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It was officially Reading Day: the day between the final day of classes and the first day of final exams. The library was absolutely packed with students trying to finish the projects and research papers they had kept putting off throughout the semester, and the tiny study rooms were all occupied.
It was not until I had reached the seventh and highest floor of the library that I finally found a study room with only one other person in it. I had not seen her since before Spring Break, and even then I had only seen her briefly across the main quad, but that single glimpse of her had instantly captivated me.
I knocked softly, then slowly opened the door. She looked up at me, the golden hair framing her face styled a little differently than I remembered but still quite becoming of her. The makeup she wore was rather sparse, but she had a face which did not require any makeup to attract guys’ attention.
…or my attention.
With practiced ease, she took off her delicate glasses, appraising me. “Looking for a quiet place to study?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said softly, “if you don’t mind…”
She smiled at me, her lips curling upward almost too slowly to be natural, yet I was too thrilled with sharing such a small room with her to really think much about any other than the fact of her smile. The way she gestured toward the chair nearest me made me wonder if she really was a standard-age university student or if she was a non-traditional student who was fortunate enough to appear to be about twenty years old. In either case, I hoped that I looked even half as good to her.
“Thanks,” I acknowledged, closing the door behind me. Through the window in the door, I noticed a guy looking at me and oddly giving me a wink. I shrugged it off, for he was not the reason I had stepped into that particular study room.
I sat opposite the reason and set my backpack on the floor. Soon I had notebooks, textbooks, pens, and assorted papers spread out before me in much the same manner as my unnamed study companion. While I was focusing on studying for the following afternoon’s exam, I was also keenly aware of the student sitting at the opposite end of the rectangular table. Over time, I “forgot” about her, but eventually, my mind began to drift further and further away from studying for the exam and closer and closer toward studying her as discretely as possible.
I was quite impressed by her. She had a thin build which seemed entirely natural for her, unlike many of the thin coeds I knew who appeared to have starved themselves for many years to achieve such a physique. Her breasts were small, but quite appropriate for her frame, yet the ribbed shirt certainly clung to her in such a way that emphasized her breasts tastefully even though they remained fully covered, with not even a hint of cleavage due to the neckline being just below the level of her collarbone. Her bare arms were adorned with bracelets on each wrist and what I could only term as a pair of thin “elbow rings” in such shiny well-polished silver that they reflected the light as if they were mirrors. Her fingernails were not particularly long, painted in black with what appeared to be tiny yellow star stickers providing additional decoration.
“What are you studying?”
Her voice was sweet, angelic, and shocking after such a lengthy silence between us. Her question seemed genuine, yet I had to wonder if she had just caught me studying her despite my attempts to be discrete in admiring her.
She smiled. “I’m having trouble concentrating, myself.”
“Well, yeah,” I noted. “It’s not good for us able-bodied young women to be cooped up inside on such a bright and sunny day when we could be tanning by a pool somewhere.”
Her smile widened. “Swimsuit or bikini?” she asked.
It took me a second to understand her question. “Actually, monokini,” I admitted.
The gleam in her eyes and the further widening of her smile assured me that I had indeed attracted her interest. “Good choice.”
“Only choice for me,” I added. “I prefer to keep the surgery scar hidden, but I like being able to show as much skin as possible.”
Clearly, I had intrigued her, and the conversation continued from there.
Having given up on studying for our respective exams the following day, we strolled from the library to the nearby coffee cart to get iced lattes. The late-Spring sun was hot, but definitely nothing like it would be in another few weeks with the onset of the truly oppressive summer heat.
Like many of the guys who saw us, I kept admiring her long legs as they emerged from beneath her pleated white miniskirt. Fortunately, my sunglasses had rather dark lenses, so it is quite unlikely that she noticed I was very much admiring her.
Then again, I had a sense that she was subtly appraising me as well.
I let her lead the way: across the street, past the sports practice fields, beyond the last of the dorms, across another street, bursa escort and a block into the residential neighborhood to a small house.
“You live here all on your own?” I asked, seeing no sign of anyone else being present.
