5 comments/ 26468 views/ 2 favorites Sable By: destinie21 This story is copyright of destinie21 please do not reproduce or copy without permission from the author. Enjoy. * My black boots clicked across the floor in the lobby of the office building as I made my way to the elevator. I knew more than one set of eyes was on me as I pressed the button and waited for the contraption to descend so that I could board. My hair was completely unbound and hung just past my shoulders in a mass of curls that were just barely under control. I ran my nails through my hair to tame some of the wildness and almost tapped my foot with impatience. I was feeling just a little anxious and a bit nervous at what I was about to do but I wasn't really the type to let a little bit of hesitance stop me. The doors of the elevator opened and I stepped in pressing the floor I wanted to go to. I sighed when the elevator stopped so that two more people could board. reaching into the pocket of the full length golden sable coat I wore I pulled out my compact and checked my make up I almost laughed out loud when I saw the reflection of the two women who stood behind me. Both of them were glaring, one of them had on a decent looking leather coat and the other was wearing a faux mink that probably would have looked much more authentic if I wasn't standing right in front of her. I focused my eyes on my own reflection then quickly snapped the compact shut, my makeup was flawless but it never hurt to make damn sure. Just as the doors opened onto the floor I was going to I slipped the compact back into my pocket and shot the two women a smile over my shoulder. I walked to her office and raised my hand to knock on the door that was slightly ajar. She wasn't expecting me but I knew her lunch break would start in less than ten minutes and I wanted to make sure she'd be spending it with me. When she said come in I did just that. The look of shock on her face was absolutely priceless. I shut the door clicking the lock into place without even turning around. Stepping away from the door I spoke. "You don't mind if I take my coat off and wait for you do you?" Before she could speak I paused in the middle of the room and quickly undid the coat, then I opened it and let it slide from my body and right on to the floor. The only thing I was wearing was a pair of chocolate brown thigh high boots and a smile. I sat in the chair that was opposite her desk and spread my legs she never took her eyes off of me as I slipped my fingers into my already wet pussy. I had been wet ever since the thought formed in my devious little mind and just to be doubly sure I'd given my cunt a nice once over in the car before stepping out to enter her office building. My fingers slid in and out shiny beneath the fluorescent lights that lit the sparsely furnished room. I arched my back as I drove my fingers into my center hard and fast and pinched my nipples with my other hand giving each ring a little tug as I did so. I was moaning but working hard to keep the volume of my voice under control. This was her office and she wouldn't be at all pleased if I was heard screaming, I was slightly rebellious but I was no fool . Just before I drove myself over the edge with my thrusting fingers I stopped first of all I knew I would scream, secondly all of this had been nothing more than a teasing game. I licked my fingers clean while she continued to stare she hadn't said one word or allowed a single expression to cross her face so I had no idea what her reaction was. Smiling I looked at my watch and feigned surprise, "oh I have to go." I snatched up my coat and put it back on making quick work of the hook and eye fasteners, my hand was on the doorknob when she called my name quietly. I turned to face her not daring to walk out. "You know you're in trouble right?" I nodded and licked my lips. "I know." was all I said before departing. Sable Chapter 1 I am a writer - luckily a moderately successful one - of what I call 'Romanticised History', which the publishing industry prefers to refer to as 'Faction' - the partial fictionalisation of what otherwise are well documented historical facts. Having majored in both English and British History at university, and always hoping that I would at some time be able to write about the more dramatic episodes from the past, when this type of book became increasingly popular I took to it like a duck to water. Normally I'm more than happy to write in my own apartment - I have a library of reference books, plus access to the Internet, from which I garner the more obscure details of times past. But once I have a satisfactory first draft of a book, and start on the tedious task of editing and re-writing, I need somewhere where I am cut-off from both phone and visitor interruptions. A couple of years ago I came across a cottage - well not much more than a semi-glorified cabin really - in the mountains a couple of hours drive West of the city, and from time to time I have rented it for a week or so, then work from there. So when my most recent book had reached the editing stage I rang the agent and made a booking, then drove leisurely up to what I have come to think of as my writer's retreat. It was late Summer, so I knew there would be few, if any, tourists about, and as the previous weeks had been heavy with not only writing, plus several literary and social engagements, but also a rather bitter row with the guy I'd been dating and screwing in recent months, I was actually looking forward to a few days of relative isolation. And as the cottage was surrounded on three sides by the densely forested bush, and was at least a hundred metres from its nearest neighbour, I could be certain of having that. I had stopped to eat, and to stock-up on groceries and other essentials, so it was dusk by the time I arrived and then settled myself, and in normal circumstances I would have done no more than shower and take myself off to bed. But for some reason I felt both mentally and physically restless, and given I knew how hazardous the Australian bush can be, I perhaps unwisely, decided to settle my mind by taking a short walk. There was a reasonably well defined track that I had used on previous visits, and I set off along it - but within twenty or thirty minutes, as it grew progressively darker, I must have missed the turn-off that looped around to take me back to the other side of my cottage. But, equally foolishly, rather than turn and immediately begin retracing my steps, I stumbled on, and only when I found myself pushing through bush that had became increasingly impassable, did I accept that I was in fact - lost! It was when I did finally turn and was beginning to try to find my way back again that I suddenly found myself falling! Now, although I didn't know precisely where I was, I did know the area well enough to realise that I had probably tumbled headlong over one of the edges of the escarpment - which were well-weathered sandstone cliffs rearing some three to four hundred metres up from the valley floor. However, miraculously my fall hadn't been straight downward - which would have left my body broken and mangled amongst the valley's gum trees, and given the unlikelihood of any walkers ever coming across it, the bleached and uneaten remnants probably lying there indefinitely. But although the fall was luckily only a few metres, it was more than enough to both knock the wind out of me, and, given the sudden and excruciating pain coming from one ankle, leaving me sprawling semi-helplessly on some kind of rocky ledge. By then the gloom had further intensified, making it hard to see exactly what my predicament was, but, by feeling up and around me, I discovered that the ledge was no more than a metre or so wide, and even by using my one good leg to hop upwards I could reach