An Indecent Awakening (7 page)

He looked closely at her face. They were both still naked; Stacy held her laptop in front of her bare tummy awkwardly. Her eyes were troubled, but Ben could tell that the idea of having a baby was not really unwelcome. A pregnant porn-girl—the taboo image intrigued him greatly, but of course if she did get pregnant, the porn-girl side of matters would get laid to the side, at least after the baby was born.

“Go ahead and get dressed now, baby,” Ben said. He turned to fetch his own clothes.

When he had his jeans and T-shirt on, he turned to watch Stacy put on her panties and her bra. She had laid the laptop on a table near the stairs, and she had her back to him. She seemed to be looking at the laptop as she dressed, as if accusing it of getting her into this.

“You were a very good girl for me, Stacy,” Ben said. “As you’ll learn very well, spankings aren’t just for naughty girls, although I do like to administer punishment for breaking my rules.”

She turned to look at him, getting her dress from the floor at the same time. God, she looked cute in her underwear: white bra and pink panties.

“I know how conflicted you must be right now, Stacy,” Ben said, “but I think you’re going to come to understand that the path of virtue is the right one for you. Just so you know, I installed a program on your computer that lets me monitor everything you do with it.”

Beginning the process of doing her ‘homework’ made Stacy feel like she might lose her mind, but in a way she found strangely pleasant, at least until she actually had to sit down, naked at her laptop, to do it. Then the feeling of insanity became a little more ambiguous. Until that point, though, she had felt rather warm between her legs as she thought about it, despite the way Ben had denied her the pleasure of masturbation, to which she had become so used before the bizarre events of that fateful Friday afternoon.

Only three days ago,
Stacy thought as she set up to make the video of herself watching
Polly Gets Caught
on Monday afternoon. She had removed her clothes, but laid them conveniently on the bed in case she had to scramble back into them if she heard her mom come home. Part of her, of course, couldn’t believe that she really was doing this ‘homework’ assignment. That was the same part that said that even if her parents kicked her out of the house for watching porn—which they
probably
wouldn’t even do—she could go live with her friend Maria, which would be closer to the restaurant anyway.

The path of virtue. Ridiculous, completely ridiculous. She knew that, right?

Stacy was proud of her intelligence, despite having decided to put off college until she was sure she could afford it on her own. Given the fickleness of her parents’ support and their tendency to try to control her, she wanted to be absolutely sure she could pay her whole way through before she started.

But even without the benefit of advanced courses in philosophy, Stacy knew that the path of virtue wasn’t supposed to include porn, or ultra-dirty sex lessons involving porn in the basement of a guy who said he would pass you on to a friend when he was done with you.

Unless… here was the tricky part, Stacy thought as she looked through the contents of the secret porn folder buried deep in her file directory, which nevertheless took up half the space on her hard drive.
Unless I decide I’m going to let Ben Weathers decide what virtue means for me.

There it was:
Polly Gets Caught.
It struck her as even weirder than it usually did that you could put porn in alphabetical order. She had carefully renamed all the videos, which she had downloaded under titles like 10347_a_71.mp4, to things like
Pete and Amy, Polly Gets Caught,
and
Priest and Schoolgirl—
or, in the case of the dirtiest, simple numbers, one through ten. She could find whatever she wanted quickly, and except when she binged, because she had denied herself for a few days, Stacy only usually needed to watch for ten minutes before she came, and could go on about the rest of her day. But the experience struck her as so unruly that she always felt a strange little surprise to see that the video she wanted—for her ‘homework’—was right where she had left it, automatically sorted by her computer’s operating system.

Virtue. What Ben Weathers seemed to mean by ‘virtue’ was in fact, it appeared, what—if she remembered correctly, since she had only watched
Polly Gets Caught
once—the hero of this video, which Ben had assigned to her, meant when he instructed Polly about the proper use of her ‘heiny’ and her ‘cooch.’

