Archive-name: Slaves/aftengl.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: After English





	She stumbled out of bed to answer the shrilling phone, still half

asleep.  She barked her shins on a pile of notebooks on the floor.  Across the

room, her roommate groaned and rolled over in her sleep.  She hurried a bit

more to get the phone before waking her roommate up.

	"Hello?" she asked sleepily.

	"Morning," came the reply.  She recognized the voice of her master

immediately.  

	"Hello, sir," she said, and her voice had a much more submissive tone.

"Why did you call me?"  She wished she was at his apartment.  So much better,

to lie with him and awake with her small hands bound in a bondage belt, with

the warmth of his body nearby and having the excuse of fetters to allow her to

lie in bed.  

	"I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me. 

Also, I want you to wear a skirt today.  Above the knee, I think.  And your

stockings and garter belt."

	"Why?"

	"You'll find out after English.  You can wear flats if you want, but

bring your heels along in a bag.  Oh, and if you wear underwear, it has to be

something that comes off easily.  Wear your silk ones with the bows."

	"OK, sir," she said, wondering inside what he meant.  She would be glad

in an hour for having eaten, but right now she wanted more than anything to

crawl back into bed and sleep.  She had half an hour before class.  But she

obeyed, wondering why all the while.

	He was no more tractable at breakfast.  He allowed her to get three

bowls of Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it

was junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only

answered, "You'll find out after English."

	English.  Short Story Writing, specifically.  The last class she had on

Fridays, the only one she had with him.  So many times, that had been the last

thing she did before spending a weekend in erotic submission to him.  The

simple thought made her belly turn over.

	The whole day she was unable to keep her mind off it.  What did he have

planned?  A weekend of submission?  Maybe.  But that was hardly uncommon.  So

why all the secrecy?  And why the costuming?  In classes, she found herself

writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes.  She tapped her feet

incessantly and waited for the class to end.  She supposed people were

looking at her.  She didn't care.  

	After lunch, which she ate with some friends, for he was on the other

side of campus, she headed back to her room and got the required heels.  Patent

leather pumps, with a locking ankle strap and five inch heels.  She wrapped

them in paper towels and put them in a shoe box, which she put in her backpack.

Three more hours!  She would never make it.  

	Well, two more.  Class started at two and ended at three.  She had an

hour before her one o'clock class, so she tried to call him but the answering

machine picked up.  Was he there, grinning broadly at the answering machine,

laughing at her curiousity, or was he really not there?  She could picture

either.  She wished he would let her see his schedule.  

	After trying for the third time she decided he was either not there or

not going to answer.  She tried to read the short story someone had written

which was going to be discussed in class, but she couldn't concentrate.  She

was too curious about what he had planned for her.

	She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror.  Deciding she ought to

look nice for whatever he had planned for her, she applied some mascara and

blusher and lipstick.  This took up most of the time remaining.

	If he blindfolds me after the work I did on that makeup, I'm gonna be

pissed, she thought as she bounced across the quad.  

	In the last class before English she found herself looking out the

window.  Was that him out in back of the building, watching her?  It had to be. 

No one else would lurk outside so boldly, as if they had every right to be

there.  Was he looking at her?  Smiling at her?  She couldn't tell.  

	The hour dragged on.  And on.  She was growing quite impatient. 

Finally the bell rung and she was free.

	English was absolute torture, she decided.  She sat next to him as she

always did, and kept trying to whisper in his ear.  He would merely grin

evilly, and conveniently stretch so that he wouldbe out of range of her

whisper.  She passed him notes, as if she was a high schooler.  He merely read

them and put them in his notebook.  When she dared say something aloud, he

hushed her and suggested that she quiet down and pay attention to class.

	The small, androgynous boy whose story was being presented that day

gave her a nasty look.  She frowned back at him.  Under the table, his hand

touched her skirt and pulled it up slightly, just enough so that he could feel

her leg.  

	She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, and he let her this time.

	"I obeyed," she said.

	"Good," he said, and grinned again, that annoying satisfied

cat-got-the-cream grin he had that he gave herwhen he knew something he did not

intend to tell her.  Sometimes it made her want to scream and jump up and down.

Now was one of those times.

	Finally, the class was over.  He got up and headed for the door

immediately.  She threw her things in her backpack and raced after him.

He was heading into an empty classroom.  She ran in after him just as he was

closing the door and turned to face him, breathless.

	"Okay, it's after English.  So tell me." she said.

	For answer he merely took her arm and spun her around so that she was

in front of him, facing away.  His grasp was not painful but irrevocable.  She

felt handcuffs clamped onto her wrists.  Then the slight click of the double

lock being engaged on each.  These were police handcuffs, and gave her very

little room.  Then he bent her over a desk, got something out of his bag, and

spread her legs.  She was surprised but pliant, not wanting to resist unless he

hurt her.  First his hands untied the bows on the hips of her panties and took

them off.

