My conquest of Cheryl was a satisfying one; of that there can be little doubt. She was a natural born submissive, and once she’d been given the excuse to let herself be the slut she truly wanted to be, she fell into the role with abandon. I’m sure that, in the back of her mind, she continually rationalized her behavior as being necessary to her completion of high school, given my threat to fail her should she not comply with my “extra credit” assignments, but it soon became obvious to me that she relished each and every chance to please me, and I soon made her a very apt sex slave indeed.
We had to be careful, of course. She still lived at home, and our liaisons in the class were too risky to repeat very often (though I did allow myself the pleasure of fucking her mouth a time or two after the last bell had rung). Fortunately I had divorced my wife nearly a year before, and thus was free to pursue my pleasure in my home that was nestled in a grove of trees far enough out of town that I had little fear of nosy neighbors wondering who was paying me visits in her white Jetta. At every opportunity I would page Cheryl and she would always find a way to come to my home where I would induct her into the most wanton pleasures.
I remember well one Saturday evening; I was on my way to a school administration meeting, when I called her to set into motion a plan that I had mapped out earlier in the week. She answered her cell phone on the second ring, and I said, “Cheryl.”
It was a command, not a question, and she immediately knew who it was. I could almost feel her shudder of expectation and excitement. “Yes, Sir.” She answered, and I knew that she was alone.
“Where are you?”
“In the car, Sir. On my way to Ivy’s house. We’re going to watch videos.”
“No,” I said, “Your not…”
I told her to call Ivy and make an excuse and then to go to my house where she would find the key under the stone in the garden. I gave her a list of commands and abruptly hung up.
The meeting was boring, and fortunately only lasted for a couple of hours. Plenty of time for Cheryl to have followed my instructions. Humming to myself, I headed home.
I walked through the door, and there she was, dressed in the maid’s uniform I’d purchased for her and set out on the bed and told her to put on. It was a true uniform, high necked and severe, though perhaps a size too small. It’s hem rode high on her thighs and it accentuated her bust. Her hair was done up under the bonnet, and, in short, she was devastating. She immediately stopped her dusting and stood, head bowed in deference to me. “Hello, Cheryl.” I said, setting down the brown, paper, bag that I’d brought in with me.
“Hello, Sir.” She answered, timidly, but with a tremor of excitement.
“Carry on,” I said with a nod, “I’m going to shower and then I’ll be down for dinner.” I walked past her without a second glance. I knew that she was already wondering what was in the brown bag, but I also knew that she would not dare to peek at its contents. I undressed and enjoyed a leisurely shower, savoring the anticipation of what the night would bring. Drying off and donning a robe, I made my way back to the living room where Cheryl had just finished setting the table. The smells emanating from the kitchen were wonderful. Cheryl may have been a spoiled brat, but she had a knack for cooking which I took advantage of whenever possible. I knew she loved to cook for me. It was another way for her to please me, and that in itself was a pleasure for her.
Of course I didn’t show any signs of enjoying the tantalizing scents coming from the kitchen. I played my part of stern master to the hilt, frowning slightly and surveying the room; looking for any bit of housekeeping she had missed. At last my eyes came to rest on her sweet bottom as she bent over the table to adjust the flower arrangement in the center. The black uniform skirt stretched taut across her lovely ass, and as she bent forward just a bit more I was treated to the delicious view of a slice of white thigh between skirt hem and black stocking top, separated by the vertical supports of her garter belt. I felt my cock stir beneath my robe, and I fought off the urge to simply fuck her across the table right then and there. But I knew that the wait was half the fun. The anticipation, the thrill of the unknown, I knew that those were the things that truly got Cheryl off. She had no idea what I had in store for her, and I knew that her panties were probably sopping wet from the mystery and build up.
She stepped away from the table and I took my seat. She knew what was expected of her, and she played her part to the hilt, remaining silent and avoiding my eyes as she made her trips to and from the kitchen, bringing out steaming dishes of food and a bottle of wine. She had prepared chicken Marsala with fresh vegetables. She poured my wine and filled my plate, and then took a step back to stand behind me, head lowered; ready to cater to my every need.
The dinner was marvelous, as I knew it would be. I ate in silence for several moments, and, when I felt the time was right, I drained my glass of wine. As I knew she would, Cheryl stepped forward to refill it. It was at that point that I let my left hand come to rest on the back of her thigh. She froze for a heartbeat, and I felt a quiver race through her body. The feel of her stocking clad thigh was a delight to my fingertips, and I let my hand slide upwards a bit until I felt her warm, smooth flesh. She stood stock still as my hand traveled still further to find her ass, covered in the thinnest of satin. I cupped her young buttock for a moment, and then, abruptly, I removed my hand and used it to pick up the fresh glass of wine.
“The house looks good, Cheryl.” I said, matter of factly. “And dinner isn’t bad at all. Perhaps a little heavy on the wine, but still, not bad.”
“Th-thank you, Sir.” She whispered.
“Are you hungry, Cheryl?” I asked her.
“Um…a little, Sir.”
“Then you must eat!” I looked up at her and said, “Kneel.”
She did, dropping immediately to her knees beside my chair. “Good girl,” I smiled, and cut off a bite of chicken. I speared it on my fork and held it out to her, feeding her. She took it in her mouth and sighed, taking extreme pleasure from being in such a position of total subservience. I fed her another bite, and another, and then held my glass for her that she might wash it down with some wine. I fed her like that for several minutes until I decided it was time to move on.
“You’ve been a good little maid today, Cheryl,” I said, “And I’ve brought you home a small present. It’s in that bag on the table. Get it and bring it here, but no peeking!” She looked up at me, and I could see her face was flushed and her nipples were hard beneath her uniform blouse. God, but she was sexy. She stood and went to the coffee table, returning with the bag. I took it from her.
“Now, Cheryl, I want you to turn around and raise your skirt. In spite of herself, she flushed an even deeper shade of red, but she did as she was told, turning around to face away from me. She hitched up her skirt to her waist, slowly revealing her stockinged thighs and panty-clad ass. No matter how many times I saw her ass I still got immediately hard at the sight. Is there a more arousing sight in the world than that of an eighteen-year-old girls firm ass? I so wanted to bury my face into her ass crack and lick her through her panties. But time enough for that later. For now the play must be followed as scripted.
