Read Online A Bestiary of Unnatural Women by Ashley Zacharias - Free Book Online

few
light strokes then began hitting her with solid thwacks that
reddened her cheeks but were not so hard that they lost their
erotic character. He struck her with slow, measured strokes so that
she reflexively bounced off the desktop and then had to press her
tits back against the hard surface. I suspected that her tits were
hurting more than her ass by the time he finished. That was good.
She clearly liked having her tits tortured. I was not surprised.
She had large, uncommonly well-formed breasts and men had been
paying more attention to her chest than to her face or any other
part of her anatomy since puberty. Some women invest a surprising
amount of their identity in their breasts, developing a fetish for
them.
    When he was finished the spanking, he said,
“Would you prefer to receive my cock in your mouth or cunt?”
    She looked back at him over her shoulder and
said, “Please use my cunt, sir.”
    “As you wish.” He kept her bent over his desk
while he entered her doggie style.
    To my surprise, she came in that position.
I’ve never been able to come without direct clitoral stimulation,
but I suspect that the agonizing pain in her breasts caused by him
pressing on her back with his hands as he drove into her was what
really brought her to a climax. She was definitely a rare breed of
woman.
    When he finally let her stand up and unlocked
her bra, there were a couple of drops of blood on her breasts; two
or three thumbtacks had been pressed so hard that they had
penetrated her skin. She looked down and flinched when she saw the
blood. I typed a warning to him to be more careful next time. She
wasn’t the kind of woman who would want to accumulate scars on her
tits.
    Rob glanced at the screen and saw my warning.
“In the future, I expect you to tell me if you feel damage to your
breasts. We have to take care of those lovely things.”
    “Yes, sir,” she sighed.
    He pulled a new digital bathroom scale from a
shopping bag beside his file cabinet. “We need to keep an official
record of your weight. Step on this.”
    The scale registered one twenty nine. He
said, “You should like this scale. It weighs a little lighter than
yours.” He marked a dot on a piece of graph paper that was already
pinned to his bulletin board. “You have to lose nine pounds. Come
back here next week at nine in the morning for your next official
weekly weighing. If you weigh more than one twenty seven, you’ll
spend eight hours in your punishment bra and receive another
paddling. But if you meet your goal, then you’ll have a comfortable
day and I’ll treat you to a nice dinner. I advise you to eat
sparingly during the week. You can get dressed now.”
    The soft angora sweater looked delightful
when she pulled it tight across her large naked breasts but, as per
my advice, Rob didn’t linger to enjoy the view; he returned to his
keyboard and began typing again, not even answering when she said,
“Goodbye, sir,” as she left the office.
    During the next few weeks, Suzie occasionally
met her goals, but failed more than twice as often as she
succeeded. Her weight dropped a little but tended to bounce up and
down around one twenty five, which was actually fairly light for
her height. Even though she continued to insist that she was fat,
she really didn’t need to lose another ounce. I couldn’t tell if
she was really suffering from body image dysmorphia or if she
merely needed an excuse to be punished. I suspected the latter.
Women who were truly dysmorphic suffered from far more severe
problems than Suzie. I could see no sign of anorexia or
bulimia.
    Rob became more imaginative in his
punishments and that helped hold Suzie’s attention. I gave him my
best advice, but he often exceeded my expectations in both
ingenuity and execution. Though somewhat compulsive, Suzie did not
exhibit full-blown OCD; she preferred surprises rather than slavish
adherence to routine. Rob’s variations began with tack-lined
leather hot pants and assorted