Bookworm Ch. 02

For those who have been asking for more of Carrie's exploits. Thanks for your feedback.

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Carrie had been nervous and distracted over the weekend. The plug she had removed from her clutches was on a shelf in the bathroom and caught her eye every time she went in - a lewd reminder of the events of the previous week and of Friday in particular. It had made her journey home challenging, as he had intended, and been driven into her with a jolt with every pothole that the bus trundled over.

She had tried to keep her expression neutral, but she was still frantic with adrenaline from her encounter with the note master through the book case and his cum was drying on her thighs. She'd had to coax the plug out of herself in the shower in her flat and had suddenly felt empty without it. She gazed at the object he had pushed into her, and that had just spent a bus journey gently fucking her in the arse, and realised she was dripping wet. She wanted to see her master's face as she made him come.

But it had been playing on her mind that perhaps the previous Friday was his endgame and that now he had fucked her there would be no more notes, no more interest. Maybe he just liked to take girls in this way and that would be that. She felt lost at the thought of having started down a path into the woods, only for the path to disappear - Carrie knew she had started learning about herself and she also knew she wasn't finished.

So it was with trepidation she made the journey to work on Monday, hoping hard for a note and telling herself to be pragmatic if there wasn't one. It was with pure glee that she saw one waiting for her on her desk, followed quickly by panic - it wasn't hidden at all this time, and it said simply:

'Carrie your cunt feels incredible.'

She was pleased with the compliment (and her pussy responded happily) but also knew that the publicly embarrassing nature of it was totally intentional. Would someone have seen it? They would know it was meant for her - it was on her desk - and implicitly written by someone who had experienced her cunt. What kind of reputation would that get her? She pondered someone saying, "Carrie gets hand written notes about her cunt like a slutty school girl."

She was ecstatic, though, that it meant his interest continued, and that he enjoyed 'The Republic' as much as she did. When would they get to return? What did he look like? What would he make her do next? Could she refuse him anything? She tried to imagine the most awful things he might ask her to do, but the trouble was that was just turning her on. 'What an obedient slut you're becoming, Carrie,' she chastised herself inwardly, 'You can't even contemplate what your boundaries are without getting your knickers wet.'

There were no more notes that day and Carrie took the opportunity to be highly efficient, and get through some of the things she had been letting slide the previous week, as her libido had taken control. There was no sense in losing her job out of horniness. Then what would she do? Become a submissive escort for a rich benefactor?...Carrie realised her mind was wandering again.

That evening she went to the gym. She hadn't been for a while and truly enjoyed exhausting herself, and trying to suppress the sexual demons. All the sweaty exertion and the bodies around her had the opposite effect though - her eyes flitted between the men grunting under free weights to her right while a girl was sweating up her lycra and bouncing appealingly as she pounded away on a treadmill.

When she got to showering, Carrie peeled down her sodden sports thong and saw it was a gluey mess. He would want these, she thought. He would come copiously as he smelled her flavours, licked them perhaps. Carrie suddenly realised that she was standing in the empty changing rooms touching her naked pussy with her fingertips, juice spilling onto them.

She stopped, showered and went home for dinner. She'd not touch that again until she had more tasks. She somehow felt she owed him her orgasms now.

He didn't disappoint her - there was a task on her desk and again there'd been no attempt to hide it. She held her breath and looked around.

'Leave work without knickers or tights on. Take the underground. Show a stranger your pussy.'

Wow, that was new, she thought. She had never been one for dressing provocatively, keeping cleavage to a minimum. Necklines were high and skirts were long, generally, so it was rare for anyone even to see her thighs. And she was to spread her legs and let someone see her vagina, which she already knew would be presenting itself like the greedy, needy little slut that it was.

How did he know she was wearing a skirt today? It was knee length and grey and she wore cream coloured tights. She was dressing up for her note-master these days, but it was thrilling to know that he knew already what she had on for the day. Or perhaps the task would be the same if she'd had trousers on. Just harder - she'd have had to rip a hole in the crotch so she could display it properly.

