping, after all.
Monica stretched on her back and felt the dildo slap heavily against her stomach. She took it in a firm grip and gave it a few suggestive strokes. Of course she couldn’t feel it, exactly, but there was power in it. And judging from the small gasp Sam let out at the sight, it worked perfectly.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said coldly and quirked one eyebrow, pulling at the leash. “You wanted to bounce on my cock, now do it.”
Sam whimpered and climbed awkwardly up on the bed. Her thighs were trembling when she hesitantly arranged herself so that she was kneeling over Monica’s lap. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she let out another small, pitiful sound, then started to lower herself down, until the dildo was kissing her opening. Then—she stilled. Couldn’t make herself go any further.
Monica groaned. “What is it now? You have taken a cock before, haven’t you?”
Sam’s throat clicked when she swallowed. “Yes, but—it’s, it’s too dry,” she said shakily. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”
Monica sighed. She had hoped that Sam would be wet enough to take the dildo without lube, but no matter. She was prepared for this, too. There was a bottle of lube next to the bed, and Monica reached for it without looking, eyes glued to the half-naked girl who was kneeling over her lap on trembling legs. Quickly she squirted some lube over her fingers, then spread it over the dildo. After a moment’s hesitation, she spread some over Sam’s folds too, digging her fingers into the wet heat. The tremulous moan that followed made Monica smile, and her momentary irritation disappeared.
“There,” she said silkily. “Say thank you, miss.”
“T-thank you, miss,” Sam mumbled, and finally, finally let herself sit down on Monica’s cock. Her eyelashes fluttered and her mouth opened on a small gasp. The sight made Monica want to growl, a possessive kind of lust rushing through her veins. Every twitch on the girl’s face, every cut-off sound that she failed to stifle revealed the depths of what she was feeling. It was perfect. The girl might have been fucked before, but no doubt it had been some inept teenage boy, with more lust and rampant hormones than any actual skill. And of course, very few men actually had a cock the size of this beauty.
“Does it hurt?” she found herself asking. Her voice was low and rough, so much so that it surprised even herself, but she wanted to know. No, she needed to know that it hurt. There was a reason for the ridiculous size, after all.
“Y-yes,” Sam said in a small, thready voice. “It. It hurts. Oh god.” She looked like pain wasn’t the only thing she felt, however. Her hips were still moving, up and down in small, hesitant twitches.
“But it’s opening you up so beautifully,” Monica said, her own voice barely more than a whisper. Not that she could actually see that well from this angle, but she could imagine it perfectly: the wide, smooth silicone forcing Sam’s pink cunt to open wide, pushing deeper and deeper until it made her whole lower stomach ache. (Of course Monica knew what it felt like, going in. She had tested all her toys herself. She just preferred to use them this way around.)
“Nnh,” Sam gasped and lifted her hips up, then slid back down. Not quite the bouncing that Monica had been looking forward to, but she supposed that the girl had to get used to it first. Well, as long as she didn’t take too long with it.
Just when Monica thought that she’d have to give the girl some additional encouragement, she finally picked up the pace. She still looked as pained and humiliated as before, but now she was making little punched-out noises, tiny moans that were barely audible at first, but soon grew louder. Then she rolled her hips just so, and her voice went up in a high-pitched yelp. Monica felt her smile widen. Looked like the girl had found the perfect angle. And… yes, her cute little tits bounced with her movements, up and down, up and down, as she drove the dildo in with desperate, sharp jerks of her hips.
Monica kept the leash taut with one hand, raising the other to give the girl’s nipples a little flick. That made Sam’s breath stutter and the movement of her hips falter, and Monica raised one unimpressed eyebrow.
“Come on, don’t stop now,” she snapped, and Sam gasped wetly. There were tears in her eyes, but she lifted herself up obediently, then let her hips fall again. She was getting clumsier, her legs no doubt starting to get tired. And here Monica had thought that she was so sporty and fit.
“I thought you had better stamina than this,” she drawled and enjoyed it when Sam’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red. “What’s the point of all that exercise if you can’t even fuck properly? Hmm?”
“No, it’s—I’m,” Sam stuttered and blinked tears from her eyes. “It’s not for that!” She bit her lip and pushed herself up again, but then she listed to the side and almost fell, her bound hands offering her no support. Monica cursed and managed to catch her, and the girl slumped against her chest instead.
Monica swore under her breath and absent-mindedly petted the sobbing girl’s head. “Fine, then. I’ll show you how it’s done.” Well. In a second. Sam’s tits felt nice against her own, after all.
—
Sam’s arms were free now, but for some reason she didn’t make a move to fight Monica, to escape. Instead, she obediently curled her hands around the backs of her knees and held herself open as the older woman knelt between her legs. The thick, black dildo stood boldly between her legs, still glistening with lube and Sam’s own arousal.
“Mm, I can see the way you’re staring at it,” Monica purred and stroked the dildo slowly. “You want it bad, don’t you?” It was such an incongruous sight: the contrast between the hard length of it and Monica’s soft, full curves. And yet, it looked like it belonged there. Sam could never have pulled it off.
“Maybe I’ll teach you how to eat pussy, after this,” the older woman said thoughtfully and placed the dildo at Sam’s opening. “And if you do it really well, I’ll do the same to you.”
Sam didn’t have time to react to that, because the dildo was pushing in. It seemed impossible that it still felt so huge, so painful, when it had already been inside her. Maybe it was because Sam wasn’t in charge of it now: she could just lie there and take it. She tried to keep the humiliating noises down, but at the first proper, hard thrust, they escaped her mouth in a sharp yelp.
