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From: Hammon Wry <Hammonwry@SPAMTRAPyahoo.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 07 Dec 2002 12:09:07 EST
Subject: {ASSM} Learning her: part 6
Date: Sat,  7 Dec 2002 18:10:05 -0500
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Learning her: part 6

(C) E. Howe  2002
All rights reserved

Where was I?  Oh, yes, weeping onto my own carpet.   My knees 
shook, and my hands were slippery from sweat.  I had to wipe them on 
my bare thighs to get them to stay put on my knees.  Her fingers still
explored me.  

I felt her hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and 
experienced the oddest sensation: I felt my hand between her shoulder 
blades, a memory of our earlier encounter, I suppose.  It startled me,
and I froze, my shuddering stilled.  

Her hand left my back, and a slap landed on my bare backside.  My 
hands slipped from their precarious perch.  I stumbled forward,
utterly lacking even the most rudimentary grace.   Her fingers left my
cunt, and I felt gaping, empty.  

As I stepped forward recovering my balance, I felt my head jerked 
back.  She had my rope of hair wrapped around her hand, and her face 
snarled into mine.   Her eyes were hard.  Her lip twisted upwards in a
leering snarl briefly.   I was terrified of her, and wondered how I
could ever had longed to hear her voice.  The only voice that would
come from that face would be hurling invectives and deprecations.   

She drew me down to my knees again and then forward to all fours.  
She unwound my rope braid a loop or two, and stepped behind me.  
With her free hand, she slapped my ass again.  Blindly, I reacted 
instinctively.   I scurried away from the hand, and was surprised when
she did not yank me back with my hair.  

She walked be around the room, giving me the occasional slap to 
correct any deviations from her invisibly plotted path.  I panted with
the effort of circling with the room.  I could not draw a full breath
because of the tightness of the corset.   The under sides of my
breasts stung from the irritation of the corset and sweat.  I was
light-headed, and my arms shook uncontrollably.  All the while, I
wept.  

This was no chase.  I was a filly on the lead, a purebred bitch at
show.  Controlled.  There was no audience to appreciate my efforts.
No one to see my failures and the quick retribution of her slaps.  No
one, that is but her.  

She had become unreadable.  I was utterly lost, terrified.  I tried to
glance at her face for some sign of approval.  Nothing.  Around and 
around, I was dizzy with the turns.  My knees chaffed, my hands ached.
The tops of my feet where burned from the carpet.  

I was wet and aroused.  I ached between my legs.  I wanted to please 
her, to show myself capable, capable of obeying as well as 
commanding.  To be the perfect slave.  I wanted her approval.  I
wanted to feel the pressure of her hand on the back of my head petting
me.  

I swear I would have spent if she had done so when we finally slowed,
and then stopped before the door to my boudoir.  With a final and 
brutal slap, she indicated that I was to enter.  I did so.  The smells
of the room assaulted my nose.  I heard the door close behind me, and
it felt like the closing of autumn, winter stretching forever before
me.  

It would be a long, dark night.  Three of them, in fact. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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