“No, but my housemates were both student teaching this semester, and that was their only unofficial ‘class.’ They’re done with student teaching, so they’re taking a road trip during Exam Week.”
“Wow. Must be nice.”
“I know. But they left some of their stuff and said I could use it if I wanted to.”
“Yeah,” she said as she unlocked the door. “You’ll see.”
The house was indeed small, with a living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom on the ground floor, with a laundry room, storage area, and two smaller rooms converted to bedrooms in the basement.
Her bedroom was in the basement. It was much cooler in the basement, even though the A/C was not turned on. “Not nearly so warm down here,” I commented.
“That’s exactly why I picked the larger of the basement rooms when I moved in. I happened to be the first one to move in since I was in marching band and they weren’t.”
Her bedroom was in a state of disarray; it was clear that she had started packing for the end of the semester. “Sorry about the mess,” she apologized. “I’m graduating as well, so everything’ll have to be either shipped home or tossed in the U-Haul trailer Connie and I plan to share and head back up to Illinois.”
I definitely took notice of a violet rabbit-style vibrator perched on its end atop her dresser and leaning against a lamp. “I’ve never used a rabbit,” I commented offhandedly as she closed the bedroom door behind us.
As if of one mind, we both lowered our backpacks to the floor and regarded each other for a moment. There was a definite tension in the bedroom, as if we were each trying to decide whether or not to cross the proverbial line in the sand.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, even though no one but us was in the house.
I could feel a slight blush beginning to color my cheeks. “Not nearly as much as you are,” I countered honestly, my eyes inherently dipping to the floor.
There was no hesitation. She reached toward me, lifted my chin with a single finger, and looked deep into my eyes. Her gaze was fond and admiring, and it warmed me deep within.
She kissed me. Although I wanted her to kiss me, it took me several seconds to react – several seconds during which my mind rejoiced, several seconds in which I wanted to jump out of my skin and shout with joy. But then I reacted, returning the kiss enthusiastically.
The dam broke. The restraint which had kept things tentative to that point suddenly no longer existed. The kisses intensified, allowing for a battling of tongues and a scraping of teeth. Our hands explored quickly, groping possessively. Soft grunts and groans filled the basement bedroom as the meager rays of daylight penetrated the thin curtain over the narrow rectangular windows.
I was vaguely aware of being walked backward somewhat awkwardly, but I did not care. I knew that the bed was somewhere behind me and I was certain that the bed was our destination. All I was able to do was to keep kissing her, groping her, hoping that she was at least as wet as I had become.
With a shove, I was sent backward, flopping unceremoniously on the bed with my legs dangling over the edge. Almost immediately, she was on top of me, attacking me, molesting me, and I countered in kind. The way she was arousing me, I was so incredibly turned on, so amazingly horny. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so much from just strictly foreplay, but I could not stop writhing beneath her, squirming from how she was assaulting me just how I liked it. I had to wonder if despite our clothes she could feel how hard my nipples had become.
When she dropped a hand to the button of my shorts, I knew that she was going to make me cum. She fumbled, and I immediately brushed her hand away to unbutton and unzip my shorts for her, to do it faster so that she could be between my legs sooner.
She stood, pulled off my shoes, and with one motion, both shorts and wet panty were drawn down my legs and banished to the floor. She parted my thighs quickly and knelt beside the bed, her head practically diving…
I cried out at the first touch of her precious lips. Only then did her fingers spread my open so that her tongue could try to drive itself inside me. It was almost like a battle: She tried to hold me down so that she could more easily eat me, yet I kept humping her face because I simply could not remain still. The pleasure was wonderful, but it was not enough. It has always been difficult for me to cum without penetration, and unfortunately her tongue, while narrow and pointy, just could not reach well enough inside me to fill me appropriately.
My chest was heaving and my breaths were incredibly loud when she finally tore her head out of the bursa escort bayan vice grip of my thighs. My head was spinning and the inside of my eyelids showed me a swirling galaxy of beautiful stars. My heartbeat was pounding between my ears, and I still gripped the bedding with tight fists. “Oh my goodness!” I squeaked between hard breaths.
