Climax: Volume 2

by Ella Ford

  “Lift up your skirt, take off your panties and lay over my lap, Jennifer,” he said calmly. There was no anger in his voice. No malice. He simply said what he wanted, in the same way that you might order a Subway sandwich or tell a barber how to cut your hair.

  For the first time, I felt an urge to get away, to be somewhere else. I knew instinctively that this was wrong, that he had no right to do this to me. I wondered what his wife would think, what she would say about her husband punishing a house guest like this, making sordid suggestions that would be improper and wrong in any situation. But a small part of me realized, with a certainty that I couldn’t explain, that Kate Cole would never express such disapproval, never show the hurt of this betrayal. I knew that her relationship with her husband, the violent intimacy that I’d seen, went far deeper than simple roleplay. It was in every aspect of their interactions - the way she spoke to him, defered to him, served him, looked at him. In that instant, I realized that she wasn’t his wife, at least not only his wife. She was also his slave, his possession. She was owned by him in a way that I had previously not thought possible.

  With a flush rising in my cheeks, eyes darting this way and that, I lowered my hands to the hem of my light skirt and lifted it up around my waist. I felt hot and scared, deeply ashamed and vulnerable as I revealed the white cotton of my panties to this older, intimidating man. But most of all, most unexpectedly of all, I felt awash with guilt and regret. I felt like a child who had broken a window and then lied about it. I felt as though I’d done something unforgivably bad, and with that feeling came a recognition that I truly deserved what was about to happen to me.

  “Take off your panties,” he said without a hint of emotion, but with a growing fire in his deep blue eyes. His gaze flicked over my young body like an animal stalking prey. In his pants, the unmistakable bulge of his growing cock.

  “I… I can’t…” I began and he flicked his eyes up to meet mine, withering me with an intense gaze that caused me to gasp under the weight of it. For all that I tried to resist, for all that I tried to exert the rational voice that screamed inside me that this was wrong! wrong! wrong! I nevertheless reached down and hooked my fingers into the waistband of my pretty panties, then lowered them down my legs, letting them fall to my ankles in a shameful heap.

  Professor Cole looked down, his face still rigid and stoic, the intense flame that flickered behind his dark eyes the only outward appearance of his desire, and he gazed at my pussy, lingering there until my cheeks burned with the discomfort of his scrutiny.

  Then he patted his knee and sat back, lifting his face to mine and summoning me forward wordlessly but irresistibly.

  Taking tiny steps, barely able to believe I was doing it, still clutching the thin material of my skirt around my waist, I stepped out of my panties and stood before him. Then I moved to his side and bent forwards, resting my hand on his thighs, sighing as I felt the hard cords of his muscles beneath this expensive material of his pants. He took hold of me then, placing one hand beneath my stomach and the other on my back, supporting my weight as though I was as light as a feather, then he lowered me down onto his lap until my hands were resting on the floor opposite my feet and my hips were over his legs. With no effort at all, he shifted his body and moved me, repositioning me like a napkin until he was happy with where I lay.

  All the while, a thousand voices clamored for attention inside me. Like a sinking ship taking on water, new and terrifying reports were flooding in from all departments. My heart was racing like a jackhammer, pounding in my chest until I was sure it would burst. My stomach was knotted in tight curls of pure terror. My mind was racing with complex thoughts and feelings, a war of urges and desires, guilt and shame and utter confusion. But loudest of all, rising above every intense sensation that flooded my body at that strange moment, was the voice of my pussy. A loud roar of unrelenting lust, flooding my body with waves of unfamiliar need and longing.

  When I felt his enormous hand rest on my back, palm flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me in place on his lap, the cacophony of conflicting voices ceased with an abrupt jolt. A calm fell over me, only the distant throb of my aching pussy remained as I awaited the inevitable and the deserved. I reached forward with my hands, placing them flat on the floor, readying myself, unsure, uncertain, still awash with disbelieve. Was this a dream?