neither the top of the rock-face, nor even find any kind of hand-hold. I was effectively, totally stranded! I tried hard not to panic - and knowing it was pointless crying out for any kind of help, I reserved my energy and mentally prepared myself for at the very least, an unwanted and uncomfortable night out under the stars. Unlike many other wild places, the Australian bush at night is mostly a silent one - with none of the day-time crickets, cicadas and bird-alarms to break it - the only purely nocturnal animals venturing virtually soundlessly about their business. And as that night was dead calm, there was not even the soft 'shushing' sound of an occasional breeze disturbing the eucalypts' topmost branches. Apart from my overall situation - which, given the remoteness of where the cottage was, was not a very good one - right then the thing that scared me most, was that I might actually fall asleep, and in my slumber, roll straight off the edge of that far too narrow ledge. So I spent the time in various ways; sometimes trying vainly to count the stars that were growing increasingly bright above me, sometimes re-writing those sections of my book that I had come there to fix, sometimes re-phrasing what I had too emotionally shouted at my sometime lover, and sometime just tightly hugging my knees and feeling both cold and utterly miserable. Two or three hours must have passed in that way, then, although so faint it was barely audible, I thought I heard a movement in the bush above me - then an even fainter 'snuffling' sound. At first I thought it could well be an exploratory possum, but then, with the benefit of the night-vision I had then acquired, I saw a movement - and realised that hanging down over the rock-face, was a short length of rope! Now at any other time I might well have asked myself - what was someone doing bush-walking at that time of night, and carrying a length of rope with him? But right then I think I would have preferred to confront a raping axe-murderer than facing the prospect of perhaps eventually dying from dehydration. So, lifting myself on to my one good leg, I reached up, grabbed it, and yelled 'Thank you!' There was no reply and I found that what I was grasping wasn't just rope, but one that had some sort of covering on it, a soft, furry covering that was quite warm to the touch. Again I asked myself no questions, just tightened my hands and clung on to it for dear life - my own! Once again I heard that low 'snuffling' sound, then, wonder of wonders, I began to be hauled bodily upwards. Chapter 2 Just a few seconds later - although I had not had to use any physical exertion - I lay desperately panting, a couple of metres in from that dreaded cliff-edge. It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and at least start to calm my nerves and then I turned to thank my rescuer - only to find that what I was staring at was a pair of almost luminous, yellow-green eyes. It was only the fact that its outline was even blacker than the surrounding darkness that made me realise that what I had been rescued by, was not a man, but a cat! But a truly enormous one - one at least ten times bigger than any ordinary cat could ever possibly be. For a moment I had visions of going from being a scattered bunch of bones on the valley floor, to a similar state after being little more than some gigantic cat's dinner. And when the cat moved forward and sniffed me - sniffed my foot - I thought that was exactly what my fate would be. But I couldn't have been more wrong - instead of biting me, the cat crouched low and began to slowly lick me - lick my injured ankle. Now as any cat-lover will already know, cats do not have tongues like ours - smooth and slippery - theirs is designed to enable them to efficiently lap up water, and are covered with hundreds of tiny rasp-like projections. So when a cat licks you, it tingles your nerve-ends. Of course this cat's tongue was in proportion with the rest of its massive body, and its rasping did more than tingle - but, after a minute or two of licking I got the distinct impression that the pain in the ankle had indeed lessened considerably. But even once it finished its licking, it was not done with me - stretching itself flat alongside me, it used its great head to try to roll me over on to its back. I think by then I had totally suspended my disbelief that these things were actually happening to me, and given its indications of what it wanted, I merely hauled myself over and lay astride it - burrowing my hands deep into that silky-soft pelt, and taking a firm grip of it. Once satisfied I was settled, the cat began moving - maybe following my outward trail much as a dog might - gracefully and carefully picking its way between the undergrowth, even finding a path that had fewer low hanging branches. I had taken a few horse-riding lessons - but only as a very young girl, and never ridden a motor-bike - but I had girl-friends who had done both, and remembered them saying how erotic it could be to have so much power held between their legs. And in spite of the bewildering effect of what had happened, I certainly came to understand precisely what they meant. The warm softness of its fur, plus the steady movement of its powerful muscles were more than erotic, they were a distinct turn-on - and at any other time I might very well have actually got myself off during that journey. And although the cat took very little time to get me back to the cottage, I certainly had sufficient time to conjure up all sorts of almost pornographic images... Having reached up to open the door for us, the cat carried me straight inside, and as it was the room most directly linked to the short hall-way, took us straight into the kitchen. And it was only once we were inside that I realised what it was that had rescued me - a Panther! A jet black - actually, blue-black - luminously yellow-green eyed, Panther... Right then it seemed no more incongruous that a panther should be prowling about the Australian mountains, than it did that I should be rescued by it. So I did what I would have done if I had done no more than collect some moth-eaten stray - opened the fridge and poured it a large soup bowl of milk. And, on second thoughts, also took out the barbecued chicken I had bought for myself, and put it down on a plate beside the milk. The panther sat for a moment, looked up at me with those extraordinarily hypnotic eyes, then set to on what I'd gratefully placed before it; lapping up a little milk, then devouring - albeit remarkably delicately - the entire chicken, and finally, finishing off the rest of the milk. It was only then that the shock of what I'd experienced began to affect me, and being reasonably confident that the panther would do me no harm, I took a long, hot shower, then, having slipped into a bath-robe, made myself a hot drink - and having made sure the front door was securely propped open, headed off to the bed-room and lay down. The panther watched my toing and froing, then silently followed me, waiting until I had settled myself then leapt up and crouched on the bottom of the bed - and once again began gently, but raspingly, licking my swollen ankle. Once I had grown somewhat used to the initial tingling effect I found the panther's licking not only once again reducing the level of pain, but somehow even comforting - and I allowed myself to sink into what I imagine was actually an exhausted semi-consciousness. It was only some little time later that I realised that while it was still licking me, its tongue was gradually reaching rather further up my leg - over and around the knee, then - as its head nudged the folds of my bath-robe apart - even moving progressively higher. For a moment I automatically thought to reach down and halt it - but that roguish tongue was definitely