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Archive-name: Slaves/oralgal2.txt

Archive-author: R. Bolla

Archive-title: Oral Gal - 2

        Finally, six o'clock came.  Punctually on time, I stood at Richard's

front door and rang the bell.  The door was opened immediatedly, and I saw

Richard standing in a long hallway, wearing an impecable Italian-cut suit.

His shoes gleamed and his tie was such luxurious silk, I could almost feel it

with my eyes.  The expression on his face, though, wasn't happy.

        "Come in," he said curtly, then stepped aside for me to comply.  He

motioned me to enter a living room that was just off the hallway.  I entered

and stood in the center of a beautiful room, as he closed the door, then

turned to face me.

        "You are almost two minutes late!" he growled at me, glowering.  "Is

this the way you begin your service with me?"

        I quickly showed him my watch and explained that I had actually gotten

there early, but he brushed aside my explanations.

        "You should have thought to ask me what time it was by my watch when

we made the agreement to meet at six o'clock.  That is the most basic

agreement - one of time - and one of the most important.  If you can't keep

that, how can I rely on you to do anything right?"

        I was devastated!  I had been standing on the sidewalk, nervously

trying not to meet the eyes of the men who had been staring at my clothing, at

the swell of my breasts over the low-cut neckline of the dress.  I had ignored

the whistles, the "Hey, Baby!"'s and the gestures.  I had swallowed my

embarassment - feeling overdressed for the hour, on a summer evening, and

uncomfortable to be just standing and waiting.  All of this I had put up with

so I would make a good impression on Richard - and now I was late!

        "Perhaps we should forget this - or at least put it off for another

day," he said.  I immediately cried out, saying I had so looked forward to

this meeting, and begging him not to put it off!

        "I will be punctual in the future, I promise!", I said. "Please don't

send me away, now!  I've gone to such pains to get things I thought you would

like, and...."

        "And that is no more than I would expect you to do, Michelle! That is

your job, your part of this relationship.  Mine is to evaluate how well you

have done what you were supposed to do, and to help you to explore frontiers

you have not had the courage to approach before.  Alright - I'll let this one

infraction pass.  But in the future, I will expect you to pay far more

attention to details.  Is that understood?"

        I nodded my head, my heart beating wildly in reaction to my momentary

fear that my fantasies would not be explored.

        "Good.  Now, empty out your bag on the table, there, so I can see what

you've brought."

        I did as he asked, and was pleased when he complimented me on

following those orders properly, at least.  He also complimented me on my

choice for the black shoes - and said he found them sexy, which thrilled me!

        "Now, put everything back in the bag.  I'm going to take you upstairs,

now, and show you a few of the other rooms of the house. By the way, remember

that you are to go only where you are told to, and only with me accompanying

you (unless I tell you differently) while you are here.  Some of the rooms are

off-limits to you, so follow my instructions carefully.  Understand?"

        "Yes, I understand, Richard," I said, as I began to follow him out

into the hallway.  He turned and looked at me, and said:

        "That is something else we'd better get out of the way, now. From now

on, unless I tell you otherwise, you will address me as "Master".  When you

are spoken to, you will immediately lower your eyes to the level of my crotch,

where they will remain until any conversation is finished.  Is that

understood, also?"

        "Yes...master," I stammered.  This had been something we had discussed

in principle, but no specific rule had been set until now.

        "And, again unless I expressly give you permission, you will speak

only when spoken to.  You will NEVER initiate a conversation, ask for a

further explanation of an order, or open your mouth unless you are spoken to

first! Understand?"

        "Yes, Master.  I understand."

        He led me up the staircase to the second floor.  Toward the back of

the building, straight ahead from the staircase, was a door, which led to a

very beautiful bedroom.  There was a queen-sized, white enameled,

old-fashioned bed, with a beautiful pink coverlet trimmed in white lace.  A

dressing table on the side wall was covered in a matching pink cloth, on which

were a hairbrush and mirror made from tortise-shell.  Next to the dressing

table was a door that led into a private bath.  On the back wall were four

large windows, now covered with drawn shades, and on the left side wall was a

door that seemed to lead to a closet.

        "This will be your bedroom for the weekend, Michelle.  You may put

your bag on the bed, for now, and follow me."

        After putting down the bag, I followed him out to the second floor

landing.  He led me up to the third floor.  As I climed the steps, I marvelled

at the value of the home we were in!  Richard was rich - no doubt about that!

A three-story brownstone here in the Village would sell, I was sure, for more

than a million dollars - although how much more, I had no idea.  On the third

floor, directly over my room, was a bedroom clearly furnished for a man. It

had two deep arm chairs, a large, king-sized bed, and the colors were all

burgandy, brown and black.  It was a "handsome" room, I thought - where mine

had been pretty and feminine.  It seemed that Richard believed in some of the

old-fashioned sexual stereotypes - which was in keeping with some of the

things we had spoken about together.

        Richard threw himself down on the bed, propped his head up on his

right hand and said, "Stand over there in the middle of the floor, where I can

get a good look at you."

        I did as he asked, my hands down at my sides, my heart, strangely,

beating nervously.  Perhaps it was the tone in his voice, which was almost

flat, with no emotion.

        "Now raise your skirt and your pettycoat above your waist."

        I was shocked - although I suppose I shouldn't have been.  I guess I

just expected to work up to the sexual part of things - not just jump in with

both feet!  I reached down and gathered the full satin skirt and its

supporting crinoline in both hands and raised them above my waist, as he had

ordered. They became a double armfull in front of my breasts, as I stood there

feeling how naked I was below the waist.

        "Turn around, slowly, so I can see what you look like," he said.

