or: To Specify the Conditions Under Which Sex May Be Changed, and for Other Purposes.
The Service placed me with a pair of recent empty-nesters. They both worked long hours. Engineers who met in school. As a woman she must be particularly good at it, to still have that kind of job.
So it was mid-afternoon and as usual I had the house to myself. I ironed and neatly folded another shirt and plopped it into the hamper. Daydreams of my mistress were abruptly replaced by the physical presence of the woman herself, her heel-clops coming to a halt only a few feet away.
"Oh! Mistress. I didn't expect you so early."
She grinned, stepped closer, and reached for my hair, grabbing it by the roots and gently but firmly pulling back my head. "I think you girls like this."
Us girls? Chastisement was perfectly legal (up to and including bruises, broken bones are iffy); those words were questionable.
My breath quivered. I did like it. "Have, have I displeased you, mistress?"
"You're better looking than most." Yikes, I might have actually filed that one if she weren't 100% correct about me liking it. She loosened her grip slightly and continued. "You've been having a good time with us, yes?"
It had been a relief, really. This couple were nicer than they were obliged to be, than others had been (though even in those cases, still better than having a dick!). And my infatuation with her didn't hurt. "Yes, ma'am."
She placed her other hand on my thigh, underneath my skirt, and leaned in, causing me to shudder. The intrusion was electrifying, tentative but also withholding. "This I can't demand. But I don't think I need to. And if you don't think I need to, you won't have to do anything silly like requesting a transfer from the best assignment you've ever had."
"I, um..."
She kissed me. I melted. She released my hair and wedged me into the wall before I could collapse.
"Your husband..."
She pulled her head back slightly and chortled. "My husband is a homosexual." They did sleep in separate rooms, though I thought it was just professional sleep hygiene. "As am I. Our two boys? That's exactly how many times Paul and I have had sex."
The minimum two. Apparently her talents didn't include the ability to find two doctors willing to sign an infertility certificate.
She continued. "He and I both knew what we were getting into. He seeks fulfillment elsewhere. I've tried that. It doesn't work on me. I need something else."
She pulled me from the wall and bent me over the table on which I had been folding, pinning my wrists to my lower back with her left hand. The position was familiar. Discipline had been merely infrequent, not nonexistent. But I guess I didn't need to try to conceal my arousal anymore. Could I have, even, at this point? It flooded over me, easily.
"Girl, what did I tell you this morning?"
I was ordinarily sharper. Not because I misbehave on purpose; I'm just acutely aware of my limitations. But this time I was drawing a blank. Before I could muster even an apology for that her right hand landed soundly on my rear. I yelped. It didn't usually surprise me.
"My girl usually has a better memory. Is something distracting you?"
A rhetorical question was one I could answer. "Yes, ma'am."
"What's that?"
"M-mi-mistress."
"Mistress made you forget you needed to have the laundry done before she came home?" Well, she
did
, both in the sense that she was responsible for my current mental cloudiness and for coming home while I thought I had more time. But I was neither presently lucid nor ever bold enough to articulate any of that.
"No, ma'am. I'm sorry, mistress."
Her strong arm swatted me three more times. My knees sagged. I stiffened them back up a bit and prepared for more. Instead I felt her fingers caressing me between my legs. "What I need is a girl devoted to me as only you can be. Do you think you can do that, my dear?"
The only sound escaping my lips was a slow exhalation.
"Excuse me?" Mistress asked. The caress ended and was replaced first by my skirt lifted over my hips and shortly thereafter with repeated blows over my underwear. I lost count. More than ten. I regained external awareness as she started making circles with her fingers over my aching buns. The tear running down my cheek felt cathartic. "Well?"
"I love being yours, mistress."
"That's a good girl for me."
Loosening her grip on my hands, she bent over top of me, pushing her pelvis into my barely-covered backside. "Get up," she whispered. "I'm going to fuck you." She rose, grabbing a towel, and I followed, her shod footfalls contrasting with my quiet hobble. Upon entering her bedroom she tossed the towel on the bed and pointed at the floor. "Strip and kneel."
She proceeded to her closet where she unzipped and removed her skirt. Her legs were beautiful, entrancing. I snapped myself out of gawking and started removing my clothing. While I was folding it she returned with a strap-on poking out from underneath her blouse.
"Leave them." She pointed to the bed.
I spread the towel and laid on it. Peering down over my nose and cheeks, I watched her lubricate, my heartbeat accelerating. She finished, looked up, and smirked at my already-open legs.