temptingly effective, and coupled with the feel of the silky softness of the panther's fur, even slowly arousing. The thoughts I'd had when straddling its powerful back, returned - along with several even more erotic ones. Its head nudged my legs apart as its tongue moved slowly up along the length of my inner thigh - and then, after a couple of minutes of rapidly rising anticipation I heard myself gasp, as it finally reached my pussy. I have no way of describing the wondrous thrills the panther gave me with its seemingly unending, rasping licking - if it had been a man I would have happily awarded him the accolade of being the world's most consummate oral-lover. It took me to heaven knows how many orgasms, each one feeling it had to be the last, but each time my body responded, demanding still one more, until I lay there utterly helpless, little more than a quietly sobbing and moaning, totally pleasure-saturated wreck. But, if I thought it was finished with me when it eventually lifted its head from down between my legs, I couldn't have been more wrong. By then I had cast aside all pretence at keeping myself covered and had unfastened and spread open the bath-robe, so the panther was able to place its paws astride me then begin doing to my breasts more of what it had already done to my pussy and clitoris. Given my breasts have always been remarkably sensitive - sometimes feeling as though there is indeed some direct link between them and my genitals - I quickly felt myself slipping back into that state of utter rapture. But, perhaps the movement was a purely sub-conscious one - when I reached down beneath the panther, enjoying the additional pleasure of combing my fingers through its silky-soft fur, I suddenly remembered one of the strangely remembered facts I'd heard about the males of the cat family. Unlike any other mammal, their penis is in fact covered with a mass of spiky, keratinous barbs - which some say are used to hold the female in place until the male has completed its ejaculation; others, which apparently seems more likely, suggest these are merely used to stimulate the female into releasing whatever ripened eggs she has in her ovaries. But the penis I encountered was nothing like that - whilst being undoubtedly larger than those I'd experienced, it felt exactly as any normal man's might; its head silky smooth, and even then wet with the pre-cum that had already leaked from it, and the heavily vein-gnarled shaft, a throbbingly satiny one. As my fingers skimmed down over it I heard the panther start to give a low, rumbling, presumable satisfied gravelly purr - so as it continued to lickingly stimulate my breasts, I curled my fingers around it and then began slowly stroking up and down it. Once again I lost track of time; simply wallowing in the luxuriancy of what he was doing to me, and the feel of the increasingly strong tempo of the pulsations I could feel coursing up through his penis. So it was only when he stopped, then used his head to roll me - roll me over on to my stomach - that I realised that his intentions were to take things between us even further. I admit I had more than a moment's hesitation - not only because the idea of being fucked by a panther was of course automatically quite abhorrent. But perhaps by then the things he had done to me had reduced my normal thinking processes, because although I'd lost track of the number of times I had already climaxed, my body clearly needed something - something that would fill the void that was achingly hungering for a strong and powerful cock inside it. So I pushed myself up on to all fours, then felt the softness of his fur brushing against my bottom, then that wickedly rousing tongue licking me once again - licking my bottom, licking my anus, even somehow reached beneath me to re-lick my no doubt soppingly dripping pussy. But, mercifully, that time he didn't re-torment me for too long; and once again I felt his paws moving up alongside me, his warm fur again brushing against me, then the unmistakeable feel of a wetly polished cock-head pushing itself against my pussy-lips. No doubt the length of time he had spent stimulating me was rewarded - my pussy was not only drenched with a mixture of both his saliva and the juices that had liberally flowed from me - because it took just a relatively small forward thrust to enable it to force its way inside me - then the remaining mass of it both stretched and totally opened me. Although just holding it had convinced me it was a larger than usual one, it wasn't until I had it inside me that I truly realised just how big it actually was. Yet I took it, took very nearly all of it - and not just took it, but positively revelled in it; in its size, its obvious power, its inherent potency. He fucked me as perhaps no woman had ever been fucked - long, hard and vigorously, my rising cries of sheer exhilaration probably echoing even down around the valley that had nearly been the death of me. And when I finally felt him approaching the start of his own climax - his cock pistoning even more powerfully, driving itself even deeper inside me - then felt him pumping and erupting truly explosively - I heard myself literally scream. 'Sable! Sable! SABLE!' Chapter 3 When he'd done with me I had obviously finally collapsed insensibly, then slept right through the rest of the night - and when I awoke, around mid-morning, I was filled with a sense of languorous lassitude that only a truly well-fucked woman could know. Even so my first thought was that I had experienced a strange and unusually vivid dream - and if it hadn't been for the tufts of jet black hair I found caught up in the still wetly creased sheets, then the thoroughly licked clean plates on the kitchen floor, I would of course have put the whole episode down as nothing more than that. But even if I hadn't had those clues, I would still have had to find some explanation for the remaining swollen soreness between my legs, and the almost dissolutely decadent sense of utter fulfilment. It was then that I allowed myself to recall at least some of the highlights of the previous night - and in doing so, realised that in my final moments of sheer ecstasy I had, quite inadvertently, named my phantom panther-lover. 'Sable. I whispered it - and it was of course exactly the right name for a creature with his blue-black colouring - and I wondered how he might feel about being called by it. But that, I realised, depended on whether or not he would return again. Then I shook myself - what on earth was a mature, sane, hard-working woman like me, doing even imagining I had acquired a panther as a lover, even if he had rescued me from probable certain death? It was just too crazy for words - in fact, if I had seen it in a movie or read it in a book, I would have branded it as little more than the usual tripe that is often dished up to sex and horror crazed teen-agers. However, I couldn't ignore either the way I was feeling, or the physical reminder of the wondrous time Sable had given with me. So when I eventually headed out I drove to the nearest decent sized supermarket, where I knew there was a large section for fresh fish, and having bought both a fresh and barbecued chicken, also purchased two of the whole snapper they had available - and of course remembered to also buy a fresh supply of milk. The rest of that day was pretty much a waste, I certainly did none of the writing I had gone up there to do, and other than walking down to the place where I'd stumbled over the cliff - where simply looking down over where I could well have fallen, absolutely terrified me! - I really did little more than think about Sable. However, I was sufficiently sensible to prepare myself an evening meal, wondering - hopefully - if the smell of my cooking might tempt him from wherever