Seduction

The last thing Helen clearly remembered was answering the ring on her front doorbell on Friday evening, a few minutes after she arrived home from work. Then some sort of cloth being thrust into her face...

Now she had awoken in some kind of horrific nightmare. Her arms ached dreadfully and her wrists were on fire. The reason for this was that she was suspended from the ceiling – the ceiling of her cellar room – by a stout rope tied tightly around her wrists. The rope was attached to a very solid looking hook which had been screwed into the ceiling. Her toes barely touched the floor beneath her. She felt very cold and, with a shock, she realised that she had been stripped stark naked.

Nothing in her 42 years of spinsterhood had remotely prepared her for anything like this. She didn't have the slightest idea who might have done this to her. Or why. She had no idea how long she had been here like this.

Suddenly Helen heard a swishing sound, and felt a sharp burning pain flash across her buttocks. She screamed in shock and fear, and tried to swivel around to see what had inflicted the pain on her. She heard a voice – a rich, deep female voice. "So you're awake then. Tell me Miss Morris – is it true that you're really still a virgin?"

Helen was deeply shocked, and chilled by the cold, impassionate tone of the voice. She tried to suppress a sob, and whimpered "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"

Again something whipped across her buttocks, eliciting a scream as she tried to lean away from the pain, straining her poor wrists against the rope. She heard the voice again. "I don't think you understand the rules here, bitch. I ask questions, and you answer. And you haven't answered me yet."

Something hard, thin and cold rested against Helen's bottom, threateningly. She sniffed miserably. "Yes, I am a virgin."

It was a state with which, in these days of rampant promiscuity, she felt quite comfortable, although she never spoke of it. How did this woman know? It had not been a conscious decision. Helen simply had never really been attractive, or attracted, to men. She was aware that some of the congregation at the church made nasty jokes behind her back, about how she'd rather be playing with the vicar's organ than playing the church organ, as she did every Sunday. Surely this couldn't be one of them.

She heard footwear clicking slowly across the concrete floor of the cellar, and the woman stepped into her line of vision, a broad smile on her face. "Good. In that case I'll be the first person ever to have you."

Helen barely heard the words as she stared in astonishment at the vision standing before her. It was like something from a second rate gothic horror film. The woman was tall and muscular. She towered over the short, petite Helen, an effect assisted by high stiletto heels on her thigh-length black leather boots. Above these was a tiny black leather thong. As Helen's eyes drifted upwards she saw a black leather push-up bra, a feature hardly necessary given the size of the woman's quite magnificent bosom. A black leather mask covered the woman's eyes, framed by a cascading lion's mane of silver blonde hair. Flexed in her hands, sheathed in black leather – naturally – bicep-length gloves, was a fearsome looking old-fashioned school cane. Perhaps the most stunning thing about this woman, though, was the tattoo. A huge, sinuous snake adorned her torso, its tail curling under the bra, its body extending across her belly, the head dipping into her briefs. There was something very vital about that snake, very alive, very...with shock Helen realised that it somehow resembled a thick, veined human penis. Not that Helen had ever seen one in the flesh.

The woman leered at Helen's boggling eyes. "Like it? Okay, I'll answer your questions now. I first developed a crush on you ten years ago. Seven years ago I decided that one day I was going to fuck you; and I've spent the last three years perfecting this little fantasy. As to who I am? Well, you can call me Madam. Got that?"

Helen was stunned. The woman had to be someone she knew, but she couldn't even begin to think who she might be. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but...Whoever she was, she was clearly insane. Nevertheless, in her 20 years as a teacher Helen had always prided herself on her ability to control a difficult situation, and she tried to make her voice sound stern as she replied. "Look, you can't possibly get away with this. People will miss me. Release me now, just go away, before you get into real trouble, and we'll forget the whole thing."

The woman sneered at Helen's feeble whine. With sudden, shocking violence she lashed the cane across Helen's thighs, once, twice, three times. Helen's screams echoed around the cellar. Ignoring her now terrified sobs, the woman clutched her victim's face tightly between her gloved fingers, her grim face inches from Helen's as she hissed, "Who'll miss you? It's Saturday – the only person you ever see on a Saturday is some brain dead checkout girl at the supermarket. And by the time you're due in your pretty little church tomorrow, I'll be long gone. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy myself. Now, are you going to be a good girl, and stop whining, or will I have to really hurt you?"

