Message-ID: <6363eli$9802222007@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: kate1533@yahoo.com
Subject: STORY: Incorrigible--episode 4--M/F
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As must be obvious, I haven't got the mechanics of posting down, yet. 
There's a certain element of surprise when I view the formatting as it
appears on the newsgroup.  Apologies for that.	I'll get it yet.

The usual discalimer applies: don't read this if you're under 18 or have ever
found reading about sexual activities unpleasantly disturbing.

Kate <kate1533@yahoo.com>

Episode 4

His "skirt request" had not been explained and she had assumed they'd be
going somewhere dressing was expected.  Now, as she struggled to keep
up with his long strides,  she regretted her dainty heels and teetered along,
praying she wouldn't turn an ankle. She clutched his coat sleeve, and said,
"Could you walk a little slower?  It's my shoes, you see."

"Yes, of course, forgive me.  If we were not still so near the school, I'd
simply throw you over my shoulder and carry you."

"Why not just drag me by the hair?"

"Waste of pain.  Pain has its pleasures and instructional uses--I wouldn't
want you to be blunted to it. That wouldn't be kind of me, would it?  You'll
find kindness is one of my most outstanding characteristics.  I am kind to a
fault.  Kind, patient and reasonable."

He unlocked the passenger side of the car and closed it after she got in. She
was utterly confused.  He had beaten her that afternoon, and now he
treated her with more courtly attention than most.  He seemed a different
man from the passionate fury of earlier that day. And the claim to kindness,
patience and reason? Where was that coming from?  She cocked an
eyebrow at him as he sat down in the driver's seat.

"You question that?" he asked in what had to be mock indignation.  "After
the orgasm I gave you this afternoon, you question my kindness?  You had
flagrantly disobeyed me, and I was so easily moved by your tears and
contrition, which, I point out, you have yet to express, that I wanted to
make you happy again and forgive you.  What kinder act is known to man--
or in this case, obviously, woman?  Did I not give you the balm of
forgiveness?  Am I completely wrong about you?  Are you just another
spoiled ungrateful bitch?"

His response was so entirely unexpected that she sat silent in amazement
while he continued. She allowed him to rest his hand behind her neck again,
and though his voice had taken on an edge of hardness with his last
questions, he now modulated it to the low comforting rumble she had
always found so profoundly masculine and attractive. "Sweetie, you've
been raised and educated by well-meaning fools who have filled your head
with silly notions of free-will and independence.  Your body, your biology,
tells you something quite different, though.  It tells you that wherever that
may lead, it's not to happiness."  He pulled away from the curb.

Unbidden, her own earlier fleeting thought came to her," she would do
anything for this kind of tender confidence and strength".  She flashed on
the image of herself contorted with the most powerful orgasm of her life
and grew wet once more.   The warmth of his hand permeated her. She
could almost feel her labia filling and pulsing.

"Most women never in their entire lives experience what you did this
afternoon. The blossoming of yoursubmission was inexpressibly beautiful
 to watch."

"Wait, let me get this right....you're saying that you did that as a favor to
me?  By spanking me like a child, you what, cleansed me? Gave me
redemption through punishment, without which I could not have had as
powerful an orgasm? You weren't angry?"  It was a desperate attempt to
reconnect with her powerful intellect.  She felt her lifelong identity was
being turned upside-down.

"If you want to put it that way, I suppose so.  I would have said that it
focused you.  Centered your attention on your body, excluding frivolous
distractions.  I'm not entirely comfortable with role-playing as your parent.
If you have a thing for your father, I'm not really into that.  I'm not after
children, you know.  I don't see you as a child---definitely a woman, but a
recalcitrant, confused one, who needs some guidance and redirection.  I'm
offering that.  I expect rewards from it; I'm not suggesting it's completely
altruistic.  I want this much clear: all future punishment will be consensual.
If you agree, I believe there will come a time when you request it, and not
that far off.  Furthermore, the whole arrangement is for mutual benefit. Its
purpose is to affectionately amuse, educate, explore and please one
another.  At whatever time that ceases to be, whenever either of us is no
longer being served in that way, and the illusion of that cessation is as good
as its reality, that person is free to walk away.  You are a beautiful young
woman, with glorious potential.  However it is employed will be well
served and no one can help you make that decision.    You don't have to
decide just yet.  I've been giving you free samples.  Let me know when
you're ready to buy the package."

