BDSM Library - Story: Grace's Hard Lessons II, Chapter: Chapter 12

GRACE’S VERY HARD LESSONS

CHAPTER 12 (FF,M)

** 5 days ago : TEMPTRESS

Ming put down the phone, tucking her long silky black hair behind her ear. Her friend Grace had called in sick at

the office, and asked her to cover her duties for the day, which she readily agreed.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ming had asked her earlier.

“Yes.. no.. I’m just very tired Ming,” replied Grace in a feeble tone,” I need to rest. No worries, I have already

informed Royston.”

“Alright, you take care of yourself now,” said Ming, putting down the phone, and picking up her notebook. She

would have to cover Grace in taking down minutes for the sales meeting chaired by Royston that morning.

Ming did not know of course, that Grace could not come to work because she had welts on her back and her bum

from her whipping the previous night. Nothing too major that wouldn’t disappear in four to five days, but still

painful enough that Grace could not sit down on a chair properly.

At the sales meeting, Royston had even commented that Grace was excused from work as she had a late night at a

client’s. This caused some sniggers around the room, which Royston promptly ignored and started the meeting,

knowing his comments would start a fresh round of gossip in the office about Grace and which client she was

with last night.

Meanwhile in her hotel room, where Grace had made her home since this whole episode started, Grace was

laying in bed, fast asleep. Her eyelids fluttered, as she dreamt.

She was in a dark studio. Her bare back and butt cheeks were stinging from a lashing. Natasha was there. Much

as she wanted to, she could not move. Then she realized she was strapped down to a horizontal platform, her

naked arse positioned prominently for the unfettered whipping earlier. She heard Joe’s voice telling her that she

looked good in a doggie position. She was crying. Natasha comforted her, and applied lotion on her welts. Grace

felt weird – Nat’s soft touch and cooling salve soothed her pain away, but there was another feeling. She

struggled again, but the strapped held her down. She felt vulnerable. There was more humiliation than a girl of

twelve that had just been caned on her butt by her vice-principal.

Nat was back, and talking to her softly. Then she felt it, an incredibly feeling of fullness entering her from behind,

slowly. She looked back, and saw that Nat was topless. No, Nat was completely naked, kneeling behind her, their

bodies touching. She was beautiful, wearing that collar that she had seen her wear before when she knelt before

Nakamori, and something else around her waist. “Relax, sis,” she said with a soft voice at her ear. Nat’s hands felt

warm, as she gently pulled Grace’s hips towards her. Grace felt fleeting pain, as Nat penetrated her. The pain

wasn’t from between her legs; it was from a gentle scraping of Nat’s manicured nail across the small of her back

as it bumped over a couple of welts.

The familiar feeling of heat emanated from her nether regions, as Nat’s body rubbed against hers, thrusting into

her loving receptacle. The feminine hands explored the curve of her back and across her tender ass, fingernails

scraping gently across the lightly bruised marks from her whipping. Her naked back and arse was feeling cool

and radiating heat at the same time – was it the lotion that Nat applied on her? Why did her pussy radiate heat?

Grace felt Nat’s hand insert into the space between her tummy and the platform. It moved slowly downward,

caressing her lower abdomen, reaching down to the apex between her thighs.

Just as Nat’s fingers touched her clit, Grace woke up in bed. Her breathing was quick, her heart thumping, and

her forehead glowed with a fine sheen of perspiration. Grace’s hand moved between her legs, and realized that

she was soaking wet.

Later that evening, at an hour where most people had already left the office, a man visited Grace’s cubicle. The

man looked around her desk, and saw the cushion on Grace’s chair. He picked it up, and brought it to his nose,

sniffing hard as if to conjure up an image of Grace sitting on it – her barely covered ass and pussy would have

been pressing against the cushion just less than twenty four hours ago. The thin, lanky man sat down on Grace’s

chair, motionless. The lights in that section of the office were off, so he would not be noticed. He could leisurely

browse through Grace’s things.

He opened the top desk drawer and found nothing interesting except a photo of Grace and someone he presumed

would be Grace’s boyfriend. The lucky son-of-a-bitch. Or unlucky? He wondered if Grace’s boyfriend knew how

she flaunted her flesh and showed as much of her body as is possible in the office without being overtly sexually

available – she was no doubt a conniving, seductive slut. When she had joined the company, he had always

though she dressed classily. Sexy yes but not like an airhead bimbo. She was obviously a smart woman. But she

had everyone fooled. She was a trollop after all. Recently he noticed how she tottered around on fuck-me shoes,

and wore those clothes and accessories that screamed for attention. Whatever her outfit might hide, it was not the

curve of her breasts, the bumps of her nipples or the camel-toe of her crotch. He was convinced then that she had

screwed her way to the position she is in today by playing on the weakness of men. He remembered the time

when she had lost an important letter meant for the boss, but then when she batted her eyelids and acted helpless,

he was the one who stood out and said he lost it. He took the rap for her. She had mouthed thank you, yes, but he

would have thought a thank you lunch was deserved!

