My Sweet Degradation

My Sweet Degradation
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ISBN:  9781907753930
Author:  J. Phillips
Word Count:  66,926
Format:  eBook

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A Strict SeductionA Strict Seduction
School for NursesSchool for Nurses

My pleas clearly meant nothing to him, as he merely stepped around me, avoiding my gaze as he went. In the end I'm not sure what was worse; the moment of silence that stretched into an eternity - my heart fit to burst as I sensed him, watching me, assessing me from behind - or the sudden touch of crop against flesh, which caused me to tense my every muscle and to gasp as it traced slowly over the contours of one naked buttock and then down across the other.

My Sweet Degradation is a collection of darkly erotic stories exploring the taboo yet enticing theme of control and sexual surrender. Naughty schoolgirls are punished and shown the error of their ways, innocent young ladies are obliged to submit to secret sexual desires, and the shy and inexperienced are encouraged to push the boundaries of what they believe to be acceptable.

Each tale proudly adheres to the Chimera tradition of offering the most evocative of erotic damsel in distress scenarios - exploring the exhilarating theme of domination and submission - yet in everyday, familiar settings: a headmaster's study, a stable, a hotel room, a hospital...

If you have a passion for erotic fiction with imaginative style; for stories that are told in a colourfully expressive manner without succumbing to overly poetic prose, then you are sure to find yourself transported as you turn the pages of My Sweet Degradation.

