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From: genericjoe@offthebeatenpath.org
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Subject: {ASSM} GenericJoe's Images : 0011 (MF BDSM Caution)
Date: Mon,  7 Jul 2003 07:10:03 -0400
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Images by GenericJoe <genericjoe.org>

In deference to short pieces, to Suki's images from when I was first
finding my bdsm-self, I am going to work on a series of images, most
of which will have a bdsm theme of some kind or another, all short.
At least three a week (but I'd love to do them daily.)

As they are posted, the images will be archived at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/genericjoe/www/images/


0011 (MF BDSM Caution) She was reminded of it all when he showed her the
costumes.  "No, no, no," she muttered, over and over.  "I can't do this."

His voice, firm and cold, "Can't or Won't?"

Had she told him? She thought to herself, she couldn't imagine she
had. Looking into his eyes, the anger and disapproval on his face,
she knew she had to tell him.

The story came out in fits and bursts, how Jamie Wigham, captain of
the football team had showed up at her house, blue jacket with a bright
gold letter "E" on it.  How she, Sandi Willet, head of the cheerleading
squad, and, of course, his girlfriend had run from him.  Run after
she bit him, bit him after he had grabbed her, and forced her down,
and fucked her mouth.  She hadn't bit him too hard -- just enough to
scare him, make him pull out stop, whatever, and she'd run run run away.
But they had found her, the whole offensive line, and they'd held her
down and fucked her everyway they could.

And she knew she hadn't told him, like she'd never told anyone, but
when he showed up with a blue-and-gold leather jacket, and matching
cheerleader outfit, she'd broken down and told him.

They'd talked, and he'd promised not to punish her for saying no,
but she still had to do it.  Crying, she thought about leaving him,
and knew she couldn't.  So she took the outfit, and slinked off to the
bathroom to change.

She still looked good in the uniform.  The gold in the outfit accentuated
her long, dirty-blonde hair. It was longer now that it was in school,
and she sexily draped it over her shoulder.  The pleated skirt barely
covered her ass, the top, while square-cut, showed off her cleavage well.
A large blue "E" was blazoned on the front. He had done his homework,
done his planning.  Her heart sank as she realized what was waiting for
her in the living room.

He was standing there, in the doorway.  Jeans and a t-shirt, white tennies
and socks.  The letter jacket.  The whole thing was kind of rumpled -- not
like him at all -- but very much like a high school student, like Jamie.
She felt her stomach clench, her hands shake; her pussy was dry like a
desert, like it never was or had been, with him.

"Hello, Sir," she said.

"Hey, Sandi," he smirked. "I got my letter jacket. You know what that
means."

It was like looking at a double exposure: too alike, and not enough
the same.  She knew she trusted the man in the jacket; the one who was
there now.  Why was he doing this?  "No..." she uttered, the word barely
escaping her lips.

"You know what Margie did for John, when he got his. Well you are my girl,
and you're going to do it for me."

She walked over to him, and looked into his pure blue eyes.  She knelt as
he unzipped his pants.  He grabbed her hair, as his cock sprung through
the hole in his jeans.  He pressed the tip to her lips, and she tried
to shake away.  Using both hands, he pulled her to him, thrusting his
cock against her lips.

She was his to do with as he would, so she let her lips part, and he
was fucking her face.  Suddenly, he was Jamie doing it to her again.
This time she was passive and broken and she let him.  He pulled her
all the way on his cock, and shot his cum down her throat.

He bent over her, saw the tears on her face, and picked her up and
carried her to the bedroom.  Settling her down on the bed, he bent over
her to kiss her, but she turned her head so that he'd kiss her cheek.
She never kissed Jamie again, she wouldn't do it for him, either.

He stroked her hair gently, lovingly, and the tears began to flow.
He held her, touching her here and there, comfortingly, sexually.
Slowly she warmed to his tender touch.  He slid down her body, kneeling
between her legs.

"Sandi." he said.  She said nothing.  "Slave," he said again, and she
turned to look at him.  "I am not Jamie.  Am I?"

She shook her head, no.  He took off the letter jacket.   "Who am I,
slave? Who am I?"

"Master," she said.

"Yes," He said.  He slid the cheerleader skirt up her hips -- there were,
of course, no panties.  Then, he lowered his lips to her unaroused pussy.
He licked, gingerly, teasing the lips, the outer shell of her womanhood.
He worked his way inside her, his tongue flicking here and there, licking,
adding moisture, making her wet.  And she responded.

Rarely did he give this gift: to make her cum, over and over, with nothing
for himself. Oh, he had come, and he could come again.  But tonight he
would never take her, even as she begged him. He just licked her and
fingered her and she came and came and came.

She came as much as she had when the football team had raped her, only
this time, it was with someone that she loved, and someone who loved
her back.


(C) GenericJoe, 2003
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/genericjoe/www/images/image0011.html

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