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She loves oral - Part 2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Finally, six o'clock came. Punctually on time, I stood at
Richard's front door and rang the bell. The door was opened
immediatedly, and I saw Richard standing in a long hallway, wearing
an impecable Italian-cut suit. His shoes gleamed and his tie was
such luxurious silk, I could almost feel it with my eyes. The
expression on his face, though, wasn't happy.
"Come in," he said curtly, then stepped aside for me to
comply. He motioned me to enter a living room that was just off
the hallway. I entered and stood in the center of a beautiful
room, as he closed the door, then turned to face me.
"You are almost two minutes late!" he growled at me,
glowering. "Is this the way you begin your service with me?"
I quickly showed him my watch and explained that I had
actually gotten there early, but he brushed aside my explanations.
"You should have thought to ask me what time it was by my
watch when we made the agreement to meet at six o'clock. That is
the most basic agreement - one of time - and one of the most
important. If you can't keep that, how can I rely on you to do
anything right?"
I was devastated! I had been standing on the sidewalk,
nervously trying not to meet the eyes of the men who had been
staring at my clothing, at the swell of my breasts over the low-cut
neckline of the dress. I had ignored the whistles, the "Hey,
Baby!"'s and the gestures. I had swallowed my embarassment -
feeling overdressed for the hour, on a summer evening, and
uncomfortable to be just standing and waiting. All of this I had
put up with so I would make a good impression on Richard - and now
I was late!
"Perhaps we should forget this - or at least put it off for
another day," he said. I immediately cried out, saying I had so
looked forward to this meeting, and begging him not to put it off!
"I will be punctual in the future, I promise!", I said.
"Please don't send me away, now! I've gone to such pains to get
things I thought you would like, and...."
"And that is no more than I would expect you to do, Michelle!
That is your job, your part of this relationship. Mine is to
evaluate how well you have done what you were supposed to do, and
to help you to explore frontiers you have not had the courage to
approach before. Alright - I'll let this one infraction pass. But
in the future, I will expect you to pay far more attention to
details. Is that understood?"
I nodded my head, my heart beating wildly in reaction to my
momentary fear that my fantasies would not be explored.
"Good. Now, empty out your bag on the table, there, so I can
see what you've brought."
I did as he asked, and was pleased when he complimented me on
following those orders properly, at least. He also complimented
me on my choice for the black shoes - and said he found them sexy,
which thrilled me!
"Now, put everything back in the bag. I'm going to take you
upstairs, now, and show you a few of the other rooms of the house.
By the way, remember that you are to go only where you are told to,
and only with me accompanying you (unless I tell you differently)
while you are here. Some of the rooms are off-limits to you, so
follow my instructions carefully. Understand?"
"Yes, I understand, Richard," I said, as I began to follow him
out into the hallway. He turned and looked at me, and said:
"That is something else we'd better get out of the way, now.
From now on, unless I tell you otherwise, you will address me as
"Master". When you are spoken to, you will immediately lower
your eyes to the level of my crotch, where they will remain until
any conversation is finished. Is that understood, also?"
"Yes...master," I stammered. This had been something we had
discussed in principle, but no specific rule had been set until
now.
"And, again unless I expressly give you permission, you will
speak only when spoken to. You will NEVER initiate a conversation,
ask for a further explanation of an order, or open your mouth
unless you are spoken to first! Understand?"
"Yes, Master. I understand."
He led me up the staircase to the second floor. Toward the
back of the building, straight ahead from the staircase, was a
door, which led to a very beautiful bedroom. There was a
queen-sized, white enameled, old-fashioned bed, with a beautiful
pink coverlet trimmed in white lace. A dressing table on the side
wall was covered in a matching pink cloth, on which were a
hairbrush and mirror made from tortise-shell. Next to the dressing
table was a door that led into a private bath. On the back wall
were four large windows, now covered with drawn shades, and on the
left side wall was a door that seemed to lead to a closet.
"This will be your bedroom for the weekend, Michelle. You may
put your bag on the bed, for now, and follow me."
After putting down the bag, I followed him out to the second
floor landing. He led me up to the third floor. As I climed the
steps, I marvelled at the value of the home we were in! Richard
was rich - no doubt about that! A three-story brownstone here in
the Village would sell, I was sure, for more than a million dollars
- although how much more, I had no idea. On the third floor,
directly over my room, was a bedroom clearly furnished for a man.
It had two deep arm chairs, a large, king-sized bed, and the colors
were all burgandy, brown and black. It was a "handsome" room, I
thought - where mine had been pretty and feminine. It seemed that
Richard believed in some of the old-fashioned sexual stereotypes
- which was in keeping with some of the things we had spoken about
together.
Richard threw himself down on the bed, propped his head up on
his right hand and said, "Stand over there in the middle of the
floor, where I can get a good look at you."
I did as he asked, my hands down at my sides, my heart,
strangely, beating nervously. Perhaps it was the tone in his
voice, which was almost flat, with no emotion.
"Now raise your skirt and your pettycoat above your waist."
I was shocked - although I suppose I shouldn't have been. I
guess I just expected to work up to the sexual part of things - not
just jump in with both feet! I reached down and gathered the full
satin skirt and its supporting crinoline in both hands and raised
them above my waist, as he had ordered. They became a double
armfull in front of my breasts, as I stood there feeling how
naked I was below the waist.
"Turn around, slowly, so I can see what you look like," he
said.
I turned to my right, slowly, presenting more and more of my
body to his eyes. When my back was completely to him, I shivered,
remembering how naked my ass was with just the string of the pantie
running up between my buttocks. When I had made a complete
revolution, he said:
"Now, pull off that foolish g-string. It doesn't cover you
at all - it just serves to give you a sense of being covered. It's
only a psychological defense against your nakedness."