  Then I felt him touch my bottom. A gentle caress, nothing more than that, rough fingertips tracing a lazy arc over soft skin. I shuddered, shocked by the tender touch. That such a powerful man could possess such a light hand seemed unfathomable to me. Ripples of confused arousal swirled out from my pussy, warming me, thrilling me.

  “I hope you know that I am doing this for your benefit, Jennifer,” he whispered gruffly, sounding almost remorseful. But there was something else in his words, something else that underpinned his intonation. A hunger perhaps? As if to underline this notion, I felt his cock twitch in his pants, brushing against my side.

  “Yes Sir, I understand,” I said. No idle boast this, no capitulation to his role play or agreement borne in fear. I did understand. I did think that this was for my own good.

  His hand swirled around my naked bottom, fingers tracing tight spirals, slipping in the line between my cheeks, causing me to gasp in surprise. But there was nothing that I could have done about this unexpected trespass, even if I’d wanted to.

  At once, I felt the warm touch on my bare ass disappear. No warning. Simply gone. I felt a wave of confusion, perplexingly imagining that I’d done something wrong or that he’d found some aspect of my body that he didn’t like. Does that sound strange to you? I don’t doubt it. It sounds strange to me.

  My confusion didn’t last long. Registered first in my subconsciousness, my mind sensed a sudden rush of air and the faint swish of a fast moving object. It lasted less than a millisecond, a sensation that would only be experienced in hindsight, and then the room erupted with the sound of flesh on flesh, a sharp and meaty crack, like a grocery bag full of water hitting a hard floor. Sound, it seems, travels faster than pain, so half a second later, my ass exploded with the sensation of exquisite, pure agony, sharp shards of icy fire that ignited at the point of impact and radiated out into my body.

  I gasped, lifting my head, remembering with a perverse amount of detail the sight of Kate Cole’s body reacting in the same way to her rough punishment.

  “Th-th-thank you Sir!” I cried out, another autonomic response that was neither conscious nor considered, blurted out at the behest of new instincts.

  The sensation of caress returned, a light touch, warm and pleasant, conflicting pleasure with the lingering pain on my burning cheek. I knew, with a certainty that I couldn’t articulate, that I would come to seek refuge in these interstitial moments. I knew that the utter relief and total contrast would become as addictive as heroine, craved like a junkie’s fix in the worst heights of the punishment that was to follow.

  Indeed, when I felt his hand leave my bottom once more, I felt a stab of regret, a momentary sense of loss that I knew would be short lived. I tensed myself, hardening my small muscles as if to ward off the pain that was to come.

  Another swish of air, the sensation of cold breeze on burning skin for the briefest time, then his hand struck me again. Harder this time, as if the first strike was just a warm up, gauging my ability to take his punishment. The pain and the sound reached my consciousness at the same moment this time, both sharp and harsh. My body rocked forwards and I cried out. My ass was on fire, even now, and I wondered how much more I could take. How much should I take?

  My mind swirled with more familiar instincts. Self preservation, indignation, shame, humiliation. This was wrong. I knew that. I squirmed on his lap, a half hearted attempt to wriggle free of his restraining hand and seek refuge, to curl into a ball somewhere cool and dark, to nurse my throbbing behind and calm my racing mind.

  Professor Cole shifted his hand, moving it up my back until his fingers were in my hair. With a fl
ick of his wrist, he took hold of a handful of my long hair, then pulled my head back with a sharp snap. I gasped and fell immediately still, not daring to move. I was completely in his control, completely unable to escape. Held in place by his hand and the inertia of my strange new desire.

  “Hold still child,” he whispered.

  In his pants, his cock felt granite hard, throbbing in time with the drumbeat of desire from my pussy. Suddenly, I wanted more than this. I wanted more than his hand on me. I wanted to be tossed around like a ragdoll. I wanted him to lift me, to move me, to put me in position and enter me without asking, to fill me with that thick cock and pump me until I begged him to stop, then continue nonetheless.

  “Y-yes, Sir,” I said, dizzied by the conflicting sensations of pain on my ass and lust from my pussy. I barely noticed when his hand left my bare bottom for the third time. I barely registered the movement as his arm swung down again. Only the supernova of sudden pain yanked me back from the strange stupor that I’d fallen into.

