The story continues

Agent 99
By Beagle9690
October, 2006
In the mid-1970’s I was attending college full time on a sports scholarship. After one semester of living in the dormitories, I grew tired of dealing with the spoiled idiots and arrogant slackers merely taking up space when they should have been studying and attending classes.
My mother had me out of wedlock. Her parents, my grandparents, disowned us; calling my mother a whore and me a bastard; she died when I was six. Her brother, my uncle Albert, a staunch bachelor, raised me from that point on. Uncle Albert was New York State Trooper. I spent my formative years in the company of serious, honorable men.
My uncle found me a room in the home of the widow of a fallen comrade killed by a drunken driver during a routine traffic stop.
I rented a large room on the second story with an attached bathroom. There were double French doors that opened onto an enclosed screened -in- balcony. The balcony was the perfect place for my weight bench and weights.
The rent was fifty dollars a month. In consideration of this modest sum, I agreed to take over the yard work and make minor repairs around the house as needed. I took my responsibilities seriously.
Being about two miles from campus, I was within walking distance of my classes.
My landlady, Mrs. Grace was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She was a petite woman at five foot three inches tall, weighing one hundred ten pounds. Mrs. Grace had chocolate brown hair that she kept pinned up in a large braided bun. I always wondered how long her hair was; I didn’t find out until her submission, consummating of our tryst.
In the summer of 1975 I had lived there for two years. Although not part of the original agreement, Mrs. Grace saw to it that I ate at least one substantial meal a day.
During the month of August, one of the hottest on record, Mrs. Grace asked me if I would remove the outdoor carpet from the floor of the back porch. I removed the old worn carpet and found rotten boards from moisture trapped underneath.
Naturally, she found an excuse for me to repair and paint the floor; I ended up doing the entire porch; floor to ceiling.
I spent three days on this project; replacing boards, sanding, priming and painting. The temperatures were in the nineties; because of this, I was only wearing shorts and work boots; it was much too muggy to wear a shirt.
Mrs. Grace was a very polite and well-mannered woman. It was obvious when listening to her speak that she was well read and disdained the use of slang or coarse language. I never heard her raise her voice, although at times she could be obstinate and annoying.
When we went to the lumberyard to get the materials for the porch, she personally hand selected the boards. The harried yard foremen made numerous trips to the lumber sheds; until all the boards met with her satisfaction; being perfectly straight and free of knots and imperfections; and these were boards that would be painted and walked on. Mrs. Grace was used to getting her own way.
Mrs. Grace sat outside in the shade the entire three days and monitored my progress, like a hawk watching a mouse. Always the proper lady, she wore loose, light colored muslin sundresses, with wide brimmed straw hats while out in the sun. She also kept us supplied with endless pitchers of ice cold, fresh squeezed lemonade. Mrs. Grace even offered to wet me down with cold water from the garden hose during the course of my labor to cool me down; that helped as much as the cold lemonade.
In the late afternoon of the third day, after the porch was done, she surprised me by grilling some strip steaks. We sat outside together and ate steak, roasted garlic potatoes, fresh corn- on- the cob and tomatoes. Afterwards, she went inside to tidy up her kitchen. I stayed put in my chair to relax and digest my huge meal. Mrs. Grace, God bless her, fussed over me during dinner making sure I got enough to eat.
Mrs. Grace returned with a pitcher of iced tea and two tall glasses.
She told me that she made her special Southern Comfort mint iced tea to celebrate the excellent job I did on the porch; and inquired again if I had enough to eat. Then the subject of haircuts came up… again.
Before she was married, Mrs. Grace worked as a beautician.
Her husband, twenty years her senior, insisted that she stay at home to take care of the house; he would work and provide for the both of them; a good provider, in his passing, left her very well of financially. She now worked part time, when needed, for a good friend. Her friend, Susan Banner ran a beauty shop out of her home. Mrs. Grace went there to have her long hair trimmed.
From the time I first moved in, Mrs. Grace offered to style my hair for free. She frequently scolded me saying, “You are too good looking to be walking around looking like a shaggy sheep dog”. I laughed and politely declined her kind offers. Not put off, she would tease me and say,” Someday”. Lately, she was insisting that I call her by her first name, Mary; to her annoyance, I continued to address her as Mrs. Grace.
After the first pitcher of tea, I noticed that she was nursing her drink and constantly filling my glass. During the second, third, and fourth pitchers, she was doing the same; most of mine ended up underneath my chair in the grass. I was curious and wanted to see what she was up to. I had my suspicions, and played along pretending to get drunk. After all, she was a very attractive woman. By the sixth pitcher, I feigned being a little dizzy, explaining it must be the heat. Mrs. Grace suggested that I go into the house and lie down.
She had me lie down on my back on a large overstuffed sofa, and removed my work boots and socks. Mrs. Grace went into the kitchen and brought me a cold, damp washcloth for my forehead. By then, I pretended to be passed out, sound asleep. Placing the damp washcloth over my eyes, she shook me gently calling my name.
Satisfied that I was out cold, she went back into the kitchen.
When she returned, she had a package of unopened clothesline, and a pair of blued Peerless handcuffs; the cuffs keys attached to a black kuboton.
