December 2, 2010

Day Six: Friday, or Living the Dream

Posted in stories tagged at 4:34 am by littlesubmissions

Days spent apart and short nights after work, those were Fridays. The chaos of arriving home, cooking dinner, putting away the detritus of whatever hadn’t been done yet through the week. A few tired hours before bed from working all day. Saturdays were longer, open all day, for sleeping in. Fridays were more frantic, a rush to fit things in and make things happen before they ran out of time.

Fridays were direct, simple, unsubtle. Like the cane.

It thudded against the sole of her boot as she leaned on the desk. Too thick to swish through the air, it hit with the solid impact of rigid weight and bounced, not wrapping, not yielding. The computer monitor backlit her, glowing around her body. A hellish fractal aura wrapping around her skin as the cane thudded again.

His body was crammed in his seat, an old fashioned wooden desk they picked up at a rummage sale somewhere. A wood and cheap plastic caricature of learning from the 50s or 60s. Too small, he poured over is and hunched awkwardly, a sheet of paper and pencil in his sweating hand.

Words rolled behind her eyes as she rehearsed them, played them back and forth in her head. “You’re locked up, with your male urges safely put away. Unfortunately, you’ll need to cum eventually, I suppose.” The cane thudded its way through the cadence of her speech. “As appealing as it might be to just leave you locked up, I suppose it’s not realistic. So here’s what you’re going to go…” Thump thud thump. His tongue licked his lips, and she waited until he blinked and leaned in closer. “You’re going to write how you’re going to cum. Something that will be appropriate for an animal surrendering to its urges. Something shameful and degrading. And if it’s not good enough, you’ll be punished and do it again.” Thump thud thump. “You may raise your hand when you have completed the essay.”

She sat down, tucked the cane into the arm of the chair where he would see it every time he looked at her. Felt herself getting wet and moist, that strange heat that burned so cold inside her. Nonchalantly she surfed the web while opening a window for the web camera in the monitor, sliding the window down where he couldn’t see it. Watching him, knowing he might suspect she’d be watching but that he couldn’t be sure. The scribble of pencil on paper as he started to write, the scratching sound and their breathing filling the room. The sound of his participation in his defilement scratching across her skin as he wrote it down on paper.

The careful sound of it stopping, the rubbing of the eraser, more scratching, until it all stopped. His hand started to come up behind her, paused as he reread what he wrote, then crept upward again. She clicked through a few more emails, marking some and deleting others, before closing the webcam window and looking around. “You’re done then?”

“Yes ma’am.” A hint of eagerness in his voice.

“Bring it here.” She idly skimmed another email, and held out her hand. Forced it to stay still.

His body unwrapped from the desk and walked over, the piece of paper clenched in trembling fingers.

She took it from him, skimmed while he stood there sweating. Her chair slid away from the desk, and she stood up, looking into his eyes. The crackling sound of crumpling paper made him jump, and he shook as her fingers pried apart his jaw and shoved the ball of paper into his mouth. A handful of hair and she forced his face down to the desk, his cheek resting against the cool metal. She reached around him to undo his belt, shove his pants and underwear down until they caught on his knees. His body shook and he clamped his eyes closed as she dragged the cane across the back of his thighs and shifted her weight.

“This!” CRACK! Fire exploded across his skin. “Reads!” CRACK! Another bright stripe of pain. “Like!” CRACK! It felt like his skin was exploding. “Some!” CRACK! A sob warbled across the desk, muffled by the paper. “Cheap” CRACK! His weight shifted involuntarily, some part of his brain desperate to escape the pain as another sought it out. “Internet” CRACK! He pushed himself up in his tiptoes. “Jerkoff!” CRACK! A burning pain that bounced all up and down his spine. “Fantasy!” CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Another tortured sob and he collapsed to his knees. “Wank-fodder!”

The last hissed in his ear, her breath harsh from lust and exertion and anger. Her heart beating with joy and her cunt wet from beating these thoughts out of his body, and the anticipation of making him come up with new ones. The indescribable joy in owning someone’s mind, even if it was only for a short time, because he had given it to her.

Her fingers pulled the paper out of his mouth and dragged him back upright. She let him rub his sore ass for a few seconds then grabbed his arm and pulled his hand around. The spit soaked paper shoved into his hands, she shoved him back towards the desk. “Do it again.”

Cloth hobbled his ankles as he shuffled to the desk, winced and blinked his eyes rapidly as he slid into it. She took a deep shuddering breath and opened the window on the cam again, felt her thigh muscles clenching as he carefully smoothed out the paper on the desk and drew a neat line through the fantasy he had written down, and began to write another slowly, with shaking hands.

He wrote carefully, slowly this time. It took much longer, and she could feel the heat building insider her. She clicked rapidly from link to link, unable to stay focused, warring emotions twisting their way through her brain. Wanting to hurt him more, but hoping he would come up with something so disgusting she couldn’t bear to set the fantasy aside for the gratification of immediate torture. A horrid dilemma where she wasn’t sure if she couldn’t win or couldn’t loose. Making her hands stay busy with the mouse and keyboard to keep them from sliding down the waist of her pants.

His hand came up, very slowly.

She clicked the window out right away, and stood up. “Get over here.” One hand pointed to the spot in front of her, the other wrapping around the cane, twisting it and dragging it along her leg.

He shuffled towards her. She snarled in impatient lust and his steps got quicker, bobbing across the floor towards her, handing her the paper. She slapped it hard on his chest and he stumbled as she read through it once, then again. Playing the scenario out in her mind, weighing her lust.

“This is disgusting, and depraved. I’m really kind of worried that you came up with something like this and I still sleep in the same bed as you.” She read it again, and felt her breath getting faster. In the end, it was no contest. “This is excellent work, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy even a second of it no matter how long it’s been since you came.”

He moaned and tried to sink against her, his eyes closed and mind fuzzy.

Her hand wrapped around his chin, shoving the paper back in his mouth, an awkward white cone protruding between his lips. She held him there, fished some blank copy paper from a drawer and shoved it in his hand. “Now write it out 100 times, I want you to be able to recite it from memory every single morning until I decide to make it happen.”

He minced back to the desk with awkward steps, paper clutched in his hand and the taste of wood pulp in his mouth. She sat down, but not before letting him see the huge grin on her face, and imagined waking up every morning to his horrible little fantasy. Wondered how long she could tease herself with it before she made it reality…

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


  1. M said,

    This is fantastic.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thank you, I’m hoping to get another chapter up over the weekend, but term papers are due, and yada yada yada….

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