He pulled the t-shirt over my head and picked up the shorts I had been wearing, leaving me naked, standing in the corridor…

Preparations: Marta

When Sir finally allowed me to escape into my condo, I closed the door behind me, made sure it was locked, then collapsed against it. I was a mess.

Being in the familiar surroundings of home made it all seem unreal, somehow. My body was still massively excited by masturbating in the car. Added to that was the thrill of being naked and exposed in the transition from his place to mine, which, to my surprise, I found a enormous turn-on. And finally, I had been oddly aroused by the surreal encounter with the too-tall teenager.

All in, I was exhilarated by the entire encounter, and absolutely infatuated with Sir. Or perhaps enthralled would be a better word.

I was also exhausted. It was a toss-up whether I wanted a bath or a nap first. If I could nap in the bath, that would be ideal, but…

I decided to bathe first, and have a shower later, during which I would play with myself, as Sir directed. I also decided that I would remain naked because he would want me to.

I went into the bathroom and started running the tub, adding some bubble bath. Next, I went to the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of milk, then brought it into the bathroom.

By this time, the tub was getting full enough that I could get in it, which I did, placing the glass where I could reach it easily. I soaked for a while, then woke with a start. I quickly washed my face and hair, then did a quick scrub of the rest, drank my milk, got out, dried off, and went into the bedroom.

I set the alarm for 2 hours’ sleep, fell into bed, still naked, and vanished into dreamland.

****

The alarm had been going off for some time when I finally awoke, somewhat groggy, clicked it off, and sat up. I knew if I didn’t sit up, I’d go back to sleep, and I couldn’t afford that.

Although I was still sleepy, at least I felt more human, and started to look eagerly forward to tonight’s date – and its aftermath. I found myself starting to moisten again, so I shook myself, and started to get busy.

First, I had to come up with a sluttish outfit. I had a surprise for Sir that I was pretty sure he’d flip over, but needed to present it properly. I went to my closet and found, as I had expected, very little to work with. Most of my outfits were practical, everyday wear. I had a few, dressy outfits for special occasions, but since I hadn’t been dating in years, none of it qualified as even being in the same area code as sluttish.

Then a thought occurred to me, and I went to a different closet where I’d relegated old clothes and coats, and started pawing through the far end. Yes! There it was – the chiffon sheath dress I had worn to prom in high school.

I had worn it only that once, and then only for a couple of hours. I hadn’t gone with anyone, and found that being on your own wasn’t much fun at a party where everyone else was high, drunk, balling, or all of the above. I left after about an hour, tossed the dress in my closet, and forgot about it. Yet, since it had cost so much, and looked so pretty, I had never had the heart to throw it out.

What brought it to mind now was that my mother, when she had seen me in it, had said it was “too slutty”, and forbade me to wear it. As happened more and more frequently at that time, I ignored her, and even turned up the hem slightly.

Now I pulled it out. It was a good quality dress, and the fabric was still in very good shape. I didn’t have time to dry clean it, but I would sponge it down, then iron it. The top of the dress, down to the waist, was black, with a wide, black, boat-neck collar. My shoulders were left bare, which was good, and there was a panel of black chiffon that ran from the collar, down over my boobs to my waist. It had a V-shaped slit from the collar on down towards my belly button, which showed my chest between my boobs, and even a hint of bulge on each side. The boat-neck collar at the top would echo my black leather dog collar, emphasizing it.

Below the waist, it transitioned from black to a creamy white, with the upper and lower sections separated by oversized flowers printed on the material, and which trailed down the left side of the dress.  The dress flared out below the waist, a bit like a rah-rah skirt but without the pleats, falling to about mid-thigh.

In the back, it had a large, oval cut-out, stretching from just below the collar at my neck to just above the cleft in my ass. Sir would like that – he could slip his hand into it, and maybe even move it down to my ass beneath the fabric.

Now I needed to see if I could still fit into it. I pulled it off the hanger, and slipped it over my head. It was a bit of a tight fit, but I got it on OK. I had put on very little weight since high school, but I had filled out since my senior year, so it was tight around my boobs, waist, and the top of my ass. I counted that as a plus under the circumstances. But I probably would have to adjust the fastening at the top, by my neck. If I couldn’t get that to work, I couldn’t wear the dress as that held it all together.

Looking at it in the mirror, and holding the back closed at the neck, I could see that to a normal person it would seem too tight, but that made it perfect for what I wanted. I thought I would raise the hemline at the bottom, though, to make it a bit more sluttish.

Moving back into the living room, I found my sewing kit, and YES! I had the right color, white thread. I turned the hemline up two full inches, then paused, and added a third inch. I was pretty sure that was too much, but thought I’d pin it and see.

