An Indecent Awakening (9 page)

He didn’t speak until he had taken a stand near Stacy’s bare, spread bottom, so that she had to crane her neck to look at him. “That was a moment too long, Stacy. It’s time you learned how the paddle feels. I use it for academic infractions, and your failure to follow the rule I had just laid down, that you must always take your clothes off in my basement, is the kind of thing I consider an academic infraction. Following rules is an important part of your training.”

He tapped the paddle, which must have been of oak or maple, against Stacy’s bottom, and she whimpered.

“While I paddle you,” Ben said, “we’ll watch the beginning of your homework.” With his left hand, he picked up the remote and pressed a button. “I want your eyes on that screen, Stacy.”

Trembling, Stacy obeyed, and she watched herself biting her lip, on the video from her phone, while Polly began to play with herself in front of the mirror.

She felt a puff of air against her bottom, and an instant later the paddle struck her, hard. She yelped, and tried to move her bottom, but the straps held her so that she could barely wiggle.

“One,” Ben said. The sting built and built in her poor bottom-cheeks. On the screen, Polly was riding her naughty panties, and Stacy’s fists were clenched in front of her as she watched.

Ben paddled her again, and Stacy cried out, her eyes beginning to water. “Two,” he said.

Polly’s uncle asked for the panties, and Polly reluctantly complied. Ben paddled Stacy for the third time as the uncle brought the panties to his nose, and sniffed them.

“Oh, God,” Stacy murmured. The pain from the paddle had become heat in her pussy, at the filthy sight of what the uncle did. On the other side of the screen, Stacy’s own face was transformed by arousal: she panted, mouth open and fists tightly held so that she wouldn’t touch herself.

“Take off all your clothes and lie on your bed, Polly,” said the uncle. “I’ve got to teach you a lesson about your cooch and your heiny.” He started to take off his belt. The paddle smacked down on Stacy’s bottom again.

“Five,” Ben said, as Stacy screamed at the pain from the repeated blows on the same place, all right across her poor little bottom.

Polly lay face down on her small bed with the pink comforter. Her uncle started to whip her. “Your mama left me in charge of you, when she went away, Polly,” he said, through the sound of her tears. “That means I’m in charge of all of you, including that sweet little cooch of yours. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Polly sobbed.

Stacy felt Ben’s hands on her hips, and then she felt the head of his cock at her soaking pussy, pushing in hard. She gasped at the feeling and at the idea that he would simply fuck her that way, without warning.

Just the way Polly’s uncle had simply dropped his own jeans and climbed onto the bed, and started fucking Polly from behind, saying, “How does that heiny feel now, Polly? This is what you need, isn’t it, you little whore? We’re going to do this every day from now on.”

Stacy looked at her own reaction, on the left of the screen, to the terrible, terrible thing the uncle had just said—the thing that had made her never watch this video more than once, even though she couldn’t stop thinking about it for days afterward, every time with a treasonous clench of her pussy. Her open-mouthed arousal was absolutely clear: the awful thing the uncle had said was a huge, undeniable turn-on for Stacy Miller.

She felt the cock of Ben Weathers, her own version of that uncle, her own objectifier and degrader, her own sex trainer, going in and out of her pussy, and she cried out with the excess of pleasure that cock brought both in the feeling of being full of masculine hardness and in the feeling of degradation that joined her to Polly. On the screen Polly screamed the way Stacy was screaming, with pleasure forced upon her that paradoxically was the very best kind of pleasure there was—at least for a porn-girl.

Ben put his right hand on her shoulder, gripped her hip tightly with his left, and fucked very hard. “There you go, baby,” he said. “How does
your
heiny feel?”

“It hurts, sir,” Stacy sobbed, not even sure why she was answering what Ben must have meant to be a rhetorical question.

“Good, baby. That’s good to hear. A porn-girl has to get used to that.”

Those words seemed to send both of them off: Stacy strained against the straps, finding to her shame that she loved the way they prevented her from moving with her orgasm the uncontrolled way she usually did. Ben slammed his hips into her punished bottom so that she cried out in a final squeal of discomfort. Both videos had ended, Stacy’s frozen face looking abashed as her hand reached to stop the recording and Polly’s bottom covered in the uncle’s semen, in close-up.

