The Teenage Dominatrix Ch. 01

This story is a prequel to The Summerhouse

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Temping as a data entry clerk for fourteen weeks was not that well paid or exciting work, but it was a full-time job and would see the geeky eighteen-year-old student bank almost four grand before leaving Surrey for Exeter University.

The local council had hired Stephen to scan and file thousands of archived documents, and he worked with a small team of school leavers on short-term contracts. He was thin and wiry, and at under 5ft 7in tall, he was shorter than most men of his age. The young student possessed a friendly innocence and a submissive personality; he rarely argued or spoke aggressively and was a popular member at work. He made the hot drinks, he cleaned up, and he carried out his duties diligently.

On the start of his penultimate week at the council, the skinny teenager cycled out of the council's offices, and along the smooth tarmac of the Surrey roads. It was a bright, summery day, almost barbecue weather, and Stephen Morris was two days into a fortnight break from his family. They were in Florida, while he earned money before starting his Electrical Engineering degree on the South Coast.

He had an evening of gaming and pornography planned; the ten kilometre ride home would take under half-an-hour, if he chose the most direct route, and he weaved through the housing estates and cycle paths until he reached the outskirts of the small suburban town. An exclusive street with semi-detached and detached houses that each had a beautifully manicured carpet of lush green and spotless driveways.

He never saw the reversing vehicle emerge from a large detached property on his left. He had the right of way, but the large Range Rover reversed from out of the driveway and knocked Stephen into the grass verge with a loud bang. The young man smashed into the ground and his helmeted head landed onto the pavement with a crash. He yelled in shock, and cried in searing agony, as his legs scraped along the Tarmac.

Pain erupted down the left side of his body. His outside thigh burnt agonisingly, and his shoulder and wrist bruised as they landed abruptly on the ground. "Oh Christ, I didn't see you. You were travelling down there a bit fast." The driver blurted out and tapped his mouth with shaking hands. Stephen vaguely recognised the greying, balding man standing over him. "Shit, I need to be somewhere else!"

"Simon," a shrill voice called, and a buxom black-haired woman, wearing a pale pink tracksuit, stormed down the driveway. "I heard you blame this accident on that fine young cyclist. You weren't looking where you were going, were you? Eager to get back to London, eh? You hurried out of my drive like a bat out of the underworld."

His words stumbled, and the matronly figure crouched down beside the sprawled cyclist. "I just didn't see him."

"You didn't bloody look," she snapped. "Help me get him inside."

"I have a meeting at Number Ten in fifty minutes. I'll be late."

She glared at him. "You'll have a meeting with my cane if you don't do as you're told," she said icily. "Then you can take his bike and put it 'round the back. Then you may go, but you haven't heard the last of this." She looked at Stephen. "Can you stand up?"

He gingerly got to his feet. Blood drizzled down his cut white trousers and shirt, and he hesitantly put his weight on his left ankle. "Just bruised, I think. I wasn't going that fast," he replied. "I really wasn't."

"I know. It's fine. Where do you live?"

"Beech Tree Lane. It's near the college, about two miles away."

"You won't be cycling home, look at the state of you! Do you need to phone someone?"

"My parents are on holiday," he explained as he walked with her to the large detached property. "In Florida to see Disney and Universal with my younger sisters."

"Oh nice," she purred and opened her black front door. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit." She sat him in at the stool of the breakfast bar in the kitchen and brought a bowl of steaming water with a first aid kit from another room. "I'm sorry, but you are going to have to remove those trousers and that shirt. I can't see your wounds."

"I can... I..."

She tucked her straight black hair behind her ears and opened the first aid kit. "Oh, don't be so silly," she snapped and her deft fingers made light work of his shirt buttons, to expose his wiry chest. "You have nothing I have not seen before!" Reluctantly, he slid the frayed shirt from his body and looked mournfully at his wounded arm.

She bandaged his cut elbow and applied lotion to his grazes, and he barely argued when the dominant middle-aged woman demanded that he remove the remnants of his trousers. She massaged soothing, healing balm to his thighs, and her hands slipped underneath the hem of his boxer shorts. She gave him a smile and directed him to the toilet where he could wash his hands.

