Cheryl's Passion Ch. 03

Coach Jenneke followed me around the whole time and directed my efforts, telling me where to store tools, telling me where to shelve do-it-yourself books and just in general taking control over me and making me feel submissive to her.

To add to my feelings of submissiveness, she later ended up taking off her belt and cracking it loudly against the floor if I moved too slowly or mistakenly stored one of her tools in the wrong location. The crack of the leather belt echoed loudly in her basement and I flinched every time I heard that ominous sound.

Once or twice she actually cracked the belt across my naked buttocks. The leather cracking across my naked flesh stung, but it was just a preview of what was to come later. The real spanking was going to be much more painful than just one or two cracks of her leather belt.

By the time I finally finished straightening up Coach Jenneke's basement, I was sweaty, dirty, tired and thirsty.

"You look sad, pathetic and dirty," Coach Jenneke said, as I stood there covered in sweat, sawdust and grime.

Of course, it was the lot of a slave to toil at manual labor and get sweaty and dirty. Wasn't it? In the books I read, slaves were always being given physically demanding and humiliating labors to perform. It was part of keeping the slaves humble and broken. That was also part of the reason that slaves were kept naked. It was hard to feel pride or self-worth when you were kept stark naked and constantly surrounded by people who were fully clothed.

Of course there were other reasons to keep slaves naked as well. A naked slave was much more available for sex than a clothed slave. Also when you kept your slave naked, they were much more available for punishment. A paddle, strap, leather belt or riding crop will hurt far more on a slave's bare skin than across flesh that is protected by denim or some other fabric.

"Upstairs, slave-girl," Coach Jenneke said to me, "We need to get you cleaned up before your spanking."

Coach Jenneke was kind enough to let me get a glass of water from the kitchen sink before I got cleaned up. As a track coach, she knew the importance of staying hydrated, and she could see how much I had been sweating while cleaning out her basement.

The water felt good going down my parched throat, but I still felt dominated and owned by Coach Jenneke. Here I was standing utterly naked in her kitchen, submissively allowing her to order me around, doing whatever task she gave me, being her naked, submissive servant.

"I'll show you were the shower is," Coach Jenneke said, pushing me out of the kitchen and down the hall.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was ordered into the shower and; much to my surprise; Coach Jenneke stripped out of her own clothes and joined me.

"I've wanted to do this for a long, long time," Coach Jenneke confessed to me, "A lot of my sexual fantasies revolve around one of my students getting naked in the shower and me joining them. Up until today, I never thought there was a chance of any of those fantasies coming true."

"You fantasized about the girls on your track team being naked in the shower?" I asked, somehow never imagining that teachers could ever fantasize about any of their students.

"Runners tend to have great bodies," Coach Jenneke said as she reached out and began to wash me off, "All the girls on my track team had great legs and great glutes...your body was especially impressive."

My former track coach was lost in a fantasy that she had carried around for years, and I got swept along with it. She ordered me to place my hands on the wall above my head and assume the inspection position and then she used the spray of the showerhead to get me soaking wet. And once I was good and wet from head to toes, Coach Jenneke's soap-slick hands began the process of traveling across my naked body, lathering me up, but also exploring every inch of me and fondling my naughty bits, cupping my breasts, rubbing and pulling on my sensitive nipples, squeezing my firm buttocks and thighs, feeling them, almost as if she were testing them for resiliency.

I gasped and flinched when she took a bar of soap in her hand and forced her hand into the tight furrow between my buttocks. It was a very intimate and sensitive place to touch a girl, but Coach Jenneke wasn't willing to allow me to be squeamish.

"We have to wash you everywhere," she insisted as she rubbed soap-slick fingers between my buttocks and insistently across the sensitive flesh of my anus.

"I'm not going to spank you until you're squeaky clean," she added, and then she used the showerhead to rinse the soapy residue out from between my buttocks.

"Now that I know your anus is so sensitive, I may have to find a lot of reasons to touch you down there," Coach Jenneke said to me, "It's really sexy to watch a young girl like you squirm and moan. And playing with your anus seems to be a sure way to get you to do just that."

