Beginning the process of doing her ‘homework’ made Stacy feel like she might lose her mind, but in a way she found strangely pleasant, at least until she actually had to sit down, naked at her laptop, to do it. Then the feeling of insanity became a little more ambiguous. Until that point, though, she had felt rather warm between her legs as she thought about it, despite the way Ben had denied her the pleasure of masturbation, to which she had become so used before the bizarre events of that fateful Friday afternoon.
Only three days ago, Stacy thought as she set up to make the video of herself watching Polly Gets Caught on Monday afternoon. She had removed her clothes, but laid them conveniently on the bed in case she had to scramble back into them if she heard her mom come home. Part of her, of course, couldn’t believe that she really was doing this ‘homework’ assignment. That was the same part that said that even if her parents kicked her out of the house for watching porn—which they probably wouldn’t even do—she could go live with her friend Maria, which would be closer to the restaurant anyway.
The path of virtue. Ridiculous, completely ridiculous. She knew that, right?
Stacy was proud of her intelligence, despite having decided to put off college until she was sure she could afford it on her own. Given the fickleness of her parents’ support and their tendency to try to control her, she wanted to be absolutely sure she could pay her whole way through before she started.
But even without the benefit of advanced courses in philosophy, Stacy knew that the path of virtue wasn’t supposed to include porn, or ultra-dirty sex lessons involving porn in the basement of a guy who said he would pass you on to a friend when he was done with you.
Unless… here was the tricky part, Stacy thought as she looked through the contents of the secret porn folder buried deep in her file directory, which nevertheless took up half the space on her hard drive. Unless I decide I’m going to let Ben Weathers decide what virtue means for me.
There it was: Polly Gets Caught. It struck her as even weirder than it usually did that you could put porn in alphabetical order. She had carefully renamed all the videos, which she had downloaded under titles like 10347_a_71.mp4, to things like Pete and Amy, Polly Gets Caught, and Priest and Schoolgirl—or, in the case of the dirtiest, simple numbers, one through ten. She could find whatever she wanted quickly, and except when she binged, because she had denied herself for a few days, Stacy only usually needed to watch for ten minutes before she came, and could go on about the rest of her day. But the experience struck her as so unruly that she always felt a strange little surprise to see that the video she wanted—for her ‘homework’—was right where she had left it, automatically sorted by her computer’s operating system.
Virtue. What Ben Weathers seemed to mean by ‘virtue’ was in fact, it appeared, what—if she remembered correctly, since she had only watched Polly Gets Caught once—the hero of this video, which Ben had assigned to her, meant when he instructed Polly about the proper use of her ‘heiny’ and her ‘cooch.’
Stacy swallowed hard, just thinking about what she would now watch, as she propped her phone up to take the video of her watching a porn video, and not playing with herself. As she saw in her head the vague memory of what this video contained—the Appalachian-type uncle-figure guy telling Polly how a good girl only let the right man use her cooch and her heiny—the need to play with herself already began to seem unbearable. Could she tie her hands to the arms of her chair? she thought wildly—or to her sides?
Then of course she saw in her head that leather belt restraint, from another video—Taming Haley, she thought it must be—the one with the cuffs on the side, intended to prevent exactly what Ben had told her she must not do, if she were to stay on the path of virtue and escape punishment at her next lesson, tomorrow at 10 a.m. Haley, that video intimated, liked to play with herself, but her husband had brought her to a special facility to be cured of her vice.
Cured of the vice of self-pleasuring, and set on the path of virtue. None of the videos used those terms—even Priest and Schoolgirl—but many, many of them implied the same kind of ridiculous idea of education: sex training as the improvement of women—lessons to make women pleasurable for men to put their cocks into, and to fuck in whatever manner suited the men at the time.
That was supposed to be the difference between real sex and porn, wasn’t it? You weren’t supposed to want to be fucked, right? You were supposed to want to be respected, and made love to. You were supposed to want to have Jack on top of you, pushing gently until his cock filled his condom with his semen, and he asked if you liked it.
Fuck that. Literally.
