Reading Allowed

By

lamignonne

and

Zenmackie

.

* * * * *

The day was endless and agonizing for Marie. She'd been tempted to stay in bed. Surely, if she went to class and work and followed her normal routine, everyone who crossed her path would somehow be able to tell that she'd been a very, very naughty girl the night before. Recalling her behavior made Marie groan and bury her head under the covers.

There was no way she could blame anyone but herself—he'd made sure of that. No, she had made the choice to stay behind in the store, to pull down her pants for him. She had begged him—begged him! —to spank her, to fuck her. She couldn't help imagining how her mother, her grandparents, or her professors would react if they knew. The thought made her physically cringe. Why, she'd been shameless, a total slut. She was supposed to be a nice girl, date some nice boy here, and eventually marry him. She was a nice girl—but for as long as she could remember, there was this part of her, some deep, mysterious, primitive part of her, that had craved being dominated, being in someone's power. When she was very young, she hadn't known that her fantasies of being tied up, held captive, or enslaved were sexual, just that they brought her pleasure. Now she knew—but until last night she had only been able to guess just how thrilling it would be when one of her fantasies finally came true.

It had taken the bright light of morning to bring on her regrets. Last night, after she'd hurriedly dressed in the dark alley behind the bookstore and driven back to campus, hyper-conscious of the fact that she wore no panties, Marie had flung herself on her bed and masturbated feverishly. Recalling the whole evening in detail, what he'd said to her, what he'd done to her, she'd come three times before finally dropping into an exhausted sleep.

At first, when he'd shoved her out the door without a single affectionate word, Marie had been hurt. Is he really that eager for me to be gone? But then she remembered how he'd praised her, how he'd told her she belonged to him, and how he was going to keep her panties with him all day, and she smiled. And he wanted her to come back.

Now, going through the motions of her ordinary routine, this was the question that tortured Marie: Was she going to go back, or wasn't she? She was tempted to hide in her room tonight, take a solemn vow never to set foot in the bookstore again. He'd told her to ask to be punished. What would he do, she wondered. Would he spank her again? Or would he think up something... worse? She shuddered.

But Marie's body knew no hesitation. Every time she thought about going back, her pussy would heat, her nipples start to tingle. She was so horny she had to fight down the urge to blow off her afternoon classes in order to masturbate back in her room.

In the end, it was the thought of his reaction to her absence that decided Marie. She pictured him, glancing at her panties throughout the day where they lay nestled in his cash register drawer; she pictured him thinking of her. He expected her. She imagined his disappointment and anger if she didn't show up. No, she wouldn't disappoint him like that.

But Marie also decided she had to talk to him. He had seemed so wise, and he had seemed, somehow, to know the very core of her. Maybe if she told him about her conflicting feelings, her confusion over her own behavior, he'd be able to reassure her. She just couldn't spend another day torturing herself like this. She needed some answers.

Somehow she managed to make herself wait until just before closing time before driving back to the bookstore. She spent the time pacing back and forth in her room, trying not to think about the events of the night before or imagine what might happen when she went back. Because she knew that if she did she'd be unable to resist the urge to masturbate. And even though she had done so the previous night she somehow knew that he would disapprove if she did so now.

And that nagged at her too. How could he possibly know whether she had masturbated or not—and why should she care if he approved or not?

But he would...and she did.

She agonized over what to wear. Should she dress the same way as yesterday? Should she wear something girly and feminine? Something slutty? And why did she want so desperately to please this man she hardly knew?

In the end, Marie obeyed her strongest instinct and went for "cute." She was hardly a femme fatale, after all. When she stepped out of her car in the bookstore parking lot, she had on a short, fluttery skirt, a pale pink top, and sandals with a low heel. She'd left her straight blonde hair down and wore minimal makeup. Her bra and panties were both white, and the panties had a little pink bow on the waistband in front. She'd always meant to cut it off and had never gotten around to it. Now, she was hoping her intuition was correct and that he'd like it.