Mrs. Grace knelt down in front of the couch were I was lying, placing the mentioned items on the floor beside her. She took the washcloth from my forehead, and started running her fingers through my hair. I felt her hot breath on my face and heard her whisper in my ear,” I told you, someday”.
I was getting aroused and excited; it was getting very hard to remain calm and lie still. Mrs. Grace started lightly caressing my chest and arms with her small dainty hands; it was driving me crazy; boy, was she in for a surprise. When she stuck her hand down my shorts, and felt my erection, that was it: I opened my eyes and grabbed her by her trim waist, and pulled her tightly against my chest. The look on her pretty face was priceless. I could smell her perfume and feel her breasts pressing against my bare chest through the thin fabric of her dress.
She struggled to get free, but I gently put her arms behind her back, being careful not to hurt her. I held both of her small, dainty hands in one of mine while I reached for the handcuffs, placing them carefully on her wrists. Mrs. Grace became angry. She actually raised her voice and started cursing and threatening me, struggling violently to get free; I held her effortlessly, getting more aroused by the second, teasing her about her” potty mouth”.
I kissed her precious mouth and face in between curses and threats, holding her hair at the nape, gently forcing her head to meet my lips, my manhood pressing against her through our clothing. This time she wouldn’t get her way. I let her struggle, enjoying her helpless anger until she grew tired and gave up, lying quiet and still in my arms. Until that moment, I never realized I had feelings for her or how desirable and complex Mrs. Grace really was; I wanted her and would have her if only for one night.
Lying there, I removed the pins from her bun, taking it down and teasing her about trying to get me drunk. I told her she was a naughty little girl, while I undid her braid, her long silky ponytail reaching to the bottom of her ass cheeks. I stroked her long ponytail and admonished her for trying to tie me up and give me a forced haircut.
I ran my hands under her dress, caressing her firm ass through her panties, snapping the elastic waistband. I ran my hands up her back to discover she was not wearing a bra. I commented about this calling her a hot, sexy little vixen.
I pulled off my cut off jean shorts, tossing them to the floor, commenting,” See Mrs. Grace, no underwear, it’s to hot outside” “Listen carefully to me now; I promise I won’t hurt you. It’s too late to stop what you started”. ” Relax, take it like a woman; because I’m going to take it like a man”
I ripped her sundress at the seams, pulling it off of her and dropping the pieces casually to the floor.
I could feel her firm breasts and hard nipples pushing against my chest. I kissed her mouth; she returned my kisses, her tongue probing my mouth in return. I could feel the wetness of her arousal through her soaked panties; like her dress, I ripped them from her
Denying her my manhood, I probed her dripping pussy with my fingers, carressing her flower. I continued teasing her with my fingers until she was begging me to take her. I reached down and found the cuff key, removing the handcuffs. I broke the elastic band holding her ponytail letting her long, soft, silky mane flow down her back like a luscious chocolate veil.
I stood her up facing me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I picked her up by her ass, and slid my erect manhood past her swollen lips into her moist pussy; greeting her sweet flower. As I pounded her, she arched her back, thrusting her hips forward, her long hair moving to the rhythm of my lustful thrusts. Mrs. Grace was a moaner; she let me know in no uncertain terms when she came.
Having satisfied her, I continued thrusting with renewed vigor, my explosive orgasm causing her to hold on tighter and passionately kiss my mouth and face. When I was sated, I carried her into the kitchen and put her on the table.
I arranged her beautiful long hair around her back, shoulders and breasts, enjoying the silky texture of her tresses. It flowed from her crown down her back, and over her shoulders and breasts like a chocolate waterfall to a dark pool around her hips and thighs.
On the table with her, were the tools of her trade; scissors, combs, hair clips, thinning shears and electric clippers; complete with a variety of guide combs. The tools that she sought to shear me against my will.
“Mrs. Grace “, I said, “I think we have established that I don’t need the handcuffs to make you behave”. “I’m going to let you have your way”. I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. ” Go ahead and give me a haircut”. “But, I, I need to get dressed first”, she stammered. “Absolutely not”, I corrected,” Cut it as you are”.
Mrs. Grace complied with my request.
It appeared that the idea appealed to her because after the first initial snips, she was rubbing up against me with her breasts, while she was cutting my hair; erotic doesn’t begin to describe that haircut. Erotic aside, her skills as a stylist were impressive, the haircut precise and perfect; I should have taken her up sooner on her offer.
When she was done I complemented her on the haircut, sharing my thoughts about the experience and confirming her “Shaggy Sheep Dog” observation, adding,” Now it’s your turn”.
I sat her down in the same chair, and picked up the scissors.
I had no idea where to start, never having had the opportunity to cut a woman’s hair before. I played with it for a while, pulling it back into a ponytail then twisting it into a bun.
I said to her, “Mary, did you ever see the Television show Get Smart staring Barbara Feldon?’ Surprised and delighted that I would call her Mary, she smiled and said that she loved that TV show, asking,” what about Barbara Feldon, Agent 99?” “Well, I just love her bangs”.” I really like the way she wears her hair” “I think you would look lovely in that hairstyle, especially with those bangs.”
