Erotica - Charlotte's Troubles, Chapter 2
The next day found
Charlotte again at her desk before the others had arrived. He was
determined not to engage her. She was maddeningly distracting, making
each minute of the day torture until he could touch her again.
He walked in and
sat down, and she never looked up from her handwriting practice. She
easily had the best penmanship of anyone in school. To be fair, she
was also the oldest. But her handwriting was a reflection of herself:
flowery, feminine, and perfect.
At his desk, he
fumbled with his assignments, desperate to avoid looking at her, lest
he lose control right then and there. It would be the end of the both
of them. She would be sent away, likely to the east, and he would be
driven out on a rail, tarred and feathered.
It's hard for a man
to come back from that.
To his
astonishment, the next time he looked up, she was there, standing
directly in front of him. Almost defiantly. Yet she never spoke until
spoken to.
“Yes, Charlotte?
What is it?” he said, somewhat sharply.
“I'm not a brat,
sir,” she said, softly.
“What's that?”
“I said I'm not a
brat, sir.” Louder, this time. And then she looked him in the eyes.
He was faced with
two choices. Succumb to emotion, or answer the challenge she was
issuing. Such was the power of her submission that he was compelled
to answer with a combination of both.
Softening his voice
a bit, he said, “No, Charlotte. I suppose you are not. You're my
star pupil. Very obedient.”
“I try, sir.”
“Charlotte...how
did you become...this way? Do you know? Was it your father?”
“Yes, sir. I
suppose it was. But in the manner in which you might think. I
watched, over the course of my years, as he grew increasingly
unhappy. As he did, life became poorer for her, as well, until they
were both miserable. So I set out to
find out what makes men happiest. Research.”
“And so you-”
“No, Sir! Never!
Perish the thought. My own parents cannot be helped. I can't discuss
such things with mother. But I decided that I would find a deserving
man, and make sure he was the happiest he could be.”
“And, I,
Charlotte, am the deserving one?”
“No, Sir. Not
exactly. Necessarily.” She blushed. “I needed practice. However,
you are a good man, kindly, yet firm. I cannot say that you are not
deserving. You have no wife. Sometimes, I feel your loneliness.”
“Hmmm.”
He stood, and
walked around to her. She never shifted her position, but remained
facing his chair, tensing almost imperceptibly for whatever was
coming next. Placing a solitary
finger on the side of her face, he turned her to meet his own.
Smiled. Kissed her forehead. “No, Charlotte. You're not a brat.”
She reddened, and a
hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth.
“You are mine,
however. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she
said, breathlessly. She wanted to add, “For now,” but she was
fearful of the consequences.
He stood behind her
and grabbed her wrists, spreading them wider, and moving them away
from her, until she was bent over his desk. Then he stood behind her
and spread her legs wide as well, until she was rendered somewhat
immobile.
Had he time, he
would have tied her down. But despite the generous time allowance she
had granted him by arriving so early, it couldn't be risked. He was
already playing with a particularly dangerous brand of fire as it
was.
He raised the hem
of her long skirt over her hips, and she shivered. Reaching between
her legs, he sought her lips, and squeezed them together. Hard enough
for her to know he meant business. Of course she was already wet.
Now, almost at once, her panties showed a widening wet spot.
To her credit,
Charlotte didn't resist. She didn't move. This, despite the fact that
she had no idea of what was to come next. Not to mention the fact
that she was now half-naked, splayed across the schoolmaster's desk,
seven minutes before her class arrived.
As if to answer her
concerns about being half naked, he took out his cock and slapped it
lightly against her wet slit through her panties, making sure she
could hear it. As he rubbed himself on her, he drew closer, reached
around, and unbuttoned her top.
“Get them out,
Charlotte. Now.”
She did, and they
sat bare, nipples hard, right in front of where he sat each day.
“Pull them,” he
commanded her.
Charlotte moved her
arms, and began to stretch them, to an almost alarming degree,
moaning softly.