With that he moved his hand around to the side of her neck and began stroking
her with his forefinger.  He traced the shell of her ear, and then caressed
its helix moving towards the canal.  She was obligingly responsive.  Stock
still at first, she began to move like a small pet, leaning into the strokes,
presenting the next part to be petted. She gave him her cheek and then her
lips. She took his finger into her mouth and he took it back. He followed the
thinnest contours of her lips, and then dipped again. Again she sucked, but
this time she was resigned to his withdrawal, and let him stroke her lips as
he chose. Around and around he went, slowly, until the musculature had
relaxed, dipping as he liked, making them glisten with her juice. When they
were properly submissively parted and slack, he introduced it to her mouth
more insistently.  It toured the gumline, making forays to the roof and
beneath the tongue. She tried to suck it, but he would not allow that.  At
last, he used it to press her tongue to the bottom of her mouth. He held it
there while her mouth filled with drool and she learned to accept. He slid it
in and out a few times and then inserted a second finger.  He pressed one
finger against the roof and another against the tongue.  At the first
suggestion, her jaw dropped and she was wide open to him. God! how he wanted
to fuck that mouth, though it wasn't yet the right time.


"Your problem, my dear, is not that you weren't born to give yourself, but
simply that you haven't met anyone who could appreciate how much you
have to give.  So you just don't know."  He slid his wet hand  down the
front of her dress. She was magnificent!  He had decided to pop them out
over the bra, this time, but she'd already figured out she had to keep them
accessible to him. He glossed the nipples with the remainder of her fluid,
and cupped the right globe.  He gave it a friendly squeeze as he pulled into
a parking space in front of the restaurant. He looked across at her.  Her jaw
was still slack, and she had parted her thighs.  Her head was thrown back at
the top of the seat, exposing her neck in a sinuous pose of passion, of
animal submission, really.  Her eyes were closed.  He rummaged quickly in
her bag and grinned to discover her panties--"sensible" cotton ones.
Draping them quickly over her eyes, he said, "I'll be right back as soon as I
can.  Don't move. I'll be watching through the window."

She heard the automatic doorlock and then the cardoor slammed.  She
could smell her panties, so she knew he'd been in her purse and found
them.  She knew she looked slutty and vulgar to passersby and blushed to
think of it.  Could she bare to let him do these things to her?  It was absurd
of her to sit here looking ridiculous to please him.  But there was no way to
ignore the intensity of her feelings.  She couldn't tell if she was waking or
entering a dream, but it had that heightened out of focus unreality where
everything needed reevaluation.  She knew she was in no condition to
make any judgments, but would she ever be?  She realized that now she
was governed by lust and his influence, but when she was removed from it,
it was true that her mindset was determined by her up-bringing, and that
had been as moralistic and rigid as any Puritan's, and she knew it was far of
the mark. Was this any closer? How could she know without exploring it?
She could always walk away, couldn't she?  Would she?  Is it possible she
could be fundamentally changed? Did that matter to her if changed she was
happy? Was all this sturm und drang necessary?  The key in the lock. The
door opening on her side.

"Take the blindfold off.  Hold this so it doesn't spill.  Be careful of your
dress, I'm not sure the lid's tight enough on the barbecue sauce."

"Where are we going?"

"To my  office.  I still work several days a week.  There's no one working
late tonight."

The office turned out to be a brownstone rowhouse building in an historic
district. She couldn't disguise her admiration for the Georgian facade. The
first two floors held offices and reception rooms. They were done in an odd
ecclecticism of careful preservation and starkly modern. The third floor had
a large kitchen and a living room that was more like a library. The fourth
floor, he said had two bedrooms and access to the now unattended roof
garden. "I used to live here."

