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What I’d seen thus far looked very encouraging indeed.
She pushed her jeans down her thighs, wiggling her hips slightly as she did so, the motion making my cock begin to stir. She was very, very pretty, and in a way that I wasn’t sure I’d ever encountered before. She possessed an interesting mixture of both purity and licentiousness, which was a word I didn’t think I’d ever used to describe a woman. But it fit her, somehow. I just needed to find out the reason why.
Watching the length of her trim, firm thighs revealed inch by inch had me hard already. It wasn’t that I had a particular thing for legs, but hers definitely did things for me.
She bent down facing me, her jeans pooled at her feet, obscuring the scuffs and stains upon her shabby shoes. I found it interesting that she worked in essentially a pair of sneakers, and worn ones at that. It was another subtle clue, prompting more questions. There would be time for that later though.
Her gaze flicked up at me then, her eyes watching me through the fringe of her hair even as she was still bent over, a slight smudge of pink at each of her cheeks.
“Why are you stalling? Get it all off. I want to see that body.”
Her pale, slender throat worked at that, her pretty mouth falling open for a moment. She made a tiny sound deep in her chest as her gaze slid away. Submerging her fingers under the mound over her jeans, she slipped her shoes off, kicking the denim away from one foot, then the other. She quickly peeled her white socks off as well, revealing cute and quite petite feet. I most definitely wasn’t a foot guy, but I found Lola’s surprisingly attractive, matching the rest of her in their beauty.
She straightened then, and I had to adjust myself suddenly as I switched positions on the couch. It would never do to let her see how much of an effect she was already having on me. I would only let on the truth of that when the time was right. Still, my cock was aching hard, pressing insistently against the front of my slacks, already knowing where it wanted to be—and who it wanted. Right here, and right now.
Patience.
Her panties were a different color than her bra and off white, with a tiny lace fringe along the waistband. The clutch of the gusset over the mons of her sex was quite brazen, like the hand of a lover, possessive, insistent, at the same time perfectly displaying the mouthwatering contours of her pussy. I longed to have it revealed, my willingness to wait for her to obey me on her own time growing increasingly thin with every second more.
“All of it, Lola.”
It was her turn to sigh now, and I loved the way it lifted those round breasts of hers. Oh, how I wanted to see them, to feel them fill my hands. Reluctance poured off of her then, but it didn’t stop her from doing as she was told, much to my delight. She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, laying a hand across the front of her breasts for a moment as the band of the bra fell loose at either side of her. She gazed down at the floor as she allowed the brassiere to fall to the carpet.
I waited for a heartbeat to see if she would move her arm out of the way, and I wondered if this would be an issue with her. Even if it was, I would be happy to correct her for it.
But first, I needed to see how much she understood the importance of obedience to my will.
Her face blushing crimson now, she let her arms hang at her sides, revealing the full loveliness of her breasts to my gaze. She was blessed with wine-dark nipples and broad, smooth pink areolas a shade or two lighter. A fine tracery of blue-green veins was just visible here and there under the almost translucent paleness of her skin. Her breasts were absolutely beautiful, and at the same time my mind instantly went to how I might use them, how I’d punish them when she’d displeased me. I was a connoisseur of the disciplining and punishment of a woman’s breasts, and while I was also a huge fan of spanking and the myriad other ways of punishing a woman’s bottom, I found that hurting a woman’s breasts got through to her in a way almost nothing else did. It was a critical technique in a man’s toolbox when it came to training a woman, and breaking her to his will.
But she wasn’t close to done.
“Now, take those panties down. And you’d better do it slowly, or else.”
It might have been a little bold, perhaps pushing my luck a little more than I should have, but I just couldn’t help myself. The girl was impossibly beautiful, provoking me, my lust short-circuiting my better judgment, overruling any inclination I might have had to take things a little slower.
Her eyes were big and bright, as if the tears were gathering but the storm of her emotions hadn’t quite forced them to fall yet. I very much looked forward to seeing them do just that.
Soon, Ellis. Soon.
Shockingly, she didn’t protest, and it was something I found to be very encouraging indeed. For it was in these initial few minutes of a woman finding out what it really meant to submit to a man’s commands, that told the tale of what might be possible, given sufficient training and ruthlessness of purpose.
As she drew the cotton down those thighs, those same thighs I very much wanted to touch, I watched her in silence, the tension in the room ratcheting still higher. The moment was drawn out, as if time had slowed, the erotic connection between us deepening, my anticipation, my eagerness to see what was next growing with the promise of what was still to come.
Finally, her sex was revealed fully to my gaze. I was pleased to see that she didn’t, like so many other women seemed to do nowadays, shave her pussy entirely. The dark shock of curls adorning her mons was alluring and deeply sexual, in a way that had become almost quaint, even rare, in modern times. I very much looked forward to running my fingers through those curls, to tugging on them just enough to make her wince, to murmur in her ear how silky and smooth they were between my fingers, how base and sexual her thick bush made her to men who saw it.
Then the panties were pooled at her feet, and she kicked those away too. Later I would teach her how to properly disrobe, to neatly fold and set aside her clothing. It was an expression of her obedience, her attention to detail, knowing that a man like me expected her to be pleasing in all things she did—especially if they were at my express order. Those were subtleties, details she would yet have to learn, and likely at the cost of much pain to her bottom, her breasts, and likely her tender spirit as well. For training a young woman was much more than just physical chastisement, far deeper then really punishing her for her faults, and it would take time and a profound understanding of what it was that made her tick, what it was that she really needed.
And if I were very lucky, a man like me would discover that what a woman like her truly yearned for was to please, serve, and submit. To give herself to a male who was strong, strict, and cruel. Who knew how to give her what that dark, secret part of her heart craved most of all.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Lola. Did you know that?”
If anything, she blushed even deeper then, my words making it clear that I could seeallof her attributes, driving home the fact that I would allow her to hide nothing from me, that everything was laid before my gaze.
And that I found it most pleasing indeed.
For a young, inexperienced woman, being taken in hand by a more seasoned male, a man who appreciated the finer details of dominating and forcing a woman to bend to his will, such moments could be overwhelming for her. I would savor that, too, enjoying her discomfiture, even her embarrassment. For it was all part of this, an intimate and sometimes shattering exploration of what it truly meant to surrender to a man. A man strong enough, and cruel enough, to lead her down a path to what she’d always needed, but perhaps never understood.
“Now, Lola, I want you to put your hands behind your head. Yes, just like that. No, lace your fingers together and keep them there. Good.”