Paralysed by her fear, her face still locked painfully in the woman's grasp, Helen sniffed and almost whispered, "Yes, I'll be good...Madam."

Her face breaking into a grin, the woman mashed her mouth to Helen's, her tongue forcing its way into the older woman's mouth and halfway down her throat. Helen, repulsed, tried to pull away, but Madam's hand was locked firmly behind her head. The other hand attached itself to one of Helen's breasts and twisted painfully. Now Helen screamed into her assailant's mouth, her tongue vibrating against Madam's as she did so. It was only as Madam broke the long kiss, and Helen gasped for breath, that she realised that the hand behind her had not been pressing her head forwards for some time, but had instead dropped to cup one of her still smarting buttocks.

Standing back, and running her eyes up and down Helen's body appreciatively, Madam chuckled. "That was good. And believe me, my love, it'll get better."

As she spoke, Madam peeled off her gloves, slowly, as if making a show of it. Then she stepped forward again and, as Helen flinched, dropped her hand. Helen shuddered as a long finger was drawn along the length of her pussy. Madam lifted the finger and held it up between them, staring at it in surprise. Helen, in turn, stared in utter disbelief. The finger tip glistened with a sheen of moisture. The woman looked delightedly into Helen's face. "You dirty old trollop! I think you like it rough."

Helen felt panic rise within herself at the implication of that statement. It was true that she had noticed, at the back of her mind, a small warm glow in her groin as Madam was assaulting her; but that couldn't possibly have anything to do with arousal, it had to be, well, something else. Nervously she bleated "No, I really don't like pain. I'm a coward, please don't hurt me, pleEEEEEEEEE!"

Madam was behind Helen again, and the cane bit viciously into her backside, over and over again, the sound muffled by her piercing screams. Even though she was down in the cellar, surely a neighbour, or somebody, would hear her anguish? Helen slumped forward, as far as the rope would allow, when her beating was over; but Madam wasn't finished. Pressing her breasts into Helen's slim back, she reached around and squeezed her victim's breasts hard between her fingers. "If you don't like it, tart, why are your nipples so stiff?"

Obviously, Helen thought, it must be because the cellar was so cold. That didn't explain, however, why, shockingly, she could feel a trickle of sticky liquid seeping from her vagina onto her thighs. Oh God, what was happening to her, what was this lunatic turning her into? Madam stalked around to face Helen once again. She unclipped her bra, and dropped it to the floor. Unfettered, her breasts looked even more magnificent, the brown nipples seemingly as big as Helen's thumbs. Yet again she closed in on Helen, gently stroking her cheek. Softly, almost tenderly, Madam said "And now, my sweet it's time for you to pleasure me."

She thrust one of her breasts into Helen's mouth. Seeing no alternative, and scared of the reaction if she didn't co-operate, Helen sucked on the soft flesh. She actually found it quite comforting, almost like an innocent baby sucking on her mother's breast. No baby, however, would have flicked the nipple with its tongue as Helen did, causing Madam to groan, "Oh lover, you're good at this. You deserve a reward."

Withdrawing her tit from Helen's mouth, Madam dipped her head down and took the whole of one of Helen's small breasts into her own mouth. At the same moment several fingers entered Helen's tight slit and began stroking in circles around her labia. This time, as a warm tongue swirled circles around her nipple, teeth dragging up and down her breast, Helen could not deny the warm glow she felt in her loins. As razor sharp finger nails raked agonisingly across her stinging bum cheek the glow threatened to turn into an inferno. Helen heard a deep moan of passion, and realised with shock that it was her own voice making the sound.

Then, abruptly, it all stopped. Madam straightened and stepped back, wiping the back of a hand across her moist mouth. "Not yet my sweet. I don't think you want it enough yet. I'm going to go and have a little rest now – don't go anywhere, will you?"

Laughing at her little joke Madam stalked towards the door of the cellar. Helen, to her own surprise, found herself crying "No, please, don't leave me alone here."

Without a backward glance Madam flicked the light switch and slammed the door. Helen heard her boots clicking up the wooden staircase to the main part of the house. With a feeling of self-disgust, Helen realised that she probably feared being alone, trussed up in total darkness in this, her own cellar, than she feared Madam. Suppose she didn't come back. Would anyone come looking for Helen? She began to quietly whimper as a cloud of self-pity descended on her.