I moaned at the announcement that Coach Jenneke would want to be playing with my anus in the future. Somehow having my anus violated, impaled or poked at was a huge emotional trigger for me. I'm not sure why it was such a big deal, but I found it to be far more traumatic than having my bottom spanked or my nipples abused.

Coach Jenneke proceeded to wash every inch of my body, including the soles of my feet, my armpits, my ribcage, behind my ears and the back of my neck.

When she washed those parts of my anatomy, her attentions seemed professional and responsible, but then she proceeded to wash my pink, swollen pubic lips, her attentions seemed much more carnal and indecent.

She rubbed my poor, tumescent nether lips with her soap-slick fingers roughly and insistently, making me moan and writhe with sexual distress. My hips writhed shamelessly and I tried to thrust my aching sex deeper into her fingers. My clit was so hard and swollen that it ached, and I was desperate for this woman to give me some relief.

"No," Coach Jenneke said, pulling her hand away from my needy sex and then she swatted my bare bottom three times in rapid succession.

The slaps hurt worse with my ass soaking wet. I hadn't realized that wet skin would make the slaps sting even more, but they did. That was an important piece of information that I filed away for future reference.

I didn't tell Coach Jenneke that being wet made the swats hurt more, but she may have figured that out on her own. I certainly cried out a lot louder when she spanked me wet. That would likely be a big clue for her.

"Before my naked slave-girl can have her orgasm, I have to have mine. April told me about that. Apparently that's a rule in the BDSM community."

I hadn't actually heard that rule, but it made sense. Slaves held a very inferior status compared to their masters and mistresses. Slaves would have far fewer rights and would be treated with far less respect. It made sense that the sexual needs of a master or mistress would be seen to before a slave's sexual needs.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, my voice weak and shaky. I was feeling weak and wobbly with sexual need and my vocal cords were barely functional. My clit and my pubic lips were swollen and my loins were pulsing desperately with sexual need. My naked body was in distress and I wouldn't be able to function properly until that distress was relieved.

"You look so cute with those sad eyes, those heaving breasts and the way your lower lip trembles," Coach Jenneke informed me, "I haven't enjoyed a Saturday this much since..."

She took a few seconds to think about it and finally concluded, "I don't think I've ever enjoyed a Saturday this much! I think this is my best Saturday, ever!"

Coach Jenneke pulled me in for a kiss and I stiffened in surprise at first. When she initially grabbed me, I had no idea what her intentions were, but once I realized it was a warm, passionate kiss, I melted into it, allowing Coach Jenneke's tongue to enter my mouth and allowing her naked body to press in close to mine.

"You are like a dream come true," she said when we broke from the kiss, and then she hugged me close, squashing her breasts into mine as she rested her head on my shoulder and pressed our naked bodies intimately close together.

For a few moments, I felt like a naughty school-girl. Back in high school, Coach Jenneke had been my track coach. If I had engaged in a sexual relationship with her back then, it would have been a huge scandal. Now that I had graduated, it was no big deal, but high school wasn't all that long ago, and being naked here in her shower felt almost like being naked in the showers just beyond the girls locker room back at Fairwind High School.

Coach Jenneke ordered me to kneel at her feet and wash her pussy before I began to eat it. I had never washed another woman's pussy before and I found I kind of liked it. It seemed almost like a religious ritual, and made the act of cunnilingus seem more serious and venerable.

Coach Jenneke didn't shave off all of her pubic hair like I did, however she cut hers very, very short and shaved them into a landing strip. As a result, her loins were almost completely smooth. Her vulva was slick and frictionless by the time I was done washing and rinsing her.

"Is my pussy a thing to worship and adore?" Coach Jenneke asked, and the question caught me off guard. I was almost certain that this wasn't the sort of question most people asked during sex, but I tried to adapt as best I could.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and I was fairly certain that this was the answer she was looking for.

"Then worship and adore it," she commanded, and she grabbed my skull and forced my face directly into her crotch.

I licked at her slit and her swollen pubic lips tasted faintly of soap. I rinsed her labia off a little bit more and licked at her smooth flesh once again. She tasted more natural this time, sort of like red meat. I liked the taste.

I heard a deep, shuddering sigh up above me and I almost didn't recognize Coach Jenneke's voice when she said, "That's not worshipping! That's teasing! Lick it like you're hungry for it! Take it into your mouth! Be passionate about it, girl!"

