Forced Lesbian Submission Books 1-10

by Adrian Amos

  An artist can always learn.

  - - -

  Conquered by the Nerd

  My paper's due tomorrow.

  I haven't seen hide or hair of Milly in the past three days. I've called her. I've passed by her dorm. I've spoken to her horrible, transient roommate. Nothing. I can't get ahold of her, and the paper I paid her for is not in my hands. It's due tomorrow. 12 hours to be exact.

  I'm worried sick. Without this last paper turned in, my semester GPA drops below 2.0 and I lose my government loans and grants. I could be out of school in the next few weeks if I don't find that nerd with my lifeline.

  My phone buzzes from a text and I look at the sender.

  It's her!

  "Come to the library right away."

  I check the time. It's 9:30 at night. "Isn't the library closed?" I respond back.

  "Yes, but I have the key."

  As much as I'm happy to finally hear back from her, of course I'm pissed. “Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Busy,” is all I get back.

  I need to see her, so there's nothing I can do about it now. I throw on some sweatpants over my cotton panties, a hoody over my tank top, and some flip flops. It's a little cold out, and it's pajama season in the dorm, so I don't look anything out of the ordinary.

  I head down the campus toward the library. I don't get this girl. She's a bonafide nerd, straight A's all throughout high school and college, here on a med scholarship so she can become a doctor. We've never been friends really. She's AV club and shit like that, while I'm a cheerleader and dater of jocks. I wouldn't be seen around with her, but she has her purpose. She's a mousy little thing, never says much, and she was pretty easy to haggle down on the price of the term paper.

  But I don't know what her game is keeping me in the dark, getting back to me at the last minute. She knows exactly when it's due, and I can't imagine she waited so long to finish it. She normally has her shit done days, maybe even weeks, before it's due.

  As I approach the door to the library, it's closed, just as I thought. I can see maybe one or two lights on inside. So I knock, and after a minute, Milly comes to the door, peers through, opens it, and ushers me in.

  Mousy is the only way you can describe her. Thick black rimmed glasses and plain blondish, red hair down to her breasts. Her blue, button-up blouse is so proper, it clashes with her small 5'5” frame, making her look both old and young at the same time, like someone playing dress up. She'd be a beautiful girl if her awkwardness didn't seem to impede every avenue of attractiveness. Even though I'm only about 3 inches taller than her, I feel like I tower in her presence. I always get a confidence boost when I'm with her, like I can do no wrong.

  “Evening, Allie,” she says, quiet as a ghost.

  “Don't evening me,” I say as she locks the door behind us, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Here, basically. Working.”

  I look around at the darkness of the unlit books. Just like a nerd to be working in a library.

  “Okay, but why haven't you responded to me at all?” I ask, frustration as evident as I can make it.

  “Come on,” she says.

  I follow her through the serpentine shelves until we hit a small office in the back, one that's used for conferences and group meetings. The blinds are closed but the light inside is on.

  She wants to talk, but she's so timid, it tends to come out in a half stutter. “I-I've been thinking about our deal.”

  “What do you mean thinking about it?” I ask, stopping in front of the room. Confidence and domination oozes from me. She seems so weak and helpless that I can't help but want to push her around.

  “I don't l-like what we decided on,” she says, turning toward me.

  “You got to be kidding me, right? I'm less than 12 hours from having to turn it in and you're worried about the arrangements.” A thought crosses my mind and I panic slightly. “Have you still not written the paper?”

  “N-no, no, no. It's completely done.”

  “Then what's the problem exactly?”

  “Well,” she says, rubbing her neck. Her nervousness is palpable. “I found out you're going to fail if you don't turn this paper in.”

  “Who told you that?” I ask.

  “It doesn't matter,” she says, an odd defiance when it comes to her.

  She's silent, like she doesn't know where she's going with this. “So what, spit it out. You don't think I'm paying you enough money.” I put my fists to my hips to emphasize my disapproval.

