The only other remarkable thing that happened that year was a house. I bought one.
For awhile now I had been considering that our home was a bit small. Not to complain, really, but it was an older home, built after World War Two, a simple stick-frame two story of about a thousand square feet. The bedrooms weren’t very large and the master bath was shower only. A tiny lot. Think Levittown South. I had been thinking about talking to Mom about it at some point, but had never really done anything yet.
That changed after we got frisky one day in my bedroom. I was lying on my back, with Mom bouncing on my cock while Sue got a mustache ride. Things were going quite swimmingly when all of a sudden, my bedframe collapsed in a loud cracking crash. The three of us tumbled to the floor, thankfully uninjured, but with our enthusiasm destroyed, as we surveyed the damage. Mom simply commented that we would have to go out that weekend and buy a new bed.
But I got to thinking about it. I was sleeping (or had been sleeping) in a twin bed. The largest size bed we could fit in my room was a twin bed. Sue’s room was no different. Mom’s room was larger, but could only fit a queen-size bed, still small for three people. The fact of the matter was that unless we slept on the living room floor, our house was simply too small for our fun and games.
So what to do? Like most people, Mom would gaze longingly at the various “dream homes” in the Sunday Supplements to the newspaper. With that as a start, I used The Power to quiz her about what she wanted in a house, then made her forget I had asked.
From there, I went out and found a real estate lady. I learned that an agent works for the seller and a broker works for the buyer. I simply went down to Century 21 and asked for the most successful broker in the place. The Power convinced her to treat me for real (which she gladly did when I pulled out a grand in cash as a retainer!) and gave her Mom’s requirements and desires. Then I began to call my network of stock analysts—I would need some serious cash to pull this off, more than I had available.
After a couple of weeks, the broker called me to set up an appointment at what she thought we wanted. I met her and went through it with her. It looked pretty good to me, and arranged to bring Mom over to see. A much larger brick two story, it sat on an acre-and-a-half of land, with a small fenced in pool in the back. The three bedrooms were each larger than Mom’s bedroom now, and could easily fit king-size beds. There was a bath adjoining the two smaller bedrooms, with doors opening to each and to the hallway, and Mom’s bath was downright palatial, with his-and-hers sinks and vanities, a two-person shower stall, a whirlpool tub, and even a dressing room! Downstairs it had both a living room and a family room (with fireplace), an eat-in kitchen and separate dining room (ours had an oversized kitchen with a dining room light), and a patio door out to a deck for the pool. Very nice. The only drawback was that it was marginally out of our school district, but the broker told me how to get around that (cash!)
The pool worked out better than I had expected. Every year, as soon as the weather broke in the Spring, I would think <New bikinis!> to Mom and Sue. They would immediately go out and buy some new and miniscule swimsuits, and I would remove them from them to give them all over tans. Mind you, this required them to oil up my cock so that I could coat them inside as well as out, but they sure didn’t complain! Nor did they complain when I brought girlfriends over and let them tan naked as well. Often they would join in the fun and games.
The owner and his wife had been transferred overseas. Their furniture was still in the place, but if we closed it would go into storage. In the meantime, the place was empty. I was impressed, and for $375,000, the place was a steal (I had been researching, and using The Power to get the best price.)
I brought Mom over that Saturday. At first, she couldn’t believe what I was planning on doing. Even when I used The Power, <Believe!>, she couldn’t believe it! She adored the house, but it was so far out of her reach she wandered around it star-struck. Finally, it sank in—I could do it and would do it. All she had to do was say, “Yes!”
“Yes, Paul, oh, yes! I can’t believe it, but yes!", she whispered with tears in her eyes. She looked at me worshipfully. “Oh, God, Paul, how can I ever repay you.” Gesturing around us, she repeated, “How will I ever pay you back? Oh my God!”
Hmmm, payback! I looked at her and got an idea. It was Indian Summer and we were dressed in casual clothes, me in slacks and light sweater, Mom in a denim skirt and a tight cardigan, with medium high sandals. I laughed. “Well, the furniture’s not ours, that goes. When you sell the house, you can buy some new furniture.” Her eyes lit up at the thought. “As for the payback, well, we’ll work something out.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Work what out?”
I tossed my cane on the couch and sat down in an armchair. “Take off your bra.", I ordered. Mom snorted and I simply commented, “Payback’s a bitch.” She snorted in derision again, but smiled as she took off her sweater and bra, a lacy white affair. “You can put the cardigan back on.", I told her, “But only button the bottom couple of buttons.” Her denim skirt was mid-thigh length and buttoned up the front. “Now, unbutton the skirt to the waist, and lose the panties.” Mom complied with a knowing smile, unbuttoning the skirt and sliding some lacy white panties down. I pointed at the floor in front of me and Mom knelt before me. “Now start paying me back.", I commanded.
