I stood at the sink, washing dishes, the anger rolling through me in waves so harsh my gums itched. My new roommate was a slob, worse than that, she was a freshman. I’d expected someone young and lost, someone that would need my guidance and knowledge, and yes, someone that would at least have the common human decency to clean up after herself. Essentially what I’d been three years ago when I was a freshman, lost and wide-eyed, but at least considerate of others. McKenzie—God, don’t you just want to strangle her for her name alone??—was none of that.

Just as I was wiping up, she walked barefoot into the kitchen, all long legs and short shorts, her legs tanned and muscled and perfect, just like the rest of her. She sat her cereal bowl on the counter next to me, didn’t seem to notice half of it spilling onto the just-cleaned counter, and casually wiped a little milk from her lips with the back of her hand. She was standing very close to me. I could smell her, a hint of expensive perfume mixed in with other, more subtle scents, reminding me of mornings on a beach, tan skin, sleeping in and sex. I looked up at her—yes, she was tall, too, on top of everything else, maybe 5’ 9” or 5’ 10”—and noticed her nipples poking through the white, ribbed tee, close enough and at the right height for me to reach out and lick. Or bite. Finally my eyes made it up to hers.

She smiled. “The floor’s a little sticky. You were going to mop it, weren’t you?”

I tried to say something, coughed and sputtered, then managed, “I, I was going to do that next.” I don’t know why I said that, I wasn’t planning to mop the damn floor, let her do something for once, I’m sure she can figure out how a mop works.

Her smile got better. “Good girl. We wouldn’t want my feet to get dirty, would we?” She ran the bare toes of her left foot over my sock-covered ones, trashing boundaries left and right. I felt myself blush, probably my ears were even turning red. There were so many emotions pouring through me I felt like I was about to burst, each one jagged and pulsing, like a broken tooth. I was confused about why I felt anything towards her, pissed as hell at her for being such a manipulative slob, pissed at myself for not telling her to fuck off. And lust, oh God, lust so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. It was too much. Would any jury convict me if I held a pillow over her pretty face while she slept? Wouldn’t the world be a better place?

She patted my butt, then strolled out of our tiny kitchen, and I couldn’t help but watch her, that perfectly round ass moving under her shorts, her long legs that I’d kill for, and yes, her feet, too. I didn’t like feet, didn’t have a weird foot fetish or anything, so why was I fascinated by her feet? Sure, I’m a lesbian, but not for the damn McKenzie’s of the world. I like girls that wear flannel shirts, have short hair and a tat or six. So why was my mouth dry and my pussy wet? Not to mention the electricity zipping through my clit.

Yes, I mopped the floor, getting more and more angry. Then I went to my room and rubbed my clit like I was going insane. Come to think of it, maybe I was.

It didn’t get any better.

Friday night, after class, I walked in the door only to be greeted by an even bigger mess than usual. Her socks were on the floor (mmm, she was barefoot) next to a pair of jeans (mmm, was she in her underwear?), a sloppy pile of books sat in front of the coat closet, her laptop laying next to them. I could see my jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter, the top not even on it, the knife she’d used sitting next to it, probably stuck to the damn counter by now. On the coffee table, there must have been forty bottles of nail polish spread out, in no order whatsoever. Jesus, it was too much. I’d told myself every step of the way home that this was the end of it. I was going to confront her, tell her this slob crap wasn’t cutting it, that she needed to start cleaning up after herself or find another roommate.

Then she walked out of the bathroom wearing a tiny, light blue cammy that her perfect, C-cup breasts were threatening to fall out of, and yes, she was in panties, tiny and white and I was guessing a thong. I very much wanted her to turn around to see if I was right. She gave me a good smile. “Hi,” she said. “I was hoping you’d be home soon. Do you want to help me paint my nails?”

Yes, this is where I opened my mouth and finally told her that she was an inconsiderate bitch that had no respect for boundaries, that didn’t know how to do anything but take advantage of her looks and was single-handedly setting the women’s movement back ten years and, most of all, I hoped to never see her again. I opened my mouth and said, “Okay.”

She smiled and did a little half skip, which I’m not sure if her breasts enjoyed but I sure did. She took my hand, led me to the couch and I saw that it was a thong. Why didn’t God give me an ass like that? I sat down next to her, enjoying the smell of her and being close to her, all while the voice in the back of my head was spewing and sputtering and cussing, but it was getting harder and harder to hear it.

Her face twisted, the smile gone, and my whole being wanted to bring that smile back. It was a deep and uncomfortable feeling. She said, “I like to do my toes first, and it’d be easier if you were on the floor.” Like it was the most every day thing in the world, she gently guided me off the couch and down to the floor in front of her. I knelt there, in front of her, my butt resting on my heels, and suddenly understood the word submissive. “That’s better,” she said, the brilliant smile back, which made my heart do a little dance.

