Archive-name: Slaves/aftengl.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: After English


	She stumbled out of bed to answer the shrilling phone, still half
asleep.  She barked her shins on a pile of notebooks on the floor.  Across the
room, her roommate groaned and rolled over in her sleep.  She hurried a bit
more to get the phone before waking her roommate up.
	"Hello?" she asked sleepily.
	"Morning," came the reply.  She recognized the voice of her master
immediately.  
	"Hello, sir," she said, and her voice had a much more submissive tone.
"Why did you call me?"  She wished she was at his apartment.  So much better,
to lie with him and awake with her small hands bound in a bondage belt, with
the warmth of his body nearby and having the excuse of fetters to allow her to
lie in bed.  
	"I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me. 
Also, I want you to wear a skirt today.  Above the knee, I think.  And your
stockings and garter belt."
	"Why?"
	"You'll find out after English.  You can wear flats if you want, but
bring your heels along in a bag.  Oh, and if you wear underwear, it has to be
something that comes off easily.  Wear your silk ones with the bows."
	"OK, sir," she said, wondering inside what he meant.  She would be glad
in an hour for having eaten, but right now she wanted more than anything to
crawl back into bed and sleep.  She had half an hour before class.  But she
obeyed, wondering why all the while.
	He was no more tractable at breakfast.  He allowed her to get three
bowls of Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it
was junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only
answered, "You'll find out after English."
	English.  Short Story Writing, specifically.  The last class she had on
Fridays, the only one she had with him.  So many times, that had been the last
thing she did before spending a weekend in erotic submission to him.  The
simple thought made her belly turn over.
	The whole day she was unable to keep her mind off it.  What did he have
planned?  A weekend of submission?  Maybe.  But that was hardly uncommon.  So
why all the secrecy?  And why the costuming?  In classes, she found herself
writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes.  She tapped her feet
incessantly and waited for the class to end.  She supposed people were
looking at her.  She didn't care.  
	After lunch, which she ate with some friends, for he was on the other
side of campus, she headed back to her room and got the required heels.  Patent
leather pumps, with a locking ankle strap and five inch heels.  She wrapped
them in paper towels and put them in a shoe box, which she put in her backpack.
Three more hours!  She would never make it.  
	Well, two more.  Class started at two and ended at three.  She had an
hour before her one o'clock class, so she tried to call him but the answering
machine picked up.  Was he there, grinning broadly at the answering machine,
laughing at her curiousity, or was he really not there?  She could picture
either.  She wished he would let her see his schedule.  
	After trying for the third time she decided he was either not there or
not going to answer.  She tried to read the short story someone had written
which was going to be discussed in class, but she couldn't concentrate.  She
was too curious about what he had planned for her.
	She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror.  Deciding she ought to
look nice for whatever he had planned for her, she applied some mascara and
blusher and lipstick.  This took up most of the time remaining.
	If he blindfolds me after the work I did on that makeup, I'm gonna be
pissed, she thought as she bounced across the quad.  
	In the last class before English she found herself looking out the
window.  Was that him out in back of the building, watching her?  It had to be. 
No one else would lurk outside so boldly, as if they had every right to be
there.  Was he looking at her?  Smiling at her?  She couldn't tell.  
	The hour dragged on.  And on.  She was growing quite impatient. 
Finally the bell rung and she was free.
	English was absolute torture, she decided.  She sat next to him as she
always did, and kept trying to whisper in his ear.  He would merely grin
evilly, and conveniently stretch so that he wouldbe out of range of her
whisper.  She passed him notes, as if she was a high schooler.  He merely read
them and put them in his notebook.  When she dared say something aloud, he
hushed her and suggested that she quiet down and pay attention to class.
	The small, androgynous boy whose story was being presented that day
gave her a nasty look.  She frowned back at him.  Under the table, his hand
touched her skirt and pulled it up slightly, just enough so that he could feel
her leg.  
	She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, and he let her this time.
	"I obeyed," she said.
	"Good," he said, and grinned again, that annoying satisfied
cat-got-the-cream grin he had that he gave herwhen he knew something he did not
intend to tell her.  Sometimes it made her want to scream and jump up and down.
Now was one of those times.
	Finally, the class was over.  He got up and headed for the door
immediately.  She threw her things in her backpack and raced after him.
He was heading into an empty classroom.  She ran in after him just as he was
closing the door and turned to face him, breathless.
	"Okay, it's after English.  So tell me." she said.
	For answer he merely took her arm and spun her around so that she was
in front of him, facing away.  His grasp was not painful but irrevocable.  She
felt handcuffs clamped onto her wrists.  Then the slight click of the double
lock being engaged on each.  These were police handcuffs, and gave her very
little room.  Then he bent her over a desk, got something out of his bag, and
spread her legs.  She was surprised but pliant, not wanting to resist unless he
hurt her.  First his hands untied the bows on the hips of her panties and took
them off.