he hid himself during the daylight. But it was long after night-fall when he did appear; silently, almost stealthily - at first ignoring me and padding straight down the hall-way to where he could no doubt smell the fish and chicken I'd left out for him. Sable So, in anticipation of what I hoped would follow, I took myself off to bed - then lay there, eagerly. And although at first I thought I might well be proved wrong - when he lay down beside the bed and spent time slowly and thoroughly cleansing himself - once that was done, he certainly didn't disappoint me. The next hour or two was very much a repeat of what he had done with me the previous night - slowly arousing me, then deeply satisfying me with that far too dextrously proficient tongue. Then, once I had rolled myself over for him, fucking me long and hard with that truly magnificent cock. Leaving me, as he had before - sprawled, utterly drained and, most definitely, well and truly satisfied. ***** But, sad to say, although I left food out for the remaining four nights for him, he didn't reappear - and who knows where, or why he went. The last thoughts I had as I drove back homewards - other than being grateful for the two glorious nights he had given me - was the thought that, if by some fateful chance our timing had been calamitous, then what might I actually be carrying away within me... Sable I call her Sable when we are together, and she is sleek and beautiful, her skin is warm and tanned lightly, smooth when I touch it with my fingertips. If we are at her office, I call her Doctor, as she is that very thing, an internist, and a very good one. She is remarkably witty, funny and brilliant, with a wicked sense of play, and I love all of this about her. She is in her 40's but looks much younger, with long beautiful legs that go up and up, it seems. Her students do not usually see this, but she has a very good figure, and she is conscientious about exercise and care of herself. Her breasts are firm and full, and she has beautiful slim hands and long slender arms. Sable is a runner, but I have not the patience for it. Ian runs with her at times, but Eric and I prefer to use the gym or Wii, and Sable scoffs at that and teases us. There are some of her colleagues at the campus where she teaches medicine, who find her stern, quiet, unemotional. This is because she is dedicated and passionate about teaching. She enjoys it, and she is a wonderful teacher. She is an equally marvelous doctor, and maintains a small group of patients. She is partners with 3 other doctors, and they enjoy the referrals, the patients, who are sent to them through Sable's energetic enthusiasm in teaching and lecturing, on campus and elsewhere. We met when I began my residency, and she became tutor, mentor, and then my mistress. Dearest Sable, with ebony hair and blue eyes that shimmer with passion and life. She is tall, taller than me, as tall as Ian, and he is six feet. Some women who are tall try to slouch, to bend over a little, as though that would somehow make them suddenly shorter. Sable does not do that. She stands tall and proud and wears heels that lift her even higher. I love her heels. I love her. My own hair is ebony now; it's her choice for me, for now. I do not have her blue eyes. Mine are hazel, but she is thinking of changing that, too, with contacts. She changes the way I look at times, as though I were her doll, but she does not try to change me. I like that. She enjoys me as I am, her only female in her little flock of slaves. Ian and I live with her; we are both in medical school, and there are many who admire Sable for caring so deeply, mentoring so well, that she helps some students even with housing. We nod and smile, Ian and I. Eric stays at times over the weekends, but he has not asked to live there, and Sable has not pressured him. I think it is because Ian has developed a fondness for Eric, and Eric is not certain how he feels. I am grateful that I am here, because I am the only female that Sable owns at this time. There was a woman, a few years older than me, who grew tired of medical school and the stress, yet could not seem to find what else to do in life. Sable finally told her to leave. Sable has no patience for those who cannot commit. I am small, petite, so perhaps I am her doll, though she does love me to undress, more than I dress. But my breasts are full, and she enjoys playing with them, or watching Ian or Eric torment me. Sometimes, when I am in her office on campus, sorting her papers, readying a stack for grading or bringing her coffee, she will have me to close her office door, and lock it. There is a large brass coat hanger on the back of her closet door in the office, and I have heard some admire it, and Sable to say with sincerity that it came from an old house in England, which is true. I will smile to myself. She had Ian install the hangar and test it himself, and it is sturdy. While the music plays in her office softly, and students can be heard outside, yelling back and forth to each other as they walk to class, sometimes Sable has had me to undress before her, in that office, as she watches, a pencil tapping her beautiful red lips. She will say nothing unless I am too fast, or if she has little time, she will motion for me to go a little faster. Sable watches, saying nothing, and outside her windows three levels above the pavement, the world walks by, knowing nothing of her office. When I am done undressing, and if she has time and must grade papers, or study records of her patients, she will smile and merely nod towards the closet door, and I obey. The hangar is a much stronger metal than mere brass, I know. Ian described it at dinner one night, as he and Eric and I ate in the room behind Sable's kitchen. Ian knows a great deal about woodworking and is a wonderful handyman. He believes it is iron, possibly steel, with a coating so it would appear to be a richer man's brass, but Sable will not allow him to scratch the surface or determine. We only know that it is very strong. So in her office, over the door to her closet, jutting out over the floor by several inches away from the door, is the magnificent brass-looking hangar, and Sable rummages through a lovely wooden box of cedar that Ian made for her. She carefully sets aside the lock and pulls out the items she's chosen for that day: a length of chain that is narrow, strong. My leather wrist and ankle restraints, which I quickly buckle on. More rummaging, and I hear the clank of things in the box. She pulls out some rope, strips of leather. I am excited, but I say nothing. She will want me to watch and wonder and not ask. I obey her, silently. My wrist and ankle restraints are buckled on and ready. Sable has finished pulling out the things she chooses for this day, and motions. I move to the door, turn, my back pressed against the door. Sable towers over me. I am short, as I said, but now I am naked and have no heels to raise my height even the smallest bit. She smiles at me, and I shiver. She is in a wicked mood. Ian spent several weekends on the very next toy that Sable loves dearly. I do, too. There are several of these in her house, but only one in this office. On each side of the door, snapped into hiding on each side of the bottom of the door, are what appears to be, if anyone bothers to notice at all, brass strips that seem to be there for mere decoration, to complement the hangar, perhaps. She leans down and uses a file to pry first one, then the second, down, and listens for them to snap and lock into place. They will not move now until she presses the buttons Ian so cleverly hid among what looks to be decoration. They fit into the door and hide the bolts, but now that the strips are down and locked in place, the bolts are there, ready. Sable snaps the links of my ankle