Caning Able Good Bits Wall
   
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This Good Bit describes how Caning Able's heroine, Jasmine Able, under the influence of aphrodisiac doctored port, seduces the dastardly head boy of Renforth Manor, Alexander Trent, and in doing so makes herself vulnerable to being blackmailed into being a sex slave for Renforth's burned-out executives or risk dismissal and family shame.

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Lesson Four ~ In Which Ms. Jasmine Able Becomes Miss Able

Jasmine hadn't had sex or even pondered carnal matters for over a week. Given her recent licentious past, this was an unusual circumstance. Since the chance meeting several months ago with Harry Gathers, not a day had gone by without the thought, promise or actuality of something erotic consuming her attention. Once the ecstatic shock of receiving her employment offer from Renforth Manor had worn off, Jasmine had been run ragged preparing for her move to the bucolic Chilterns, and hadn't even so much as noticed the normal cravings between her thighs. Thanks to mundane things like packing boxes and the nagging demands of all the usual domestic minutia involved in uprooting stakes, she'd had no time nor the desire to let even so much as a stray finger dally longer than necessary. Thus it was with some surprise that the lurches, shudders and stutters of her old Ford Escort creaking to a halt on the dark country lane were greeted by an unexpected flutter in her nether regions and a warm filming of her dusky thighs.

The car bucked as it stalled, bouncing Jasmine against the restraint of the seatbelt, sending rhythmic vibrations through her recently denied loins. A lump formed in her throat, sympathetically matching the hollow in her stomach, echoing the pounding in her pussy. Visions of tens of horny men in schoolboy uniforms taking turns to rut into her rippled through Jasmine's libido. She giggled to herself, "Jas, you'd better not neglect your sex life so." Licentious notions continued to tease. Must have been the glass of sherry I had at the reception, but I do feel exceptionally horny. I could fuck a fence post. I wonder where I packed my vibrator?

Jasmine was conscious she was rambling, deflecting her concerns from the fact that her car had broken down in what looked like the middle of nowhere. She'd been on her way back from the nearest village after picking up a few personal supplies she needed for her rooms. In the best of all worlds she was at least ten miles from Renforth. It was dark, a little after seven in the evening, and she could have sworn that the car's gas tank had been at least a quarter full when she left. Now it was empty. The tank must have a leak, she sadly concluded. More unwanted expenses to spend her new paychecks on.
"Fuck," Jasmine yelled at the steering wheel as she gave it a good solid thump. She was stuck. It was starting to rain, a cold damp penetrating February drizzle. She figured she was about half way to the grounds. Her umbrella was packed away in a box somewhere in her rooms. Probably in the same box as her vibrator. "Fuck!" She thumped the wheel again and sighed, not sure whether to laugh, cry or play with herself. Why was she so excited?

Jasmine had arrived at Renforth earlier in the day, and after an indoctrination into the nineteenth century ways of the institute, she'd been immediately whisked off to a reception in her honor held by the stodgy old headmaster, appropriately she surmised, named Rust. Much port had flowed, but she'd been careful to nurse only the one glass, no more than two, knowing that she needed to run a few errands before calling it a night. Funny thing was though, she now felt quite light headed and horny, almost as if the alcohol was just hitting her. Must be sexual withdrawal symptoms, Jasmine reassured herself. Going cold turkey from Mr. Turkey was not a good idea. She decided to walk back to Renforth in the rain, get thoroughly soaked, take a nice hot bath and play with herself amongst the popping bubbles. Then she'd be able to file her pussy's demands away for a few days and concentrate on the curriculum she'd be teaching. She wanted to prepare her notes for "Miss Able's" first lecture tomorrow on employee stock ownership as a motivational tool, and there was no way she could think straight with all these rude thoughts bubbling through her mind. A brisk march in the cold rain would do her good.

"Miss Able!" It sounded so old fashioned, so stuffy. At first she'd objected to the headmaster at being referred to as a Miss, but he had insisted on the term rather than the more modern Ms. or the informal Jasmine, arguing that such etiquette niceties were important to achieving the atmosphere of schoolboy regression essential for the executives to believe they were back in their childhood with innocently open minds.

"Miss Able?"

Jasmine practically leapt out of her seat at the sound of someone tapping on the window of her car, speaking her new professional name from the stygian darkness. She looked around for something with which to defend herself. Where was her purse?

"Miss Able, are you all right? It's me, Alexander Trent, the head boy."

Peering through the passenger window she saw the drenched angelic visage of Renforth's permanent head boy. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, and rolled down the window. Rain drops angled in, dampening the spread out map on the passenger seat.