Stacy felt Ben’s cock pumping her pussy full of semen, and wondered why she hadn’t done anything about birth control. It wasn’t because she had forgotten; she had thought hard about whether to get the morning-after pill, and to schedule an appointment for an IUD, but something about this experience with Ben seemed to change the way she perceived the idea of having a baby inside her. There was something so hot about the idea that he might get her pregnant that she almost didn’t want to think about it, but rather let it happen, if it would happen.

Besides, she knew her cycle backwards and forwards; she was in the safest part of it right now, right at the beginning.

But why the hell should that be hot—the idea that Ben didn’t give a shit whether his porn-girl got pregnant?

All those thoughts shot through her mind in an instant, as she felt her body coming down from the orgasm:
my very first orgasm on a spanking bench
. It made her proud, and it made her think of the videos with the spanking benches in them, and the way those girls had to come while strapped to the benches, screaming out climax after climax as the man in charge of them told them how slutty they were and how necessary it was that they learn to give pleasure to men’s cocks.

Above and behind her, Ben was stroking her back. “Was that nice, baby?” he asked.

Stacy started. Hadn’t Jack asked, “Did that feel good, sweetheart?” Why was it so incredibly different for Ben to ask almost the same thing?

“Do you like having my come inside your little cunt?” Ben murmured.

There was the difference: the way Ben said it, well, from behind, and above her. The power. Jack had had a note of pleading in his voice:
please tell me I’m an okay lover
. Ben didn’t care; he asked the question to demonstrate that he wasn’t really interested in the answer.
I know it was nice, because I have a big cock, and I fucked you with it. I’ll call your pussy a little cunt, and I’ll call
you
a little cunt, a little whore, and a porn-girl, whenever I feel like it.

And that’s the path of virtue, as far as you’re concerned, Stacy Miller.

Ben pulled out and undid the straps, giving her bottom a pat when he had finished. “You can go ahead and get up, baby. Stand in front of the chair like last time, and we’ll talk about your homework.”

He disappeared out of her field of vision, and when she rose from the spanking bench she saw that he was shutting down the TV. She watched him for a moment, trying to remember what he had told her to do. When Ben finished with the TV, he turned and saw her. He gave her a stern look.

What did he say? What am I supposed to do?
“I-I’m sorry, sir…” Stacy stammered. “I j-just… don’t remember. Please don’t spank me!” Again she felt the double feeling—the fear of the spanking for failing to obey and the arousal at the thought of it.

Ben smiled. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said. “Girls like you drop into subspace, and it makes you a little silly and forgetful sometimes. I know that. Go stand in front of the chair, like last time. I’ll come tell you your homework in a moment.”

Stacy felt warmth fill her chest at this little instance of understanding. She couldn’t actually be developing some kind of feelings for the man who was forcing her to undergo porn-training, could she? Feeling her brow furrow in perplexity, she went to stand in front of the armchair where he had spanked her three days before, over his lap. How could one lewd ‘homework’ assignment and having her pussy shaved, and having to watch that video while Ben fucked her…

At first, it seemed to her that far too little had happened since Friday for her to feel as different as she felt now, but then as she reviewed the events of the past three days in her mind she saw that really a
lot
had indeed changed. She looked down, instinctively, at where she had just that morning still had fleecy brown hair between her thighs. All gone.

Then she remembered to put her hands on her head, as she heard Ben move back toward where she waited. His hand took hold of her bottom, very gently, and just held it for a moment. “So nice,” he said. “We’ll start training you here very soon.”

Stacy shivered.

As soon as Stacy came in the front door, the next Tuesday, Ben said, “Show me your cunt, Stacy. I want to make sure you’re not wearing panties.”

The look on Stacy’s face showed a perfect mixture of shame and arousal. It got him instantly hard. Her hands began to move downward, but then they stopped. Stacy bit her lip.

“Go ahead, girl,” Ben said. “Do you want a paddling?”

