Cheryl's Passion Ch. 01

And then; when she got home from work; she would punish me for whatever sin I had confessed to.

The rules that we had negotiated specifically called for me to remove my skirt or dress before each spanking and that I would lie across my mother's lap for a vigorous hand-spanking of eighty-one swats. I had wanted one-hundred swats, but my mother negotiated me down to eighty-one.

I had also wanted to remove more than just my skirt or dress for each spanking, but my mother insisted that I couldn't take off anything more than that for my punishment. I think my mother was uncomfortable with the idea of me lying naked across her lap.

Getting spanked while wearing clothing didn't seem anywhere near submissive or sexy enough for my tastes, so after a couple of days of this, I devised a plan for getting around the disappointment the rules had caused me.

I started going braless and panty-less every day when I got dressed. As a result, when I took off my dress for my punishment, I was basically naked. The only thing I was wearing was my shoes.

"Cheryl," my mother said admonishingly the first time I pulled this stunt, "The rules never said you could go the whole day without wearing panties."

"The rules never said I couldn't, either," I countered, just barely keeping a smirk from forming on my face.

My mother was angry at me for finding a loophole in the rules, but she didn't argue. She just threw me over her lap and angrily spanked my bare bottom and the backs of my thighs. I cried out in pain and tears welled up in my eyes after the thirty-third swat, but I was thrilled with my victory! I was getting the naked punishment that I wanted!

I felt just like that slave-girl from the B&D novel and I was soaking wet with my own juices by the time the spanking was over. I was all set to go upstairs to my room and masturbate repeatedly after I got up off of my mother's lap, but my mother had other ideas.

"Go stand in the corner," she said.

"What?"

"In my house, bad girls have to spend at least one hour standing in the corner after they're spanked," my mother replied firmly, "Now go stand in the corner."

My mother pointed to a corner of the living room where there was no furniture, but I wanted to go upstairs and tend to my throbbing clit, so I tried to rebel.

"The rules never said you could order me to go stand in the corner," I protested.

"The rules never said I couldn't either," my mother said firmly.

I clenched my hands up into fists and walked over to the corner she indicated and stood there. I was frustrated that I couldn't go upstairs and tend to the insistent throbbing in my loins, but my mother had a point. If I could exploit loopholes in the rules we negotiated, so could she.

My mother and I spent about a week or more, testing the limits of our agreement, and how much we could alter and refine it to be more to my liking or my mother's. It was a strange episode in my relationship with my mother.

My mother certainly didn't enjoy playing the role of the authoritarian woman that disciplined me, so it was no surprise that this episode in our life didn't last for very long.

One Monday morning; while at work; I got called into my mother's office. This was highly unusual. My mother's department rarely has any direct contact with the receptionists and my mother never socializes with me at work, so I was totally at a loss as to why I would be called into her office.

When I got there, my mother was waiting in her office with a second person. The second person was a tall, blonde woman somewhere between eighteen and twenty-four. Tailored black pants encircled her slender waist. A tailored black blazer made her look respectable, but still hugged the curves of her body well enough to advertise the lithe shape of her body. Her hair was professionally styled and her makeup looked like it was professionally applied. She had an oval face with high cheekbones and an anticipatory smile on her lips.

"Cheryl," my mother said, after I had stepped into her office and closed the door behind me, "This is April Ladd."

April strode briskly forward and offered me her hand as a friendly greeting and said, "Hello, Cheryl."

I shook hands with her and replied, "Hello, April." She had an enthusiastic grip and she maintained enthusiastic eye-contact the whole time we shook hands.

"Cheryl," my mother said, when I released April's hand from my grip," I have spent a great deal of time and effort searching for a suitable female to be your dominatrix, and I believe that April here is the ideal candidate."

"Mistress," April corrected.

"I'm sorry," my mother replied.

"I prefer the title, Mistress. I'm pretty sure that a dominatrix is just a prostitute that puts on an act for her clients. A mistress is somebody who lives the lifestyle and actually enjoys punishing bad little girls."

I liked her already.

"Whatever," my mother replied.