"And you chose not to?" her voice was properly incredulous.

"Long story. Long and boring.  Why don't you find your way around the
kitchen and set up supper, while I find some music to put on and run
upstairs to adjust the thermostat?  Otherwise it will start to get very chilly
in another hour or two."

The kitchen was far too big and bizarrely well equipped with what she took
to be the "good" china and stemware--service for twenty-four--and
professional cookware until she found that one of the cabinet doors had a
dumbwaiter behind it, which she reasoned went to the conference room on
the floor below.  The everyday things (occasionally chipped service for
four) was simpler.   She found the stainless steel flatware.  It was the same
pattern her mother had.  He had lived here as a very young man.  When he
came back he was barefoot, in jeans, though he still wore his dress shirt,
but the tie was gone and the cuffs were rolled.  The opening theme of the
New World Symphony drifted in. He grinned at her "I know it's supposed
to be corny music, but it always makes me feel hopeful. Besides, I feel
pretty corny." He nuzzled her neck.  He looked much younger without the
suit.  While they ate, he told her about the asperations he'd had to be a
landscape architect, and that had led him to vestpocket parks and gardens
for the rich and famous, and his own little abandoned roof garden.  While
he talked, he chose and fed her the choicest morsels, again.  When she
announced that she couldn't eat anymore, he told her to start straightening
up, he'd be done momentarily.  Then he wolfed down all the food that was
left.  She stood still and watched in astonishment.

He was full of surprises, and the next thing he did was another.  He drew
her toward him and ran his hand up her dress and squeezing her butt cheek,
asked, "Have you already forgotten what happens to disobedient wenches?
I told you to straighten up."  Then he ran his hand to the inside of her thigh
and felt her hair.  "What have we here?"
"Well, if I haven't straightened up, at least I seem to have straightened out,
in another sense of the word."  He had inserted his fist through the hosiery
and he now took a handful of hair and pulled her labia down.

"No one loves a smart-ass.  Do your chores." He had one arm around her
waist.  He ran a finger deep into her  pussy hole and up the slit to her clit.
"Yes."
"And then if you ask me very nicely, I will take you to bed."
"I ..will...try...to ask you...as nicely...as I can...oh! please! don't stop!"
He released her and sniffed his finger. Then wiping it on a napkin, smiling,
"Chores...remember?"

There was little enough to be done and she did it efficiently, though
absently.  He did nothing but sit and watch. She did not reflect on this.  She
was preoccupied with the problem of her request. Would he want her to
grovel? She wasn't sure she could do that, or should be expected to.  She
decided she had to be direct, somehow, and not at all challenging.  After
wiping her hands on a paper towel, she approached him.

She sat in her previously vacated chair.
"I have a problem, Mike, and I need help."
"Yes?" He was non-commital but attentive.
"Please tell me the best way, the nicest way to ask you to go to bed with
me."
"Well that was a decent start, and I'll see if I can help you out. It would be
much nicer if it wasn't so demanding.  For instance, you softened it with
'please', but you did use the imperative.  Try again."

"Would you tell me, please, the nicest way to ask you to go--no, to make
love to me?"

"Well, that was better--much!  A request is always better as a question than
as a demand.  Remember that as a supplicant, for the future.  Also I do
appreciate the expression of yourself as more passive in the second clause,
but you're not quite there. How shall I put this, Candy?  What you want is
not for me to make up to you, that leaves you still in control, which is not
at all what you want.  We both know that.  What you want to do, correct
me if I'm wrong, is put yourself in my hands, to please myself, knowing it
will please you."

She opened her mouth to answer, but there seemed nothing to say.

"Think about it.  You're a bright woman.  Isn't it true that lovers get the
most enjoyment out of pleasing each other, not themselves?"

"Yes, that's my experience."

"Don't you care to please me?  I know I want you to be pleased."

"Yes, of course, I do, but..."

"But right now, you are so horney and consumed with insatiable lust for
me, that you can think only of assuaging it.  Is that it?"

