After I came down from my orgasmic haze, I was consumed with remorse. Shame filled me. Mrs. Reynolds hung around and held me and praised my slutty nature. She told me how proud of me she was. I had to admit, it helped. It didn't take it away, but it helped me continue.
Mrs. Reynolds told me I needed to rest. I needed to clean myself up. She gave me specific instructions on how to shave my sex. She touched my oversensitive flesh each time she gave an order. I agreed to everything. I may have been out of the orgasm haze, but I seemed to cling to the submissive headspace.
When she left, I felt empty. The only thing I thought to do to ease the feeling of loss was to do her chores. So, the first thing I did was try to take a nap. I couldn't. The images of what she had done to me were too fresh. Not to mention, my body was still sore.
So, I did the next best thing. Mrs. Reynolds didn't say I had to sleep. She said I had to rest. So I drew myself a bath. She had said that was the best time to shave anyway. I used all the lavender and calming stuff I could think of for my bath.
When I went to shave, I found my lips were not only sore but swollen. I wondered if Mrs. Reynolds' knuckles had bruised me. It didn't matter though. I did what she asked of me. I shaved smooth for her.
Once done with the bath, my muscles felt so much better. Between the workout and the use, I needed that bath. I found myself grateful for Mrs. Reynolds. When I went downstairs, there was a note.
Slut,
I permit you to eat a chicken breast on a bed of romaine lettuce with some oil and vinegar. You may use dry spices on your chicken. You can add green peppers and some cucumbers to bulk up your salad. You will only drink water for the rest of the night. You will spend exactly one hour watching Netflix, a program of your choosing. You may surf the internet for lesbian BDSM porn stories, not videos, only stories. I want you to read four of them before you go to sleep. You will use your vibrator but do not have permission to cum. Once you have finished your stories, you will go to bed. In the morning you will have a toasted English muffin with peanut butter and a banana protein shake. Once you finish, come to my house for your inspection and yoga. Wear the black lacy panties and a beach cover-up that is all.
Mrs. Reynolds.
My cheeks flushed. I held the note in a shaking hand. Mrs. Reynolds had just dictated the rest of my night and the next morning. I didn't have to decide anything. It was all laid out for me. Why did I take comfort in that?
After my dinner, I found that I had no interest in watching the show I was permitted. I wondered if I could skip that step in favor of going right to the stories. Something told me I had better follow the instructions as laid out. So, I put on something stupid that I could ignore.
Exactly one hour later, I went up to my room with my laptop. I sat on my bed and searched for stories. It was harder than I thought. I wanted to find good ones, ones that would make Mrs. Reynolds proud. After a few lines, I would disregard one and start another. It wasn't right.
I settled on one about an older woman and a younger girl. I turned the vibrator on low. As I read, I rubbed it across my clit and against my opening. As I read the nasty things, the woman said to the younger girl I imagined them in Mrs. Reynold's voice. My imagination only made it harder for me to keep the vibrator on my clit without orgasming.
After the first story, I took a break; just a few minutes to settle down. Halfway through the second story, I needed to stop or else I would explode. By the thirst story, I had to stop every second paragraph or so. It was too much.
After the fourth story, I was clawing at the sheets of my bed. I had switched to lying on my belly. I humped the vibrator which I held in my hand as I pressed it into my mound. I moaned audibly. It was torture of my making. However, a voice in the back of my mind told me this vision of me would make Mrs. Reynolds proud. That made it alright.
I wanted to read more. I wanted to do more. I couldn't though. It was all I was permitted. I went to bed naked. I don't know why. Perhaps it was because I hadn't been given instructions on what to wear. Falling asleep was hard. My sore pussy was so sensitive to everything. If I squeezed my thighs, it tingled. If I spread my legs, the cool air tickled it. I felt like an exposed nerve trying to sleep.
The next morning I awoke way too early. I awoke just as the sun came up. That was not like me at all. I had this sexual tension I had never experienced before. I was eager.
I wanted to go straight to Mrs. Reynolds. However, It was too early. I couldn't do that yet. So, instead, I was slow at making my breakfast. I stared at my laptop as I did. I wanted to read more. I wanted to learn more about Mrs. Reynolds' world.
But, I didn't have permission to do that. I didn't have permission to do anything but have breakfast and get dressed. Well, I assumed that going to the bathroom and attending to hygiene was a given. So, I lingered on those tasks as well.
At around 9 am, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my yoga mat, clad in my black lacy panties and a long T-shirt I stepped out of my house. With my chin high, since no one could tell just by looking at me that I was a slut. I walked down the path of our house to head over to the Reynolds' house.
Mr. Reynolds, a large man with a beer belly, and a lot of body hair was outside. He knelt while tinkering with a sprinkler in their lawn. My cheeks turned pink when I saw him. A long time ago I had thought he was a cheating husband. Wasn't what Mrs. Reynolds had done with me being considered cheating? Guilt crept into my mind.
"Hi there Jenny," He waved a hand to me kindly.
"Hi, Mr. Reynolds." I diverted my eyes trying not to look as guilty as I felt.
With a grunt, Mr. Reynolds lifted himself to a standing position. He dusted his dirty hands off on his sweatpants. "What you got there?" He pointed to my yoga mat.
"Oh," I had forgotten I carried it. "It's for yoga. Mrs. Reynolds, she's been." I paused. She's been watching me do yoga. That sounded funny coming from my lips. So I cleared my throat. "I have been showing Mrs. Reynolds how to do yoga." That sounded better.
He grinned. "Oh right." Mr. Reynolds nodded. "She told me."
Relieved I let out a sigh. "Is Mrs. Reynolds up yet?"
He approached me and entered my personal space. I wanted to step back. I had never been this close to him before. His belly grazed my hip. His large, rough hand came to my buttocks, and I gasped.
He snickered and offered it a squeeze. "She likes when her sluts wake her up." He whispered in my ear.
I was mortified. I stood frozen as Mr. Reynolds squeezed and pinched my young ass. "I I I." I stammered.
He chuckled and pushed me forward. "She showed me it all slut. I know how dirty you are." He pinched my ass harder, and I whined.
"B-b-but." I didn't know what to say. I felt betrayed. I felt sick. I felt aroused. I told myself it was because his hand was on my ass. I told myself it was because of the videos.
I stumbled into his house while Mr. Reynolds kept a firm grip on my ass cheek. "Shhhh slut." He whispered once we were in the house.
Mr. Reynolds directed me to the foot of the stairs. He guided me pushing my ass forward forcing my legs to move. I shook while he slipped his fingers closer to the crack in my behind.
"My wife likes her sluts naked and quiet in the morning. She showed me that you are a good slut, so be a good slut now and do what my wife likes." He instructed.
I gawked at him from over my shoulder. He couldn't be serious. I was Mrs. Reynolds' slut. Had I just thought that? My cheeks burned. I gulped. "Mr. Reynolds."
Mr. Reynolds took his free hand and cupped my cheek. He looked me directly in my eye, and I had to lower my gaze. He had the same intense look as Mrs. Reynolds. It made me squirm. So did his fingers inching between my ass cheeks.
He stroked my face and placed his dirty thumb over my lips. I trembled in his grasp. He was gentle with one hand and so much rougher with the other. It made my knees weak, and my confused body responded the only way it seemed to know how it thrummed with arousal.
