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ChrisGreen -> The Visitor (10/12/2004 11:38:23 AM)
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It was afternoon and I was potato-couched in front of the TV with my mind in neutral, my wife had gone out and left me another list of things to do, which I had left in the kitchen and forgotten about, again.
The doorbell intruded into my empty head, so I got up and opened the door, an old enemy stood there, she and I have not spoken for a long time, "Your wife asked me to pay you a visit, here, take my bags."
She pushed past me, went into the sitting room, turned the TV off, "Bring those bags in here, Christopher."
I moved into the lounge, she was dressed as a visiting District Nurse, and she handed me her pillbox hat and navy blue overcoat, and I saw she was wearing a blue sister's overall.
I hung her garments up, in the hall, asked her, "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"Yes, that will be nice, Christopher; you will call me Sister Singer, whenever we meet like this, now and in the future, do you understand, Christopher?"
"Yes, mmm," she raised her thin black eyebrows, behind the thick black rims of her glasses, "Yes, Sister Singer," her body relaxed, she flicked her head and her black, bob-cut hair rustled on the collar of her overall.
"Get the tea, Christopher, take your time, make it strong enough to stand a spoon up in it."
"Yes, Sister Singer," I moved to the kitchen, and boiled a kettle of water, warmed the pot, put in 3 teabags, and poured the boiling water over it, then stirred, and waited and mashed and waited, until the colour was right. The cupboard was full of mugs, but I found a cup and saucer and milk jug and sugar bowl, and assembled the whole for afternoon tea, for one.
I raised my voice, "Sister Singer, may I serve your tea?"
"Not yet, Christopher, I shall call when I require your presence, for now, you can drink some water, and wait for me."
I waited, and waited, and the tea in the pot cooled, and I made another pot, and that too cooled, and she shouted, "Lazy fat bastard get in here now!"
I ran to her, she was standing in the middle of the lounge, all the furniture was pushed against the walls, and I came to a sudden stop, she had her hands on her hips and her elbows pushed out, legs apart, hips pushed forward, polished black riding boots, below a long white apron, a broad black leather belt on her waist, and the apron bib fastened onto the upper breast of her overall.
She smiled, her green eyes very wide, her tongue tip touched her top lip and slid slowly left and then right, "Strip!"
I turned away from her, and she walked to me and turned me round, "Show me your cock, little Christopher, and I'll show you my cane - how long do you think Chrissy is going to be hard before Sister has reduced him?"
My hands lowered my pants, and took off my trousers and underpants, I removed the rest of my clothes, my cock rose, she walked towards me and stopped with my cock end just on her lap.
"Chrissy wants to fuck his Nanny-wanny, does he? Not in this lifetime sunshine! Bend over!"
Her hand slid along my back and clamped over the back of my neck, her other hand carried a rod, which she flexed, tapped gently against my bottom, tap, tap, soft and gentle, tap, tap, tap, and all the time waiting, waiting, when is she going to start, tap, tap, tap, hit me, please hit me, tap, tap, tap.
She pulled a stool over with one of her booted feet, placed her left foot on top of it, hitched me higher over her knee, her left hand shoving my head deeper and lower, why my cock dug deep into the inside of her thigh.
Tap, tap, tap, her rod tickled my bottom, tap,tap,tap, waiting, waiting, waiting, my legs dangling free, tap, tap, tap, the softness of her apron under my tummy, the firmness of her thigh under my prostate, the soft touch of her hand on my bottom, fingers trickling and walking over my skin.
Tap, tap, tap long pause, I feel the apron tighten under me, hear the crisp slither of cotton on cotton, feel her reaching higher and higher, and feel her tummy muscles tighten, and then the whistling rush of the rod and the agony burning into my bottom as it bites deep into my plump cheeks.
She saws the rod deep into me, driving it and slicing and cutting, forcing the wheals to stand out more; she raises the rod and slowly the vast coil of her body is tightened and tightened until the merest breath will release her rod and she waits, and I wait, and wait, and then the rippling of cotton and the whistle of rod, and I am burned and sawn again.
Six blows from her right hand, 6 from her left, all change Christopher, all change Christopher, 36 strokes of the rod, and I am her choir boy and sing the song of her metronome.
She pushes me off her knee, and I fall to the floor, whimpering, I hear her walk to the kitchen, draw some water and hear her drinking it.
She returns, "My tea is cold Christopher, get over that stool you lazy bastard, time for your birching."
I crawl over the low stool, knees on one side and forearms and elbows on the other, Sister reached around me and pulled a chain tight, and clamped it to the stool, then walked over to her cricket back and pulled out a very dry, very long, triple birch rod, she saw me watching, grinned at me, waggled the rods, "three canes in one Choirboy, you are going to sing sweetly for Sister Singer, my lad."
She stood beside me, ran the rods over and around my body, poking them in, into the flabby bits of my body, "you need some exercise my dear, I shall weigh you before I leave, you had better lose weight before each of my visits, or else, today's thrashing will seem like a lover's kiss by comparison."
Sister laid the rods on my back, walked away removed her leather belt, took off her glasses and laid them with the belt, lifted her skirts and removed her knickers and dropped them into the cricket bag.
Pulled a low chair over beside my head, sat down, flipped her skirts up, "Get your tongue out and working Christopher."
I slid the tip over her skin and tasted a slight saltiness, the surface was soft and hairless, and I worked on the outside of her labia, waiting for the lips to engorge before sliding my tongue inside, and seeking the small pea at the top of her lips, and teasing that into a fully-inflated clitoris, I circled and taped and circled and tapped, with my tongue, letting my saliva slide into her cunt. My lips slid over her lips and I sealed her with a kiss, and rippled my mouth against her skin.
We embraced, in the sexual dance of the imprisoned slave and the goading mistress.
Then she stood, no words, no warning, the chair is moved, the rods lifted and dropped and lifted and dropped, faster and faster, stronger and stronger, until I see her stepping back and forth and her knees bent and delivering the full force and body behind each blow.
I listen and can hear an unearthly screaming and whimpering, and become away that that is me, and that the rods are eating into my shoulders, back and bottom, my legs and thighs, I feel the chain thrown off and I am thrown on my back on the floor and still the evil goddess thrashes the rods into me, harder and harder, I see only tears and vague shapes, my voice croaks.
Then I am wrapped in woman, wrapped in cotton apron, and we lie exhausted, and my blood soaks into her uniform, and I know that my lust for pain is satisfied until another day; and that her lust for revenge is quenched until next month.
[image]local://upfiles/55668/4DD78AEE46604169A272FDDE2E39C2D5.jpg[/image]
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