As we had agreed, that afternoon I met Jessica in her garden and gave her the money to compensate her for having to call in an emergency plumber. She was genuinely thankful, and we were sat, side-by-side, on a bench.

For a good while we chatted casually with one other, drinking our beers, and then the conversation took a more serious turn. “I'm sorry I almost lost my temper earlier, Frank. It was so wrong of me. Daddy says I'm like an active volcano, ready to erupt at any moment, if the right string is pulled.”

She was mixing her figures of speech, but I wasn't going to risk triggering a further eruption by pointing that out. “Think nothing of it, Jessica,” I assured her. “It was all my fault. You're really nice, and I would hate to lose you as a neighbour.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, I mean it.”

“That's good, because I've another favour to ask of you.”

She hesitated.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged, albeit with a degree of trepidation.

“I have to go to a Speech Day function at the college Friday evening and listen to the Headmistress drone on forever. Would you mind terribly giving me a lift, darling? Then I can have a glass of wine! That's absolutely essential if one is to survive these events with one's brain not turned to mush.”

I smiled. “That's no problem, Jessica. I'll drop you off—give me a call when you're ready to be picked up again.”

“Oh, no, Frank, I would want you to stay in the car while I'm inside. When these things are finished, I don't like hanging around in case one of the snooty parents grabs me and berates me about how I've traumatised her precious tyke by trying to teach her integral calculus—or adding two and two together, more like. I like to tear out of the building and into the car. You do understand, don't you?”

She placed a hand gently on my thigh and I felt my penis give a twitch in response. “Yes, I can wait. How long will you be?”

“One or two hours—definitely no more than two. Two is the absolute limit. You can take a book to read, but just keep an eye open for me leaving. I don't want to have to wait around to be preyed on by a parent.”

“Er... yes, okay, I can do that.”

“Oh, thank you so much, darling. You're really kind to me.”

She still had a hand on my thigh and was gently massaging it. I was now fearful of a bulge showing if I had to stand up to leave. I had to say something to keep the conversation going. “You don't want me to pay you, do you, Jessica?” I joked.

“Oh, gosh! Would you, Frank? Would you?” she replied, with a look of astonishment. “That would be so helpful! I'm really struggling with money at the moment.”

“Er... well, I was sort of kidd—”

“Honestly, it would totally help my finances if you gave me something. Maybe what I would have been charged by a taxi driver. Eh?”

“Well... I don't know, that would be very expensive, what with all the waiting around.”

“Yeah, you're right, darling. It would cost a fortune. So, er... shall we just settle for £20, Frank? Is that okay? That'll take the pressure off me and Daddy. You're a star, Frank!” She leant over and gave me a peck on the cheek, her hand having now migrated to my inner thigh and a little closer to my groin.

“Er... I guess that will be all right, Jess.” I tried to convince myself that £20 was a worthwhile expense for having a beautiful girl, thirty years my junior, massaging my thigh. Yet, deep down, I suspected she had ulterior motives, and I wondered if she had done this to other men.

I snapped out of my thoughts to hear her say, “Thank you, darling. You have to go now, as I've got a lesson to prepare.”

Finally, she took her hand off my leg and she stood up, meaning I had to do the same. My penis was now semi-erect, and I caught sight of her looking down at my crotch. Was it my imagination that she appeared to have a smug expression on her face that read “Mission Accomplished”?

She gave me another peck on the cheek and then, red-faced, I slunk out of her garden. Back in my own house, I went up to my bedroom and masturbated, thinking of her.

oooOOooo

Providing a taxi service for Jessica proved to be every bit as boring as I had anticipated. Not for the first time, I marvelled at the way she was manipulating me with her charms, and how gullible I was to agree to her ridiculous request, especially as I could envisage little chance—more likely, no chance—of us ever having sex. She was teasing and humiliating me.

As I sat in the car, trying to concentrate on a novel, I was becoming irritated that the two hours maximum she had spoken about had turned into three hours, and when she did emerge, she had certainly drunk more than one glass of wine.

Seeing her coming out, I jumped out of the car and opened the passenger door. “Thank you... my good man,” she said, as if she were a duchess from Downton Abbey talking down to her chauffeur. “Home, James!”

Slurring her words, she talked incessantly during the short trip back home but without saying anything of substance. At the same time, she kept a hand on my thigh, gently kneading it.

