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the unexpected cumming of Ms T...

1:30 pm Friday, 6th December, 2013

The ‘quiet’ room was not so quiet today. Ms T had been preparing a particularly difficult brief, and had asked if she could visit me at short notice. I do not normally alter my schedule to suit a pupil, but as I had been feeling a little listless of late, I found that I rather welcomed the prospect of an impromptu distraction. And so there I was, barely two hours later, my fingers firmly locked around her throat as I set about stretching her anus with a particularly bulbous plug. Ms T was in a fighting mood, and making quite a fuss. Her limbs, unbound, thrashed, and though her airway was severely restricted she still managed emit a number of quite extraordinary noises from deep in her throat. We were working to a rhythm and each time I relieved the pressure on her anus and throat she would go almost limp and quiet so that there was only sound of the little flutters of her breathing as she fought to replenish her oxygen level.

I have very strong views on this sort of ‘edge play’. It is not for the faint of heart of course, but neither is it for the careless or the arrogant. Depriving another of oxygen, even for a short time, should never be undertaken lightly. The fact that this particular activity can drive Ms T’s almost miraculous orgasms, would not be reason enough to indulge her if I was in the least uncertain my ability to properly gauge her limits. This is of particular importance because Ms T mistakenly believes that she has no limits. For this reason I have long since abandoned any notion that I could trust her to signal me if she felt she was losing consciousness. As orgasm approaches Ms T is simply too careless of her life to be trusted.

Ms T, of course, is not alone in her lack of judgement, and sometimes I worry for those boys with their belt loops, and shop-bought choke-chains, who have no idea of the damage they might do. It takes surprisingly little pressure to crush a trachea beyond repair, and a choke-chain offers little control over the forces that are being applied to that delicate organ. Enthusiasm is not an art form, and is no substitute for experience, and a strong pair of sensitive hands.

When I assess that Ms T had sufficiently recovered her breath I put my hand around her throat again, and slowly wind the plug into her now softening anus. The knot of it slips more easily than before. Ms T would scream I think if my hand was not locked so tightly around her neck. Her limbs flail wildly, and, for a moment she looks like some sort of big broken-winged swan trying desperately to take flight. The wings stiffen all the way to the tips as, at last, the plug plunges home. She would sigh I think, but she cannot spare the breath… not now. I read her consciousness through the palm of my hand and judge that we have a few seconds more to play with. Her cunt is very wet as I slip two fingers into it, I can feel the bulge of the plug in the other passage as I firmly stroke the upper part of that soft, undulating, wall. As I sense the first shadow of her orgasm I release the pressure on her throat, and remove my fingers.

‘Please,’ she almost whimpers. ‘Please may I cum now? Please… M’lud?’

I am reliably informed that Ms T is a formidable barrister at the very peak of her powers. Fates and futures depend on this woman’s ability to plead her case, and her powers of persuasion are renowned. This is a woman who, by little more than a clever turn of phrase, a gesture of the eye, and by some perfectly modulated inflection, has been able to persuade the most sceptical of jurors of her clients’ innocence. Judges have been know to wither under her gaze, and practiced witnesses to forget their own names under the knife of her words. In her chambers they joke that she could probably plead Lucifer back into heaven - and secure a sincere apology from God himself for having been so obviously wrong as to have cast him out for what was surely nothing more than a misdemeanour. (After all, as she might reasonably have argued: what’s a little ‘iniquity’ between deities?) Ms T had pled her cases in some of the most demanding court rooms in this country – and won. And here she was, in the quiet room – and pleading with all the breath that she had left, and still I would not let her cum.

‘Please… M’lud,’ her voice is little more than a quiver.

I force her onto her back on the unforgiving bench, and loop the cord around her ankles so that I can hoist them up. With a similar loop I bind her wrists together and secure her arms out beyond the line of her head. (Where the stretching of limbs is involved a soft cord, is recommended. Handcuffs are not a suitable alternative, at best, they will chafe as they take the weight of the forces being applied, at worst they are capable of stripping the skin completely from the bone. Though, even handcuffs, are a preferable alternative to that worst of all bondage tools; the cable-tie – equally adept at stripping the flesh when put under strain, but also capable of much worse, and more lasting damage; to the nerves, and circulation.) When Ms T is properly, and safely, secured I proceed with my… examination of her limits.

Her cunt almost gapes it is so distended with arousal. The inner petals of it, weighted with her creamy wetness, have unfolded, and her cliroris pronounces itself beyond it’s little hood. She pleads with me to fill her with my cock and choke her roughly as I fuck her deep and hard. Instead I merely stroke her neck and tease the outer rim of her labia with the wetted tip of me. She presses her neck upwards to meet the weight of my palm, and, if her bindings had not constrained her, she would have wriggled onto shaft and taken me inside her. I deny her even my tip while I select a couple of stout clamps which I fix, quite tightly, across the proud shafts of her nipples. I take up a clit-clamp and I show it to her. Her eyes signal her longing, and again a little spasm passes up from somewhere between her hips and sends as distinct wave across the surface of her heavy breasts. I clamp my hand over her mouth and nostrils as I tug gently on the clamps fixed to her exquisitely erect buds. She wants to gulp in air in response to this… stimulation, but she cannot. Her body heaves desperate now for the breath that I deny her.