  “No,” she says, “I don't. You only offered me 100 bucks to basically save your school career. That's not enough. I had to complete your hardest paper in under a week because you waited till the last second to do it.”

  “Well, I was unprepared.”

  “Unprepared?” she says, an arrogant incredulity tainting her passive voice, “This was a term paper. You've known since the beginning of the semester.”

  “Not everyone's like you, finishing all their shit way ahead of time,” I snap back.

  “It's called responsibility.” She stands tall.

  “It's called being boring.”

  “Well, that be it as it may, I-I want more money.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, ready to haggle her down again.

  “1000 dollars,” she squeaks out.

  “Holy shit! I don't have that kind of money,” I say, surprised at her balls. I shrug, “I can do, like, 200 maybe.”

  She shakes her head, “No, 1000 is all I'll take. There's no negotiating this price like the last one. That bit me in the ass the first time.”

  “I'm telling you. I don't have that kind of money. I might be a popular girl, but I'm not a rich one.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “What does that mean? Even if I had that money, you're telling me in the middle of the night. I wouldn't have that sitting around anywhere.”

  She smiles, and I get this sudden impression that she doesn't want me to be able to get the money. That she waited until the last second so that I wouldn't be able to pay her.

  “What do you want?” I ask, fear creeping into my shattered voice. “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “No,” she says, rabidly shaking her head. I believe her innocence, until she says, “Maybe.”

  “Well, I can't pay you, so what do you want from me?”

  She takes a deep breath, her next words straining her body, “I want you to do what I tell you. Whatever I tell you.”

  “Like what?”

  “We're going to do it now. But you need to agree that you'll do what I tell you.”

  I squint, trying to read her, but her swallowing and hand wringing is always the same product of her awkwardness. “I'm not going to agree to that.”

  “Well, then you don't get your paper,” she says, almost weaving in actual anger from a tiny kitten, “And you fail your class and probably have to leave school.”

  Ugh, I need that paper. I can't get kicked out. My parents are never going to pay for me, knowing how much of a fuck up I usually am. They've never taken care of me. No one ever has. I mean, I'm in this situation right now, trying to avoid blackmail from buying a paper from someone. It's pretty fucked up.

  Finally, I realize I don't have much of a choice. “Fine,” I say, “I'll do whatever it takes.”

  The smile that forms from her tiny mouth is the most devious thing I've ever seen. Something hideous built that―deep from within―that I did not know existed.

  “Good,” she says, “Do everything I tell you, and I promise that you'll get your paper afterwords. And it'll be an A, I guarantee that. Molded to your writing style, so no one will be the wiser.”

  The idea of an A excites me just a little, even in these shitty circumstance. I can always use a buffer zone, because nothing I've done up until this point has been worthy of an A.

  She pulls out a key and unlocks the door to the conference room. She waves for me to step in. Ins
ide, there's a number of candles burning in the room, with some on the floor in the corners, with a couple on the large conference table in the middle.

  “What the fuck is this? It looks like a creepy ritual.” I ask, as she locks the door behind us.

  “No, it's not.”

  “Just tell me what's going on,” I nearly shout, frustrated at her intentional vagueness and avoidance.

  She thinks for a moment, squishing her lips, finding the words she wants to utter. “For the lack of a better phrasing, this is where you're going to get fucked.”

  “What?” I say, shocked at the first curse word I've ever heard out of her mouth.

  She straightens herself, asserting her voice, “Since you can't pay me, I'm going to fuck you.”

  “I don't want to do that! I'm not a lesbian,” I say.

  I then realize this is what she wanted the whole time.

  “You never gave me time to pay you,” I cry out.

  “It's too late for that now. You agreed to do what I tell you,” she says, her strength increasing, “I don't want to hear another goddamn complaint out of your mouth.” She pulls my arm over to her, yanking me out of my stunned moment. “Now on you're knees.”