She took a good two minutes figuring out which color she wanted, then sat it next to me on the coffee table. She leaned back on the couch and put her foot on my thigh. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare down at her foot touching my skin, her toes resting on the edge of my shorts. I tried to breathe, to think, tried to look somewhere else and finally managed to scan up her legs to the little white triangle that stood between me and her pussy. Fuck, I would’ve done anything in that moment to push my tongue deep inside her. Anything.

I picked up the nail polish, started to take off the cap. “Silly, you have to file them first, make sure they’re smooth and perfect.” I nodded and picked up the nail file. I really had no idea what I was doing, hadn’t painted my nails since my Mom died when I was six. I licked my lips, trying to focus, like it was a test. I think she figured out I was clueless, because she started giving me directions, which toe to start with, what she wanted done. There were no please’s, no asking me if I was okay with anything, she was just bossy, which some part of me really, really liked. What was wrong with me?

Finally, when her nails were done (and they did look perfect), she told me to paint them. I shook up the little glass jar, noticing the name of the light blue color was Perfect Bitch. I should’ve run at that point.

As I opened the lid, some of the polish dripped onto her foot. She made a weird little noise that made my heart clutch, then I felt her fingers on my jaw. Her fingertips ran down to my chin, and she gently lifted it until I was looking into her eyes. God it felt like her eyes were seeing right through me, seeing down deep inside, seeing shit I didn’t even know about and there was no where to run and hide. She said, a little chill in her voice, “Don’t mess up my nails. I’d have to spank you for that.”

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of me over her lap, my shorts and panties down around my ankles, her hand smacking into my ass. I could feel the dampness spreading down the inside of my thighs. I opened my eyes to find hers still staring into me and gave her the tiniest nod that I understood.

I took her foot in my left hand, enjoying the feel of it, and started to paint her big toe. I was very careful, though part of me wanted to mess up. She leaned back, checked her phone, then started to read a Vogue. Part of me didn’t like her attention on anything else, part of me wanted to shove her foot between my legs and hump it until I died, maybe shove my tongue in her while I was at it. I bit my tongue, not wanting to disappoint her, and tried to focus, my hands shaking. When I was done with the first one, she looked over the magazine, inspected it for a second as I held my breath. She smiled. “Good girl.” It was ridiculous how much I liked hearing that, how much I craved her saying it again, down deep in my core. She lifted up her foot, closer to my mouth. “Blow on it.”

Yes, pathetic as hell, on my knees before her, I blew on her big toe, like she was a queen. The little voice in the back of my head had given up, I couldn’t even hear it anymore. By the third toe, I was doing it without her even asking me to. What’s beyond pathetic?

When I was finished with her left foot, I gently picked up her right one and put it on my thigh. As I was about to start filing, she said, “I know you want to. If you ask me nicely, I might let you.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Putting my tongue inside her? I managed, “Want, what?” It didn’t sound like I was on the Dean’s list.

“I know you want to kiss my toes. Ask nicely.”

God, I didn’t want to do that, did I? I did want to please her… “Can I kiss your toes?”

“You can do better than that. Say please.”

“Please may I kiss your toes.” Now all of me, weirdly, really wanted to.

She smiled and lifted her foot up. I watched, like life was in slow motion, as her big toe got closer and closer. I was getting close to a line I’d never even thought about crossing, hell, didn’t know existed. Maybe it was more of a cliff. She held it there, maybe two inches in front of me, her eyes full of mischief, her smile wicked. I closed my eyes, leaned forward until I felt her toe touch my lips, then I kissed it. She made a little mmm sound, with a little growl in it.

Yes, I kissed each toe on her right foot (after asking to). After I kissed her little toe, she put her big toe back against my lips. I kissed it again, thinking that’s what she wanted, but instead she slowly slid it into my mouth. Her toe filling my mouth, I looked up at her, happy that she was smiling, her nipples hard and poking through.

She pulled it out, put it back in my lap. “Good girl. Now get those done.” She went back to reading her magazine.

I earned another good girl when I was done.

Still on the floor, I did her fingers too, after kissing the palm of each hand and each finger, reminding me of medieval times and subjects kissing the king’s ring, or the pope’s. Surprisingly, it was as submissive as doing her toes, and somehow more intimate. All I could think about the whole time was her taking two of those long, elegant fingers and finger-fucking me until I passed out.

By the time I was done, it was 6:30 and nearly dark out. She inspected her left hand, patted me on the head and gave me another good girl. “Why don't you make us some popcorn and we’ll watch a movie?”

