Good Girl

I pulled my hand from her coat and took her wrist. "Come on. Let's go. Before we freeze out here."

We walked quickly and in silence, our heads ducked against the wind. She held her coat closed but didn't rebutton it, and pressed and herself close against me again, but differently now, as if she didn't want to break contact. I could feel her trying to say something, struggling for words. When we were almost at my place I stopped and turned to her.

"Look," I said. "I know what you want to say. I know you really are a nice girl and you really don't do things like this usually, and I believe it. But I also know why you came down here tonight to meet that guy and what you were hoping he'd do. He wouldn't have, but I will. I'll give you exactly what you want."

I gestured down the block. "There's my car. Say the word and I'll drive you home right now or wherever else you want to go. Otherwise you're coming upstairs with me."

She said nothing, keeping her eyes down, and that was answer enough.

I took her wrist and led her through the door and up the stairs to my place.

As soon as we entered, the close, cloying warmth of the steam escaping from downstairs surrounded us, as if we'd stepped from the arctic into some tropical jungle. I closed the door and threw our coats on a chair and immediately turned to her and backed her up against the door. I liked having her against a barrier. I liked that she couldn't back away.

I kissed her, leaning my weight against her, holding her face in my hands.

She turned her head, breaking the kiss. "I really don't do things like this. I'm not--"

"I know. But you like this, don't you? It excites you."

"I don't know. I mean I... Are you going to tell me what to do?"

"Yes. Everything."

"I'm kind of nervous."

"I know. That's good. I like that."

I kissed her again and her eyes closed. Her lips yielded expectantly to mine, her resistance fading like an ebbing tide. I took her tits in my hands and she jumped when I touched her, as if she were wired with high voltage. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so I took her wrists and pressed them against the door at shoulder level, pinning her there.

That brought a little mewl from her throat, a sound of submission and surrender as her desires overtook her. She stiffened briefly on instinct, but then melted into my hands, her body going slack and her breath deepening. She liked being held. She liked the security of being forced.

"Come with me." I led her into the living room and sat down on the sofa and pulled her down into my lap. I pulled her mouth to mine and kissed her as I found the buttons on her dress and started undoing them, then broke the kiss and took her hair and pulled her away so I could watch her face. I wanted to see her face as I undressed her. I wanted to see how it made her feel. The buttons popped open easily from the pressure of her breasts, and soon the bodice split apart like an overripe seed pod and she was revealed: red satin bra a size or two too small. It overflowed with tit flesh.

I took a breast in my hand and felt her shudder. I let go of her hair and she looked down at my hand on her. Her face was flushed, almost as pink as her dress.

"They're sensitive, huh?"

She answered in a breathless whisper: "No. Not usually. Not like this. Your hands... "

The bra was tight. I worked my fingers into it and saw her look of agonized pleasure as I found her nipple and began to tease it, I felt it tighten and spike into hardness. Becca put her arms around my head as if cradling me and drawing close would protect her.

"No," I said. "You don't do anything unless I tell you to. No touching, no hugging."

She removed her arms and bit her lip but said nothing.

I tried to free a breast but the bra was too damned tight. I made her sit up and worked an arm out of her sleeve so I could slide the strap down her shoulder, and when I finally peeled the cup down her breast spilled into my hand like a piece of fruit. She felt incredibly good —warm, soft, giving. I traced circles around her areola and then pinched her lightly and tugged, letting my fingers slide off. Becca shuddered and repressed a groan.

"You like this, don't you? You like when I'm rough with them."

She whined softly and turned her face in denial but I could tell she did. She was a good girl and men had always treated her with respect, and she didn't want that any more. That's why she'd dressed up and put on her best bra and come down to that seedy dead-end club to meet this Cal: because she wanted to be taken and forced and pulled out of herself. Because she was tired of polite love and wanted to feel some passion and desire. I pinched her nipple and twisted it, then lowered my head and sucked it into my mouth and Becca moaned and held my head against her, forgetting my instructions. She held me and offered herself, wanting me to take more.

I slid her off my lap and onto the sofa so she was half-reclining. Her skirt rode up her thighs, exposing the stockings she wore. Red stockings. I hadn't noticed because I hadn't really looked, but she wore red stockings and knee-high boots. She'd really pulled out all the stops when she'd dressed for Sir Calvin.

