Creating Quite a Buzz: A Temporary Trap
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome to my world, where all women are lesbians, all lesbians are squirters and absolutely everyone is in to heavy BDSM. This is the continuing saga of Kathleen Ballard, a mild mannered, middle-aged English professor who has suddenly decided to surrender to her deepest, darkest carnal lesbian desires. Her rapid descent into slavery has been marked by extreme humiliation, degradation and abuse, all of it quite consensual and deeply satisfying to all parties involved. Today, the story takes a decidedly darker turn. BEWARE! This chapter contains explicit elements of coercion and non-consensual shenanigans. If this is not your cup of tea, please do NOT read on. For everyone else, let the depravity begin!
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Professor Kathleen Ballard stood alone in the empty classroom. She could feel the cool air on her bare pussy beneath her short cocktail dress. The vibrating plug embedded in her ass buzzed on incessantly. In the sudden silence, the noise seemed impossibly loud.
She closed her eyes and took a moment to savor the physical sensation of the vibrations rolling from her anus through her entire perineum. She could feel the wetness leaking down her inner thighs and berated herself for being such a slut.
"What's happening to me?" she whispered to herself.
A week ago she had been a well-respected middle-aged professor who occasionally and very cautiously exercised her newfound passion for young pussy. She was always discrete and quite circumspect with her rare dalliances.
Now she was a slave-in-training owned by a beautiful twenty-one year-old mistress who was a senior at her own university.
She reflected on the things she had done over the past week. She couldn't quite believe it. She had spent the last few days being whipped, cropped, spanked and violated by a twenty year-old college girl who had moved in to her own home. The professor had calluses on her knees from the hours she had endured between the legs of the pretty blond junior as she was trained meticulously in the fine art of pussy and ass-eating.
This was her first day back at work.
Ballard had just finished giving an entire lecture with a vibrating butt plug in her ass. It had not gone well.
For a moment, she let herself be carried along by the current of pleasure emanating from her posterior. Unconsciously, she began to rock her pelvis slowly back and forth. She smiled to herself in the stillness, oblivious to the students passing by in the hall only steps away.
She was so close.
With a start, she stood up straight and closed her legs tightly. She was not permitted to come. Her instructions had been explicit: the plug stays in all day and no orgasms were to be allowed. She grunted in frustration, then pulled herself back from the brink. She was obedient now.
She had been whipped.
The professor looked at her watch. She had about an hour until her next class. Her plan was to hustle back to her office and lock the door. With any luck, the battery in the plug would wear down and die before her next lecture began.
She walked awkwardly over to the lectern, feeling the large anal plug shift painfully before re-seating itself. She gathered up her papers quickly, then headed for the door. As her hand closed around the doorknob, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the small rectangular window.
She barely recognized the slut staring back at her.
That morning, she had been ordered to wear her skimpiest cocktail dress to class. She was not permitted to wear anything underneath, except the plug, of course. The short shift of a dress barely covered the surface of her pussy and ass. It was so low-cut that her nipples would exposed if she leaned even slightly forward. All through class, she had had to constantly reach down and adjust herself to avoid the inevitable nip-slip.
Her long auburn locks had been blown out, bimbo-style, into an elaborate corona that framed her overly made-up face. She wore far too much eyeliner for a woman of her age, as well as absurd, overly large artificial eye lashes.
The finishing touch were her four-inch stiletto heels. Professor Ballard was well aware that her overall appearance made her look more like aging stripper than a senior professor of English.
It was going to be a long day.
She practically ran across the quadrangle to Guilford Hall, the building housing the English department. The plug jittered and bobbed beneath her dress as she moved. Thankfully, she came across no familiar students or faculty along the way, thereby avoiding any perilous stop-and-chats.
She pulled open the thick wooden door quickly and stepped inside, unconsciously pulling down her skimpy dress as low as possible. She took a deep breath and began walking rapidly down the hall with her head lowered.
She was painfully conscious of her ridiculously high heels clicking loudly on the marble tiles. Thankfully, she did not have to go up any stairs. Her office was midway down the hall on the first floor.
Her secretary looked up from her small alcove as she heard Ballard approach. The professor saw the bookish thirty-something woman do a double-take when she saw her outfit.
"Morning, Professor," she chirped. "Pippa's here. She's in with Professor Swanson. Do you want me to let them know you're here?"
Fuck.
Professor Ballard stopped in her tracks. She tried to not physically wince at the mention of her daughter's name. Pippa had just finished eviscerating her in class a few minutes ago. What was she doing here now?
Ballard took a steadying breath, then realized in panic that the secretary was staring at her with a quizzical look. As she watched in horror, the younger woman cocked her head to one side. It was obvious she could hear the buzzing of the vibrating plug in her ass and was trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
"No, that's okay, Debbie. I'll stop by and say hello," Ballard answered louder than necessary to cover the noise, then resumed her double-time march down the hall.