Stacy swallowed hard, just thinking about what she would now watch, as she propped her phone up to take the video of her watching a porn video, and not playing with herself. As she saw in her head the vague memory of what this video contained—the Appalachian-type uncle-figure guy telling Polly how a good girl only let the right man use her cooch and her heiny—the need to play with herself already began to seem unbearable. Could she tie her hands to the arms of her chair? she thought wildly—or to her sides?

Then of course she saw in her head that leather belt restraint, from another video—
Taming Haley,
she thought it must be—the one with the cuffs on the side, intended to prevent exactly what Ben had told her she must not do, if she were to stay on the path of virtue and escape punishment at her next lesson, tomorrow at 10 a.m. Haley, that video intimated, liked to play with herself, but her husband had brought her to a special facility to be cured of her vice.

Cured of the vice of self-pleasuring, and set on the path of virtue. None of the videos used those terms—even
Priest and Schoolgirl
—but many, many of them implied the same kind of ridiculous idea of education: sex training as the improvement of women—lessons to make women pleasurable for men to put their cocks into, and to fuck in whatever manner suited the men at the time.

That was
supposed
to be the difference between real sex and porn, wasn’t it? You weren’t
supposed
to want to be fucked, right? You were supposed to want to be respected, and made love to. You were supposed to want to have Jack on top of you, pushing gently until his cock filled his condom with his semen, and he asked if you liked it.

Fuck that. Literally.

Stacy adjusted her propped-up phone against the back panel of the bookshelf atop her desk until it showed a view of her face and her naked chest down to her tummy. She had shopped that morning for a couple of skirts and a dress; taking off her new orange miniskirt, her panties, and her pink top, so she could watch the video naked as Ben had told her to do, had made her blush all over. She debated trying to get the pussy into the frame of the video, so that she could be absolutely sure Ben wouldn’t accuse her of somehow playing with herself out of frame, but she decided the strategy she had hit upon, of keeping her hands folded in front of her breasts, would do.

And if she squeezed a little bit down below, would Ben know? And if he did know… Stacy swallowed hard again and pressed record on the video. She looked at her phone and said, “Okay, sir, I’m going to watch the video now.”

She reached for the mouse, and hesitated for just a moment. Even if she decided that she wanted to find sexual experiences that were more like the ones in
Polly Gets Caught
than the ones implied in
Pride and Prejudice,
that didn’t mean that she should let Ben Weathers tell her of what the path of virtue consisted, did it? Why should she give into what seemed from the outside like the madness of Ben’s ‘lessons’? The idea of doing the homework he had assigned, and of going back to his house tomorrow to be objectified and undoubtedly made his fuck-toy again—to let him shave her between her legs, to let him degrade her and continue her training as a porn-girl—scared her.

And she didn’t really
have
to, did she? Because her parents wouldn’t kick her out, would they? And if they did, she could live with Maria, couldn’t she?

Her mind wouldn’t stop going round and round that way. Stacy probably had a half-hour before her mom came home. Thankfully,
Polly Gets Caught,
like most of Stacy’s videos, was only ten minutes long. There would be no other opportunity to do her homework for Ben after that.

And if she didn’t do her homework, Stacy knew for certain she would be whipped with that strap that hung on the back of the closet door in Ben’s basement, or perhaps paddled with the wooden paddle; maybe he would use that for academic failings, rather than the strap. She gulped, clicked the play button, and quickly returned her hands to her midriff, clasping them in a pleading sort of grasp.

On her laptop’s screen, Polly, a young-looking eighteen-year-old, regarded herself in her bedroom mirror, twirling her blond pigtail on her left forefinger. She wore a short school-uniform plaid skirt and a white blouse. No tie, thank goodness; Stacy thought those ties with girl’s uniform were incredibly stupid-looking.

Polly’s right hand went to the front of her skirt, and lifted it up to reveal white cotton panties. Stacy felt her fists clench. This was the point in the video where she inevitably would have exposed her own panties to her own view. She felt her pussy’s nakedness keenly; she could just touch herself there a little, couldn’t she? Then she thought of what Ben had said about shaving her down there, and her heart fluttered uncontrollably.