She was already nervously excited about it and the day seemed to drag on. She was wearing a thong for no particular reason other than that she liked how the fabric stretched between her cheeks and felt slightly uncomfortable (since she wasn't that used to wearing one except when exercising) and that the wool of her skirt was rough against the cheeks of her arse. She was setting her own little tasks, she realised.

By 4pm, she was too excited to wait longer, and she stripped her tights and underwear off in the toilet. She had to wrap her thong tightly in the tights, since it was a slippery, gooey thing now and she didn't want to cover everything in her bag with pussy juice. She could also smell the potent aroma of her cunt and arse on them, as she sniffed them briefly before stashing them away.

So her wet lips were now free as she sat back at her desk to finish up the last bits of work for the day, knowing she had stripped off earlier than she needed to, and wondering who she was going to flash her hidden slit at, and how they would respond.

It was thoughtful of him to stipulate the underground, Carrie thought. It meant it was not her usual commute home since she normally took the bus, so she could pick someone she wouldn't see again. And the arrangement of the seats opposite each other was actually ideal for flashing one's cunt, it now dawned on her. Unlikely to factor in Transport for London's decision making, or whoever, she mused.

Taking the underground rather than the bus would take about the same amount of time, involve a bit more of a walk, and generally more crowds, which was why she didn't usually bother with it. She strolled along the grey pavement - it was a grey day, but she was thrilled by the breeze on her naked pussy. It intensified as the stale familiar smell of the underground rushed up the steps and up her skirt as she descended towards the tube station. She was reminded of Friday's task again, since that day she had also gone home knickerless, but the plug at the time had been the bigger distraction - she suddenly missed that fullness.

To get to the platform Carrie had to huddle on a crowded escalator and she felt certain the woman pressed close to her on the step below was near enough to smell her cummy excitement. She partly hoped that was the case, and still she blushed.

As the train pulled to the platform and the announcement warned in its robot voice to mind the gap, Carrie was joking to herself - who would be carefully minding her gap in a few minutes?

The stop she got on at was never as busy as the next one along on the line, which meant Carrie got a seat and there was not yet anyone sitting opposite. Carrie crossed her legs, and then practiced opening her thighs while keeping them crossed, fiddling with her shoe as an excuse for the unusual position of her leg. She certainly felt as though that manoeuvre would give anyone sitting there an excellent eyeful of her pink parting lips. She reversed the action just in time for the train to rattle into the next stop where the platform was quite a bit more crowded.

Throngs of people strode onto the train and began filling the empty seats, the rest standing by the doors and avoiding interacting. The person who sat opposite her was a youngish man (and Carrie wondered if she would still have gone through with it if an elderly woman had picked that seat). He was a city man, she judged, and junior enough to still use the tube. He had that look of not being quite broken by the relentless hours yet, but it wasn't far off.

He was both bored and enthralled by his phone, like every other person on the train without a paper or book, and Carrie suddenly thought the task might be too difficult - simply in order to get someone's attention. He did glance at her though. He was roughly her age, and he registered her bare legs - it was not quite warm enough out for that not to be noteworthy.

Once his eyes were on her legs Carrie held her breath and began her manoeuvre, parting them and adjusting how she had them crossed, bringing her heel towards her hand to fiddle with her shoe whilst raising her knee and simultaneously giving the tired young man a very thorough view of her open and sticky cunt lips, framed by short soft curls.

He looked stunned, and unable to avert his gaze. He stared until she hid it, and then he caught her eye. She felt like her pussy was blushing from the powerfully fuck-hungry look he had given it, and her eyes weren't sure what silent communication was taking place now between her and the stranger opposite who had just seen her wet cunt on display for him.

He rode for two more stops before standing to leave, and she saw the bulge she had given him and when he passed her he pressed against her leg with his own - almost gratefully it seemed.

An older man took his place straight away. Mid fifties, Carrie reckoned, and married. She knew she had already completed her task, she did not need to show this man the wet mess between her thighs, but it very much wanted to be seen, and she let it take charge. She wanted this man to go home to his wife and fuck her until she screamed, inspired by the hot young pussy he'd just glimpsed. Or not even make it that far, and have to stop for a wank before getting home.

