"Lunch Lesson" Part 2

You have done well at keeping silent knowing that the camera I hold will
capture you at your most wanton, your most vulnerable.

“Look into the lens” I command

You do so, with eyes unclouded through lowered lids. Your bottom lip is
pulled in, your teeth pressed firmly into it.

Click.

You take a deep breath, your breasts tighten against the sheet and your
nipples send a sharp pang to your belly button as they shift against the
cotton.

You watch as my right hand raises, your eyes closing as it descends. The
slap, directly against your full lips, sends a small earthquake rolling up
your back and slamming into the base of your skull. Your jaw drops and I
hear the gasp that I am hunting.

Click.

“Immortalized in the pleasure of agony. You are truly beautiful.”.

“Stand. Go to the icebox and bring me the red wine.”

You wobble a little at first and your vision seems fuzzy, but you manage to
return with the wine as your senses clear.

Taking the bottle, I direct you.

“Lay on your back, close your eyes and open your mouth.”

As you comply the friction of the sheet against your thighs and buttocks
seems less harsh, almost a painful tickling sensation.

You hear me uncork the bottle.

“Slap!”

You feel my hand slam into the outside of your left thigh pressing it
closed.

“Close you legs, must you always beg so obviously?”

You close your thighs immediately, blushing. You don’t like feeling that
you are needing, craving, even begging for this, but you desire whatever
comes next, and whatever is after that…you cannot conceive of an end to
this now. Your meeting is long forgotten.

You squirm and shiver as the first splashes of wine pool around your
bellybutton, trickling down your sides. Soon the pool overflows into the
cleft at the top of your thighs. The cool, wet , almost velvet texture is
not so different from the liquid warming your inner thighs and trickling
down into your bottom. You almost giggle as the stream of wine trails up
the middle of your chest pooling between the cords of your neck and pouring
around the curve of your breasts. Your mouth opens wider, expecting to
receive the bitter red liquid.

Click.

The image you may never see has burnt itself into your retina in black and
white. Puddles of darkness settled on your flesh, outlining each curve and
recess finding every fold. Your hardened nipples strain upward from the
taut skin of your breasts. Your thighs are clasped demurely, your womanhood
obscured by the opaque black pool slowly draining onto the sheet below.

The hard cold wood pressing against the top of my head.

The cool dark liquid coating the skin on my stomach, chilled, quivering.

The smell of sweat, burgundy, and my sex rushing through my nostrils.

I stretch my right hand above my head dragging fingertips across the rough
wood of the headboard, searching for a handhold, something to grip tightly.
The muscles of my arm are aching from the tension.

How many hands have gripped this wood in ecstasy, terror, and release?

Did her manicured nails chip scratching in vain against these cold boards
on prom night?

You set the camera on the nightstand, your hand curling around the stem of
a wine glass, strong fingers, and solid hands. You clear your throat, the
sound causing me to jump. You take a deep drink. My toes are getting cold
and you just sit there examining me, committing every curve, mark and flaw
to memory for replay at some later date in your own private venue. I open
my mouth to tell you they are getting chilly, almost forgetting myself. You
glance quickly at my mouth, then up to my eyes. You hear me exhale, my
throat is tight, and your look implies that you saw my intention.

You make no move to cover my toes. I understand this and the phrase
repeating in my brain illustrates it. “As you desire”, the response you
taught me on our first date immediately after the safe words.

The throaty rumble of a new Harley cuts the silence. It sounds so close,
right outside the room. The clack of hard heeled boots against the pavement
echoes off the thin glass of the window. You are up and to the door like a
starter pistol fired.

I grin and bury my toes under the sheet, claiming the body heat you left
behind. You order me to the bathroom, to “clean up” and brush my teeth.
Sometimes I forget that you don’t care for my smoking.

The porcelain tile of the bathroom floor presses into and chills the inside
of my arches raising goose bumps on my calves. The faucet squeaks and water
sputters out. The front door is open, I can feel the cool draft and hear
you in a low voice talking to someone.

“she’s all yours ...be gentle” I hear. But was it your voice?

The slam of the door and roar of the bike follow shortly after.

I finish brushing my teeth, and run a washcloth over my body. I’m sad to
see my petal-spots rinse down the shower drain. The wine has left lavender
stains around my breasts and at the tops of my thighs. Running my fingers
over the welts, thick and raised stinging to the touch the crisscross my
ass. I brush my palm against the hard rubber splitting my butt. I want to
twist it and plunge it, when did it stop stretching me and making me ache?
The hardness and fullness of it inside me is no longer foreign, only
reminding me of your will. My breasts are full and heavy , normally lazy
nipples throb and are swollen to the size of my pinky tip. I bring my
fingertips to them almost in a trance when I hear you clear your throat.
Quickly with my hands behind my neck and eyes down I walk to the bed.