I nodded my head and put much more vigor and enthusiasm into what I was doing. When I performed cunnilingus on April, she preferred that I use my tongue to deliver slow, methodical, smooth licks to her pussy. Coach Jenneke was different. She wanted me to be aggressive, almost brutal in the way I treated the folds of her labia and her clitoris.

I gripped her right thigh in one hand and her buttocks in the other and licked vigorously at her pubic folds. I took her pubic lips into my mouth and energetically sucked on them. At her urging I even nibbled on them.

Finally, I took her swollen clitoris into my mouth and trapped it in between my teeth. I sucked on it like it was some sort of hard candy that I was trying to suck all of the flavor from. Coach Jenneke responded to my efforts with rapid panting, gasping and an energetic twisting and swaying of her hips.

"Aaaiiiuugghhh," she screamed inarticulately as her naked body trembled and shuddered and wetness from her orgasm filled my mouth.

She made girlish panting sounds and leaned against the shower wall while her breasts heaved up and down. Coach Jenneke was the second woman I had brought to orgasm with my tongue, and I felt good about that. Something about knowing that I could use my mouth to bring women to orgasm filled me with pride.

"That was good," Coach Jenneke said when she had finally stopped panting, "We'll have to do this again next weekend."

I agreed to that automatically without thinking. It just seemed normal that I should take orders from Coach Jenneke. It seemed like the most normal thing in the world. Of course I would return to her house next weekend and eat her pussy. Why wouldn't I?

Eventually the hot water began to turn cold and Coach Jenneke ordered me to get out of the shower. She turned off the water and grabbed towels for us to dry off.

I could have dried myself, but Coach Jenneke felt it would be more appropriate if she dried me off.

"April said that slave-girls shouldn't be allowed to touch themselves," Coach Jenneke explained as she toweled my naked body.

"I think she just meant that slaves shouldn't be allowed to masturbate," I replied.

"The actual meaning of her words is open to interpretation," she said, "But I choose to interpret it to mean that slaves shouldn't be allowed to wash themselves or dry themselves off either."

When we were both dry, Coach Jenneke smacked me on my bare bottom and ordered me out of the bathroom. With both us naked, she herded me into her bedroom and had me stand near a framed poster of Susen Tiedtke, competing in the women's long jump in Athens.

She grabbed some more towels, placed them on the floor near the wall and said, "Stand here, place your hands against the wall and assume the inspection position."

I stood on the towels with my feet spread apart and my hands above my head, palms flat against the wall.

"Is this how you want me, Mistress?" I asked, feeling vulnerable and exposed and wondering why she was making me do this position again.

"You look utterly adorable in the position," Coach Jenneke said as she stood behind me, her mouth no more than two inches from my ear.

While I stood there, feeling naked and defenseless, Coach Jenneke came up and began to rub one of my stiff sensitive nipples. I gasped at the unexpected intimate physical contact.

"This position leaves you so open and available," Coach Jenneke explained, "There isn't a single part of you that's hidden from me."

And as if to emphasize her point, her hand abandoned my nipple and insinuated itself almost immediately in between my thighs, palming my sex and kneading my pubic lips.

"Mistress," I exclaimed loudly and shuddered at her touch. My pubic lips were swollen and sensitive to the touch, and her suddenly taking them into her grasp was alarming, especially when I was in such a vulnerable pose.

She ignored my alarmed exclamation and proceeded to rub my pubic lips and my swollen clit quite vigorously. I panted as Coach Jenneke's fingers elicited a massive surge of erotic sensations in my lower body. A carnal, libidinous heat spread from my throbbing sex and made its way up my belly, my ribcage, my breasts and my face.

"Spread your legs wider, naked girl," Coach Jenneke ordered me, and I spread my legs even wider, feeling insanely vulnerable and defenseless as I did so.

With my sex indecently exposed and me panting like a marathon runner, Coach Jenneke's fingers probed the entrance my soaking wet sex, and then two of her fingers slid into me.

I moaned and trembled in response, but I obediently kept my hands above my head and my legs spread wide.