I felt her mount the bed and align herself beside me before feeling her fingernails trailing across my lower ribs. “I see you’re the type who can’t cum easily without some penetration,” she noted softly into my ear. “I have a feeling you need to cum.”
The last was a statement, not a question. I could only nod, my eyes slowly opening and my head turning to plead with her.
“I’ll let you cum, I promise,” she assured me before briefly kissing my lips. “But first you’ll earn the chance to cum for me.”
I nodded again, my eyes agreeing to anything so that I could cum. I did not want to cum just for myself, however – I wanted to cum for her. I wanted her to watch me and hear me as orgasm consumed me. I wanted her to hold me close as my body jerked violently and twisted into odd shapes as a primal need was finally realized. I wanted my lust to leave its mark on her bed so that she could smell my presence that night as she attempted to sleep.
She got up and helped me to change position on the bed. I still wore my t-shirt and bra and my earrings and watch, but below the waist, I was very much naked, and for the first time I was truly aware of my partial nudity. Yet somehow, with her, it did not matter that I was exposed below the waist while she was still properly dressed.
Standing beside the bed, her eyes raked my body. “You look good bottomless,” she observed, “especially with a wet pussy.” I felt a blush, even though I was not really in a position to feel embarrassed given how I had just humped her face while she had been eating me.
To my surprise, she moved to a bedpost and knelt, rising with a tethered cuff in her hand – a cuff which was apparently already secured to the bedpost. I had previously been bound only once, with actual rope which had left deep indentations in my skin, and while I had enjoyed my previous experience with bondage, I knew that I would enjoy this even more because of the use of the cuffs.
She worked quickly yet diligently. Each cuff was made of an odd type of foamy material which was soft against my ankles and wrists. It was soft enough that she even placed a cuff directly over my watch, and it did not cause the watch to press into my wrist. I had to wonder just how many others had been bound to her bedposts, because since the cuffs had already been secured to the bedposts, I clearly had not been the first.
“You’ve been bound before,” she observed as she sat on the edge of the bed and gently scratched the side of a breast, sending delicious shudders through my torso. “You’re too calm for this to be your first bondage experience.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged softly, actually enjoying the cuffs.
“Tell me about it,” she commanded, and I related the tale of how during Spring Break a guy I’d met at a bar had bedded me and used rope to secure me to his bedposts as he fucked me hard, occasionally choking me as well.
“So you’re bi,” she noted aloud when I finished speaking.
“Officially, yes,” I agreed, “although I generally prefer women.”
“I see. Not that it really matters whether you’re bi or lesbian or just curious. You’re still quite hot, and I still believe you need to earn the right to cum for me.”
Something about the way she said it appealed to me deep inside. My eyes tracked her as she rose from the bed and moved to a closet, opening the door and revealing more than a few whips hanging by hooks on the inside of the door.
“Oh my…” I breathed.
She turned to flash me a wicked grin, and in her eyes I saw what was about to happen: She was intent on hurting me to make me earn the right to orgasm. I would endure pain before I could enjoy the ultimate carnal pleasure.
“You wanna… hurt me?”
She approached slowly, her eyes narrowing, an all-black whip in each hand. One was relatively small with thin narrow strands of what appeared to be leather, and the other was clearly heavier given how her wrist was bent, and I instinctively knew that the second, larger whip would be more painful for me.
“It’s okay to scream,” she assured me. “My housemates aren’t here, although they’re both just as kinky as I am. The guys living on either side of us have commented before how they like hearing women screaming here, and they know it’s because someone here is either getting fucked or is tasting the leather. And I do have more than what you just saw hanging on the closet door. I have a few single-tails which would probably slice your skin open if I struck you hard enough.”
Reaching the bed, she set down the heavier whip and dragged the strands of the smaller, lighter whip bursa merkez escort across my breasts. “Don’t worry,” she assured me. “I’ll warm you up before I truly hurt you. I’m sadistic, but I’m not uncaring.”
I think I whimpered or made some other small fearful sound, because she caressed my cheek with her free hand. “I’ll take good care of you,” she said. “I promise. You’ll suffer for me, but I will take very good care of you, and you will be permitted to cum at the end. Now, do you know what a safeword is?”
