I love that my options are limited. I love how restrained I am forced to be. I love that I have so little freedom right now. It’s kind of strange to be the one who is actually doing the fucking but to be so limited at the same time. I don’t understand that contradiction and I don’t understand why that contradiction appeals to me the way it does.
It most certainly appeals to me, though.
It’s like every single movement creates far more sensation than it should. I don’t know if the way I must hold my hands together makes the difference. I mean, it feels to me like they’re more securely held in place than they might be with handcuffs even though from a logical perspective they’re not actually kept together by anything other than my desire to obey Sir.
The same goes for my legs. I mean, all I have to do is make a slight adjustment and my feet will be on the floor. This will certainly allow me far more freedom of movement and I don’t even think Sir will stop me. I mean, I can say with a great deal of honesty that I’m very attractive. I mean, I’m young and vibrant. I’m a redhead. I’m fit. If you pull up a porn site and start watching videos, you’ll discover my body fits in perfectly with the best of the girls there.
So, I can probably change position and fuck him like crazy and he won’t be able to resist me.
But I don’t.
I mean, I can’t.
Sure, I have the physical ability to do it but that’s not the same as being able to do it. This is not the first time Sir has had me practice restraint. This is not the first time I perform exercises with constraints in place designed to force me to focus on nothing other than accomplishing the task at hand. He pretty much makes that part of my everyday life.
But this is the first time Sir does it during sex.
I can’t believe learning to work on one document with no distraction and no other items on my desk can translate into me being better at sex. I can’t believe having all of my fun things—music, movies, treats, stuffed animals—put away on the first of every month and not returned to me until every bill is paid has a parallel to using restraint while Sir’s cock is inside of me.
“Sir!” I scream as I cum.
I throw my arms around him and move my ass like a maniac as the pleasure rushes over me. I roll my hips at a really crazy speed and the way his cock fills me is just overpowering and crazy. I can’t stop myself, though. The pleasure shooting over me is o fucking overwhelming. Naturally, Sir can’t last for very long with an eighteen-year-old nymphomaniac moving like some kind of insane sex demon on top of him.
When he fills my pussy, I keep moving until I finally just collapse atop him, moaning loudly and hoping like hell this is the time his sperm finds an egg.
And hoping the spanking for not remaining in the correct position isn’t too bad.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mom and Dad are very lucky Sir is at the house.
No, that’s kind of bullshit.
I’m very lucky Sir is at the house.
It is November 11th, just a few weeks from Thanksgiving.
My first Thanksgiving.
I’m making turkey and stuffing. I’m making mashed potatoes. I’m also cooking a ham and prime rib. I mean, I’m cooking Thanksgiving dinner not only for me and for Sir but for anyone at the law firm with no family in town. We’re also inviting a few families who don’t have the money for a proper Thanksgiving meal of their own.
And Mom and Dad aren’t coming.
They’re enjoying life without me. I mean, I can understand that. They travel all the time and right now they’re in the mountains somewhere like four thousand miles away or something. They have no idea how different I am now. They have no idea I’m responsible (or if not yet completely responsible, a whole hell of a lot better than before) and they have no idea how different I am.
I mean, they know a few things.
Like, I pay rent on the apartment now. I don’t take a cent from them. I don’t need the apartment but I need the experience of having my own expenses. I have a budget and I pay bills. I use the apartment for studying and more. I have to keep it perfectly clean and… well, the point is the place is on a year lease, and until the lease is up, I’m responsible for it.
Of course, all they know is that they don’t pay the rent anymore.
And the reason I’m lucky Sir is right here at the moment is because I want to scream at them for not coming to Thanksgiving dinner in order to see the changes in me.
Don’t get me wrong. From an intellectual standpoint, I realize it must be pretty damned difficult for them to have any confidence at all. I mean, my bullshit is eighth through twelfth grade. What is that? Sixty months of terrorizing them, right? That’s their experience with me. There are, by contrast, not even six months of me being responsible. So, I guess I can understand why they won’t necessarily be jumping for joy yet and behaving like I’m some kind of girl in which they can be proud. I’m still angry as can be.
But Sir is here so I don’t throw a tantrum.
Hell, it hurts to sit down. Right now, the hardwood seat of the dining room chair presses against my poor, stinging ass cheeks and sends a pretty substantial amount of pain over my body. It hurts to sit down right now and, actually, it pretty much hurts to sit down all the damned time. Spankings, in fact, cause so much more pain now than they used to. I guess that’s what happens when a girl’s ass is always tender and unhappy.