a incorrigible young teen meets and immovable object – her new au pair
Frau Brunhilda arrived at six sharp, which fourteen year old Becky noticed only because the grandfather clock chimed as the front door closed. No nanny had ever been on time.
Becky was already at the long dining table, feet up on the neighboring chair, a plate of untouched asparagus pushed to the edge of the china. She had planned this. Feet on the chair had sent the last au pair home in tears.
The woman who stepped into the dining room was tall, iron-gray hair pinned so tightly it seemed to pull her eyebrows upward. A riding crop was tucked under one arm like a field marshal’s baton. She did not look at the feet. She did not look at the asparagus. She looked at Becky, and kept looking, until the silence became its own kind of noise.
“So,” she said at last, in an accent that made every consonant sound like a latch clicking shut. “You are the one they warned me about.”
“Depends what they said,” Becky replied, and reached for her water glass with a lazy flourish. “Nobody stays, you know. Not even Daddy.”
“Your father is not here.” Brunhilda drew out the chair at the head of the table, sat, and laid the crop beside her fork with deliberate care, the way another woman might set down a pair of gloves. “I am.”
A maid slid a plate of veal before her. Brunhilda unfolded her napkin, smoothed it across her lap, and still had not raised her voice.
“Feet,” she said.
Becky smiled and did not move.
Brunhilda cut a single bite of veal, chewed it slowly, and swallowed. Then she glanced at the crop, just once, and back up.
“I will not say it a third time.”
Becky’s feet came down. She hadn’t decided to move them. They simply did, and the realization was far worse than the order itself. She picked up her fork, and for the first time in a long while, no one at the table was waiting for her to misbehave. They were waiting for her to be afraid.
The meal passed without incident—Brunhilda was too well-mannered to let it end with tension still hanging in the air like smoke. By dessert, Becky had decided that this woman was not going to break so easily. And yet, when Brunhilda pushed back from the table and stood, there was something different in her posture now.
“I believe we shall finish our evening,” she said, and took a step toward the hallway before adding, “And I suggest you fetch a certain device that has come into my possession. It is time for you to learn what happens when one misbehaves.”
Becky froze. Brunhilda was not talking about a riding crop anymore.
She went to her room—the maid had packed it already—and returned with a black leather case, which she set on the dining table without a word. Brunhilda opened it slowly, and inside was a strap on — long, thick, and gleaming with silicone. suction cups at either end.
“Behold,” Brunhilda said, lifting it out with both hands. “A tool of discipline, my dear. And you will wear it tonight.”
Becky tried to speak but found her voice trapped behind something heavy in her throat.
Brunhilda moved around the table until she stood directly behind Becky’s chair. She reached down and grasped one of Becky’s wrists, yanking her hand behind her back with surprising strength.
“You have caused me no small amount of trouble,” Brunhilda said into her ear, her breath cold against Becky’s skin. “And now you shall learn to fear authority.”
She fastened the cuff around Becky’s wrist, then moved to the other side and repeated it, leaving Becky bound in an X with her arms stretched wide.
“Please,” Becky managed, though she barely recognized the sound of her own voice.
Brunhilda did not respond. Instead, she unbuttoned Becky’s blouse slowly—each button a tiny explosion of sensation as it released—and slid her hands inside to cup Becky’s small breasts, which were already hard with fear and arousal.
“You are young,” Brunhilda said, squeezing one nipple roughly before moving to the other. “You have not yet learned that disobedience has consequences.”
She released Becky’s wrists but only to take hold of her shoulders and turn her chair around so that they faced each other across the table. Then she walked behind Becky again and unbuckled her belt slowly, letting it fall with a soft clatter.
Becky closed her eyes as Brunhilda began unbuttoning her own blouse—this time without hesitation—and pushed it aside to reveal her muscular, iron-gray-haired torso underneath.
“You will watch,” Brunhilda said, her voice low and husky now. “You will see what happens when you push too far.”
She moved behind Becky again and pulled down her pants and underwear in one swift motion, leaving them both standing naked except for Becky’s cuffed wrists. Then Brunhilda reached into the leather case once more and withdrew a bottle of lube.
“Open,” she said, pressing the cold bottle against Becky’s mouth. “Swallow.”
Becky obeyed instinctively, and Brunhilda poured some of the viscous liquid down her throat, then massaged it into Becky’s anus using two fingers until she felt how wet it had made her there as well.
Then Brunhilda took hold of the strap on she had shown her earlier. Becky watched helplessly as Brunhilda lubed up its length with the rest of the bottle before placing it at Becky’s entrance, pushing slowly in.
Becky let out a gasp as the thick shaft entered her, stretching her anus wide open. Brunhilda began to move in and out, each thrust deep and deliberate, her iron-gray hair swaying with every motion.
“Look at me,” Brunhilda commanded, grabbing Becky’s chin roughly and forcing her to meet her gaze. “See what happens when you misbehave.”
Becky tried to turn away but could not, her eyes locked on the woman impaling her with the strap on. She was wet between her legs now too—her pussy gushing with arousal—and Brunhilda did not miss it.
“Are you wet for me?” Brunhilda asked, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in to the hilt.
“Yes,” Becky admitted through gritted teeth, unable to deny it.
“Do you want more?” Brunhilda asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you want to feel my strap-on deep inside your ass?”
Becky nodded, and Brunhilda increased her pace—hard, relentless thrusts that made the chair rock back and forth.
Becky felt herself approaching an orgasm, but Brunhilda was not finished yet.
“Come for me,” Brunhilda said, her voice low and husky with desire now. “Come all over my strap-on.”
Becky tried to fight it, but she could feel it building inside her—too intense to resist anymore. She closed her eyes and let go, her anus clenching around the strap-on as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her body.
Brunhilda watched Becky’s face contort in orgasmic bliss, a look of satisfaction on her own face. She began fucking Becky harder now, faster, until they both reached their climaxes simultaneously—Becky coating the inside of Brunhilda’s strap-on with her thick pussy cum while Brunhilda squirted hot gushes of fluid deep into Becky’s ass.
Afterward, Brunhilda pulled out and let Becky collapse forward onto the table, panting and trembling. She removed the cuffs from Becky’s wrists and helped her to sit up.
“Next time,” Brunhilda said, wiping some of the cum on Becky’s face with a napkin, “I suggest you obey immediately.”
Becky stared at her, feeling both humiliated and aroused beyond belief. She could not deny that she had enjoyed it, despite herself.
Brunhilda dressed slowly while Becky remained there, naked and vulnerable but strangely exhilarated.
“Your father will be home soon,” Brunhilda said as she buttoned her blouse. “I suggest you clean yourself up before he arrives.”
And with that, she left the dining room, leaving Becky to process what had just happened—what she had allowed to happen—and wonder if she would ever be able to look at herself in the mirror again.
—- what happens when her father comes to meet the new Au-pair??? Stay tuned
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