It was already too
much for him to take for any longer. But he had an agenda. He
replaced his cock with his fingers, and wet his thumb. Then he placed it
on her asshole, and she began to climax. Charlotte pinched, pulled,
and twisted on her nipples in a most shocking manner as she did so.
And as she came, her ass opened slightly with each spasm. Each time,
she slipped his thumb in a tiny bit deeper, wiggling it. Her orgasm
was amplified exponentially.
By the time she had
finished, she had nearly collapsed. Her cotton panties were now
soaked. As she lay trying to catch her breath, he removed them.
Placed them in his desk drawer. Charlotte, of
course, uttered not a word of protest. His cock was still
engorged, though, and that was a bit of a problem.
“Kneel,” was
all he had to say.
She slid off of the
desk to her knees, as if she had practiced the maneuver. Perhaps she
had, he reflected. At any rate, there
she was. Young, vibrant, voluptuous, beautiful. Her pendulous
breasts, nipples still diamond hard, stood out proudly. They begged
to be slapped. She looked up at him with large brown eyes, all
softness. Her mouth was already open.
Although he wished
to plunged the length of himself into her and launch into her throat,
a different thought came to him. He took out his cock, and instantly
coated her tongue, her lips.
When he stopped,
she swallowed, making sure to make her delight known to him, and then
licked him off of her lips. But before he allowed her to stand, he
wiped his dripping cockhead across her upper lip.
“Leave it,” he
said sternly.
“Yes, Sir,”
Charlotte said, as though she was far away in a dream.
“Back on the
desk,” he told her. He had to move quickly, now.
She resumed her
position on her own as best she could. As she did so, he grabbed his
quill and ink bottle, writing 'Good' on one breast, and 'Wife' on the
other, so that she could read it. When the ink had set a tiny bit, he
wiped it off again, leaving a faint inscription that wouldn't be
visible to others.
She, of course,
couldn't see it yet, but the very act thrilled her, whatever he had
written. The only real
roughness came when he grabbed her hair from behind and stood her up.
She practically came again right then. He buttoned up her
top, leaving one undone, so she could see what he had written, all
day as she sat at her desk.
“Find your seat,
Charlotte. As I will be finding it later...”
“Yes, Sir,” she
said, and moved to do as she was told.
But she knew what
he meant. She only hoped she was ready.
###
The school day was
tortuous for them both. Her headmaster, she
observed, had wrapped her panties in his ink-stained handkerchief,
and seemed to have acquired a bad cold. He couldn't resist smelling
her for more than five minutes at a time, a fact which delighted
Charlotte to no end.
Meanwhile, both of
them simmered slowly all day, thinking about what was to come. It was perhaps
worse for him, although he had no idea of this. He struggled with the
gestalt of what he was doing. He grappled with the minutia of the
coming afternoon. Certainly he had never done anything so shocking in
his entire life. But the situation, and Charlotte itself, it seemed,
demanded it.
For the most part,
however, he worried about her well-being, mentally and
physically.
Academically, he knew that such acts were, by some standard,
perfectly acceptable, even common in some cultures. But with an
unmarried schoolgirl? He had never attempted such a thing with even a
dancehall girl, who would have slapped his face at the suggestion.
Or so he had
presumed. Yet, here he was.
Committed to sodomizing her that very day. The fact that she knew ate
at his conscience. But that didn't diminish his growing excitement.
Charlotte, to a
lesser degree, shared his anxiety. Taking her own
virginity was the one act she nearly regretted, simply because it was
such a valued commodity. Expected, in marriage. Nevertheless, it had
to be done. She had even learned how to fake such a thing in the
event of a marriage.
Her self-training
and experimentation did lead to her penetrating herself anally.
Starting with a finger, she worked herself up to two. Then she began
to use a warmed raw carrot, going deeper. Her favorite became a
slightly larger half-boiled sausage. Still, it was
nothing compared to what she knew was coming. His wordplay was
subtle, but at the same time, pointed.
After some time
dwelling on the subject, Charlotte feared she would wet her skirt.
