Sienna Harte's Sensual Sampler (BDSM, Taboo, BBW)

by Sienna Harte

  But they didn’t. Mr. Smith had raised his hand high in the air, and then paused. I opened my eyes and looked around.

  “We’re going to try something new today,” he said softly. “How about…pants off.”

  “What?” I said, jumping up from his lap and backing away.

  “The pants,” he said sternly. “Pull them down.”

  “No!” I cried. “Why? That’s sick, you pervert!”

  “It is not sick,” he said. “It will enhance the punishment. I spanked you not one week ago for a curfew violation and here you are doing it again. Clearly the spankings are not working the way I was doing them, so we need to change it so that you get the message.”

  “I won’t do it,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Fine,” he said, standing up. “Then I guess I’m on my way to your mother’s right now. I wonder if she’ll cry this time…”

  “Wait, wait!” I said.

  “What?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “I’ll do it,” I said in a small voice.

  Mr. Smith returned to where he had sat, and then patted his lap expectantly.

  “Come on,” he said impatiently.

  My hands trembled as I found the fly to my cutoff jean shorts and pulled them down.

  “And the bikini bottoms,” he said sternly.

  I began to protest.

  “The purpose,” he interrupted me loudly. “Is to have full contact so that you can experience the full effect of the spankings. Can that be possible while you are still wearing your bikini bottoms?”

  “No sir,” I replied.

  “Off,” he said. “Quickly, Lauren.”

  I slid the damp bikini bottoms off of my hips. My ass and pussy were now exposed to him, and I blushed furiously.

  “Good girl,” he said fondly, pulling me over his knees again. I bit my lip and resisted tears. This was the most embarrassing thing I’d ever endured at Mr. Smith’s house.

  The air was cold against my damp flesh. But then Mr. Smith brought the paddle down on my juicy ass – POP! - white-hot stinging spread across it. I’d never felt such pain before in my life. Tears sprang to my eyes, now, and I was grateful that Mr. Smith could not see them.

  “Remember, Lauren,” he said testily. “This is your punishment for missing curfew twice in two weeks. Are we going to miss curfew again?”

  POP!

  “Answer me,” he growled.

  “No sir,” I whispered.

  “What are you going to do instead?” he asked.

  POP!

  “Be home on time,” I whimpered.

  POP!

  “That’s right,” he said. “And what will you wear?”

  POP!

  “Modest clothing!” I cried. The last blow had been particularly harsh.

  “Very good,” he said fondly. “And last of all, will you be touching any more filthy, vile, immature boys?”

  POP!

  “No!” I wailed. “I won’t touch any more boys!”

  “Good girl,” he said sweetly, releasing me from his lap.

  I stood slowly and gingerly, not wanting to let him see the pain I was in. When I slid the bikini bottoms and shorts back up, the material sliding across my skin was painful enough to make me scream. But I did not give in. I wasn’t going to let Mr. Smith see that.

  I started to leave the kitchen.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” I heard Mr. Smith call.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. My voice broke on the last word, and a tear slipped down my cheek despite my best efforts.

  “Not yet you aren’t,” he replied with a smirk in his voice. “You haven’t completed your punishment.”

  “I took the spankings with my pants down,” I insisted. “I’m done.”

  “I said we’re trying something new today, Lauren,” he said softly. “And we are. Now that you’re 18, it seems kind of ridiculous to punish you like a child. You’re ready for something more…mature.”

  “Like what?” I asked, raising my brows.

  “Come upstairs,” he said, walking towards the landing. He raised a beckoning arm towards them. “I will show you.”

  “No way,” I said. “You’re weird and I’m not staying in this house a minute longer. I don’t have to do what you say anymore! I’m an adult!”

  “Oh, but your mother would be so heartbroken to learn that her whore daughter was out consorting with disgusting dog-boys all day,” he said in a falsely forlorn tone. “Her only daughter, the only thing she has left in the world, has been led astray by a horny, handsy teenage boy. Next thing you know, she’ll be pregnant!”