It was late when the bookstore closed, and long past dark outside. But he saw her from the windows when she crossed through the bright pool from a streetlight in the parking lot. She was walking somewhat stiffly, as if propelling herself forward out of sheer determination, and hugging her purse to her chest with crossed arms.

He allowed himself to feel a measure of relief. He'd known he hadn't been wrong about her, but if she hadn't shown up, it would have meant she wasn't ready. He thought of the wisp of pink lace buried in his cash drawer. Yes, that would have been a shame.

Then she was there, standing quietly across from the checkout counter, waiting for him to finish with the last couple of customers. Their eyes met once, and she gave him a trembling little smile which he thought was adorable. He didn't smile back, and after that she waited with her eyes on the floor.

She kept her gaze lowered, still hugging herself nervously, as he went through the routine of closing the store. No one seemed to have noticed that she had stayed behind as he locked the doors. When he had finished the close, he walked past her, and without saying a word, headed for the staff room at the back of the store. He'd stashed some supplies from home in there early this morning, and now he retrieved them, started arranging them neatly on the long folding table where they'd fucked last night.

A minute or two later, she appeared in the doorway, and he watched her eyes go straight to the stuff on the table. They widened as she took in the sight of the handcuffs, several different lengths of rope, nipple clamps connected by a short chain, three different types of gags, a leather belt, and thin, menacing wooden paddle. She stared, transfixed, until finally he got impatient and snapped, "Look at me."

When she did, dragging her eyes reluctantly away from the fascinating and forbidding array of toys, he said, "Come here."

He mentally held his breath. This second encounter was crucial, and he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't going to flee at any moment. She wanted it, yes—he could see the temptation and longing in her eyes when she looked at his supplies. But all her reactions last night had been those of a woman experiencing BDSM for the first time, and she'd had twenty-four hours to convince herself that she'd done something sinful and dirty. In all probability, they were going to have to have a serious talk. But first he wanted to test her. If she submitted to him now, while she was still plagued by uncertainty, it would bode well for the future.

Marie hesitantly came forward. She was trembling. At the sight of the stuff on the table, she'd felt a surge of excitement and arousal that had gone straight to her pussy. She wanted so badly to let him use that stuff on her... but she was confused, and a little scared. What if it was more than she could handle? Wasn't she crazy to even think about letting a total stranger tie her up? Her heart pounded.

When she stopped a few feet from him, he said, "Now, don't you have something you want to ask me?"

Marie's mind raced. She had never worked out how to bring up the subject of her doubts about last night, about what she was doing back here again. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure she wanted to interrupt this fascinating game they were playing—if it was a game. She wasn't sure about that either. Just play along for now, she decided finally. If it gets to be too much, then you can make him stop. At least, she hoped she could make him stop—she was relying heavily on that instinct that told her she could trust him.

She tried to look into his eyes, but her gaze slid away as she said haltingly, "Please—please punish me."

"Punish you? For what?"

Blushing furiously, Marie stammered, "For—for coming... without your permission."

He took two steps forward, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him. "And why can't you come without my permission...princess?" he asked softly. He released her chin and was pleased to see that she kept her eyes on his a little longer this time before they dropped to the floor.

Distracted by the name he'd called her, Marie cast about in her mind for the right answer. He had called her princess—and suddenly all the things he had made her read out loud the previous night, all the images of that princess's humiliation, came rushing into her mind and stopped her breath. Her arousal began to soar as the answer to his question became obvious.

"Because—because—I'm your property," she finally managed, her voice subsiding to a strangled whisper. Her pussy heated, and she felt her nipples harden as she said it.

She looked so vulnerable, standing there with her face flaming and her body trembling, and he could hardly wait to get his hands on her. But he wasn't quite through toying with her. What else could he make her do for him?

He took her purse from her and tossed it onto the table behind her, then turned back to her and said. "Show me your panties."

Marie almost moaned out loud. God, she just loved the sound of his voice when he gave an order like that. Her hands went to the hem of her skirt and she raised it slowly to her waist, letting him see her white panties with their little bow.