He opened the bottom drawer, and searched below the stack of documents. Bingo! The long leather pouch caught

his eye, and so did the black leather file.

Opening the leather file, Tony felt like he had hit jackpot. There were dozens of full-page, full-color pictures, of

none other than Grace herself - scantily clad, posing like a floozie in the tiniest bikini imaginable! Tony felt his

cock stiffen to full mast instantly as he gazed upon the fair flesh of the untouchable gazelle in the office, her

modesty only protected from his eyes by a bikini top and bottom no bigger than the size of a postage stamp. His

fingers trembling, he turned the page, and was treated to the sight of pictures of the young attractive executive on

all fours on a sofa, and then the floor. Tony could not believe his eyes – Grace posing in a tiny bathing suit that

left nothing to the imagination; not just sexy poses, but cheesecake poses on all fours on the sofa, then on all fours

on the floor, losing her bikini but gaining a collar around her neck and a leash tugging away ! Tony swallowed

the lump in his throat, not believing his find. Why are there such pictures of Grace? And in her drawer? She must

be – she must be doing this gig on the side for a client, the shameless tart!

Tony could not help but unzip his jeans to relieve the painful strain on his crotch. Moving the file to his lap, his

naked venous erection stood at full mast over a photograph of a topless Grace with her wrists suspended above

her head to a rope from the ceiling. In his left hand, he held the object which he found in the box – a dildo. Grace’s

dildo! A lifelike replica of a full-sized dick, in flesh tones. Fucking slut.. that fucking temptress. Leaving it in her

drawer for him to find. Lifting her dildo to his nose, the mailroom man could smell Grace’s scent – the sweet

scent of a woman, the musky scent of the trollop’s cunt juices – on the shaft of the sex-toy. A sex-toy that she

plunged into her slovenly, needy cunt every so often, no doubt.

In Tony’s right hand, he had the pink shawl that was moments ago draped around the top of Grace’s chair. He

remembered her wearing the shawl when she took off her jacket, covering her bare shoulders since she often

wore camisoles under her jacket. The softness of the shawl caressed the shaft and head of his erect cock, just as he

imagined the touch of Grace’s fingers would. He flipped back to a photo where Grace’s face and naked boobs

were displayed in close-up. Looking down, he saw his cock right in front of Grace’s face - she was looking at him,

masturbating in front of her. MISS GRACE, YOU FUCKING WHORE. He came loads into the pink shawl, not

caring that the next day when Grace came back to work, she might find his dried cum patch on her shawl.

Perhaps she would not notice it first, and bring it with her to a meeting. When she felt cold, she would drape it

around her shoulders, unaware that to her co-workers, that a huge cum-stain was apparent as a darker blotch on

the pink shawl over her bare shoulders.

Back in the present day, Grace stood on the sidewalk outside the hotel where she stayed. The sky was already

getting dusky, as the weak rays of the disappearing sun cast a warm light on her face and underarm. Raising her

arm several times to try to hail a passing cab, she was conscious of the attention she was getting.

The shiny black vinyl outfit was attracting stares from men who walked past on the sidewalk, a big turn-on

obviously, while the women turned their noses away from her with disdain. The men wondered which strip joint

she worked for, and imagined how she would be pole-dancing and lap-dancing later that entire evening, using

her body to titillate and pleasure men. To the women, she was a harlot, a strumpet, a slattern. A promiscuous

tramp who sold her body for sex.

A passing car with two guys wearing baseball caps slowed down with a screech. Its occupants gave her wolf-

whistles and passed lewd comments to each other, loud enough for her to hear, before driving on. Grace asked

herself: who is to blame, when a sluttily-dressed man-teaser gets raped? Is she to blame for leading them on? Was

she asking for it, by tempting them? She was dressed like a prostitute, so she told herself that she deserved to be

treated like one.

Finally a cab stopped, and Grace hopped in. She told the cab driver where wanted to go. She was due for a

photography session at Joe’s studio at 8pm, and she didn’t have much time left. Reaching into her handbag, she

unzipped the inner pocket, and pulled out a Polaroid photograph. Grace stared at the picture, and felt her cheeks

flushing. Her neck felt hot from a mixture of embarrassment and nervous indignation. It was a picture of herself,

and Nakamori. To be more exact, it was a picture of her mouth and Nakamori’s cock.