  “That’s not true!” I cried.

  “Who will your mother believe?” he asked. “Me, the trusted neighbor and friend for over a decade? Or you, the conniving, lying slut of a daughter?”

  I bit my lip, and he smiled. He knew he had something on me, and my loyalty and devotion to my mother and her condition were the kicker.

  “Now, if you want your mother to have peace of mind I suggest you come upstairs right now and take your punishment like a good girl. Otherwise…” He reached his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up like a threat. “I’ll have to call your mother and let her know you’re no longer being obedient.”

  “Fine,” I said, biting my lip. “But this better not take too long.”

  “It will take as long as it needs for the message to…sink in,” he replied with a sinister glare.

  I shook the chills that he was giving me off and mounted the stairs, with him not much far behind me.

  “Don’t know what you thought,” he muttered. “Thought you would get away with it, I suppose. Well, we’re going to have a long, special session tonight to ensure you don’t get any ideas like that again. It’s going to be a long summer if you keep this behavior up, that’s for sure…”

  We reached the second floor of his house.

  “In the bedroom,” he said shortly.

  I started towards the room I’d stayed so many days in while my mother was ill.

  “Ah ah,” he said. “Not that room. My room.”

  “Your room?” I asked, with my eyes wide. I’d never been in Mr. Smith’s bedroom before. It had always been off limits – not that I cared. I was fine being as far away as possible from Mr. Smith.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’re going to practice reinforcement tonight until I’m satisfied that you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “Whatever,” I said, pretending I wasn’t nervous.

  His room was much like his study: minimalistic and monochromatic. Everything was black and white, with slate greys in between and brushed silver fixtures. In the center of the room was a simple bed, with four posts on the corners and black linens. The black shades of the window were drawn shut. An oversized mirror hung on the wall beyond the footboard. It was large enough that the entirety of the bed was in view.

  The room was exactly as you might expect based on the inhabitant’s personality: no-nonsense and all business. Everything had a function and a place. Not a stain or speck of dust was to be seen.

  I felt Mr. Smith’s hands on my shoulders. They massaged me gently, and it felt good, but I could not rid myself of an uneasy feeling.

  “What – What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Rewarding you,” he said simply. “You came upstairs and went to my room as ordered. You obeyed, and that deserves a reward.”

  “Oh…” I said. I couldn’t help but close my eyes as the massage felt so good. His large hands that had moments ago been striking me now caressed the tops of my shoulders and arms gently, almost lovingly. I held back a groan of appreciation as he dug his thumbs into my flesh, carefully rubbing out the knots that naturally formed there.

  “Does this feel good, Lauren?”

  “Yes,” I replied honestly. All discomfort I’d been having was giving way to the pleasure I felt radiating from my shoulders.

  “I can do many things that feel good, Lauren,” he said lowly. “Bu
t I only do them for good girls. You haven’t been a good girl.”

  To my dismay, his hands stopped.

  “On the bed,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “On the bed,” he said again. “It’s time for the second part of your punishment.”

  “Which is…?”I asked.

  “You’ll find out,” he said. “Now get on the bed now, or I’ll have to spank you again for disobedience.”

  “Alright, alright,” I said, rolling my eyes behind his back. I sat awkwardly on the bed, awaiting my next orders. I felt a tiny thrill within me, being on top of his bed. It was such an intimate place, even if the décor was frigid and alien. I looked up at Mr. Smith expectantly, waiting for the worst.

  “As I said before, it seems like spankings aren’t doing what they used to do for you…or me, for that matter.”

  I wondered what he could possibly mean by that, but didn’t say anything.

  “So tonight I’m introducing a new kind of punishment, Lauren,” Mr. Smith continued. “One that will show you that not only do you have many reasons not to misbehave…but many good reasons to behave, as well.”

  “Mr. Smit - ” I began.

  “Shush. I don’t want you to speak unless I prompt you to speak. Do you understand me?”

