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She watched him as he loosened, then removed his tie, which he then used to fasten her wrists to the back of the chair. Then he looked around for a moment, walked over to the cluster of microphone stands, and returned with two coils of black microphone cord. One of these he tied around her chest, just below her breasts, circling the back of the chair a couple of times before knotting it. The other he used to secure her ankles to the outside of the chair legs, so that she now sat with her knees apart.
He knelt in front of her and rested his hands on her knees. He looked up into her face and said, his voice hushed, "You look so beautiful."
It was the first thing he'd said to her since that day in the bathroom, she suddenly realized.
He rose up on his knees and, taking her face between his hands, kissed her with great tenderness.
And she felt safe.
When he had finished kissing her he continued to look into her eyes as he sank back onto his heels and returned his hands to her knees.
He continued to hold her gaze as he slowly began to lift the hem of her purple velvet dress, gently pushing it up her thighs; slowly, slowly continuing to lift the soft, heavy fabric until her beautiful new panties were completely exposed, glistening in the light. He carefully tucked the extra material of her dress into the cord at her breasts so that it wouldn't fall down.
Then he lowered his head between her thighs and kissed her there, once, as tenderly as he had kissed her mouth. It reminded her of that day in the library, and she felt herself beginning to moisten where he had kissed her.
He stood and then once more walked to the edge of the stage, stepped off, and turned to look at her. As if she was a work of art that he was creating and needed to contemplate from a distance before continuing.
She liked that.
She watched him as he looked at her, wishing she could see his face more clearly, especially his eyes. She looked down, trying to imagine herself in his place, to see what he was seeing. Was he looking at her breasts, made more prominent by having her hands tied behind her, and the cord around her chest? (Guess I didn't need that belt after all, she thought to herself.) Was he looking at the white curve of her belly as it appeared from under the mass of bunched fabric and vanished beneath the waistline of her panties? Or was it the panties themselves, the ones he had most likely stolen for her? Was he looking at the outline of the mound between her legs, where he had kissed her?
She didn't want to speak, fearing she might break the spell, but finally she whispered, "What are you looking at?"
"Your face."
He stepped back up onto the stage, bent down and, laying his hand against the side of her face, kissed her again, lingeringly, his fingertips tracing the shape of her ear, the line of her jaw, as he did so.
She wanted to touch him too: put her hand on his neck, run her fingers through his hair--and found that she loved the fact that she couldn't. That all she had to do, all she could do, was be kissed.
Eventually he pulled away, just slightly. She followed his eyes, which were watching as his fingertip gently smoothed her eyebrows, then descended and began to trace the outline of her mouth, over and over, moving inward a fraction of an inch each time he did so.
She thought she had never felt anything so unbearably intimate; it seemed to accentuate her powerlessness, and yet it felt like an offering.
Now the side of his finger was moving slowly back and forth between her lips. She began to kiss it, holding it still with her lips every time it began to move. She felt it against her teeth, and opening them slightly began to nibble at his finger and tease it with her tongue. She felt it turning, and suddenly his finger was pushing slowly between her teeth and probing deeply into her mouth. She groaned aloud, and felt her pelvis inadvertently thrust upward as she did so, the muscles inside spasming for a moment, then relaxing.
He began to slide his finger in and out of her mouth, and she met it with her tongue, continuing to moan, the helplessness of it exciting her beyond belief, her pelvis now bucking in time with each thrust of his finger, the tension there beginning to build...
His finger suddenly slipped out of her mouth. She threw her head back, gasping.
He waited until she was able to focus her eyes on his. Then he said, as if continuing a conversation, "Now, it seems to me that in our last conversation, before we were so rudely interrupted," giving a puckish smile as he said this, "you were saying that there was something of mine that you wanted. We were at your house, remember?"
Oh god. Standing outside in her bra and panties. Whispering those nasty words to him. Pulling down his pants and then running away. Of course he hadn't forgotten. And of course neither had she. She had in fact revisited that scene, that conversation, almost every time she stepped out of her front door, reveling in the way she had turned the tables on him. And now it seemed that the tables were turning again.
