Cheryl's Passion Ch. 03

"Would you like to finger her to orgasm?" April asked, "The sounds she makes when she's writhing in orgasm are precious."

I could feel my face burn hot with humiliation when April said that. My former track-coach had already seen me naked and bound spread-eagle to the basement wall. You'd think that after all of that, I'd be impervious to feeling awkward or embarrassed, but it just didn't work that way.

Coach Jenneke nodded eagerly, and her eyes looked glazed over. It was almost as if my naked body was a drug and now that she had been intoxicated by me, she was no longer able to function like a sober and levelheaded person.

"Go nuts," April advised the older woman. "Impale her and thrust your fingers deeply inside her again and again. She's desperate for you to touch her."

I squirmed and made girlish noises as Coach Jenneke's fingers impaled my sex. My former track-coach kept eye contact with me for the majority of the time that she way playing with my pussy. Her fingers felt good inside of me; and despite my obvious embarrassment; I had hoped that her fingers would remain inside of me until she brought me to orgasm.

I whimpered at the unfairness when her hand was withdrawn from my needy sex and pouted while I watched Coach Jenneke hold her hand up to her face. It was very nearly covered in my own sexual juices. And then; much to my surprise; Coach Jenneke licked my fluids off of her fingers and the palm of her hand. She licked it all up eagerly, as if she were licking up chocolate frosting or something equally delicious.

"You taste yummy," Coach Jenneke said.

Something about that statement made me feel proud. April had tasted my juices many times, but she had never commented on the taste. Was it really something special?

"You've got a slightly sweet, slightly pungent taste," Coach Jenneke said, still licking my juices off her hand "I've never known a woman with sexual juices that tasted quite like yours."

She sounded like a wine connoisseur describing the taste of one of her favorite vintages. I wondered just how many women she had gone down on, and it occurred to me that it was probably a lot. Coach Jenneke was twenty-six years old and seemed very comfortable with her sexuality. She'd probably had years to practice her oral skills on other woman and had probably tasted dozens of pussies.

Without warning Coach Jenneke dropped to her knees and suddenly I could feel her hot breath blowing against my swollen and sensitive pubic lips. April looked just as surprised as I was at this development and I had about two heartbeats to digest this information before I felt Coach Jenneke's tongue lick my swollen folds from the bottom all the way to the top. The contact of her tongue against my needy sex made me gasp. And when her tongue slid across my swollen, erect clit I let out a girlish yelp that reverberated off the walls of the basement and seemed almost deafeningly loud.

"You liked that, huh?" Coach Jenneke asked, looking up at me and smiling.

My pussy desperately needed attention, but right then my soaking-wet sex was so sensitive, any contact was going to feel intense. I was going to scream or gasp insanely loud if she touched me at all. I trembled in my bonds and felt feverish. I wasn't sure if I was dreading what would happen next or thrilled with anticipation. My emotions were confusing and intense.

"I...I... uh...,"I said shakily.

"She'll enjoy whatever you do with her," April said helpfully, "She's desperate for you to touch her. For anyone to touch her. Do whatever you like with her."

I was too overwhelmed to construct an actual sentence with actual words, so I just nodded my head in agreement and hoped for the best. My heart was beating like a pneumatic drill. My whole body was sensitive and raw with sexual need. My breasts heaved up and down as I breathed heavily and I hoped that Coach Jenneke would do what was best for my overstimulated, naked body.

"God you're beautiful," Coach Jenneke said as she stared directly at the pink, moist folds of my swollen labia. I had never really thought of my pubic lips before as beautiful, but if Coach Jenneke considered them to be beautiful, I'd go along with that. I hadn't seen many pubic lips in my time and couldn't really compare mine to many others. Coach Jenneke had probably seen dozens or even scores more than I had, so she would be a better judge than I would.

Suddenly I felt Coach Jenneke's tongue swirling across my labia. My whole body was sensitive at this point, but she found a spot that was especially good to play with. It was a spot below my clitoris, but that I loved to stroke, rub and pinch when I was masturbating. It was a happy spot that I like to give a lot of attention. Coach Jenneke found it and licked at it again and again, like a happy child licking an ice-cream cone.

