Teaching Carol Ch. 06

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Part 01 - click Here to listen. (9 min/mp3)

Part 02 - click Here to listen. (9.25 min/mp3)

Part 03 - click Here to listen. (9 min/mp3)

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Carol avoided me for a week or so—I assumed she was upset because of the incident at the library checkout desk. But I did nothing. She had enjoyed it—she may not have liked the fact that she enjoyed it, but she did—and that kind of enjoyment can be addictive.

Sure enough, one night there was a knock on my door and there she was. She was wearing floral-patterned shorts and a white t-shirt and she looked timidly at me when I opened the door.

"Hello, Jonathan."

I said nothing; just looked at her inquiringly.

After an awkward moment or two had gone by, she looked down, then up at me again and said, "I want to see you again."

I nodded slightly. "And...?"

She answered by opening and rummaging through her purse until she found her glasses, then put them on and looked back up at me.

I saw that the small dribble of dried semen was still there.

I said, "Tell me."

She blushed and looked down. "You know," she muttered.

"I want to hear you say it."

Still looking down, she said, "I want you to..."

"Look at me."

She kept her face down but raised her eyes to meet mine and spoke in a near-whisper. "I want you to...tell me what to do..." She waited for me to reply and, when I said nothing, went on. "I want you to...make me...do bad things."

I continued to look at her in silence. She didn't know what else to say. She started to speak a couple of times, stammered, and fell silent. Suddenly her eyes welled up and she fell to her knees. Still looking up at me, she whispered, her voice quavering, "I want you to h-humiliate me."

Then: "P-please."

I leaned down and kissed her gently, laying my hand along the side of her face. Then, placing my hands on her shoulders, I pulled her forward until she rested on her hands and knees. I turned and walked back into my room, leaving the door open, and she crawled in after me.

"Close the door behind you."

She turned and closed the door, then crawled after me until we'd both reached the center of the room. My dorm room was a little smaller than hers was. It was constructed of cinderblock so there were no built-in closets or shelves; everything was freestanding. There was a large combination wardrobe/bureau against one wall, and that gave me the inspiration for the evening's entertainment.

First, to keep Carol busy while I got organized I pulled the plastic laundry basket from under my bed. It was about half full, mostly dirty underwear and t-shirts. I dumped it on the floor in front of her and set the basket next to the pile, saying "Put those back."

I watched as she lifted a hand from the floor and began to reach for something in the pile, hesitated, put her hand down again—then leaned down and picked up a pair of my dirty underwear in her teeth, crawled over to the basket and dropped them in. Then she crawled back to pick up the next item.

While she was thus occupied I opened one of the wardrobe drawers and rummaged around until I found what I was looking for: the remains of a spool of speaker wire and some wirecutters. I cut four two-foot lengths and put the rest away, along with the cutters. The top half of the wardrobe was designed as a closet, with two doors. I opened them and tied the end of one piece of wire around the top hinge on each side, then closed the doors again, leaving the ends hanging loose outside. I tied the ends of the remaining pieces of wire to the front feet of the wardrobe.

I was ready.

Carol had had her back to me the entire time, working at her task. I watched her for a while—ducking her head to seize an item of clothing with her teeth, turning and crawling over to the basket, dropping it in, returning for the next item. She seemed totally absorbed in what she was doing, as if it were the most important job in the world.

I noticed her picking up a particularly unsavory pair of my underpants, old and full of stains—some quite recent, I thought.

"Stop."

She halted where she was, the underwear dangling from her teeth. I came around and crouched in front of her. Not surprisingly, her glasses were crooked and had slipped down her nose. I straightened them for her. I took the underwear from her mouth. Then I held the waistband open with both hands and fitted it over her face—turning the underwear sideways so that the top of her head came through one of the leg-holes...and the crotch, catching on the top of her glasses, covered her eyes. And nose. And mouth.

She cried out in disgust. "No! Unh!" and shook her head back and forth.

But she kept her hands on the floor and made no effort to remove the underwear, even as she was forced to breathe in the nasty odors I was sure the underwear were giving off.

