And That's the Rub

Chapter 2 -- Rules of Engagement (Take No Prisoners)

Jason's original plan that Saturday evening had been to meet up with some friends and hit the bars. But after his afternoon encounter with his boss, suddenly the bar scene didn't look so appealing. Not even the prospect of hooking up with some hot young babe could get his mind off Marsha Dunn, the 35 year-old boss he'd seduced and fucked earlier that day.

It'd certainly started innocently enough; just a bit of Saturday overtime with the boss. He still wasn't quite sure what had come over him -- not even the poor performance evaluation she'd given him the day before totally accounted for his actions. Whatever it was, Jason had seen an opportunity and pounced on it. Without so much as a second thought, he'd proceeded to inflict his will on his superior, a woman 12 years his senior.

Oh sure, it had started out gentle enough, even subtle. And of course she'd resisted. But despite her resistance he'd pressed on, continually reaching for more than she was willing to give until finally, all resistance failed.

And then he'd toyed with her, even going so far as taking her clothes and stranding her in her office, leaving her with little more than the hope that he'd come back for her. And when he had returned -- an hour and fifteen minutes later -- her reaction was far beyond anything he could have imagined, as she threw herself at him like the horny, ravenous animal she'd become.

But the final head game took place afterwards in the parking lot. Despite the fact that she'd clearly wanted more, he'd dismissed her, telling her to go home. The look on her face at that point was priceless, as was the sight of her angrily peeling rubber out of the parking lot.

Yet despite the parking lot dismissal, Jason very much wanted to continue the assault on his boss. He wanted to so badly, in fact, that he was willing to risk his job over it.

* * *

Marsha flew home from the office, squealing around corners as she banged the stick through the gears. Once home she headed straight for the liquor cabinet, bypassing the wine for Johnnie Walker Red -- straight up.

She was midway through her second glass before she finally relaxed enough to take a seat at the kitchen table and try to come to grips with what had happened.

Despite the poor performance evaluation she'd given the young man, she didn't dislike Jason. He was a decent kid, or at least that's how she'd viewed him before; a decent kid with a promising, albeit undeveloped, talent.

But today all those feelings changed. To Marsha Dunn, Jason could never again be simply 'a decent kid.' No, it was suddenly much more complicated than that. How could the young man who'd just reached inside her very soul to unleash her wildest dreams -- dreams she'd always thought of as the horny, lustful fantasies women had but never spoke of -- be dismissed as simply 'a decent kid.'

And now, as she sat there with her second drink in hand, the unwelcome truth was hitting home. Fantasy or not, normal women did not go around allowing coworkers -- subordinates 12 years their junior, no less -- to dominate them as completely as she'd allowed Jason to dominate her.

'Allow, hell!' she thought. 'I didn't allow anything. He took what he wanted and then discarded me like yesterday's trash.' She threw down the rest of her scotch and rose to her feet.

She moved slowly towards the kitchen window, placed her hands on the counter-top on either side of the sink and lowered her head in thought. For several long moments she stood there, mute and motionless. Finally, she lifted her head, took a deep breath and spoke out loud.

"All that aside, the fact is I've never been fucked like that before, by anybody. And I've got no earthly idea what to do about it."

She turned and made her way down the hallway, headed for her bedroom and a long, hot bath.

* * *

It was the second ringing of the doorbell -- or was it the third -- that finally roused Marsha from her sleep. She rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand.

"Midnight?" she moaned. "Who the hell could that be? It's the middle of the fucking night!"

The bell rang again, followed by a pounding on the door. She resisted the urge to call out as she slid out of bed. Not knowing who would come calling at such an ungodly hour she elected to err on the side of caution, turning on only the light in the master bathroom before pulling her robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door and sliding it over the mid-thigh length cotton nightgown she always wore. She then made her way down the hall, past the guest room and the third bedroom, to the front door, maneuvering carefully through the dark hallways.

The doorbell rang again before she made it to the foyer and stepped quietly up to the peep-hole.