"You're doing just fine," Coach Jenneke assured me in a comforting tone of voice, "You gave me a wonderful orgasm while we were in the shower. I'm just returning the favor."

I moaned and whimpered as her fingers probed my sensitive pussy. Her fingers seemed to be exploring, mapping out ever centimeter of my sex's interior.

I had a short break as she withdrew her fingers from my wet, pulsing sex and licked my juices off of her hand. She complimented me on the flavor of my sexual secretions, and then, just when I thought things could get any more intense, she roughly impaled my sex with three fingers, stretching out my labia as she thrust deep inside of me.

"Ooooooooah," I moaned and my thighs trembled, and then she took her thumb and began to rub my swollen, sensitive clitoris.

My knees felt weak and my legs wobbled as Coach Jenneke seemed to find every nerve ending in my vulnerable sex and stimulated them all. I was feverish with heat and sweat was beading on my brow and my torso. She couldn't keep stimulating me like this without bringing me to orgasm! My ability to think was shutting down! My whole world had been reduced to the throbbing need in between my legs. I couldn't think of anything else. I couldn't even form words anymore. I just cried out inarticulately as Coach Jenneke ruthlessly played with my pussy.

My legs felt weak and rubbery as Coach Jenneke's wicked fingers built up wave after wave of wanton, erotic force inside of me. I sensed that a powerful orgasm was imminent. I also sensed that my legs were going to give out underneath of me and I was going to come crashing to the floor. It was anybody's guess which one of these things would happen first.

Coach Jenneke's fingers impaled my tender sex and thrust inside of me again and again and again, roughly invading my womanhood, while her other hand passionately rubbed at my swollen clit. I felt as if she was going to rupture my poor sex with her overly enthusiastic violation of my pussy and then suddenly the orgasm exploded inside of me and my legs collapsed as I let out a helpless, wanton scream of sexual surrender.

The orgasm overpowered me like a tidal wave. It seemed as if I didn't have a body anymore. The only thing of mine that existed were the nerve endings in my sex as the orgasm rolled right over top of me, overwhelmed me, possessed me and stole everything away from me except for the pure libidinous pleasure of my orgasm.

When I was finally aware of my arms and legs again, I was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. My chest was heaving as my breath came in irregular gasps and my hips and thighs were engaged in a series of jerky spasms that I couldn't control.

"Oh," I exclaimed, and my voice sounded weak and girlish.

"Cheryl, are you okay?" Coach Jenneke asked, "I wasn't expecting you to fall down like that. It all happened too fast. I couldn't catch you."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice sounding breathy, "I'm not in any pain."

My whole body was awash in a powerful orgasmic afterglow. The level of endorphins in my body was so high, you could likely have cut off one of my toes and I wouldn't have felt any pain. It was an amazing experience.

"Can you get up?" Coach Jenneke asked, and I discovered that my arms and legs weren't really under my control just yet. The orgasm I had experienced was so intense it was like it short circuited most of my nerve endings and now all I could feel was the blissful afterglow of my orgasm.

"I don't think I can move just yet," I explained to my former track-coach, "I can't feel my arms and legs."

Physical sensations that intense can't last forever, and I soon feeling returned in my arms, legs, fingers and other parts of my body. I was still sweaty and feverish, but I could move.

"You had me worried there," Ms. Jenneke said, "I've never had a girl collapse on me like that in mid-orgasm."

Coach Jenneke checked me out pretty thoroughly to make certain I wasn't injured and then she reminded me that I hadn't been spanked yet.

"It was one of the main reasons for you coming over here today," Coach Jenneke reminded me, "You were to clean out my basement, clean out my garage and get a harsh, blistering spanking."

I got up from the floor, got into a kneeling position and digested her words. She was absolutely right. The shower sex and Coach Jenneke finger-fucking me to orgasm had radically distracted me, but she was right. Getting spanked was one of the major reasons for coming over to her house today.

"You're right," I agreed, and I suddenly felt guilty. Somewhere in the back of my head I was thinking that the amazing orgasm I had just experienced was unearned, that an orgasm like that should only occur as a reward for experiencing great pain. I was think that the spanking should have come first, and then the orgasm should come as a reward for enduring the spanking without complaint.