The Tutor

"Holy shit," she gasped, when she could breathe again, "Who taught you that?"

I hated to do it, but she'd asked me a question, so I tore my questing mouth away from the most delectable source of joy, and spluttered giddily,

"No one, Mistress. It was my own idea."

"You're going to be training my other slaves, then," she growled, and settled herself back firmly on my face. I nuzzled into her with abandon, and focused my fire on her clit as much as I could, even letting her fluids dribble onto my chest instead of drinking them in my eagerness to make my Mistress proud of me.

At last I was rewarded with a very short, strained,

"Keep doing that," and she left her clit within easy access of my tongue, only rocking back and forth so that it rubbed against my tongue rather than away from it and into it. I obeyed her, keeping up the licking rhythm that had prompted her groan, and clutched her even tighter to me, straining every nerve for the release that would surely come.

At long last, it did.

Her knees pressed hard into my shoulders, and her hands dug into my hair as her loins quivered spasmodically against my face, and jet after jet of hot, pearlescent liquid poured out of her -- I couldn't drink enough of it to keep up with the deluge -- once more coating my face, hair, shoulders, breasts and torso in her gorgeously textured, richly scented musk.

I laughed in pure joy as she moaned gently, letting every one of the aftershocks run its course against my delighted, kissing mouth, and then at last she stood back up and pulled away. My tongue followed after her pussy automatically, but she pushed me back into my kneeling position.

"That's enough, Lexxxi," she said, panting. "We'll explore multiple orgasms another time."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, glowing with satisfaction as I sat back on my haunches.

"Do you want another shower now?" she asked.

I shook my head. Her juices flung out from the tips of my hair like raindrops.

"I want to marinate in you," I said.

"You really are the perfect slut," she said, with a crooked smile.

"Thank you, Mistress."

She gave me her hand, and raised me to my feet, and had me sit on the bed again, with her next to me.

"How do you feel, Lexxxi?"

I looked at her, and my eyes swam.

"Happy," I said, afraid I would begin to cry with sheer joy.

"Good. You deserve to."

"Thank you, Mistress." That did it, I couldn't stop it. I burst into tears.

She took me into her arms and held me there while I sobbed. I tried to make strangled apologies, but the tears overwhelmed them.

"It's okay," she said, stroking my back. "You've finally found your home after wandering for so long in the desert. You should let yourself feel all your feelings about it."

"You're so good to me," was the first coherent sentence I finally managed to choke out once the storm had passed.

"Yes," she said. "I told you, I take care of my slaves."

I opened my eyes and found that my mouth was near her breast. I wondered if I dared take her nipple into my mouth. I desperately wanted to. But she had not told me to, so I hesitated.

"What is it, Lexxxi?" she said. I blinked in surprise that she had noticed the change in my thoughts.

"I want to suck your breasts," I said, my cheeks burning at the childish naivety of the sentence.

For the second time, she laughed, and pushed me to sit back up on my own.

"Not now," she said. "We're done exploring our bodies tonight. Maybe if you're good, you'll get to as a reward later on."

I nodded. This made perfect sense, even though I was disappointed.

"You have work tomorrow," she reminded me, "and Fiona has school."

"Do I have work tomorrow?" The mind that had been shattered by the past few hours slowly tried to piece itself back together. Something about a phone, and emails, and----

I jumped to my feet, horrified.

"I haven't answered a single email!" I said in genuine anguish. I would have turned to run out to get my phone and my laptop, but she grabbed me by the wrist and held me.

"And you still won't," she said. "That is an order."

I tried to pull away for a second, then subsided.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, but terror showed in my eyes.

"When you go into work tomorrow, you are going to inform the partners that you have received another offer, and that if they do not double your salary, hire a second paralegal at the same salary, and confine work business to work hours, you will leave."

I stared at her. I must have been as white as a sheet; the thought of what she was saying was completely impossible. She was broadly right, of course, that all of that was exactly what the firm needed, and I could already envision how much more efficient the work would be, but there was no way in hell those stingy old bastards would ever agree to it.

"What if they say no?"

"Then you will quit, and come back home, and await my further instructions," she said calmly.

I felt on the verge of screaming. The foolhardiness of such an act! To entrust my livelihood, my future, my finances, to a college student! A community college student, at that! She had impressed me with her intelligence, her ingenuity, her empathy, and her force of will, but she couldn't have the first clue about how the world worked.

But she was waiting for a response. Her eyebrows lifted.

"Yes, Mistress," I said hollowly.

"Good," she said. "Now I want you to get some sleep. Brush your teeth, and wash your pussy, but otherwise if you want to sleep soaked in my cum, you may. Once you're in bed, I'll be heading home."

A pang of loss shot through me.

"I thought we had all night," I said. She smiled.

"I was giving myself all night to make you agree to be my slave," she said. "You fell a little earlier than I expected you to. And I have others to tend to."

For a second I had a wild thought of reneging, of saying I refused to be her slave, that I wouldn't follow another order, just so that she would stay and break me all over again, but she looked at me, and I knew that I didn't have it in me to be a brat.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and hung my head.

"Good girl." She stood up, and ushered me toward the bathroom.

As I got ready for bed, I felt wildly disconsolate, in a way I hadn't since I was a small child and going to bed meant missing out on the important, fun, grownup things, not to mention the drudgery of another day tomorrow.

Kanae was back in her sundress, jean jacket, and wedges when I finished in the bathroom. She leaned in the doorway as I pulled back the bedspread and sheets. I shivered a little at the realization that my own orgasm had soaked through to the mattress, and that I would have to lie in it. The thought both warmed my loins (since she had been the cause of it) and depressed me (since it would be cold and damp).

"When you get up," she said, as I crawled into bed, "you will follow the instructions on the note I am going to leave on the kitchen counter."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, gazing at her fervently from my pillow. As I began to relax, I finally started to notice how sore I was. My knees, from the two extended sessions kneeling; my bottom, from her sharp spankings, my neck, tongue, and jaw, from being used to pleasure her, and almost every other part of me, from the strain of first denying myself pleasure, and then giving into it at last. My breasts ached where she had squeezed them, my wrists and ankles from having been tied. With despair, I thought I would barely even be capable of walking in the morning.

Kanae was watching me from the doorway; when she saw that realization in my face, she came back into the room and leaned over me.

"Listen," she said gently. "You can do this. You were strong enough to divorce your ex and raise Fiona into a lovely, vibrant young woman. You are strong enough to be my slave."

"Yes, Mistress," I said gratefully, and put out my hand to try to touch hers. She slipped it out of reach, but then smiled at me, and bent over, and kissed me gently on the mouth.

It was the most beautiful experience of my life. I had never imagined kissing a girl -- I had been so certain I would never kiss anyone again, after my divorce -- but kissing Kanae was closer to heaven than anything I had ever known. My soul seemed to drift out of my body; she could reach out and take it with her. She would take it with her, in any case.

She stepped back.

"Sweet dreams," she said, and left, closing the door behind her.

I lay for a while, trying to hear if she was doing anything else in the house, wondering what instructions she would leave for me. What would happen when I went to work tomorrow. What I would tell Fiona the next time I saw her. What I would tell anyone. I tried to picture sending out an email newsletter to everyone I knew, like people do when they get married or have a baby or get their dream job. "I have wonderful news to announce: I'm a slave!"

I giggled at the thought, and then before I knew it, I was asleep.