Your cold hand is pressed firmly in the middle of my back pushing me down
face first onto the maroon bedspread amidst the unidentifiable purple
flowers.

You made the bed?

My elbows are yanked back and cinched almost before the pain shoots between
my shoulder blades. You fist closes in my hair and pulls until the back of
my skull is crushing the top of my spine. I am a little nervous now, glad
the biker left, my neck is feeling soft and exposed. I feel the subtle bite
of leather across my throat, as it snakes around the front under my chin
pulling tight against my flesh. The snap digs into the back of my neck as
you secure the thick leather strap.

I feel fingers curl around the plug tearing it from me, leaving the cold
air to rush in. The groan that rips from my throat does not please you. I
feel your cold rings as your spread fingers smack down on top of the welts
covering the bottom of my ass and tops of my thighs, harder than the belt
it seems. Even as my eyes fill with tears and I suppress my scream, I
wonder. Rings?

Again I feel the palm and spread fingers sear my wounded rear. The burning
spreads to my thighs and the muscles at the base of my spine coil like
springs. I pull away for a fraction of a second. Realizing my mistake I
quickly push back. The bed moves and I hear the familiar sound of leather
slide on denim. I know what’s coming next, and then nothing. I hear the
water run for a minute. Cordlike fingers grip my ankles like a vice,
pulling me back toward the edge of the bed. My pelvis screams as my hair is
pulled lifting my hips off the bed, sliding a pillow under them.

“Honey you’re mine for 8 more minutes, so don’t hold anything back now…”

I can almost hear her say “I hope everything was to your satisfaction
miss.”

That thought is obliterated by the rough leather and hard steel studs laid
straight down my back, licking against my most sensitive of lips. Flame
shoots inside me and back up my crack burning along my spine. My response
surprises even me.

I moan and shudder, sparks are all I can see. All breathing stops.

My body reacts by soaking the pillow and her cupped palm. My sent is thick
in the room and I can hear her inhale slowly and deeply. I am blushing at
this blatant display of my depravity.

I am deliciously ashamed, Incredibly exhilarated.

The bed shifts, I turn to look back as her hand encircles my throat over
the hard leather of my new collar.

“Show me your appreciation, clean my hand.”

My scent is so strong I almost gag as her palm presses against my lips. I
should have hesitated, I thought I would have hesitated. My tongue
immediately extends and laps the warm liquid from her hand. The taste is
musky and familiar. I clean each of her fingers by taking them deep into
her mouth. I can tell she is pleased.

Her hand relaxes and tips my chin up, as she searches my eyes. Her kiss is
soft and almost loving. The lips pressing delicately as the tongue cleans
more of my juices from my mouth.

This sensual kiss is so out of place and unexpected, I moan and push my
tongue into her mouth. She pulls back a little as I press forward. Her
tongue presses mine back into my mouth as she slowly sucks my upper lip
between her teeth. Her firm pressure sends sharp little shocks into the
roof of my mouth. She releases my lip and I feel her tongue caress it’s
tender inside running along my gums pressing into the soft pockets on each
side of that thin pink membrane. This is such a private place and her
swollen tongue roughly stretches the thin walls reminding me that no part
of my body is safe.

Something round and bumpy pushes against my entrance. I strain to gauge
it’s size, a golf ball, maybe bigger. The hand squeezing my collar slips
three fingers between the rough material and my adam’s apple cutting off
all but the shallowest of breaths. Using this new handle she twists me
until I face the ceiling, my left shoulder is almost aligned with my chin.
My hips are trying to turn also , but the hand guiding this ball through my
slick soft skin does not allow my thighs to move. My side begins to burn
from the stretching caused by these forced contortions. A hiccup in my
abdomen takes my breath as the ball passes into me, no temperature shocking
my inner walls like the ice earlier, but a constant stretching from this
coarse round object.

My nerves fire as her hand smacks wetly against my now closed lips. Small
beads inside the hollow round shell rattle and vibrate against my stretched
insides. Vibrations rush upward into me carried along by my shuddering
muscles. Another ball is inserted into me firmer and faster than the last
it passes my stretched entrance and bumps gently into the first. The two
balls shiver and jiggle massaging my stretched womb before settling down.
The third pushes the first two farther back, taking that full, swollen
feeling deeper into me. I feel stuffed with these three shivering twitching
balls each rattling against one another. The fourth presses lightly against
my opening turning rubbing caressing, humming slightly as the beads inside
roll around.