Then, as I pulled up at the kerb, she whispered, “Why... why don't you come around for another beer tomorrow afternoon, darling? I li... like talking to you. You're good fun!”

How could I resist this offer? “I'd love to, Jessica, thank you,” I replied.

“You... you'll pay for the beers, won't you? Ten pounds, right?”

“Er... yes, okay.” She gave my thigh a final squeeze and kissed me on the cheek as I said good night to her.

oooOOooo

The next day I was again in her garden. The weather was hot and she was skimpily dressed in a very short miniskirt and a tight-fitting vest top with spaghetti straps. No other shoulder straps were visible and I guessed she was braless, her pokey nipples providing further evidence to support my theory.

I handed over the beer and taxi money and she thanked me before passing me my drink. This time, we were sitting facing one another. She couldn't put her hand on my knee, but the compensation was that I had a direct frontal view of her. However, as well as her amazing beauty and fit figure, there was a distraction. Over her shoulders, to both left and right, there was a washing line and pegged on it was her white wash. There were a couple of white shirts, a pair of white jeans and some white socks, but what really attracted my attention were several lacy white bras and a collection of white thongs and panties in different styles. Everything was so brilliantly white, made more so by fluorescing in the bright sunlight.

I was finding it was impossible to look her in the eyes, and every couple of minutes I couldn't help but divert my line of sight by a few degrees to take in the contents of her washing line.

The first few times I got away with it—I thought—but then she gave me a strange look, and turned around to see what had attracted my attention. I blushed and didn't know what to say.

“We should swap seats, Frank,” she decisively declared, in a disapproving tone.

“Er... sorry,” I muttered.

“I mean it, Frank. We swap seats, okay? Now!” She almost spat out that last word.

The smile she'd had was gone, and I sensed I was in trouble. In fact, I felt like an adolescent schoolboy being told off by a teacher. And then I remembered she was a teacher—and one who stood for no nonsense from her charges. I stood up and did what she asked.

“I'm sorry about that, Jessica,” I said, not knowing what else I could say.

“Hmmm... you're sorry? I imagine you're sorry you got caught, what?” she exclaimed, sounding agitated.

“No, it's not that. It was just a distraction. I suppose your shirts and jeans being so white, they kept drawing my eye.”

“Are you sure it wasn't something else white that was drawing your eye, Frank? Hmmm?”

“Sorry, I don't know what you mean, Jessica.”

“I'm sure you do. Something I appreciate in people is honesty, Frank. Are you a pervert?! Am I living next door to a pervert?”

“No, honestly, I'm not. I'm... I'm just a normal chap with normal feelings and... er... normal urges.” I was sure I had been set up and she had engineered the seating arrangements and the position of her lingerie on the line to snare me. I had fallen into the trap.

“Normal urges?!” she shrieked. “Staring at a girl's lingerie on the washing line is normal, is it? And then lying about it. I've a good mind to punish you for not being truthful with me.”

Punish me? What did she mean? “Er... I don't understand, Jess. I was just looking at your jeans and shirts, thinking how white they were.”

“No, you weren't!” she angrily retorted. “My jeans and shirts are further down the washing line. What you were looking at was directly over my shoulders and, now we've swapped seats, they're directly over yours. You're still being dishonest and I've just warned you about that, haven't I?”

She had me in a corner. “Er... yes, I'm sorry, Jessica. I shouldn't have looked.”

“You shouldn't have lied, more to the point!”

“You're right, I should have been truthful.”

“I'm going to fine you, Frank, okay?”

“What?! Are you joking? Look, Jess, this is getting out of hand.”

“What do you mean?” she queried, with a look that said was she expecting an explanation.

“I mean... I mean, I keep giving you money and... er... not getting anything back.”

She looked shocked... genuinely shocked. “What are expecting? That I jump into bed with you? Listen carefully—you are never, ever, going to put your thingy inside me. Is that understood, Frank? Our friendship is platonic!”

“Er... yes, but—”

“You're older than Daddy! What a dirty mind you have, Frank!”

“You're misunderstanding me, I... I don't expect you to go to bed with me, but—” I paused for a second or two to gather my thoughts. “But, I find it humiliating, Jess. I'm doing things for you, and then paying you to do them, and I'm getting nothing back.”

“Hmm... are you sure about that, Frank? That bulge in your trousers says otherwise.”

She was right, the combination of surreptitiously catching sight of her undies, and the way she was now tearing me off a strip, was causing me to become aroused. And, strangely, this was not helped by her categorically telling me that I would never have sex with her.