In the kitchen, watching the popcorn in the microwave and cleaning up the peanut butter, I had plenty of time to think, the little voice back, telling me to run away, to find somewhere else to live, asking me over and over what the hell I was doing. I didn’t know, but I knew I couldn’t stop. She’d opened a door inside me I couldn’t shut.

I carried the popcorn back into the living room. She was sitting on the couch, her feet up on the coffee table. God, those legs, so long, just the right amount of muscle, it was like I forgot how wonderful they were, that they couldn’t be that good, until I saw them again. I walked around the coffee table, sat down near her but not too close and put the bag of popcorn between us. There wasn’t much room on the coffee table, because of all the nail polish, so I tentatively put my feet up, next to hers, the side of my foot touching her calf. I didn’t think she’d allow that, imagined her smacking my leg, or worse, making me sit on the floor for the movie, her feet in my lap. My pussy liked that idea.

Instead, she smiled at me, patted my leg and put some popcorn in her mouth. She asked me to turn off the lights, which I was happy to jump up and do, and after I settled back on the couch, she pushed play. No, she didn’t ask me what I wanted to watch, didn’t ask me if I’d seen it before, didn’t even tell me what she had picked, and I didn’t mind one bit.

I tried to watch the movie, I really did, and I managed to pay attention for maybe fifteen minutes. But my foot touching her skin, the sight of her legs, and yes, her feet, in the half-light of the movie were all sending a pulse through me, through my clit and pussy. The hour of painting her nails, of kissing her feet, of licking her fingers (which all seemed like a dream now), of being ordered around, I was desperately in need of some relief. I pulled a blanket over my lap, pushed part of it between my thighs, and crossed my legs. Oh, that felt good. I clenched my thighs, wanting, needing more. I casually put a pillow in my lap, managed to get the corner against my clit, did a slow, little clench and grind. It felt good, but was only making things worse. I adjusted the pillow, got more of it between my thighs. If felt so—-

“That’s very distracting.”

I looked at her. She looked down at the pillow, then back up at me. Christ, I thought I’d been subtle about it.

“Do you even know what the movie is about?” There was an iciness to her voice that scared me. I was embarrassed, speechless, lost. I pulled the pillow from between my legs, felt myself blushing again. “Was doing my nails too much for you?”

“Um…no…I mean…”

“I want you to go to the bathroom, take off all your clothes, bend over the counter, and rub that little clit until you come.”

Still lost, I looked at her, not understanding her words.

She slapped me on the thigh, hard enough to really sting. “Now.”

I jumped up, was halfway to the bathroom before I understood her words. “And don’t even think about closing that door.”

“Okay,” I said.

Standing in the bathroom, I stared at my reflection, wondering who the hell I was.

“Are you undressed yet?”

“Uh, yes,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I pulled off my shorts, then my panties, started unbuttoning my shirt.

“As I said, bend over the counter, those hard little nipples flat against it, then arch up on your toes, get that butt good and high.”

I got my shirt off, then my bra. I had to move some of her stuff (which was everywhere, of course), then pressed my nipples against the cold counter top. I pushed up on the my toes, wondering if she could see me, see my ass all nice and high for her, see my pussy even from where she was. I reached between my legs and found my clit. Oh God did it feel good. Heavenly.

“You have five minutes. And I want two orgasms. One is never enough to please me. Any more than five minutes, and it will be time for your first spanking. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“I think a yes ma’am or a yes Miss would be a more appropriate answer, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss.”

I’ve never been able to come quick, and I didn’t think five minutes was going to be enough. God, was she going to spank me? In her panties? I’d be able to feel her skin against mine, my ass right in front of her. She’d know how wet I was. I’d never been spanked, but I was craving it, wanting it, needing it.

I rubbed and rubbed, desperately begging my clit, my body, to hurry up, to come.

“Two minutes. You better be getting close. I don’t have a lot of patience.”

I thought of those legs, her toes, sucking on them, licking up her legs to her pussy. Licking every inch of her body.

“One minute. That spanking is going to hurt. I don’t like my movies being interrupted. Are you close?”

I moaned a yes.

“How did we discuss you should answer?”

“Yes, Miss.” I practically yelled it.

“Ask permission before you come.”

Oh God, that pushed me against the edge.

“Please, Miss, may I come?”

“Hmmm, you’re five minutes is going to be up before you come twice. Maybe I should just stop you, get on with the spanking.”

“Oh God, please Miss, pretty please. I’m begging, begging you, please.”

She chuckled. “Okay, come now. Please me.”

I did. I came as hard as I’ve ever come, harder than the first time, alone in my little bedroom, harder than the first time Maddy shoved her tongue in me, my whole body shuddering and shaking.