  “Th-thank you, Sir,” I said, but he didn’t pause to allow me to recover and his hand moved again in a flash of motion behind my restrained body. I tried to tense myself but there wasn’t time and the sharp crack of impact landed on my burning skin, pain piling on pain as the nexus of agony spread out into my body. I screamed, begging for him to stop, but thanking him in the same breath. My pussy was an agony of sensation, a constant drumbeat of desire that demanded more, dovetailing pain and pleasure in a constant wave of confusion that my brain was not capable of parsing.

  Then, a moment of respite, the calm in the eye of the tornado. Professor Cole shifted his body, rearranging my limp body, caressing the burning flesh of my ass. Without asking, his fingers dipped between my thighs, pushing them apart without resistance. I felt him on my pussy, felt the slick insinuation as he forced his way into my most private place. I didn’t try to stop him, I didn’t attempt to protest. For the first time in my life, for the first time since I’d been able to contemplate the significance of autonomy, I didn’t question another’s right to do this to me. It is hard to express, but as I lay there over this older, powerful man’s lap, body raging with the sensation of pain that his spanking had provoked, I genuinely believed that this was his prize to claim, that I had no right to deny him that.

  “Two more,” he said and my mind thrilled and quailed in equal measure. I loved him and loathed him in the same breath. Loved him like a dog loves its owner, but hated him for putting me through this.

  The calm ended when his hand lifted. I tensed myself in what I knew was a futile attempt to ward off the pain, to limit the damage.

  CRACK!

  As the realization of agony forced its way into my mind, I wondered distantly how it was possible that each strike could be harder than the last. How much more did he have to give? But such conscious considerations were quickly swept away by the burning fireball of utter, remorseless pain. My entire body shook, hot tears spilled down my face and I sobbed. I squirmed, clutching at the thick rug, toes moving back and forth for purchase, trying in vain to escape the sensation that was completely inescapable.

  CRACK!

  The final strike was the hardest of all, given with no chance to recover, an intolerable summation of agony. I cried out and arched my spine up, my body animated by discomfort and the constant, ceaseless throb of desire from my pussy. But I no longer registered these sensations in the normal way. The pleasure and the pain were as one now, both hated and craved in equal measure, utterly baffling, totally disorienting. Primal instincts had taken hold and my mind was fixated on one thing and one thing alone: I need to be fucked.

  “Th-thank you… th-thank you.... th-thank you Sir!” I chanted, words spilling forth like a practiced mantra.

  And then, everything changed.

  Professor Cole shifted beneath me, sliding me forwards off his lap, down to my knees. He stood upright, then bent and hooked his arm around my waist, encircling my narrow body like a thick belt, and lifted me as though I weighed nothing. My dim awareness barely registered this as I struggled against the raging maelstrom of pain and pleasure that roared in my body. Instead, a faint sensation of movement nagged at the back of my mind. Seconds later I was falling, released by him to drop down over the arm of a leather couch in the corner of the room.

  I gasped as the wind was forced from my body by the shock of the landing, my knees struck the side of the couch and I winced with the new type of pain, unleashed in my body to join the constant sting from my burning bottom. My hands flailed back, trying to grip the firm leather of the arm and lift myself to my feet, but instead I felt strong hands wrap around my wrists and pull my arms out from under me, removing their support so that I fell forwards onto my face.

  I gasped again, fighting to make sense of the raging emotions inside me. What was happening? What was he going to do? Should I get up and leave? Should I struggle? Did he want me to struggle?

  “What are you, Jennifer?” he asked from far above me, bending my slender arms behind my back and holding my wrists together with a single, enormous hand.

  “I’m a good girl, Sir!” I cried out, squeezing my eyes shut, completely helpless, completely out of control, paralyzed by fear and desire in ways that I had never considered possible.