Stacy shook her head. She took hold of her blue sundress at the front of her thighs and started to lift it up, while Ben regarded her lovely bare legs with an appraising eye. Stacy pulled the dress up slowly, until at last she gathered the hem into her fingers and held it, trembling a little above her bare pussy, of which Ben could just make out the little cleft, peeping out modestly between her thighs.

“Did you shave this morning?” he asked softly, as he put out his left hand to touch her there lightly, just to let her know to whom her cunt belonged.

She nodded, and made a little whimper deep in her throat at the delicate caress.

“Alright, you get downstairs. I’ll be down in a sec.”

To his satisfaction, Ben found Stacy naked, in front of the chair, with her hands on her head.

“Good girl,” he said. “That’s just the way you should be, if I don’t give you any other instructions. I’m proud of you, Stacy.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, turning her head to look at him as he advanced across the carpet.

“Now what was your homework again?”

Stacy blushed. “
The Adulteress,
” she said softly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Ben said. He stood next to her, now, and casually reached out his right hand to play with her breasts, giving her nipples a possessive little tweak. Stacy’s nostrils flared, and Ben reached down to run his middle finger along her smooth pussy, pushing it further in, so that he could pinch her little clit between that finger and his thumb, and make Stacy’s knees buckle and open further to him.

“Naughty,” he said softly. “Tell me about
The Adulteress,
like it’s a book report. Do you remember the questions I asked you to think about?”

“Yes, sir,” Stacy gasped. Ben kept up the caress of her pussy, running two fingers down and inward, to seek out her wetness. He brought the fingers up and put them at Stacy’s lips. At first her brow furrowed and she compressed her lips, but when Ben seized her jaw lightly and squeezed just a little, she opened her mouth with a little sob, and greedily sucked her cunt’s arousal off his fingers.

“There we go, porn-girl,” Ben murmured in her ear. He took the fingers away and returned them to her slippery, warm cunt. “What were the questions?”

“Th-they… I mean, the f-first… one was why d-does Lady M-Margaret get p-punished?” Ben had put his left arm around Stacy’s waist to support her, while he forced her legs open with his right hand, so that he could claim her pussy and anus completely with his hand.

“And I asked you to think about it on at least two levels, didn’t I?” Ben said, nodding like a teacher prompting a good student.

“Y-yes. And…” Ben relented a little with his hand, so that she could finish answering before he brought out his little surprise.

“And you asked, why does Lord Palmer fuck her in the ass, after he whips her?”

“That’s right,” Ben said, just gently running his middle finger up and down, so that the little noises came from Stacy every few seconds, but she still had enough reason to carry on a conversation.

“And… why does… does he let her come, at the end.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ben said. “Let’s get you on the bench, so that we can discuss your answers.”

“Yes, sir,” Stacy whimpered. Ben helped her stand up, and she took the two steps to the bench and laid herself over it so sweetly and obediently that Ben wanted to hug her. He resisted that urge, but couldn’t help patting her bottom and saying, “Good girl,” before he strapped her down.

He started
The Adulteress
playing on the TV, with no sound, and went to the closet. The first few minutes of the video were a ludicrous setup of the restoration-era-esque situation, in which Lord Palmer discovers his wife Lady Margaret in bed with a footman. The sex with the footman was a little hot, Ben would admit—the director tapped into a fantasy of a proper lady getting from a footman what she had never dared asked for from her noble husband.

Lord Palmer’s discovery of the footman riding Lady Margaret like a pony, though, made Ben—who thought of himself as something of a porn connoisseur—cringe. So he didn’t mind having his back to the screen as he went to the closet to get the vibrator, the butt plug, and the lube.

He was sure that Stacy would have eyes only for the action in the video, but he took a roundabout path back from the closet to the rear of the spanking bench anyway, so that he could create some anticipation in her mind as she realized that he held something she wasn’t supposed to see. Once he had reached a spot directly behind her, as always admiring the loveliness between her legs—the pretty pink pout of her cunt and the sweet wrinkled opening between her firm cheeks—he plugged the vibrator into the power strip he had put there for that purpose before Stacy arrived. He set the butt plug and the little bottle of lube down on the couch cushion right behind him. He laid the now powered but still inactive magic wand next to them, its purple dildo attachment firmly affixed.