“I have no idea what I am doing and your hair is so beautiful…” I said. “Do you want me to me to wear my hair like that?” she asked,
I kissed her and replied,” You would look gorgeous with bangs”
“Your wish is my command”, she teased, standing up and hugging me. “There are hair ties in the drawer by the sink, would you get me a couple?” she asked sweetly I brought Mary the hair ties and she braided her long hair in a single braid down her back, securing the bottom with one of the ties. Positioning the second tie on her braid in the middle of her back, she handed me the scissors and said” Cut it off just above the elastic band”.
Taking up the scissors, it seemed to take forever to cut through that thick silky braid. Mary stood up, unbraided her hair, bent her neck back and shook her head. Her hair now reached the middle of her back and felt thicker and fuller. Mary said, “Thank you for not cutting it short, I hate short hair.” I was afraid that you would use the clippers” “I can live with this length” “Even with bangs I can fix it dozens of ways for you, if you will have me”. I picked her up a second time and carried her to her bedroom. We made slow gentle love and afterwards showered together. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
In the morning, Mary went to see her friend Susan
Mary returned with the same beautiful eye framing bangs. The front was pulled back and secured with the same small curled ponytail, the rest, and loose curls cascading down to the middle of her back. Susan had duplicated the style to perfection, except my Agent 99 was more beautiful then the original and with much longer hair Her excellent reputation for specializing in long hair was well deserved.
Mary said that Susan had to even up the bottom where I cut the braid off; explaining that it was necessary to cut two more inches off to get the bottom perfectly straight.
Mary told me that after Susan finished with her, she announced that Mary’s bangs made her look ten years younger. I agreed, I told her she could pass for twenty, especially with her hair down.
I kissed her and asked her if she would like another chance to seduce me? Mary commanded,” Take everything off, now!’
I meekly complied, my manhood standing at attention.
Mary went down on her knees and started licking and sucking.
I buried my hands in her hair, playing with her long curls.
She was fabulous; I never had oral sex before.
As I played with my lover’s hair, I thought to myself, there is more then one way to bind a man and render him helpless.
This story is a variation of Agent 99. The plot changes in the kitchen after Mrs. Grace finishes giving her lover a haircut. The story resumes at:“Now it’s your turn”.
Agent 99:Alternate Haircut/Ending
By Beagle9690
August 2007
“Now it’s your turn”
“Please put your hair in a low ponytail and braid it for me. Mrs. Grace quickly complied. In no time a long silky braid was hanging down to the top of her tight little ass. I stroked her braid, adding another elastic hair band just below her neck.
I made Mrs. Grace bend over the kitchen table placing her hands flat on the top. I entered her a second time, my manhood probing her moist flower, pinning her in place.
I took my time with her, running my hands over her neck and shoulders; caressing her breasts, feeling her nipples swell and harden; her sweet juices flowing as her urgent
need was rising.
Mrs. Grace was pushing back, her curvaceous hips gyrating, impaling her self on my manhood; the volume of her moans increasing as her orgasm was cresting.
Taking her long silky braid in my fist I cut it off with her scissors, pushing her orgasms to crest and flood through her body in waves of pleasure, her shorn hair falling about her face.
I stood there running my fingers through her thick brown hair; fluffing it about. Mrs. Grace’s once ass length tresses now just fell to the bottom of her collarbone in the front, slightly longer in the back just brushing her shoulders.
I withdrew my manhood and stepped back; I could wait. Mrs. Grace turned facing me, her beautiful face was flushed and her eyes bright with tears. I pushed her hair back and wiped away her tears. Smiling, she shook her head from side to side; her shorn hair dancing about her face and neck, then gathering it in her hands, putting it on top of her head and letting fall back down.
Mrs. Grace put her arms around my neck. She got up on her toes trying to kiss me. I bent over placing my hands on her ass cheeks squeezing while kissing her sweet mouth.
Looking into her green eyes, I announced,” Put on a pair of blue jeans and some old shoes” “We’re going riding”
“But I don’t have any blue jeans” she said placing her hands on her hips and pouting”. “ I want to do you now”
I picked her up again and put her on the table. “Are you going to behave?” I admonished. “I’ll behave”. ….“Are you going to cut my hair again?” she asked in a small voice, looking worried. “No…. please wait right here.” “I’ll be back in a few”. I sternly replied.
I returned dressed in jeans, a white tee shirt and my black engineer boots. I handed Mrs. Grace a pair of her panties and my new canvas work shirt. “Put these on.” “I’ll try to find you some suitable shoes and get my ride ready”.
Taking my time and making her wait, I returned to the kitchen. While I was gone Mrs. Grace had washed her face free of all makeup. In addition, she had parted her hair down the middle and put it up in two high pigtails just behind her ears using the elastic bands from her severed braid. My shirt obviously too big for her hung down almost to her knees, but showing off her shapely legs as I knew it would.
My heart melted seeing her standing there; Mrs. Grace looked absolutely cute and precious. Pigtails in her hair…freshly scrubbed face with her peaches and cream complexion……….. She looked like a girl in her late teens or early twenties getting ready for a date.