"At any rate, April is acceptable to me. Her mother is a medical doctor with a medical degree from the UC Davis School of Medicine, and April is an accountant. April has no criminal record, she has no tattoos, she doesn't drink, she doesn't smoke, she doesn't do drugs, and she has a clean bill of health with no S.T.D.s. And her doctors have certified her fit to participate in a long-term strenuous athletic program."

"Sounds great," I said, not really hearing anything much of what my mother said. My ears were still echoing with April's words about punishing bad little girls.

Then suddenly I was afraid that I was doing this all wrong. From the books I'd been reading, this wasn't the proper way for a slave-girl to meet her new mistress.

"Wait, should I be naked for this?" I asked interrupting my mother, "A slave should be naked when she meets her mistress for the first time, isn't that right? Should I get undressed right now?"

My hands rose to the top button on my shirtdress and my mother very loudly and sternly told me to stop.

"Cheryl, this is not a B&D theme park," my mother informed me sharply, "This is a pharmaceutical company. We run a serious business here. I brought you up here to introduce you to April and to let you know that she'll be dropping by our home tonight. You can sort out the proper etiquette for a slave's first meeting with her mistress then. There will be no B&D games here at work. Is that understood?"

"She's really eager, isn't she?" April asked my mother.

"A little too eager," my mother replied, "You're going to have your hands full."

"Sorry, if I was too presumptuous there," I said apologetically to my mother, "It's just it took so long to find someone suitable to be my mistress-"

"It's been thirteen days," my mother snapped, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

"Really?" I asked, "It seemed much longer."

"That's because you're young and impatient," my mother replied, "Go back to your desk and finish out the rest of your workday. You can talk to April some more when you get home. You can discuss what sort of mistress you want, April can discuss what sort of slave she wants, and if you still think you and she are compatible, then you can strip naked for her!"

I had trouble concentrating on my job after that. Phone calls, paperwork just all seemed so trivial compared to the extraordinary news that I now had a mistress. Everything else going on in the world seemed small by comparison.

My mother and I drove separate cars to work. I know that probably sounds counterintuitive. We both lived in the same house and we both worked in the same office building. Most people assumed we should just carpool.

The thing is my mother worked a lot of overtime and sometimes had to go out of town on business, as a result carpooling wasn't really practical for my mom and me.

I was so eager to get home and beginning my life as April's slave-girl, I left work in a frantic hurry and got home at least twenty minutes ahead of my mother...I also got there about twenty minutes ahead of April. Somehow it never occurred to me that I might arrive at my home before April did.

I paced nervously, worrying that maybe April changed her mind about being my mistress. It seemed like two hours before she showed up, although it was probably more like twenty minutes.

My mother showed up about thirty seconds before April did and the two women ended up entering my home at the same time.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was decided that April would take me downstairs to the basement and my mother would have the upstairs.

"Before I become your mistress, there's an interview process," April explained, "Your mother has already told me a lot about you, but there's still some questions I want you to answer."

April then sat down in the one and only chair in the basement, took a legal pad out of her bag, turned her gaze to me and said, "Oh, you can take your clothes off now."

I felt embarrassed that I hadn't taken them off sooner. I had been so eager to strip naked when I was in my mother's office. Why didn't I take my clothes off the instant I set foot in the basement?

I had stopped wearing underwear about ten days earlier, so all I had to do was remove my shoes, my obi sash belt, my shirtdress and I was naked.

"Hmm," April said after examining my naked body from across the room, "Give us a spin. Let me see what you look like from other angles."

I did a slow turn, allowing April to get a good look at my breasts, bottom, pubic hair and anything else she might find of interest.

"Okay, looks good," April said, scribbling something down on her legal pad, "Now, Cheryl, I'm going to ask you some questions. While I'm doing that, I need you to stand there with your hands behind your back and your wrists crossed."

April was already taking control of me. My pussy tingled slightly as I obediently complied with her orders and crossed my wrists behind my back.

April wrote down something else on her legal pad and then said, "And place your feet a little further apart."