"I'm going to put some tea on now for me and my niece. Chicken Curry, OK?" She cocked her head. "I've got an appointment at nine in Heathrow, so I'll drop you off home by eight." He hesitated, and she looked at the scrawny teenager. "You are welcome to leave, but you'd have to walk a couple of miles in just your boxers and that might get you some funny looks!" He blushed, and she chuckled as she opened the fridge and took out a multitude of ingredients. "I'm Anne-Marie, by the way."

He introduced himself and they chatted as he helped her prepare the meal. Anne-Marie joked and teased him, as his cheeks rouged whenever she mentioned anything sexual. Half-an-hour later, as she dished up three portions of curry, she called her niece playing music in her bedroom. "Victoria! Dinner!"

"Coming!" The voice called, and the middle-aged woman guided Stephen into a long, thin room at the front of the house, with high-backed chairs and an imposing table.

"Are you Anne-Marie Braithwaite?" Stephen asked as he saw a framed picture on the wall, and she nodded. "I know Victoria Braithwaite from college. We did Maths together."

"Oh, she never mentioned your name."

"We didn't move in the same social circles," he said diplomatically. "Just academically." His interactions with the acerbic tongue of his saviour's niece had come during multiple Maths projects, and he had become accustomed to her short, caustic put-downs. "We worked together in class, lots. She's really good at..."

His voice trailed as Victoria entered the room, naked, except for her slippers. Her long brown hair reached her bosom and her green eyes flashed when she saw Stephen sat at the table. Stephen's gaze lingered at the beauty framed in the doorway. Brazen and shameless, with flawless, hairless skin and a broad smile, the lithe teenager giggled at the young man's expression.

"Sorry love, I forgot you were going into the shower," Anne-Marie said. Stephen stared open-mouthed and only looked away when Anne-Marie entered the room. "Do you want to get something on, so you don't embarrass our guest?"

"No," she replied immediately. "Hiya Stephen. Do you still not know how to do integration and differentiation, which is Chapter one of A Level Pure Mathematics? It's too late to come and ask for Maths lessons now. We did the exam several weeks ago!" She sat at the table and muttered appreciation towards her aunt.

"Our visitor reversed a little too quickly and knocked him from his bike. And I really think you should get dressed, Victoria."

Her niece ignored her. "The slimy runt? He deserves a damn-good no-holes-barred pummelling with a baseball bat!" Anne-Marie raised her eyebrows at the young exhibitionist who turned her attention back to Stephen. "Why are you naked too?"

"I'm wearing my underpants," he replied, and she looked under the table to check. "My clothes are bloody and torn."

She smiled, and ate the aromatic dinner, followed by a yoghurt. "I have jobs to do," Anne-Marie announced, as she rose from her chair. "If you two could load the dishwasher and Victoria, just be hospitable for a couple of hours. And get dressed. This isn't a naturist resort."

"Hospitable?" She squealed. "Why?"

"Because I have a couple of very important calls to make and I require discretion. Then I need to get ready to go out because I have an appointment. And do not take him to your bedroom. I've seen it, and it is an absolute pigsty." The dominant woman glared at her pouting niece, who grabbed four cans of fruit cider from the fridge and passed one to the young man.

"Go out in the garden," Victoria snapped at him, and the naked girl strode across the grass to two wicker chairs in the centre of the secluded sun-bathed lawn.

Stephen joined her and started a conversation with the aggressive teenager. She mellowed as he made her laugh and joked with her. "That Simon, who hit you, is an utter smarmy bastard," she said. "One day, I will get to thrash him so very very very hard and it'll make my week and cause my pussy to tingle so much." She giggled as he blushed. "Or gush." She snorted as his face contorted. "Oh God. You are so innocent!"

"I'm not."

"You're dating Ingrid from the year below, right?"

"I was. We split up." He explained the circumstances of their break-up, shortly after Stephen's mother saw the naked woman shrieking and hopping from the bed, while holding a used condom.

Victoria guffawed at the explanation. "Did she take your cherry?" She asked matter-of-factly, downing the last of her first can of cider and opening her second.