My stomach leaps and my hips jerk higher into the air as my thighs press
together around the thumb that jams the four balls deep into me. As the
first hits my cervix it shudders with a life of its own. Each ball in turn
carries these tremors back to her thumb. The low rolling groan that pours
from my throat gets louder as she slaps the fourth ball rhythmically
sending wave after wave of vibration crashing against my cervix.

It’s happening without thought, my tightly closed eyes fill with sparks
against the fiery red backdrop of my lids. My teeth draw a hot salty fluid
from my lower lip and my hands curl into cruel claws, nails biting into my
palms. Each slap is met with a whiplash like reaction from my hips. My
groans undulate with the rolling vibrations carried deep inside me. I am
lost in the raw sensations, my muscles spasm clenching the four shuddering
balls taking each vibration deep into my belly. My breathing is in gasps
and gulps, a sweat breaks out on my forehead and the backs of my shoulders.
The sensations are almost painful now, too intense, too raw. The slaps
speed up and grow in force. I hear her cackle as my cries rise in pitch and
I hear myself begging her to stop. Abruptly the slaps stop and her cold
hand presses against my opening rapidly shaking my pelvis from left to
right. The balls crash against each other and slide from side to side, the
friction is too much, my hips fall to the bed my cries become screams. A
wrenching pulse of pleasure churns through my stomach, My lips pulled
cruelly apart as the fourth ball audibly pops from my body. I gag as two
more are ripped from inside me, rapidly in succession, mini tremors rattle
along my spine. Tears roll down my cheeks as I gulp for air. She pauses and
slowly I feel the last ball spread me wide, the cool air hitting the
flushed flesh of my inner lips. My cries are softer now and the muscles of
my lower back and thighs twitch uncontrollably. I feel her fingers meet my
flesh as she pulls the last one free. I collapse crying totally drained, no
thought in my mind.

The door slams.

An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance.

I slowly lift my head on a weak and shaky neck to see an envelope sitting
on the clock. It wasn’t there before. Minutes pass before I shut the alarm
off and pick up the envelope. It smells of motor oil, gasoline, sweat, and
fading CK1. These are your scents.

The note reads

”The meeting starts in 15 minutes.”

Reality

As I pull into the first of the lot entrances I realize that I have no
recollection of the drive over.

I wince as I move to step out of the car. The worn denim of my oldest jeans
chafes my burning thighs like sandpaper. The edge of the seat presses into
the welts on my ass and I automatically swallow the squeal that wells in my
throat. God my nipples ache. For the second time in 10 minutes I wish that
the shirt I chose this morning was thicker, looser, and didn’t require this
awful bra.

The 300 yards to the revolving doors that lead to the lobby were
excruciating. My ass feels empty, the emptiness that comes from being
filled so completely and left wanting. My walk is slower and more
deliberate than usual, but I would never give you the satisfaction of
showing the cause in my gate. Reaching for the revolving door drags the
seemingly soft material of my shirt across the cotton of my bra. I bite my
lip and feel the faintest rush of pleasure along with the pain in my
nipples. Ordinarily I would take the stairs to the 3rd floor conference
room. Today it’s all I can do not to sit in the elevator, although that
would bring its own accompanying problems.

In the elevator the second floor admin eyes me curiously as I lean against
the wall and shift my weight from foot to foot.

On the 3rd floor I try to stand a little straighter and regain some
composure. I glance at my reflection in the chrome of the elevator doors.
Not too bad. I tuck in the blouse and brush some stray from my eyes.

I open the door and make no eye contact as I head to my chair. The standard
opening conversations of company stock and internal scuttlebutt engage most
of the room’s occupants. I take the chair and most heads turn to focus on
me.

I clear my throat.

“As most of you know in this changing economic climate we may need to
further evaluate our overseas resourcing…” Blah, blah, blah. I hate giving
this direction. No-one likes to cut headcount. I pause to open the folder
in front of my chair that outlines my plan for headcount reduction both
here and overseas. The red petals are caught in the updraft as the folder
opens. They flutter eight to ten inches above the table in an impromptu
floral fountain before settling on and around the open folder. The dark red
of the petals starkly contrasts the three black and white photos framed
each below a single quote.

“As I Desire”