Once I’d pinned it up, I carefully put it on again, and, once again, held the neckline closed. The bottom hem was now barely a couple of inches below my pubis, way above my knees, and I dithered about it being too high and too revealing.

Then I said to hell with it. I promised Sir I would look like a slut, so I would.

Since I didn’t have a sewing machine, I tacked the hemline up as best I could, baste-stitching the seam well enough that the hem would stay up for at least the night. Then I sponge-cleaned the dress, and ironed it.

I decided I had to close the neck fastener and model the entire dress to be sure, so I slipped it back on. It had a robust hook-and-eye fastener, but try as I would, I could not get it to close. And it was woven into the fabric. I couldn’t just unpick it and move either the hook or eye. Unless I could find a way to close the dress, I was screwed – or rather, not screwed!

A Cry for Help: Marta

I was running out of time. It was nearly 6 o’clock by now, and I knew I had no other outfit that would remotely fit the bill. I wasn’t really on friendly terms with any of my neighbors, and there was no way I could ask Sir to help me with this. There just wasn’t time.

Then I had a wild idea: the teenager. Hesitantly, I picked up the note she’d given Sir, and opened it. It read:

“Please let me ask some questions! I promise not to be a pest!!!
– Sammi”

Then there was a phone number, presumably her cellphone.

The other sheet of paper was a photocopy of her driver’s license from the State of New Jersey. It showed her age as being 17, as promised, and listed her name as Samantha Margaret Kelly-O’Neill.

Kelly!

A shock ran through my body. I don’t believe in omens, but if such things exist, this was one.

Without giving myself time to think about whether this was a good idea, I picked up my phone, blocked my phone number, and called Sammi.

There was a cautious, “Hello?”

“Sammi, hi. This is the women you met in the hallway this afternoon. You know, with Sir?” My voice went up too high at the end of the sentence.

“Oh, hi! I’m so grateful you called! Thanks!”

“Sammi, are you going to be around in a bit? I need some help getting into an outfit, and there’s no one else around I can ask.”

“Uh, sure. When were you thinking?”

I stopped. I’d need to shower, and do my hair, then get into my dress, do my make-up, and I wanted to be ready early. I’d need to start right away.

“How about at 6:30? Will that interfere with your evening plans?”

“No, I’ve already eaten, and I was going to hang out with some of my girlfriends, but they can wait. Sure, I’ll knock on your door at 6:30. Uh, miss, I don’t even know your name. What do I call you?”

I thought quickly. “Would you be OK with just calling me Miss for now?”

“Sure! Just like in the books. See you then! Oh wait – will your boyfriend be there?”

“No, I’m dressing because he’s coming ‘round at 7:30 to take me out to eat.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “OK, I’ll be there are 6:30. See ya!”

And she was gone.

I thought to myself that I’d better get started, and hustled off to the bathroom, turning the shower to medium-hot. If I was going to get my cunt good and hot, it would be easier if the rest of me was warm.

****

When I stepped into the shower, I was trembling at the thought of what I had to do, and what would happen if I couldn’t or didn’t. I got under the spray, turning ‘round, and letting the water run all over me, from my head and hair on down. I took more than the usual amount of shampoo onto my hand, lathered up my hair, then started on the rest of me.

I ran my hands slowly over my body, starting with my hands on opposite shoulders, hugging myself and squeezing my tits together with my arms. Then I slowly moved my fingers down over my nipples, pinching and playing with them for a while, using the shampoo lather to make the touch smooth and erotic. I swirled my hands around my stomach, teasing down to my pubic hair, then going sideways and around the back to my ass. I ran my hands over my buttocks, then massaged them, running a finger into my cleft, and up and down, going as far as my perineum and back, lightly fingering my asshole as I did.

Then I ran my hands around my thighs, returning to the front. Spreading my legs, I ran both hands up my thighs, then down between my legs, gently massaging my labia, then using both thumbs to spread my lips apart. Next, I started to run a finger up and down, gently fingering my clit along the way. After a few minutes of this, I started running down to my cunt, then putting a finger deep inside, massaging myself inside, then out and back up to my clit again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat…

By this time, I was breathing hard, but didn’t think I’d gone far enough to please Sir, so, reluctantly, I stopped, deliberately avoided touch myself below the neck, rinsed off the shampoo, added conditioner, luxuriantly massaging it into my head, stoking my ears and neck along the way. I was teasing myself, because I knew what was coming. Or rather, not cumming…

Once I’d rinsed the conditioner out, I stood still for a second, letting the water run down my head, over my upturned face, down over the front of my body, and bounce off my wide-spread legs. I whimpered slightly, then put some more shampoo in my hands, lathered it up, then reached down with both hands, and started to play with myself in earnest.

