Knowing one's place - Sex Stories

Knowing one's place

... the dampness flood her gusset. "Look at 'er Graham, she's wet for you," Miss Montsarde purred, quietly impressed by the submission of her protégé. While her self control certainly left a little to be desired, they could easily work on such details. Graham's face was contorted and his cock was now twitching all on it's own, drenched in his slick natural lubricant. Camille turned towards him and observed as she teased Amy's clit. "Is it knowing zat 'er cunt is wet zat excites you?" she questioned. Graham still couldn't get his head around any of this. On the one hand, he had this wet dream being played out to him but on the other having an audience and being restrained and passive was frustrating in the extreme. His cock was aching to be touched, her wet snatch was so close, he struggled to cope with it all. He had beads of sweat dripping down over his face and had started shifting involuntarily against his bounds and even letting out soft mewing sounds. Miss Montsarde brought her hand down abruptly on Amy's pussy, the sudden deviance knocking the breath out of her. As she gradually caught her breath back, so the pleasure melted into the folds of her pussy. The second slap just stung her arse cheek but left a red mark, much to Graham's pleasure. Camille turned her attention back to her client. "Look at zat 'ard cock of yours," she commented with what looked to him like hungry eyes. "So thick and long. Now, stand up!" she commanded, cutting through her previous niceties. He did ...

... so eagerly, although the sudden movement caused the world to spin around him. As the fog cleared, he was elated to note that this had not been a reverie but that the therapist was indeed standing in front of him. That her attention was concentrated on the very source of his deep frustration was overwhelming. His body was screaming out for her touch, and he was utterly dependent on her as he stood there, bound, unable to satisfy his most basic of urges. Out of nowhere he saw Miss Montsarde's arm fly out and a split second later felt it crash down on his slippery manhood. He cried out in pain and doubled over precipitously, pulling his arms down at his back to maintain his balance. She struck again as he started to straighten up and this game of seesaw continued to play out, with him struggling to maintain his balance among the pain and confusion that coursed through him. Yet still he was captivated by his mistress and took the blows; he was punch-drunk. His dick stood up proudly throughout, manifesting that pleasure maintained it's authority over any discomfort. A whirl of confusion fogged his faculties, sedated his wits. He was accustomed to being the predator and yet found himself mesmerised before her. The fleeting images blurred in his mind, but through the mist his eyes focused in on the thin material embracing her curves. “Are you paying…” whack “ATTENTION!” Miss Montsarde yelled, snapping him back to reality. The sting across his thighs made his prick bounce in response ...