Unintentional

This is a work of fiction...

Hank sat in his large chair, staring at the sight before him.

Young female, strapped to one of his contraptions, breathing heavily.

Tracy, he thought, damn.

The young lady had knocked on his door.

The knock.

After a bit of confusion, she had confessed to him that she had sneaked into his house one night, hidden in a closet, the one across the room from where he now sat, the one inside the treatment room, and watched him put Helen Garnett through her session.

Then, the young girl had begged Hank until he, for some reason, agreed to put her through her own session. He had even explained the rules to Tracy.

At that thought he shook his head.

Goddamn! Why’d I have to tell her the rules? he berated himself.

The rules.

1. Hank decides on the content of the session.

2. At any point you may ask Hank to stop. But, if you ask, after release you must get cleaned up and leave.

3. If you make it through the session, you may have sex with Hank, or not, if that’s what you want.

4. Hank has the right to stop the session at any point for any reason he deems necessary. If the session is stopped, you may ask for a return engagement or simply leave and not return.

Those were the rules.

Hank knew he could’ve just made the girl leave, or at least, put her through the session and then made her leave.

But no! He had had to tell her the rules.

He sat, looking at Tracy’s body, his lust still heavy within him.

She had endured all of the treatment.

Riding crop.

Hot wax.

Weighted clamps on her nipples.

Her body still bore the red welts he had put with the crop. Welts not nearly as bad as most others endured. And the wax, now cooled and hardened, coated her body, from her large nipples to her absolutely unbelievable asshole and clit. Hank had almost gasped out loud when he had bent her over the table, her ass spreading, drawing his eyes there, holding them.

Hank loved assholes.

Not people who were stupid, but real, crinkled, brown or pink assholes. He had always been turned on by them, ever since he was a kid, watching his older sister bend over in her nightshirt, no panties, pussy and asshole exposed to his young eyes. He could never explain his fetish for them. Tried for a while, then gave up, accepting that it was just a part of him.

Tracy’s asshole was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. What was even better was that she had a huge clit that poked out from between her lips, as big as the end of a finger. There was only one he had seen bigger, in person that is. Needless to say, Hank stared at the sight of those two beautiful parts of Tracy’s anatomy as he had given her the treatment she had begged for.

Now, as he sat, contemplating what to do next, angry with himself for telling her the rules, knowing she was going to want to fuck, his mind recalled her asshole and clit.

His hard cock got harder, pushing out more precum, pooling into his already wet jeans.

He looked down at the spot, growing larger as he sat thinking about what to do next.

He sighed, got up and walked over to Tracy, watching the nipple weights swing slightly as she breathed. Hank had put her on the table, a cushioned apparatus with cutouts for tits and cocks. Person lies face down, feet still on the floor, tits or cock in the cutouts. Hank weights whatever body part sticks through with enough weight that the person will groan, or even cry, as some did.

He put Tracy on the table after blindfolding her, putting in a ball-gag, cuffing her hands behind her back and hot-waxing her nipples and tits.

She had groaned, moaned, but not cried. Not even when he weighted those hard nipples with enough to stretch them to three times there normal length. The only time she had done more than groan was when he whipped her clit with the riding crop.

Then, she had cum, not screaming, but getting close. The sound had made Hank’s lust grow to where it was at the moment.

Huge, heavy, demanding.

But, Hank had done a lot, been this horny more times than he could count and many times denied his own release, especially when he knew that would torture his client more than any of his devices could.

He wondered if perhaps this was one of those times.

As he stood next to her, Tracy turned her head towards him. She didn’t speak, couldn’t with the gag still in, but he knew she was communicating.

“You ready to get up?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t the proper thing for him to say at this point,

No response.

He sighed again, then had a thought.

“Tracy, you’ve completed your session. Before you decide what to do next, there is one more thing I demand of you. This is in payment for sneaking into my house. Listen closely, and after I speak I’ll remove the gag and blindfold. Understand?”

She nodded.

Hank walked around the table, observing the prone, naked body of Tracy as he spoke. When he looked at her asshole, her wet pussy, he had to hesitate.

“Tracy, you must tell me about when you learned, when you knew that you had any sort of liking, craving, fixation with this sort of sexuality. You’re young, and haven’t had time to have explored this fully enough to know where you are in it. But, I want to hear how you came to this point. Is that clear?”

She nodded again.

Hank undid the snaps and buckles on the gag, then slipped the blindfold off her eyes. She blinked and squinted her eyes, stretched her jaw, then smiled at him, expression calm but still full of lust.

Hank left her restrained and sat back down in his chair. She had to turn her head sideways to look at him. If he had remained standing, he would’ve been tempted to look at her asshole again. And he was horny enough as it was.

“Begin,” he said, and she did.

Hank was fascinated how much her thoughts and desires were like his own, the ones he had as an ignorant kid, stumbling along in sexual darkness, unsure of where to place his next step.

Tracy had seen things from a perspective Hank never had, a female one. Some of her feelings were vastly different than his, lust mixed with a sort of nurturing, mothering desire. The words she used, the phrases sounded as if she had thought this through, or at least done a lot of reading.