  I gulped, looking at the stern lines of his face and his furrowed brow. He had his hands on his hips now, and I saw he was still in his work clothing; black slacks and a slate grey button down shirt. A black tie hung from his neck and around his waist rested a flat black belt, with a shiny silver buckle.

  Mr. Smith caught my gaze and smirked.

  “Not yet, Lauren,” he said softly. “Only good girls are rewarded with such things.”

  Once again I could not believe what I was hearing. Was Mr. Smith alluding to sex? But he couldn’t be…he had practically raised me. It was wrong, surely.

  On the other hand, now that I had turned 18 and graduated…I’d be a college student soon, which meant being around older men. Hell, I’d even heard of girls fucking their college professors and bosses for favors and good grades. Perhaps I could use a little practice in the manipulation of mature men.

  And who better to practice on than Mr. Smith, the stern disciplinarian of my youth who had for as long as I could remember treated me with disdain, if he had noticed me at all? Yes, I would fuck Mr. Smith if that was what he wanted, and I would do it gladly and eagerly. It beat being spanked all summer, anyway.

  “What do you want me to do, Mr. Smith?” I asked, looking up at him through my eyelashes and biting my lip innocently. I folded my hands in my lap and straightened my posture, pushing my plump breasts outward so that they were nearly bursting from their bikini top.

  This did the trick. Mr. Smith inhaled sharply and gave me a long, measuring look. He seemed to be deciding something.

  “This isn’t for your pleasure, Lauren,” he said to me, although if I wasn’t mistaken it seemed to be said to himself just as much. “I’m doing this to punish and discipline you, it’s for your own benefit. If I think…If I think you’re enjoying it too much I will have to stop and find more severe repercussions for your behavior.”

  “Yes sir,” I said, dropping my shoulders and gaze. I didn’t want to seem too eager, although it was hard to hide now. It seemed nearly certain that something sexual would take place, and the hardness of my nipples as they pricked through the thin stretchy fabric of my bikini top were evidence enough. Not to mention the growing moisture between my legs…

  “Your first instructions are to remove your clothing slowly and deliberately, folding the items neatly and setting them neatly on the ground beside your feet,” Mr. Smith said in a steely tone. “Then put your hands back in your lap and await new orders.”

  I suppressed a giggle, but nonetheless I reached behind my neck, finding the loopy knot tied carelessly tied there. Pulling the damped strings apart, the knot was released. My breasts dropped slightly, free from the tension of the bikini strings. I became conscious of my speed and slowed down, remembering Mr. Smith’s orders to undress slowly.

  I glanced up at him to see how he was taking my actions. He was watching carefully with a controlled expression on his face, but I could tell that he was enjoying himself. The growing bulge protruding from his trousers just below that shiny silver belt buckle told me all that I needed to know.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I let the strings drop. The triangles peeled from my breasts, exposing them to the air. I shivered; I was still damp from my swim and goose bumps peppered my skin. The largest of them all were my nipples, which were now hard and elongated with both arousal and the temperature. I longed to touch them, or for Mr. Smith to touch them, but I didn’t dare make a move without his instruction. He watched me like a hawk.

  Now half naked on Mr. Smith’s bed, I reached for the button of my cutoff jeans and pulled the zipper down to reveal the bikini bottoms again. The shorts pooled around my ankles and I kicked them off – but I quickly remembered Mr. Smith’s orders to fold them neatly, and so bending down before him I picked them back up. The garment was so small that I only needed to fold them in half. Then I set them on the floor, on top of my bikini tops.

  Stealthily I glanced up at Mr. Smith again. His erection was fully formed now, and protruded from his pants like an extra appendage. He made no notice of this and, wisely, neither did I.

  I reached my hands back towards my hips again. The bikini bottoms were tied on the sides with flimsy strings, much like the bikini top had been. With luxurious slowness I untied them one at a time, so that they fell around me to reveal the top of my ass and pussy. I pulled them from under me and folded them as well, putting them atop the rest of the pile.

