"Yes, Master, I live to please you." The gorgeous blonde slinked sensually on her hands and knees across the carpeted bedroom floor towards me. Her wavy hair fell past her heavy, swinging breasts and her perfect ass swayed back and forth as she approached.
A shiver ran through me and my cock grew even harder. I loved it. My dominance, her submission, the things that I'd fantasized about finally becoming a reality in my life.
She knelt at my feet, staring up at me with wide open eyes. "Please, may I suck your cock, Sir?" her voice was breathy and desperate. She wanted nothing more.
I nodded, and as her perfect lips wrapped around my length, I sighed blissfully and leaned back into the pillows. I closed my eyes. Not six hours ago, the buxom beauty crawling towards me would never have imagined the depths of her submission to me. Now, it was her only desire.
* * *
When I used to look like a nerd, they would never have treated me as they were right now. Now, the other guys looked at me with respect and their girlfriends looked at me with barely disguised desire. I knew that if I wanted, any of them could be mine. More often than not, though, I resisted the urge to take advantage of that power. There were plenty women to go around.
At least, that's what I thought until I saw Kristi Schwartz.
It was a fraternity party. I don't remember which fraternity, at the time I was getting invited to so many. Bradford University had just won some major sporting event (though I now had the ripped physique of a professional athlete, I had retained my nerdy distaste for organized sports), and we were celebrating.
I wore my navy blazer that night, the fabric stretched tight across my wide chest and broad shoulders, tailored to my slimmer hips over a partially unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks. I was easily the best dressed guy there, but I knew that instead of looking overdressed I looked powerful and confident. Like a man in a room full of boys. I felt it, too. It could be intoxicating, but I knew I needed to keep myself under control. The kind of shit I'm on needs to be carefully managed.
I was scanning the crowd, full of barely-legal coeds entangled around the brawny arms of buff college football players (it must have been a football game that we'd just won) who were drunk on a blend of cheap beer and victory.
The party was loud inside the frat house, with fast, thumping music and dozens of conversations taking place all within fifty feet of each other. I knew that the cops would probably roll up in a couple hours to shut it down for noise, but I'd be gone by then. I was just picking tonight's prize.
I froze as my eyes passed over a knot of my fellow students nearby. I did a double take. I had known that Kristi was also attending Bradford, but I'd hoped that our paths would never cross. We had a history, one that I preferred to forget. The most beautiful girl from my high school, now a varsity cheerleader, was currently leaning back comfortably against the muscular chest of the quarterback, Marcus Lee.
She was wearing a tight v-neck tee shirt with the Greek letters of some sorority stretched across her more than ample cleavage and jeans that looked painted on. Her "oh-my-god-please-come-fuck-me-now" heels gave her a couple inches and highlighted her toned legs and tight ass. She'd really outdone herself tonight.
I really shouldn't have gone over. I should have let the past remain the past and not let my personal history with the girl alter my usual habits. But, before I could help myself, I was striding across the room, sliding between various groups of chatting students.
"Kristi Schwartz?" I asked, raising my voice a little.
She turned her head at her name, wavy blonde hair framing her angelic features. Her eyes met mine and she raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips as she tried to put a name to the face.
"Nick Callahan!" I said, smiling broadly. "From high school!" I was right up alongside the group now, mostly football players and their dates, which grudgingly widened to include me as I stepped up to Kristi.
"Nick?" She seemed almost suspicious. I could have that effect on people who knew me from... before. Then, her expression changed as she recognized that my basic facial bone structure was the same. "Ohmygod!" Funny how alcohol and looking like a movie star can make people so excited to see you. She threw her arms around me, sloshing some of her drink on the carpet. "You look so... Different!" she squealed in the breathy voice of a typical sorority girl.
I held her against me for a few heartbeats, her large bust pressed against my chest, then stepped back and surveyed the rest of the group. Her quarterback escort looked a little nonplussed at his date's reaction to me. I was unsurprised. Gorillas like him will generally need a demonstration of power before they kiss the ring.
As the obvious alpha of the group, he was next in line for my approach. I held out a hand. He took it on reflex and I gave him a firm shake, staring into his eyes. He had the typical football look — square head on square shoulders, short-cropped blonde hair and a leather jacket hugging his large muscles. Subconsciously, he registered the sign of respect. A minute later, I would be drinking him under the table, leaving Kristi to be mine for the evening.
"What's up, bro?" I asked. "Great game tonight, huh? You
killed
them!" I, of course, had no idea about whether we'd killed anyone, but a little flattery never hurt. I assumed, by the size of the party, that we'd won big.
He nodded, slightly mollified where my intrusion was concerned.
"I'll drink to that!" I told him, reaching for a bottle of tequila on a nearby table and snagging a couple of plastic cups. "Who wants to do some shots?!!"
I poured, correctly assuming that he wouldn't turn down alcohol. Five rounds in, I could see his eyes begin to glaze over. At Bradford, out-drinking your competition is one of the fully approved methods for demonstrating personal prowess.
Twenty minutes later, the quarterback was having a rather intimate conversation with the nearest toilet and I was chatting up his abandoned date. The alcohol had little to no effect on me. It was though I'd been drinking water. Another side effect.
Kristi, who had been watching with the awe only college students can possess for someone else's drinking capacity, was now fully engrossed in our back and forth about the past few years of our lives since high school.
She was still a cheerleader, as I said, and an officer in her sorority (one of the more prestigious ones on campus, whose name I immediately forgot). Daddy's money had landed her a nice apartment just off campus, and she was acing all her classes. Not surprising, considering she'd been second in our high school class for grades (after, of course, yours truly).
Still, I was a little surprised when it was her, and not me, that suggested we get out of there.
"We have a
lot
of catching up to do," she said, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way and flashing me her heavenly smile.
We headed for the door. "Here," I offered, shrugging out of my blazer. "It's cold out tonight." This part of my plan rarely went wrong, and it didn't tonight. She took my chivalrous gesture in stride.
Kristi didn't complain as I wrapped the blazer around her shoulders. In fact, she giggled as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and found that her fingertips barely poked out the end. She grinned up at me tipsily, but I knew she wasn't really that inebriated. I'd kept careful track of how much Kristi had been drinking (drunk girls don't do it for me), and she'd really not had that much. Mostly just drunk on the atmosphere. And me.
"Do you remember high school?" I asked, arm around her shoulders in a friendly way as I led her back toward my building.
