Abby's Prime Punishment

This is a very different story from the mysteries I usually present on FanFiction.Net. This is no mystery; Abby has broken the rules and must pay the price. Who she pays it to is up to you.

Abby’s Prime Punishment
Phantom69781

“I’m sorry,” Abby appeals. She wears her favorite red leather cuffs and her matching dog collar. This time a short leash runs from the ring into his hand. Standing barefoot in her living room, wearing a pleated schoolgirl miniskirt and thin white blouse, she looks up into the eyes of the man before her. She finds no mercy in his eyes; she’s broken the rules and must be punished.
That’s why she broke them.
“Lift your skirt.” His voice is neither harsh nor demanding, it is an order and he expects her to obey.
The words send an electric charge through her body, her breath a gasp. She reaches down, grasping the hem between dainty thumb and forefinger, slowly lifting. She has no choice. The pleated fabric comes up like a curtain, slowly unveiling her crotch and the tiny black thong, the teardrop material barely enough to cup her vagina, not trying to hide her shaved pubes.
She stands, the skirt lifted to the limit of her waistband, not trying to hide her chest but feeling his eyes petting her. He’s so attentive to the tiny thin teardrop it’s as though he were trying to memorize every stitch. She knows better, he’s seeing all of her.
Apprehension makes her breath come quicker. If she tries to stop her short gasps it’ll only be worse, and still he hasn’t touched her. Looking down, she can see the two hardened nubs of her nipples rubbing against the white material of her blouse, but she can’t blame it; they’re hard not from rubbing but from desire to be rubbed. She trembles, wanting his fingers on them, his lips – his teeth if that is his whim.
“Take off the thong.” His command is soft; he doesn’t have to raise his voice. His words make her body tingle, she would never think of refusing him anything. She starts to lower the skirt so she can reach under. “No. Tuck it in, I want to see you.”
Realizing her hands are trembling, she tucks the hem of the skirt under the waistband at each hip, raising the abbreviated material again and tucking it in so that she is fully exposed to his eyes – and whatever else he wants to use.
Taking the thin straps high at each hip, she slowly eases it down, then pulls forward, showing him the pink flesh hardly hidden by the thin teardrop. She’d been extra careful shaving, there’s not a micrometer of fur to mar her smoothness. She slowly lowers the tiny thong from her hips, bending at her waist to as slowly ease it down her thighs.
Bent as she is, she is bare inches from him and keeps her head up, her face as close to him as she can get. Catching the heady aroma, knowing he’s as ready as she is, she longs to taste the hidden flesh pressing so hard against his pants. Her mouth waters at the remembered taste, the anticipation, but she knows better than to ask. She’s here to be punished, not pleased.
Lowering the thong all the way, she steps her bare feet out of it and straightens up, the entire thong not enough to fill her hand, her skirt still displaying her moist, heated charms. She can smell her own scent as much as his. “Give it to me.”
The material had been damp long before he’d arrived, it’s quite moist now and when she turns it over he can feel this as much as she. He raises it, taking in her scent as she stands trembling. Her breasts are rubbing against the blouse; she wants it to be his hands. He drops the thong on the floor beside him, his eyes on her moist flesh. She is so aware of how large he is, how strong, how powerful. “You’ve been bad, Abby.”
His voice strokes every millimeter of her body. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice hot.
“What’ve you done wrong today?”
“Everything!” she gasps, already anticipating the sting.
“Spread your legs.”
She doesn’t hesitate, taking a step to either side. He reaches down, out, his upturned hand half an inch from her. Looking down at it, she can almost feel his touch.
“Your clitoris.” She arches her hips forward, his middle finger stroking the ultrasensitive nub. She gasps, feeling the thrill through her whole body and shifts further, his finger rubbing the length of her hot moistness. He pulls back. “I said your clitoris!”
“Please, sir. I’m –!”
“That’s an extra punishment.” He won’t tell her what it is. He doesn’t sound angry; it’s not a threat but a promise. He brings his hand back down. “Now, try again – and be careful.”
This time she shifts her hips but only touching her yearning clitoris to the tip of his finger and the sensation flares through her. She gasps, moving her hips as little as she can, the sensation focused on just the end of his finger, on her tiny spot. Her breath comes shorter, faster as she moves slowly, carefully, aware that the next infraction will remove this pleasure from her. She gasps, unable to control it, all her concentration on the center of her sensations. She moves her hips slowly, stroking herself on his motionless finger, feeling the heat and moisture increase with her breath. She is gasping, her breasts rubbing against the material of her white blouse, afraid to press down harder, not wanting him to move away. She rubs herself along the end of his finger, unable to do more than moan and gasp as the sensation rises and rises. Her legs are starting to tremble.
“Please, sir! Please!” Her vagina is spasming, it’s so hot and wet, so needful!
“Please what?”
“Please press harder! Please let me come!”
“You’re pressing hard enough.”
She cries out but can’t stop, can’t stop the feather-strokes of her clitoris on his fingertip, her gasping loud in her ears. Her body writhes, more and more out of her control, before she knows it she can’t help but press to him, there is only his finger, her clitoris and the sensations that rip through her. She’s pressing down harder, rubbing herself, her mind stolen by her body’s needs as she stands gasping and moaning. Every breath is a tiny cry of need; her vagina longs to clench him, the moist cream slips down her thighs, teasing her with its heat. She can barely keep her hips to just her clit rubbing against him. Her breasts rub her blouse as she flings her head back, not trying to keep quiet as her hips thrust beyond her control and she rubs harder, as hard as she can and screams!