“This is turning you on, isn't it?”

“Er...”

“I excite you, don't I, Frank? You're craving sex with me, but you know that's never going to happen, yet, somehow, you're finding it arousing. I bet you masturbate thinking about me, don't you?” She was becoming livid. Her father had not been wrong comparing her to a volcano perpetually on the brink of eruption. I had to hope she could contain her temper.

“Er...”

“Do you masturbate, Frank. I want the truth! Tell me!” Her face was flushed, and her eyes were burning into me.

“God, of course, I do, Jessica. All men do, even fifty-five-year-olds.”

“Does being teased and humiliated by me not make your climaxes more powerful? Instead of looking at dirty pictures, you now have a real-life situation to fuel your self-abuse. Am I right?”

“Well—”

“Yes or no, Frank, before I lose my cool?” Wow, that was an understatement!

“Er... yes, I... I do find the way you're humiliating me to be a turn-on.”

“And you don't want it to stop, do you? Even though you'll never get to impregnate me. You want me to keep using you, humiliating you, and you want to keep paying for the privilege. Yes?”

“My, God, this is so embarrassing, Jessica.”

“Answer my question, Frank. I'm filling a gap in your sexless life. You don't want it to stop, do you? You find it exciting—thrilling!”

“You're right, Jessica, I want it to continue,” I declared, with a sense of defeat.

The imminent risk of a tumultuous explosion had passed. She sat back in her seat and gave me one of her flirtatious smiles. “Thank you for being truthful, Frank. I think honesty deserves a reward.”

“Er...”

“I will sell you a pair of my panties for £25. You get to pick from those on the washing line.”

“Oh... no... I can't... it's not right.”

“But you want them, nevertheless. Yes?”

My reddened face and my inability to look her in the eyes told her that I did.

“The only condition, Frank, is that I then get to choose what you do with them,” she continued, without waiting for me to give a verbal answer.

“Er... what do you mean?”

“I mean you give me £25, you choose a pair of panties, and then I will tell you what you have to do with them. In that order, yeah?”

“What... what do I have to do with them?”

“Do you not understand plain English, Frank? I said you—give—me—money, you—get—to—choose—which—pair, and then —you—get—instructions.” She spoke slowly, as if talking to an imbecile, while shaking her head with impatience.

“I see... yes.”

“And if you don't follow my instructions to the letter, then we call the whole thing off and you go back to wanking while looking at dirty pictures. Your call, Frank.”

I was sure that her instructions would involve further humiliation, but that was only arousing me still further. I reached into my pocket and pull out the banknotes she wanted and handed them over.

“Go and pick which pair you fancy, Frank.”

Now with a full-blown erection that was impossible to hide, I stood up and examined the array of panties. “I'll... I'll have these,” I said, unpegging a pair in a bikini style.

“Good choice for the next stage, Frank.”

“Heh?”

“Off you go back home, Frank.” She fiddled with her phone, before continuing, “I've started a stopwatch. Within twenty minutes from now, I expect to receive a photo from you of these panties filled with your cum. And then, within forty minutes from now, I expect to see another photo of them washed and hanging out to dry on your washing line. Is that clearly understood, Frank?”

“Er... ye—yes, I understand,” I croaked. Our relationship had taken a new turn. No one had ever spoken to me in that tone of voice, nor commanded me to do anything like what she wanted me to do.

oooOOooo

Now trembling with anxiety, I took the panties home. I had read about dominant women, and Jessica matched the description to a tee. I'd also read about submissive men, but I had never categorised myself as such, yet I now seemed to fit the definition. Jessica was dominating me and I was submitting to her demeaning orders.

By the time I reached my front door pre-cum was leaking into my underpants. I had just fifteen minutes left to fill her panties with my jism. It was only a few hours since I had last cum, and I'm not a virile young man, yet any concerns that I might fail to ejaculate were misplaced. I lay on the bed, naked from the waist down, and began rubbing myself with her silky white knickers, replaying in my mind the assertive way she had taken control and humiliated me. Not only was I obeying her bizarre instructions, but I had paid her £25 for the privilege.

It didn't take me long before I reached the point of no return and I spurted into her underwear. I savoured the moment but, as I descended from my high, I recalled I had to send her a photo. Goodness knows what would happen if I didn't!