Mrs. Grace walked over and hugged me resting her head against my chest. I stood there for a while just holding her and stroking her hair, thinking………
Earlier in the day she was my landlady; Elegant and gracious…in flowing dresses…hair in a braided bun. Yet… she surrendered willingly…the change in her appearance and demeanor was amazing. In many ways she was my superior, financially for one…. intellectually in the venues of Art and literature…. the theater. I knew I was rough around the edges…. growing up I never had a mother to smooth those edges…my manners were adequate…. Mrs. Grace’s were impeccable. I excelled in math and science, mechanics and architecture. She was no push over; if she made up her mind she could be as hard as iron, strong, and assertive; traits I respected. If she could compromise so could I.
It took several pairs of my heavy cotton work socks for my work boots to fit her. They were necessary for her to get a firm purchase on the pegs.
My ride was a 1975 Harley-Davidson FLH 1200 Electra Glide Touring Bike. My brother bought for me when I graduated with honors from high school.
Mary had never ridden on a motorcycle before and hesitated to get on. Handing her my spare Helmet,” Trust me Mary my love, you’ll love it” “Just put your arms around my waist and hold tight”. Mary…I called her Mary.
Not hesitating any longer she climbed on. She leaned forward kissing the back of my neck then snuggled close and tight, wrapping her arms around my waist. It was past midnight when we left. Nobody was out on the country roads I chose for us; we owned the road.
I went slow at first and gradually increased my speed up to the posted speed limit when I felt her relax and get her balance down. After a couple of hours of riding I opened it up on the straight- a –ways. Listening to her squeals of delight, the wind rushing by so cold and refreshing on that warm summer night.
We pulled off on a secluded dirt lane and parked in a stand of trees two miles from the macadam road. We walked hand in hand to the open hay field behind the trees shielded from all eyes.
We stopped and kissed. Mary took off my tee shirt and ran her dainty hands over my chest. Placing her foot behind my leg, she tripped me pushing down into the soft grass.
“It’s my turn now lover; don’t move”.” Just do what you are told and behave” “Trust me, you’ll love what I’m going to do to you”, Mary said sternly, as she stood over me, smiling.
Mary took the pigtails out of her hair and shook her head.
She knelt down next to me running her hands over my chest, kissing and licking, her hair tickling my chest; her hands at my crotch; fondling my manhood through my jeans. “Now, close your eyes”, she commanded. Naturally, I complied. Mary got undressed. “Keep them shut and don’t open them until I tell you”
She pulled of my boots and undressed me, my member standing at attention.
Mary went down on me taking my manhood in her mouth. She was incredible…. I never had oral sex before. Mary licked and sucked, her tongue fluttering, teasing, and probing. Bringing me to the brink, slowing the cadence; making me wait; taking control. It was worth the wait…
my orgasm was incredible…I was absolutely drained.
We lay in each other arms and watched the stars
and awoke with the sun rising through the trees.
Dressing quickly we drove home before it was full light.
When we got home we were both still tired. We took showers and Mary invited me into her bedroom to sleep.
When I woke up, Mary was gone. I went downstairs; Mary’s car was not in the driveway. I went into the kitchen and found it clean and spotless. The scissors, electric clippers and combs were put away. There was a note for me on the table. I found something to eat, showered, shaved, and put on some nice slacks and a dress shirt.
Mary got home at four in the afternoon. I watched her through the kitchen window as she got out of her car with her packages.
A new Mary walked into the kitchen and posed for me showing off her new outfit. Mary was wearing a classic black form fitting waist length ladies jacket; single zipper with slash pockets .She had on tight fitting blue Levi’s tucked into her black engineer boots. To complete her new look, Mary was wearing a green helmet. Her green eyes were hidden behind gold-framed Ray Ban Aviators with polarized gray lenses.
Mary took her new helmet off and shook out her hair.
She must have went and saw her friend Susan. Mary had long pageboy cut with super long curved eye and face framing bangs. Taking of her glasses I saw that that she had on dark mascara, dark eyeliner plus purple eye shadow.
Mary had rouged her cheekbones and was wearing bright red lipstick. Mary slipped of her jacket dropping it to the floor. Underneath she was wearing a traditional long sleeve Chinese silk blouse. It had a Mandarin collar and frog buttons. It was embroidered with delicate flowers of red and gold, pink and violet. Mary looked mysterious and exotic; I loved it, especially the haircut. Mary unbuttoned the top three buttons to flash her lacey red bra underneath.
I walked over and reached out and took her dainty hands.
Mary read my mind. “We don’t have time for that now”
“You look nice, I see you found my note”, she said “Yes, thank you” Why don’t we have time?” “ I’ve scheduled you for a fitting in one hour” “What kind of fitting?” “For a suit of course” she said moving close and putting her head against my chest. “Why do I need a suit?” I asked, playing with her hair. “You can’t take me to the opera wearing a tee shirt and blue jeans” she replied snuggling closer. “We are going to the opera?” I asked. “Yes, I have tickets for third row seats in the middle two weeks from now” “Besides your suits will be ready by then”. Suits as in plural?’ I asked.“ I selected some wonderful material for you in summer and winter weight wool: blue, gray and brown.” “I suppose I’ll need shoes then?” I added. “Just two pair, your basic black and brown…cordovan makes three if you want to do it right” Mary answered. “What about ties?” “We can picks those out together” “ And shirts?” “ White of course”. I can’t have my Richard going around wearing any of those sissy pastel colors!” she answered looking up at me and frowning.