When she had settled somewhat I told her to stand up, and when she had done so—a little unsteadily, being unable to see—I placed my hands on her shoulders and walked her backwards until she was against the doors of the wardrobe. She was panting a little, and not just from lack of air. And when I began fastening her wrists to the hinges above her head on either side, she was practically hyperventilating.

I nudged her feet apart as far as they would go—which couldn't have been very comfortable—and fastened her ankles to the feet of the wardrobe.

She was now completely immobilized.

She must have been desperately wondering what I would do next. Would I fondle her? Undress her?

Nope.

It was worse than that—I did nothing.

I lay down on my bed and read for awhile, glancing up occasionally to see how she was doing. Her breathing had calmed somewhat, but she was still obviously quite anxious, not knowing what I was up to.

After a while I got up and fished under my bed until I found my digital camera. I set it to use the available light—mostly from my desk lamp, which I turned on her like a spotlight—and took a full-length picture of Carol tied to the wardrobe with my underwear over her face. She reacted to the quiet click the camera made, but said nothing.

I walked closer to her and said, "Open your mouth." She did so and, using my index finger, I poked the crotch of my underwear as far into her mouth as I could. She made small noises of protest but knew she was helpless. I took a close-up shot of her face with the crotch of my underwear in her mouth.

Then I said, "Stick out your tongue." She forced the material as far out of her mouth as she could with her tongue, and I took another close-up.

Then I said, "Lick."

I took several more shots of her with her tongue in various parts of my underwear as she licked out the crotch, but of course I couldn't capture the sounds of revulsion and near-nausea she made while she was doing it. Still, when I checked I had some very good shots.

I cued up the first one on the viewscreen, then held it in front of her face as I lifted the crotch of my underwear and let it rest on her forehead. So the first thing she saw was the long shot. Then, when I judged she'd taken it in I clicked to the next, where her mouth was open and full of my underwear. I leaned close and said, "You're very photogenic—I think I'll print these out and put them on my door so everyone can see how nice you look." Then I clicked slowly through the rest...and as I'd expected, she went into orgasm before I'd reached the last one. It was just a small one—a little tremor that shook her from her ankles to her shoulders as if she were cold.

I pulled my underwear back over her face. Then I lay down again to read.

When I thought it was time to let her know I was still there I got up again and went over to her. I lifted her t-shirt and left it bunched above her breasts. To my surprise her white brassiere was unlike her normal underthings—it was extremely romantic and feminine, covered with lace and trimmed with frills. I picked up the camera and added another shot to the series. Then I leaned close to her ear and, running the tip of my finger along the top of her brassiere, said, "Very pretty. Did you wear this just for me?"

"Yes." And then, remembering my preference, continued, "I wore it just for you." Then she added quietly, "I bought it just for you."

I cupped her left breast in my hand and squeezed it gently, saying, "Because you like to please me, right?"

She sighed a little from the pleasure I was giving her and breathed, "Yes—I like to please you."

I moved my hand to her other breast. "So you'll lick the shit out of my underwear whenever I tell you to, right?" I pinched her nipple through the bra, hard.

"Ow! Yes! Yes, I'll...Oh god—I'll lick the shit out of your underwear whenever you tell me to!"

I went over to my desk and rummaged in the top drawer until I found a couple of alligator clips. I lifted her bra above her breasts and attached one of the clips to the nipple I had just pinched, making her cry out again, then suck in her breath in arousal. "You're a nasty little girl, aren't you?" I asked as I pinched her other nipple erect and attached the second clip to it.

Carol began to writhe against her bonds in sweet agony. "Yeeeessss...Oh! Yes, I'm a nasty little girl! Ohhhhh...."

I used my tongue to trace a circle around each nipple, then flicked the alligator clips a few times, making her gasp with pleasure.

I picked up the camera and took another picture. Then I breathed into her ear and whispered, "Youare a nasty little girl—you'd probably let me pull your pants down, wouldn't you?" Not that she had any choice; I just wanted to hear her say it.

Her reply was barely audible. "Yessss...I'll let you pull my pants down."

"Do youwant me to?"

"Ohh...yes, I want you to pull my pants down."

"Say 'Please'."