Stacy adjusted her propped-up phone against the back panel of the bookshelf atop her desk until it showed a view of her face and her naked chest down to her tummy. She had shopped that morning for a couple of skirts and a dress; taking off her new orange miniskirt, her panties, and her pink top, so she could watch the video naked as Ben had told her to do, had made her blush all over. She debated trying to get the pussy into the frame of the video, so that she could be absolutely sure Ben wouldn’t accuse her of somehow playing with herself out of frame, but she decided the strategy she had hit upon, of keeping her hands folded in front of her breasts, would do.
And if she squeezed a little bit down below, would Ben know? And if he did know… Stacy swallowed hard again and pressed record on the video. She looked at her phone and said, “Okay, sir, I’m going to watch the video now.”
She reached for the mouse, and hesitated for just a moment. Even if she decided that she wanted to find sexual experiences that were more like the ones in Polly Gets Caught than the ones implied in Pride and Prejudice, that didn’t mean that she should let Ben Weathers tell her of what the path of virtue consisted, did it? Why should she give into what seemed from the outside like the madness of Ben’s ‘lessons’? The idea of doing the homework he had assigned, and of going back to his house tomorrow to be objectified and undoubtedly made his fuck-toy again—to let him shave her between her legs, to let him degrade her and continue her training as a porn-girl—scared her.
And she didn’t really have to, did she? Because her parents wouldn’t kick her out, would they? And if they did, she could live with Maria, couldn’t she?
Her mind wouldn’t stop going round and round that way. Stacy probably had a half-hour before her mom came home. Thankfully, Polly Gets Caught, like most of Stacy’s videos, was only ten minutes long. There would be no other opportunity to do her homework for Ben after that.
And if she didn’t do her homework, Stacy knew for certain she would be whipped with that strap that hung on the back of the closet door in Ben’s basement, or perhaps paddled with the wooden paddle; maybe he would use that for academic failings, rather than the strap. She gulped, clicked the play button, and quickly returned her hands to her midriff, clasping them in a pleading sort of grasp.
On her laptop’s screen, Polly, a young-looking eighteen-year-old, regarded herself in her bedroom mirror, twirling her blond pigtail on her left forefinger. She wore a short school-uniform plaid skirt and a white blouse. No tie, thank goodness; Stacy thought those ties with girl’s uniform were incredibly stupid-looking.
Polly’s right hand went to the front of her skirt, and lifted it up to reveal white cotton panties. Stacy felt her fists clench. This was the point in the video where she inevitably would have exposed her own panties to her own view. She felt her pussy’s nakedness keenly; she could just touch herself there a little, couldn’t she? Then she thought of what Ben had said about shaving her down there, and her heart fluttered uncontrollably.
Oh, God, Stacy thought, suddenly remembering what Polly would do now, and remembering how hot she had thought it the one time she had watched this video. Why had she never watched it again? What was it that the uncle figure did that had made her think, I’m not watching that one again any time soon?
Polly reached her left hand down and started to gather the gusset of the white panties into a little bunched rope. The screen showed all this naughty action in the mirror, shot from over Polly’s right shoulder.
Polly switched hands; her left hand held the skirt up above her waist, and her right hand pulled on the panty rope, pulled it into her bare, smooth pussy. Polly bit her lower lip.
Stacy whimpered in frustration, clenching and unclenching her fists as her pussy spasmed and wet her thighs, crying out for pleasure. She glanced at her phone, and saw a look of terrible arousal on her face: creased brow, compressed lips.
Polly whimpered, too, as she bucked her hips, and pulled her panties inside her pussy lips and up against her clit, watching the shameful sight in the mirror all the while, just as the camera did. Stacy loved panties; she loved videos where panties were important and she loved to play with her own panties. She always felt like girls’ panties were removed too quickly in the vast majority of the videos she watched, but Polly Gets Caught wasn’t like that: for a full minute, as Stacy found her breath coming more and more harshly, Polly rode her innocent white panties.
