This story is a sequel to A the Hard Way, but you don’t need to read that series to enjoy this one. Just know Professor Deacon set her sights on Emily, a first-year student she judged might be seduced by discipline. Her successful corruption of Emily was assisted by Ffion, the captain of the university’s women’s rugby team and a former student of hers. In gratitude for her help, Deacon has gifted Emily to Ffion for the weekend.
Ffion’s task is to hurt and humiliate Emily. She’s discovered Emily enjoys pain, but she’s also found out it’s difficult to humiliate an OnlyFans model who puts her most initimate moments online. Even a rugby team bukkake couldn’t do it. Ffion is still trying though, and in this final chapter she accidentally succeeds.
Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 —Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8
Sunday Morning
Emily
I guess I know why Ffion put a dress on today. When she said we had ‘church’ in the morning I figured it would be some kind of worship kink, or maybe a trust exercise with the rugby team. Or ideally, both.
But a fifteen minute walk has brought us to a large red-brick building with stained glass windows. Church is church. Ebenezer United Methodist Church, to be precise.
Ffion sees either my disappointment or my confusion. “Yeah, I don’t know why we’re here either, except Deacon said so. I do know the pastor is a friend of hers, and she told me we should pay particular attention to the sermon.”
I haven’t set foot in a church since my christening, and I was only four months old then, so I’ve never actually set foot in a church. Until now.
There’s no lightning bolt and I don’t spontaneously combust, which is cool.
* * *
The pastor turns out to be a woman, which is also cool but has me wondering just how friendly she is with the professor. She tells us God made this day and we should rejoice in it, then everyone except me and Ffion sings a song about Jesus. Then she talks to us all about a Bible verse and I begin to understand why we’re here.
“For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” — Matthew 23:12
“Friends, Jesus’ words speak to a world which rewards pride and self-promotion.”
I get it. I exalt myself online, so Deacon wants Ffion to humble me. She has been trying, but she’s failed every time because it would take an act of God to make me ashamed of my choices.
The pastor bores on about serving with compassion, and thinking of ourselves less, and foot washing for some reason. I could wash Ffion’s feet, I suppose, but I wouldn’t feel humbled by it, or ashamed to do it. If she wants me to kiss them again, I’d like them to be clean.
The sermon finishes with an exhortation to follow the example of Christ every day. Ffion whispers to me that I’d love that. I’m not sure I would, but when I give her a quizzical look, she elaborates:
“Earning millions of followers by getting whipped and nailed? You’d be all over it.”
I’m sure you’re not supposed to laugh in church, so I bow my head and bite my lip and make it through the rest of the tedious service somehow, even though my mind is filled with images of Ffion strapping on a big cock and bending me over her bed.
She’d never let me stream that, though.
* * *
Ffion was quiet over breakfast, and we walked to the church in silence. I wondered why at the time, but when we arrived, and I saw where we were, I assumed she just hadn’t want to talk about religion. But she’s silent on the way back too, even after joking about Jesus.
She’s got something on her mind; something she doesn’t share until we’re safely in her room.
“Get your dragon dildo, and the lube from my top drawer.”
I knew this moment would come when she told me to bring the dildo. I pushed it to the back of my mind, because giving someone else control of something that size scares me. I know I can take the whole thing, but I’ve only done it once, and I squatted on it so slowly my thighs hurt more than my overstretched pussy.
I hope Ffion goes slow. I hope she lets me get comfortable, and she’s slow. Or fast? Maybe that would be better, like ripping off a plaster.
When I turn back, the huge toy in one hand and a big bottle of lube in the other, Ffion’s lying on her bed.
She lifts her head to look at me, but she can’t take her eyes off the dildo. “Deacon likes her girls to be switches, so she wants me to submit to you today. Specifically, she wants you to use… that on me.”
She doesn’t sound excited by the prospect, and I can’t say I blame her.
“I thought you didn’t do dicks? Not even fake dicks, you said.”
“Deacon thinks I should expand my repertoire; expand it far enough to hurt. So, lets get this over with. Then that will be your weekend finished, and you can go home and sleep in a real bed tonight.”
“Or… Let’s not, but say we did.”
Ffion winces. “Deacon will find out. She just knows when people are lying to her.”
“Well, she can punish me for disobeying her then, because I don’t want to do it. I won’t red card you if you order me to do it, but I will hate you.”
“I can’t make you do it. If I’m supposed to submit to you, I can’t order you to do anything.”
I can’t argue with her logic. “Well, that’s that, then. We’re not doing it.”
Her head flops back on the pillow, her eyes close, and she smiles. “Thank you.”
“That might be the only way you could humiliate me.”
“Thanking you?”
“No! Making me hurt you! Fucking you with this monster, when you obviously don’t want it? That would be shameful. I don’t do shame, it’s bad for business.”
“Thank you. Sincerely.” She rolls onto her side and scooches over to make space. “Can I give you a hug?”
Oh god, yes. Vague images of the consequences of pissing off the professor are beginning to coalesce in my mind, and being held by Ffion’s strong arms will surely ward them off. I leave the toy and the lube on her dresser, and join her on the bed.
Her arms — and the heat of her body, and the warmth of her lips as she nuzzles my neck — do much more than make me feel safe; they remind me of what I wanted on Friday night. She denied me then… but now she’s supposed to submit to me.