Stephen's cheeks reddened further. "Yes. We did it lots. Anyway, you dated my mate Hugh for a while until it went pear-shaped. I saw you with him after the final Maths exam."

Victoria snorted and took a huge sip of her alcohol. "Not dating. He was my toy for a while, but I tired of him. Did he tell you what happened?"

Stephen shook his head. "No. He hasn't really mentioned you and I didn't want to ask. I know it was a short fling."

"That figures. It wasn't a relationship. We had some fun, or at least I did. But boys bore me very quickly. I've not met one that has a shelf-life of more than a month." She cocked her eyebrow and passed him the last can of fruit cider. "Drink up, you're so slow!"

"I don't normally drink much. My parents don't like it."

She snorted and opened a new can. "I said, drink up." Stephen drank slowly, as Victoria entertained him with her philosophy of disposable partners. The hedonistic wildchild looked at her watch as he sipped at the cider and she reached across him to tip the bottom of the can, so the alcohol flowed into his mouth. He spluttered, and she glared at him. "C'mon."

"What's the hurry?"

"'Cause I have a game to play," she replied. "Let me show you something to see if you like it. I think you will. We have an hour."

He reluctantly finished his drink and picked up the four empty cans for the recycling box. They walked into the house, and then into a space that was once a sitting room. Blinds covered the windows and in the centre of the room, a professional massage table gleamed invitingly. He looked at her in surprise, and she pointed to the bench.

"Get on the table, face down. It's a massage." He didn't move, and she repeated herself. "What's up?"

"You're scary and a massage is a kind and pleasant thing to do. I had never thought you'd do massages. For anyone."

"Today's your lucky day," she said without a hint of mischief in her voice, and got him to lie on the jet black hydraulic table. He watched Victoria walk across the room to a cabinet and remove a piece of fabric. "Were you just ogling my butt?" She asked, as she returned to the table and slid the thick magenta velvet over his eyes. "Leave it," she warned when he moved his arms.

He froze and waited as she snapped two medical grade black gloves over her hands and then poured some apricot kernel oil into a small bottle, to which she added Rosemary and coconut.

He yelped as her fingers yanked his boxer shorts to his ankles - partly out of prudish embarrassment, but she had roughly dragged the material rubbed along his grazes. "Your arse isn't that special," she hissed. "It's kinda cute, but you can't get oil on your underwear if you're getting into Anne-Marie's motor, can you?"

Stephen hummed, and she poured a small amount of oil onto his back, warmed in her hands. He purred as her fingers swept over his skin, pushing and pulling his muscles. Long curves and arcs across his back and buttocks, and she kneaded the tired flesh underneath her gloved hands.

She liberally applied oil to his body and allowed it to pool at the base of his back and dribble across his exposed rosebud. She deliberately brushed his anus as she manipulated his buttocks and then stroked his slender thighs.

"Turn over," she demanded.

He faltered, and she brought her hand sharply on his right buttock. "But you'll see my..."

"Yeah, 'cause I haven't been naked all evening. And you've been watching me. Turn over." He wavered, and she grumbled. "How you ever popped your cherry when you're too scared to be naked in front of someone else. Did you fuck Victorian style with your pants on and the lights off?"

Stephen reluctantly turned over, and she steadied him on the table, and then readjusted the blindfold. She pulled his arms down beside him and he felt a click on his wrist. "It's just to stop you from falling off," she said and before he could object, restrained his left hand too.

Her oiled fingers darted across his thigh, and she poured oil across his front. It pooled on his belly button and she dowsed his splash of teenage fuzz in the massage oil.

He took deep breaths as she worked the liquid into the skin and down his soft, hairless legs. He adored her shoulder massage and the pressure on the tops of his arms.

And then she slid her hands over his cock. His libido stirred, his tipsy mind struggled. She slipped her greased hand down his shaft and pulled on his foreskin. Her fingers glided over his balls and pressed against his perineum. He sighed, and she grabbed hold of his left ankle and moved it away from his body, bending the knee. Victoria repeated this with his other leg and then repeated her genital massage, running her left hand over his scrotum, cock and perineum.