"Ye-....yes," she muttered, still having difficulty breathing. She looked at him. She had to say it--and anyway it was true:
"I want...your cock."
She saw him take a sudden deep breath through his nose, and his eyes become bright and almost terrifyingly focused before he replied, in a near-whisper, as he leaned closer:
"Where?"
Jane was falling into his eyes, just as she had on that first day.
"In my mouth."
He leaned even closer.
"Say it."
She had to. She wanted to.
"I want your cock...in my mouth," she whispered.
Now his eyes were close to hers. His face had become mask-like. He barely moved his lips as he spoke:
"Why? Are you a little slut?"
To Jane's astonishment the words that had once brought her to tears now caused her arousal to soar, and she suddenly burst out, "Yes! I'm a little slut, and I want your cock in my mouth! Ohhhh....GOD!"
Just saying those final words had pushed her into a small climax. She breathed uncontrollably fast for a moment, and felt a sudden rush of moisture between her legs. She marveled, again, that mere words could be so exciting.
He had seen it, of course, and to Jane's surprise he suddenly smiled, as if pleased for her.
He laid a hand gently on the side of her face and asked, "Did you just come?" And when he saw her puzzled look continued, explaining, "Have an orgasm? You know, that really nice feeling, here?"
He slipped his fingers between her legs and stroked her there once or twice, making her gasp, almost making her come again. She managed to nod.
"Oh, that's great...I like that." He smiled again, and kissed her, happily, as if he was proud of her.
When he had finished she smiled back at him, still aroused, her eyes half shut with it, and said, barely above a whisper, "But I still...want your cock in my mouth."
And was thrilled to see him flush and close his eyes, and to hear a small groan escape from him.
He came and stood between her thighs, his legs almost touching her chair, so that the bulge in his pants was only a few inches from her face. She watched as he unfastened the top of his pants and began, with deliberate slowness, to unzip them. She was a little surprised when his cock sprang into view without any further preliminaries, but found the combination of dressy clothes and no underwear exciting.
His pants dropped to the floor, something in his pockets making a small metallic jingle when they hit.
He stood still for a moment, letting her look at him there.
Then he took the shaft in his hand and began to do what he had done with his finger, using the tip of his cock to trace the outline of her mouth, teasing her with it. Rubbing the head back and forth across her lips; pulling it away if she tried to kiss or lick it, until she was moaning with equal amounts of desire and frustration.
Finally he allowed her to take it into her mouth, whereupon she immediately took her revenge: first running her tongue down the length of his shaft as far as she could, making him moan in return, then seizing the head between her teeth and biting down--not hard, not much at all, really, but enough to cut him off in mid-moan, and make him look down at her with fear in his eyes.
She worried it just a little, like a dog with an especially tasty bone, looking up at him and smiling as if to say, 'who's helpless now?' Then, without loosening her grip, she began to tease it with the very tip of her tongue, just barely touching him with it, giving only the tiniest, shortest little caresses in different spots, with long pauses in between--driving him crazy with frustration and thus paying him back in kind. She felt his hand on the back of her head, and knew that he wanted to push himself the rest of the way into her mouth. And knew also that he would not.
It was not until he began to plead, incoherently--saying things like, "Oh god...oh please...let...please..."--that she relented, suddenly opening her mouth wide and taking in as much of him as she could. She heard him gasp with relief, and then with something else as she continued moving her head up and down on him, her tongue painting broad strokes along the shaft, faster and faster, until he suddenly climaxed, with a loud "Ahhhhhh!" that sounded as much like pain as pleasure, filling her mouth with his juice.
But he suddenly pulled himself out of her mouth before he was done, allowing the last few drops to land on her upper lip and run down her chin. She had swallowed the rest as quickly as she could, and now licked as much of it as she could off her lip, but couldn't reach what was on her chin, and of course was helpless to wipe it off in any other way.