Once again I obeyed, shuffling my feet further apart and putting my pubic lips a little more on display.

"Okay, Cheryl, first question," April began, "How many sexual partners have you had?"

"None," I replied.

April's brow furrowed and then she said, "I didn't quite catch that."

"None," I repeated, "Zero sexual partners."

The furrows on April's brow deepened and she said, "Okay, when I say sexual partners, that isn't limited to the times when a boy has penetrated your vagina with his penis. It also includes any time you've had a boy's penis in your mouth, anytime you've been anally penetrated, anytime you've performed cunnilingus on a girl, anytime somebody has fingered your pussy, anytime somebody has fondled your breasts, anything like that."

"I'm sorry," I replied, but the answer is still zero."

"Seriously?" April asked, now sounding frustrated, "You're seriously telling me that you're eighteen years old, in America and you're still a virgin?"

"Yes," I said, suddenly overcome with embarrassment. I had never really thought of my lack of sexual experience as something to be ashamed of, but April's questions were making me feel like I had done something terribly wrong with my life.

"Were you raised in a convent?" April asked, "When I was your age, I had both male and female admirers desperate to get into panties! And to be bluntly honest, you're even better looking than I am. You could be a fashion model if you wanted to be! How can you still be a virgin?"

I was feeling more and more uncomfortable with this line of questioning, and I realized this felt more like an interrogation than an interview. Maybe April had planned it that way.

"I had dozens of boys ask me out," I admitted, "But I was never interested in any of them. I didn't realize it back then, but I think I was gay."

"You think you were gay?" April asked.

"Okay, I know I was gay," I amended, "But I didn't realize it back then. I just figured that out recently.

"What about girls?" April asked, "When they flirted with you, did you just push them away? What did you say to them?"

"No girls flirted with me," I replied.

"Oh, no girls flirted with you," April said incredulously, "You expect me to believe that."

April rubbed the bridge of her nose and finally said, "Okay, Cheryl here's the deal...You probably had dozens of girls in your high school flirting with you...and probably some of your teachers too. I'm guessing you were just too dense to realize you were being flirted with."

"Dense?" I protested.

"Look, straight people flirting and gay people flirting are two differing types of flirting," April explained.

"Gay women tend to be a lot more subtle when they do it. Gay people have made a lot of progress in this country recently, Lawrence v. Texas struck down all the anti-sodomy laws and Obergefell v. Hodges made it legal for gays to get married, but there's still a big stigma for gays in this country, so when gay people flirt, they tend to be very subtle about it. They're very cautious. You probably just didn't know how to read the signs."

"My first lesbian experience was with my twelfth grade English literature professor," April admitted, "Her opening move to get me into bed was to invite me to an Embrasser les filles concert."

"Oh," I said, then I remembered a similar incident from my past, "My track coach invited me to an Embrasser les filles concert."

"She was hitting on you," April insisted, "Embrasser les filles is a lesbian band. Their lyrics celebrate Sapphic love. If a girl invites another girl to a, Embrasser les filles concert, it's a sure sign that she's sexually attracted to you."

"I turned her down," I admitted, "I had no idea who Embrasser les filles was. I didn't know if I would like their music."

"Wow," April said.

"I'm sorry," I said, suddenly feeling deflated, "I didn't know."

"You probably have dozens of incidents like that in your past," April said, "You probably turned down dozens of chances to have sex with girls. And some of them were probably really pretty."

I said nothing. I was suddenly feeling pretty stupid and kind of guilty.

"Your track coach," April asked, "Was she pretty?"

"She was athletic-looking," I answered, "Strong legs, lean, ropey muscles. Slender waist, flat stomach, tight abs and she had a haircut like a boy."

April wrote down notes furiously on her legal pad. I was incredibly curious as to what she was writing and would have loved to walk over and peer at her handwritten notes, but I'd been ordered to stand in this particular spot, about twenty feet away from April, and I intended to be obedient and follow all of April's orders.

"What was your track coach's name?" April asked, "Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"Um," I hesitated, "Ms. Jenneke. I never learned her first name, but she still teaches at Fairwind High School. You're not planning on contacting her, are you?"