She pulled them up until they had seemed to disappear entirely between her pink inner lips. She cried out as she tightened the fabric against her clit and then used her left hand to rub all along the length of her pussy and even down and back further, where the panty rope must be pressing excitingly against her anus. Then she released the panties and pulled them out, looking dark and damp, and caressed her clit with the fingertips of that left hand, until Stacy saw her hips seem to move of their own accord against the rubbing. Then, again, the panties bunched in the fist of Polly’s right hand, held lightly against her pussy, rubbed playfully across, up and down, and in…
“Polly, what are you doing?” came the voice of the uncle figure, from off-camera. The screen cut to a shot of him coming into the room, wearing jeans, with no shirt. He was beefy, and not very handsome, but was not a terrible actor and he had the tone of voice down. Stacy felt a flush of embarrassment, in sympathy with Polly, and her mind flashed to the moment when the door of her room had opened to reveal Ben Weathers standing there. She felt her arousal start to flow into her panties at that thought—that similarity.
Polly’s going to learn a lesson now, her mind couldn’t help saying. Just like you did.
“N-nothing,” Polly protested, turning to him and dropping her skirt. “I just got home from school, Uncle Billy.”
“Now you know,” said Uncle Billy, “that your mama wants me to take care of you, even though we’re not related, right?”
That kind of thing always made Stacy smile. Sometimes they bothered making it clear that there was no actual incest involved, and sometimes—in the most amateur ones—they didn’t.
“Yes, sir,” Polly said, looking theatrically fearful but also, Stacy could see, suppressing a smile. Sir. Why did that word have such an effect on Stacy?
“Do you want to tell me what you were doing,” asked Uncle Billy, “or do you want to make it worse for yourself?” His tone was severe and threatening.
“But I wasn’t doing anything!” Polly wailed, her performance clearly raised a notch by Uncle Billy’s very realistic one.
“Give me your panties, Polly,” Uncle Billy said. “Right this instant. I’m going to see for myself.”
“What?” Polly said.
“Give me your panties, girl. I can already promise you you’re going to get a spanking. Do you want me to have to use my belt?”
“No, sir,” Polly whimpered.
Stacy was breathing terribly hard now, her fists clenched tight and held firmly against her breastbone. Please, she thought, please just let me…
She tried squeezing her thighs. She had heard that you could sometimes even come that way, but the little bit of pleasure it gave only made her bite her lip in frustration that she couldn’t have more.
If only he hadn’t mentioned the belt, she thought.
How could she possibly make it through the whole video?
“Alright,” Ben said. “We’re going to watch your homework assignment together in a few minutes. Were you a good girl for me? Did you stay on the path of virtue?”
“Yes, sir,” Stacy said meekly, looking over her right shoulder at him.
They stood in the basement, at the bottom of the stairs. Stacy had certainly seen that Ben had set up the spanking bench, facing the entertainment center and replacing the coffee table, but she had given no sign of recognition. Three of Stacy’s videos involved spanking benches, if Ben remembered correctly, so he felt certain that she knew the thing’s purpose.
“Get those clothes off, now,” Ben said. “From now on, unless I tell you different before we come down to the basement, you must always take all your clothes off as soon as get here. We both know what you’re here for, porn-girl, and you need to learn to show me how well you understand what that means. Next time you don’t strip immediately, you’ll get a whipping.”
He looked at Stacy, who now seemed to register the presence of the bench, and seemed frozen in place in the open space on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.
“Stacy? Do I have to repeat myself? Get those clothes off for me this instant.” Ben reached forward with his left hand and took hold of the hem of Stacy’s short green skirt. He pulled it up to reveal blue nylon panties. He took a small step forward and brought his right hand down hard in a spank to the seat of those panties.
Ben spanked her again, hard. “Do I have to repeat myself, porn-girl? Now’s not a time for clothing, where you’re concerned.”
“No, sir!” she cried. Stacy’s hands went to the button at the neck of the white cotton top she wore.
“I think you just lost your panties for the next few days, Stacy,” Ben said conversationally, letting go of Stacy’s skirt but being careful to leave it hiked.
“What?” Stacy whirled to face him.