Before he could get too absorbed in the paper he was opening - you have to be of a certain generation to try and read a broadsheet on an underground train - Carrie made sure he noticed her legs, and then started the same trick again.

When she saw his expression change as she parted her thighs and displayed her hot little pussy one more time, Carrie herself was the one who was desperate to masturbate, right here with an audience, and make a wet patch of cum on the upholstery. She made sure he had a good look at her cunt, and when she moved her legs she felt his eyes move to her face searchingly, looking for clues as to who this girl was, riding the tube with her pussy on show.

It was Carrie's stop, and she felt his eyes never leave her as she stood and left the train, glancing back at her seat as though she really did fear a wet patch.

Back in her flat, the bulbous plug still sat on her bathroom shelf, begging her to push it up her arse, just to remember how it felt.

Carrie went to the gym again, to exorcise the demons, she joked with herself.

Back at her desk the next morning, Carrie saw no note but there was a hairbrush there which hadn't been there before. It had a small pink ribbon around the handle. Otherwise it wasn't particularly special, just a broad elliptical flat back with spines on the other side, and a smooth handle. It also wasn't new - there were one or two long blonde hairs on it. This was another girl's hairbrush and Carrie would have assumed it was lost property handed in if it weren't for the ribbon and how it was placed. It was definitely his work but what did it mean?

Who was this girl? Carrie pondered that for most of the day.

About an hour before closing time Carrie fetched herself her last cup of tea for the day, returning to see a note wrapped around the handle of the brush.

'Once you have locked up, bend over your desk, expose your arse, place the hairbrush on your lower back and do not turn round.'

Carrie had hoped and suspected that the broad hairbrush would be used to spank her and this seemed to confirm it. She trembled with anticipation, and a little bit of fear. She had never been spanked, even as a child, since her parents were not old fashioned enough to believe in physical punishment - not that her childhood had been carefree by any means.

And the few relationships she'd had never developed to a level of trust that would have allowed her to raise the possibility of exploring spanking. Besides, someone either wanted to wallop her arse cheeks or they didn't, Carrie thought. One shouldn't have to ask.

So all four of her cheeks were already burning even as Carrie locked the large old doors and made her way back to her desk.

She undid her jeans, checking for the tenth time that no-one was around, and hooked her thumb into the waistband of her jeans and knickers at the same time, pulling both down over the curve of her bottom. Curious to be so exposed at her desk, she thought, as she peeled the wet gusset of her knickers from where it clung to her lips.

She bent across her desk, picturing how he would see her when he arrived, and reached with some difficulty to balance the hairbrush against her back. It felt cool and wide - it was almost perfectly designed as a paddle, she thought, and wondered again who the girl was, and whether she had been bent like this for it too. Had he spanked that girl? Did she cry out or stay silent and did her pussy get as wet as Carrie's was right now? Maybe he fucked the girl afterwards, or just wanked over her and came on the hot pink cheeks of her arse.

Thinking those thoughts about the mysterious girl while bent across her desk was almost too much for Carrie and she was about to reach between her legs when she heard footsteps approach - she fought the urge to turn and look.

"Hello Carrie," he said, lifting the hairbrush from her back and hefting it,

"It's nice to see you."

"Hello," she replied and her own voice sounded nervous and desperate and foreign to her. "It's nice to be seen... I don't know your name."

Her breathing was already unsteady and she thought she could hear excitement in his as well.

"No you don't. Not yet. Soon you'll know."

She heard him swish the brush through the air quickly, practicing a stroke and teasing her.

The next thing she felt was him pressing the bristles lightly against her buttocks, and then against her inner thigh. It gave her goosebumps and she wondered if he could smell how excited she was.

Without warning he landed a blow swiftly on her left cheek with a loud clap, startling her so she gasped. It stung slightly but was mostly just warming. Another followed in the exact same spot but harder, reddening it and she made a little noise. So this was how it felt to have him strike her. It burned as another blow landed - so loud in the quiet open space - and all her nerve endings were singing while her pussy whispered a filthy monologue to her. He struck a lighter blow closer to her wet lips and she heard herself moan.

