Chapter 2. In Her Room

I followed behind her old Mustang in my year-old BMW 535 convertible. Her car was a 1990 four-cylinder Ford junker, from the ill-advised years that that company had decided a no-power Mustang would be appealing. She was stuck with one. With red paint that was long-faded.

After a few miles and a few turns, she pulled over on a suburban road under an Elm tree. She beckoned me with a curled finger as she stepped out of her car. I noticed that she'd taken off her new Keds, and was barefoot on the grass roadside. She saw me looking down at her feet and offerred "Oh, yeah, I like to break in my new sneaks with a little natural dirt before I wear 'em. Otherwise, my feet smell too much like new shoe rubber, you know?"

I nodded. Good god this girl was ridiculously incredible.

"Okay, Mike, see that house right there?" She pointed through the tree to the back of a small white wooden split ranch that needed a roof and a paint job. I nodded yes.

"Well, that window with the light on upstairs is mine. I'll call you on your cell when the coast is clear, and you go through that back door, take a left, be quiet cuz my mother will probably be snoring on the couch as you pass the living room door. Go to the end of the little hall, go up the stairs to your right, and my room's the only room at the top except for my bathroom."

"Okay, I'll wait in my car, Martha."

"Yeah. And you can have my old sneakers, I was just going to toss 'em. But bring up the shopping bags with my new stuff."

"Yes, Martha, okay."

"And one last thing... when you get to my room, let's not go through the nervous formalities. I'll be on my bed, and you just let me watch you strip naked. Right away."

"Okay, Martha."

"Call you as soon as I'm sure she's out. Could be now, could be an hour."

"I'll be waiting."

She drove away and I saw her headlights flashing off houses around the block until they gleamed from the end of her driveway. She shut down her rattle-trap and I got a quick glimpse of her as she ran inside the modest abode.

I returned to my car and sat inside. I held my cellphone in one hand as I tried to interest myself in sports radio. Her smile, her eyes, her body, her feet, and her promise consumed me.

Only a few minutes later, my phone vibrated. I swiftly brought the lighted window into focus; it was her! I answered, almost dropping the phone in my fumbling eagerness.

"It's me, Martha!" I said.

"And it's me. She's passed out in her room, done for the night. Come on up. Bring my clothes. And remember... what will you do when you get to my room?"

"Stand in your room and just strip."

"Yeah, and after you strip, kneel next to my bed. You'll start by showing me if you know how to worship my pussy. If you can't do it right, there's not much point in going a lot further."

"Yes, Martha."

"You know you want to call me Mistress, Mke, so just let go and do it."

"Yes, Mstress," I replied, my voice completely whipped.

She hung up, and I grabbed her shopping bags and walked briskly to the back door. Inside, the house smelled of old cooking odors and the must of summers without air conditioning. I took a left into the hal, and found the narrow staircase at its end. I gently ascended and saw light from under one of the two doors fed by the upper landing. I twisted the knob and ducked inside with her bags of booty.

What a scene. Inside, the room was imbued with Martha's scent. Her small bedchamber was eclectically decorated with young-girl items like posters for rock bands and brightly-colored stickers on everything. In contrast she had added touches of her emerging adulthood. A pair of handcuffs hanging from one bedpost, a painting of a woman wearing a masquerade eye-mask, a coiled bullwhip nailed to one wall. The room was lit by a single lamp covered by a faux-zebra fur shade. On the floor were unmatched area rugs and a quilt-style coiled oval rug. Her clothes and possessions were strewn about everywhere. Her bureau and dresser drawers were half-open and spilling a wild array of papers, books, clothes, gadgets, trinkets. On her nightstand were so many water glasses that they crowded out her alarm clock. The time was nine PM, on the nose.

Martha herself lay on her bed with her legs crossed and her head propped against several pillows. She was sitting halfway up, halfway lying down. She was fully clothed. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, pushing them upward in a healthy mass of lascivious softness underneath her loose woolen top.

"So, are you going to stare, or strip, Mike?"

I looked at her and kicked off my shoes. "Are you going to..." I began, but she placed a finger over her lips.

"Mike, it would be best if you just let me do the talking. Just strip. And by the way, with the door closed, my mother can't even hear my stereo on full blast once she's passed out. So we can talk and make whatever other noise we want, as long as it's on."

She turned on her side and reached for the power button of her cheap little boombox. I dropped my shirt into the pile in front of me, leaving only my jeans and sox. She asked me what kind of music I liked.

"Anything, Martha, as long as it isn't country."

"We'll definitely get along, Mike." She had scrunched up her little nose at the mention of country music. From her boombox came the opening notes of "Sandman" by Metallica.

"I figured I'd play something old for your benefit, Mikey," she told me with that huge smile of hers. Metallica. Old. And as I thought this, I suddenly felt a chill, realizing that I was stripping in the bedroom of a girl who hadn't even been born when this song had been released. Momentary pause, and then I unbuckled my belt, stripped my jeans away, and stepped out of my BVD Jockeys.