"No! I just..." the words died in her mouth. It was, in one sense, true.  She
knew, too, he meant to do it.  Why was he putting her through all these
hoops?  Why could he not begin to touch her? How could he sit there so
calmly when she could see the bulge in his pants and he knew that she was
desperate and offering herself to him?  She stared at the hands, limply
curled, palm up, in her lap.  She felt defeated, not so much by him as by the
situation.

He looked at her. She was unconscious of how submissive her pose was.
Her bowed red face told him everything he needed to know.  Should he
relent?  Would that, in the end, be good for her?  He shook his head to
himself, too kind.  He was really too kind for this sort of thing.  He stood
above her and took her face in one hand, his fingers laid along one cheek,
his palm cupping her chin and his thumb pressed into the other cheek.  He
tilted her head back as far as it would go and drew the flesh forward.  He
watched the lips pout and then expose the softer wet inner membrane.  He
bent to her and tasted the mouth with just his tongue, drawing her to her
feet as he did.

She strained to maintain contact and when she had risen to the balls of her
toes, he scrubbed her pout with the bristles of his mustache, and drew her
skirt, fastened by just a soft elastic waistband and her blouse, up until the
aistband held them  just below her armpits.  Releasing her face, now, he
again licked the slack reddened and puffy lips, petting her flanks under the
clothing.    His finger tips met at her spine, traveling lightly up and down
and she arched slightly. His thumbs pointed to her pussy and grazed the
bush at the base or gently propped her tits at the top.  She was precariously
balanced and yet strained to thrust at him. He began to ease the waistband
higher and her arms rose to help.  Mid-way up her upper arms, when it
formed an accidental blindfold, he stopped and piled the fabric on her head
and forearms.  The rest of her body below was exposed, save for the sheer
pantyhose with their ragged wound.  He surveyed her for a moment as she
quivered and he opened his fly.  Releasing his cock and balls he stroked the
shaft quickly and then covered himself again with his shirt.  She was
beginning to totter and he placed a supportive arm around her back and
drew her to lean against him.  Swiftly he dropped the clothes between them
on the hard floor and covered her mouth with his own.  Searchingly his
tongue reached into the soft humid cavity. Lightly he touched her pelt and
her thighs turned outward. He gently insinuated his hand a little lower and
she spread them.  Now he placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed
her down.

She tried to maintain the position but lost her balance and had to go back
on her flat feet.  He followed her bending to this point, but continued to
force her lower, until she went on her knees.  He towered over her now.
She seemed unaware of the tent of his shirtfront.  Her eyes were on his and
they glistened in melting supplication.  He undid the remaining buttons and
removed his shirt. Her eyes went immediately to the cock.  He held it
before her and stroked it.  Then he held out his other hand and said, "Give
me your hands."

When she had, he grasped both wrists and held them over her head.  He
drew them back until she arched her back and he saw her thighs ripple. Her
breasts, drawn taut were begging for his touch and he used his stroking
hand to tweak either nipple.  "Stay like that, keep your arms up." he
directed and released her.  She did as she was told.  Her entire body rippled
and quivered, but she held.

She could not take her eyes from it.  It had been several years since she had
seen one, but never one like this!  It was hardly longer than she had
expected, but much thicker.  The underside, which was what she could see,
was obviously engorged with blood, dark and ruddy.  Sinuous veins
branched from the largest, wrapping around the delineated swolen side
muscles.  She thought it looked like a cobra, getting ready to strike. She
wanted to touch it with her tongue.  She wanted to feel it in her mouth.
She wanted to taste it. Anticipatory saliva welled in her mouth.  There was
no searching for the right phrase this time, the words sprang from her
before she thought of them,"May I kiss it?"

"Is that what you call it?" He smiled at her mouth, already wide open."Yes,
I think, you may, if you like." He pressed the very end, with its pearly drop
of pre-cum to her lip and circled, smearing it as he had done earlier, first
with his finger and then with his tongue. They were still red and sensitized
by the earlier mustache scouring and  he next enjoyed beating her swolen
organ with his own. Her tongue reached out and caressed what it could,
but he had accustomed it to gentle behavior by now.  He pushed her arms
down and one hand flew to his shaft.