"Lift it higher."

Marie obeyed, bunching the fabric in her hands and lifting it high out of the way, baring her legs and ass. She suddenly wished her breasts were naked, too. They felt swollen and confined in her shirt, her nipples tingling.

"Turn around." She turned her back to him, letting him look his fill at her pert, panty-covered bottom. "Now bend over."

This time Marie did moan. She bent at the waist, hyper-aware suddenly of the way her panties stretched over her cheeks. She had the urge to spread her legs, to make the fabric even tighter. She shuffled her feet a little further apart. She thought maybe he would touch her, thought all at once that she might die if he didn't touch her, but before she could moan again he was saying, "Stand up and turn around."

She did, and he noticed she was panting slightly. Her face was still flushed and her pupils were dilated. "Those are very nice panties, princess," he said, and watched her close her eyes, take a deep breath, then open them again. "Did you wear them just for me?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered, without hesitation, and he was pleased that she was sinking deeper into her role. But then, abruptly, she gasped, and her whole body went rigid. She clapped her hand to her mouth, a gesture he remembered from the night before.

Marie felt her stomach sink as it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't obeyed all his orders. When he complimented her panties, it had come back to her... After she got out of bed this morning, she'd taken a shower and automatically washed her face, as she did every morning. She had completely forgotten that he'd told her not to! "I washed my face!" she blurted out, confessing before she could stop herself. She saw him raise his eyebrows and looked away, wondering that she felt so ashamed of herself. "I just did it without thinking," she added miserably.

He'd been momentarily nonplussed by the outburst, but he hoped he hadn't shown it. Now, as she stood there obviously waiting for him to rain condemnation down on her, he just said mildly, "Did I tell you could drop your skirt?"

She blanched visibly and groped for her hem, hastily yanking her skirt back up to her waist. He couldn't help smiling. It was very gratifying to have her at such a disadvantage. "You've been a very bad girl, haven't you?"

Ohhhhh... Marie felt a sudden spasm in her pussy at his words, followed by a moment of sheer terror as she felt herself teetering on the edge of orgasm. She bit her lip, hard, as she began to hyperventilate. Oh, God, if she came now, without his permission...

"Look at me!" His voice was a lash and Marie forced herself to meet his glance. Having to look into his eyes, to see him watching her while she fought down her orgasm, knowing that he knew exactly what was happening to her made it so much more difficult...oh, God, impossible! She was losing control, she was going to... NO!

She fell to her knees. She threw her arms around his legs and hugged herself to them. Then she burst into tears.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Sir!" she sobbed, her voice muffled against him. "I'm a ve-very b-b-bad little girl...S-Sir!"

She felt the orgasm retreating as she spoke and almost fainted with relief. She continued to cry for a moment, her chest heaving, then made herself look up at him. With tears still streaming down her face she begged, "Please... Please p-punish me, Sir!"

He stared down at her, his face expressionless, for a long moment, and Marie was sure he was going to order her to leave and never return, which only increased her sobbing. But she held his glance and waited. And when he finally spoke his voice was warm and even held a touch of humor.

"Well, for starters you can lick your snot off my pants."

Marie was so relieved she felt weak. He wasn't disgusted with her. A little bemused, maybe, but he wasn't going to kick her out of the store. Well, she was bemused by her own behavior, too. What possessed her to grovel at his feet like this, crying like a little girl? She should be worried about it, but the truth was, Marie felt better now than she had all day. Maybe she just needed an emotional release. Maybe he wouldn't reduce her to a sobbing wreck the next time they met.

But for now she had to figure out if he was serious about licking her own snot. She peeked up at him. He certainly looked serious. Well, she was in enough trouble already, she thought. She should at least try... Gingerly, she stuck out her tongue and leaned towards the big wet stain near the knee of his jeans.

