She and I hadn't talked in a while, so I was a little surprised to see her number show up on my phone as she was calling. She had come to stay with me a couple of weeks at a time in the past, but it didn't seem like our relationship had much of a future, for reasons probably not worth going into here. And yet, here she was, calling. I answered.
"Hey," she said. "How have you been doing?"
"Great. Things are going well. And you?"
"Okay. I've got another job, this one overseas."
"When does it start?"
"About three weeks from now. Actually, I was wondering something." She paused.
"I was wondering if I could come stay with you for a couple weeks. I can't stay here, and since I'm going overseas..." Her voice trailed off.
I was quiet for a moment.
"You could. When would you fly in?"
"Probably day after tomorrow."
"So soon."
"Yeah, soon."
"Okay," I said. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"That this time, for the couple weeks, you do what I say."
"Whatever you say?"
"Whatever I say."
She was silent.
"Okay."
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I'll do what you say."
"I'll do whatever you say."
"I'll do whatever you say."
"One more time."
"I'll do whatever you say." Her voice was a little resigned.
"All right," I said. "Let me know when to pick you up at the airport."
She arrived in the early afternoon on a Tuesday, and we hugged, and got her large suitcase from the carousel, after a delay and some chitchat. She was wearing a light blue blouse and jeans with pointy black boots with heels, matching her black shoulder-length hair. I drove her back home in my sports car on a sunny, warm summer afternoon, and we talked about what had happened since we'd last seen each other.
The automatic garage door opened, and I parked the car inside. We each got out, and stretched.
"Everything looks the same," she said. "It's very peaceful here."
"It is," I said. The garage door closed behind us, her suitcase still in the back of the car.
We walked to the back porch.
"There's a fabric bag on the porch--would you get it?" I said.
"Sure," she said. She went inside, picked it up, and came out. I took it, and held the handles one in each hand.
She looked at me quizzically.
"Take off your boots, sweetie." She bent down, unsnapped them, and stepped out of her boots.
"Put them in the bag." She picked them up and put them in the bag.
"Now take off your socks." She pulled her socks off.
"In the bag."
"Now take off your blouse."
She unbuttoned her blouse from the top down, unbuttoned her sleeves, and then slipped it off, folded it, and put it into the bag. She had a white, lacey bra on under the shirt.
"Now your pants."
She paused, then unbuttoned her tight jeans, sliding them down and then kicking them off. She held them up, folded them, and put them in the bag.
"Your panties."
She put fingers inside each hip of her panties, and slid them down, until they fell at her feet. She lifted them up to her hand with a toe, and put them in the bag.
Her pubic triangle was dark, but you could see the skin through the trimmed black bush. Her stomach was flat.
"Your bra."
She reached back, unsnapped her bra, and did that shoulder move so the straps came forward. She held the bra in front of her, then put it in the bag. Her nipples were dark, and small, but alert already. Her breasts were small too.
"Put this bag in the garage inside the door, shut the door, and come back here."
She took the bag handles, and walked to the garage with it in front of her. She lifted the bag with one hand, opened the garage door, put the bag inside, and closed the door. She turned, and came back to the porch, her breasts bouncing a little with each step, until she was standing on the lawn near me.
"When you stand, keep your feet wider than your shoulders." She widened her feet, opening her stance.
"Wider." She moved her foot out further.
"And keep your hands behind your back." She clasped her hands behind her back, thrusting her breasts up a little and out.
I moved closer to her, raised my hand, and, very lightly, moved my fingers around her areola, barely touching it, not touching the nipple. First one, then the other, then back to the first. You could see her nipples stiffen and grow just a little in the sunshine.
I took the right nipple between thumb and forefinger and pressed, holding it, then pressing harder. At first her slightly Asian features were impassive, but then she reacted despite herself. I did the same with the left, circling the areola with the lightness of a feather, then grasping the erect brown nipple and pressing it between thumb and forefinger. She was trying not to react, but not succeeding.
"Unh," she said.
"When you're bad, where should I spank you?" I asked.
"Nipples?" I let go and let my hand softly go over her curves and down to brush her pubic hair.
"Pussy?"
"Butt?"
"Please not my nipples," she said, looking down. "They're sensitive."