  “But―“

  “Do it, or I'm shredding you're paper.”

  I hesitate, unsure of what to do.

  I can't say anything to anyone. All she has to do is tell people that I paid her to write my paper. She'd just have to show it to the dean. It's a paper in her possession that's written like my writing for a class she doesn't have. And I won't have a paper of my own turned in.

  And if she shows them that, I'll be expelled for plagiarism. I don't know what will happen to her, but can I actually take that risk that she'll rat me out?

  She places her hands on my shoulders, and I slowly lower myself to my knees.

  She bites her bottom lip. “Undo my pants,” she says.

  As I reach for her pants, she cuts in, “Wait.” I look up at her. “When I tell you something, I want you to say 'Yes, Mistress' so I know you're listening.”

  I swallow my saliva and my tongue.

  “Undo my pants,” she repeats.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I say. I grab the waistband and undo the button. I zip her down and slowly tug her pants down to her knees. She's wearing yellow cotton panties, a sight I've never been this close to before.

  “P-put your face against my pussy,” she says, stuttering at her first sexual demand.

  I look up, but as if she reads my mind―my hesitation―she says, “What did I tell you?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I say, but as I pause before I move in, she grabs the back of my head and pushes my nose against her yellow panties. I can already feel that her wetness has started, and I take in the salty scent of her. The aroma is slight, one I've smelled from myself countless times, but smelling it from the loins of another woman is a whole different experience. I feel myself tingle throughout.

  “Put your tongue on it.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I say. I stick my tongue out and juice blasts my taste buds. I lick up and down across the fabric, feeling my tongue press between her lips. The moisture on her panties grows, and she lets out the tiniest moans.

  She pulls her panties down and pushes my face back in, this time allowing me to taste her flesh directly. Sour and sweet, the juices coat my tongue as I glide it up to her clit. I can smell a faint aroma of shaving cream, as she freshly shaved her bald pussy. Shaved it for me. More evidence that this was her goal.

  She sits back onto the table. “Undress me,” she says.

  I slink toward her, but as I reach, she puts a finger up. I quickly utter, “Yes, Mistress.” She nods, and I pull her shoes, pants, and underwear from her.

  It comes to me for the first time―after smelling her lust and returning to the normal air―that the candles are scented. A raspberry blend permeates the air as the flames flicker in the abandoned building.

  She slowly raises her arms in a most feminine flourish, flicking her wrists upward, which issues a signal of excitement through my skin, pricking it with bumps.

  I unbutton her blouse and lift it over her head. As I reach around the back of her to unbuckle her bra, she dips into me and bites my neck, flicking her tongue up and along my sharp jaw.

  “You're mine,” she whispers in my ear.

  I almost feel revulsion at her touch, but the second her mouth trails up and suckles on my earlobe, I shudder and stifle a grunt. It's always been a sensitive area for me, and the tingle wipes away any interest in resisting.

  I pull away her bra. Her breasts are small, probably no bigger than an A or B cup, and her nipples are small and pert. Her flesh looks so soft, but my focus is broken as she draws me in by my hoody for a kiss.

  My face pressed up against her glasses, her kiss is passionate and wild, her tongue lusting after mine as if it had its own mind. Her lips are soft and plush and I kiss back, responding to her passion, a passion I don't think I've ever felt from any man I've kissed before.

  For such a small, meek girl, her desire was overwhelming.

  As she pushes me back, she draws me in again, this time toward her breasts. The soft flesh I was admiring is now in my mouth, as ripe and pure as I imagined. Her skin is sweet, both as taste and smell, as I take in her fruity body wash with my mouth. Her nipples are delicate, a wonderful pleasure that surpasses the hardness of a man's body. Instead of rigidity in form and movement, her actions are soft and malleable, molding and reacting to my own. Her moans also feel soft and reassuring, beckoning me to pay her more attention.