"No, "he said, "play with yourself for me.  Let me see you play with your
breasts."  Now he grasped her hair and yanked back her head. He slid his
cock partly into her mouth and battered her from the inside.

Dissociatively she noted that the metaphor of sword and sheath was all wrong.
 It felt like a fist going into a sleeve.  Blunt and strong into soft and
yielding.  She cupped her breasts and dreamily kneaded them.  She wanted to
play with her pussy.  It was so wet, she knew the hair was sticky and matted.
The cozy melting feeling had left and it itched with heat.  She pictured
herself doing it.  It no longer occurred to her to act beyond instructions.
"Yes, " he approved.  "Now harder. Squeeze and pinch your tits.  Pull them
out by the nipples." She did as told.  Her nipples hurt.  She thought she
didn't want to but she kept doing it and her pussy got hotter and wetter. 
She felt a drop run down the inside of her thigh.  She needed to touch
herself down there.  He had been jerking her head up and down on the cock,
but now he held it still and began to pump into the mouth.  He reached down
and took one nipple from a hand and ordered her to play with her pussy. As
she reached below and gratefully touched the drenched lips a searing heat ran
through her as though a lightening bolt had struck her nipple in his fingers.
As she gasped he rammed down her throat.

He kept it deep inside her for a moment.  Then easing up with fingers and
prick at once, she was again able to let it slide past the gag reflex in the
distraction of her pain.  He rolled the achey button in his fingers as she did
the slick one in her cunt.  When she was beginning to feel weak and
overcome by the warmth of the flood to her pussy he repeated it.  It
galvanized her once more.  The whole thing happened again and then,
switching hands to her head, dropping the tit, he brushed the other hand
aside and did it three times to that one.

Then he let go of her for a moment and taking a shoulder, knelt beside her
and pushed her down til she lay on the floor on top of clothes.  He knelt
between her spread thighs and began tapping her mound with the head.
She worked herself down til her ass cheeks rested on his knees, as he sat
on his heels, her own knees up, bracketting him, with her heels on the
floor. When he saw her maneuvers he ceased his tapping and began
stroking himself again. With his other hand he stroked her.  He rubbed
around the mouth of her hole and made it grip his finger tip.
He said, "Beg me"

"Please, Mike, please put it in me."
"No.  Twist your nipples." He drew his finger up to her clit and flicked it
hard.  "No I won't do that. You're not doing it hard enough.  Do it the way
I like it."

She pinched and twisted harder and he could see she really was in some
discomfort. He pumped himself hard and fast. "Please, Mike!" she begged.
"I need it."

"Pinch them harder.  Dig your nails in.  You know what it's supposed to
feel like." and then when she did as she was told and was streaming sweat
and juices, " Now, do you think you know how to ask me next time?" He
rubbed her clit mercilessly, back and forth.

"Yes,yes! I promise!"

"Let go of your nipples.  What do you promise?"

"I promise to beg you for the favor of being used for your pleasure."

"Very well" and he supported her to a seated position.  "Invite my
cockhead to bite your poor sore nipples one more time and you can cum."
He placed her hands on his staff and she dropped first  one nipple and then
the other to the pee-hole.  She looked at him imploringly and said, "Now?"
He smiled down, and seizing the smooth. full lobe of faintly pink flesh,
pressed the pointy tip into the opening, roughly. He was sliding his finger
up to her clit and back down deep into her hole, up to her clit and back
down into her hole, up to her clit and back down into her hole, up to her
clit and back down into her hole....

When she subsided, he lay her on her back again and squeezed her glorious
tits together. He slid within the luscious smooth cleavage several times and
then withdrew to feel the bruised tight nipples one last time before covering
them in cream.

He heaved himself upright and found her a dishtowel. After a little
ineffectual mopping and smearing of her chest he said, "Come, I think we'd
better just hose you down." and led her to the stairs.



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