ChickWithAWrench, Author at NSFW story

My Sweet Boy

I throw the car in park and kill the engine as I pull into the garage after a long day at work. It wasn’t long because it was a bad day. It’s just one of those days I wish I had called in sick so I could have my boy in arms reach at all times. By now, I’m so worked up every action is full of purpose, even down to grabbing the bottle of honey from the pantry. I’m a predator looking for her prey…all that matters is the hunt.

I find him in the laundry room. My sweet, sweet boy, in his collar and cute little maid outfit, bent over as he pulls warm clothes from the dryer to the basket. He hears my footsteps and turns with a smile to greet me, but it falls when he sees the hunger on my face. In two steps I have him in my grasp, assaulting him with my kisses. He moans into my mouth, and I completely disengage all decency. Read more »

New teacher gets schooled: Part 3

He tries to say something, but it comes out muffled by my panties. Dumbass. Then I start to finger myself.

“You could have been allowed to touch this pussy, to play with it, but instead you have to sit there with my panties in your mouth and feel sorry for yourself.”

I start moaning louder, grinding my hips to meet my fingers.

“Oh, you’d like to punish me wouldn’t you, Mr. Cole? To bend me over the desk and spank me so I’ll be a good student? You’d like to put that little dick in me and fuck me right now, wouldn’t you?” I’m panting like a dog. “You want to feel this aching, hot cunt don’t you?”

He dumbly nods, and I feel myself about to cum, but I don’t want to yet. I need more. I reach over and snatch my panties out of his mouth. “Lay down on the ground. I wanna ride your face.”

“Yes, Mistress!” He says, rushing out of his chair to lie on the floor.

I lift my skirt, and sink down. But I don’t want him to be allowed to taste me, so I arrange myself so my ass covers his nose and mouth. I see his hands start to reach for his tiny prick. Read more »

New teacher gets schooled: Part 2

I had already hopped off the desk and started to pull down his zipper as I asked. I unsnap the button and reach into his underwear to pull it out. I can’t stop from chuckling when I see it’s barely three inches when its hard. “Oh, look at it. All messy from when you touched my tits. I can feel myself getting wet from the sight of it. In fact,” I say as I step out of my panties and sit back on the desk. “I don’t think I can control myself.”

Mr. Cole lets out a pitiful whimper.

“You like that, Mr. Cole? Well, look at this.” I scoot back on the desk, then raise my legs up on either side. My skirt slips as I do, and reveals my wet pussy.

Cole stands up suddenly and grabs onto the desk for dear life. His eyes are shut and he’s trembling.

“Don’t you dare leave!” I’m suddenly stern and commanding. “Don’t you dare do anything. You’re going to sit back in that chair, hands on the arm rests, and do nothing. If you don’t, I’ll scream as loud as I can, and make sure everyone in the building sees me with my panties off and your dick out. And we wouldn’t want that, would we? To be fired for assaulting a student on your first day?” Read more »

New teacher gets schooled. Part 1

This is bullshit. That bitch Ms. Kelser wrote me a detention just because “my skirt was too short” and my outfit “was a distraction”. All the seniors dress up on their first day, who cares if I just happen to dress up how I like?

I wanted to make sure I looked good, what’s wrong with that? I wore my black lace-up boots, my plaid skirt and jacket, my low-cut gray tank top and some jewelry. Just for that, I have to be stuck in detention alone with Mr. Cole? Fuck off.

I could only tolerate 15 minutes in the quiet room before I got bored and pulled out my phone.

“Miss Riley,” I heard Cole say sternly from the front of the room. “Miss Riley!” He said again, louder. “Miss Riley, listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

“What?” I snap back, not bothering to look up from the screen.

“I understand that this is the first day of school and you do not want to be here, but that is no excuse to break the rules. Put down the phone, or I will confiscate it!”

“Oooooh, and then what? You’ll give me another detention?” Read more »

ADDICTS

I absolutely LOVE them.

Not the kinds hooked on drugs or booze. No, no, no. I mean the kind engulfed by another form of destruction.

I love the pain addicted. The suffering junkies. I love the types who only sleep well at night after having reached a new threshold of torment for their mind or body.

Those whose purpose is to submit to the degradation of the self. Like disciples of some cruel, all-consuming god who can only be satisfied with the oblation of gold or blood; how they ceaselessly give and give and flog themselves in show of sincerity.

These are my favorites people. How I love them all.

Claimed [F/F] (Collaring) (Bootlicking) (Disability)

I pushed the luggage cart down the hall to our room, you following close behind. I’d made sure to get an accessible room from the get-go, and they gave us one on the ground level, though the view from our windows was going to be the least of my interests during this trip.

We reached the door of room 107 and after some quick negotiation with the keycard, I pushed the heavy rack into the cool darkness of what would be our home for the next week.
Then after holding the door propped with my foot for you to roll in, I let it close, leaving us alone.

Once I turned to face you, my demeanor changed. What had been warm and eager was now cold and sharp.

“Do you have the strength to kneel?”
You looked at me with shock. Taken aback by my abrupt change, no doubt.

“W-w-what?”
“Do you, have the strength, to kneel?” I repeated, voice gaining an edge of impatience.
“I-I-I-yes.”
“Kneel.”

While you set about making your way to the floor, I walked to the luggage rack. After some searching through my bag, my hands took hold of the cool leather. Read more »

Pain Doll: The Harrowing Tales of #7: Part 1

Item #7 had been a part of the market once again for just over a week now, though it was not her first time. She had spent as long as she could remember here, though for different reasons. As a small girl, she had been sold as a companion for the children of free citizens, or even bought for the odd manual labors where smaller frames were necessary. That was the last time she remembered having a name that was not a number: Elilah. Given to her by a woman that acted as her mother, whether she truly was or not, until she was finally purchased and the two were separated.

She had been given many numbers before, and she could still remember every one. The last time #7 was here, before being sold to that middle aged man to warm his bed, she had been #12.

She had tended to her previous master’s every desire for three years until he had a fatal heart attack, and his next of kin sold her back to the market as they dolled out the rest of his estate. It was what she had been dreading. While she did have to tend to her master’s carnal needs, she had been fed-well and comfortable. A privilege for any slave, she was well aware. Now, those luxuries had been ripped away, and #7 was left to the mercy of fate once again. Read more »