She had a sudden picture of her face--the stylishly arranged hair, the dancing silver earrings, the painstakingly applied eyeshadow, rouge and lipstick (though she doubted that there was much left of the latter)--and now, the juice from his cock on her chin. Something about that contrast, like the contrast between wearing her elegant party dress and having it bunched up around her breasts while forced to sit with her legs apart, the wet spot between them in full view, made her want to swoon.
He had mostly recovered from his climax and was looking at her as if trying to guess her thoughts. He said, "What I just did in your mouth...that's also called 'coming'. And that stuff on your chin that came out of me is called a lot of things, but most people just call it 'come'."
He smiled to himself before continuing, "So your English teacher would give you an 'A' in grammar if you said, 'He came in my mouth, and I have his come on my chin.'
She pictured herself in front of the class, writing that phrase on the blackboard, then turning around to show them that it was in fact still on her chin. She giggled, and he laughed with her.
He reached down and pulled up his pants, beginning to zip and fasten them, tucking his cock carefully away. She wondered, with a sinking feeling, if that was all. Whether now they were just going to go their separate ways.
After he had finished tidying himself up, he reached into the pocket of his sport coat, and pulled something out. Then he said, "Remember these?" And proceeded to unfold, and hold up before her face, her valentine panties.
It was obvious that they hadn't been washed since that day in the library. Not only was there a discolored stain in the crotch, from when he had made her touch herself, but there were several other stains as well--more, she realized, than could be accounted for by that night outside her window. So he must have been regularly using her panties to... Oh god, that was so sweet!
But now he was holding them in one hand and placing the other against her forehead, gently tilting her head back until she was nearly facing the ceiling. Then, with great delicacy, he draped the valentine panties over her face.
Oh god, the smell!
She cried out, "No!" and struggled to straighten her neck, shake her head--anything to get them off her face! But his hands were there now, cupping her chin and the back of her head. She struggled a moment longer, even tried to blow them off with her mouth, to no avail. So finally, she acquiesced, and took several deep breaths.
As she did she felt him leaning close to her ear as he said, in a low voice, "That's what your pussy smells like."
'Pussy?' she thought. Is that what he calls it?
As if he'd heard her, he continued, "Some people like the word 'cunt', but that sounds too harsh to me for something so nice."
She thought to herself that 'nice' was not a word she would apply to what she was currently inhaling.
Then he asked, "What else do you smell?"
She took another deep sniff. Now that she was used to it, the stale, musky odor of her own juices was not as overwhelming, and she could make out another odor, one that she recognized immediately, since she had just had its source in her mouth.
"Your...come." she answered, her voice muffled by the fabric.
"Very good."
The panties were lifted from her face, and he helped her lift her head into its normal position. He said, "You still have some on your chin, you know."
He had been turning her panties inside out as he said this, and now he slipped them over his open hand, the stained crotch at his fingertips, and used them to wipe the dribble of semen from her chin.
Then he brought it up to her mouth and said, "Lick."
Oh god, he wanted her to lick his come out of her dirty, smelly panties! And he'd even turned them inside out, so she'd be licking the part that had been right next to her...pussy.
It was completely, unbelievably disgusting.
And, oh god, she was going to do it!
She stared at him with something like defiance, not looking down even once as she put out her tongue and began to lick: Once, twice...a dozen times. Deep, full licks, as if she wanted to lick the entire crotch clean. It didn't taste much different from what she'd smelled.
When she was done she simply pulled her tongue back into her mouth, and continued to glare at him.
He leaned down then, and kissed her, his hand cupping the back of her head--and for the first time she felt his tongue there, probing every part of her mouth as if trying to scour the foul taste from it.
Then he straightened up and, while tucking the panties back in his pocket, said, "I think that deserves a reward."
He knelt before her again, and untangled her dress from the cord, pulling it down and smoothing it over her knees. He untied the cords from her feet and chest, then went behind her and removed his necktie from her wrists.
She brought her hands forward to her lap and tried to stretch her shoulders, which were stiff and aching slightly. He came and sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, holding one of her hands as he kissed and massaged her wrist. He switched sides and did the same with her other wrist. Then he rose and stood behind her and began to massage the top of her head with his fingertips.