	She felt an assplug slip into her, and an admonishment;  "Don't let go
of that until I tell you you can."
	Then he was taking off her shoes and putting her feet into the
five-inch pumps, locking each ankle strap with a small lock.  Afterwards he
scooped up his own bag and hers, took her wrists in the other hand, and marched
her neatly to the elevator.  She was grateful he did not make her try the
stairs with these shoes and her wrists cuffed behind her back.  
	In the elevator, he hiked up her skirt and checked her;  she was
already moist in the excitement and surprise.
	"What are you doing?" she asked for the first time since after English.
	"Don't ask.  Don't say a word."
	His car was parked in the lot nearby.  He got her in the passenger
seat, and then got in himself.  He locked both doors, an unnecessary precaution
since she could not open the door anyway, and then put her seat belt on. 
Donning his own, he started the engine and drove away.  
	Anytime she spoke, he immediately responded with an order to be silent. 
He hiked her skirt up to her waist and fondled her freely.  This was dizzying. 
She was restrained, kept in a car, being taken to God knows where, and not even
allowed to speak.  It was incredibly exciting.
	When he got to the Interstate, he stopped for a moment to put a pair of
Gargoyle sunglasses on her.  He had painted these with black paint, and she
could see very little, but no passersby in cars would have any clue.  
Without being able to see, she had no real way to gauge time, since the radio
was not playing and he was being fairly silent.  
	After maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe ten years, he pulled off the
Interstate, and a short time later pulled over completely.  He got out of
the car, went around and let her out, and led her forward.  She felt gravel
clicking under her heels.  Then, up three steps, and onto a porch of some kind.
It sounded like concrete when she walked on it.  She heard him fumble briefly
with a key, and then she was being led indoors.  Then he took the blindfold
off.
	She was in a wood-paneled den, with a fireplace and a few hunting
trophies on the walls.  There were two doors leading from the room. One looked
like it led to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom. She glanced around at
the place curiously.
	"Do you like it?" he asked.
	"Like it?"  She walked around briefly.  "It's beautiful.  But how did
you get it?"
	"It was my grandpa's house," he said.  "I'm in the process of getting
it.  Some yap about probate.  Some other people in the family want it, I think.  
But it'll be mine soon."
	Will it be mine too? she wanted to ask, but didn't have the courage
to.
	He came up behind her and unzipped her skirt, pulling it gently but
irrevocably off her.  Then he removed the handcuffs, only to replace them with
leather cuffs.  Then he buckled and locked a wide leather collar around her
neck.  He removed her blouse and bra, and then locked her wrists behind her
back.  Then he buckled another pair of leather cuffs on her ankles.  
	"Let me show you the basement," he suggested, as if none of what he had
done before had happened.  But she was very wet now, very excited as he forced
her down the rickety stairs to the basement.
	There was a door at the end of the stairs.  He pushed her through
this and locked it.  Inside, the basement was finished.  She saw a room on
her which he propelled her into, and she could see in the dim light several
 toys up on the walls and a spanking horse and a bed in the corner of the room.
	"You like it?" he asked, his voice betraying an edge of sharpness.
	"Yes-oh God, fuck me-," she choked.
	"Not yet."  He took her over to the spanking horse, spread her legs and
fastened them to the legs of the horse, then freed her arms briefly to bend her
over the horse and attach her wrist cuffs to the legs on the other side.  
	She heard him shuck off his pants and then he had a fistful of her
hair, pulling her head up.  In his hand she saw a riding crop .  Her head could
not rise far with her body spreadeagled and secured down.  
	His penis was stiff and dancing about, and she was wet and ready for
him.  But he forced her to lick it instead, lick it and suck it while he
whipped her ass with the crop .  This was a game she knew.  She was to suck him
while he whipped her until he came.  Until he did, the whipping would get
steadily harder.  
	She did what she usually did.  She delayed him so that he would whip
her harder.  Eventually she passed into a sort of out-of-body experience:  she
could still feel the whip striking her, but it didn't hurt anymore.  She felt
the cock in her mouth, everything seeming to happen very slowly, and she
thought, I'm a cocksucker.  And it seemed very good.
	Finally he came, and she licked him clean, feeling tired and limp.
He came around to her welted ass, and rubbed it gently.
	"Why so tired?" he asked.  She felt his cock slip into her from behind,
but was too well bound to fight it.  It felt good, slipping into her dark and
wet depths.  Her welts stung as he touched them.  They had both broken out into
a sweat.
	"So tired already?"  He began to pump slowly.  "It's gonna be a long
weekend, sweetheart."
  
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