Jane Woodstone, 20 years old with pale red hair and skin the color of cream, sat in the uncomfortable collage desk in the lecture hall. She had been fidgeting in her seat all night; not because she was bored--it was just that these damn seats were always so uncomfortable.
The lecture hall at the college was packed. Tonight's guest lecturer was Professor David Wells, a well renowned psychologist whose field of expertise was human sexuality.
He was doing a cross-country tour to promote his new book, "A History of Sexual Fetishism."
The lecture hall was mostly filled with female students, and Jane could see why. Professor Wells was quite attractive; somewhere in his 40's, in very good shape with salt and pepper hair and a finely tailored suit. Hearing an attractive, intelligent man talk so frankly about sexual fetishism was enough to turn most of the female students melt like butter on a hot knife.
Professor Wells was currently talking about bondage and BDSM, and projected onto the large screen behind him were images throughout history of women (and men) in various states of sexual bondage. Jane finally sat still, transfixed
"In the past," the Professor was saying, "this type of fetish was regarded as a mental illness. The ICD-10 classified sadomasochism as a "disorder of sexual preference.' The DSM-IV states that the fantasies, sexual urges, behaviors, etc, must cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning."
On the screen there was a photo of a redheaded woman, nude, dangling from the ceiling, her body encased in purple rope resembling spider webbing. Jane felt herself flush a little. She had always had a little submissive streak, and that was part of the reason she had wanted to attend this lecture.
She had never really acted on her desires. There had been a few boyfriends who had playfully bound her hands with neckties, or used fuzzy novelty handcuffs on her, but nothing really serious. Nothing that really aroused her the way her own thoughts and fantasies did.
"These days," the Professor said, leaning on his podium, "bondage and BDSM culture are more mainstream than ever. You can see sexual uses of bondage in advertising, to mainstream movies, to romance novels. There is of course still a stigma about it; not everyone is willing to admit that sometimes, they just really need a good spanking."
The audience burst into laughter at this, and one or two people applauded playfully.
"Pleasure from pain is nothing new. Besides the obvious examples of de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, we have The Story of O, by Anne Desclos, alias Pauline Reage. The book was scandalous for a million different reasons--the fact that it was written by a woman being one of them. People were shocked that a woman could willfully write a book in which she described another woman who wanted to be punished for sexual pleasure; who thrived on it. And this was the 50's, remember--the age of Leave it to Beaver and the American Dream."
More laughter from the audience.
"There has always been a fine line between pain and pleasure," the Professor continued. "And our desires will always drive us."
When the lecture ended, there was a very long line to meet the Professor and get him to sign his book. Jane had to be up early the next morning for class, but she was determined to meet the man. She was last in line, and the line moved painfully slow.
Almost an hour and a half went by before Jane finally arrived at the table the Professor was sitting at.
"Hello there," he said, smiling up at her. He had clear blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline, and Jane felt a slight tingle between her legs. The man was devastatingly handsome.
"Hi," Jane said in almost a whisper. Then there was a very awkward silence between them. The Professor smiled.
"Would you like me to...sign your book?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, please," she said, and handed him a copy she had purchased at the campus bookstore earlier this afternoon.
"Who shall I make it out to?"
The Professor scribbled inside the book and shut it and handed it back to her.
"I really enjoyed your lecture," Jane blurted out.
"I'm glad to hear it," the Professor said.
"I've always been...uh...interested in this sort of stuff," Jane said, and felt herself blushing.
"Oh yes? And how do you entertain your interests?"
"I don't, really," Jane said, laughing nervously.
The Professor's smile turned into a leering grin. "Oh, that's a shame. A beautiful girl like you--surely you can find someone to help you with your fantasies."
"Not really," Jane said, shifting from one high-heeled boot to another; feeling very nervous and yet at the same time enthralled.
The Professor picked up his briefcase and put several papers into it before shutting it; then he rose to his feet.
"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.
Jane blushed. "Um, okay, sure," she said. "Where at?"
"My hotel has a nice bar," he said. "Let's hail a cab."
Before she knew it, Jane was sitting at the hotel bar next to the Professor. She was not a big drinker, and had no idea what to order, so he told her to get a dirty martini, and she accepted. She hadn't eaten much that day, and the alcohol was going right to her head.
The Professor made small talk, flashing her smile and making her laugh with his jokes. And then he said: "Would you like to come up to my room?"
"Yes," she said quickly, and giggled. She was tipsy. She didn't care.
