Teaching Carol Ch. 06

Her voice was barely a whisper, and it echoed strangely into the wastebasket: "Y-yessss."

I went behind her again and eased her panties down as far as they would go. Her naked behind was brick red and I could see the outline of my hand in a couple of places. I took another picture, then went around in front of her and lifter her chin with my hand so she could see it. She only said, "Ohhhhh..." and lowered her head again.

I picked up a bottle of skin lotion from next to the sink and squeezed some out onto my index finger, then went back behind her. With my free hand and I pulled her left buttock aside and then began smearing the lotion around the entrance to her rear passage.

When she felt my finger there Carol raised her head, and asked, her voice plaintive, "Jonathan, what are you doing?"

I didn't reply until I'd finished applying the lotion, worming my finger a little way into her passage to lubricate that as well, which made her gasp. Then I said, "I think you deserve to have my cock up your ass...don't you?"

She was genuinely horrified, I think—by my language as much as my suggestion—and cried out, "No!" in a hoarse whisper.

I stayed where I was. "I said, I think you deserve to have my cock up your ass..." I slapped her behind again, even more viciously, making her breath hiss in between her teeth. "...Don't you?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No! Jonathan, I..."

I slapped her behind again. "Don't you?"

She cried out, "Ahh!" then hung her head. She knew she had no choice anyway. "Yes," she whispered.

"'Yes'...what?"

She began sobbing anew. "Y-yes, I d-deserve to have your..." she hesitated, then forced herself to speak the nasty word, "...c-c-cock...oh, oh god...up...up my..." She hesitated again then blurted out, "...my ass!" and continued to cry.

I stepped in front of her. She raised her head and watched as I unfastened and unzipped my pants and stepped out of them, followed by my underwear. I stood with my erect cock in front of her face and said, "Lick." She immediately stuck out her tongue and began. I said, "Make sure you get it nice and wet or you'll lick it off after it's been up your ass."

She did her best, considering her awkward position and the fact that her hands weren't free. When I judged it was ready I told her, "There, it's nice and wet. Now, where do you think I should put it?"

She hung her head again and whispered, "Up...m-my ass."

"Look at me." She looked up. I feigned shock. "You want me to put my cock...up your ass?"

Her eyes began to overflow again, but she kept looking at me and said, "Yes. I-I want you..." she broke off and took a sobbing breath, "...to p-put...your c-cock up my ass."

"Say 'Please'."

She must have known that was coming, but for some reason it made her sobbing increase. "Oh...god!" she whimpered, "Please put your cock...up my ass!"

So I did.

Everything about her was petite, so it took time and patience to get my cock fully buried in her passage. From the moment I entered her Carol began to writhe and arch her back as if she was expecting it to hurt terribly—and I think she was surprised when it didn't, even when I had filled her up completely. And I know she was shocked, when I began slowly sliding it in and out of her behind, to discover that it could feel so good. I could tell because her sobs were gradually replaced by little "Oo" sounds.

I kept my strokes very slow at first, allowing her to get used to the sensation. After a while I asked, "Do you know what I'm doing?"

It was hard for her to focus, for obvious reasons, but she tried. "You're...you're..." Then, nothing.

I leaned down as close to her ear as I could, and whispered, "I'm fucking your asshole!"

She took a huge gasping breath at this, but made no reply. I began to pick up the pace, and said, "What am I doing?"

She let out a long groan of pleasure. "You're...you're fucking..." and for the first time she seemed to take pleasure from what she was saying. "...my asshole1" And to my surprise she began to repeat it over and over—"You're fucking my asshole! You're fucking my asshole!"—in rhythm with my strokes, both of which gradually became faster and faster until she had to shorten her contribution to, "Fuck my ass! Fuck my ass! Fuck my ass!" And when I reached around her hip and slipped my hand between her legs her voice lost all its language and became a kind of strangled howl as she went into orgasm—with me not far behind. So to speak.

After a long rest I pulled myself upright and my cock out of her behind and after cleaning myself up somewhat at the sink drew on my underwear and pants again. Then I untied Carol's bonds, though she continued to lie over the chair, her body like rubber, for quite some time. Finally she stirred and attempted to stand up, moaning with soreness and fatigue as she did so.

I told her to put her hands behind her head. She did, and I took a picture of her like that: face red, hair askew, nipples still clamped, panties down around her knees. Then I said, "Take off your panties."

She looked at me as if she couldn't believe we weren't done, but did as I asked and held them out to me. I took them and threw them on the chair, then kicked my old, rotten pair of underpants—now wet with her saliva as well—towards her, saying, "Put those on."

She stepped into them as though into a sewer—which wasn't far wrong. They barely managed to hang from her hips without falling down. I reached out and removed the alligator clips from her nipples. I made her stand with her hands behind her head again while I took another picture. Then I stood close to her and said, "I'm going to do you a favor and let you wear my underwear home. Isn't that nice of me?"

She glanced down at them, then back to me. "Yes," she whispered. "Thank you."

I reached out and held her chin as I continued. "But I want them back tomorrow...and I want them to be clean. White. I want you to scrub every last little stain out of them, no matter how long it takes, understood?"

Inadvertently she glanced down again, taking in the collection of primordial stains that mottled the front of the underwear being discussed. Then she looked back up at me and I could see she knew it was an impossible task. But she simply nodded and said quietly, "Yes."

"All right, get dressed." I turned away and lay down again.

When she was ready to go, having put on the rest of her clothes and brushed her hair into some kind of order, she came and stood by my bed and waited. I finished the page, marked it, and stood up. Aside from still being flushed, she looked quite presentable, if rather exhausted.

I took her by the shoulders, turned her around and had her stand in front of the mirror over my sink. I picked up her discarded panties from the chair and placed the waistband over her head so that she wore them like a hat. I arranged them so the yellow stain in the crotch was prominently displayed in front. When she saw that her flush deepened and she looked away, though she said nothing.

I told her, "You'll keep these on your head until you get back to your room. Understood?"

She brought her gaze to meet mine in the mirror, and nodded, although her face betrayed her dismay.

"And if anyone asks you why you're wearing them on your head, you'll say, 'I have come dripping out of my ass and I didn't want to get them dirty.'"

Her face began crumpling into tears again. I said, "Say it. Why are you wearing those panties on your head?"

She was sniffling again but managed to say, "I have...come...d-dripping...out of my...a-a-ass...a-and I di-didn't want to get them d-dirty. Oh, Jonathannn..."

I knew she'd hide in the bushes until three in the morning rather than have to say that to anyone, but I knew she would wear those panties on her head all the way back to her room. Because I'd told her to.

I took her by the shoulders and turned her around again. I made her pretend to smile while I took a nice close-up of her, featuring her new headgear. Then I handed her purse to her and ushered her to the door.

I had forgotten, but she hadn't. As I held the door open for her she stood up on her toes, kissed me, and said, "Thank you, Jonathan."

Then she was gone.

She must have stayed up late that night, or else gotten up early, because when I went out the next morning I found a small plastic bag hanging from my doorknob. Inside it I found my old underwear. They were cleaner than I had ever imagined they could be. They had been scrubbed so hard that the fabric was nearly worn away in the crotch. Then ironed. And folded.