I was overwhelmed with erotic stimulation and I cried out inarticulately, filling the basement with my screams.

Coach Jenneke laughed with pure, wanton joy and went back to licking me. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to stop or if I wanted her to keep going, however it didn't really matter what I wanted. My arms and legs were spread helplessly far apart and shackled to the basement wall. My pussy was indecently exposed and Coach Jenneke could do anything she wanted to it.

I whimpered helplessly, and then my former track-coach took my clitoris into her mouth and began to lick at it and suck on it pretty much simultaneously. My inarticulate screaming became louder and my hips began to writhe uncontrollably. I was helplessly bound spread-eagle to the wall and I could barely move, but I struggled against the shackles anyway, chafing my wrists and ankles as Coach Jenneke manipulated my clit in her mouth and brought me to an intense, bone-crunching, teeth-rattling, heart-stopping orgasm.

"Aaaaaaiiiiiggghhhhhhhhhhh," I screamed shamelessly, not caring who heard. My brain had almost completely shut down at this point, and I was little more than a swollen, throbbing clit with overstimulated nerve endings. My orgasm was like an avalanche, growing stronger and stronger with every second and destroying everything in its path as it increased in intensity.

Coach Jenneke's mouth remained pressed up firmly against my vulva as my hips bucked against her face. Her mouth maintained total and utter possession of my clit as I screamed and writhed and struggled against my chains. I was a naked girl, totally at this older woman's mercy and when the orgasm was finally over, I whimpered and trembled as the aftershocks of the orgasm seemed to go on and on for a long, indeterminate amount of time.

"Oh, you're fun," Coach Jenneke said in a happy, breathy tone of voice when I was no longer whimpering.

I collapsed limp and boneless in my chains. My eyes were half-closed and my head hung low, so there wasn't much to look at anyway. There was some post-orgasmic twitching and some soft, girlish sounds that sounded halfway between moaning and sighing.

I was utterly exhausted and spent from the orgasm Coach Jenneke had given me. I was naked and chained spread-eagle to the wall, but I was happy. I smiled and began to anticipate my impending playdate, toiling away in Coach Jenneke's home. How many days away was Saturday?

* * * * * * * * *

I showed up early at Coach Jenneke's home. The fact of the matter is I had too much nervous energy to sleep and I was driving my mom nuts, with my pacing, push-ups, hip-thrusts and other exercises to burn the extra energy off, and she basically told me to go away and leave her in peace.

I was still bouncy with energy when Coach Jenneke answered the door.

She looked surprised to see me. She was on her first cup of coffee and hadn't gotten dressed yet. She was barefoot and wearing a nightshirt.

"Chery, it's 6:04 in the morning," Coach Jenneke exclaimed.

"I know, it's early," I said, "I'm sorry, but I was just too excited. I couldn't hold off any longer. And now here I am."

"Okay, come on in," Coach Jenneke said, opening the door wider and stepping back, "Ordinarily I offer my guests coffee when they arrive at my house early in the morning, but you don't seem as if you need any caffeine."

"I'm wide-awake," I confirmed.

The older woman raised one eyebrow and replied, "Yes, I sensed that."

"Should I get started on the garage first, or the basement first?" I asked, eager to get started.

"Cheryl," my former track coach said, sounding slightly irritated, "I'm not ready to supervise you right now. And you're not getting started on anything in my house, until I'm ready to supervise."

My heart was thumping away vigorously and I really wanted for the older woman to put me to work right away, so I persisted.

"What about dishes? Do you have any dirty dishes in your sink? You could strip me naked and set me to washing and drying dishes for you."

"Are you going to be this perky, all day long?" Coach Jenneke asked.

Apparently 6:00 in the morning was too early for Ms. Jenneke to be dealing with a perky, young teenager, and after several failed attempts to get me to shut up, Ms. Jenneke dragged me off to her garage and opened up the trunk of her car.

"Slave-girls aren't supposed to be so chatty," she informed me, "Especially this early in the morning."

In the trunk of her car was a cardboard box, and from this box she pulled out a black, rubber ball with leather straps attached to it.

"This is a ball gag," Coach Jenneke explained, "It's for shoving into the mouths of chatty slave-girls. It helps to keep them from talking, so that their mistresses can get some peace and quiet."