But stockings or pantyhose?

"Pull your skirt up," I said.

"What?"

"Pull it up. Up to your hips. I want to see what you're wearing."

She hesitated. It wasn't something she was used to doing, revealing herself like that. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

I got up and took her wrist and pulled her to the center of the room. "Stand up. Take your dress off. Let me have a look at you."

"Aiden!" She tried to pull the dress closed over her exposed boob, but it was no go. Suddenly she was shy.

I flopped down onto the couch. "Go on," I said. "Take it off. Take your dress off. I want to see you."

It's a much different thing for a woman to be undressed in the heat of passion than it is for her to stand there and coldly reveal herself to a man's gaze, and Becca was uncomfortable and uncertain.

"You wanted to be told what to do. So I'm telling you." I said. "Do it. Undress for me."

She slowly finished unbuttoning the dress and opened the belt. A wisp of hair fell into her face but she ignored it. She drew her other arm from the sleeve and pushed the dress down over her hips. It slid to the floor.

"Let it fall. You can pick it up later. Now stand up straight."

She was wearing stockings. And a garter belt. They were both red. Her panties were red too, and she was stunning. She stood up straight so I could see her, her eyes focused on a point

"Did Cal tell you to dress like this for him?" I asked.

"No," she said. "He just asked me to wear a skirt."

I took my time looking at her. The black boots, the red stockings and garter belt, the red panties and the bra half off, one breast exposed. Aside from a thin gold chain around her neck and some metal bangles, that's all she wore.

"Turn around."

She turned slowly so I could see the taut stretch of her panties across her ass, the pinch of her waist and her soft feminine back.

"Face me."

She turned back, her face and chest flushed pink with embarrassment, but maybe with a little pride too. She still wouldn't meet my eyes but she knew how I was looking at her.

My cock was still hard. It had been hard ever since I'd brought her inside, and now I made a show of how uncomfortable I was. She knew. She knew what she was doing to me, and she fed off my arousal. I opened my pants and pulled down the zipper and I saw her eyes flick to the bulge in my shorts—just a glance.

I ran my fingers over my cock. "Take off your panties," I said. "Leave the stockings and garter belt. Take off your bra. Just drop them where you stand."

"Aiden..."

"You call me 'Sir'. It's Sir from now on."

"I thought you didn't care about that."

"Things have changed," I said. "You call me Sir. I don't want any doubt as to who's in charge. Now do it."

The thrill of command. The even bigger thrill of obedience. Becca unsnapped her garters so she could remove her panties and I kicked off my shoes and socks and worked my pants and shorts down over my hips. I peeled off my sweater and tee. It was sweltering in there and it felt good to get my clothes off, and I sat there naked on the couch and watched her. She wasn't quite so shy anymore.

Even so she turned away to remove her bra. She was starting to perspire, and tendrils of black hair clung to her back and shoulders as she let it slip down her arms. The bra had left red marks in her shoulders and back from the weight of her breasts, though when she turned to me I didn't see where she'd lost much lift. She was trimmed, her pubic hair shaped into a small patch. She didn't seem to have much trouble showing me her pussy, but she kept on nervously covering her tits.

"I'll tell you what I want you to do," I said. "I want you to come over here and stand in front of me with your legs outside of mine. I want you to lean over and put your hands on the back of the sofa on either side of me and stay like that. You're not to touch me or do anything else. Understand?"

She nodded.

I scowled. "'Yes, Sir' is the customary response."

"Yes. Sir."

She came over and did as I said, her legs outside mine as she leaned over and put her hands on the back of the couch above my shoulders. Her breasts hung heavily over my chest. Her pussy was inches from my cock, and her face was close enough to lick. For the first time I noticed she had freckles.

I gripped my prick and started to slowly pump it. "So how is it? Taking orders and not being treated like such a good little girl? Does it make you angry?"

"No, Sir."

"Does it embarrass you?" I reached up and stroked her hanging breasts with my fingers tips till I found her nipples again and began to tease them.

"Yes, Sir. A little."

I smiled. "Does it embarrass you because you suspect you're a little slut inside and you want me to prove it? Because you want me to make you do things? Does it embarrass you because I saw how you dressed beneath your clothes to meet a stranger in a bar so you could give yourself to him?"