Oh, God,
Stacy thought, suddenly remembering what Polly would do now, and remembering how hot she had thought it the one time she had watched this video. Why had she never watched it again? What was it that the uncle figure did that had made her think,
I’m not watching that one again any time soon?

Polly reached her left hand down and started to gather the gusset of the white panties into a little bunched rope. The screen showed all this naughty action in the mirror, shot from over Polly’s right shoulder.

Polly switched hands; her left hand held the skirt up above her waist, and her right hand pulled on the panty rope, pulled it into her bare, smooth pussy. Polly bit her lower lip.

Stacy whimpered in frustration, clenching and unclenching her fists as her pussy spasmed and wet her thighs, crying out for pleasure. She glanced at her phone, and saw a look of terrible arousal on her face: creased brow, compressed lips.

Polly whimpered, too, as she bucked her hips, and pulled her panties inside her pussy lips and up against her clit, watching the shameful sight in the mirror all the while, just as the camera did. Stacy loved panties; she loved videos where panties were important and she loved to play with her own panties. She always felt like girls’ panties were removed too quickly in the vast majority of the videos she watched, but
Polly Gets Caught
wasn’t like that: for a full minute, as Stacy found her breath coming more and more harshly, Polly rode her innocent white panties.

She pulled them up until they had seemed to disappear entirely between her pink inner lips. She cried out as she tightened the fabric against her clit and then used her left hand to rub all along the length of her pussy and even down and back further, where the panty rope must be pressing excitingly against her anus. Then she released the panties and pulled them out, looking dark and damp, and caressed her clit with the fingertips of that left hand, until Stacy saw her hips seem to move of their own accord against the rubbing. Then, again, the panties bunched in the fist of Polly’s right hand, held lightly against her pussy, rubbed playfully across, up and down, and in…

“Polly, what are you doing?” came the voice of the uncle figure, from off-camera. The screen cut to a shot of him coming into the room, wearing jeans, with no shirt. He was beefy, and not very handsome, but was not a terrible actor and he had the tone of voice down. Stacy felt a flush of embarrassment, in sympathy with Polly, and her mind flashed to the moment when the door of her room had opened to reveal Ben Weathers standing there. She felt her arousal start to flow into her panties at that thought—that similarity.

Polly’s going to learn a lesson now,
her mind couldn’t help saying.
Just like you did.

“N-nothing,” Polly protested, turning to him and dropping her skirt. “I just got home from school, Uncle Billy.”

“Now you know,” said Uncle Billy, “that your mama wants me to take care of you, even though we’re not related, right?”

That kind of thing always made Stacy smile. Sometimes they bothered making it clear that there was no actual incest involved, and sometimes—in the most amateur ones—they didn’t.

“Yes, sir,” Polly said, looking theatrically fearful but also, Stacy could see, suppressing a smile.
Sir.
Why did that word have such an effect on Stacy?

“Do you want to tell me what you were doing,” asked Uncle Billy, “or do you want to make it worse for yourself?” His tone was severe and threatening.

“But I wasn’t doing anything!” Polly wailed, her performance clearly raised a notch by Uncle Billy’s very realistic one.

“Give me your panties, Polly,” Uncle Billy said. “Right this instant. I’m going to see for myself.”

“What?” Polly said.

“Give me your panties, girl. I can already promise you you’re going to get a spanking. Do you want me to have to use my belt?”

“No, sir,” Polly whimpered.

Stacy was breathing terribly hard now, her fists clenched tight and held firmly against her breastbone.
Please,
she thought,
please just let me…

She tried squeezing her thighs. She had heard that you could sometimes even come that way, but the little bit of pleasure it gave only made her bite her lip in frustration that she couldn’t have more.

If only he hadn’t mentioned the belt,
she thought.

How could she possibly make it through the whole video?

“Alright,” Ben said. “We’re going to watch your homework assignment together in a few minutes. Were you a good girl for me? Did you stay on the path of virtue?”

“Yes, sir,” Stacy said meekly, looking over her right shoulder at him.