Anticipation

She finds the site by accident; and, having found it, finds herself returning to it, over and over again, her fascination and arousal growing stronger with each viewing.

During the day she finds herself thinking about it: about the stories, the descriptions of the punishments. So humiliating. It can't be real, she thinks, only another example of online fantasy, of vivid imagination without any accompanying basis in fact.

And yet, as she sits at her desk, the images replaying in her head, she feels her body accepting the reality that her mind works to reject. Betrayed by her own reactions, her body responding to the words she's read on the screen.

"The baring of the behind, the panties yanked down abruptly, the cheeks chastised"; her body responds to the words. "The trembling hands of the miscreant spreading the sore buttocks after, the Vaselined finger probing deep inside the virgin anus, preparing the bowels for the nozzle, the cleansings, and the cock." Her mind denies; her body reacts.

"The culprit in the corner, the gown open to display the strapped bottom, the hands holding the cheeks apart to display the thick coating of Vaseline shining on the little hole deep between. And then, when the behind has been thoroughly and humiliatingly displayed to the satisfaction of the chastiser and the Maltepe Escort audience, the agonizingly slow insertion of the thick nozzle into the red posterior, up the Vaselined anus and deep into the tight resisting bowels.

"The long wait, in the corner, the hose hanging down from the red rump and then ascending to the enema bag over the head. The long wait, mortified, waiting to be told it's time, cheeks blazing, waiting for the loud click, and the sudden spurt of the enema pouring in, filling the bowels."

**

The words, echoing round and round in her head, and she feels her desire grow. She wonders if there will be pictures to accompany the words, wishes she could be the girl displayed in them. Wonders if there will be videos, and spends the evening rubbing herself between her legs imagining being filmed with her panties down, her behind being spanked as the camera records the scene.

She lies in bed with the lights out and imagines the unblinking eye of the camera recording her punishment, the trip over his knees and her panties yanked down. She imagines it running as her temperature is taken, her cheeks pried apart and the cold thermometer inserted between them. She lets a finger slip back to her behind and into its tightness as she wonders what she'd look like with the thermometer Kurtköy Escort sticking out of her, a rude flagpole protruding for anyone to see. Anyone who happened to be watching the video ...

As she moves her finger she imagines the spanking, her legs kicking as she lies submissively over his lap. She wonders how she'll feel after, listening to him scold as he lubricates the nozzle, his hand spreading her cheeks as he lectures, holding them wide as he inserts it. How calmly he describes to the running camera the resistance her rectum offers, how easy it is to overcome. How badly she needs to feel the penetration of the thick object between her cheeks, how badly she needs to feel this violation of her behind. Violated, before she gets it washed out.

She wonders if she would really do that, allow the camera. Her face shown? Or just her bottom? It excites her to think of being watched, so she imagines her face hidden but her behind completely exposed, the men watching the tape hard, engorged as they see her like that.

She feels her arousal grow, feels herself wet between her legs. When the site is in front of her, the arousal is instantaneous. Like Pavlov's dog, at the first sight of the opening screen she feels herself aroused, finds her mind swirling. But even away from her computer Kartal Escort she feels that persistent itch, as the images conjured by the power of the words swirl through her.

**

The desire grows. On a routine trip to the drugstore she finds herself looking at the suppositories, wondering if, as he's described, he'd really give her one to retain while she is paddled. Sees the rubber gloves and flashes to an image of her body bent over a tall stool, hearing the loud snap of the glove on his hand, and then the jar of Vaseline being opened.

She rushes down the aisle, but the sensations are unavoidable, the feeling of the slippery finger between her cheeks, pausing for a moment, and then driving forward, into her bowels. Her heart is pounding when she reaches her car; in it, she finds herself masturbating before she's even left the parking lot.

**

She discovers that he's written a book, that the site is named for it. She orders it and, when it comes, and she reads it in one sitting. Her throat is dry when she finishes, her hands trembling.

She goes to the medicine cabinet, retrieves the thermometer she's bought. Lies on her tummy with the lights off, her pajamas down, thinking about his hand on her bottom, spreading her open. The thermometer slides in and she would swear it is his hand doing it.

She masturbates. And, as she does so, she thinks about the contact information she's seen on the site.

She orgasms as she composes the first letter to him in her mind ...

That night, he has mail.

His reply comes before morning.