I obediently opened my mouth for Coach Jenneke and she fitted the rubber ball in my mouth, forcing my jaws open so wide that they ached, and then forcing them open even wider than I thought they could go. I had never been gagged before and when Coach Jenneke had buckled the straps behind my head I had an absurd moment of panic, wondering if I would be able to breathe with this monstrously huge rubber ball filling my mouth.

Of course, I could still breathe through my nose. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but I would at least be able to breathe.

Another thing I soon realized was; that with my mouth forced wide open; I would have to constantly swallow, or else I would end up drooling on myself.

"Okay, slave-girl," Coach Jenneke said, once my mouth was full and I was unable to talk, "That gag will stay in your mouth until I decide to remove it. If I decide that you'll wear it for the next eight hours, you'll just have to resign yourself to that. Do you understand?"

Being ball-gagged had never been part of any of my sexual fantasies before, but Coach Jenneke was in charge of this B&D scenario, so I just decided to go along with whatever she decided to do to me. I made brief eye-contact with my former track-coach and nodded in agreement with her.

"Excellent! We're making progress! You can take your clothes off now!"

I knew that I would be naked during much of my time at Coach Jenneke's house, however somehow stripping naked in her garage, with my mouth stuffed full with a ball gag, threw me off balance. I hadn't expected the morning to go exactly like this and I felt awkward and uncomfortable as I unfastened my garments and peeled them away from my body.

Each item of clothing was handed to Coach Jenneke and she placed every item of my clothing into the cardboard box in the trunk of her car. My panties were the last item of clothing to go into the box, and when I was completely naked, Coach Jenneke slammed the trunk shut and locked it.

It was then that I had reached the point of no return. Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't. I was naked and my clothes were locked up where I couldn't get them. I was trapped in Coach Jenneke's house until she gave me my clothes back.

"Okay, slave-girl," Coach Jenneke said to me, "I am going to finish my coffee, have a nice long, hot shower and get dressed. You are going to stay here until I get back and stay out of my way. Understand?"

My heart beat faster and I felt a slight throb in between my legs. I was naked and being ordered into obedience by an older, authoritative woman. It was the sort of thing that I fantasized about when I would finger myself to orgasm. I nodded in agreement with Coach Jenneke, silently promising her that I wouldn't leave this room until she came back to get me.

"Oh, and before I go, Slave-girl, do you remember the inspection position?"

April had taught me the inspection position during my first ever B&D session. I remembered it well. April had even told me that I would be punished if I forget how to assume it for her.

I nodded for Coach Jenneke, indicating I still remembered it.

"Excellent," Coach Jenneke said as she leisurely examined my naked body, "Show it to me now."

I turned and faced the nearest wall in the garage and placed my hands against it, palms flat, back arched, head down with my legs spread shamelessly wide and my naked butt sticking out invitingly, as if I was inviting people to pinch it, fondle it, spank it...whatever they wanted to do to it.

"Not bad," said Coach Jenneke as she examined the positioning of my body, "But raise your hands up higher."

I obediently raised my hands up, so that they were up above my head. With my hands raised high and far apart, and my legs likewise spread far apart, and stark-naked, I was feeling extremely vulnerable. I suppose that's the way Coach Jenneke wanted me to feel.

"Excellent," Coach Jenneke said, once I had corrected the positioning of my body, "Now hold that pose until I get back."

It was definitely the sort of thing that a mistress would say to her slave, and my pussy throbbed wetly at the stern, uncompromising way she was ordering me around.

There was no clock in the garage and I didn't have a watch on my wrist, so I have no idea how long I stood there. Since I was alone in the garage, I could have broken position, walked around and explored the garage. I could even have removed the gag from my mouth and Coach Jenneke would never have known.

But that wasn't the sort of game I was playing with Coach Jenneke. I was there to be submissive and obedient. I was there to be her naked, obedient slave-girl. If I started disobeying orders that would just ruin everything.

The Inspection Position was a difficult position to hold for extended periods of time and I soon felt the strain in my adductor muscles. My raised arms began to feel tired before too long, and the ache in my muscles distracted me from the importance of constant swallowing, and I soon ended up drooling due to my jaws being forced open.