Mom leaned forward, her big tits pushing out of the sweater, her big nipples dark and prominent. Reaching forward, she unbuttoned my pants and I lifted my ass off the cushions as she pulled them down my legs. As she began to fellate me I gave my orders for her payback. “Payback will require that you provide me with three orgasms in each room of the house. You will suck me, you will fuck me, and you will take it up the ass. You will do this when and where I command. Each and every room, bedroom, bathroom, living room, whatever. No exceptions. Until you have done this, you will never wear bra or panties in the house. When nobody but us is home, you will wear whatever I tell you. High heels, stockings, and a smile, usually. If you come, fine, but your job will be to make me come. If Sue helps, I don’t care, but my come goes into one of your fuckholes. You will be my houseslut until the debt is paid off. Do you understand” Mom mumbled affirmatively around my root.
Mom’s head was bobbing madly in my lap while she fisted me off. When I was done with these orders she stuck her right index finger into my asshole and massaged my prostate, and I promptly groaned piteously and exploded onto her tonsils. “Oh, God...", I whimpered repeatedly as she pumped me dry.
Leaning back, Mom grinned. “So, I guess you liked the first installment.”
Gasping and sweating, I said, “Oh, yeah, paid with interest. Now, get me stiff again, and climb aboard for the next payment.” Mom lowered her face to my limp dick and I had a woody again ten minutes later. For this fuck, she crawled into my lap and straddled me, impaling herself on me. Despite what I had said about not caring if she got off or not, in truth, I made sure she enjoyed herself. I stripped off her sweater and skirt and watched her bounce on my lap. I didn’t spew until her second come.
We needed to leave, so we cleaned ourselves up and got dressed. I figured the third installment for the living room would come later. Mom was grinning as I led her down the walkway. Still, her eyes widened when I gave my last order. “Oh, and Mom, for your clothing. Pick yourself up a ‘French Maid’ outfit somewhere, okay? And not too confining, if you know what I mean?”
It’s been nigh on twenty years now since I got The Power, and things have been fairly interesting in a carnal sense. Not too much so otherwise, but I had learned much as a kid. I never really wanted to make the world a better place, just my little corner of it.
Mom is now in her fifties and looks like she’s in her early forties. She’s put on about five pounds, but they’re all in her tits and ass, making her abundant curves even curvier. Nowadays her red hair comes from Clairol, but when I once commented on it, she laughed and said that after thirty it’s all maintenance anyway. She sold the old house, and with the equity bought all new furniture, including two king size beds, and an emperor sized one for herself. Then, since she was no longer making a monthly mortgage payment, she splurged and bought herself her first new car. A small Japanese convertible; she made (and still makes!) heads turn wherever she went.
Sue and I moved out of the house after we graduated from college, to go our own ways. Still, I live in the Atlanta area, so every couple of weeks, Mom comes over to visit or I go back home to spend the night or weekend incestuously humping. Mom is randier than ever. Nowadays, of course, when she’s out on a date and it comes time for that old ‘Your place or mine?’ question, she can easily say ‘Mine!’
Mom paid off her ‘debt’ to me by the time I graduated from high school. I tried to drag it out by keeping her from performing all three fucks in every room, but I miscounted. Mom didn’t; she showed me later a little diary she had kept, with entries like “9/12—O—Living Room” and “11/15—A—Kitchen”. I really enjoyed it when she wore that French Maid outfit. She had a flirty black satin micro skirt and a low cut black top, with very long fishnet stockings and four inch black stiletto heels. Whenever she wore it, sans panties of course, I always had to bend her over to take her in the ass!
Sue’s life turned out a little different! If, as the saying goes, everybody gets their fifteen minutes of fame, Sue certainly got hers, and all by the time she turned 19! My sister became Miss November!
It all started when she turned 18, a few weeks before she was to start attending Georgia State to get a degree in teaching. Her two best friends were going to school at UCLA, so they went a out few weeks early, planning to hit the California beaches. And as corny as it sounds, Sue was discovered, lying around in her bikini. Mind you, Mom and I didn’t learn about it until it was a done deal.
Sue had left with a promise to call and tell us where she was staying and a phone number. I was away when she called, but when I got home, Mom mentioned she had called and left a phone number, but no address. Curious, I took the slip of paper from my mother’s fingers and picked up the phone. I punched in the number, only to get a response, “Playboy Mansion, can we help you?”
“Oops, sorry wrong number.", I said, and hung up. (If I had been really thinking, I would have used The Power to get Hef on the phone, and then I would have been set for life!) Figuring I had screwed up a digit, I redialed carefully, my eyes shifting back and forth between Mom’s note and the phone.