They rode the elevator up. Once in the Professor's room, he said: "Take your boots off, please. I want to see your feet."
"Um, sure," Jane said. She sat down on the arm of a couch and removed her boots.
"Socks too, please," the Professor said. Jane complied, wiggling her toes once they were freed.
"Very nice," the Professor said.
Jane blushed. "Thanks, I guess. No one's ever commented on my feet before..."
"Feet can be very sexy," the Professor said, crossing the room to a suitcase resting on a counter. "People like to pretend that's not true, but why do you think women get pedicures, and paint their toe nails? It's just another way to attract someone."
Jane looked down at her own feet. She supposed they were kind of cute; not too big, not too small. She giggled again, mostly due to the alcohol.
The Professor opened his suitcase and reached inside. He produced a pair of heavy duty steel handcuffs.
"I'd like to try some things with you, Jane," the Professor said. "If you'd be up for it."
"Like what?" she said, slightly nervous.
"I assure you, nothing harmful. You've told me you always wanted to explore this type of 'thing' but never really found someone who could 'do it right.' I assure you, I can do it right. And I promise you--the minute you feel uncomfortable or want to stop, say the word. And we'll be done."
Jane thought long and hard. While she was thinking, the Professor removed his suit jacket and took off his tie, revealing his well-toned torso.
"Sure, what the hell," Jane said, shrugging.
The Professor crossed the room to her.
"Hold out your hands," he said. Jane complied. He clicked the handcuffs around her wrists--tight but not too tight. They were very heavy.
"How does that feel?" he asked.
"Okay," she said, shrugging.
"Good," he said, and softly ran a finger across the inner thigh of her jean-clad legs. Jane flinched, but did not pull away.
The Professor took his neck tie and tied it around Jane's eyes, blindfolding her.
"Wait here," he said.
In her own personal darkness, Jane nodded. She listened as she heard the Professor moving about the room.
Then she heard his voice: "Walk to me."
"I can't see you," she said, laughing.
"Follow my voice," was his reply. "This way."
Jane took a step forward, her cuffed hands limp in front of her. She felt the soft carpet beneath her bare feet. She continued on, stepping cautiously, as if she might step off a high cliff at any second.
"That's good," she heard the Professor's voice say. "Keep walking."
Jane shuffled forward, biting her lower lip, feeling her heart thudding in her chest. There was something thrilling about this; about her unable to see where the hell she was going, and having to rely entirely on him to tell her what to do; where to go.
"Walk a bit faster," his voice commanded. "It's okay."
Jane started to step more assuredly. She confidentially strolled towards his voice.
Her bare foot stepped on something cold and hard; something comprised of wood and metal. And then there was a loud SNAP! in the air and hot pain surged through her.
"OWW!" Jane cried, losing her balance and falling back onto her ass. Her foot was throbbing in pain. She reached up with her cuffed hands and pulled down her blindfold. A mousetrap was clamped around the toes of her left foot.
The Professor smiled.
"Jesus, that really hurt," Jane said incredulously.
"It's supposed to hurt," the Professor said. He knelt down and carefully removed the mousetrap from Jane's toes. Then he gently rubbed her foot, and bent over and gave it a soft, brief kiss.
Jane tingled all over, the pain mixing with a sudden rush of sexual emotion.
"Would you like to stop?" the Professor asked.
"No," Jane said.
He helped her to her feet and un-cuffed her hands.
"Remove your shirt, if you please," he said.
Jane was wearing a button-up white oxford shirt, with a black tank-top beneath. She unbuttoned the oxford and took it off.
"Tank top too?" she said, raising an eye-brow seductively.
The Professor smiled. "No, not now. Come with me."
He led her into a small kitchen area and pulled out a chair, instructing her to have a seat. She complied. He was gone for a moment, then back in a flash, clutching a large coil of purple rope in his hand.
He began to bind her to the chair, wrapping the rope first above and below her breasts, cinching it tight against the back of the chair. He pulled her arms behind the back of the chair and bound her wrists together; he seemed to know the perfect amount of pressure, where the bindings were tight but not tight enough to be uncomfortable.
More rope went around her thin waist. Then her knees and thighs were bound together.
Next, he tied rope around her neck--which Jane felt very uncomfortable about, but said nothing. He ran the length of rope from her neck down to her wrists, and bound the middle of it around her already bound wrists. It was at such an angle that she was forced to lean her head back over the chair, her red hair hanging down.
The Professor ran the end of the rope down under the chair, and wrapped it around her ankles, pulling the rope back and tight, so that her legs were pulled under the chair, her toes a few inches above the floor.