	She felt an assplug slip into her, and an admonishment;  "Don't let go

of that until I tell you you can."

	Then he was taking off her shoes and putting her feet into the

five-inch pumps, locking each ankle strap with a small lock.  Afterwards he

scooped up his own bag and hers, took her wrists in the other hand, and marched

her neatly to the elevator.  She was grateful he did not make her try the

stairs with these shoes and her wrists cuffed behind her back.  

	In the elevator, he hiked up her skirt and checked her;  she was

already moist in the excitement and surprise.

	"What are you doing?" she asked for the first time since after English.

	"Don't ask.  Don't say a word."

	His car was parked in the lot nearby.  He got her in the passenger

seat, and then got in himself.  He locked both doors, an unnecessary precaution

since she could not open the door anyway, and then put her seat belt on. 

Donning his own, he started the engine and drove away.  

	Anytime she spoke, he immediately responded with an order to be silent. 

He hiked her skirt up to her waist and fondled her freely.  This was dizzying. 

She was restrained, kept in a car, being taken to God knows where, and not even

allowed to speak.  It was incredibly exciting.

	When he got to the Interstate, he stopped for a moment to put a pair of

Gargoyle sunglasses on her.  He had painted these with black paint, and she

could see very little, but no passersby in cars would have any clue.  

Without being able to see, she had no real way to gauge time, since the radio

was not playing and he was being fairly silent.  

	After maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe ten years, he pulled off the

Interstate, and a short time later pulled over completely.  He got out of

the car, went around and let her out, and led her forward.  She felt gravel

clicking under her heels.  Then, up three steps, and onto a porch of some kind.

It sounded like concrete when she walked on it.  She heard him fumble briefly

with a key, and then she was being led indoors.  Then he took the blindfold

off.

	She was in a wood-paneled den, with a fireplace and a few hunting

trophies on the walls.  There were two doors leading from the room. One looked

like it led to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom. She glanced around at

the place curiously.

	"Do you like it?" he asked.

	"Like it?"  She walked around briefly.  "It's beautiful.  But how did

you get it?"

	"It was my grandpa's house," he said.  "I'm in the process of getting

it.  Some yap about probate.  Some other people in the family want it, I think.  

But it'll be mine soon."

	Will it be mine too? she wanted to ask, but didn't have the courage

to.

	He came up behind her and unzipped her skirt, pulling it gently but

irrevocably off her.  Then he removed the handcuffs, only to replace them with

leather cuffs.  Then he buckled and locked a wide leather collar around her

neck.  He removed her blouse and bra, and then locked her wrists behind her

back.  Then he buckled another pair of leather cuffs on her ankles.  

	"Let me show you the basement," he suggested, as if none of what he had

done before had happened.  But she was very wet now, very excited as he forced

her down the rickety stairs to the basement.

	There was a door at the end of the stairs.  He pushed her through

this and locked it.  Inside, the basement was finished.  She saw a room on

her which he propelled her into, and she could see in the dim light several

 toys up on the walls and a spanking horse and a bed in the corner of the room.

	"You like it?" he asked, his voice betraying an edge of sharpness.

	"Yes-oh God, fuck me-," she choked.

	"Not yet."  He took her over to the spanking horse, spread her legs and

fastened them to the legs of the horse, then freed her arms briefly to bend her

over the horse and attach her wrist cuffs to the legs on the other side.  

	She heard him shuck off his pants and then he had a fistful of her

hair, pulling her head up.  In his hand she saw a riding crop .  Her head could

not rise far with her body spreadeagled and secured down.  

	His penis was stiff and dancing about, and she was wet and ready for

him.  But he forced her to lick it instead, lick it and suck it while he

whipped her ass with the crop .  This was a game she knew.  She was to suck him

while he whipped her until he came.  Until he did, the whipping would get

steadily harder.  

	She did what she usually did.  She delayed him so that he would whip

her harder.  Eventually she passed into a sort of out-of-body experience:  she

could still feel the whip striking her, but it didn't hurt anymore.  She felt

the cock in her mouth, everything seeming to happen very slowly, and she

thought, I'm a cocksucker.  And it seemed very good.

	Finally he came, and she licked him clean, feeling tired and limp.

He came around to her welted ass, and rubbed it gently.

	"Why so tired?" he asked.  She felt his cock slip into her from behind,

but was too well bound to fight it.  It felt good, slipping into her dark and

wet depths.  Her welts stung as he touched them.  They had both broken out into

a sweat.

	"So tired already?"  He began to pump slowly.  "It's gonna be a long

weekend, sweetheart."

  

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