“Who is going to pay for everything? “ “You will of course,” she answered rubbing my face with her hands.“ How in God’s name shall I pay for them pray tell?” “ You did a wonderful redoing and painting the porch; now the rest of the house looks shabby.”’ I can’t very well charge you rent anymore”…”I’ll pay you to scrape and paint the house”…. “We can do it together, this time I promise I just won’t watch,” she answered, unbuttoning my shirt and kissing my chest.” You will look so handsome in your suits.” “ I promise to be especially grateful when we get back home.” There was no sense arguing with her on this, her mind was made up…. case closed.
Mary went upstairs to change and returned wearing a long blue summer dress with white lace on the collar and sleeves. Mary had pulled her hair back into a French twist with long bangs. The engineer boots replaced by sandals. Her makeup was more subdued. The eyeliner and mascara much more conservative, with her eye shadow in keeping with her skin tones. Mary’s cheeks were lightly rouged. The red lipstick remained. My elegant gracious lady was back. When iron meets iron there are bound to be sparks.

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Billy’s parents give him a very thorough sex education lesson!

Hired Help
I had just moved to town, and was in the market for a new house pet/slave girl. I suppose that I could have checked the personal ads, but I have found that women who volunteer to be owned sometimes feel that they have to instruct the master in how they should be owned. No, thank you! I prefer naturally submissive women who are given no choice but to accept my ownership. And how do I go about finding such treasures? It is as easy as placing a help wanted add.
Wanted House Maid
For elderly bachelor – duties include, laundry, house cleaning,
running errands, and some light cooking. Tel: 555-5555.[/b]
There were over thirty responses and of the thirty, seven I judged to be submissive enough to be taken under the right circumstances. But one was a real beauty. Single mother, unemployed, desperate for work, she was ready to be taken. When I explained to her that she would need to wear a maid’s uniform, she had no problem with it. I watched her legs tighten a bit as she answered.
“This cunt is already wet,” I thought. “Stand up and turn around for me.” She looked surprised but obeyed without question. This one was really ripe for the picking. “I am an old man, and if I am going to employ a young lady to work for me, I want to enjoy watching her to it. Does that seem unreasonable to you?”
“No, sir,” she stammered. “I hope to be pleasing.”
She was the only one that I called back. In fact, when I called her, I offered her the job. When I told her that she would be clearing $600 a week after taxes, she was almost gushing over the phone. I gave her the address of the uniform company where I had opened an account. First thing in the morning she was to pick up her uniform and come here to change into it. By 9:30 in the morning, I expected her to present herself for inspection. We both agreed to a six week “try-out” time where either party was free to terminate the relationship at will.
I
t was 9:15 when I let her in and showed her a room that she could change into her work clothes and store her personal belongings. Well, it was more of a walk-in closet than a room, but it was good enough for her.
Her uniform was a modest one piece maid’s uniform that you might see in an upscale hotel. I could tell that she was expecting something sexier, but, at this stage, I want her off balance and a bit disappointed. I would not move her from this level for a month.
One month later
Sarah, the cunt’s name turned out to be Sarah, had settled in nicely in her new position. I could tell from her demeanor that she was getting comfortable having a paycheck. She saw the future before her as one smooth road that she would coast along on. I decided that it was time to change things for her. I called her to me and sat in my easy chair while she stood in front of me.
“Sarah, I was looking for my blue and red shirt this morning, and I could not find it. I went down to the laundry room and there it was in the drier.”
Sarah brought both hands to her face. “Oh, I am so sorry, Sir. I don’t know how it happened, Sir. It will never happen again, I promise.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah, it is just not working out. I have to let you go.”
Sarah saw her whole future dissolve in front of her eyes. Then, I think, she remembered that she had put the shirt in the right drawer last night. She was a smart girl, she knew what was coming, and she knew that she was going to acquiesce to it.
“Please sir,” she said, “Please allow me to serve you.” As she said this, she removed her uniform, bra, and panties. She placed her hands behind her head and waited.
I let her wait. The human body is not happy being still. It is almost always in a constant adjustment. But when a girl is left standing with her legs spread apart and her chest arched outward because of the way the shoulders are thrown back when the hands a placed behind the head, she starts to feel awkward real fast. She was also aware that my sight was directed to her pussy which was soaking wet. She was aware of herself being controlled by the will of another.
“All right, let’s be clear what we are agreeing to, shall we,” I asked. “For the sum of $600 dollars a week, you will continue to be my maid, but you are also willing to become my sex slave, which I may use in any way that I choose. Is that about it?”
“Yes, sir,” Sarah replied.
“What does that make you?”
“Sir?”
“What does that make you, Cunt,” I asked. “For six hundred bucks a week I get to fuck you. So once again, what does that make you?”
Sarah was I noticed near to have some type of orgasm. She hadn’t touched herself, but her eyes were dilated, and her clit was playing peek-a-boo through her hood.
“I’m your whore, Sir” she was coming. I had never seen anything like it. I released myself and just stroked gently while she started to reach for herself. I did not stop her. Soon she was rubbing her clit and finger fucking herself as though her life depended on it. She arched her neck back and gave forth a sound that was part scream, part groan, and all release. She was finished.
I told her to kneel of the floor before she fell down. She then noticed, for the first time, my cock more or less just standing there. She started to reach for it, but I told her to keep her position.