"Oh, oh god...Please pull my pants down!"

I reached behind her to unfasten and unzip her shorts, and slowly eased them down over her hips until the separation of her legs wouldn't allow them to go any further. Her panties, as expected, were just as frilly and fancy as her brassiere.

I took another picture, then asked, "Do you like showing me your panties?"

"Yes...I like showing you my panties."

"Will you show me your panties whenever I tell you to?"

"Yes—I-I'll show you my...my panties whenever you tell me to."

I slipped a hand between her legs and fondled her there. The crotch of her panties was, not surprisingly, wet. She moaned with pleasure as I touched her. I said, "You're really wet. Did you come in your panties?"

"Yes, I...came in my panties."

I continued to squeeze and stroke her there. "Because you're a nasty little girl?

"Oh. Ohhhh.... Mm-Yes, I'm a nasty...nasty little girl."

"A nasty little girl who comes in her panties?" I pushed the wet fabric a little way in with my finger.

"Ohhh, god! Yes! Yes! I'm a nasty little girl who comes in her panties! Oh! Oh god! Mm!"

She seemed as if she was about to come again, so of course I pulled my hand away and let her writhe in place while I thought about what to do next.

Seeking inspiration, my gaze traveled slowly around the room...and came to rest next to the sink. The electric toothbrush seemed to offer some possibilities.

I rooted around in the cabinet under the sink until I found the original box, which had a couple of spare brushes in it. I selected one with soft bristles and put it in place of my usual brush in the motorized handle.

Saying nothing, I went and knelt in front of Carol. She was in an agony of desire still, having been brought so close to a climax and then left with no means of completion. Her hips were twitching slightly as if seeking something to rub against. I put the toothbrush on the floor beside me and began stroking her thighs with the palms of my hands, gently, sensuously. It seemed to calm her and arouse her further at the same time. I slid my index fingers under the elastic in the leg-holes of her panties and pulled upward so the fabric pressed tightly between her legs. She took a sudden, hissing inward breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh, but said nothing.

Still holding her panties tight with one hand, I picked up the toothbrush and without switching it on began delicately stroking the lips of her vagina, which were clearly visible through the wet fabric of her panties. The subtlety of this caress, after the rough fondling she had just received there, took a while to be effective. But when I applied the same technique to the little bud of her clitoris she definitely became more aroused, taking deep gasping breaths and writhing against her bonds. She was so aroused that I doubt she even noticed when I pulled her panties aside and gently inserted the head of the toothbrush into her vagina—with the bristles facing forward—until it was well inside her.

But she definitely noticed when I switched it on.

She screamed—or tried to. Anticipating her reaction I had clamped my free hand over her mouth—which was still covered by the crotch of my underwear—the moment it opened, and a good thing, too. Uncovered, her screams would have been heard for a great distance even through cinderblock and probably would have caused a number of 911 calls to be made. But even muffled I was amazed at how strong they were for such a petite woman...and how long they went on, as she came and came and came, thrashing against her bonds with such ferocity that I was afraid she was going to pull the wardrobe over on top of both of us.

When I finally judged that she'd had enough and withdrew the toothbrush, then my hand from her mouth, she let the remaining air out of her lungs in a whoosh as if being deflated, then seemed to pass out, hanging silently from her bonds head down like an abandoned puppet. Her glasses fell out of the underwear on her face and landed on the rug in front of her, and I retrieved them and put them aside.

I pulled the chair out from under my desk and placed in front of her. Then I loosened the bonds around her ankles, followed by the ones on her wrists, and just before she sagged forward I snagged the pillow from my bed and placed it over the back of the chair. I took her hands, walked her a few steps forward and draped her, still only semi-conscious, over the chair. To make her more comfortable, as well as for my own aesthetic pleasure, I pulled her shirt the rest of the way off and helped her step out of her shorts. Then, using the same lengths of wire from the wardrobe I fastened her ankles to the back legs of the chair and her wrists to one of the front rungs.

Then I lay down again, to read and wait.

After a few minutes she raised her head and said "Jonathan?" --her voice slightly muffled by my underwear, which still covered her face.