        I turned to my right, slowly, presenting more and more of my body to

his eyes.  When my back was completely to him, I shivered, remembering how

naked my ass was with just the string of the pantie running up between my

buttocks.  When I had made a complete revolution, he said:

        "Now, pull off that foolish g-string.  It doesn't cover you at all -

it just serves to give you a sense of being covered.  It's only a

psychological defense against your nakedness."

        How right he was!  As I removed the g-string, I realized how much

comfort I had been deriving from that tiny scrap of cloth. Without it, I felt

completely naked!

        He continued to scrutinize me - examining me carefully, but still from

a distance.  I stood, still holding the g-string with my left hand as I

struggled to keep the skirt and crinoline held up with my arms.

        "Those stockings fit you well.  That's unusual for a woman your height

- they usually stop all too short, down near the knees, someplace.  I want you

to remember to write down the brand name when you get back to your room.

There is a pen and writing paper in the dressing table drawer."

        His statement didn't seem to require a response - but I was unsure

whether to answer "Yes, Master," or to stand there silently. I decided that he

would know that I had heard, and elected to remain silent.

        "When I give you a command, like that, you will acknowledge it by

answering "Yes, Master".  Is that understood?"

        Wrong again!  I felt stupid and embarassed as I answered, "Yes,


        "Come stand over here, in front of me," he commanded.  I walked

nervously over to the bed, stopping right next to it, on a level with his head.

 I could no longer see his face, because of the mass of pettycoat I was

holding, but knew he was looking directly at my pubic area.  I began to blush,

embarassed at being so carefully studied.

        "Give me the g-string," he said, and I clumsily passed it to him while

holding the mass of nylon in place in front of me.

        "Your pussy has wet these panties.  Did you know that?"

        I blushed furiously.  "No, M-m-master," I stuttered.  I had been

continuously excited since my bath, over two hours ago.  I wasn't surprised

that the g-string had absorbed some of the moisture, but I was very

uncomfortable to have him speak so matter- of-factly about it.  The blush on

my face flowed down into my lower body, though, as I felt his fingers gently

but firmly pressing the lips of my pussy apart.  My knees began to shake, and

I must have been quivering like a sapling all over, because he snapped:

        "Come, now, stand up straight and stop shaking!  I'm only examining

you!  This is something that you'll come to find a common occurance when

you're with me in private - if I choose to have it be so.  Am I hurting you or

in any other way being inconsiderate?"

        Inconsiderate!  How could he even use that term when he had his index

and middle fingers up inside my pussy?  He treated what he was doing as

commonplace, his right - whereas I had had men in the past chasing me for

weeks, praying for a chance to do the same thing!

        "No, Master, you're not hurting me," I responded, trying to control

the shaking in my legs (with very little success).  I felt his fingers slowly

retreat, and he told me to turn around and bend over.

        I turned my back to him and bent over slightly, frightened to allow

myself to be vulnerable in this way.  He spanked me sharply, once, on my naked

right buttock.

        "Bend over, I said!  Surely you've got more flexibility in that lovely

body than that?  Now bend over so that I can see your ass clearly!"

        I bent deeply from the waist, my forehead nearly touching my knees.

As I remained in that uncomfortable and embarassing position, I felt his hand

gently stroking my buttocks, then his fingers spreading them apart.  Whether

it was the juice from my pussy, or some other lubricant, one of his fingers

was wet and slippery enough to slowly press its way into my asshole.  I was

now thoroughly mortified!  No one had ever treated me anywhere near like this

in my life!

        "Your ass is quite tight, Michelle.  How many times have you been

fucked in there?"

        "Never, Master!  I have never done that!" I said, shocked at the idea.

I had once or twice had a man stick a finger in my ass, but had turned down

everyone who had suggested anal sex.  I didn't like the idea - it sounded too


        "Do you put fingers or toys in there when you masturbate?" he asked,

punctuating the "in there" with a few rapid back-and-forth movements of his

finger in my anus.

        "No, Master, I haven't," I answered truthfully.  The feel of that one

finger was enough to make my legs start to shake again and my face felt that

it was beet red - but my pussy was beginning to ache with a deep sexual itch,

and I could tell that I was soaking wet down there!

        He withdrew his finger and had me turn around to face him, again.  I

still had the skirt and crinoline gathered in my arms, and I felt foolish as I

turned to face him.  I peeked at his face, when I got the chance, and saw that

it was quite relaxed - not a smile, nor a sign that he was in any way excited!

I was shocked! How could what he had just done not have effected him?  He

looked as if a thought had just struck him, and his eyes turned up toward my

face.  I hurriedly looked toward his crotch, as I had been instructed to do.

        "By the way, Michelle, your pussy hair is flattened down - probably

from the g-string and sitting down in the car on the way here.  I like nice,

bushy hair on a pussy.  Not lots of it - I prefer it to be neat, like yours -

but bushy.  On our way back downstairs, I want you to go into your bathroom,

where you'll find a small hairbrush.  Brush your pubic hair to make it bush

out more for me.  Do you understand?"

        "Yes, Master."

        "And don't make the mistake of taking that opportunity to go to the

bathroom.  Bathroom visits will be strictly monitored here. I will tell you

when and where you may relieve yourself.  Don't worry, I won't forget about

you - any more than I forget about taking the dog for a walk!"

        As he smiled at me, I felt that in a way that's what I was: just

another pet to him.  I wasn't sure how I felt about all this. I had wanted to

explore submissiveness, but had expected it to turn the man on a lot.  I still

expected, I guess, the kind of control that a woman frequently has simply from

turning the male on.  For him to be calm and cool like this didn't jibe with

my previous experience.  I couldn't predict, based on that experience, what he

would do.


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