  “And what do good girls get?” he asked, grunting his question with a hot fervor that seemed unfathomably frantic. In that moment, I realized with a momentary pang of pure terror, that he was as out of control as I was, that his instincts and urges were driven by the same primal fire that mine were, albeit their perfect mirror.

  I remembered his question and flailed about for an answer. Behind me, I sensed movement. I turned my head and tried to look up and back; over my shoulder, over my raised ass, over the crumpled mess of my skirt, still pulled up around my waist. Over my body, to him. Towering above me like a colossus. One long, thick arm pressed down on my wrists, pushing them against my back and up towards my shoulder blades. Gazing down at me with fire in his eyes, uncontrolled lust running rampant behind those intolerably deep blue pools of night. My eyes wandered down, taking in his careworn, handsome face, wandering over the wide expanse of his chest and the toned barrel of his stomach, all the way to his cock, exposed and free, swaying before him like a metronome. Thick and alive, longer and wider than any cock I’d ever seen before and unfathomably hard.

  “Fucked, Sir! Good girls get fucked!” I screamed out as he loomed towards me. My head whirled around to face forwards and my eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen. Every boy I’d ever been with had paled in comparison to this middle-aged giant, this goliath. Careful and considerate, they’d nervously taken me with care and precision, eager to ensure my comfort and my certain consent. But Professor Cole was different, primal, almost angry, an elemental force of lust. At that moment, I knew that I was powerless to stop him. And powerless to stop myself.

  He entered me without warning, without question, without restraint. I felt his thick cock push into my tight pussy, meeting little resistance on the dripping wetness of my sex. I gasped and fought against his grip as he forced his way into me, filling me deeper and fuller than I’d ever been filled. The sensation was electric, exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, the joy of being utterly full and the fear that he wouldn’t stop. Then he pulled back, a slow withdrawal that left an indescribable feeling of absence in my body. I sighed and tried to gather my wits, but then he pushed into me again. Fast and hard and deeper than before. I lifted my head and squirmed beneath him, crying out into the dim light of the room.

  My vision began to blur, mind made dizzy by the ceaseless waves of sensation from my pussy as he pounded me over and over again. I felt my hips and legs slam against the sticky leather, I felt the sofa shift beneath me as his violent thrusts ploughed into my aching hole. My skin was slick with sweat, my hair clinging to my face in damp strands.

  In and out, in and out, the constant piston of his enormous cock. Every depth probed provoked new cries
from my mouth. Senseless pleas for respite mixed with frantic cries for more! deeper! harder! Rationality lost with every violent entry, every stolen penetration.

  My entire body became a cacophony of sensation. My pussy burned with the fire of ecstasy, fueled by the nitrous of my lust. The tender flesh of my ass still sang from the spanking that seemed like hours ago but must only have been seconds. My wrists ached in Sir’s mighty grip. And as the crescendo of pleasure and pain rose in my body, the unmistakable looming presence of my approaching orgasm, teased into solid resolution with every hard thrust of Professor Cole’s cock, every glorious, rough entry.

  Faster and faster he pounded me, deeper and deeper, the sweaty slap of skin on skin as his merciless thrusts slammed against my defenseless body. My mind was racing, trying to hold back the inevitable orgasm, but awash with a thousand conflicting thoughts, fears, lusts, questions, the intolerable weight of endless new sensations spilling into my awareness like wild horses running rampant.

  I begged him to stop, to slow down, anything to stem the rising tide that threatened to engulf me, but he was out of control and impossible to reason with. A raging juggernaut, no brakes, no control.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he snarled, tightening his grip on my wrists until I cried out with the glory of agony.

  And then my control faltered and the unfathomable heat of climax broke in my pussy, expanding out into my body, a cleansing white fire of utter pleasure. Every nerve ending sang out as one, ignited by the orgasmic energy that raged through me. My legs kicked back, scrambling for purchase but finding none. I felt my body lift, spine arching up off the sofa, head back, finding a strength I never knew I had, pushing my body back, impaling myself deeper on his cock, my last act as the oblivion threatened to overwhelm me. Up and up the pleasure soared and I feared that it might never end, that it might become too much and finally consumed me.