"Um, okay," said Martha as she caught her first sight of my cock. It was semi-hard, still dangling, and while it is not big, it isn't little. It's average. I wish it were huge.

"Well, kneel by my bedside, Mike!"

I knelt by the side of her fouton. It was covered with a fairly colorful Mexican serape'. Her pillows were covered with mre faux animal fur. Cheetah, it appeared.

She stood up on the bed and faced me. Her bare feet pressed dents into the futon. She began to lower herself until she was squatting before me, using her hands to balance herself by gripping my shoulders.

"Mike, do you want to be my slave for the night?"

I felt the interior explosion rip through my brain, run at light speed through every synapse in my body, hold a full conference in my balls that voted unanimously after less than a second's deliberation to direct my mouth to answer "Yes, Mistress, yes."

"Then shut up, do whatever I say, and we'll go from there."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I'm going to remove my skirt now, and I'm going to let you into my cunt. You'll get your face in there, and you'll show me whether you know how to use your tongue and your lips on a female's clit the right way. I may have to pull your hair a little to keep you on target. Follow my lead. Make me come, and then I want to fuck you. Don't make me come, and at least you have a nice car to drive home in."

She slowly lowered her skirt until the woolen mass fell to the fouton. She kicked it away to join the rest of the mess. She stripped off her black tights and tossed them to the side of the bed.

She wore black panties, too. Not lacy or frilly, just simple panties in a shiny jet black.

She smiled into my gaze as our eyes locked, her green now a sparkling emerald color. She sank to the futon and lifted her hips. Her legs were spread so that her knees stood up at my sides and her pretty bare feet gripped the edge of the bed. "Hook your thumbs around my panties, and very very slowly slide them off," she softly directed.

I did, pulling the satiny whisp away from her pelvis until she could lower her ass to the bed again. I slid them a few more inches away and saw my first glimpse of her young pussy. She did not shave; she had a nest of black fur lightly framing the folds of her glistening slit.

She scooted forward as I pulled the panties off her ankles. "Hold them to your nose, slave," she said, using "slave" again to my excitement, "And breathe in my scent."

I took a deep breath through her underthing and my cock surged to full hardness as her essence filled my interior.

"Take another, then toss them behind you, and make me come."

Moments later, the muskiness of her moist vagina pressed against my lips, and the taste of her sweetly acrid pussy coated my tongue. I found her clit and began to work up in pressure and speed, circling, lathering, feeling her pulse, reading her responses, worshipping at her alter as only a true male slave who has every desire to please his mistress can truly do. As she began to buck, as her breath began to speed, I knew I would be succesful. As my mouth filled with more and more of her juices, I knew I was near.

As she began to moan lowly in her bucking and grab my hair in her fists to pull my mouth into her crotch, I knew it was going to be soon.

And when she ripped out a high-pitched "Yeah-h-h-yeah-h-h-yeah-h-h-" while tearing at me hair and crushing my chin and nose, I knew I had done it. A sudden gush of her hot sweetness confirmed... and the rush was tremendous. I relished the flavor of her strong juices, and took deep breaths as she let me pull back a bit. My entire naked body was flushed and sweating. My lips were bruised and reddened. My tongue was a bit strained and raw.

She relaxed back a bit and smiled at me as she calmed her breathing. "Yeah, that was okay, slave," she cooed.

"Get up on the bed with your head that way," she said, pointing to the headboard, "face up."

She shuffled her body so that her head was toward the foot of the futon.

As we lay there juxtaposed to eachother, she grabbed my hand and looked down the bed to where my head was propped against the headboard. "You're naked, and I still have half my clothes on. But, I like the power of being fully clothed while my slave is serving me naked. Does that excite you slave?"

This girl was incredible; she hit all my nuanced fantasies. One of my first erotic dreams had been as a sixth-grader, dreaming that I was naked in school in front of all the girls while they were fully clothed, taunting me. "Yes, Mistress, it's one of my oldest fantasies."

"Really? Well hand me my panties and tights."

I reached over the side of the bed and grasped them. She lay there and put them on. "My skirt, now."

I reached for her skirt and was able to hook it with my finger. I pinched it and tossed it to her, where she caught it and put it on. She reached behind her head and found her new Keds.

"I'm even going to put on my shoes so that I'm completely clothed and you're completely naked for me."

She slipped each one on, then thrust her feet down toward my face. "Tie them tight."

I tied them, pulling tighter and tighter on the laces as she urged, until I thought that they must hurt, but apparently she liked really tight sneakers over her bare feet.

"Now, slave, I want you to tell me all about your favorite fantasy while I rest my sneakered feet on your chest. Stay hard."

She gripped my cock and I immediately jutted back to full hardness. She began to slowly work it as I held her sneaker soles to my lips. I kissed gently as she asked me her questions.