She looked so disgusted when her tongue made contact, her eyes squeezed shut and her nose wrinkled, that he was hard pressed not to laugh. Like Marie, he was also feeling relieved. It was obvious that something in her had snapped, allowing her to transcend her inhibitions in his presence. And now, bless her heart, she was valiantly trying to clean up the mess she'd made crying all over him. He was pleased. But he wasn't about to go easy on her.

"Get up," he ordered, and again had to fight off a smile as she stood, then belatedly remembered to hold up her skirt, grappling with the hem and glancing at him with trepidation. He was going to have to make her do something sexy right away, because if she kept being cute, he was going to start grinning and that would ruin the mood.

He began unfastening his belt.

Marie stared, fascinated. She felt a little foolish and very vulnerable standing there holding up her skirt, especially since she could tell without even looking that the crotch of her panties was visibly wet. And what was he going to do now? Unfastening his belt could mean any number of things—was he going to fuck her? Whip her?

She watched the thin black leather sliding out from his belt loops. Watched him double the belt in his hands and flex it a couple of times. She waited to be told to bend over, her breath beginning to accelerate again.

She was mystified at first when he slid the end of the belt through its buckle again and pulled the belt into a small loop. But then he seized her wrists and brought them together in one of his hands so that she had to drop her skirt. With a quick, dexterous move he slipped the loop over her hands and tightened it around her wrists, binding them tightly together.

He quickly looped the belt around her wrists a couple of more times then threaded the end through the entire loop and pulled it out to its full length. Marie's attention darted back and forth between what he was doing and the intense, focused expression on his face. If she hadn't felt like his property before she certainly did now. Oh, God, what was he going to do to her?

She found out immediately, as he used the end of the belt to jerk her arms up over her head then dragged her over to a set of metal bookshelves bolted to one side of the hallway. They reached all the way to the ceiling and were filled with haphazardly stacked books and a few cartons. He spun her around and pressed her back against the shelves, then pulled up on the belt that tied her wrists until she was forced to stand on her toes, gasping. Only then did he loop the end of the belt around one of the supports and tie it off.

When he was satisfied that his knot would hold he stood back to admire his handiwork. Marie watched his gaze travel slowly from her wrists to her face—she didn't dare speak—and linger momentarily on her breasts before continuing on down to where she was practically dancing on her toes. The backs of her sandals were flopping in mid-air and he bent down on one knee to remove them, placing them to one side.

He stood again, his face close to hers now. He studied her closely for a moment, his eyes intent. Then he said, "I thought I told you to hold up your skirt."

He was so deadpan in his delivery that for a moment Marie thought he was serious. But then she saw the glint in his eyes and had to repress a smile. "Sorry, Sir," was all she trusted herself to say.

He made little tsking noises as he raised the front of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband. Then he made her gasp again by thrusting his hand between her legs and roughly fondling her there for a moment, his eyes on hers the entire time. Then he withdrew his hand saying, "Your panties are wet. Are they wet for me?"

"Yesssssss.... Yes, Sir. My panties are wet for you, Sir," Marie managed to say, in a cross between a whisper and a groan.

He walked away. This time, though, Marie knew he would return, and he did. He stopped in front of her.

"Have you ever seen these before?" He held up the short chain with the nipple clamps at either end.

She hadn't, but she could guess what they were for. She recalled the pain of the binder clips on her nipples the night before and shivered. "No, Sir," she whispered.

"What do you think they're for, princess?" he murmured, his face very close to hers.

"They're so you can—can—cla—" she began, but her voice dried up under the heat of his intense gaze. Her nipples throbbed as if they knew they were under discussion. She squirmed in her bondage, instinctively trying to cover her breasts, soothe the ache in them with her hands.

"I suggest you finish that thought," he was saying, quietly, silkily, "or you'll wear these for twice as long." He opened one of the clamps and let it spring shut, demonstrating the force of its rubber-covered jaws. He reached for her shirt and started to pull it up.

"They're so you can clamp my—my nipples!" Marie finally cried out. He paused to look into her eyes, the wicked gleam back in his own as he said, "Exactly."