For the first week after her encounter with Derek Strong and Amy Marshall, Kara Johnson had been moderately successful at finding some trivial, mindless task to help take her mind off the events of that day. On occasion she even managed to convince herself that it hadn't really been far and away the single most erotic event of her life. But as the days rolled by and the day of Derek's departure for college neared, Amy's words became increasingly difficult to get out of her head.
'If you don't call him,' her 36 year-old married neighbor had said to her the day after it'd happened, 'you'll regret it the rest of your life.'
And so, for the umpteenth time that day, Kara stood before the kitchen telephone, nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach as those words rang over and over in her head . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . .
Finally, at 11:30 AM Wednesday, just a half-week before Derek's scheduled Sunday departure for college, she gave in and reached for the phone, her hands shaking so hard that she could hardly read his number on the card Amy had given her. The phone rang three times before Derek picked it up. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Miss Johnson," he said smugly, betraying his caller ID. "Amy told me you'd be calling, but I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you."
Stunned by how the young man had taken control before she'd even spoken a word, Kara stumbled out a weak response; the only response she could think of. "Amy said I'd call?"
But Derek ignored her query, instead getting directly to the point. "This is what will happen, Miss Johnson," he said confidently. "That is, it's what will happen if you truly want to take our relationship to the next level.
"You will be at my house tomorrow morning at 11:00 AM sharp. You will be wearing a tank top with no bra, stretch-waist exercise pants, a tie-side thong, no socks, and shoes you can slip off easily. You may wear light makeup if you wish, but absolutely nothing else. Clear?"
Kara nearly dropped the phone, shuddering as chills ran down her spine. It was happening again, just like it did the other time. She, the adult, the mature one, the one that should have been able to find a way to deal with the situation, was coming completely unglued as a boy 20 years her junior exerted his will on her, pushing her to places that, truth be told, she still wasn't completely certain she wanted to go.
"But your parents, won't they . . ." she stammered.
But Derek cut her off. "Are you questioning me, Miss Johnson?" he challenged in a firm voice, adding fright to the growing list of afflictions now affecting Kara.
"No, Sir," she responded automatically.
"You'd better not be," Derek said. Then, a moment later, he continued in a slightly softer voice. "Not that you deserve an answer, but my parents are leaving very early tomorrow morning and won't be back until midday Saturday. That should give us plenty of time, don't you agree, Miss Johnson?"
"Yes, Sir," she whispered weakly, but the line had already gone dead.
* * *
It was one minute before 11:00 the next morning when Kara pulled into Derek's driveway. Nervously, she looked at the mirror and brushed the hair from her face. Then she closed her eyes, took a long slow breath, exhaled and opened the door. She reached her feet and closed the door, then checked her reflection in the car window -- white tank top, stretch-waist exercise pants, no socks, sandals, and just as instructed, no bra and a tie-side thong underneath it all.
'Christ. I didn't even own a pair of tie-side thongs before last night,' she thought.
Then, after yet another calming breath, she turned and started for the front door.
She reached the door and hesitated; the doubts again creeping in now that the moment of truth was upon her. 'Are you sure you want to do this?' she thought to herself. 'It's not too late. You can still turn around and leave.'
But she didn't leave, nor did she move her finger towards the door bell. Instead, she just stood there, stricken with confusion and indecision. Why was she there? Was she really willing to surrender herself to a young man barely out of high school? And if she did go ahead with it, would she be able to face herself in the morning or would she be overcome with the same shame and humiliation she endured last time?
She shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she said in a near whisper. "I just don't know." And so she stood there, a statue frozen in time, unable to move until suddenly the door swung open. And there he was, her tormentor, standing before her in shorts and a tee-shirt, bigger than life itself.
For the longest moment the world was silent. Kara stood there nervously, uncertain whether to turn and run or stand and wait, while Derek simply stared at her through the eyes of a man who had no doubt that soon, very soon, he would have his prey. Finally, just when Kara didn't think she could take any more of the silence, the young man stepped away from the door.
"Come," he said simply, that single word exploding in her ears like no word before. And with her heart pounding in her chest, Kara found herself following the young man into the house, one foot moving slowly in front of the other, knowing full well that her fate had already been decided.
Once they were inside Derek eased the door closed, slid his hand onto Kara's lower back and guided her to the center of the foyer, turning her so she was facing the mirror on the far wall. Then, without further fanfare, he slid behind her, slipped his fingers inside the elastic waist-band of her exercise pants and slid them over her hips and down her thighs, stopping when they reached her knees. Then he slid the bottom of her top upwards until it reached her underarms, and then pulled the front up and over her head so it stretched between her biceps behind her back. Finally, he reached down, took hold of the ties on her thong and pulled. Once the ties came free, he eased the tiny garment from between her legs and slipped it casually into his pocket. Only then did he look in the mirror at her completely exposed breasts and pussy and nod his head approvingly.
He reached around her and traced his fingers lightly over her breasts, smiling smugly as her nipples hardened and goosebumps broke out across her body.
"So tell me, Miss Johnson, what do you want from me?"
Kara swallowed deeply, lowering her eyes briefly to the reflection of his hands tracing slow little circles on her breasts, then raising them back to meet his. 'Why is this so difficult?' she screamed silently. It wasn't like she had any real doubt as to what the answer to his question truly was; she wanted him to do to her exactly what he'd done the week before, and exactly what he'd done to Amy. She wanted him to dominate her, to take her in any and every way he could imagine. She wanted him to humiliate her, degrade her, even punish her. And yes, she wanted him to bring her too more of those wonderful mind-blowing orgasms, over and over and over, just like he had before.
She struggled with her emotions, forcing herself to cut loose the social mores that were holding her back. Who cared if she was a middle aged woman and he was barely out of high school? And what difference did it make what people would think of her if they ever found out about the things they did?
"I asked you a question, Miss Johnson," Derek said abruptly, cutting through her reverie. "What do you want from me?" And then he eased his right hand away from her breast and lowered it to her crotch, rubbing her already wet pussy while his other hand squeezed and caressed her breast.
Kara closed her eyes, took one more deep breath and re-opened them, then looked his reflection straight in the eyes. "I want you to take me like you did the other day," she said, her voice cracking even as her body writhed under his caresses. "I want you to be my Master, and I want to be your slut-toy."