  I was now naked before the only male figure I’d had in my entire life, atop his bed, surely awaiting what was bound to be the most pleasurable sex I’d ever experienced.

  But Mr. Smith lunged at me, pulling me atop his knees with my ass in the air again! What had I done now?

  “Mr. Smith!” I cried. “Why?”

  “Hands in your lap and awaiting your next orders,” he growled, swatting me hard on the bare ass. “What part of that was so difficult to comprehend?”

  Of course! I had forgotten.

  “Bad girls get punished,” he said again. “Good girls get rewarded. It’s very simple.”

  “Ouch!” I cried at another swat to my ass. The stinging was worse than before, my butt was still raw from the spankings I had received in the kitchen. “I thought you said I was too mature for spankings?”

  I bit my tongue, wishing I hadn’t said it. I expected the worst; more spankings, this time harder and more cruel.

  But instead, Mr. Smith righted me on the bed and looked at me thoughtfully.

  “You’re right, Lauren,” he said as though remembering. “You do need a more…mature punishment, I suppose. Recline on the bed. Head on the pillow, feet towards the footboard.”

  “Okay,” I said eagerly. I willingly stretched out on his bed, enjoying the surprising softness of the blankets and mattress.

  “I want your hands up, above your head,” he said, leaning over me to retrieve something from the nightstand.

  I was nervous, but complied and put my wrists above my head, fingertips brushing the headboard just barely.

  A metallic click and something cold around my wrists caused me to jump and look up to see what Mr. Smith had been doing. He had gotten a pair of police handcuffs from his bedside table and had locked them around my wrists! The chain between my hands looped behind a bar of the headboard, effectively locking me into place. I was shocked! I moved my hands apart, but the cuffs held. It looked like this was the real deal.

  Mr. Smith held the keys in front of my face as if to taunt me.

  “Good girls get unlocked,” he said teasingly. “Bad girls don’t. Guess which one you want to be?”

  “A good girl,” I said weakly, although from the arousal I was feeling within my wet pussy, I sincerely do
ubted I would mind being cuffed to Mr. Smith’s bed for a prolonged period of time.

  Slowly, Mr. Smith put the keys on the bedside table, mere feet from my face. I looked at them and realized my true predicament. Not only could I not move from this bed, while I was bound to it Mr. Smith could do whatever he wanted to my body! There was very little I could do to stop him from spanking me, torturing me, or anything else he might see fit to do while punishing me!

  “Mr. Smith?” I asked gingerly. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I told you, Lauren,” he said impatiently. “You’re a grown woman now, and you’re going to be punished as such. Now that’s enough of the questions.”

  He reached over to the nightstand once again and pulled out a ball gag – what else did this man have in that drawer?!

  “Open up,” he ordered.

  I obliged, opening my lips wide to accept the rubbery ball in my mouth. He fasted the straps behind my head. Now any noise I made would be muffled nonsense, if I dared make noise at all.

  But that wasn’t all. From his nighstand he pulled yet another object – a scrap of black fabric from the looks of it. But when he brought it to my face and covered my eyes, I understood its purpose immediately. Once the blindfold was in place, Mr. Smith rose from the bed.

  “I like the look of this,” Mr. Smith said, admiring his work. I imagined what I must have looked like from his perspective; an 18 year old girl strapped to his headboard with a pair of handcuffs, mouth wide open with a ball gag in place. It was the dream of many men, and as I was discovering, the dream of Mr. Smith and possibly even me. I should have been resisting, I should have been feeling fear – instead I only felt horny.

  “We’re going to start out punishment out with a little bit of torture,” he said. I heard the sound of his drawer opening again, and him pulling several objects from it. Then I felt a cold pinch on my nipple, then the other. I moaned against the gag. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain – which was more prevalent, I couldn’t decide. Given the chance, I don’t know if I would have him release me from it.

  But it wasn’t my choice, not really anyway. With my hands bound and my sight and voice disabled, there was nothing I could do but allow Mr. Smith to bring whatever punishment or torture he saw fit to give me.