restraints into the bolts, one leg pulled to each side of the strong door. She braces it with a clever device Ian constructed, so now it will not try to shut and damage the metal bolt holders at the foot of the door, nor swing about wildly. My ankles restrained, she stands up and looks at me for a moment. I wait patiently and look at her eyes. She has told us never to look away from her unless she orders it; she finds it exciting that we are intelligent and choose to obey her; that we see her eyes, and we see and know that she is thinking, just then, of new ways to torment and torture us. It is a pleasure of its own, seeing her eyes change as she arrives at what she will do next. She pulls over a small metal trolley, removing the cover, fiddling with it a bit. I stand, naked, listening to voices fading outside as students enter classrooms. Only occasionally do I hear muted voices, as one asks another about a test, or calls out to phone later. I hear a sound and focus again on Sable. She has decided on ultrasound today. I am glad but shiver. It is not a type used for sounding babies, but of a machine she got from a chiropractor friend of hers. The current causes the small tabs to make the muscles and skin below writhe and twitch, slowly or more frequently. Sable has a number of tabs. I am patient and say nothing as she works swiftly. She has set aside 2 hours for grading papers and left orders with her secretary not to be disturbed. Papers will be graded, yes. But not yet. The tabs are stuck onto my skin and stay in place from the mild adhesive, a wire running from each tab to the machine. Sable places them on each side of my clit, and two on the clit; on the insides of my thighs where the groin joins; between my legs below the lips, and two she places at the base of the lips. Four remaining tabs go to my nipples, one on each side. She is whistling softly now. Some would be surprised that Sable whistles at all. She is enjoying herself. She steps back a time or two, then forward again, adjusting. She is done, satisfied, and nods once. She waves one hand up, and I raise my arms overhead. Sable pulls a braided rope over the strong hangar over my head, and one end drops down a little; the other end, she ties loosely to the door handle, for now. My clips on my wrist restraints are snapped onto hooks braided into the end of the rope. She tugs at the other end a time or two, then again; nods once more. It is sturdy, and safe. She pulls that end of the rope down, down, until my feet rise a little and I am on my toes, barely, and stretched very tightly. Sable neatly ties the rope onto the hangar, firmly, and we both know that it will not become loose. She is an expert at knots, my Sable, my queen of pain and pleasure. She could, if the bolts were not open at the bottom of the door, pull that door to and fro, and I would swing helplessly from it, should she choose. But the door will not move until she allows it; the knot will not come untied until she chooses. I am helpless, naked. Hers. She is amused and smiles slightly, a Mona Lisa look I know well. She sees in my eyes that little bit of fear and excitement I have. I wonder, what else will she do? But soon I know. Today it is pain, and I will have to work to overcome it and have pleasure, so she may have pleasure, watching me, tormented, in pain, until I orgasm for her. It will please her, and it will please her even more, knowing that I have had to suffer and work to go beyond the pain. She will enjoy watching me try. She is whistling again, and I know that in a way, this is not good for me; it means she is far from done, and she knows that I am anxious about the whistling, and she looks at me again, smiling more broadly this time, her white teeth, the crimson lips, her beautiful face. She tweaks one of my nipples playfully. Her next move is a small box I know well. I do not groan when I see it, but I do know it well. Her harshest clamps are in here. She is in an evil mood today. Some staff meeting, perhaps, that was a bit too long, a tad too boring; new paperwork, maybe, or something that has caused dear Sable, slender beautiful Sable, to be annoyed, and a great need to remove her stress. I will help her with that in several ways. And the first way -- I wince a little -- is when she twists one of my nipples with her fingers, pulls it out, out a little more, and snaps a clover clamp onto the flesh between breast and nipple, on the under side of that nipple. She keeps the nipple stretched, pulled out, and snaps another clover clamp onto the flesh on the top side, in the area where flesh turns to nipple, and continues until she has four clover clamps pinching the tender flesh of that nipple, and the same done to the other in turn. Each nipple bulges out beyond the clamps, protruding, and she flicks one with thumb and forefinger at one point. The nipples are already swelling a little. She continues, working with clamps, with clothespins, alternating and working her way around my breasts, at times holding my breast in one of her hands, smoothing flesh with her fingers, and at one time, biting one of my swelling nipples. I jerk a little, and she looks up at me, her eyes smiling, and I feel her teeth bounce a little against the tip of my nipple, nibbling it, biting a little. Clamps are added to the underneath of my breasts, and to the sides of the breasts, until both breasts begin to throb and feel warm, and sting. She moves to my waist and pulls up skin between her fingers, and traps it between the teeth of the simple wooden clothespins, so ordinary, so painful. She fits a clothespin at my navel, so it is pinching the skin at the entrance to my navel, and then she places a second clothespin, also at the entrance to my navel, one part of each clothespin dipping inside my navel, the other part, grabbing up tender skin at my waist. I whimper a little, and she shushes me, and I quieten. I feel her hand reach between my legs to soothe me, her long slim fingers sliding down, down, pressing up between my legs, and I close my eyes -- only to open them with a hiss when her mouth comes down on my nipple again, her tongue licking a little, her teeth biting me. I feel her fingers, that have shown us in classes how to do simple medical exams in future, now I feel those fingers slide into me a little, teasing, pressing. I moan as quietly as I can, and I close my eyes a little. She is very pleased. Her thumb moves over my clit a little, then her fingers slide out of me, and I whimper again. I want her again, but she laughs a little and kisses my mouth. She is not finished. Her fingers move quickly, snapping clover clamps, clothespins, alligator clamps which she carefully showed to me first, watching my eyes follow them as she allowed them to snap and snap, then laughing as she whispered how they would now snap onto my flesh. And she was right. My eyes were wide and my mouth open, but I did not make any noise, though I wanted to. This was part of my struggle, and my gift for her. And this pleased her, too. Sable is very fond of the sensitive flesh where the legs and groin join, on either side of the clit; fleshy, puffy, sensitive, and very erotic for me. She knows this. She enjoys knowing this, and using this. The alligator clamps went there, and I could not help it, the whimper this time, and a few tears. It hurt very much. The insides of my thighs were on fire from pain; my clit had alligator clamps and clover clamps on it, around it, beside it. My lips had alligator clamps on them, and I knew what this would mean. My waist sported a row of clamps and clothespins; my breasts were porcupined with them. My nipples were swollen more now, a purplish red, and everywhere throbbed, and I knew, this was nowhere close to being done. I was right about the alligator clamps on the lips. She tugged at