“That was very nice, but you are never to do it again,” I said to her surprised face. “This cunt is mine, and only I decided what happens to it. You are never to come again without my permission. Well, whore, any questions?”
“No, Sir.”
“Tomorrow, return your uniform. From now on when you are here you will be naked.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Whenever I touch you, you will lock your hands behind your back.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your first job every morning will be to blow me. If I am asleep, that is how you will wake me. If I am awake, you will blow me. Every morning you will start your work day by blowing me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to hurt you. You understand that, right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What are you?”
“I’m your whore, Sir.”
I dropped my pants and made her sit on me with her back facing me. After giving her asshole a bit of lube job, I entered in to her to the sound of her cry. It was music to my ears. I started to play with her cunt as I reached inside of her feeling for that certain spot and with my other hand I started to rub her clit. I was really pressing down on her clit. I told her to use her hands to pull her nipples. She obeyed. Soon she was begging to be allowed to come. I held off and then agreed as I wrapped myself around and in her. We were both panting as we parted. She got up, went to a bathroom and returned with water and wash cloths. She cleaned me, as would a servant would her master.
I’m telling you, this girl was a natural. Sure, she was going to take the money. She needed it. But her need for an owner went so much deeper. Already I was beginning to see signs in her eyes that she was falling in love with me. They just can’t help it. It’s their nature to love their owners with pure devotion. But I am an owner, and owners have their nature as well. As natural as it is for a slave to love her master, it is equally natural for an owner to fall in love with his slave. It is this ability to love that sets a true owner apart from a sadistic psychopath. One loves his treasured possession and the other only wishes to see it destroyed. She didn’t know it, but I started to fall in love with her during the first interview.
The thing is that slaves like pets know that they are loved and treasured, and they try to use that knowledge to control, to some extent, their owner. While in a dog or a cat, this trait may seem cute, in a slave in can be near fatal. A good sex slave needs a constant firm hand. They must be trained like a thoroughbred. A horse that is firmly guided with love and understanding will jump over a hedge without being able to see what is on the other side. But if the horse has on occasion gotten the upper hand with its rider, it will not trust its rider enough to make the jump.
And then there is, of course, the pure glory of controlling something as beautiful as a sex slave. Even the idea of owning another person makes a true owner’s blood boil. Ownership is so far beyond consensual, that they barely exist in the same world. I loved her. She will come to love me. She will jump the hedge for me.
She is at my feet. “Suck on me,” I commanded. At once she pounced on my cock like I had just given her permission to gobble up a scoop of her favorite ice cream. I grabbed her head and made her look me in the face with my cock in her mouth. “I own you, you fucking little bitch. Not one part of your body is yours; it is all mine.” She reacted like I had just given her the keys to candy store. She bent down to better administer to my prick’s needs, and I swear, that I heard her purr. With a cock in her mouth she was as happy as a kitten.
The next morning I was dreaming that I was fucking her; then I slowly began to leave the dream to discover that she was sucking my cock slowly and lovingly. Men have killed to feel what I was feeling as I came into her mouth and watch her swallow it like it was nectar. It was at that moment that I showed her a weakness. I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply. I really loved this woman. I was amazed when she responded with a passion of her own that matched mine.
“You are my true lord and master. I have waited for you my entire life.”
I went dark. “What you were waiting your entire life for was some guy to buy your ass for $600 a week?”
Blowing my mind, she didn’t miss a step, “Yes, master, your whore has waited her entire life for you.”
“Breakfast.”
“At once, Sir.”
She was good. She served more food than I would eat and then knelt at my side. From time to time I would place a morsel of food into her mouth, which she would accept and swallow down. From that time on, as long as she was in the house, that was how she was fed. I am not a great fan of water bowls for slaves, so I would allow her to drink from my cup. Also after I have left the kitchen and she is cleaning up, she is allowed to have a coffee and cigarette break. I am not a heartless person. She gets three breaks a day, and more when she spends the night.
The rest of the morning is spent during light housework. Whenever I touch her she stops what she is doing and places her hands behind her back.
I have hurt her as well. It’s part of who I am. I like to bring a whip down on a helpless female. And it just so happens that I happen to own a female that I can whip to my heart’s content.
Life is good.
One Year Later
Yesterday marked our first anniversary. For the last 365 days I have awoke each morning to a loving blow job from my sex slave Sarah. Also over the last year our love and passion for each other had grown to an all consuming flame.
There are two schools of owners. The first school treats a slave like a recruit in an army boot camp. The slave is constantly broken down. The idea appears to be to wipe the slave’s personality clean and replace it with desperation to obey and please. Their slaves live a life of subservience and fear.
I am in the second school. While we do share a lot with the first school, my kind of owner models his style somewhat after pet owners who train their pets to perform. I enjoy seeing Sarah happy, much in the way that a cat owner likes to see his kitty happy and playful. While the first school does not really allow much in the way of slave happiness, the second school gets off on it. One cat lady told me that there was no reason to own them if you can’t spoil them. I like Sarah to be happy, but she knows that there are lines that she cannot cross. When I take her out in public, she is treated almost as if she were an equal, with just the occasional reminder necessary to bring her back in line. She is, after all, owned. When she is happy, it is because I allow it. And when I wish to hear her cry out in agony, she will cry for me. This is her life with me now. I don’t know what she thinks about when I send her back to her family. I never ask. But this I will say, out of the past 365 morning blow jobs, there was not one that was done mechanically. She is quite simply, “the best little girl-slave in the whole wide world.” There is something very deep inside of her that responds to that. It is another thing that I love about her.
