The Chair

[jessmartin]

The Chair

One night more I see her heading to the stables, this time she hasn't even bothered to check if anyone might be watching. After five nights of repeating the routine without encountering anyone, she feels confident.

Today she hasn't even put on the robe she's been wearing these past few days. She's simply wearing the lingerie she sleeps in, which allows me to see her nipples, hard from the cold of the night and her arousal, perfectly through the thin fabric.

As soon as she enters the stables, she leans against one of the bales of straw that fill them, raising her hands above her head and grabbing the ropes that prevent the bales from falling apart. For a few seconds, nothing happens. She remains still, her breathing becoming increasingly rapid. Then, without letting go of the ropes, she begins to move, to sway vigorously, to let out small cries that gradually increase in intensity, to dance to the rhythm set by an imaginary whip striking her body, punishing her for her lust, marking her as a rebellious and disobedient slave girl who needs to be trained.

Her body begins to cover itself in sweat, her nipples growing harder and harder, seeming to want to pierce through the fabric of her bra, and her arousal has grown so much that not only is the wet spot on her pussy visible, but the juices wetting her thighs are also visible, causing them to glisten under the dim lights that illuminate the stables.

Suddenly she stops and drops to her knees on the floor. I know she hasn't reached orgasm, but with each passing night she gets closer and closer to it, to coming without touching herself under an imaginary whip, which makes me wonder how long it will take her to do so when she really feels the caress of the whip on her body.

She raises her head and a look of surprise appears in her eyes. Today she has realized that there is something different from other nights. Without getting up from the floor, she looks around, takes a few seconds to make sure no one is watching and that nothing else has changed, and begins to move around the stables on her hands and knees, heading for the old wooden chair.

The first night, the chair was a couple of meters from where she stood. Little by little, I have subtly moved it further away, until tonight I placed it on the opposite side of the stables, forcing her to walk about twenty meters over the dirty, damp straw in that part.

If she realizes that she is getting muddy, she doesn't show it. She doesn't react, she keeps moving toward the old chair, stopping in front of it, looking at it the same way she has every night, probably wondering what a gynecological chair is doing in an old stable.

After a few seconds, she slowly climbs onto the chair, leans her back against the cold, worn leather, and lifts her legs to place them in the stirrups, stirrups that I have been moving a little further apart each night, so that her body is obscenely open, causing the fabric of her panties to move aside, giving me a perfect view of her shaved pussy and her puckered rear entrance.

She rests her head on the headrest and brings her hands to the metal clamps that adorn the arms of the chair, gripping them tightly, holding still for a few seconds. I know she wants to feel those clamps around her wrists, preventing her from moving, leaving her helpless for a few seconds, and she doesn't take long to show me by trying to open them one more night, letting out a small cry of frustration when she fails.

Tonight she repeats her attempts several more times, insisting forcefully, banging the arms of the chair in anger when she fails. That rage causes her to touch her pussy differently when she reaches for it to start masturbating. On previous nights, she has started gently, caressing her lips before beginning to play with her swollen clitoris, and then after a few minutes, she starts to fuck herself with her fingers.

Today she started by putting her fingers directly into her pussy, first one, then two, and finally three, inserting them deeply, curving them inside her pussy, twisting and spreading them, reaching orgasm before even touching her clitoris.

I watch her breath quicken with pleasure, her firm breasts rising and falling on her chest, her hard nipples now free from the fabric of her bra pointing at the ceiling, the fingers of her free hand circling them, pinching and stretching them, sending waves of pleasure through her already overexcited body.

I'm about to leave, knowing that the show is over, but again something different happens tonight. She brings her fingers back to her pussy and starts masturbating, inserting her index and middle fingers into her pussy while placing her thumb on her clitoris.

All the previous rage seems to have disappeared with the orgasm, her movements are now slow and gentle, her fingers entering up to the knuckles and coming out completely, dragging thick threads of liquid before going back in, trying to go even deeper. I look at her face, her beautiful blonde hair stuck to her skin with sweat, tears of pleasure falling down her cheeks, her lips swollen from biting them so much to keep her moans of pleasure from being heard too loudly.

I try to imagine what is going through her mind, but what comes to my mind is what I would do to her if I had her tied to that chair, unable to move. First, I would have fucked her hard, completely devastating her, taking everything from her without caring about her pleasure, showing her who is in control and who is in charge. Then I would have made love to her, caring for her, pampering her, whispering in her ear about the pleasures that await her if she is obedient and submissive.

These thoughts make me, for the first time in all these nights, on the verge of losing control, coming out of my hiding place, tying her to the chair, and fucking her hard, without caring about the consequences. Luckily, I manage to control myself. I haven't been playing with her all these nights to ruin it all at once. She has to be the one to give herself to me.

I will continue with my plans as I had intended. Tomorrow we will visit the stables, I will give her a complete tour, I will show her things she has not yet seen on her nightly visits, and I will explain in detail what the chair was used for, hoping to see how she reacts when I describe in detail how the new slave girls who arrived at the plantation, some of them white slave girls, were first whipped by one of the overseers, then with their bodies covered in red marks, they were tied to the chair, their pussies shaved and their nipples and clitoris pierced.

I'm sure you'll get very excited when I tell you how, once adorned, the slave girls were fucked for the first time by their new owner, how they couldn't help but cum over and over again despite the humiliating situation. What I don't know is what her reaction will be when I explain how, after the owner filled the slave girl's belly with his semen, the same overseer who had whipped her branded her, usually on the inside of her thigh, although many owners liked to brand their slave girls on their shaved pubis.

If, after describing all that to her, and also that the chair was used to hold a slave girl in place so that a dozen studs could fuck her one after another with the intention of breeding her, she returns to the stables tonight to play with the chair, she will be mine. I will just have to decide when to fuck her and when, after cumming in her pussy, to brand her as my slave girl.

The End

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