Or not, she thought.
Ballard had no intention of letting her bratty daughter take another swipe at her today. And she certainly was not going to go near Professor Daphne Swanson in her current state of dress with a large vibrating plug embedded in her ass.
Fucking Daphne Swanson.
Ballard cursed her ex-husband for the millionth time for having the nerve to marry one of her co-workers. And did it have to be the office bimbo?
Not that he was to blame.
Daphne Swanson had been grooming herself her entire adult life to become the prototypical trophy wife. She certainly looked the part. At thirty-two years old, with her close-cropped platinum blond hair, perfect cheek bones and crystalline blue eyes, she could have been a model instead of a junior professor of English. Her full lips covered straight, white teeth,with just the hint of an over-bite. The absolute perfection of her large, firm breasts was matched only by the sculpted symmetry of her heart-shaped ass. She had a thin wasp-like waist and perfectly proportioned, muscular legs, well-toned by daily Pilates and yoga.
She made Professor Ballard want to vomit every time she saw her.
Even before the divorce was final, Daphne had begun circling her ex-husband Richard like a vulture with over-sized tits. She knew a good opportunity when she saw it. He was a well-respected physician who was good-looking and fit and a permanent fixture in local high-society. His children were grown and almost out of the house and he certainly had no desire to have any more kids.
In short, he was a trophy wife's wet dream.
He was also very rich.
Fucking gold-digging bitch, thought Ballard as she unlocked her office door and quickly stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
She stood with her back against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Her mind wandered back almost three years to the time when her marriage had ended.
After the divorce, Richard had been vulnerable and lonely. It hadn't taken Daphne long to pounce. The bitch had even had the nerve to ask Ballard for permission to "date her ex."
"I mean, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything," Daphne had pouted as she stood preening herself in Ballard's office, "but, this is a small town, Kathleen. Not that many prospects, you know. And gosh he is so dreamy."
Ballard had almost vomited in her own mouth. Had the woman really just used "gosh" and "dreamy" in the same sentence? She was supposed to be an English professor for God's sake, although everybody knew she sucked her way to her tenure track.
Of course, Ballard had wanted to jump out of chair and scratch the bitch's eyes out, but what could she say? After all, she was the one who had asked for the divorce.
"Sure Daphne," she said morosely, after a brief pause. "He's a great guy. We're still good friends."
Daphne had smiled down beatifically at her older colleague.
"I am so glad you feel that way, Kathleen," she had giggled, "because I kind of started seeing him last week."
Once she got her hooks in, the outcome was inevitable.
Six months later, Daphne and Richard were married. So, now Professor Daphne Swanson, the official English department slut and office bimbo, was living in Kathleen Ballard's old house and sleeping in her old bed.
Fucking cunt.
The nuptials had taken place over two years ago, but Daphne still never missed an opportunity throw it in Ballard's face.
"Richard is so generous," she had beamed at Ballard just last week, holding her hand up to display a new diamond eternity band that was easily two carats.
"What's the occasion?" Ballard had asked indifferently.
"Nothing. He just appreciates what I do for him," she had replied coquettishly. "You can be sure I thanked him good and proper last night. Christ, I can barely walk this morning. Tell me, Kathleen, how did you do it for fifteen years? He's so huge."
Then she actually batted her eye lashes.
Ballard did vomit in her mouth that time, but only a little. She was able to swallow it back down quickly.
Dizzy Daphne didn't seem to notice.
"How nice for you, darling," Ballard had replied breezily, then walked away as the younger woman giggled derisively at her back.
Fucking bimbo cunt.
At least Daphne had had the decency to keep her maiden name for official university business. Ballard speculated that this was because she couldn't remember how to spell the new one.
Kathleen was plucked out of her reverie by the sound of voices speaking loudly in the hall. She pushed herself away from the door and walked in to the center of the room.
She had to lay low.
Ballard walked over to the window at the far side of the room and looked out at the courtyard. In the enclosed space of the office, the sound of the vibrating plug filled the room like a swarm of angry bees. She looked at her watch. She had about fifty minutes to kill before she would have to leave for class.
"Come on, you bastard," she murmured to tiny battery in the plug. "Die, already."
Idly, she regarded the plants hanging in the the window. One looked particularly close to death. She was up on her tiptoes inspecting the damage with her back to the room when she heard a soft knock, followed by the unmistakable sound of her office door swinging open behind her.
She froze.
"Ooh, it looks like someone's been a naughty girl," cooed Daphne as she bounded in to the room in typical floozy fashion.
Ballard's heart rolled over in her chest as she turned to face her nemesis. She had a white-hot moment of sheer panic. Had Daphne seen the plug while she was up on her tiptoes? Her hands reached unconsciously for the hem of her skirt.
"Pippa told me how you showed up for class today, but I couldn't believe it, so I had to come see for myself. What's going on, Kathleen? Don't tell me you finally got a date after all these years," she laughed.