He gave deeper breaths; his cock rose and stirred; Victoria pressed against his rosebud with her lubricated finger. A wetness landed on his anus, and she pushed her finger so it slipped inside. His body froze. He mewed, and she ground her hand into his perineum - her palm massaged his taint and balls and her finger rubbed against his prostate.

"Victoria," he moaned. "That's... I'm... I..."

"Sssshhh!" She whispered. "Just go with it. Relax. Deep breaths. Relax everything." The soothing voice returned. One finger became two and gentle massaging became stroking. Victoria rubbed the insides of his rectum with her fingers, applying gentle but firm pressure on his prostate.

It was a horniness he had never experienced before. An erotic force on his genitals, a tension behind his balls that caused his cock to sparkle and weep. Better than the Aneros, or his own fingers. Superior to anything he had ever encountered.

Precum drizzled out of his prick, landing on his stomach as her fingers worked on his arse. The bountiful oil made her fingers glide effortlessly as she caressed his prostate.

Waves and waves of shuddering energy cascaded through his body. They weren't the cock-centred orgasms that he was used to, and they felt more explosive and fervid. He writhed on the table; he squealed and grunted as her hands left his body hyper-sensitive.

Stephen sighed and took a huge breath as his cock tingled and sparkled. Victoria stroked his balls with her thumb and watched as he struggled in his arm bindings. "It's... too much!"

Victoria pressed harder on his prostate and ground her hand against his perineum as he gasped and cried, as a burst of lustrous energy detonated in his groin and radiated across his body. Cum poured from his cock. Dribbling and flowing, it leaked from his semi-erect prick as his rosebud fluttered over her fingers.

She withdrew her hand and snapped off her gloves, with a wicked smile on her face. She gave him a moment to savour the feeling of his first anal orgasm and then unclipped his hands. "You better get cleaned up."

"What did you do?" He asked and squinted in the bright light as he removed his blindfold.

She put a roll of toilet tissue on his chest and glared at him. "Don't thank me or anything?"

"Sorry, thanks. And wow. What did you do?"

"A prostate massage. Have you seen Road Trip?"

"Yeah. I know about prostate massages, I've just not been able to do that. How? Please tell me."

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he blushed. "You need to know what you are doing," Victoria snapped and leant against the wall as he cleaned the cum from his chest. The woman showed him to the toilet, and he returned to see her squirt the professional massage chair with cleaning spray.

Anne-Marie squealed when she entered the massage room. "I can't have you with oiled skin on my leather seats. It'll spoil it!" She wore a full-length trench-coat, that looked out of place in the summer evening.

Victoria passed him a Hello Kitty pink dressing gown of her own from the utility room. "Wear this," she said with a grin and smirked as he slipped it over his boxer shorts and greased skin.

"Thanks, Victoria," he said once more, as he left the house and the naked girl waved at him as he got into the passenger seat of Anne-Marie's executive saloon with his backpack.

"She's a nice girl, but no sense of decorum," Anne-Marie muttered, and the car accelerated into the road. "I dread to think what she will be up to in five years' time. Anyway, I've spoken to my friend who runs a bike shop," she said. "And he's going to look at your wheels. Leave me your number and I'll ring you when it's ready."

"Oh, thanks. It's only an old bike. It's not worth much."

"And if he can't repair it, I'll get Simon to buy you a new one. Let me deal with him."

"Thanks," he muttered. He glanced across the car and noticed the knee-length black heels that Anne-Marie wore. She grinned at his startled look. "And thanks for dinner and the lift home."

"And my niece entertaining you." She smirked as she spoke. "You are both adults. What you do is your business. There is no embarrassment in my household with sexuality and nudity. It's natural."

"We didn't have sex or anything," Stephen blurted out and Anne-Marie laughed.

"Oh, I can understand why you amused her." She turned the car into the road and Stephen pointed out his house, bathed in darkness. He scribbled his phone number on a piece of paper.

"Thanks again!"

"See you soon, Stephen!" She called, and he looked a little surprised. "For the bike, certainly. And I'm sure something else too."

He gave her smile an awkward grimace, but he wanted to visit Victoria again. Whatever she did with her hands was something he had chased multiple times, but never experienced before.