This morning, for the first time, I stopped her and open my arms to her and she buried her head in my neck. I rolled her on her back and entered her. She was gushing wetness. I slid in like I was returning home. And home seemed very happy with my return. It was bouncing up and down like it was trying to greet me like a puppy does when its master has been away. It took a minute to match her rhythm. I leaned over her, and told her that I loved her. She now had wrapped herself, arms, and legs around me. “I love you, Master,” she cried back at me. “May I come?”
“No,” I answered, wait. Come with me.” Then I took her head in my hands and looked deep into her eyes as I came inside of her. She came with me, never averting her glance. She came again still locked into my eyes, and then dropped her legs back to the bed. I was still holding her and kissing her.
“I love you, Master,” she said again in a contented tone that any man would be proud to hear.
“I love you too,” I replied, “Happy Anniversary.”
“You remembered,” she cried in delighted disbelief.
“Breakfast.”
“At once master, may I clean you first?”
“You are a good girl.” I guided her head to my groin and watched her clean me with her mouth and tongue. She had no idea that today, her slavery was going to be taken a step further than she had foreseen.
I enjoy feeding her. Sometimes I will offer her a bit on a fork, and other times I use my fingers. When I use my fingers, she is careful to lick them clean after each bite. She truly was a natural, an owner’s dream.
After I had finished eating, I returned to my bedroom and dressed. Since I had no place that I needed to be today, I just put on a pair of sweat pants, shirt, and a light sweater. The house is always kept warm because of Sarah lack of clothing.
As I was about to enter the den, the security system said that a car had pulled into my driveway. I switched on a monitor and saw a couple approaching the front door. I went to answer it. At the doorway were a man and women. The man was holding a copy of the “Watchtower” magazine. They were Jehovah Witnesses or JW’s for short.
“Good morning, brother, we have come to tell you some really good news about the bible.”
“No shit,” I responded, “I guess you better come in then.”
They both came into the living room and sat down. The man made a motion to my chair, but I directed him to sit beside his lady companion. The guy was a clear dork, but the woman kept lowering her eyes whenever I looked at them.
“So I understand that God says that I can beat my slave as hard as I want as long as she is able to walk in two days. Is that right?”
“Well yes, the Old Testament does say things like that, but we have changed since then,”
“Has God changed?”
“God is unchanging.”
“That is what I thought, so if God says that it is OK to beat my slave, it’s OK?”
“But no one has slaves anymore.”
“I do.” His eyes popped open. He didn’t believe that he had heard what he had heard. The young lady was clearly aroused. Interesting. I picked up my bell and gave it a tinkle. The bell can be heard throughout the house, and Sarah has 30 seconds to appear before me or she gets ten lashes. Since she was in the kitchen, which is the next room, there was no reason for her to hesitate, but she had only five seconds to spare has she came into the living room and assumed her standing position. “This is my slave, Sarah. We are not married. She is not my girlfriend. She is simply something that I own.” The female JW’s mouth was open. The dork didn’t know what to do, but the tent that he was pitching in his pants seemed to indicate that his mind was not on Jehovah. Meanwhile tears were falling down Sarah’s face. Her whole body was turning red with embarrassment. I turned Sarah around so that they could see the whip marks on her body.
“As you can see she is able to walk, so I am assuming that Jehovah approved and enjoyed the ass whipping I gave her as much as I did.”
The man grabbed his companion by the hand and ran for the door. When they were half way to their car, I called out, “Miss, I think you left your cell phone here.”
She looked in her purse, said something to the man and ran back into the house. As soon as she was in the door I grabbed her and lifted her skirt, I could feel that her wetness had soaked her panties. I gave her my card. “Call me,” I said. She nodded to both of us and walked back to her companion. Of course, there was no cell phone, and she knew that when she decided to lie to her companion and return to me. Maybe something will come of it, who knows.
I told Sarah to stay in position; I had something to say to her.
“Sarah, it has been a year that you have been my slave. And, I must say, that you have been as good a slave as I have ever owned. But I just don’t feel right about the way that I took you. I sort of forced you into being owned. So, as of now, I am setting you free. I have your maid’s uniform upstairs; you can change into it right now and continue to work here.”
Sarah was a smart girl, she knew what was happening and she was surprised to find that she welcomed it. She fell to her knees and pulled my pants down and kissed my penis.
“I am begging to be owned by you, Master.” What was amazing to both of us was the sincerity of her words. They were coming from a place so deep in Sarah that she was not aware of its existence until it spoke through her.