I said, "Hmm?" in a careless, distracted way, and let her hear me turn a page in my book.

She turned her head in my direction. "I need to use the bathroom."

I made no reply, and after waiting for several uncomfortable moments she tried again. Jonathan, I really have to pee."

Nothing. All was silent for a while.

"Jonathan?"

"Yes?"

"I have to pee."

"I heard you."

"Can you untie me so I can go to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence as she waited to hear some sign that I was getting up to do as she'd asked.

Then: "Are you going to untie me?"

"No."

"But you said..."

"You asked me if Icould, not if Iwould."

"Jonathan, it's not funny, I really have to go!"

I got up, and she sighed with relief as she heard me. I picked up the wastebasket from next to my desk. There were only a couple of crumpled pieces of paper in it—I inverted it and let the paper fall to the floor, then righted it. I went over and lifted the underwear off of Carol's face, waited long enough for her to see what I was carrying, then let the underwear fall back into place. Her expression, before disappearing behind the fabric again, was bewildered.

I walked behind her and placed the wastebasket on the floor between her legs with a loud thump.

Then I lay down on the bed again.

As soon as Carol heard those sounds she understood.

"Jonathan! No!" Her voice was a horrified whisper.

Silence.

"Jonathan! Let me go! Please!"

She started to twist uncomfortably on the chair as she fought to control her bladder.

"Noooo...please... Jonathan! I...I can't wait!"

She struggled silently for almost five more minutes. Then she let out a long moan of despair and mortification—"Ohhhhhhhhhhh..." And I saw, then heard, a golden stream trickling from between her legs and making a faint metallic echo as it fell into the wastebasket.

When I was sure she had finished I got up and pulled my underwear off her head, dropping it to the floor in front of her. Her face was red and tear-stained and she was sniffling with embarrassment. I let her see me walking casually around behind her. I crouched down and put my hands on the back of her thighs so she would know I was looking between her legs.

"You wet your panties, didn't you?" I asked, as if it weren't obvious. She said nothing, merely sniffled some more. She may have nodded, but I couldn't see it from where I was. I raised a hand and gave her a stinging slap on the right buttock, making her cry out with surprise and pain. "I said, you wet your panties,didn't you?"

"Y-yes!" she gasped. "I w-wet..." She took a sudden breath and let it out, sobbing. "...m-m-my p-panties! Ohhh, oh god..." She continued to sob.

"You sure did," I replied, still crouching behind her. "There's a big yellow stain, right here." I used a fingertip to trace the outline of the stain in the crotch of her panties. I put my face close to it and sniffed conspicuously. "You smell like piss too. God—how could you ruin such nice panties like that? I can't believe you peed in your panties."

Her sobbing increased. I grabbed the camera and took a close-up of the stain, then walked around in front of her. I said, "Just look at what you did," and showed her the picture.

She looked at it and then up at me, her eyes tearful. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

I picked up my underwear from the floor. With my free hand I held her nose shut, then said, "Open your mouth." When she did so, I crammed as much of my underwear in as would fit. Her eyes went wide.

Then I released her nose and walked behind her again. I said, conversationally, "You nasty little girl." Then I raised my hand and smacked her behind again, much harder than before. Her scream, again, would have been very loud if it hadn't been severely muffled.

I gave her ten hard strokes, taking my time about it and leaving her lots of room to wonder when the next one was going to fall. By the end she was practically leaping into the air, chair and all, with each stroke. And when it was done she was nearly in a state of collapse—her nose was still stuffed up from crying and it couldn't have been easy to breathe with her mouth full of my underwear. She alternated gasping with sobbing.

Her hair was soaked with sweat and standing up wildly all over her head from her convulsions. I went around in front of her again and smoothed it down with my hands, then took my underwear out of her mouth, saying, "There. Now. Are you sorry you peed in your panties?"

She drew in a huge sobbing breath and said, "Y-ye-yes! I-I'm sorry I...I p-p-peed in my...my pa—my p-panties!"

"That was a very nasty thing to do. Just smell this." I reached behind her to pick up the wastebasket and placed it in front of her so that her face was practically inside it. "I think you deserve to be punished some more, don't you?"