"How does that feel?" he asked, rising to his feet.
"Snug," Jane said, squirming a bit. The Professor stroked her cheek, then slapped her--hard.
Jane's ears began to ring, but at the same time she felt incredibly wet between her legs.
"Was that too hard?" the Professor said.
"N-no," Jane said.
"Good," he said, and slapped her even harder. Her face stung and her head pounded like a drum, and between her legs she felt her labia throb.
"Unf," she moaned. The Professor went to his suitcase and produced a large, red ball gag.
"Open wide, please."
Jane complied. He forced the ball between her teeth and strapped it around the back of her head.
Next, he reached down to the bottom of her tank-top. "May I?" he asked.
"Mmhnnhmmf," Jane said, nodding, She felt drool forming around the ball, and this thrilled her.
The Professor pulled her tank-top up, exposing her belly.
From his suitcase he produced a small leather flogger. He began to whip her bare stomach. It stung but it also felt incredibly good. Jane let out muffled cries through her gag, drooling harder, growing more and more wet between her legs, soaking through her panties.
After the whipping session, she was unbound from the chair, but the ball gag was left in her mouth.
The Professor led her into the bedroom and instructed her to pull her jeans down. She did so and stepped out of them.
"Lay across my lap," he said, sitting on the bed.
Jane complied, face down. The Professor pulled her panties down sightly, exposing her ass. He began to spank her, soft at first--then hard. Jane cried out into her ball gag with each slap, her ass growing red hot.
She was incredibly aroused, and actually reached up to touch herself.
"No," the Professor said, swatting her hand away. "You may only pleasure yourself if I say so."
Jane was tempted to pull the gag out and tell him to go fuck himself, but she complied; she was enjoying this too much.
The Professor helped her off his lap and lay her face down on the bed. He bound her spread-eagle with more of his purple rope, her hands and feet bound to the four posts of the bed.
He pulled the gag from her mouth. "I want to hear you for this next part," he said.
Before she had a chance to ask what the "next part" was, the Professor slid a heavily lubed dildo up into her asshole.
Jane screamed in pain and pleasure.
"Holy FUCK," she cried, her eyes wide.
"Would you like me to stop?" the Professor asked, applying pressure on the dildo.
"GOD NO," Jane said.
The Professor slid the dildo in and out of her ass, sending shock-waves through her entire body. She was soaking wet now, and there was a moment when she thought she was actually going to cum.
But, as if he could sense this, at that moment he stopped and removed the dildo.
The Professor unbound her from the bed posts, but then tied her in a very restricting hog-tie, with her head at the edge of the bed.
"Jane, would you like to suck my cock?" he asked her.
"Yes," Jane said, gasping, her asshole sole, her pussy soaked. "Yes, please."
The Professor pulled his thick, erect cock from within his pants. He rubbed it against her check; she felt the warm flesh of it and shuddered. Then he held it in front of her mouth.
"Lick it," he said. "Just the tip."
Jane complied; licking and sucking on the tip of his member. As she was doing this, he quickly shoved his whole cock as well as his balls into her mouth, deep-throating her and making her gag. She instinctively tried to pull away, but he grabbed her by her red hair and held her head in place as he fucked her mouth.
After a few minutes he came, violently. She felt his cum shooting down her throat; she loved the taste of him.
He pulled out. Jane gasped for air.
"Would you like to stop?" he asked.
"No," she said, cum and drool dripping from her lips.
The Professor untied her, and then cuffed her hands in front of her again.
"Pleasure yourself, Jane," he said. "I want to watch."
Jane began to rub and massage her clit. She slid three fingers inside her cunt and used her thumb to continue to work the clit. She moaned and bit her lower lip. She moved fast. She was close to climax.
"DON'T," the Professor said. "Don't you dare cum."
"Oh, god, please," Jane said, eyes closed.
"Beg me," the Professor said. "Beg me to let you cum."
"Please let me cum," Jane said, panting.
"I can't hear you, bitch."
"PLEASE," Jane cried. "PLEASE let me cum!"
"Please SIR," Jane said, instinctively knowing what he wanted. "Please, sir, may I cum?"
"Yes, bitch," the Professor said. "You may."
Jane moved at a furious speed and came violently. She sighed in release and fell back onto the bed.
"Jesus Fucking Christ," Jane said, breathing heavily.
The Professor stood over her, smiling.
"Would you like to stop?" he asked.
"Never," Jane said, and grinned.