Miss Allison Ch. 03

"And you're OK with that?"

"Of course I am," I said. I was. Who wouldn't want their hot boss to help you live out your sex fantasies?

It seemed like the right time to broach a subject I was dying to discuss.

"So, how do you know Allison?"

"We were sorority sisters in college. Allison accessed the contacts on your computer and saw my name. I guess it was your lucky day."

So that answered my question. The next one was what they had in mind for me. I didn't think Meghan would share that information if she knew so I didn't press it. We stayed quiet the remainder of trip. I had plenty to think about anyway.

* * *

"So this is where you live," Meghan said as I pulled into my driveway. I had a modest three-bedroom two bath suburban ranch house outside of Chevy Chase, Maryland. It was on a cul-de-sac. Miss Allison lived next door. The landscaping outside Miss Allison's house was always immaculate. I couldn't afford a gardener so my yard paled by comparison.

"So you've never been here?" I asked. I would have thought Meghan had been to Miss Allison's house but clearly that wasn't the case.

"No. I just reconnected with Allison. I haven't been here."

I pushed the button to open the garage door. As it opened the inside light came on to reveal heaps of open boxes, tools scattered on the floor and garbage bags filled with clothes I'd been meaning to donate but never got around to. The disarray before us was a reflection of my life. Meghan chuckled when she saw the carnage.

"Sorry about the mess," I said to my beautiful, elegant passenger.

"I'll give you a pass this time," Meghan said, pointing at the clutter. "But my guess is Allison isn't going to put up with this kind of housekeeping."

It was starting to dawn on me that submission to Miss Allison wasn't just some kind of deviant sex. It was a lifestyle. And I was going to have to get my head around that.

I opened the man door to the garage and led Meghan through the breezeway to the kitchen door. It was unlocked. I opened it. The kitchen light was on and Miss Allison was sitting in a kitchen chair, legs crossed and flashing significant thigh in her short leather skirt. She was wearing lace-up black leather boots with stiletto heels and a black leather bustier. I thought I was going to cum in my pants.

"Strip and kneel," she said as she stood up. She was holding a black leather flogger, one with dozens of falls. She swished it in a way that told me she meant business.

I stripped quickly and knelt at Miss Allison's feet.

"Sorry about dealing with him first," Miss Allison said to Meghan.

Meghan smiled. "Business before pleasure I always say."

I watched Meghan and Miss Allison hug. A sorority sister's hug. It was long and familiar.

"It's been too long," Miss Allison said.

"You go ahead with what you were doing. As I told you on the phone, I'm here to learn," Meghan said.

"I'm going to teach this slut a lesson," Miss Allison said. Then she came up to me, standing arms folded, the flogger in her right hand.

"All right slut," she said to me. "Get on your hands and knees."

This was going to be bad. I was quivering. And with my boss witnessing my humiliation. My body told me how much I liked it. I was rock hard. Precum was dripping from my cock.

Miss Allison knelt next to me in her sexy Domme costume. She gripped my cock in her fist, squeezing it until it hurt.

"Look Meghan. This slut's cock is dripping. He loves this."

She laughed at me before she spoke to me. "I guess you're getting off on it. Do you like my costume slut?"

"I do Miss Allison."

"I borrowed it from a friend. It was question 11, when you were asked to describe the person dominating you. This is the outfit that was in your head, wasn't it?"

It was, and I told her so.

My answer elicited another throaty laugh.

"You men think with your dicks. I'm dressed like the Domme you see in all of that filthy porn that you watch. I'm wearing it so I can check off question 11. You know I'm going to do all fifty of them, don't you?"

"You are?"

"You are Miss Allison," she corrected me.

"You are Miss Allison?" I re-asked.

"I am slut. All fifty. Because I'm enjoying this as well. More than you can imagine. My girlfriend, who lent me this costume, told me I might like it."

"I do Miss Allison," I gushed.

"Just so you know, I hate this costume and I'm wearing it this one time to check a box so maybe you should tamp down your enthusiasm," Miss Allison said.

"I understand Miss Allison."

"But we have more pressing matters to attend to," she said ominously.

On the kitchen table was a large canvas tote bag with Miss Allison's initials embroidered on it. She reached into it and pulled out the camera that I had hidden behind a plant that was recording our session. She dropped it on the ground in front of my face. It bounced and rested near my hand.

Oh shit.

She came over and stood next to me. My face was near her knees and I was looking down at the pointed toe of her shiny black leather boot. She placed the sole of her right boot on the camera and started to crush it. The plastic housing gave way and shards of it scattered on the floor. She ground her sole into it, making an ugly sound as it gouged the hardwood floor.

I was shaking like a leaf. She stepped forward a few inches so her sole was now resting on the fingers of my left hand. My palm was on the floor, supporting me. I could feel her lean forward putting uncomfortable pressure on the bones of my fingers. I wanted to pull away from her but I didn't dare do so. I endured the discomfort.

"What was that?" Miss Allison said, pointing to what was left of my expensive camera. We both knew what it was but she wanted me to say it.

I was in deep shit and my cock was bobbing under me, betraying the pleasure I was getting from the pain and the browbeating I was receiving in front of my boss. I was discovering my true self.

"I . . . I don't know," I said, being a fucking coward and maybe purposely prolonging the agony.

She leaned forward with greater weight on my fingers. I could feel my bones being crunched against the oak floorboards.

"It's a camera Miss Allison!" I finally blurted out. She lifted her foot off my fingers to my great relief.

"You were going to record all of this, without my permission, you piece of shit," she said, damning me.

"I didn't mean anything by it," I said, not wanting to start crying. Why did I fuck everything up?

She picked up the flogger and slapped it against the floor, inches from my face. I could feel the shock wave as the falls crashed against the hardwood. The snapping sound startled me and made me flinch.

"You know that bad boys get their asses beat for something like this," she said with a snarl.

"And you've been a bad boy."

Holy fucking shit. Here we go again.

* * *

To be continued . . .