Monica grinned sharply. There was something predatory about her expression, not even a hint of that elegant, subdued, middle-aged woman left. Sam felt like she was seeing her true self now, and was reminded of old stories of monsters that lived in castles, or people who turned into wolves. She’d never really cared about fantasy books, though her brother Jordan was a huge fan, but now she felt like she had fallen into one. Fallen into the hands of a monster who wanted to devour her.
Monica’s hips snapped forward and forced more cries out of Sam’s throat. The dildo pummeled her insides, and despite all the lube, it was just too huge—she was never going to get used to the girth. It was always going to hurt, wasn’t it.
“Slow down, please!” she gasped, but Monica only laughed breathlessly and fucked her even harder. Her hands had joined Sam’s on her upper thighs, and now she was pushing Sam’s legs up, towards her shoulders.
“But you’re taking it so well,” she taunted and adjusted her grip, then thrust forward. The angle had changed, and now the dildo scraped against something inside Sam, some place that made her moan and convulse as an electric sensation skittered across her nerves. More tears sprung into her eyes, but they weren’t tears of despair.
Monica had noticed her reaction, of course, and was now watching her like a hawk. “There?” she murmured and repeated the motion. Another jolt went through Sam, and she threw head from side to side, not knowing if she wanted to reach for that feeling, or beg for Monica to stop. But before she had time to make a decision, Monica was fucking her again, with fast, sharp snaps of her hips. The other woman was moaning too, soft and fast between the huffs of her breath, though Sam couldn’t understand why. She couldn't have been feeling anything down there, right? The dildo wasn’t actually part of her body.
“Can you come from this?” Monica panted and slammed her hips against Sam’s. “Just from my cock?”
Could Sam do it? She wasn’t sure. She raised her hips to meet Monica’s thrusts, tried to keep that perfect angle. But even though it felt so unbearably good, the pleasure spreading into her lower stomach with every thrust, it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t push her over that brink. In the end, she was sobbing from frustration, crying out incoherent apologies and pleas in a shattered voice, even as she was also moaning from pleasure.
Monica sighed and slowed down. “Fine,” she said. “It’s fine. Not everyone can. Calm down, you silly fool.”
But Sam couldn’t calm down. She was caught in a storm of sensations and emotions, guilt and frustration from not being able to come, fear from letting Monica down, lingering shame from being in this situation in the first place. She was never going to be free, was she. Monica was going to keep her prisoner forever, torment her in different ways, never letting her come, never letting her—
“Ah!” Sam shouted when something warm and wet closed over her clit, sucking it in. “Oh god!” The pressure increased and she shook all over, then looked down with wild eyes. Monica’s dark head was between her legs. She blinked at the sight, then moaned, embarrassingly loud, when something flickered over the tip of her clit—Monica’s tongue, probably, focusing on that spot, lavishing her tender clit with kisses and caresses.
Sam gripped the sides of the bed, letting her legs fall to the sides. She couldn’t hold them up anymore: all strength had left her body. There was only the sensation of Monica’s mouth and lips, the way they teased her clit, then dipped into her hole. Even the barely-there rasp of Monica’s teeth against the sensitive underside of Sam’s clit felt good, somehow, despite also sending a jolt of pain through her. But her clit had been in pain for so long that she couldn’t tell the sensations apart anymore. If Monica had slapped her there now…
Monica pushed her fingers in again, curling them upwards. Sam let out a high-pitched whine and slapped both of her hands over her mouth. She could feel the soft huff of Monica’s breath as she laughed.
“And here I thought that I would be teaching you to do this,” the other woman murmured against her twitching clit. “But you’re completely gone, aren’t you? Just useless.”
Sam didn’t know what she meant, couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. She could only moan brokenly and try to roll her hips up, wordlessly pleading for Monica to continue. The other woman sighed and muttered something to herself, but went back to licking Sam’s clit. Her tongue curled around the tip, and her fingers curled too, pushing up and rubbing against Sam’s insides. She raised her head only long enough to say commandingly, “Play with your nipples,” then went back to it.
Sam tried to obey, but she had barely managed to squeeze the small nubs between her fingers, before the cascade of different sensations suddenly became too much. The pleasure crashed over her: the insistent pressure of Monica’s fingers in her cunt, the skilled mouth sucking on her clit, even her own clumsy fingers on her nipples, sending small bursts of pleasure to her clit, amplifying the tingling, electric sensation already there. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body arched, her fingers slipping from her chest as her hands shot to her sides, holding on to the bedding for dear life. She could hear the loud, wild sounds that she was making, but couldn’t stop them, just like she couldn’t stop Monica from sucking her clit, even when it became too much, the incandescent pleasure turning into sharp agony—
Until she slumped bonelessly back on the bed, completely exhausted, and felt herself drift.
—
Monica straightened up and licked her lips, breathing heavily. She looked down at the barely conscious girl and sighed, momentarily irritated at the outcome—then huffed with amusement and let her lips stretch into a wry smile. Her own clit still throbbed with arousal, but perhaps her own release could wait. The night was still young—and so was the girl. She would give her a moment to rest, then they would continue. Surely all that youthful exuberance wasn’t for nothing.
After all, it was becoming clear to her that the girl knew next to nothing about sex. Maybe it was time for someone to teach her properly. Monica smirked and thought about all the toys she hadn’t even introduced yet. Yes, the girl would only thank her for everything, afterwards. And if she didn’t… if she was rude enough not to thank her… well. Monica could deal with that, too.