‘Not yet,’ I whisper, harshly, as I let her breathe again.

‘Please,’ she pleads. ‘Please may I cum… M’lud?’

I spread her cunt and put the clamp in place but I do not wind it closed – not yet. First I secure her promise that she will not allow herself the undeserved luxury of an orgasm. I make it clear that she does not, yet, have my permission.

‘I promise,’ she gasps.

‘Under oath you promise?’

‘On the bible… on the fucking bible I promise. Please…!’

When still an intern, and much too young to appreciate the delicious irony, Ms T had walked into a Judges Chambers and caught the ‘Right Honourable’ gentleman being wanked off by an elderly stenographer. Due to the age and, possibly arthritic nature of the stenographer’s wrist, this was proving to be a rather laboured process. The Judge had gripped the hem of his robes with his teeth to expose his rather impressive erection (which Ms T told me once, was in rather stark contrast to the skinny spindles of his legs). Laid out and open on the judges desk was a Bible and there was no doubt of the judges intention to stain the passages of that good book with his ‘noble’ seed. The judge, if not the stenographer, was immediately aware of Ms T’s inadvertent entrance. But rather than send her scurrying from his rooms he fixed her with his indifferent eyes, and signalled that she should remain – if only to block the door, and so prevent further interruption.

‘Get on with it woman,’ he barked at the ancient by his side. ‘Grip the fucking thing… it’s not a fucking wounded sparrow… you wont kill it.’

As he spoke he beat out an increasing rhythm with his gavel onto the fine leathered desktop. Spurred by the Good Judge’s words the ancient stenographer redoubled her efforts and moments later the Judge spilled a rather unimpressive amount of thin liquid over Leviticus: chapter 19-28.

‘Do not cut your bodies for the dead, or put tattoo marks on yourself….’

Ms T had promised on the Bible (for all that meant to those of the law) and so I closed the clamp around her clit - and she did not cum, and it was good…. And because she was good I fastened my fingers tightly around her windpipe then and slid the full length of my cock into her and, as she came at last, I did not relent, but dug in still deeper and kept digging into her flesh, with my flesh until, even despite her bindings, she somehow managed to arch and buck and all the fight flooded back into her as I took her almost to her last breath.

And the sounds she made then, as the spasms multiplied on the end of my cock and I could feel the sudden gush of her as I gushed into her, filling her with all my heat – which only made her cum again. Still hard and inside her I carefully removed my fingers from around her neck - her face had darkened considerably, and her eyes had glazed, but even as I came I was careful not to plunge her too deeply into the abyss. If, for no other reason, than that I wanted her fully conscious of the moment – and to miss nothing of it.

Afterwards, while licking up my cum, Ms T apologised again for calling me at such short notice. I let her believe that it had not been entirely convenient for me, but, assured her that I would think of some delicious favour she might do for me at some point in the future. She licked at her cummy lips and said that she was more than willing to pay whatever forfeit I saw fit to impose on her. I believe that she may actually purred as she pondered what ‘torment’ I might subject her to.

I wished her good luck as she left.

‘For what…?’ she asked.

‘The court case.’

‘Oh that…!’

She smiled, and looked more confident than I had ever seen her.

‘I know a… little something about the Judge… and his… relationship with the Bible. I have a feeling that this is one case I wont lose….’

 9 people like this

10:22 pm Friday, 6th December, 2013

'the slave preaches the virtues of kindness and humility to his master, because as a slave he has need of them;but the master, better guided by nature and his passions, has no need to devote himself to anything excepting those things which serve or please him. Be as kind as you wish, if you enjoy such things - but dont demand any reward for having had this pleasure'
i liked this quote from justine very fitting i feel ... the judge had his pleasure and now the student becomes the master and she shall have her pleasure in a different way..

or perhaps i am wrong...

 3 people like this

10:51 pm Friday, 6th December, 2013

i told you DeSade was a terrible old moralist - his mother-in-law, who was almost solely responsible for his incarceration was brought to trial after the revolution. De Sade was given the opportunity to set her sentence... he chose to spare her the guillotine. an act of kindness with no expectation of a reward.
as for my student... you're not a slave if you can choose when to wear your chains... Not sure her judge really has that luxury knowing what she knows... so i think you are probably right..!
but then, you are quite often right.......

 2 people like this

11:22 pm Friday, 6th December, 2013

i am going to savour that moment :) A man telling a woman she is right......does not happen very often unless under duress...

 3 people like this

12:06 am Saturday, 25th January, 2014

so what happens next?

 2 people like this

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