them, knelt, and I heard the clink and chink and clank of fine chains, of what I knew would be small weights, because she had had me to clean them many times, and place them carefully in her boxes, so I would see them and know the weight of them, and fear them, anticipate them. She would hook a chain to the end of an alligator clamp and tell me, sometimes stand and show me, the weight that she was about to add to the end of that chain. Then she would clip it on to the dangling end of the chain, lift it, and then allow it to fall, sometimes an inch or two, sometimes a little further. It jerked and pulled and hurt, and I closed my eyes and tears came down my cheeks, but I did not cry out. She worked more, and I realized then, whatever meeting or event had caused her stress, she was upset and irked, and far more than I had seen or known. She had added, she told me between whistling, some twenty small chains dangling from my lips, from the flesh on either side of my clit, and finally, one from the end of each swollen, tender, nipple, and let each one drop and swing, back and forth, at times watching them, at times, lifting them again and allowing them to drop, yet again, watching my eyes, telling me to open them, and to watch her. I bit my lip once, and she shoved her leg between mine, and pressed her weight against the clamps, and I said "Oh!" against her shoulder, as she leaned into me, pressing, rolling her thigh back and forth a little. I could only focus on little areas of pain on my nipples and breasts, my clit, my lips, my thighs, my waist, and hoped she would not add more, but if she did, if she wanted to, then she would do so. I felt her fingers between my legs again, and I hoped she would put them inside me. She did for a moment, though not far, but I felt something small and cold, metal, slide inside me, and then her fingers left me. She stepped back, looking, thinking, as though I were a piece of art. Perhaps I was, for she took out her camera then and took pictures of me, and I knew later she would show them to us, Ian and Eric and I, and talk about this. She would enjoy that. It excited me when she did that, but for now, I could only feel the warmth and the pain of each area around each clamp, each pin, spreading further. Sable smiled, a wicked smile, and she turned knobs on the ultrasound machines. Machines! When had she pulled over the second one? I did not know. I was in more pain than I had known. But she was watching me, carefully, and she began the machines so that the small pads that were taped to my flesh, my clit, my nipples where those were not clamped, the labia -- I began to feel very slightly, as though in the distance, a small sensation of movement from those pads. But it was not enough, as the pain was growing. Sable knew this, and she turned the knobs again, so that the pulse began to come a little faster, a little stronger, though still not enough. It was frustrating for me, for I yearned to be free of this pain. I could not move, my hands overhead, my body stretched, my legs out to each side of the door. I felt the weight of the chains, and the weights linked to them in turn, tugging, pulling down and down, making the sharp teeth of the alligator clamps bite and dig into my flesh. It hurt. She laughed softly and turned the knobs yet again, and in a few minutes of watching me struggle to work past pain, she turned the knobs again, and yet again. Each time,, I began to feel a little more of the sensation of movements from the pads; the cringing, pulsing waves that began to be stronger, more frequent. She adjusted two of them, at one point, bringing them in closer to my clit, and I sucked in my breath. I tried to move my hips a little, and she saw this, of course. She pulled on the rope that held my hands above my head, then untied it briefly, pulled it much tauter, then retied and knotted it overhead. I could move even less now than before. My belly was dipped in, and this excited her. She smoothed it gently with her hand, beginning just under my painful breasts with their clamps and weights, and running her hand firmly down my belly to my navel, at times pulling a clothespin back a little, then releasing it suddenly, so it would jerk back and forth on my navel and hurt. I cried out a little, softly, and she turned up the classical music a little more. No one would hear, though. She added another small clamp to the very end of my clamp, and kept one hand pressed over my mouth when she released it, and it snapped shut on the end of my clit, knowing it would hurt. Her hand muffled my yell. My tears rolled from my cheeks to the back of her hand, and she licked her hand, watching me. She turned up the knobs again, then again, then yet again. The pulse was so rapid and so strong, that my nipples and clit, the lips, the insides of my thighs, all began beating to the same rhythm, all began pulsing together, it felt. And that was when the pain began to finally melt a little into pleasure. But Sable was not done with me, and she laughed again. She leaned closer to me, one hand bracing her against the door frame, and the other hand, oh, the beautiful hand, sliding down my sides, onto the metal hurting my clit, exciting it, playing with it, while she whispered that she was enjoying me, watching me squirm, watching me struggle, and that the only way I would be freed was if I pleased her, and I knew how to please her, didn't I? I nodded, fast, eager, hoping she would be pleased now, and let me go. But she laughed and shook her head. No. Sable Sable took one of her silk stockings, a thigh high that I had seen her wear in times past, a lovely black sheer thing that slid onto her leg, in the past, and ended on the middle of her thigh -- she pulled this pair from her desk drawer and brought it over, showing it to me. She whispered, "You will have to scream. But I can't allow you to be heard." I nodded again, yes, I knew. She folded up one of the stockings neatly, and I opened my mouth obediently, watching her eyes. She made certain I could not swallow it, then took the second stocking and wrapped it around my head, to the front, then back again, tying it behind my head, so now if I screamed it would be muffled. She was patient in doing this and careful, taking her time, and all the while, the ultrasound throbbed and bunched, quivered and shivered, and my muscles were responding and in time with it now. Pain was there still, yes, but pleasure was edging in more and more, and I was glad for it. "That jackass Johnson," she said to herself softly, shaking her head. My heart sank. It was all she needed to say. There was an ongoing feud, a rivalry of sorts, and Johnson was clearly jealous of Sable, in my view, and equally clearly wanted her. But Johnson was not worthy of my queen, and I promised myself that I would take whatever Sable gave me now, if it would please her. I nodded. She patted my cheek with her hand, gently. "Thank you, love." She flicked a switch of some kind on the ultrasound box, or beside it, and my head went back against the door and I screamed into the silk. She had shoved a piece of metal inside me, yes, and now was touching it with her dear violet wand, shooting currents up inside of me. My hands fought against the restraints, and she touched the wand to my nipples, taking great care to touch one, then move away the wand from my body, then bring the wand back to the other nipple. I flung my head back and forth, and she stopped long enough to put her digital camera on its tripod, taking her time while I breathed heavily, hanging from the door, helpless, watching her. Sable patiently steadied the camera, moving it, looking at the image, moving it again slightly until she was satisfied. "This is just too good to miss, love," she said, smoothing my hair gently with one hand, kissing my