x

She’s bent over, gasping for air, standing on trembling legs, his hands supporting her by her heaving breasts when her mind comes back. He holds her up, a hand cupping each full breast as she trembles, her shaking bare legs wet and her vagina pulsing with every beat of her pounding heart. “Thank you,” she gasps. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he straightens her by his hands on her heaving breasts, “you still have your punishment.”
Standing on trembling legs, only his hands cupping her breasts helping her to balance, she looks up into his eyes and knows her punishment has come.
He releases her breasts and she looks down at the wrinkled material, the marks of his hands obvious on the once smooth fabric. “Take it off.”
She looks up again into his hard eyes. “Sir…”
He reaches out to her heaving breasts again but this time he closes thumb and forefinger upon each sensitive nipple and squeezes. She grimaces, groaning in pain that washes away the afterglow of her orgasm. “Yes, sir!” He squeezes harder. “I’m sorry I hesitated, sir!”
He releases her; she longs to rub her sore nipples but knows that will only earn yet another punishment. They must remain, centers of pain to counterpoint the pleasure still surging through her clitoris. “Off,” he says, not having to make it a command. She’s learned her lesson.
Slowly, looking up at him, she undoes first one button then the next, slowly and teasingly exposing inch by inch of her white flesh, seeing the pleasure in his eyes as she strokes her breasts as she undoes button after button. If she can please him, maybe he won’t hurt her too much.
Maybe.
She drapes the blouse just so her areola are hidden but he has an unobstructed view of the valley between her full breasts. As slowly she undoes the button at each wrist, then more slowly still, watching his eyes carefully, she pulls at the blouse, exposing millimeter by millimeter. Her pink areola, her firm nipples reaching longingly for him, then ultimately both breasts reaching out to him with every quickening breath. Not trying to hide her rekindled lust, the pain in her nipples forgotten in the overwhelming pleasure, she pulls the blouse from her shoulders and slowly eases it down her arms, letting it drop to the floor behind her.
She stands trembling before him, her leashed collar and cuffs her only ornamentation, her breath coming faster as lust overwhelms fear. The schoolgirl skirt, double tucked as it is, forms a curtain that hides her round cheeks behind while putting her wet, needful pubes on intimate display. She can feel her quickening pulse in every tremor of her vagina. She looks up to him. “Please, sir.”
“Please what?” he asks, taking his eyes from stroking each line of her many tattoos.
She is utterly exposed, utterly his, the raised curtain of her skirt accenting her nudity. “May I please undress you?”
He tugs the leash, making her take a step to him until their bodies are almost touching. She can feel his heat all along her bare flesh. “You may.”