She gasped involuntarily. It was him! Jason Edwards!

She took a half step backwards, instinctively grabbing the front of her robe, ensuring that it was drawn tightly around her.

Thoughts of earlier that day came flying into her head -- the seduction, the massage, the undressing, the fucking. Yet despite those thoughts, there was one lonely voice of sanity somewhere inside screaming at her not to open the door; that to do so would be to start down a path she might never be able to leave. But her mind kept coming back to the fucking; the fucking and the domination. And she knew she was not going to listen to that lonely voice of sanity. She knew she was going to open the door and let him in. What happened after that would be totally up to him.

Still, she hesitated, not moving until yet another rapping sounded on the door. Finally, she took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob.

When the door finally swung open, neither of them spoke. For the longest moment it was just two people gazing intently into each other's eyes, one framed by the darkness inside the house, the other a shadow barely illuminated in the hazy moonlight. Ultimately it was the young man -- the shadow -- who moved, stepping into the doorway even as the older woman retreated before him.

But Marsha didn't retreat far; two steps, no more. Just enough to allow him entrance. He eased the door closed behind him, locking the deadbolt instinctively before flicking on the light. Then, with his eyes still locked on hers, he slid off the light jacket he was wearing and dropped it carelessly on the floor. He then took another step forward.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Marsha Dunn retreated likewise, maintaining the slim distance that separated them. She took a deep breath to steady herself -- a sign of nervousness which he obviously saw -- and retreated yet another step, only this step ended with her back pressing against the hallway wall.

Jason matched her step with one of his own, following that one with yet another. And suddenly the distance between them was gone.

She stared into his eyes and, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car; found herself completely unable to move. She had no idea what it was about this young man, but she wanted him like she'd never wanted anybody in her life. And she did not delude herself into thinking they could have a relationship of equals. She had absolutely no doubt that any relationship they may have would be on his terms, and that those terms would stretch her in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine.

So she stood quietly, shaking visibly yet offering no resistance as he reached his hands out and untied the sash that held her bathrobe closed. Then she leaned away from the wall just enough to allow him to slide the robe over her shoulders and down her arms.

He allowed his eyes to drift over her nightgown clad body briefly before re-establishing eye contact. And then, for the first time since she'd opened the door, he spoke.

"Lift your arms over your head."

Not trusting her voice, she obeyed silently, taking his words for exactly what they were -- a command, not a request.

In slow, measured movements he reached for the hem of her nightgown and eased it up her body, watching as the fire in her eyes grew hotter as each new inch of skin was revealed. He eased it up her thighs and over her hips, revealing a pair of old, white panties with a hint of dampness in the crotch. And he eased it over the curves of her waist to unveil her still firm tummy before sliding it over the swelling of the most amazing pair of tits he'd ever seen, completely unencumbered by brassiere. Finally, he slid the hem over her head and up her arms, stopping when he reached her wrists, leaving her head and arms covered by her nightgown while the rest of her body -- save for a small pair of panties -- stood completely exposed.

With the confidence of a young man who knew he would not be denied, Jason continued his quest, sliding her hands together so he could hold the nightgown and her wrists with just his left hand, thereby freeing his right hand for other, more important tasks.

He lowered his free hand to her shoulder, sliding it slowly, softly downward. He allowed it to lightly graze her left breast, hesitating but an instant before easing it back to her side, from there continuing downward to her hips.

Without hesitation, he slipped his fingers inside the waistband of her last vestige of modesty and began working it down her hips, first her left side, then reaching across her tummy to her right slide and sliding that side down, repeating the back and forth process until the garment slid over her knees and down to the floor.

He then straightened himself up, backing away just enough to drink in all of her nakedness while still maintaining his grip on the wrists he held pinned above her head. And as he stood there, ogling her, the reality of what he had struck home with a force that nearly staggered him. He had a beautiful, tall, very well developed blonde that any man would die to be with, totally under his control. And he knew then that, should he so choose, he could own her.