forehead. She increased the ultrasound rhythm more. "Do you feel that, love?" I nodded, yes. She increased it again, standing there, one hand holding the violet wand casually, that arm braced against her side, the wand at an angle. I watched it. Sable laid it down at one point, and I relaxed a little. I hoped she was through. She pulled out a few more ultrasound tabs, larger ones, and worked happily, putting them just inside the lips, lifting up clamps a little and then letting them down again gently, this time, so they held the very edges of the tabs in place. The tabs would not slide off from my wetness. They would not lose their place. They would stay there, just inside the lips. She knelt, and I felt her hands, pulling apart my bottom, working there. I moaned, my teeth biting into the stocking. "I'm putting two of these larger pads right around your anus, love," she said, just as though she were calmly lecturing on some point in a biology lab. She was satisfied, finally, or for the time being, I thought. I was wary and watched her. She picked up the violet wand again and patted the handle with her other hand. "You know how much I love this," she said mildly. It was the mildness, the calm, that always made me wary the most, for I knew then that she had planned things for me, and would calmly explain them to me, so I would know, and anticipate. "That jackass," she said quietly, and she touched the wand to my clit, then touched the wand to two of the clamps on my clit so that I screamed again, "he is demanding two of my classes. Two!" She frowned, and turned knobs on the ultrasound. I gasped. The pads inside the labia, and around the anus, began to pulse pulse pulse. She checked the camera. "You can scream more, love. The secretary has gone to have a nice birthday lunch with the girls. They'll be gone oh, at least another hour. It's just you and I up here for now." I groaned in frustration, and she laughed, louder this time, so I knew it was true. No one was on the floor. No one would hear. "I probably will have us up here a bit longer than I said, as well." I looked at her, and she smiled, then shrugged. "Johnson pissed me off. He isn't taking my classes," and she thrust the violet wand back to the metal inside me, touching the rod that she had pushed inside me earlier, and the current shot up through it. I dimly felt Sable's hand on one of my breasts, moving clamps back and forth. I tried to push my breast into her hand, and at the same time, move my body away from that wand. She laughed again. She was very happy with me. "This is very good, love. Does it hurt?" I nodded. I was gritting my teeth against the stocking. She saw this and tsked. She checked it, but was satisfied. "Well. I can certainly never wear that again! Naughty, naughty bad girl, ruining your Sable's stocking that way. What should I do to you?" and she jammed the violet wand against the metal rod inside me again, and again, and then again, until I had screamed several times and was trying very hard to pull my hands free. But the cuffs were padded on the inside; she had been careful about that. I would do no damage to my wrists. Nor could I get free. She waited until I stopped struggling, then she pulled over a chair and sat down in front of me. She pushed the knobs up on the ultrasound again. I said, as best I could against the silk in my mouth, not to, please, and she laughed. "You are such a dear, sweet little thing," she crooned, and she touched the clamps in turn on the insides of my thighs with her violet wand, and I jumped. "I will so enjoy watching this again, my dear. I truly will." The wand touched the rod inside me again, and I screamed out. She finally decided to be extra cautious, she would remove the silk stockings, and she replaced them with a strong tape over my mouth, so I could not open my mouth to scream or talk. "Yes, my poor stockings." She held them up, one by one, then let them drop to the floor. "You've quite ruined them." The wand ran over clamps, lingered on the clit until I screamed against the tape, then moved in stages to my waist, to my breasts, to my nipples. "I really, really want to hurt you. You know that, don't you?" I nodded. Yes. God I knew that. I had tears rolling down my cheeks. "And you want me to hurt you, don't you?" I nodded again. I didn't, yet...I did. I did not want the pain, and yet, I knew she did want it, needed to give it in a way, so I was glad I could help her, please her. I felt myself quiver inside, and I was surprised, and she saw this. "My dear, dear little whore. You like that, don't you? Nod. Tell me you like that." Her voice grew stern and cold, and I nodded quickly. I eyed the wand. Sable laughed. She touched the rod inside me again. "In class, you know," she said calmly, touch, touch, "In class we would speak of vagina, and labia, of clitoris." She touched my clit with the wand, let it stay there, shooting current into the metal that was clenching, burning, pinching my flesh, and yet oddly, now, beginning to quiver itself, "but in here -- " she looked around her office, then back at me, "In here, we call it your pussy, don't we?" I nodded. Yes. She placed the violet wand against the metal rod again, leaving it there. I began to moan, struggling again against my wrist restraints, pulling and tugging at them as if suddenly, I could free myself. "No. You don't really want to be free, do you?" I hesitated, then shook my head no, but hands did not obey, and kept tugging. She pulled my clit out with her fingers, hard, so that clamps dug in more, and the clit was pulled and pinched. She ran the end of the violet wand under the clit and I screamed and cried and struggled harder and harder, pulling frantically against the restraints now. I had been trying to jerk my legs free as well, and the insides of my thighs were sore and tired from the clamps and the strain of being pulled so tightly, tightly, hanging there, helpless against her door, while outside, all around us, were students and teachers and a vast university, walking about without any idea that indoors, in this quiet doctor's office, she was tormenting me, torturing me, hurting me and yes, also making me excited and eager. She noticed this, the instant I thought it. She smiled. "This is why you are my little whore, love." She worked the violet wand up inside me a little, next to the metal rod, and I shook my head no, no no, please no don't do that, don't, and she said, "You are in such pain, and you know, don't you? That I will give you more pain, yes?" and I nodded, tears rolling, then shook my head no again as she pushed the violet wand up a little further inside me. "And you know this will hurt, yes?" Yes, I nodded. I knew that. And she turned it on, and the pain was brilliant and terrible and luscious, delicious pain, all at the same time, and I both struggled and writhed and did not realize that I was screaming, until she said softly, "shhhhh sweetness, or I shall have to hurt you even more than I had planned," and she soothed my belly with her free hand. And then turned on the electric current again, and laughed and laughed as I screamed, then as I began to quiver a little, she said, "Ohhh this is very unexpected of you, little love." She pulled out the wand, then the rod, to my relief, and I quieted a little, though my arms and breasts and legs were quivering from strain and excitement so much, I could not quieten my body much. She focused the camera again and checked the volume. She would want to be able to hear me trying to scream against the tape later, of course, and the sound of sizzle and crackle when the violet wand touched metal and flesh. I watched her, my body jerking just a little, twitching now and then. "What a dear, sweet, good little slut you are. You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?" I nodded. Yes. I