April wrote down more notes and then said firmly, "Cheryl, don't do that. I'm the one asking the questions here."

I took the hint. I was supposed to be the submissive one. I was supposed to what I was told, and April was supposed to be the one with authority. This really was more like an interrogation.

April asked me a great deal of questions before the interrogation/interview was over. She asked me questions about my health, questions about my sexual fantasies, questions about my pain tolerance and a long list of other things. By the time we were finished, April had filled up one legal pad with notes and had started writing notes about me on a second legal pad.

After what seemed like an eternity, April set her legal pads down and said, "Okay Cheryl, the good news is, I've decided to become your mistress."

I smiled at that, but then she added, "The bad news is, I can be a very strict mistress. You may regret that I decided to accept you as my slave-girl."

The smile faded from my face, but I didn't seriously believe that April could ever be so strict that I would regret submitting to her. Submitting to a strict mistress was pretty much the only thing I ever thought about. It was all I really wanted out of life.

"For instance," April went on, "you've already earned your first two punishments."

"I have?" I asked, "For what?"

April walked up to me and reached one hand between my legs. She took a healthy tuft of my pubic hair and yanked on it. I let out a yelp of surprise and pain. Pulling on a girl's pubic hair can cause very intense pain, but at least I had the self-discipline to keep my wrists crossed behind my back and my feet well-apart while April did this.

Then April said, "For this. My slaves are not allowed to have pubic hair. I expect you to shave this off today, and I expect you to shave first thing every morning. I'll be inspecting you often and if I ever find so much as stubble on your vulva, you'll be punished for it."

My heartbeat sped up and I could feel a throbbing in my clit. Nobody had ever talked to me like this before, and I found that it really loved it. It made me feel hot, feverish and vulnerable. It was a new and delicious experience for me.

"Your second punishment is because you were rude to your track coach. She was being very nice to you when she offered to take you to that concert and you turned her down. You probably hurt her feelings and missed out on a very fun evening. I can't be your mistress and tolerate that sort of behavior from you."

Again, being lectured and dominated by April like this was making me feel feverish and wet between my legs.

April gave one last sharp tug on my pubic hair before she let go, then she grabbed my face, lifted my chin, forced me to look her directly in the eye and asked me, "Do you still want me to be your mistress?"

Of course, the answer was "Yes." That being settled, April's first order to me was to go upstairs (still naked) and shave off all of my pubic hair.

I practically ran upstairs to comply with April's orders. In the bathroom I stood in the shower, splashed a generous amount of hot water on my crotch and then I applied a generous blob of shaving cream to the area. I had never shaved my crotch before, but I soon found that it was an erotic experience, having my hands and the razor gently but firmly gliding across the delicate flesh of my vulva was almost like fondling myself.

When I had gotten rid of the most obvious pubic hairs and started doing the fine detail work, I opened my pubic lips wide and very carefully ran the razor across the tender flesh on either side of my swollen clit. I was incredibly turned on at this point, panting and I briefly paused in my shaving duties; and considered fingering myself to orgasm; when April appeared in the doorway of the bathroom and loudly cleared her throat.

I looked up startled and; almost as if she had read my mind; April imperiously announced, "I forgot to tell you, when my slaves shave themselves, it's all about making themselves more naked and more accessible to me. It's not an excuse to finger themselves to orgasm, so make sure you behave yourself."

Even though I hadn't actually been playing with my pussy, April's words still made me feel guilty. How did she manage to do that?

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"I'm in control of your sex life now," April announced, "I'll tell you when you're allowed to touch your pussy and when you're allowed to have orgasms. If you try to have an orgasm without permission, you'll be punished."

Wow. I wasn't really expecting April to take that much control from me, but somehow it felt right that she should. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, there was this sense of normality to it all. Yes, it suddenly seemed right and proper that April would watch unashamed while I performed such an intimate act as shaving the delicate folds of my pussy. It seemed utterly normal that she should take control of my orgasms and forbid me to masturbate unless I received her permission first.