"Mr. Trent, what a pleasant surprise."

He nodded at the map.

"Lost are we?"

"Afraid not. My car seems to run out of petrol. I'm stranded. I was just going to walk back."

"This rain will soon pass. Why don't I wait with you, and we can walk back together once it knocks off? These lanes are quite dark. You could easily get lost. And it's very cold."

"What am I thinking? You're soaked. Get in, get in."

Jasmine leaned across, lifted up the door lock and tossed the map into the backseat. From the icy feel of the cold blast of air on her cleavage, she was conscious that in leaning across to open the door, her blouse must have angled open and the swell of her breasts must have been clearly visible in the dim light of the car's interior light. If he saw an inch of Jasmine's bosom, Alexander Trent showed no signs of recognition, acting the perfect gentleman. The head boy stepped inside as Jasmine pulled her coat around her, covering her blouse, assuming a more demure position. Then, the little devil that had been dancing so rudely inside of her since the car stalled took control, and Jasmine pulled open her coat and undid two blouse buttons. In doing so the white lace of her bra against the coffee of her skin was keenly highlighted to anyone sitting in the passenger seat. Still, the head boy remained impervious to her feminine wiles. Jasmine nervously twisted her shoulder length black hair, wondering what the hell she was up to, worried that perhaps she might succeed in satisfying the need for sex that seemed to be suddenly dominating her every thought and action.

"I say, this is jolly kind of you. Thanks so much. I was just on my way back from the village pub when I got caught in this atrocious downpour."

Trent held up a bottle of whiskey.

"A little service I provide for some of our guests. I say, you won't tell on me, will you, Miss Able? Rust is such a stickler for form and such. He doesn't mind the staff having the odd tipple, like at your reception this evening, but he frowns on the students partaking. Wants them all to act like children. Hard to do when you're a man, what?"

"I know what you mean, and don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Jasmine's fingers slipped from toying with her hair to circle the silk of her blouse where her nipples hardened underneath. Trent shuddered.

"Thanks. Brrrrrrrr, it's cold in here isn't it?"

"Yes, I should say. You must be soaked through. Why don't you take off your wet overcoat, put it in the back and try to stay as dry as possible."

"Good idea. Here, hold the booty."

Trent handed Jasmine the bottle, which she cradled carefully. With her free hand she assisted the head boy off with his damp overcoat and handed him back the whiskey. Their hands brushed. Rude notions stumbled about in the murky reaches of Jasmine's rapidly escalating pornographic imagination. She couldn't believe what she was thinking. Her first day on the job and she was acting like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. Strangely enough, the head boy continued not to notice. He was effusive in his thanks for Jasmine's Good Samaritan assistance.

"That's better. I say, would you like a small drop, to warm up the old bones while we wait?"

"Won't your customer mind?"

"No, not in the slightest. I'll call it part of my commission."

"Perhaps just a little. It is cold in here."

"Do you have any cups?"

Jasmine looked down at her firm breasts. She felt like cupping her tits, taking off her bra and saying innocently, only these 34 C's. But she didn't. Through a sex-tinged chuckle she oozed her answer.

"Oh dear, no I don't."

"Then it'll have to be the bottle. Here, ladies first."

Jasmine took a small swig, grimacing as she swallowed.

"Oh, that's good stuff."

"Nothing but the best for Renforth students."

They laughed, and Trent took a swig. The rain beat harder. The head boy offered Jasmine the bottle.

"More?"

"Okay, maybe one for the road. We should get going. We wouldn't want anyone to find us parked in my car. They might get the wrong impression. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was seducing the head boy on my first night at Renforth."

Jasmine slipped her lips around the bottle and fellated the single malt receptacle. Trent laughed nervously as if sex was the furthest thing from his mind. Jasmine took a larger gulp of whiskey, the fiery liquid warming her insides, igniting a gale force storm of erotic intent. Sliding the bottle reluctantly from her lips with a loud pop, she handed the bottle back to Trent. Jasmine wasn't sure whether it was her slippery fingers or Trent just not gripping the glass surface tightly, but the bottle slipped out of his hand, straight towards his crotch. Instinctively, she reached to catch the bottle, her hand colliding with the head boy's own somewhere near the top of his thigh. Whiskey spilled over their fingers, onto his trousers. Trent exuded apologies.

"Oh dear, clumsy me."

"No, no, it was my fault."