x

She reaches up, starting with his tie. As she undoes the knot, she does so slowly, reveling in the feel of every stitch under her fingers. She puts all her attention into undoing the thin cloth, feeling it slide along her palm as she undoes it and draws it from his neck, letting it drop beside them. “Don’t lose that, it might be around your wrists before long.”
“Yes, sir,” she breathes, feeling the thrill sear through her body at the thought of the intimate material binding her, immobilizing her, helpless to his will.
One button at a time, she slowly opens the links, gradually moving down and down his chest, her fingers longing to touch more. Past his hard stomach, lower and lower to his belt, she focuses on each link in turn, her fingers secretly brushing the body beneath, accidently touching him. He is so close she trembles from his heat. Past his belt the material of his pants tents outward and she longs to take the hidden flesh in her hands, into her hungry mouth.
She tugs the shirt out from under the belt and spreads it across his chest, running her hands daringly over the white undershirt, tracing every muscle under her sensitive hands. She pushes it aside over hard shoulders and works it down each muscled arm. Beyond the short sleeves of his tee shirt his arms are bare and she revels in every touch. Her fingers play along this exposed flesh, feeling his strength, knowing that strength will soon be turned to her.
She lets the shirt drop and pulls at the white tee shirt, tugging it out of his waistband. Now she can get her fingers under it, raising the cloth a bare inch, her palms and fingers stroking out from his stomach around to his back, slowly, so slowly exploring every inch of his heated flesh, feeling the hard muscles, the responsive flesh under her hands.
Panting, trembling with need, she raises the cloth another half inch, exploring every bit of him; forward, sides and back, her hands memorizing every cell. Her breath comes in shattered gasps; she can barely stay on her feet. Planting them far apart, knowing how it opens her to him if ever he wanted to claim her, she balances carefully and pushes up another half inch, exploring his body, running her hands slowly over his flesh, her panting breath not enough to sustain her. Her every sound is a moan, tiny cries of lust as she pushes higher still, barely half his stomach cleared. She longs to press her entire body to his, to feel with all her bare flesh what her hands are experiencing. She needs to press her heaving breasts to his hard chest, something she hasn’t even felt this time yet but remembers so well!
She pushes up higher, clearing his stomach and just seeing the smooth pectorals. She explores him all about, her hands stroking and exploring what she longs for her body to stroke. Her wet vagina burns with the cream the flows along it, her vaginal walls clench and ease almost to her uterus in a symphony of tingling, clutching muscles as her hands reach higher. She reaches higher, panting for air, moaning with every breath, her body trembling so much she can barely stand. She raises the shirt above his nipples, her fingers stroke across them.
“Oh GOD!” she cries, the orgasm ripping through her and she screams her every breath into the hand clamped over her mouth. The explosion starts at her clitoris and tears every nerve of her body apart – it’s only his hands clutching her shoulders that keep her from slamming down to the floor! It seems to go on forever, ripping her body and mind to shreds.