So I can just order her to let me do it. “I won’t use that toy on you, but I do want to punish you.”
I feel her arms tense, her embrace getting a little tighter.
“Oh yeah? How, exactly?”
She’s still holding me tight when I roll her over onto her back.
“By making you endure a straight girl in the mood to experiment.”
She blanks for a second, until she recognises her own words. Then she gives me a cautious nod, lifts her hips, and tugs her dress up until she reveals a perfectly-trimmed landing strip only a little darker than her blonde hair.
“Hey! You sat in church with no underwear on. Bad girl!”
She grins, and shrugs, and then I can’t see her face because I’m sliding down the bed to raise her knees, and part her thighs, and discover she’s just as pretty down there as I imagined: I’m looking at a perfect, plump, porn-worthy pussy which would make her very popular in my business. Maybe when she’s in a receptive, post-orgasmic state I should suggest a collab.
This isn’t going to be much of a punishment, and the only thing Ffion will have to endure is overwhelming pleasure. This might be my first time giving another girl head but since my meeting with Professor Deacon I’ve watched a lot of videos, and I’ve got all sorts of images stored in my mental library. I’ll have her screaming my name in no time.
* * *
Ffion
I’ve given her a few minutes, and I don’t think I can take any more. “Emily? Mercy, please?”
She freezes, then her tongue withdraws, but her head doesn’t move and she’s still holding on to my thighs.
I need her to know she’s done. “Kiss me? Please?”
Now she comes up to lie beside me, and I can give her the kiss she tried to give me yesterday: soft, passionate, and deep.
She accepts my kiss, but when I end it she gives me a confused, injured look. She doesn’t understand why I stopped her… which is why I stopped her.
The only consolation I can offer is, “You taste good.”
That’s a white lie: her mouth didn’t taste of me, but at least it didn’t taste of fourteen dicks and a cocktail of spunk like last night.
“Thanks. But… you weren’t enjoying that?”
How the hell do I say it?
I just say it straight, I guess, the same way I’d tell any girl on my team why she’s not playing at her best and how she can improve. “There are no cameras down there, Emily. It’s not a performance, and there’s no audience. You can’t do it like you’d see in a porno. You need to relax your tongue, not stick it out and probe with the point. And you can get closer: no one needs to see what’s happening; not if we can both feel it. If you’re close, you can use your whole mouth: you can kiss, or nibble with your lips, or suck, or just lap like the cat who got the cream.”
I don’t even get round to telling her not to start with the main course, because what I did say is already too much ‘captain’ for Emily. Her face falls, and she rolls over, showing me her back. And when I try to snuggle up to her, she folds her arms, buries her head in them, and brings her knees up in a fetal curl.
“Hey, come on! That wasn’t so bad for a first try!”
Her muffled voice filters out from the cocoon she’s made of herself. “It was awful! I’m so fucking stupid!"
“You’re not stupid, Emily! You did your best.”
“I’m an idiot! Boys want me — some of them pay just to want me — because I fuck like a porn star. It’s the one thing in my life I’m truly proud of… and you’re saying that’s why I failed?”
“You didn’t fail! You took a small step on the path to success. And even the smallest steps take you closer to your goal, if you’re moving in the right direction. That’s all I was trying to do: point you in the right direction. Practice doesn’t make perfect, not by itself. Practice with proper feedback makes perfect.”
She’s silent for a few seconds, then she asks, “Do you think I should call Muskan? Maybe she’d let me practice.”
I feel the same tightening in my stomach I felt when the pizza delivery girl gave Emily her number. I didn’t want to acknowledge it then, but I can’t deny it now; all I can do is try to keep my tone casual. “I’ll let you practice, if you want? I bet I give better feedback than her.”
“I thought you hated teaching straight girls?”
“I do. Do you think you’re straight?”
She doesn’t answer, but I feel her limbs relax, and she unfolds. When she turns to face me, I lie on my back so I can gather her in my arms and she can lay her head on my chest.
Emily
I fucked up, and I don’t care, because I feel like I am where I’m meant to be. Deacon is going to punish me for disobeying her, and that’s scary, and it’s exciting, and it doesn’t matter, not right now. Nothing matters, because I’m where I’m meant to be. I’m lying next to Ffion, held by her strong arms, listening to her breathe, and I wouldn’t be anywhere else.
* * *
Sunday Evening
Emily
Someone is gently nudging my shoulder, and I don’t know why. Even when I open my eyes, I’m confused for a second. Then I remember where I am: exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Oh. Did I fall asleep?”
Ffion strokes my hair. “We both did. It’s late. Are you hungry? Because I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I could eat. I’ll get my phone. What should I order?”
“Anything, really. Except an Indian.”
“Thai? Veggie green curry, papaya salad, coconut rice?”
“Sounds great.”
I sit beside her while I’m scrolling through menu options, and she drapes an arm around my waist.
“You don’t have to go home after we’ve eaten, you know. I mean, it is late. You could stay here again tonight, then I could give you a hand with your suitcase in the morning.”
“Would I have to sleep on the floor?”
“Only if you want to.”
I don’t want to.
Me thinks Deacon knew beforehand that these two would like each other as much as they do. Perfect ending to this very enjoyable series!
"“Hey, come on! That wasn’t so bad for a first try!”
A real eye-opener for Emily; sex in a personal setting requires a different approach than on the internet or during an orgy.
I like this clever twist.