I slid the middle finger of my right hand into my vagina – no, my cunt – and started massaging myself inside, fingering my G-spot, and hoping someday I’d find my A-spot. I also slid the index finger of that hand beneath my cunt and along my perineum, rubbing my anus slightly, using the other fingers to rub lightly along the area between my thighs.

With my left hand, I rubbed the whole hand along and within my labia, first using the flat of my hand as I rubbed down, then pulling the middle three fingers upwards along my slit. I slid my fingers up to massage my clit, kneading it in progressively firmer circles, then flattening my hand out again and rubbing downwards again.

After a while, my hands seemed to figure out what they wanted to do, and I surrendered myself to my feelings.

My mouth opened of its own accord, my knees went wobbly and I bent forward, forcing me to lean my shoulder against the wall, and causing me to drop my head and tits forward, with warm water pouring down over them. I was panting hard, and could feel the climax starting to build. It felt sooooooo good!

Then my eyes snapped open. I couldn’t cum. I wasn’t allowed to cum! It would be a disaster, Sir would be disgusted and angry with me, and it would ruin all our plans for tonight! Yet, I couldn’t stop. Finally, I pulled my left hand away from my cunt, reached up, and turned the water from warm to icy cold. I screamed, but stood up and let the water run over my torso and between my legs.

Finally, I shut it off, and collapsed onto the floor of the shower, hanging my head on my arms and knees, panting, and shivering.

Then I heard a loud knocking at my front door. I staggered up, grabbed my robe and a towel, and walked to the front door to let Sammi in.

The Slut Appears: Marta

I barely held my robe closed with one hand, and held my towel in the other when I used it to open the door. My knees were still shaky, and I must have looked ill, for Sammi stepped in and grabbed me under my arms and lifted me almost bodily to a nearby chair.

“My God! What happened Missy? Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“I’m very sorry, Sammi, I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

She stood up tall, recoiling, then said, “Are you a druggie?”

I looked up sharply at her, and laughed weakly. “No, Sammi, I was masturbating in the shower when you knocked.”

She put her hand up to her mouth, looking shocked, then surprised me again when she started laughing. She laughed for some short while, then said, “I’m really sorry, Missy, but you caught me by surprise! And I’m sorry that I interrupted you while you were Doing the Deed! I wouldn’t have knocked if I’d known! Did you want to go back and finish? I can come back later.”

I felt out of breath, but amused, and said, “No, Sammi, I’m not allowed to cum. Sir said I had to play with myself until I almost came, but that I must not under any circumstance allow myself to cum. I almost left it too late.”

Now she looked shocked. “What do you mean you’re not allowed to cum?”

“Just that. I’m his submissive, by my own choice, and he’s very good to me, but he has forbidden me from cumming without his express permission, ever.”

“What, like, forever?”

“Yes, like forever.”

She looked really shocked. “I don’t know if I could do that. I masturbate a lot!” Then she looked at me, “And you stopped?”

“I had to, Sammi, or he would have been disappointed with me. I can stand being punished, or having him hurt me, but I can’t stand the idea of disappointing him. And he so wants to take his slut out to dinner and show her off tonight.”

Then I looked at her, and remembered that she was just a 17-year old girl, and said, in a rush, “Oh, Sammi, I’m so sorry! This must be terribly upsetting for you. I really didn’t mean to…”

She grabbed my hand, and said, “No! This is so cool! It’s just what I wanted to know! Thank you for trusting me! Can you tell me more?”

I looked at her, then remembered the time. “Yes, but please help me. I’m running late, and he’ll be here, and he distinctly told me to be on time, and now I’m not. Can you help me dress and make up?”

She stood up, “Sure, what do you need me to do?”

****

I dried myself off, then we dried and teased my hair, talking all the while. I had decided that I wanted to look like Daryl Hanna’s android character in Blade Runner with the Lone Ranger-like mask of black make-up across the eyes, plus blonde, shaggy hair, so I blow-dried and teased my hair as best I could. But I didn’t have anything to do the mask.

Sammi jumped up. “I’ve got some black make-up from Hallowe’en that would work. Let me go get it!” And she was gone.

I rummaged through my make-up, and, surprisingly, came up with a bright, shiny, rich red lipstick euphemistically called “Candy-Sucker Red.” I applied that heavily, as well as a slightly reddish blush for my cheeks. I doubt that I needed to use make-up to pretend to be blushing or aroused. I suspected I would be both, and for real. I applied quite a bit of mascara to my almost white lashes.

Then I sprayed my hair to hold the shaggy look, and by the time I was done, Sammi was pounding on the door again. “I’ve got it, now hold still.”