I had a vague idea of it, so I nodded. “Good. What’s your safeword?”
My mind was racing. “Pinky,” I whispered.
A smirk crossed her lips. “‘Pinky’ it is.”
With a sudden flick of her wrist, a movement which happened so quickly that it barely registered with my mind before the initial sting graced my breasts, it began.
The first whip was quite stingy, even with the slight cushioning of my t-shirt and my bra. Initially, she waited a long time between strikes of the whip, but soon the waiting period lessened a little at a time. Except for when my breasts had first begun to grow, I had never been so keenly aware of them, for no one had ever purposely hurt my breasts before. As the impacts came faster and harder, I writhed, tugging at the comfortable tethered cuffs, whimpering, groaning, only occasionally saying something coherent. She soon had me panting, and while the whipping hurt, it hurt in a good way, and I finally understood what I had previously read online about erotic pain.
Even though I somewhat enjoyed the erotic pain, I was thankful when she set the stingy whip aside, although that clearly meant that she was about to use the other, heavier whip on me. “And now,” she confirmed with a low, dark voice, “you’ll suffer for me.”
I remember swallowing hard and suddenly being extremely nervous. As she picked up the heavier black whip, as she gave it a few slow test swings well above me, I felt a wave of panic, and even without having the heavier whip used on me yet, I was already struggling, truly pulling at the bonds, making the bed protest.
Her sadistic laugh chilled me and stilled me. The way her eyes narrowed proved just how much she was relishing this, just how much she wanted – needed? – for me to be in pain. I had heard of sadists, but this was the first time to be knowingly in a sadist’s presence, and definitely the first time to be the target of a sadist’s hurtful whims.
Yet there was also a clear caring in her eyes. Unlike the stereotypical sadists I had read about, the ones who truly wanted to torture someone and have the victim screaming in terror and agony without a care for the victim’s wellbeing, it was clear that she desired me as more than just an outlet for her hurtful whims. The way she had aroused me and eaten me seemed to indicate that she wanted me to feel pleasure as well. And, thankfully, she had promised me an orgasm after she had made me suffer.
My chest heaved again as another wave of panic rushed through me. “Oh God!” I breathed as the heavy black whip was raised anew.
The impact across my breasts was indeed powerful, almost strong enough to force all the air from my lungs. Such power was absolutely incredible, given that she had not used much of an arm movement, yet the whip was apparently heavy enough to significantly magnify the power of her arm to deliver such an awesome amount of pain. My hands and my feet stiffened and trembled – my entire body stiffened with the exception of my breasts as they quivered in the aftermath of that initial blow. For the first time in my life, my breasts truly hurt, but I had no voice with which to express the pain radiating across my chest.
Again and again the blows came, fast and hard. I gasped, I struggled, I shouted, occasionally I even sputtered something intelligible. And then she changed to a different target.
…directly between my legs.
Without the scant protection of any clothing, my exposed sex bore the full brunt of the pummeling. In the few times I could force myself to look into her eyes, it was clear that she was enjoying this, enjoying the opportunity to hurt me, enjoying the way I reacted as I yelled and fought in my bonds.
My vision blurred as tears fell. The pain was indeed significant, certainly more than I had ever experienced, yet I could not bring myself to use the safeword. It was agony, yet for some reason, I wanted to endure as much pain as I could.
…for her. I wanted my agony and my suffering to please her.
The final blow between my thighs was by far the worst. She clearly put as much of her arm strength into that strike as she possibly could, with a flick of the wrist and the heaviness of the whip making that final impact so much more torturous than any of the others. I truly screamed, a shrill howl which certainly must have been heard by anyone walking or biking past the house. The power of that blow was so intense that I ceased struggling, my body taut and quivering as the agony radiated throughout my entire being. My back must have been severely arched, because I suddenly felt myself going limp and falling back onto the bed, unable to move, hard rapid breaths forcing my chest to rise and fall quickly in a way which I am sure must have truly appealed to her.
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