x

When she can think she’s still being held upright by his tight grip on her shoulders, her body trembling, her vagina clenching with every beat of her wild heart. Her crotch feels marinated, cooked, almost burned by the scorching cream and when she can look up and focus on his eyes she finds no mercy in them. “Continue.”
Licking trembling lips, she returns to her chore, her hands slipping along his chest, the small nipples sliding under her palms and she pushes upward, not wanting to rush the experience, continuing to explore familiar flesh as though this were the first time she’s seen it. She runs her hands over his firm shoulders, about his chest, longing to bend and lick, to draw one of those delicious nubs between her lips – but she must remember this is a punishment. No matter what her pleasure, he is here tonight to punish her.
She pushes the gathered cloth up, carefully clearing his head, not messing his hair and then slowly pushes it down his arms, exploring every inch of their power. She runs her hands slowly along his biceps, knowing and feeling their strength. He can be gentle, he can as easily overpower her, bringing her luscious pleasure or overwhelming force, purely at his will.
She eases the material down his arms, finding every inch as though she’d never known it, every fine hair over each powerful muscle teasing her palms, petting her nerves and she feels herself clench below in anticipation of what’s to come.
A downward tug at the leash is the only command she needs; he wants her to kneel. She longs to slide her bare body along his, feel the contrast of his pants and the smooth flesh along her body but dares not. She has no permission for that pleasure.
Going to her knees, she bends over and starts to undo the laces of his right shoe, well aware of her full breasts dangling lewdly before her. Her fingers on the leather, she slowly draws out the laces, feeling the contrast of shiny leather and rougher material along her fingers, along her palms. The first one is open, he raises his foot enough for her to draw it off and set it aside before enjoying the same pleasure again. She’s grateful he’d come tonight knowing he’d intended her to do this, the only scent she smells is talc.
She rolls down and removes each sock as well, he using a hand on her bare back to steady himself. In moments he is as barefoot as she but she runs her hands along his feet, stroking them, feeling his heat. She starts to bend lower, wanting to kiss them, but the restraining collar prevents her and she straightens, still on her knees.
“You asked if you could undress me,” he reminds her.
“Yes, sir.”
She reaches for his belt, the black leather a particular pleasure. She longs to feel it against her bare skin but fears it might be a whip stroke instead. A stroke of pleasure flares across her body as she realizes she doesn’t know which is to be her fate, and how delicious that is.
Kneeling as she is, her mouth is so close to the hard shaft that tents the pants that she can almost taste it. Memory is not enough, she wants to taste it now! Her fingers are trembling as she manages to get the leather undone from the clasp and draws the black strip out. When it is free he gently tugs the leash, making her come up off her knees. She looks down longingly at him, it’s now so far away. He takes the belt from her hands and puts it under her full breasts; her attention is broken from the pleasure pole as he does this, threading the leather through the buckle above her heaving mounds.
He draws the leather through, it tightens about her breasts, tighter and tighter still until it hurts and he has her undivided attention. “Do you like this?” He tightens it more, her breasts squeezed full, expanding before her under the increasing pleasure.
“Yes,” she gasps, so happy for the day she’d revealed her secret.
He takes the end of the belt in his hand and gently smacks each distended nipple. It’s not hard, but stings her sensitive flesh squeezed tightly in the restraint. “Do you want that?”
She looks up into his eyes, all she can manage is a whisper. “I want what you want, sir.”
He continues with gentle slaps of the leather on her nipples, not having to do it hard for the impacts to sting. She jumps in her skin with every smack. “And if I use it on your clitoris?”
“What pleases you pleases me, sir,” she whispers, her clitoris having jumped with the mention. If that is to be her punishment for all she has done, she will take it because he gives it to her.
He releases her, drawing the leather off her breasts and drops it to the floor beside her. “Finish your chore,” he commands.