“From now on,” Ben said, “panties are a privilege, for you. You just lost that privilege.”
“Oh, please… sir, please don’t.” Her fingers fumbled at the buttons as she looked pleadingly into his eyes.
“This is what the path of virtue means for you, Stacy,” Ben said. “I can’t let you get away with thinking that you can take your time obeying me. A few days without panties is exactly what you need. You should feel lucky that I’m not telling you to wear that cute short skirt without your panties. You may wear a sundress, and remember what a man like me would see if he lifted it up high enough. Especially since you’re getting shaved today.”
Stacy’s fingers seemed to have even more trouble with the buttons, then, but she finally got them undone and, trembling, lifted the top off over her head and laid it on the little table where she had laid her clothes at her previous lesson. Ben smiled to see the blue nylon bra that matched the panties he had exposed.
Stacy tugged the hem of her skirt down so that she could get at the button at her waistband, and covered over those panties. Ben had an urge to reprimand her for that, but to do so seemed unfair even to his dominant impulses; after all, Stacy couldn’t remove the skirt otherwise. The thought of making sure that his porn-girl always asked permission when there was the slightest chance she might be about to deny him the shameful sight of her nakedness made him hard nonetheless. Maybe next time he would tell her that even covering up her panties to follow another instruction of his, without permission, would earn her a spanking.
Stacy undid the button at the back of her skirt and pulled the zipper down, looking at the floor the whole time, clearly unable to meet Ben’s eyes. She folded the skirt and put it on the table. In her pretty blue bra and panties, she faced Ben. She bit her lower lip as she put her hands behind her back to unhook her bra.
Then she seemed to pause, and she looked at Ben, standing there with his arms folded across his chest. The pause lasted only a second or two, but Ben loved it, and the way it aroused him, to see that she still resisted; she still didn’t want to be made to strip for him. He hoped, as had happened with both Peggy and Julie, that the resistance would never go completely away; the idea that the lessons Ben gave were shameful, and embarrassing, made up a big part of the method behind them, such as it was. Stacy should never be shameless; every time Ben made her take off her underwear, she must pause, realize how naughty she had been to watch porn, and how naughty Ben demanded that she be now that he had taken her in hand as his very own porn-girl.
But she didn’t protest, because of course she knew Ben would punish her. And he thought he could tell that the idea of the punishment for protesting aroused her even further. Stacy unhooked the bra, shrugged it off, and put it on the table. She pulled her blue panties down, off one bent leg, then the other, and she stood naked before him.
“Go into the bathroom,” Ben said, pointing at the door in the far wall, which led to the very nice bathroom he had built himself. “Leave the door open. Take a hot bath.”
“What? Why?” Stacy’s brow furrowed in dismay.
“I think you know why, baby. It’s time for your pussy to be bare, just like Polly’s, and just like the other girls I’ve taught, and just like every porn-girl on your videos. Give me your phone before you go in there, and I’ll set up your homework video so we can watch it at the same time—while we watch Polly herself.”
Stacy’s jaw dropped a little. She clearly hadn’t thought about the possibilities that Ben’s skill as an amateur media engineer opened up. She reached to where she had laid her purse, on the same table by the bottom of the stairs, and fetched the phone. As she handed it to Ben, she looked like she wanted to say something. Maybe something like, “Please don’t make me watch it.” Ben smiled, as he thought of the effect it would have on her to have to watch the two videos together, especially the way he planned to make her watch them.
“Tell me your passcode,” he said. “From now on, I’ll be checking your phone at every lesson, to make sure you’re on the path of virtue. You don’t have to bring your laptop, because of that monitoring program I installed.”
“Oh, God,” Stacy whispered. “You… you can’t do that, can you?”
“I did, Stacy. Now go get in the tub. Door open, so I can see you.”
Ben made Stacy sit on a towel, on the side of the tub closest to the wall, which he had designed for precisely this purpose in the bright white bathroom. He had tiled a little shelf there—of the perfect width so that a girl could place her back against the wall, her knees wide spread, without worrying that she would slip. Once she sat there, of course, her teacher could comfortably lean forward and first cut her pussy hair down, then apply the shaving lotion.