How right he was! As I removed the g-string, I realized how
much comfort I had been deriving from that tiny scrap of cloth.
Without it, I felt completely naked!
He continued to scrutinize me - examining me carefully, but
still from a distance. I stood, still holding the g-string with
my left hand as I struggled to keep the skirt and crinoline held
up with my arms.
"Those stockings fit you well. That's unusual for a woman
your height - they usually stop all too short, down near the knees,
someplace. I want you to remember to write down the brand name
when you get back to your room. There is a pen and writing paper
in the dressing table drawer."
His statement didn't seem to require a response - but I was
unsure whether to answer "Yes, Master," or to stand there silently.
I decided that he would know that I had heard, and elected to
remain silent.
"When I give you a command, like that, you will acknowledge
it by answering "Yes, Master". Is that understood?"
Wrong again! I felt stupid and embarassed as I answered,
"Yes, Master."
"Come stand over here, in front of me," he commanded. I
walked nervously over to the bed, stopping right next to it, on a
level with his head. I could no longer see his face, because of
the mass of pettycoat I was holding, but knew he was looking
directly at my pubic area. I began to blush, embarassed at being
so carefully studied.
"Give me the g-string," he said, and I clumsily passed it to
him while holding the mass of nylon in place in front of me.
"Your pussy has wet these panties. Did you know that?"
I blushed furiously. "No, M-m-master," I stuttered. I had
been continuously excited since my bath, over two hours ago. I
wasn't surprised that the g-string had absorbed some of the
moisture, but I was very uncomfortable to have him speak so matter-
of-factly about it. The blush on my face flowed down into my lower
body, though, as I felt his fingers gently but firmly pressing the
lips of my pussy apart. My knees began to shake, and I must have
been quivering like a sapling all over, because he snapped:
"Come, now, stand up straight and stop shaking! I'm only
examining you! This is something that you'll come to find a common
occurance when you're with me in private - if I choose to have it
be so. Am I hurting you or in any other way being inconsiderate?"
Inconsiderate! How could he even use that term when he had
his index and middle fingers up inside my pussy? He treated what
he was doing as commonplace, his right - whereas I had had men in
the past chasing me for weeks, praying for a chance to do the same
thing!
"No, Master, you're not hurting me," I responded, trying to
control the shaking in my legs (with very little success). I felt
his fingers slowly retreat, and he told me to turn around and bend
over.
I turned my back to him and bent over slightly, frightened to
allow myself to be vulnerable in this way. He spanked me sharply,
once, on my naked right buttock.
"Bend over, I said! Surely you've got more flexibility in
that lovely body than that? Now bend over so that I can see your
ass clearly!"
I bent deeply from the waist, my forehead nearly touching my
knees. As I remained in that uncomfortable and embarassing
position, I felt his hand gently stroking my buttocks, then his
fingers spreading them apart. Whether it was the juice from my
pussy, or some other lubricant, one of his fingers was wet and
slippery enough to slowly press its way into my asshole. I was now
thoroughly mortified! No one had ever treated me anywhere near
like this in my life!
"Your ass is quite tight, Michelle. How many times have you
been fucked in there?"
"Never, Master! I have never done that!" I said, shocked at
the idea. I had once or twice had a man stick a finger in my ass,
but had turned down everyone who had suggested anal sex. I didn't
like the idea - it sounded too painful.
"Do you put fingers or toys in there when you masturbate?" he
asked, punctuating the "in there" with a few rapid back-and-forth
movements of his finger in my anus.
"No, Master, I haven't," I answered truthfully. The feel of
that one finger was enough to make my legs start to shake again and
my face felt that it was beet red - but my pussy was beginning to
ache with a deep sexual itch, and I could tell that I was soaking
wet down there!
He withdrew his finger and had me turn around to face him,
again. I still had the skirt and crinoline gathered in my arms,
and I felt foolish as I turned to face him. I peeked at his face,
when I got the chance, and saw that it was quite relaxed - not a
smile, nor a sign that he was in any way excited! I was shocked!
How could what he had just done not have effected him? He looked
as if a thought had just struck him, and his eyes turned up toward
my face. I hurriedly looked toward his crotch, as I had been
instructed to do.
"By the way, Michelle, your pussy hair is flattened down -
probably from the g-string and sitting down in the car on the way
here. I like nice, bushy hair on a pussy. Not lots of it - I
prefer it to be neat, like yours - but bushy. On our way back
downstairs, I want you to go into your bathroom, where you'll find
a small hairbrush. Brush your pubic hair to make it bush out more
for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"And don't make the mistake of taking that opportunity to go
to the bathroom. Bathroom visits will be strictly monitored here.
I will tell you when and where you may relieve yourself. Don't
worry, I won't forget about you - any more than I forget about
taking the dog for a walk!"
As he smiled at me, I felt that in a way that's what I was:
just another pet to him. I wasn't sure how I felt about all this.
I had wanted to explore submissiveness, but had expected it to turn
the man on a lot. I still expected, I guess, the kind of control
that a woman frequently has simply from turning the male on. For
him to be calm and cool like this didn't jibe with my previous
experience. I couldn't predict, based on that experience, what he
would do.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That's the end of Part II of the story of Michelle's transformation
into a slave. Watch for the third part, titled ORALGAL3.ZIP, which
will be posted soon.
If you LIKE the story, or have comments or suggestions for plot
twists, please let me know! Send E-mail to Omni.Girl on the
personal message board.
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