eyed her. She held up the wand, close to me, so I could see it well. "I am so pleased. You make me happy. Almost happy enough. But -- not quite." I sighed. She sat again, turned to the camera and smiled from what little I could see. Then she turned and pushed the violet wand up inside me. "You will scream for me now, dear, won't you?" and pressed the button. I did scream. I writhed and banged my head back against the door, but nobody heard except her, and whoever would hear the video later. "Shhh oh, my dear sweet love," she said, moving the wand up and down a little. Her free hand slid up my belly, to my breasts, fondling them, tugging at clamps painfully, twisting them, patting them, then pressing them down into my flesh so they hurt. "You do love pleasure, don't you?" I nodded. I was sobbing a little, but she was not pushing the button on the wand so often now, so I hoped. She moved the wand up and down inside me a little. "And such a good, quiet little student, so studious!" I nodded. I was an A student, that was true. I looked at her, sitting a little below me, looking up at me. Nobody would recognize her now, except me and Ian and Eric. There was a gleam in her eyes, just as they say, and pure happiness on her face, smiling and wicked all at the same time. "And..." her hand moved down, down, on the outsides of my legs, around, clenching my bottom, squeezing it hard, then letting it go til I shivered, "And, so many people, sitting next to you in class, watching you be so studious, so quiet, such a nice, nice girl -- " here she turned on the ultrasound tabs to my anus as high as it would go, so that suddenly, my anus was erotic and on fire and pulsing, pulsing, pulsing -- "and teachers, yes, would be so, so surprised, wouldn't they? To know, just what a little whore you are, for me." Her hand smoothed itself around to my front, between my legs, playing with clamps, pulling at the chains. She tugged harder suddenly and growled, "Wouldn't they?" I nodded. I wasn't quite sure what the question had been. I was mesmerized. She knew this, of course. "You see," she said, checking the knobs on the machines, making certain they were all now throbbing, throbbing bunching and relaxing, bunching and relaxing, over and over in rapid, rapid succession until my skin, my muscles, my flesh matched them, and I knew I was very wet, "they would be so surprised to know that you, the dear, good little student, the nice little lady -- you do want them to all think of you as a nice little lady?" I nodded vigorously. "That all of them, if they only knew..." she touched another clamp or two with her fingers, twisting them, releasing them suddenly, "If they only, only knew," she added sadly, "what a little whore you are. But I know," she said, looking up at me with her bright, blue, beautiful eyes. She smiled. She pushed the violet wand inside me and turned it on so that the current was fire thrusting out in all directions, and I moaned and arched my back as much as I could against the door. "Fuck this for me." I nodded. I tried but could not, at first. I was in such pain, such pain. And yet, and yet there was this wave, this tremendous surge of pain and muscles pulsing and wave of waves of waves of torment and her laughter, I could hear that, and her hand, I could feel it bunching up clamps together, then releasing them suddenly so there was more pain, and yet, I could feel in my anus, that I was aching and wanted something inside me so much, so badly, and I wanted something inside me, anything, and she was saying, "Yes, that's it. Show me," and I vaguely saw her turning to the camera and laughing, laughing, and saying, "look at her. Look at her! She's so eager," and I felt her hand grope me, and she laughed again and said to the camera, "Look at her, such a little lady, a little lady! And she fucks a piece of metal for me that is hurting her, because she wants it so bad. Don't you, love?" and I nodded, oh yes, yes, I did, and I was able then, to work my hips and eager, eager, slide myself, up and down, pulling it inside me because damn her, she did not help me at all, she wanted me to pull it inside myself, on my own, to show my own eagerness, my own lust, to show just how I really would fuck anything she thrust inside me, do anything she told me to do, so long as my pussy was pleasured and I could slut myself for her or anyone to watch, and I came, and I shuddered, and she still was not satisfied. Outside the office, at times I could hear voices far below, but more and more people had left campus for the day, and it was now that quiet, abandoned time when it was too late for more daytime classes, and too soon for those in the evening. There was a lazy, casual quietness outdoors now, and in the distance, now and then I could hear the sounds of voices, muted, from afar, or a car go by on the road two buildings away. Once I heard an office door down the hall open, and at that, Sable pressed her body against mine, and cupped my groin with one hand and squeezed, her mouth pressed against mine through the material. For another hour, she tortured me, and I was amazed at what I could endure. She was very angry with Johnson, it turned out, and spoke of him now and then between thrusts. It seemed as though she needed to remove her anger, her stress, by placing it on me, in me. Recognizing this, I was astonished that I could endure just that little bit more. She taunted me at times, filming her fingers spreading my labia apart, showing the wand being pushed up inside me, talking about it as she did so, laughing. She searched about her office a few times, or dug back into her cedar box, for more ways to cause me pain and pleasure: a chain that she held in both her hands, at one point, and brought up between my legs, the wand set aside for a time. She pulled the chain up and sawed it back and forth a little, using her fingers at first to separate the lips and slide the chain further up, then would lift up a little, so that more of my weight pushed into the chain, more of it bit into my flesh and pressed metal of clamps deeper into my skin, hurting me. I shook my head no, no, back and forth, my eyes scrunched closed until she grabbed a nipple with her fingers and thumb firmly and twisted it, hard, and told me to open my eyes or I would be in for a long night. I obeyed. I always obey. She became frantic at one point, needing to release her stress, her anger at Johnson and his grasping ways, and became angry. I watched her move around the room, opening one drawer, then another, slamming a third shut in irritation. She stood for a moment, hands on hips, staring around the room, then smiled, looking at me. I shuddered. She stripped, then, slowly, watching my eyes, as I watched her, til she wore nothing but her heels, and her beloved hose that reached to the lovely, lovely thighs. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her legs. She insisted that I stayed shaven, as she did with Ian and Eric. She had a very small, carefully cultivated little area just above her clit of silken black hair. She walked to me, slowly, and stopped before me, putting her hands behind my head and pulling my covered mouth to hers. Taller than me, but she bent her knees a little and pushed up, so that for a moment, her clit pressed firmly against mine, and she pushed harder, then stepped back, shaking her head. "No. The clamps hurt me some." She smiled. "But for you, it is fine to hurt. Isn't it fine that you hurt?" I nodded yes. What else would I do but nod yes? She was satisfied with my nod, at least, and continued to move about the room, naked, restless. She was very upset, I could see, but had control over it. She was not done with me yet, though. In a moment, she found something, laughed, and turned back to me, and I began to shake my head, no, no, no.