Nusquam

Chapter One “Is Kelly coming?” “Yes Sir.” “Good. Hate to think of what these lovely t**s would look like if the weights hang too long. I assume they’re uncomfortable. You want more? Another pound or two?” “Please no sir. She’ll be coming late.” The man stands over the kneeling woman, hands gently cradling her head, his now tranquil tone in contrast to the sharp commands and lustful grunts of moments before. He is satiated and quiescent. In opening a girl, anal s*x can be laborious, but the ecstatic release, when combined with the raw exchange of power, like no other form of carnal pleasure. “Clean me!” his tone returning to authority as his hips press forward to present a firm but rapidly softening phallus. “And don’t eat strawberries or whatever fruit before I take you. The seeds can irritate.” “It was kiwi, sir,” the girl craning her neck, humbly taking the offered appendage. “Well... whatever... you’d think you’d be more attentive back there. You know you’re going to clean whatever my pecker encounters. Most girls keep it neat. But you seem to enjoy the sloppiness. It degrades... and adds to your sick thrill... doesn’t it?” Mouth filled with c**k, the girl carefully nods her response, swishing her tongue then swallowing the remnants of anal coupling. Her humbleness brings a paternal smile, the sadist knowing of the needs... and so graciously accommodating. There comes silence as the man revels, oral servitude augmenting his power. Then, p***s deemed presentable, he steps back, the flaccidness exiting with a plop, turns and reaches for his clothes. “Ask Kelly about Nusquam. It may be best for you. Some day you’re going to run into a guy who cares little... some amateur who does not know of limits... or enjoys too much taking a girl past them. Hate to see you hurt... truly hurt... or permanently marked... against your will.” In smugness, the man dresses, his enjoyment now more subtle in surveying the well tethered nakedness he has spent the afternoon tormenting. “Out of town next week,” the man informs in stepping behind the kneeling form. He pauses, admiring the rosebud opening, traces of milky white male essence oozing past the worn and reddened sphincter. Then the left hand reaches down. As the fingers splay open the outer labia, there comes a sense of accomplishment in feeling the warmth of the buttocks... a degree of intense heat remaining. In encountering wetness, he smiles the right hand easily slipping inward his offering. Too easily. The girl moans in need. The sopping v****a evidences her excitement... her unfulfilled concupiscence. He often wonders... is it the pain... the humiliation... the sense of complete capitulation? What brings such unsatiated lust? Her submission is thorough... and though denied the ultimate gratification of orgasm, she finds enjoyment. “Kelly has her own key?” patting a well welted right cheek. “Yes sir,” the girl grimaces. “Good. I’ll lock the door behind me,” reaching forth to motion the weights dangling from the left n****e. The grimace turns to low moans of slow suffering. Well restrained, she cannot still the pendulums, forced to submit to ponderous trinkets. “Nusquam,” he reminds, flicking the light switch, leaving the girl to suffer in darkness.