Hank interrupted Tracy. “What’s your major at the university?”

“Psychology,” she answered.

Makes sense, he thought.

She talked about watching movies in which a person or a group would be bound, beaten, tortured, how this made her pussy wet, made her feel almost angry, in a controlling way, wanting to expend her passion on someone.

“You ever feel guilty?” he asked her.

“Of course. My parents are very religious people. The town I grew up in had more churches than anything else. Guilt was a way of life,” she said, almost bitterly.

Hank nodded, understood her feelings. “Yeah, same for me too. Go on,” he said quietly.

Tracy then spoke of how the Internet had opened up a whole new world for her. How she had seen what others did, how they expressed what she had only felt and thought. The discovery that others were much the same as herself had been liberating.

Until her mother caught her looking at porn.

Tracy had been fifteen.

Her mother had beat her with a belt, not knowing that the punishment she delivered was just what Tracy needed. Not because it taught her to stay away from such “sinful” sights, but because within the blows that her mother rained down upon her, Tracy found release.

“I had an orgasm while my mother whipped me,” Tracy said, her voice low and soft. “She never knew, couldn’t tell the difference between my squeals of pleasure and pain. Hell, I couldn’t tell the difference, except inside.”

Hank shook his head.

Incredible, he thought.

He remembered going with his parents to see his older sister at college. They had gone to see the French Connection, Hank being only thirteen, it had been his first R-rated movie.

But it wasn’t the movie that got to him. It was the previews.

The theater he and his family were in was one that played X-rated as well as other movies. And, this night, they were showing the previews for several X-rated films. During one of the previews, Hank, who was sitting on the end, next to his sister, got so hard, so excited, he came in his pants.

What made him cum was the scene of a man, kidnapping a lady detective, torturing her, then eating her until she orgasmed. The scene was so erotic to Hank he almost never got it out of his head.

He had cum without ever touching his cock, his seed spilling from him in a river that soaked his jeans. Most of it had dried by the time the main feature was over, a feature he had to see again, later in order to know what had gone on. Hank’s sister had handed him her sweatshirt as they got up to leave, pulling it on over his head, letting it hang low enough to cover the wetness that still remained. The look in her eyes, the understanding, would be something they would share in later years, talking for hours about their desires.

Tracy was quiet, staring at him.

“You okay?” she asked. “You looked sad.”

“Nah, just remembering something,” he said.

“I boring you?” Tracy asked.

“Oh no! What you were sayin’ reminded me of an incident in my own life, that’s all,” Hank said, looking down at his wet jeans, smiling. “Go on.”

“After that I was just more careful about my porn surfin’. I found some people in my home town that were kinda into it, but not too deep. They were all older, too.” She winced when she saw Hank smile at her reference to his age. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “No need to be sorry. That was the whole reason I asked you to tell me about yourself, your desires. Most women don’t get into this sort of stuff ‘til they’re older. There are young ones, but not many who feel an obsession for this, like some of us do.”

Tracy smiled. “The last part, the part that brings me up to this is somewhat disappointing. I cam to this university because of a couple I met online. They seemed to be into the lifestyle I wanted, needed. I got together with them when I came to visit the school. The session was hot, erotic, not everything I wanted but better than anything I’d had. After I got here, they split. She decided she liked women more than men and left him for some chick. I fucked him once after their split, but his heart wasn’t in it. I expected him to be angry, passionate, take out his feelings on me. Instead, he fucked me, then began to cry. When I left he was still crying. I never heard from him again. Last time I checked he had left town. I was wondering what I was going to do when I stumbled onto you.”

Hank looked at Tracy for a minute. “So, you weren’t just being voyeuristic. You were looking for something more.”

“I was hopin’ to find anything kinky. Just luck that I hit the jackpot,” she said, a very satisfied smile on her face.

Hank had a question. “Tracy, aren’t there a lot of guys at the school who’d just love to give you what you like? I can’t imagine you ever having to do without.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “I know you know better than that. Sure, I can get fucked any time I want. So could you. But, that’s not really what we want, is it?”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long while.

“You sure are smart for such a young woman,” Hank said.

“Oh, now I’m a woman, not a kid,” Tracy said with a wry smile.

“Yeah, Tracy, you deserve to be called a woman, at least in my book,” Hank said, standing, letting her see his still hard cock and the huge wet spot on his pants.

Tracy stared at his pants. “Oh shit, is that for me?”

Hank shook his head as he began to undo her restraints.

“It’s because of you but not for you,” he said, staring one more time at her asshole as he undid her ankles.

She rolled over onto her back, sat up and looked at Hank. “The rules state...”

Hank shook his head.

“I knew I never should’ve told you the rules,” he said. “Besides, I also told you I don’t do youngsters.”

Tracy slid to her feet and stood in front of him, she slid one hand along the huge outline of his still hard cock.

“The rules state...” she said.

Hank shook his head. “I said you were smart. What I meant was smartass,” he said.

Tracy grinned. “The rules state...”