x

Licking her lips in anticipation, she kneels down again and reaches for the clasp holding his pants together. She doesn’t want to rush, though her trembling hands long to pull the material aside to reach the delicious treat below. She carefully opens the button and pulls the material together to undo the clasp, and then it takes her two tries to grasp the tiny metal of the zipper. She draws it down as slowly as she can stand, lust tearing at her, making her gasp, her trembling body wanting his. She slides her hand along the straining shaft to the bottom, it presses out through the gap as though to greet her.
Taking the waistband, not daring to let the pants drop, she eases them down, a hand on each leg. The muscles are so hard, so strong, she almost has another orgasm just touching them. She holds it off, her breath like a bellows as she gasps, moaning her need to him as she caresses and explores every unveiled inch. His thigh muscles are so powerful, so strong under her hands. She imagines them churning as he runs down felons, every muscle working in tandem to propel his hard body after his prey. She imagines the tackle, the battle, in her mind she is that prey and he has captured and overwhelmed her, she is his to use!
She gets the pants down to his ankles almost before she realizes it, lost in the power of that mini-fantasy, and as she looks up her heart skips a rapid beat.
She is inches from the last barrier to her prize, and it strains to her like a ram that will soon batter at her defenseless portal. She reaches up, thinking of nothing but that. Her shaking hands barely work as she digs her fingers into the elastic, her vagina clenches and she longs to be filled, longs to taste this hard shaft of hot flesh! She pulls the material outward and down, unveiling her prize.
“Ohhhhh … God!” she gasps, a long drawn prayer of need. It is inches from her lips, so close to her eyes it’s like a mile long pole of flesh. She opens her mouth – and the leash tugs at the collar.
“No.”
“Please! Please let me lick it.”
He considers, and considers longer, her pounding heart ready to burst. “One lick.”
Having one, she doesn’t want to waste it. She wasn’t told she could touch it so she gets down low, under it, the long shaft looking like a mile long bridge to her upturned eyes. Getting right in where the scrotum meets the shaft she extends her tongue and touches the hot flesh.
Hoping her body obscures her, she reaches down to her labia, touching carefully, her hot breath like a bellows as she trails the tip of her tongue as slowly as possible along the underside, feeling him shudder deliciously as she goes eighth inch by sixteenth inch, her fingers secretly stroking her wet lips, petting her clitoris harder and harder, unable to control herself any longer. She tries not to rush her tongue over him, reveling in the taste of every bit, in the way the shaft pulses, in the way it moves and smells and tastes. She’s a quarter way up and can’t stop stroking herself, her breaths tiny cries that burn at his flesh. She keeps the tip of her tongue on him, moving as slowly as she can while her fingers attack herself, rubbing her labia, caressing her yearning clitoris and the orgasm is upon her!
She strains to keep her tongue along the hard shaft, just at the ridge below the head but her kneeling body is going wild and she can’t stop her hands; she barely manages to lick the pulsing bottom of the head when the orgasm makes her fall against his firm legs and she is lost, unable to stop rubbing and petting as her mind is blasted.