Jasmine was conscious of her hand touching his, inches away from the swell of his cock. She imagined her hand gripping his shaft tightly, guiding the throbbing instrument into her rapidly soddening pussy. She licked her lips, abandoning all sense of propriety and restraint. The head boy seemed uncomfortable, doing his best not to notice Jasmine's lewd manner.

"No permanent damage done, but I'm afraid your car will smell like a distillery."

Jasmine felt like being assertive. Trent seemed so English, all innocence and reserve. She wanted to plunder him and his gentlemanly good looks.

"Your trousers too. My fingers too. Your fingers too."

As she spoke, Jasmine lifted up her hand, keeping a firm grip on Trent's fingers. She leant over and licked their entwined digits, purring between long, lashings of her tongue.

"It's a pity to waste such good whiskey. I think some must have spilled on your lips."

"Oh, I say, Miss Able - I - I . . . ."

Jasmine clasped her lips on the head boy's quivering mouth, not considering in the slightest what had come over her, or what she was doing. Passion had overcome her, she was thinking with her thighs, unbridled lust powered by her unconscious consumption of aphrodisiac drugs dissolved in the sherry and whiskey.

"Mr. Trent, have you ever fucked a teacher in a Ford Escort?"

"Miss Able, I'm not sure we should - ."

"Call me, Jasmine, Alexander. Have you ever fucked at all?"

"Jasmine, I - I . . . ."

"Just shut up and fuck me, Alexander. Get in the back. On your back. I'll teach you all about motivation."

Jasmine clutched her hand underneath Trent's crotch, gripping his balls and turgid cock through his whiskey dampened trousers, woman-handling him into the backseat, pushing his body through the gap between the front bucket seats.

"Oh I say, steady on. I - I - I . . . ."

"I haven't done this since my first year in college. The first trick is to get the seats tilted forward."

Leaning across Trent's imprisoned body, Jasmine unlatched the seat lock tilting the passenger seat forward, and then doing the splits over the head boy's prone form, she did the same to the driver's seat. Swinging her legs unladylike over the seat, she came to rest astride Trent's crotch.

"Did you enjoy the view, Alexander?"

"I - I - I really couldn't see too well. The dark you know."

"Blast, you missed out on a good look right up my dress as I stretched over you. That won't do will it."

Jasmine reached behind her and flicked on the dome light.

"That's better. Now you can see what you're getting, Mr. Trent. Does this meet with your approval?"

Jasmine lifted up her trim black tapered skirt to her waist, exposing the charcoal gray of her tights and underneath the muted pinkness of her panties to Trent's rapt gaze. A faint smile crept across his face.

"Oh I do say."

"I'm sorry I didn't wear stockings or anything too sexy, but I really wasn't expecting to have a good fucking my first night on the job."

Jasmine giggled. Trent spoke as if he had won the lottery, but lost the ticket.

"You look lovely. I've never seen such long, luscious, delectable legs. They are lovely, but I'm not sure we should - ."

"Oh shut the fuck up and enjoy it."

"If you say so, Miss Able."

"I do, Mr. Trent. I fucking well do."

Trent ran his hands up from Jasmine's calves pausing at the tautness of her thighs, stroking the firm flesh through the silkiness of the nylon. Jasmine spoke as she removed the head boy's tie, seductively unbuttoning his white shirt to uncover his boyish chest.

"Unfortunately, we have a problem, wearing tights, that is. If I had on stockings I could just pull my panties aside and stick this thing straight into my tight pussy."

Jasmine rubbed the swell of her pubic mound on the bulging lump in Trent's trousers. She was gushingly wet, the crotch of her tights soaked through.

"But . . . ."

"But since I have on tights, I either have to get off of you to take them off. Which I don't want to do, or - or - how are your teeth? Eat a lot of meat do you? Not a vegetarian, I hope. Sharp are they?"

Trent nodded.

Jasmine scooted forward along Trent's upper torso, her legs anchored wide of his body on the backseat. She reached forward and with one hand grabbed his head, pulling his face into her pudenda. With the other hand she tugged at the reinforced crotch of her pantyhose, stretching the garment away from her sodden panties.

"Good, here, bite through this. And be careful, as much as I like to be eaten, I'm not into cannibalism. Go on, Alexander, what are you waiting for?"
Jasmine watched under the Escort's dim interior light as Trent's teeth clamped on the gray material and began gnashing away. Using her hands she manipulated his head from side to side, rubbing his face against her sex, arching her lithe body forward ardently. She watched entranced as the head boy savagely attempted to rent asunder a brand new pair of Marks and Spencers' finest pantyhose with the latest in reinforced cotton crotch design, adding her rowdy encouragement to his flailings.