I had planned on playing with her for awhile, making her beg, and plea to be taken. But we were both shaken by what was happening. My acceptance of her came from just as deep. She took me in her mouth and just held me there. I am a simple man who likes simple things. Give me a beautiful woman with my cock in her mouth, and I am a pretty happy guy. I was just about to be a very happy guy when the phone rang. Since Sarah had me in her mouth, I answered the phone. It was the female JW, whose name turned out to be Debbi. Debbi had called to tell me that Joe, the JW dork, had gone to the police and said that I was holding a woman against her will in sexual slavery. I thanked Debbie, and I told her that I have noted her number on my called ID, and would be getting back to her. I could hear sirens from far away getting closer. I told Sarah what was going on and sent her upstairs to change into the maid’s uniform, and to wait there until I rang for her. She was a smart girl. I saw no need to tell her what to tell the cops. I could trust her intelligence.
I met the police at the door. “We were told that you are holding someone here against their will.”
“Really officer, me? Holding someone against their will? Really? Are you sure you got the right address?”
“May we come in?”
‘I haven’t decided yet. I assume that you have no warrant?” The silent cop was trying to look through my windows, but I have all my downstairs windows coated with a security film that lets light in, but not out. With the games that I play in the house, I did not want to have to endure an infestation of peeping toms.
“Look, the guy that owns the next house down is holding someone against their will there. Now are you going to go there as well with sirens blaring? Oh, very well come in.”
I escorted them to my den where they stood as I sat at my desk. “Well?”
“Do you live here alone Sir.”
“Yes.”
“Big house for one person; I assume that you have help.”
“Yes, I have a maid. She is upstairs at the moment.”
“May we see her?”
“I don’t see why not,” I said as I pushed a buzzer.
Sarah appeared in her maid’s outfit with rubber gloves on. She looked as though she had been cleaning a bathroom.
“You buzzed, Sir,” She said as she came into the room.
“Tell these policemen your name and social security number.” Sarah obeyed. I turned my computer so that the police could see the spreadsheet. “This is from my payroll service, as you can see, she has been paid weekly, and all of her withholding money has been deposited with both the state of federal governments. Sarah is legally employed by me. She has her own address, where she lives with her mother, brother, and children. She is not kept here against her will, and does not sleep in a cage in some dark dungeon under the house.
“Sir, what is going on,” Sarah asked. I explained that the police were concerned for her safety. “As they can see, I am safe. Can I go back to work now?”
“Would you mind stepping outside for a minute, Miss,” one policeman asked. Sarah agreed and stepped outside where she was free from my influence, and told them that she was simply my maid, and if there was something between that old man and young healthy her, it would be him they should be worrying about. They apologized and left.
“It’s your own fault, you know. If you hadn’t had to be such a show off . . ., oh, never mind,” she said has she stomped up stairs.
When she was nude again and came down for lunch, she asked, “What are you going to do with Debbi?”
I passed her a piece of paper with Debbi’s number on it. “It’s you she wants. She just saw me as the price that she needed to pay to get to you. So you do with her whatever you want.” She took the paper and took it to her closet. I had bought matching robes for the two of us, which I used this occasion to give to her. “I don’t want either of us catching a chill,” I said, “and I want you to wear this when we go out tonight. I passed her three boxes, the larger was a cocktail dress (basic black), followed by shoes, and finally an amethyst necklace.
That night as we dined together at one of the better eateries in town, we sat in a curved booth so that she could sit beside me rather than across from me. We ordered drinks, and when they were served, we toasted our new year and new relationship. I handed her a small egg shaped device, “Put this inside you and see that it doesn’t fall out all night.”
She looked down at the table and modestly said, “Yes, Sir,” and picked up the egg. I did enjoy watching her insert the toy while trying to look from the table level up that she was simply enjoying her drink. When she brought her hands to the top of the table, I hit the switch on the remote control in my pocket. Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged. I watched her get flush, and then turned off the vibrator. Sarah was looking at me, panting through her mouth. She had a wildness about her that was most agreeable. I let her eat her meal mostly in peace. I did throw the switch a few times; just on and off, to get her attention. It never ceases to amaze me how sexual excitement adds to a woman’s beauty. With my left hand I felt her pussy. The poor girl was gushing. Her new dress was going to need a trip to the laundry tomorrow.
“You really have no shame at all, do you,” I asked after desert as I raised a cup of coffee to my lips.
“I don’t understand, Sir,” she said, and gasped as I turned the vibrator on. She started to reach for herself, but I stopped her.
“Leave your hands on the table, Bitch,” I said in my best cruel voice. “You were going to reach for your cunt weren’t you, you dirty little whore? At least try to act like a lady.” All the time that I was talking the vibrator was doing its work. Soon her face took on a pleading look.
“Please Sir.” Her body showed signs of rocking. She was holding the table. There are simply no words to describe how beautiful she was. The candle light illuminated her face. She was biting her lips from the inside.
“Please sir what? I asked.
“May I come sir”
“Of course not, we can’t have you bucking and screaming all over. This is a place where decent people come to eat. Please try to behave yourself.”
“I’ll be quiet, I promise Master, please.”
T
he look on her face when I consented was priceless. She kind of stretched out on the cushion while I spotted a waitress and motioned her over. Sarah did her best, and I did turn off her little toy, but the waitress never shifted her gaze from Sarah’s face. Sarah looked back with a look of triumph mixed with humiliation. I gave the waitress my credit card, and asked Sarah if she were free to spend the night. As long as she could leave early, she answered.. She fell asleep with my cock in her mouth. I did some rearranging of the blankets and let her sleep.
I woke up the next morning to a blow job.
End

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