Despite her fear at her situation, and her extreme discomfort, Helen must have drowsed. She was awoken by the light flooding the room again, and immediately screwed up her eyes against the glare. Madam stood before her, hands on her hips. She had removed the boots, and was now clad only in the panties and the face mask. Her shapely legs looked magnificent! She reached out a hand and, as Helen instinctively flinched, stroked her hair. "How are we now my pet?"

Helen, her throat aching from her screams, mumbled barely audibly, "I need a pee."

Wordlessly, Madam walked over to Helen's washing machine and returned with a red plastic bowl. Pushing Helen's legs apart she placed the article between them, reducing still further the negligible contact between Helen's feet and the cellar floor. Grinning, Madam raised herself onto a high kitchen stool she had brought to the cellar and said, "Go on then."

Tears of humiliation burned in Helen's eyes as she heard the stream of fluid hitting the hard plastic, occasional drops splashing onto her ankles. Fuck, she should have said she needed a shit. In the back of her mind she reflected that she had never in her life before used such obscene expressions.

When Helen finished Madam removed the bowl, wiped a finger along Helen's slit and placed it in her own mouth, sucking on it. Then she strolled casually around behind her victim again. Helen felt her buttocks nervously clench. Madam's lips pressed to Helen's ear, as she whispered "Because you've been such a good girl I've got a little present for you."

Fearing the worst, Helen tensed, only to feel soft fingers gently massaging some sort of soothing balm into her abused backside. It stung at first, but Helen slowly relaxed, and the feel of those massaging fingers was really quite pleasant. Madam was even humming a sweet lullaby...

Helen squealed in surprise as a long, firm finger shot up her arse and began reaming around. Only 24 hours earlier Helen would have been revolted to know people even did such things. Now, unable to help herself, she thrust her bottom further onto the probing finger, her hips swaying to increase the sensation, groaning with arousal. She had read about orgasms in the silly magazines she had confiscated from girls at school. Now, for the first time in her life, within seconds she would...

She gasped with a mixture of surprise and frustration as, as quickly as it had been inserted, the finger was removed. Madam stood before her again, holding a finger towards her. Even though she knew it was the finger which had just been inside her arse, Helen accepted it into her mouth and sucked hard, as if her life depended on it. As she did she squeezed her thighs together, trying to recapture the sensation she had been feeling only a few seconds before.

It went on that way for hours. Madam sucked, bit, licked, stroked, scratched, tweaked and caned almost every inch of Helen's body. Time after time she took her captive to the very edge of explosion, only to coolly step back each time, leaving her unfulfilled and ready to scream in frustration. The bitch seemed to be an expert in knowing exactly how far to go to take Helen to the brink, when to stop, and how long it to wait before she could again safely start the process. Sometimes she went away and left Helen alone in the total blackness again. Other times she simply sat on the stool reading a magazine, or talking inanely, like a casual acquaintance on the bus, about TV soaps and celebrities of whom Helen had never heard.

Eventually, as Madam nibbled at one of Helen's armpits, finger nails cutting into Helen's nipples and something long and cold, but much thicker than the cane, nestling between her bum cheeks, the suspended woman knew, with absolute certainty, that if the cow didn't finally give her the release her body so desperately craved she would die from sheer sexual frustration. Wreathed in sweat, despite the coolness of the room, she licked her dry, cracked lips, and hoarsely groaned "Pleeeeaaaase..."

Madam froze. Barely removing her mouth from Helen's armpit, she said "Please what?"

Helen whimpered. "You know what. Please. I need to....I want you to...."

Madam stood again in front of Helen, and the older woman saw with astonishment what it was that had been stroking her arse. A huge black artificial phallus was strapped to Madam's groin. Surely men weren't really that big? Her thoughts were interrupted as her nipples were squeezed like squashed berries between Madam's thumbs and forefingers. Madam murmured, "No, it doesn't work like that. You have to tell me EXACTLY what you want. In detail."

The woman stepped back in surprise as Helen screeched "For Christ's sake, you fucking bitch, I want you to shove that fucking prick up my cunt until I come. Is that detailed enough for you, you shitbag?"