"Go on, Trent, go on, don't stop, tear my tights, be an animal. Eat me, you bastard."

Jasmine's motivating shouts echoed in the small space, creating the impression that a roaring crowd was watching the tussle. She tossed her head back, shaking her body violently, and was greeted by the unmistakable sound of ripping material. Jasmine wiggled her hips from side to side, helping Trent to tear a wide hole in her tights. Thighs wet and naked, she rubbed his face against her crotch, feeling his tongue snuggle between the elastic of her panties, to graze her swollen labia.

"Oh brilliant, brilliant. Keep licking my pussy. Oh that's good, brilliant, brilliant."

Jasmine let Trent's head drop to the backseat, where with a simple collapse of her tensioned limbs she was able to settle her sex firmly on his face as she reached behind her and fumbled with his belt and zipper. It took but a few seconds for her to extricate his impressive hardness. It was hot and throbbing and she knew exactly where she wanted to put it.

"Enough foreplay, Alexander, time for the main course."

Trent coughed and sputtered as Jasmine pulled away from his face. With his hair all askew, her juices smeared across his face, he looked a proper sight.

"Oh Miss Able, do you think this is wise? I mean - well - what - ."

"Oh shut up and enjoy it, Alexander. You're beginning to bore me. Stop being such an Englishman and give in to your passion. Be reckless. Nobody need know. This will be our little secret. If you're good I might let you do it again."

Jasmine impaled herself on his cock and rode the head boy's supine form. Pressing her hands against the car roof to force her body tight against his, she gyrated her hips, his inexperience all the more exciting because he seemed so vulnerable, so boyish.

"Would you like to see my tits, Alexander?"

"Oh yes please, Miss Able."

"Then you shall, and if you'd like to lick and bite my nipples, I shall not mind. Not in the slightest. You can be a little rough if you like. You don't have to be a gentleman all the time, especially when you're in the backseat of a car fucking a drunken business school teacher."

For a moment Jasmine was shocked to she what she thought might have been a sneer cross Trent's face, but she discounted the impression, figuring it more from a grimace at the way she was working his cock like a pestle in a mortar. Absorbed by her rabid wantonness, she ripped her cream silk blouse wide open, scattering popped buttons around the cramped car. Reaching into the lace of her bra, she scooped her dusky orbs out of the contrasting lingerie. Pinching her sex-hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger, she pulled her teats into a point. Trent licked his lips.

"Come to Mamma, little boy."

"Mummy, mummy ... ."

Jasmine realized she had struck a deep-seated resonant chord as the head boy cradled his head forward, lips puckered. With one hand holding her breast invitingly proffered, and the other assisting Trent in giving her his mouth, she inserted her bullet-like nipple between his lips. He sucked eagerly, like a hungry new-born infant.

"Good head boy, good Alexander. Does baby like Jasmine's tasty nipple?"

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

Jasmine undulated her body as she rocked to and fro on Trent's arching cock, sliding her pussy up and down the slippery length of his turgid pole. As she hastened to her climax, she urged the head boy to be more aggressive.

"Go on bite my tit, Trent, bite Mummy's tit as I come."

Jasmine felt the head boy's cock arch as he erupted inside of her, his teeth clamping pincer-like on her nipple. She screamed in pain, pulling her wounded nipple away from Trent's snapping mouth, her exploding passion the result of her outburst as she melted on his cock. Her hands gripped her breasts, and she massaged herself to relieve the burning sensation, not sure whether the throbbing she felt was from Trent's bite, or her own wild lust. She collapsed forward, her arms reaching behind her to fondle the head boy's balls, massaging the globules with the plectrum-like fingernails. She slid her bottom up and down, masturbating his ejaculating penis with strong pussy muscles, kneading his balls with her nails, conscious that Trent's hands had replaced hers on her breasts, his dexterous fingers twisting her nipples with anything but innocent intent as he continued to spurt inside of her still quaking womb.

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Unbeknownst to Jasmine, the whole sexy episode has been captured on film by Trent's henchmen. The next morning Jasmine is presented with the damming evidence of her licentious behavior and presented with the ultimate - be Renforth's sex slave or face dismissal and family shame. She has no choice but to submit, but formulates a plan to turn the tables on her blackmailers. Buy the book to see how Jasmine Able becomes Caning Able and gains the upper hand in more ways than one.

If you like this Caning Able Good Bit then buy the whole Caning Able book full of even more Good Bits from ...

 
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