I stepped to the side and forward, yet he just grinned and moved with me to block my escape. I clawed my hands towards him and cursed, but he only laughed and quickly ducked aside, smoothly taking my wrists in his strong, calloused hands to hold me at bay. Finally, as I tried in vain to free myself from his vicelike grip, the gravity of my predicament began to dawn and I released a tiny whimper of frustration. 'Why... why are you doing this?' I questioned pathetically, but before I had a chance to say more Patrick suddenly forced his bodyweight forward so that I had no option but to stagger back until my shoulder slammed hard into a gnarled oak pillar that rose vertically from the ground.
   Quickly he adjusted his grip to hold both of my wrists in one hand only, and once more I tried to wrench myself free. Even then I was no match for his strength and all I could do was watch as he reached up to take a coil of rope that hung from a rusted nail above my head. Struggle as I might it was useless and my panic rose with a prickly heat. Slowly and deliberately Patrick began to wind one end of the rope around and around my wrists.
   'Please...' I pleaded weakly, desperately trying to pull away, but he only continued with his work, eventually tying the rope off in a knot. He then took a step or two back and smirked at me, unfurling the rope as he went. Suddenly he gave a sharp tug so that my arms were yanked forward and I had no choice but to stumble towards him. My enforced compliance obviously amused him no end, as he threw back his head and laughed in response.
   'T-tell me, please, what are you doing?' I begged once more, my throat dry, my eyes welling with tears of frustration.
   'Well it's very simple really,' he offered, all too casually. 'I'm going to teach you a little lesson. If you're so fond of attacking people then it's only fair you get a taste of your own medicine, now isn't it?'
   Never before had anyone dared to treat me in such a manner and my mind reeled with a confused mix of fear and anger. With another tug Patrick forced me to stagger even further forward until I stood pretty much in the centre of the barn. Through stinging eyes I watched as he effortlessly tossed his end of the rope up and over an exposed beam that spanned the entire length of the old barn, before leaning down to retrieve it once more.
   Again he wound the rope in, only this time I was horrified to feel my arms being pulled vertically up above my head.
   Perhaps his delight in my anguish had caught him off guard as, noticing he'd inadvertently stepped a little closer to me, and seeing it as a last chance to get away, I seized the moment and kicked out with all my might, the toe of my riding boot making sharp contact with his shin.
   'Jesus!' he cursed. 'You little bitch!' and leaning down to soothe his wound he released his hold on the rope, whereupon I quickly made a dash for the open barn doors.
   But my attempt at escape was all too short-lived as, with a grunted, 'Oh no you fucking don't,' Patrick quickly dived and grabbed at the loose end of rope as it snaked its way up towards the beam, throwing his entire bodyweight against it so that I was suddenly brought up short and the dry fibres bit painfully into my wrists.
   'So, it's going to be like that, is it?' he spat as he limped towards me, winding the rope round and round his palm with slow menace, forcing me to stagger, step by step, into the centre of the barn where my arms were yet again stretched up above my head. 'I guess if you're gonna kick like a stubborn donkey then we'd better tether you like one, hadn't we?'
   'No!' I gasped. 'Really, I'm sorry, please.'
   I stared in terror, my heart pounding as Patrick scanned the barn, presumably looking for more rope to bind my legs with, but then, all of a sudden, his eyes fixed upon me once more and his grimace slowly stretched into a cruel smile that caused a shiver to run the length of my spine.
   'Well, it looks as though we're all out of rope,' he whispered, stepping a little closer. 'But not to worry; there is another way of keeping those lovely legs of yours in place.' I couldn't imagine what on earth he was talking about, and I nibbled anxiously at my lower lip as I awaited his next move.
   Patrick once more came within striking distance, and for an instant I actually considered kicking out again, but at the last moment he yanked hard upon his end of the rope so that I had no option but to squeal and stretch up on tiptoe to ease the biting squeeze on my wrists.
   Quickly he stepped into me, his chest pressing against my breasts and his hand unceremoniously gripping my jaw. He twisted my head to the side and I was forced to take anxious breaths through my nostrils as he repeated into my ear, 'There is another way.'
   Patrick relaxed his hold on the rope so I could once more stand on the flats of my feet. He hardly moved back, however, and I was given no chance to settle my nerves as I suddenly became aware of fingers clawing, without care or subtlety, at the waistband of my riding breeches. Naturally I drew breath to protest, but all I could manage was a shocked, 'No!' a split-second before I felt him wrench down with all his strength. Two press-studs offered no resistance whatsoever and the thin zipper gave just as easily. With three, or perhaps four, awkward tugs more Patrick had my breeches down over my boots to leave them bunched uselessly around my ankles. And he was quite right; there was no way on earth that I could kick at him now, and through my natural reflex to pull away I immediately lost my balance, which Patrick corrected by leaning on the rope so that, with a distressed cry, I was lifted back into a standing position once more.
   It was more through observing his reaction, rather than any realisation of my own, that the true nature of my exposure now became apparent. You see, back then I wouldn't always wear underwear while riding. My breeches were obviously the finest money could buy and offered perfect protection and comfort. Panties weren't really necessary, and at times I would enjoy the extra freedom of sitting that little 'closer' in the saddle. Tied up as I was, with arms stretched painfully above my head, I couldn't really see below the swell of my breasts, yet that sudden look of doubt on Patrick's face, the way he swallowed awkwardly and took a single, faltering step back, was all I needed to be reminded that my neat little pussy - waxed, but for a thin strip of silky curls rising upward - was now his to behold.
   An itchy heat flooded my cheeks. It wasn't so much that I was bashful - I had always been rather proud of my body and perhaps a little too happy to show it off at times - it was more that my vulnerability was now expressed in a new, more dangerous way, and I found myself wondering exactly what the ex-criminal might be capable of.
   Because of the sticky heat of the day I had chosen to wear a black cotton vest only above my riding breeches, which, with it barely falling below my cute belly button, did absolutely nothing towards protecting my modesty.
   As I looked up once again it was plain to see by the change in Patrick's expression that he too was aware of the shift in the already highly charged atmosphere of the barn, and I suspect that if I'd been careful, if I'd made use of my natural cunning, I might have been able to make him back down. But of course I was young, foolish and headstrong back then, and as a result I only succeeded in committing my gravest error so far.
   'Oh please let me go,' I implored. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. And you're right; it was rude of me to come back so late. Maybe if I was to pay you - as an apology for your wasted time, I mean? My purse is in the car. If you would just untie me, I... I don't think I have a huge amount of cash, but there might be thirty or forty—' My plaintive words suddenly ended in a pained squeal as the rope was yanked tight once more.
   'Well isn't that fucking typical?' he snorted with renewed disdain. 'The little rich girl thinks she can buy her way out of trouble in just the same way she buys everything else. Well, little rich girl,' he continued, sneering, taking a step closer and wrapping another coil of rope around his hand to stretch me to my extreme, 'how much is it worth? How much for hitting and kicking me? How much for me having to stay back late for you time and time again just because you think you're more important than anyone else? How much should you pay me for the trouble you cause when you change out of your riding gear in the full knowledge that the stable boys are watching you, and so I can't get them to concentrate on a fucking thing afterwards?'
   I felt my cheeks flush a little deeper.
   'How much money are you going to give me not to teach you the lesson you should have been taught years ago? One hundred? Two hundred?' All the time he spoke he'd been stepping closer and closer until he stood right before me, his eyes burning with a violent rage.
   'No,' he said after a slight pause, and with a newfound calm that was even more unnerving than his anger, 'not this time. This time even money won't help you.'

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