Sneaking a few items in her pockets, she excused herself at the
proper moment to visit the privvy. Once inside, she gave herself much
needed attention, rubbing herself to orgasm as she desperately tried
to stretch her asshole. It didn't take her
long.
She sat back,
breathing heavily, and mopped sweat from her brow. Hopefully that
would allow her to focus on her schoolwork a tiny bit, rather than be
driven wild for six more hours. Charlotte attended to one more small
matter, and then went back to her desk, taking some extra tissue in
case her moisture problem persisted.
“Glad to have you
back, Charlotte,” he said, not looking up.
“Yes, Sir,” she
said. “I wouldn't want to fall behind.”
It was the only
interaction that she allowed herself with him, until day's end. He
immediately contacted an enhanced case of the sniffles.
As usual, when
three o'clock had arrived, she remained in her seat, despite having
received no punishment that day. But when the classroom emptied, she
undid another button of her blouse, displaying his handiwork from
earlier. He, of course,
focused on grading papers. But what he was really doing was waiting
for everyone to leave the area so that he could abscond with her
unnoticed.
The students were on foot, and he, a buggy, so he erred on
the side of caution. That half hour was
more arduous than the previous seven combined. Charlotte spent
that time completing her homework for the next day, despite her
wandering thoughts. But at
three-thirty, she noticed him beginning to put this things into his
satchel, and her heart began racing. She packed her own, as well, and
waited for direction. At last, he stood,
and said, “Come, Charlotte.”
She almost did.
He extended his
elbow, and she held it, every bit the lady, as they walked to his
wagon. He helped her get
up, and she noticed that his hands gave extra attention to her ass.
Between them sat a
gingham covered picnic basket. When she impertinently opened it and
looked inside, she found only a blanket, and a small bottle of olive
oil. Intriguing. How
could he have possibly known in advance? Charlotte determined that
their minds were more closely connected than she had suspected.
As he drove the
horses down a side road to more abandoned farmland, Charlotte spread
her legs and hiked her skirt high. Casually, she drizzled a bit of
oil on her fingers, though she never needed it, and began to caress
herself in full sight of him. His eyes left her
only to scan the countryside nervously and to insure they remained
more or less on the road.
He flicked the top
button of her blouse, and she responded by opening it entirely. It
was shocking to him, seeing the feminine form on full public display
in the open air and sunlight. At the same time, it seemed like the
most natural thing in the world. Sunlight glistened off of the beads
of oil that clung to her modest patch of short hairs. She
occasionally stopped rubbing herself and pulled her labia apart,
showing him far more than any textbook ever had.
He eventually
looked up long enough to spy the abandoned barn he sought in the
distance, and doubled the horse's speed. He pulled around
behind it, opposite the road, and dismounted. Rather than helping her
down immediately, he unhitched and staked the animal where it could
graze, intensifying the moment by stretching it out. Her dress was
now quite wet. Not that she cared.
At last, he walked
over to her and extended his hand. She took it in her own, slick with
oil, and warm with her heat, and stepped down. To her surprise and
delight, he said her name, and kissed her, hard, at first, and then
tenderly. Unable to say more,
but having silently conveyed volumes, he reached around her for the
basket.
“Please allow me,
Sir.”
He grabbed her
wrist as she grabbed the basket, and pulled her a few yards from the
buggy. To her surprise, he
began undressing himself. Despite having been given no orders,
Charlotte took the blanket out and spread in on the flattest part of
the ground in front of them.
Then she began to
help him finish undressing, unfastening the buttons on his trousers,
and pulling them down. When they were around his ankles, she knelt
and untied his shoes, removing them. His now fully-engorged cock
brushed against the top of her head. Still in the grass,
she stayed in that position until he stepped out of his pants, hoping
to take him in her mouth right then and there.
“Stand,” he
told her.
“Yes, Sir,” she
said.
He looked Charlotte
in the eyes, and his hands went to her breasts as he kissed her neck.
She grabbed him and pulled him closer, until he began to poke her
mound through her dress. He began to kiss her mouth deeply, his
fingers working her nipples as he had observed her doing.