And he did so choose.

"Kick the panties aside."

As before, she obeyed quickly, wordlessly.

Marsha stood pinned to the wall before him, effectively naked, struggling to maintain some semblance of self-control. With her nightgown stretched across her head and arms she was completely blind to the world. She could sense what he was doing, guess what he might no next, but she could not see him. Yet despite her blindness there was one thing she knew with absolute certainty; her cunt was on fire and desperately begging for attention

And then his words broke through her brief moment of reverie, even as the fingers of his right hand were sliding into her pussy.

"These are the terms of our relationship," he said in a near whisper, leaning forward until his face was nearly touching the garment that was stretched across face. "If you don't accept them, I'll leave right now, understand?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, responding automatically to his authoritative voice even before the words had a chance to register in her head.

"Our relationship is about sex. More precisely, it's about sex the way I want it. We'll do it how I want, where I want, when I want and as often as I want. I will be your owner, your Master. In short, you will be my property and I will be free to dominate, humiliate or punish you as I see fit. Are you with me so far?"

By now her breathing was hard and labored as both the situation and the fingers sliding in and out of her pussy were having an effect on her. Yet despite her fuzzy state of mind, deep inside she knew precisely what he wanted. She also knew how she should react -- how any decent, self-respecting woman would react. She should push him away, cover herself up and kick him out of her house.

The trouble was she'd never before experienced the emotions that he brought out in her, and if she had to forfeit her rights as a normal, decent human being to continue to receive his pleasure, then so be it! The fact was that she wanted to be his property and she didn't give a damn how a decent, self-respecting woman should react. She wanted him, and that was that!

So she took a long, slow breath to clear her mind, and then she responded. "Yes."

"Excellent," he said. And then he jammed his fingers further into her pussy, pressing her firmly against the wall as he pressed his chest against her breasts. And the lustful gasp that escaped her mouth was unlike anything he'd ever heard.

"There's just one other thing," he said after she quieted down enough to hear him. "Since I'm now your Master, I don't think it's unreasonable of me to expect you to treat me with an appropriate amount of respect, do you?"

She tried to concentrate, to focus on his words, but with his chest pressed hard against her bosom and his fingers digging into her pussy, it was difficult. Even so, she knew what he wanted, and she was more than prepared to give it to him.

"No, sir," she said in a soft, trembling voice. "It is not inappropriate of you to expect me to treat you with respect, sir." And as soon as the words left her mouth his fingers took another plunge deep into her soaking pussy.

"Very good," he said in a soft, almost kind voice. And for several minutes thereafter he continued to press himself against her while he worked her pussy, not stopping until he sensed her nearing her climax.

"Okay," he said, withdrawing his finger and eliciting a mournful sigh in response. But he paid her no mind, instead lifting his right hand to take hold of her left, moving her arms until six inches separated the two, each pinned to the wall by one of his own.

"Open your palms."

"Yes, sir," she replied as she complied with his order.

He then released her arms and pushed the nightgown into her palms. "Now," he said in a soft, low voice, "I want you to close your hands around your nightgown and hold it over your head until I say you can lower it."

"Yes, sir," came the automatic response as Marsha quickly complied.

And when she'd done as he'd instructed he released her completely, stepping back to drink in the sight of his lovely, shapely boss standing naked before him; naked, that is, save for the nightgown she held stretched upwards over her head.

He waited several moments before stepping forward and taking a nipple in each hand, twirling them between his thumbs and forefingers.

Marsha sighed deeply, melding into the wall as her young employee toyed with her. And when his fingers abandoned her nipples and his hands took hold of her breasts and squeezed, mashing them against her chest, she moaned out loud. As his hands continued to work her orbs -- massaging them, squeezing them -- she nearly dropped her arms, so dizzying was the pleasure he was inflicting.

She sensed him changing positions even before his teeth closed lightly around her right nipple. Then she closed her eyes, her breathing getting heavier and her head swaying dreamily from side to side.