When he switched to her right cheek and landed the hardest yet it was a flash of pain that was tempered with pure lust. She pictured her scarlet arse quaking for him with every blow.

Carrie added her own element to the experience - with her elbows supporting her she hoisted her top and adjusted her bra enough that she could pinch her own nipples while he spanked her. She began to wonder if she would drip on the floor.

Steady clapping blows rained down on her arse until she felt a broad, numbing warmth. Occasional staccato slaps on her thighs made her squeal. She wiggled her bottom for him provocatively and pinched her nipples hard. His answer was to slap the hairbrush directly onto her pussy. She gave a horny growl she couldn't control and he landed another - it sounded sloppy this time. The next strike was back on her pink arse cheek and she felt the wetness of the brush as he spanked her pussy juice all over her exposed backside.

There was a pause and she wondered if maybe he'd finished. Then a blow harder than any yet gave a searing white heat of joyous pain that for a second cut through the pleasure and made Carrie bite her lip to keep from screaming.

'FUCK!' Carrie thought as another blinding flash accompanied a stinging blow that rung out across the library. She didn't know how many like that she could take. Briefly, she imagined begging him to stop but him continuing, pinning her arms up behind her. She realised from the pain in her nipples that she herself was causing it, and biting her own lip harder than she needed to, and imagining him overpowering her to beat her and fuck her and not let her come.

Abruptly, she felt the thick smooth handle of the brush slip into her pussy suddenly and fuck her for a couple of strokes, and she gave a hoarse, guttural moan of need. But just as soon it was gone, and another spank made her arse sing like a struck tuning fork.

"I know you want more, but I'm going to stop now, Carrie," she heard him say.

Then a blow landed on her arse that was warm - his hand! He let it linger on her skin, and the next thing she felt was his breath, and his lips against her inner thigh as he kissed her briefly beside her leaking slit. She felt him inhaling her scent. She was desperate to feel his mouth on her again, but she heard him stand and leave, and when she stood and looked behind her, she saw the other girl's hairbrush had gone too.

Slippery with her juices no doubt, and perhaps going back to its owner.

Carrie sorted her clothing out and enjoyed the exhilarating heat in her tender arse all the way home. She sat gingerly on the bus and as soon as she arrived home she stripped again in front of the mirror and bent away from it, looking in wonder at her pink cheeks and her drippy desperate pussy peeking back at her, remembering the handle probing her.

She looked hungrily at the plug on the shelf. Maybe it was ok to try it again, if she didn't come, she told herself. As training...

Her hands shaking a bit with excitement she took it from the shelf - it was satisfyingly heavy. She knew it needed lubricating, but she was so wet that she figured her own horny slime would do the job, and she pressed it gently between her parted legs, still bending at the waist towards the mirror.

He'd like to see this, Carrie thought, and nearly cried out as the plug slipped up to its base into her cunt. She'd now made it so wet that it was hard to hold and she pulled it back out of her pussy reluctantly with a wet pop and a trickle.

It bore a coating of her cream, she saw, and she watched herself, as though possessed, parting her cheeks and pushing the tip of the plug against her anus. She focused on opening it and pushed some more. It made it easier to imagine it was his cock invading her, and Carrie gave a little grunt as she shoved it past her resistance - her sphincter relinquished and the plug buried itself snugly up her arse.

Carrie realised she was now diddling her clit furiously with her other hand and pushing on the base of the thing to fuck it up her back passage, her mouth open with concentration and lust as she watched her obscene behaviour.

She was recalling the men looking at her pussy, and imagining them watching now - others too, standing in a circle, watching her plunder her arse like a slut.

'Stop now, Carrie. Pull that back out of your arsehole before you come in your hands and put it back on the shelf.'

Carrie was commanding herself in his voice. It took a mountain of effort to obey her own command, but she did tug the plug back out of her bottom and set about washing it, trying to use that as a distraction from her frustration.