I could hear her breathing. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, and even in the heat of my apartment I could feel her radiating something, some sort of feral need.

"Your nipples are getting hard," I whispered as I continued to play with them. "They're like two little lie detectors, Becca. I can tell when you're telling the truth, so don't lie. Are you wet now? Are you starting to feel all slippery and empty down there? Are you thinking about how I'm going to fuck you?"

Again a little moan, a slight shudder. I hadn't been lying. Her nipples were growing stiff and turgid as I played with them.

"Does it excite you when I call you bad names and tell you you're a slut and a whore? Do you like that I know what you want? Does it excite you that I know what you're thinking?"

Her face was flushed and her lips swollen and parted. Her eyes were squeezed shut but she nodded, whining softly. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes."

I felt a little thrill in my chest, a sudden flush of heat at her confession.

"You know, sometimes I have to spank good girls or use a little whip on them to teach them to be bad. Am I going to have to do that with you? Do you need to be spanked, Becca? Do you need that hot little ass whipped? Answer me."

She shook her head, eyes closed.

"There's only two reasons to spank a woman. Either because she's too slutty, or because she's not slutty enough. Which one are you, Becca?"

"I don't know, Sir." He voice was a whisper.

I let go of her breasts and held her hips. "Spread your feet. Lower yourself onto my cock. Just a bit. Slow. Slow. I'll tell you when to stop."

I guided her hips and pulled her down till her naked pussy just made contact with my dick. I let go of her and took my cock and used the head it like a plow to open her furrow and spread her labia. She was hot and sticky and more than ready for me, and she groaned deeply when I made contact with her. I studied her face at first, excited by her look of rapt concentration, but then had to look down at the sight of the tip of my cockhead between her lips, just beginning to penetrate her.

Her voice was all breath. "Please. Please..."

I pushed her back and stood up, took her arms and guided her down onto the sofa the way I wanted her. She was totally compliant, a rag doll burning with need and willing to do whatever I wanted. I arranged her with her knees near the edge of the sofa, elbows on the back, ass up, thighs apart.

She mewled softly, especially when I made her part her legs and sway her back down to expose herself. It was a lewd and revealing posture, and it excited her. Her labia were puffy and swollen, her little slit glistening with a stream of moisture. I stood behind her and ran my hands over her body, over her ass and up her flanks, over her back and beneath her to grab those heavy swinging tits. I was breathing hard myself and made no effort to disguise it. I was on fire and excited as hell at having her in this obsequious and submissive posture. My cock felt like it might burst, but I had to maintain my control.

"This is how a slut kneels for her master," I said. "This is how she presents when she wants to be used. You look gorgeous like this, Becca, like you were made for it. You look impossibly fucking beautiful!"

I parted her labia with my thumbs and she jumped, shocked at being touched so intimately. Automatically I swatted her ass, a sharp little smack that brought a squeal of alarm.

"Don't move! I told you you're not allowed to move!"

"Yes, Sir."

She was all pink and glistening inside, wet with arousal. I slid the first knuckle of my middle finger into her and watched it disappear into that puddle of torrid female flesh. Becca gasped and put her head down on her arms.

"Push back." I said. "Take my finger. Show me you're ready."

"Oh God! No! I can't move!"

"Come on. You've certainly had a finger in you before. Push back. You expect me to do all the work?"

I swatted her again and Becca whined and stole a glance at me over her shoulder. She started to press back. I felt that little pussy yielding, sliding up my finger. I felt her muscles working, clenching and relaxing as she swallowed me. Her garters were stretched tight down the cheeks of her ass like big red welts. Her fingers gripped the back of the sofa as she dug in with those her carefully manicured nails.

"Push!" I yelled.

She rocked back and I slid my finger into her heat. It sunk into her pussy like into quicksand and she stifled a wail. I knew it wasn't the pain. It was the humiliation, the exposure. It was her embarrassment over the pleasure she felt at being used this way.

I pulled it out and wiped it on her ass so she could feel her own wetness, and returned with two fingers, working them into her as she gasped and moaned kneeling in the sofa before me like some pagan sacrifice.