Then, finally, her teacher could use a disposable razor to make her naughty pussy all his own in a very special way; something about knowing he had shaven a pussy made Ben feel like it belonged to him.
Stacy remained silent as Ben used his barber’s scissors to cut away, carefully, as much of her private fleece as he could. The hot water had made both the hair and her skin there nice and soft. Though Ben occasionally got a little naughty with a finger, running it up and down her lips to show her that her arousal was at his command, Stacy protested no more than to sigh a little, in her throat.
Stacy whimpered loudly, though, while Ben rubbed the lotion in. He said in an intimate, degrading tone, “Shh, baby. You’re just gonna get nice and smooth here for me, now. That’s all. Good girls look the way their teachers like them to look, down here.”
Stacy moaned as Ben accompanied his last words with a very firm caress, all the way from her asshole to her clit, which, Ben knew, lubricated by the shaving lotion, must feel terribly naughty. He looked into her face; she had closed her eyes, and her brow had a deep crease in it that made him want to strip naked himself and step into the tub for at least a brief fuck in Stacy’s terribly wet cunt.
“Do you know what it means, porn-girl?” Ben asked as he took up the safety razor at last. “What it means to have a bare pussy? Not to be allowed to have your hair there?” He looked into her anxious eyes. She shook her head, the ghost of her arousal still haunting her face.
Ben leaned down and focused his attention completely on her sweet pussy. Its longer hairs lay shorn upon the towel, around Stacy’s adorable little bottom-cheeks. That backside, primly seated on the side of the tub, showed him its tiny hole, with its own short hairs to be trimmed, open as it was by the spreading of her legs for her teacher’s care.
He started to shave her in short, careful swipes of the razor, loving the feeling of control it gave him to prepare her thus for his own pleasure in looking and in fucking. “It means that you have been specially prepared, for a particular kind of training.” He kept shaving her in silence for a little while, to let the idea sink into her quick mind, and to let her turn it over there for a while.
“But,” Stacy whispered, “the… the people… the girls in the videos—they’re not in training… I mean, like me…”
Ben stopped shaving for a moment, to rest his middle finger against Stacy’s pink clit. He rubbed gently, and she gave a gasping moan. “I think they’re in training in their own way, Stacy,” he said. “They might not even know it, but I think a girl who has a bare pussy—who’s not allowed to have her hair there for some reason, whether because a man took her in hand or she’s going to be in a dirty video all on her own and she knows that the girls in the dirty videos have bare pussies—I think she’s always in training to be a better girl, in one way or another.”
He went back to shaving her. She stayed quiet. Ben had almost finished now, and had begun on the sensitive area that led back to her anus. “I think,” he said quietly, “that maybe you’ve sometimes thought about doing this yourself. Is that right, porn-girl?”
“How could you not, when you’ve watched so many videos? I think you didn’t do it because you were waiting for a man to do it to you, whether you liked it or not.” Ben spread her bottom open with the fingers of his left hand, so that he could reach the last stubble.
Stacy whimpered at that, but she didn’t answer. All the better, Ben thought.
“Alright,” he said, straightening up, and putting his hand on her pussy so that she could feel how much more thoroughly he could claim her, now that she was bare. “Go ahead and take a shower, and then come on out and lay yourself over the bench, facing the screen.”
He rubbed her pussy gently, as if it were a little creature who needed tender affection. Stacy’s breath came in short little pants of arousal. “Do you want to come, porn-girl?” Ben said softly.
“Y-yes, sir,” she said. “Please, sir.”
“If you’re good for me today, maybe I’ll let you come, on the spanking bench. Would that be nice?”
“Yes, sir,” Stacy whimpered.
“Will you be a good porn-girl for me?”
Stacy cried out, “Yes, sir.” Ben could tell she was very near her climax. Reluctantly, he took his hand away.
He bent forward and kissed her—the first time he had done that. “Do as I’ve said, then,” he said, smiling.
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