Madam smiled like a cat that had just discovered an ocean of cream. Tenderly she raised a glass of cool water to Helen's lips. She drank greedily. Then, placing the glass on the floor, Madam's hands closed around Helen's hips. Helen felt the air driven from her body as the enormous cock slammed into her pussy, lifting her off her feet. To support herself Helen wrapped her legs around Madam's wide hips. Her assailant's huge tits jiggled before Helen's eyes. She sucked one into her mouth and bit, hard, into the nipple. She felt a surge of adrenalin rush through her at Madam's piecing scream, and the dildo smashed into her even harder and faster than before. Sobbing and wailing, Helen felt orgasm after orgasm crash through her before Madam finally slowed down and, breathing hard, leaned back against Helen's legs, still wrapped around her, the phallus still suspended, but unmoving, in Helen's cunt.

When both women had recovered their breath slightly, Madam asked, between gulps of air. "Now darling, what would you do if I were to cut you down?"

By now Helen knew what was expected of her. "First I'd suck every drop of moisture out of your festering cunt. Then I'd ram that prick up you so hard you'd think your head was about to fly off."

Madam stepped towards Helen and, gently for the first time, pressed her lips to her lover's. As their tongues wrestled for supremacy, Madam's arms reached above her. There was a jerk on the rope and, suddenly, Helen felt herself falling as her arms were finally released. Madam caught her and, taking her in her arms like a small child, their lips still engaged, carried her upstairs to Helen's bed. As they moved Helen felt the exquisite agony of pins and needles as the blood returned to her arms. Madam laid Helen on the bed and, lovingly, attached manacles to her ankles. They were covered in pink fur, but still cut painfully into her flesh. Madam finally removed her panties, and Helen saw that the tongue of the snake tattoo descended across Madam's hairless mound and into her slit.

The women lay together for a few minutes while Madam massaged Helen's arms, to aid the return of circulation. Then, liberated from her self-imposed moral straitjacket, Helen applied herself enthusiastically to her task. She stroked her nipples across Madam's. She traced her tongue down the snake's body. Finally, she plunged her face into Madam's cunt, relishing the musky aroma, and the scream of pain as she bit hard on the large exposed clitoris. Even as Madam's love fluid soaked Helen's face, she squirmed around under her former victim until each of them was lapping the other's slit, their fingernails tearing at each other's backsides, riding wave after wave of orgasmic crescendos.

Helen was woken by the distant sound of church bells. She was alone, under her bedclothes, dressed in her demure nightdress. Of her captor there was no trace – she even found that the hook in the cellar had been removed, the screw holes filled in and painted over. There was no remaining physical evidence of her experience, other than the deep red wheals around her wrists, the angry red stripes across her bum – and a long, slim gold and black vibrator, standing vertically on the coffee table in the lounge. Her face burning in embarrassment at the memory of what she had done with Madam, she hurled the device furiously into the waste bin.

Her arms were still too painful to consider playing the organ so, for the first time in 10 years, she didn't go to church. She really had not enjoyed her recent encounter, she had hated every second of it. She had simply played along, just done what had been necessary to stop Madam from hurting her. The very idea of sado-masochistic sex appalled her. Why then, could she not get thoughts of Madam out of her mind? Those magnificent boobs, the sweet taste of her cunt, the look of ecstasy on her face as Helen had fucked her arse? Before she went to bed that evening, Helen retrieved the vibrator from the bin. She had never used one before, but she swirled it around her pussy lips then hammered it into herself, pinching a nipple painfully between her finger and thumb to increase the intensity of her orgasm.

The next day on the way into school Helen was distracted. Sitting in a pillow ion her car to ease her still sore arse, she just couldn't get Madam out of her mind. She wondered if she would ever know who it was who had showed her the joy of sheer animal lust, only to disappear as suddenly as she had arrived. She was roused from her reverie by the headmaster. "Miss Morris, let me introduce you to our new member of staff. You may remember her. Apparently she was in your class for a few years before her family moved out of the area."

They approached a battered armchair, where a powerfully built young woman, wearing a polo shirt and tracksuit bottoms, lounged sipping coffee. A lion's mane of silver blonde hair framed her face. As Helen stared open-mouthed the head, oblivious to her reaction, smiled at their new colleague. "So Shirley, how are you settling in?"