“Don’t you dare take your fingers off that clit. Keep rubbing. I want another one.”

Holding on to the edge of the sink, on my knees, shaking, my fingers still where they were supposed to be, but it was too sensitive, too much. “Please….”

“Are you going to disappoint me?”

That thought was too much. “No, Miss, no.” I rubbed and rubbed, wanting to please her even though it was driving me crazy. Fuck fuck fuck too much too much too much.

“Well then hurry up. Or should I get the hairbrush?”

I could see the hairbrush, not six inches in front of me. It was going to hurt. I cried out, made a lot of noise. Came again. Rubbed and rubbed.

“Push two fingers into that wet, naughty little pussy. Now. Shove them in.”

I did, pushed them all the way in, wondering if she was at the door, watching me doing this all for her, being such a little slut for her, pleasing her. I pumped them in and out, then again, I was so wet. Another orgasm ripped through me.

###

I opened my eyes. She was standing in the doorway, looking down at me, a little smile on her face. I must have passed out. Laying on my back, my legs spread wide, two fingers were still halfway inside me. I noticed her nipples were hard. I hoped I’d pleased her. I looked at the towel hanging near the door, thought about pulling it over me, embarrassed that she could see every inch of me, and my body was nothing compared to hers. But I couldn’t move.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Then wash your hands, and we’ll finish watching the movie.”

I nodded again, hoping I could get up soon.

When I finally did, I put my clothes back on, and walked into the living room on shaky legs. The lust was gone, now it was all embarrassment, soul crushing and complete. I felt raw, like three layers of skin had been peeled off. I really needed to move out, I couldn’t have her able to make me do anything. Christ, why had I just done that?

I sat on the end of the couch as far away from her as I could get. She was staring at me, but I tried not to look at her.

She said, “I don’t remember saying anything about putting your clothes back on.”

I am not going to let her spank me. I am not going to let her spank me. I am not going to let her spank me. If she told me to stand up and take off my clothes, I had no idea if I’d do it or not. On the verge of tears, I turned and looked at her. I needed to say something but I had no idea what.

She leaned in close, kissed me on the cheek. “Good girl.” She held me in her arms, and it felt so good, like I was protected, safe. She sat back and guided me down, so my head was in her lap, and I almost didn’t think about that little strip of her thong covering you-know-what, and the warmth of her skin. A tear leaked out, ran down my cheek to her thigh. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. As we watched the movie, she played with my hair, ran her finger around my ear, down my cheek, across my lips.

By the end of the movie, the fire was back, as strong as before I’d come. I really wanted to turn my head, push my tongue between those thighs. But I wasn’t in charge. She turned off the TV, took my hand and led me into my bedroom. She tucked me in, gave me a kiss on the lips (on the lips!!), and told me to be a good girl.

###

I had wicked dreams.

Of her looming over me, a paddle in her hand. Of her toes in my mouth. Of being spanked, in my chemistry classroom, bent over the professor’s desk, jeans and panties at my ankles, while the whole class took a test. Of being spanked in the middle of a park, the grass lush and green, as more and more people came up to watch. Of her nipple in my mouth. Of my legs tied wide apart, her tongue driving me wild.

I woke up in the middle of the night, no idea what time it was, my fingers already rubbing. It didn’t take more than thirty seconds and I was coming, coming hard, shaking and shuddering. Then I fell back asleep to more dreams of her.

The sun beaming through my window woke me up. It took awhile to fully wake up, my dreams not wanting to let go. The sheets were between my legs, my underwear giving me a wedgie and still I yearned for more. While my dreams had been good, not all of it had been a dream. Her toes in my mouth hadn’t been. Neither had the bathroom been, nor laying on the couch with her, which was maybe my favorite part.

I got a weird feeling, like someone was watching me, and rolled over to look at the door. She was standing there, dressed in the same revealing cammy and tiny white thong, and she was pissed. Her arms were crossed under her breasts. That’s when I noticed the hairbrush was in her hand, partially hidden by her arm, twitching in her anger.

“Three wasn’t enough?” she asked.

“What?”

“I let you have three orgasms before you went to bed, and last night you woke me up twice, the wall shaking from you playing with your pussy all night. So, three wasn’t enough?”

I had no idea how to answer. “I…yes…no…you…”

“And don’t you think that was unbelievably inconsiderate of you after how kind I’d been? Well?”

“Yes. It was.” I hated how angry I’d made her. Felt horrible. Guilt.

If anything, that made her angrier. “Yes, what?”

It took me a second. “Yes, Miss.”

“Clearly we need to work on your discipline. Get your clothes off and get into the living room. Now. It’s time for your first spanking. I should’ve bruised your butt last night.”