  I stand back and she helps pull my hoody over my head. I can feel my nipples poking through my tank top as I failed to put on a bra before I left.

  She lifts her legs up onto the table, leaning back and spreading her thighs, allowing me a full glimpse of her nubile pussy.

  “You know what I want,” she says.

  “Yes, Mistress.” I bend down and take her in. I grab her thighs with my hands and eat her pussy. I taste her sweetness as it continues to grow from my touch, trying to work my tongue in a way I think would work on my body. As I dance over her clit, she moans louder, and I know from experience to stick with what works. So I keep brushing the sides of her clit, spreading her lips with my fingers and sliding them along her opening.

  Finally, her moans grow louder until they crescendo into near screams of ecstasy, and her body and hips rock into my face, as if she were blowing her load into my mouth.

  She's pretty loud and excited for a nerd.

  As she settles down, she moans, “Oh God, that was good. I wanted that for so long.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she huffs, “Since high school. I wanted you to eat me out forever.”

  I don't know how to respond to that. I hadn't thought about her at all. But it's exciting to think that the whole time, she's been pining after me in the shadows.

  “Is that it? Are we done?” I ask, not knowing what I want, but only knowing what I should be asking.

  She takes a few breaths before answering, “No,” she says, sitting up, “Like I said, I'm going to fuck you. You licked my pussy like a good girl, but we're not done yet.”

  I nod slowly, knowing that I shouldn't raise any objection unless I want to deal with more threats. For once, I'm the one feeling weak and nervous, while she's oozing confidence and dominance.

  I will admit that knowing something is coming, but not knowing what, is turning me on completely.

  She slides off the table. Behind it she picks up a bag and places it on the table.

  “I know you took 4 years of dance. I know you're also a cheerleader, obviously,” she says. She pulls out a small iPod radio, sets it up, and starts playing a slow R&B song. It's 'I'll make love to you' by Boyz II Men.

  She grabs an office chair. Its arms are removed and sitting on the floor. She sits down facing me, naked and glistening.

  “Won't someone hear that?” I ask.

  “No, we're
alone,” she brushes it off, “I want you to dance for me.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I want you to dance slowly and strip down,” she says, patting her thighs, “I want you to give me a lap dance. Show me what you learned.”

  “I've never done that before. I don't know if I can pull it off. I'll feel weird.”

  The slightest frustration appears in her face, “It's not weird. I know you have the skills to do it. You're too beautiful not to be able to dance for me.”

  I blush at that. A compliment coming from the girl who stalked me for years shouldn't faze me, but it does, maybe because the passion I've felt from her feels intense.

  A compliment from her feels just as intense. “It's not like I'm a slut or something.”

  “You don't have to be a slut. You just have to mean it. Just listen to the music. I'm sure you'll feel it. And then just dance.”

  I close my eyes and feel the smooth and slow beat of the song, blending with the warm voice of the man singing. I do feel it. It is part of who I am.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I say.

  I slowly begin to roll my hips back and forth, feeling for my sexual rhythm, gyrating my hips as I close in on Milly. I focus on the moment, trying to avoid my discomfort. I've never done this for anyone before, and it's one of the first times I've ever really felt awkward.

  But as I look at Milly, she's smiling, running her fingers through her pussy, watching me with furious intent. I turn and rock my hips in front of her, inches away, driving my round ass near her face. I run my hands over my stomach, tucking them under my shirt, driving my own sensation up as I caress myself.

  Then I sit down on her, almost without thought, resting my hands on her thighs as I push my ass into her naked body. I grind against her, feeling her heat through my sweatpants.

  But none of it compares to when she places her hands on me, grabbing the sides my stomach under my shirt as she holds onto me. Her touch is like magic, ricocheting up my spine as her her soft skin caresses mine. I tingle and moan, and then I do something I wasn't expecting, reacting to her advances.

  I reach down and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground. I'm now naked from the waist up with another woman's hands on me.