"Ohh!" she moaned. "Slow, please! I'm not used to it."

So I did it slow, giving her time to adapt. Once they were in I stroked the backs of her thighs, calming her, petting her. I stroked her ass, soothing the spots where I'd spanked her. I began to move my fingers slowly in and out. Not very far, just to give her some sensation and make her aware she'd been penetrated.

She was breathing hard, little moans escaping her parted lips. She felt feverish inside, unusually hot. Her thighs clenched and quivered.

"She's a greedy little pussy, isn't she? Is that what makes you so bad, Becca? This hungry, greedy little cunt? And you such a nice girl."

I spoke low, barely above a whisper, but she shivered at my words, actually shuddered. It excited her when I called her names.

"She likes being fucked like this. She likes when I play with her, Becca. She's all wet and swollen, and opening like a little flower. She's starting to leak. Pretty soon that juice will be running down your thighs."

She tried not to breath. She didn't want me to hear the way she was panting or her moans of pleasure and shame. But I had her just where I wanted her, on the knife edge between being good and her desire to give in to all her dirty desires.

The room was quiet. There was only the soft hiss of leaking steam and the gentle sound of the plastic on the windows bellying in from the wind outside. It was so quiet I could hear the thick, viscous sounds of my fingers working in the wet swamp of her cunt, and I could hear Becca's muffled whimpers as she heard it too. Or maybe it was her reaction to the finger I'd extended to slide along the slippery hood of her clit as she knelt before me.

"And you were going to give this to that Cal you met online? I know that guy. I've seen him there. He would have put you on a leash and made you crawl around. He would have made you get down on your hands and knees and lick his boots. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you were looking for?"

"No, Sir," she said. "No..."

"It's this, isn't it? This is what you wanted. You wanted someone to teach you how to be bad. Tell me, Becca: are you very orgasmic? Do you cum from sex?"

"Mmmm... Only sometimes, Sir." Her voice was soft and far away.

"And are you going to cum now? Is this going to make you orgasm?"

She laid her head on her arms, eyes closed. Her hips had started moving. "I'm already close, Sir."

I pulled my fingers out of her clutching pussy and she slumped as if I'd let the air out of her. I went to the desk and got a condom and tore it open. I didn't know her and she didn't know me and I didn't want to take any chances. It was the least I could do. I unwrapped it and peeled it down over my cock. It was whitish and made my prick look like some surgical device.

She knew what I was doing. She must have. There's a big black picture on the wall above the sofa and she would have seen my reflection in the glass if nothing else. She said nothing, keeping the position I'd put her in, kneeling on the edge of the couch with her ass up and elbows on the back. But she knew what was coming.

I got behind her and put the head of my cock against her. I ran my hands down her back, then under her. Of course she knew what was coming. She hung her head and bit her lip as I pushed into her and I saw the toes of her boots curl up as far as they were able. Her whine turned into a wail as I filled her, and I pushed until that wail became a little cry and there I stopped. I leaned back till I could look down between us and see her pussy stretched around my cock like a fat rubber band. She was amazingly hot inside and wonderfully tight. I could feel my racing heartbeat echoed in the throbbing of my cock.

"Oh fuck!" I growled. "Fuck!" She felt so good and it had been so long, and the image of her kneeling there and presenting to me like a bitch in heat was almost more than I could bear. I filled my hands with her soft tits and pushed harder, leaning over her back and flattening her ass cheeks against me.

"Come on, Becca! Come on. Push back, baby! Take me!"

I straightened up and started to fuck her, my hands going to her flared hips and rocking her back against me. "You want to be a bad girl? You want to be my little whore? Well this is how you do it. Fucking me like this on your hands and knees. Taking my prick inside you and loving it!"

"Oh God!" she moaned. "Oh God!"

Her fist was in her mouth, the other still clenched on the sofa as I pumped into her, and I could feel her excitement just by looking at her.

tell just by looking at her how good it felt to be fucked this way, to be taken without choice and without reservation and with no thought for the consequences. She didn't have to impress me and I didn't have to impress her. She didn't have to do anything to prove herself or make it good. She only had to kneel there and be fucked. She had the freedom of a sub, freedom from responsibility and freedom from guilt or doubt, freedom to feel everything I was doing as I slid my cock in and out.