x

When her mind comes back to her she’s gasping, kneeling against his legs, her hands dripping. She’s barely aware of the leash being wrapped tightly about her breasts, the pain more than the pressure lifts her to her feet. She has to release herself but nothing can ease the tightness that binds her breasts as she’s pulled up.
“You’ve earned this.”
It takes more effort than she’d expected to smile. With the leash about her breasts he pulls her, on trembling legs, to a chair a sits down, pulling her forward across his lap. He releases the leash so it unwinds from about her breasts, but the cessation is no relief. She’s bent over his lap, the hard shaft that’d been the center of her pleasure now pressed against his stomach, her breasts dangling beside his left leg. She feels her skirt flipped up and his right hand cups her cheek. His right leg comes back, trapping her legs against the chair leg. Even if she’d thought of escape, she cannot. Her hands are on the floor, holding her body up level with the floor and utterly vulnerable.
His hand is warm across her upturned bottom; she knows it’s going to get a lot warmer. “Now, Abby, you like numbers so much, I want you to tell me the first ten prime numbers.”
She smiles, looking back and up at him. “Zero.”
She’d known her cute idea was a bad one, but couldn’t resist. His left hand reaches down, slides along her side to her breast, then his fingers close around her nipple. He pinches hard, making her cry out. The pressure increases, growing worse as he crushes the sensitive nub. “ONE!” she screams.
He releases her nipple but keeps his hand cupped under her breast, holding the full, dangling mound. His right hand pets her bottom, caressing her rounded cheeks and she longs to be able to open her trapped legs and invite him inside. He raises his hand and for a long moment there is nothing. She feels the anticipation growing, longer and longer, and then his hand crashes down with the noise of a gunshot and she screams.
She covers her own mouth with her right hand to muffle half the shriek. His hand remains on her stinging flesh; he’d gotten both cheeks with one blow and now pets the abused flesh.
“Next?” There is no anger in his tone, just expectation. Not wanting to endure another smack like that, she shakes her head. The fingers around her left breast tighten, the pressure slowly increasing. She tries to reach up with her left hand to free herself. “Don’t make that mistake,” he says with utter calm. She puts her left hand back down on the floor. “Next?”
“Oh God, two.”
She keeps her hand clamped tightly over her lips as his crashes first into her right cheek and then, before her scream is even finished, her left is hit as hard.
A moment later he is rubbing her sore flesh as gently as his hand had been brutal.
“Please! Rape me, do anything you want to me, just don’t spank me!”
“You wanted your punishment. All week you’ve wanted it. Now, what’s the third number?”
“Please.” The hand tightens about her left breast. “Three. Oh God, three.”
Her left cheek explodes in pain, then her right one, then harder across both cheeks as she jumps in his lap, her breast almost pulled if he hadn’t released it in time. Tears come to her eyes as he rubs her sore bottom. She knows there is no hope. “Five.”
She starts to scream even before his hand comes down, her own hand muffling the sound. He draws it out, working slowly, first one cheek and then the next, the last smack across both. It is three screams before he’s done.
Tears sting her eyes, she doesn’t even try to hold them back. She hasn’t cried in a long time, now she doesn’t resist it.
“Next?”
“Seven,” she sobs. The three pair take over a minute, the pain spreading to her hips before the final smack crosses them. She can feel herself getting hotter, the tingling and heat spreading down between her legs. It makes for a tingling that resonates with what she’d been having already. While he pets her, she strives to raise and angle her hips, trying to inspire him to go for her labia rather than her cheeks. He releases her right leg from the trap; she moves it aside, spreading herself for his hand and more.
“What’s next?”
“Eight,” she appeals, dreading the true answer. His left hand moves to her right breast in as tight a grip as he’d inflicted on her left. “Eleven!” She cries out as he smacks her ass, but the pain is shorter because he immediately slips between her open legs, his fingers brushing her labia. The heat and tingling, and the pain, mingle with the pleasure of his fingertips stroking her lips and she starts to moan in more than misery.
He raises his hand and smacks her again, immediately returning to her quivering lips, petting and stroking her, not entering but teasing her body with confusing pain and pleasure. She arches her hips to meet his hand, longing to draw him in and she has to clamp her hand over her mouth again as he raises his hand and brings it down.
He draws it out, each time mingling pain with pleasure. She has no idea how long it takes to complete the eleven, but when he pulls his hand from her clitoris for the last time she’s no longer reluctant to admit “Thirteen.”

x

This time the smacks aren’t as hard, the interval between them grows steadily longer and his fingers delve so slightly deeper each time. By the time the thirteenth stroke has been eased by his fingers petting her clitoris she’s ready to gasp “Seventeen.”
It’s over a minute between each stroke. He spends so much time between her legs, petting and stroking her lips, caressing her vagina and she is arching up for every move. She’s trying to draw him in but he keeps teasing her, not entering. She’s moaning and gasping, her tingling bottom red and hot. He keeps to her clitoris, rubbing gently as she gasps “Nineteen!”
“You can let the floor spank you now,” he forces her over onto the floor, his body covering hers and she spreads herself as wide as she can. She reaches down as his lips press to hers, his hands to her breasts and when she closes her hand about him and presses him to the target she clings to him.
He doesn’t press hard, letting her come up. Her feet braced on the floor she lifts herself up, lifts herself into him and feels the thick head penetrate her. She doesn’t feel any of the pain, only tingling in her hot bottom and nipples as she strives again, taking more and more of him into her. She tries again to get everything and this time he does thrust, filling her! Pressed against her clitoris, his thick shaft buried deep, the orgasm starts at her clitoris, consumes her vagina, her legs, hips, expands to her breasts and her world explodes in incandescent fury.
It is the beginning.