Shocked by her own
audacity, she eventually broke free, grabbed the bottle of oil, and
placed it in his hand. As he watched her, she took the dress off over
her head, and stood naked and proud in the afternoon heat. Beneath her breasts
were written two more words, in her own unmistakable handwriting,
'slut' and 'whore'.
Noting his stunned
approval, or what she had to assume was approval, Charlotte got down
on her hands and knees on the blanket, facing away from him. She
lowered her head and shoulders to the ground, and arched her back
most provocatively, her vulnerable femininity on full display.
He knelt behind her
and rubbed himself up and down the length of her slit. Charlotte
moaned. But when he made to enter her, she said, “Please, Sir. Not
there...”
It was a reversal
of what he had expected to happen. Despite her
eagerness, he found it difficult to bring himself to take her this
way, so savage it seemed. Instead, he lay down beside her, and pulled
her back to him. She giggled, and turned her head toward him as he
kissed her neck and shoulders, and eventually, her mouth.
He pulled on her
nipples, even harder than before, then took her left hand and placed
it on her right breast, so she could continue doing so on her own.
Her right hand, he brought behind her back and placed on her cheek.
Without further
prompting, she spread herself wide. So wide, she actually opened up a
bit, making the display she had put on earlier seem tame by
comparison. He fumbled with the
bottle of oil, applying some first to himself, and then to her.
Cautiously, he entered her with one slick finger, like a diver toeing
the water before jumping in.
“Oh, thank you,
Sir!” she said, trying to encourage him without frightening him off
of his task.
Charlotte pushed
back against him, and his finger was engulfed.
“Wiggle it, Sir.
I beg of you.”
He did, although he
never would have thought of that on his own, and her moans
intensified. She started to buck against him until he took the hint,
and began to slide his finger in and out of her. He took it all the
way back out, and then slid it fully back in, repeating the process
until it became easier each time. But one finger was all he allowed
himself. Or her.
Finally, he removed
it, and Charlotte tried to brace herself for what was coming. She
felt his swollen cockhead rub against her entryway. To her surprise, it
went in somewhat easily. Surprising, because he was at least twice as
big as anything she had ever used on herself before. But, to his
credit, he was careful and slow. Almost too careful and slow for her
liking.
She found that his
head was the hardest part to get in. After than, he picked her leg
up, and she began to rub herself. Rather than charging in as she had
hoped and feared, he applied steady pressure, and slowly inched his
way into her recesses. As he slid into her
at a snail's pace, Charlotte accented his efforts with staccato
bursts of pushing back on her own. Soon, he was in her to the hilt.
She had never felt such a fullness in all her years of research. Mentally or
physically.
In the interest of
experimentation, she took her hand from between her legs and focused
on both of her nipples. The sensations changed, but remained
maddeningly pleasant. When he began to
slide in and out of her, she felt a wave of pleasure building.
Slowly, at first, but it matched his increasing pace. Within a minute
or so, she was taking the length of him, all the way in and out, as
he had done with his finger.
Charlotte couldn't
last much longer, and neither could he.
But when he
whispered in her ear, “Slut,” her pleasure raced ahead of his
slightly, and she began the process of orgasm. By the time he said,
“Whore”, she was screaming.
Instinctively,
perhaps, he slammed his hand over her mouth, and then increased the
pace and severity of what he was doing to her. When he pushed himself
fully into her and held it, she knew he was arriving, also, which
only increased her own excitement. She felt him
pulsate as he pumped what felt like an ounce of semen into her.
When he had
finished, he remained inside of her, but kissed her on the cheek, and
said more quietly. “Wife...”
Her heart soared.
Perhaps he was the one, after all. He did seem to understand her
well. He pulled her close
against him, and they dozed, as he slowly lost his firmness and
eventually fell out of her. They awoke at dusk,
and he kissed her with delicate passion.
“May, I, Sir?”
she asked him, glancing at his cock.
“Yes, you may,
Charlotte. Tomorrow. You're to stay after school and wash the
floors.”
“No fair, Sir,”
she said, smiling.
It was as close to rebellion as she would ever
allow herself.
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