"Remember, Katrina, I expect you to show your respect for me by always doing as I say," you instruct, with your finger slightly pointing at me.
I look straight into your eyes and respond, "I know."
"Always," you add, your finger still in the air.
"Always," I respond.
We're at a big house near the water. The air smells salty, and the sky is overcast. I've never been to this beach house of yours, but, then again, you don't let me go to many of your homes—perhaps it is because I am almost 25 years-old and you are almost 55 years-old. Even though I am young, I am not naïve. I know why you like me. I am beautiful, young, and intelligent. You enjoy showing me off at parties and having your male friends envy you. I know it sounds arrogant, but I am just quoting you. I don't mind, though. We always have a good time, and you spoil me endlessly. The facts that you are filthy rich, have an enormous cock, and fuck me until I am quivering so much I can barely stand don't hurt either.
You walk me through the huge wooden front door and right into the library before you disappear. I'm wearing a black mini skirt, tight white blouse, black bra (I know, tacky with a white shirt), black thigh highs with garters, and black stiletto heels; it is the exact outfit you told me you wanted me to wear. Walking around the room, I stop to peruse the shelves of books, lingering a moment on Chaucer.
Suddenly I hear a gruff, "Come here."
I turn around and you're sitting on a big, brown leather chair watching me. Smiling, I slowly saunter over. As I am walking, you tell me to take off my blouse, which I do.
I stop in front of you a moment, then hear, "Let me see your pussy."
Without hesitation, my eyes lock into yours and I lift my skirt. I'm not wearing any panties, just the black garters and stockings--the ones you gave me for Christmas along with many other expensive treats. My shaved pussy is directly in front of your face, my legs slightly spread. You lean forward and touch between my legs. I gasp a little, as you tease around my slit with your long fingers. You lean forward, as if trying to smell my sex. The instant you feel me loosen, you shove your middle finger inside me. You roughly finger fuck me until I am very wet. Then you pull your finger out, run it under your nose, savoring my sweet aroma. You hold up your finger and tell me to lick it. I bend over and do what you say, still without breaking eye contact with you.
After my tongue traces up and down your finger and my warm mouth envelopes it several times, you order, "Get on your knees."
I do, as you lean back in the buttery soft chair and unbutton your pants. As soon as you pull your cock out, I am on it, sucking it gently. Knowing you like it rough, I quickly hasten the pace and suck harder, getting your dick very wet. I lift off it slowly and then trail my tongue back down its length. I go lower, taking first one testicle then the other gently into my mouth. Again, taking my time kissing, teasing, and blowing my way up your length, I reach the tip then quickly grasp the base and tighten my lips on your cock. I forcefully take you in my mouth, enjoying the taste of your precum as I suck you for all I am worth, as you writhe in that fine, Italian leather chair.
When I slow down, look up at you, and take your cock all the way down my throat, I hear you praise, "Good girl," as you hold the back of my head on it and gently thrust.
Hearing your comment turns me on even more, and I suck and lick you harder again, trying not to gag on your long cock. You still have your hand on the back of my head, guiding me, when the doorbell rings. You get up slowly and zip up your pants. I lean back on my heels, a little startled, but you act like you knew the bell was going to ring.
I'm fixing my blouse and hair and gold-gilded mirror, when I hear the voices of a couple men and look up. Two men in their late 50's in business suits are walking outside with you, toward the atrium. One is a short, timid man with glasses, and the other is a very large, overweight man whose attitude appears even bigger than his stature. You seem relaxed yet cordial with them, like they are business acquaintances rather than friends. They also seem to be walking a little too straight and their eyes are darting around the house a little too much for them to be friends.
I don't know what I should do or where I should go, so I stay in the library, this time taking interest in Dostoyevsky. After about 15 minutes, you call for me. When I get to the outdoor atrium, I can see that the day has turned sunny. You are sitting in front of the men, laughing and speaking with them. I go to you and stand seductively at your side--just like you taught me to do. I give the men a coy smile with a raised eyebrow, thinking you just want to introduce me as eye-candy so I can get you all some drinks. Instead, you wrap your hand on my ass, and say, "Stand in front of me and face Mr. Simms and Mr. Woolrich," as you pat and rub my ass.
I do as you instruct.
"Now hike up your skirt."