She started applying the black make-up crayon in the area around my eyes, then smearing it, doing some more, then sitting back, then leaning forward. All the time, my eyes kept opening and going to the clock on the dresser. It was getting close to time, and I wasn’t ready.

“There! I think that’s as good as I can get. Take a look!”

I’m no Daryl Hanna, but I looked a lot like the Blade Runner android. Sammi’d done a great job in very little time.

I grabbed my red, strappy high heels out of the closet, quickly wound the straps around my ankles, and fastened them at the top. They were only 3-inch heels, but would, I knew, take me over six feet in height – I’d tower over Sir. I hoped he wouldn’t mind, but he did specify this.

I stood up. “OK, now the moment of truth. I’m having a real problem on the clasp of this dress, and we have to make it work.”

I dropped my robe, completely forgetting that Sammi would see me naked except for my high heels, grabbed the dress, and slipped it over my head, wriggling into it. It seemed, if anything, to have shrunk, but eventually, I got it on. “Help me with the clasp at the back of the dress. Hurry!”

Sammi moved behind me, still taller than me, even though I was in heels, and tried slipping the hook into the eye, with no luck. Then she gave the dress a tug upwards, and clipped the hook into place. It worked!

“Hurray! Thank you! You’re hired!” And I turned to look.

Oh. My. God.

To get the hook to fasten, she had pulled the dress up my body slightly, and the hem was now clearly too high. If you looked, you could just see my pussy peeking out from between my legs. I tugged at it. It was still too short.

“I don’t care!” I said in frustration. “I’m wearing it anyway.”

Sammi put her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit, Missy. Your cunt is showing! You can’t wear that. Don’t you have anything else?”

I shook my head, “No, I positively do not. And I positively am not going to miss this dinner. I’ll go naked if I have to. I will not disappoint Sir! And I am going to look like a slut to please him!”

Sammi said, “O-K, I get it, good little submissive and all, but how about wearing, uh, peach colored undies?”

I shook my head, “No, I have a surprise for Sir that I desperately want to wear for him, and it means I can’t wear panties. Wait here.”

I went into my bedroom, got the box I’d bought from the sex toy store, then took it into the bathroom, closing the door.

I took the end of the toy and put a healthy blob of lubricant on it, then bent over and delicately twisted it into place. Once it was seated fully inside me, I straightened up, then turned sideways to look at myself in the mirror.

The sight of it alone almost made me cum, and I shivered so hard I shook.

I picked up the remote, tried it on the first setting, and the result was – disturbing. I tried two or three other settings, just to make sure they worked, then turned it off and walked out the door.

“What do you think, Sammi?” and turned sideways.

“HOLY SHIT, Missy! That’s – that’s – I don’t know what the fuck to say. That’s fucking amazing. He’ll cum in his pants when he sees you! Shit!”

I smiled, and walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “I owe you, Sammi. We’ll find a time for you to collect. Now I have to run! But first, help me on with my collar and cuffs. And hurry!”

****

Once she had clicked the last lock in place, while giving a running commentary on how fuckin’ sexy it all was, I looked at myself in the mirror, and grinned. If he could keep his hands off me, that he might as check into a cemetery, because he was already dead! I was hot!

“Please, Missy, can I walk down with you and watch his face when he sees you? Please?”

I hesitated, then nodded, “Come along, but we need to leave right now!”

“Don’t you want a coat? It’s chilly outside.”

“No, I don’t want to spoil the effect. Now come on!”

What the Fuck?: Sir

I pulled into the circular drive in front of her condo building just as she was walking out – and that stretch teenager was with her. I wondered what the teeny-bopper was doing here, especially as she had a huge shit-eating grin on her face.

Then I looked at Marta, and my eyes went wide. The first thing I noticed was my collar and cuffs, locked into place, which made my cock twitch.

But then I looked further. I had told her I wanted her to look like a slut, and she had more than taken me at my word. Her hair was shaggy, she had a make-up mask around her eyes that reminded me of someone that I couldn’t quite place.

And she wore a lovely dress, with a flared skirt – that was about 3 inches too short! From where I was, sitting in the car, with the road lower than the sidewalk, I could just see her naked pussy flashing me from under the hem of her dress when she walked. I began to wonder if we were going to wind up in jail tonight. Maybe I had been a little too – emphatic? – in my instructions.

She stopped about 10 feet short of the car, turned sideways, leaned over, stuck her bum out, and placed her hands coquettishly on her knees, arched her back, and smiled. At first, I wondered what she was up to. Then I noticed something moving – and saw that there was a white-blonde fox tail that fell to below her knees, twitching back and forth, from under her dress.

Oh. My. Freaking. God!

To be continued…

© Copyright, J.L. Gainsborough, November 2020.