He switched his pleasure from her right nipple to her left, continuing to squeeze and massage her orbs as his mouth danced from one breast to the other, alternately kissing, biting, licking and nibbling, all while her passion continued to build.

And then he withdrew his mouth from her bosom, moving it instead to her tummy as he eased himself slowly to his knees, all while allowing his hands to remain on her chest to assault her heaving breasts.

He kissed his way around her tummy as she stood lewdly above him, her body gyrating against his ministrations, the moans now flowing continuously from her lips. And when his lips finally reached her belly button he stopped, withdrawing both his mouth and hands from her body, much to her gasping displeasure.

Looking up at her, he watched as she continued to gyrate her body, sensing her disappointment when her gyrations were met with nothing but air. He moved his left hand to her hip and slid his right hand between her legs, his fingers once again diving into her dripping pussy, working first in, then out, then in again as she gasped out loud above him. And he continued to work her -- in, then out, then in again -- until she was once again on the verge of orgasm. And again he stopped, withdrawing his hands as he rose to his feet.

He stood before her, pausing briefly to gather himself, before stepping forward and pressing himself against her, his right leg between her legs and his chest pressed against her right breast.

Her reaction to his presence was immediate as she began grinding her pussy against his leg, desperately trying to continue her pleasure, not caring how she did it. He allowed her to continue for nearly a minute, smiling as the groans coming from under her nightgown began growing in intensity.

"I wonder," he said slowly, "if the people at work know just how big of a slut you really are?" He paused a moment, noting that her only response to his statement was more moaning and an increased pace to her humping.

"I mean, look at you, humping my leg like a puppy dog humping its Master's leg."

And then a smile slid across his face and he reached out for her hips, holding them steady to stop her humping. "That's it," he said simply. "Since you are without a doubt a slut whose actions are no better than a puppy dog's, that's what you'll be." And he released her hips, took hold of the nightgown that covered her head and pulled it upward, at last unveiling her head as her sandy blonde hair fell haphazardly around her shoulders. He then pushed the garment the rest of the way up her arms and cast it aside.

But he didn't tell her she could lower her arms, and she did not take the liberty to do so without his permission.

And as they looked into each other's eyes for the first time since shortly after he'd entered the house, he finished his thought. "From now on your name is Slut Puppy," he said simply. "Because that's what you are."

After a moment of silent staring, Jason spoke again. "What's the matter, Slut Puppy, you don't like your new name?"

"No, sir," she responded quickly before catching herself. "I mean yes, sir." And she hesitated, confused by the wording of the question. So she took a deep breath to calm herself, and tried again. "I mean yes, sir. I like my new name."

Jason smiled at her response, stepping back to drink in the sight of the woman standing before him, a woman stripped not only of her clothing but of her dignity as well, standing against the wall submissively with her hands stretched obediently above her head. And only then did he realize just how much power he really held over her.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he stood there -- maybe thirty seconds, maybe more. But eventually he drew a deep breath, let it out slowly and turned away. He walked the few feet that separated them from the living room and stepped inside. He surveyed the room, quickly decided it would do, and turned back to his sub.

"You can lower arms now, Slut Puppy, and come in here."

Marsha lowered her arms slowly, rolling her shoulders to ease the muscle strain she felt. And then she froze.

He'd just ordered her into the living room -- the medium size room in the front of the house with the picture window overlooking the street that passed by the front of her house. The problem was she never closed the curtain over that window. Right now -- as it always was -- her living room was on full display to anyone that happened to walk by and look in.

She closed her eyes, feeling her knees shake as her stomach began to churn. She couldn't bring herself to go out there, but neither could she disobey him. Somehow, she needed to find a way . . .

But then the words he'd said earlier came flooding back -- 'we'll do it how I want, where I want, when I want and as often as I want,' he'd said. Those were his terms and they were terms she'd eagerly accepted. Now it was time to step up.