Heavenly. She sighed and leaned back against his hands as his fingers worked their way slowly down to her temples. Mmmm...
She allowed her mind to drift. She thought about him, and all the different people he seemed to be. She wanted to ask him about all the strange things they had been doing. Whether other people did them. Whether he really liked her.
His fingers moved along the bones above her ears, found the soft spots where the back of her head joined her neck. So soothing. She wanted to ask him why he could do nice things like this and disgusting things like making her lick her own soiled panties.
And how he knew she'd like them both.
That was the one question around which all the others circled. Was there something wrong with her, that she had not only allowed such things to happen, but was even beginning to encourage them?
Because she had not only come to the dance tonight wearing the lingerie he had given her, but had deliberately, provocatively, lured him away, knowing full well that she would wind up doing things that nice girls should not even know about, never mind allow. Or enjoy.
Her teen magazines gravely discussed the perils of allowing boys to kiss you too soon--and tonight she had asked him to put his cock in her mouth. She was so confused. Ashamed. And suddenly felt like crying.
"Peter?" It was almost a sob.
He had been gently kneading the tendons of her neck and she felt his fingers suddenly become still. She had never called him by name before. Not once. But he must have heard the sorrow in her voice because he immediately came and knelt by her side. He took her hands and looked up at her, his concern obvious. She saw it, and for some reason the genuineness of it made her tears overflow, a mixture of sadness and relief.
She watched him fumble in his pockets for a handkerchief, come up with her panties and quickly stuff them back in his pocket. It made her want to laugh through her tears; a moment ago he'd been making her lick them and now they weren't good enough to blot her tears with. She loved him for that. He finally settled for soaking them up with his tie.
He said nothing, but his eyes were questioning, compassionate.
When she had gotten herself enough under control to speak, she looked down, unable to meet his eyes, and asked, in a low voice, "Do you really think I'm...a slut?"
She heard shock in his voice as he replied, "Oh. Oh no. That was... Oh no...I.... Here, let me..."
He stood and, taking hold of her hands, drew her to her feet. He sat down in the chair and gently tugged her into his lap, cradling her in his arms. She could see he was upset.
He continued to stammer. "I-I'm so sorry. I thought you knew it was...it was just...just part of..." He searched for the right words, failed and ended lamely with, "...all this.", waving vaguely around them. "I thought you liked saying it. Or having me say it. I never thought you'd... Jane, I'm so sorry..."
He was looking down, but she was astonished to see unshed tears in his eyes. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and she murmured, just loudly enough to reach his ear, "I did like it...tonight. But that first time, in the girls' bathroom... You were so mean to me and I was so scared..."
She began to cry in earnest. He looked around wildly, but he'd left his tie on the floor. Which was too bad, because now he began to cry as well.
"I know...I know. I don't know why I had to..."
For a long moment he simply sat there with tears running down his face. Then he took a long, sobbing breath and said, "It's just that... I wanted to...so much...for so long. And I thought nobody would ever like me enough. And when I saw you that night, and knew you were the one who'd been who'd been stealing..."
His voice ran out at this point and he continued to look down. After a while he sighed and finished with, "And I just thought I could make you let me touch you."
Another moment passed. Then he looked up at her and said, with a ghost of a smile, "But I never really thought you'd say yes. When I started saying all that stuff about punishing you I was sure you were going to tell me to get lost."
She sat up and looked at him. "But you said you were going to tell..."
"I know, I know. But I'd never really have told on you, honest. I was just using that as an excuse, so you'd let me... And I never thought... I figured maybe I could get you to let me, you know, touch your breasts, or look up your dress. But when you kept going along with me, kept...doing what I told you.... I...couldn't stop. Even when I made you cry... I'm sorry, I...I just couldn't..."
He shook his head sorrowfully at the memory of it, tears still running down his face, but now more slowly. Then he looked back at her and said, "But I thought...some of it, you... Didn't you like some of it? I thought..."