Understandably, the volume of semen was not large, but enough to be seen in a photograph. I spread the soiled panties on the bed and, with shaky hands, opened up the camera app on my phone. The first couple of images were too blurred to share. Calm down, I told myself, while at the same time nervously wondering if I was opening myself up to blackmail. On the third attempt, I managed to get a photo clear enough to send and quickly despatched it to her via WhatsApp, before I had second thoughts.

Then I knew I had to wash the panties. With only minutes left, I scraped out my spunk. This was not a job I relished, but I found myself becoming turned on again as I washed the flimsy garment, recalling once more the belittling experience she was subjecting me to. With just seconds to spare, I rushed outside and pegged the knickers, inside out, onto my washing line, then I took a photo, making sure that it showed the panties were clean.

I sent her the image and then retired to my house to patiently wait for her reply. There was none. Nothing came that day. Part of me felt I had been taken for a fool—indeed, I was a fool and, as the expression goes, there's no fool like an old fool. She had humiliated me and demeaned me, and she couldn't even be bothered to make fun of me. I went to bed that night feeling agitated and miserable, wracked with thoughts about how she might use the images.

oooOOooo

It took ages to fall asleep and I had troubling dreams but, the following morning, I was woken up by a buzz on my phone. It was a message from Jessica, asking if I was awake. Even before I read it, I felt a sense of relief that she had not abandoned me.

Me: “Yes, I'm awake, Jessica.”

Jessica: “Good! Do again what you did yesterday. Wank into your panties, take pic, wash them, hang them up, take pic. Same time limits as yesterday. Clock's started.”

I was still experiencing my early morning erection, but it still took more effort to ejaculate than it had the previous day. I was no longer a young stud, if I was ever a stud. Did she not realise that this might be a struggle for me?

Nonetheless, I managed, and I sent her a photograph of her panties, stained with my cum. I then quickly washed them and was about to rush outside in my dressing gown to hang them up when I saw it had started to rain.

Me: “Sorry! It's raining so I can't hang your panties outside, Jessica!”

Within seconds, she replied.

Jessica: “They're not MY panties, Frank. You bought them off me, so they're YOUR panties. Just send a photo and hang them somewhere to dry inside.”

It was turning me on to be reminded that these had been Jessica's, but were now mine. I felt my penis twitching again at the erotic reminder, although, other than wanking into them, I couldn't see what use they were to me. They certainly wouldn't fit me.

Me: “Will do! Can understand why you don't want panties back, but they are too small for me - LOL!!!!!”

Jessica: “I will find you some that fit - LOL!!!!!”

Was she joking? Simply engaging in repartee? Or was she planning something? I had no idea, but her behaviour towards me was exciting me.

oooOOooo

I sent her the photo of the laundered panties but received no reply. I assumed she was biding her time, and I was left wondering what her next move would be. It came at around 6 PM with another message on WhatsApp.

Jessica: “Time for a repeat performance, Frank. Same rules, same pics. Clock starts now!”

My God, I'd read about orgasm denial, but this was the opposite—it was forced masturbation. I had no time to waste, so I retrieved her panties from where I'd left them to dry, went to my bedroom and started jacking off. Much as I wanted to, it was a struggle, but I managed in the end and was able to send her a photo of a dribble of semen inside her—sorry, my—panties. I then set about washing them for the third time, sending her the picture of the clean item just before the deadline.

She was soon to respond.

Jessica: “Not much there, Frank!”

Me: “No, you've drained me dry, Jessica. I can't do it again!”

Jessica: “If you didn't wank so much, you'd have done better. No more wanking until I give you permission. Understood?”

Me: “Yes, Jessica, understood!”

Jessica: “I expect to see bigger volumes. If I don't, I'll know you've not been storing it up.”

Me: “It doesn't quite work like that, Jessica!”

Jessica: “Don't argue with me, Frank! I'll know if you've been wanking without permission! Is that understood?”

Me: “Yes!”

Jessica: “What is it you understand?”

Me: “I'm not to wank again until you say so.”

Jessica: “I hope you've learnt a lesson from this.”

Me: “Yes!”

Jessica: “What lesson have you learnt?”

Me: “I mustn't stare at your washing.”

Jessica: “No, you mustn't. But, more importantly, you must never lie to me. Understood? NEVER!”

Me: “Yes, I'm sorry, and I won't do it again.”

She didn't reply, demonstrating once again that she was in charge of the communication channel. I felt exhausted, but strangely exhilarated!