Being naked, gagged and obediently holding this awkward, humiliating pose definitely had me feeling like a slave-girl, however I realized I wanted an audience. I started to think that maybe I was an exhibitionist.

Certainly, it was erotic to be naked, my legs spread shamelessly wide and suffering, but it would be far more erotic if there was an audience to witness my suffering! I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Coach Jenneke and an audience of about a dozen women, crowded in the garage. I imagined that they would enjoy witnessing my plight. They would smile and take pictures of my naked body with their phones and make comments about my exposed pubic lips and how wet they were.

Yes, I wanted a large audience for my humiliations and punishments! Did that make me an exhibitionist? I'm fairly certain that it did. So, I'm an exhibitionist, a lesbian and a submissive? Wow, that's quite a lot of kink in just one teenage girl. I'm quite the erotic overachiever.

By the time Coach Jenneke returned to the garage my legs were shaking and a disgusting amount of saliva had drooled out of my mouth and onto my chin. My jaw ached from being forced open so long and my pussy was soaking wet at the thought of how humiliated, submissive and exposed I must look.

"Well, my pretty slave-girl doesn't seem so chatty now, does she?" Coach Jenneke asked as she ambled smoothly towards me.

I was gagged and couldn't actually speak, so I just stood there and remained in the inspection position and waited to see what she would do next. It sounded like a rhetorical question anyway.

She ended up standing directly behind me and said, "Your pussy is soaking wet. Did you touch yourself at all while I was gone?"

I shook my head in negation. I had been a good girl. I hadn't moved or broke position the whole time. The temptation to touch my pussy extraordinarily powerful, but I resisted the temptation and was as obedient as the most perfect of slave-girls.

Coach Jenneke had me lower my hands from the wall and examined my fingers.

"Well, Slave-girl," she said, "Your fingers are still dry. I suppose you're telling the truth. It looks like you really didn't touch yourself while I was gone."

I nodded in agreement with her and she smiled.

"You really are, obedient aren't you?" she asked and I nodded again.

"You were a good girl not touching yourself," Coach Jenneke informed me, "So, I'm going to give you a chance to prove yourself to me again. I'm going to take that gag out of your mouth, but I don't want to hear any words out of your mouth other than 'Yes, Mistress', 'No, Mistress', or 'Thank you, Mistress,' until your finished cleaning the garage. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, when I was able to get my poor mouth to work.

"Good girl," she said, and then she set me to work, cleaning up her garage.

Cleaning the garage was a fairly mindless form of labor. It mostly consisted of picking up things that Coach Jenneke had no intentions of keeping and bagging them up in plastic garbage bags. Coach Jenneke supervised me, telling me what to keep and what to throw away. Of course she was fully-clothed the whole time and I was stark naked, thus making her authority over me all the more obvious. She was fully clothed and barking out orders. I was naked, barefoot, submissively obeying her every command and not allowed to say anything.

Eventually I was given a broom and a dustpan and made to sweep the entire garage as well. The place desperately needed it, especially in the corners where I found a wealth of dead spiders, dead crickets and cobwebs.

For my final task, I was made to get down on my hands and knees and use water, detergent and a scrub-brush to remove an oil stain from the concrete floor of the garage.

There I was, a naked teenage girl on her hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing an oil stain on concrete, her bare breasts visibly wobbling as she scrubbed and her knees far apart, leaving her anus and swollen pubic lips well-exposed while a fully dressed, authority figure of a woman barked out orders at her.

It was the most submissive moment of my life.

When I was finally finished with the basement, Ms. Jenneke smacked me sharply on my naked bottom and informed me that it was time to go down to the basement and begin the long, laborious task of cleaning that place up.

I basement was a much bigger mess than the garage. There were saws, hammers, screwdrivers, drills, wrenches and all manner of tools strewn from one end of the basement to the other. Everywhere I stepped there was sawdust and occasionally I would step on small metal screws, nuts or bolts.

"Back in April and May, I engaged in some home-improvement projects," Coach Jenneke explained, "I accomplished some great things with the house, but I kind of made a mess down here."

It was utter chaos, and Coach Jenneke ordered me to turn chaos into order. I started with sweeping up the sawdust and other debris on the floor and worked my way from there.