chest, which she’d begun to worry might be permanently damaged if she moved too much. Jess could imagine her hidden audience laughing as they watched her via the webcam. Wishing it would stop swaying, she gripped harder, wrapping her fingers and toes deeper around and under the rope bed.
While tensing her body in her continuous attempts to remain motionless, the faintest of sounds filtered through Jess’s consciousness. At first she couldn’t work out where it was coming from, but as the gentle hum grew in volume, she realised that the television screen on the wall to her left had been activated.
Very carefully, Jess craned her neck to see what was on the screen, but the hammock shifted and fresh bursts of pain tore through her tits, and so she sank bank onto the bed, clamping the rope back between her teeth for extra safety.
The volume from the television’s speakers continued to grow, and Jess’s imagination was incapable of not going into overdrive as she heard her own voice. It was her and Lee in the school room. The barked orders of Mrs Peters filled Jess’s ears as she recalled that day; stretched over the desk, tormented, tied and teased. Jess realised with an abrupt clarity, as she pictured Lee wielding the paintbrush over her flesh in time to the echo of her groans, that being been made to wait so long for her climax that day had been a valuable lesson to surviving life on the fifth floor.
Jess’s breasts throbbed. She could feel them chaff and her nipples harden as her tired body was re-aroused to the reverberation of her own pleasure. On the screen Lee was bringing her to orgasm. Again, Jess felt compelled to see the television, but the metal cogs that supported the hammock against its frame squeaked perilously, and although it only rocked slightly, Jess’s body clenched with fresh discomfort, and the fear of being tipped onto the unforgiving shiny white-tiled floor.
With the room resounding to her own sighs and moans, Jess’s pussy felt slick in sympathy with her past desires. She wanted to block out the noise with her hands, but daren’t let go of the ropes. She couldn’t believe how badly her exhausted body wanted some fresh attention; any attention. If only they’d start whatever they are going to do . Echoes of her previous climaxes had died down on the television, and a few seconds of quiet soothed Jess for a moment, only to be replaced by the unmistakeable hum of a cane being arched through the air. Jess’s body flinched in sympathy, and she clenched her arse cheeks in automatic response to the memory of the old assault.
When was it? Who’s on the receiving end? Jess searched through her recent past, and suddenly recognised the muted cries of Master Paul, the very first guest she had encountered at Fables. That meant the whip hand belonged to Miss Sarah, and Jess’s crotch spasmed in instant recognition of that fact. She could see her so clearly in her mind, their exercise sessions imprinted on her brain and body forever. The stamina she’d been teaching Jess to develop was really coming into its own now.
Jess’s thoughts froze as the door behind her opened, and unseen feet padded across the floor. Male, Jess thought, male with bare feet, and turned on if the quality of his breathing is anything to go by.
She didn’t try and look at the visitor for fear of moving the hammock. Jess didn’t think it was Lee, but supposed it might be Sam Wheeler, or maybe even a paying guest; one of Mrs Peters’ regulars enticed by the chance to assist with her tutelage; Mr Proctor perhaps?
The footsteps stopped, and Jess thought the newcomer must have paused to watch the television. The gasps that were oozing from its speakers were a mixture of her own as Mrs Peters massaged her clit, and Master Paul’s as Miss Sarah ordered him to attend to her chest.
The pause was short lived. Rough fingers pulled at her legs, widening them carelessly, making the hammock sway once more. Crying out in anguish