You can imagine my surprise when I got another “Playboy Mansion, can we help you?” What was going on?!?
“Excuse me, is Sue Harron there?", I asked quizzically.
The operator on the other end said, “Please hold.", and a few seconds later came back on the line with, “I’m sorry. There’s no one here with that name.” I read off the number that Mom had written down, and she confirmed that I had called the number correctly, so I excused myself and hung up. Whatever Sue was up to, I couldn’t figure, and without a phone number tracking her down would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Mom and I were out of luck until Sue called us back with the correct number.
She did call us back that weekend. I was standing in the kitchen, fixing myself a sandwich, when the phone rang, so I answered with a simple, “Hello.”
“Paul!", she squealed ecstatically. “What’s up bro?”
“Not much. Hey, before we get sidetracked, what’s your phone number?” Sue gave me the same number as was on the scrap of paper on the counter. “Sue, that can’t be right. That’s the phone number for the Playboy Mansion.", I protested.
“Uh, huh, that’s where I’m staying.”
Mom had wandered in to get a turn at the phone, and she got a real worried look on her face as I exclaimed, “What!!!???”
“What’s wrong, Paul? What’s the matter? Let me speak to her.", she demanded.
I was trying to listen to two incomprehensible conversations at once, as Mom demanded to know what Sue was up to and Sue attempted to explain. Yelling at the phone, “Just hold on.", I turned to Mom and said, “Run upstairs and get on the other phone.” <Go!> Then to Sue, I told her, “Mom’s going upstairs, wait a minute and tell us again.”
Mom looked startled and took off, running into the foyer and up the stairs. Fifteen seconds later I heard a click as Mom picked up her bedroom phone, followed by, “What happened, honey?”
It took about fifteen minutes for Sue to get it all out, between trying to answer both Mom’s and my questions. It seems as if the first day she and her friends had hit the beach, they got hit upon by a fellow in his twenties, who wanted to take their pictures. Figuring him for a harmless dweeb, they agreed and allowed him to snap a few poses of them. Before he left, he handed them a business card and got a phone number for the motel they were staying at. It wasn’t until after he had left that they had read the card and found that it had the Playboy Bunny logo on it. They were even more surprised when he called a couple of days later and asked for Sue. By the time of her first call, Sue had been photographed for real, in the all-together, and had moved in to a room in the Mansion. Now at her second call, she had been selected as the centerfold for a few month’s hence.
The reason we couldn’t reach her was simple, she wasn’t using her real name. She didn’t want everyone back home to know what she was up to, so she used her full first name and her father’s last name. The reason she couldn’t be called earlier was that she was listed as Suzanna Jones, not Sue Harron. It turned out that this was unnecessary, since nobody connected the well-stacked centerfold with the equally well stacked freshman.
Astonishing was the least we could say. I sat silent and slack-mouthed at the thought of my sister baring all for Playboy, while Mom repeatedly asked if she really wanted to do this.
“Yes, Mom, I really do. And there’s something else; I won’t be coming back to go to school right away.", she announced.
This was getting to be a bit too much. Both Mom and I demanded to know why not. Sue explained that Playboy had offered her a modeling contract separate from the Playmate deal, for lingerie shoots and such. In addition, some lingerie and swimsuit catalogs hired Playboy models as well. For instance, almost half of Frederick’s of Hollywood’s models were Playmates at one time. Sue wanted to try it out.
Short of using The Power to kill the idea, I had no way to tell her no. Besides, once I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to. After all, just how many guys can say they’ve fucked a Playmate of the Month, even if they can’t say it to anybody else? I decided to mind my own business, although I promised to have her autograph the copy I was going to buy.
Mom was considerably more nervous, and demanded to see Sue face to face. When I suggested that she fly out, they both jumped at the idea. Sue asked Mom to bring out some baby and kid photos and such for the brief bio they do on the girls, and Mom agreed, albeit reluctantly.
As it turned out, things went swimmingly. Hefner personally greeted Mom at the entrance to the Mansion and showed her around the place. I wasn’t surprised when I heard this—even though he’s had scads of Playmates in his bed, they all seem to come away happy and convinced he’s a class act. When they did the Playmate Profile bio, Sue and Mom were sitting next to each other on a couch trading stories.
On a more personal note, in the video bio she responded to a question as to who her biggest hero was. Without batting an eye or hesitating, she said, “My brother, Paul.” She continued on with the story of what had happened with Jackie Malloy, and how her crippled brother had taken out a much larger guy with two punches, to protect her. She finished with a comment about how any man she married would have to be as heroic as me! What nonsense.
Sue’s appearance in the magazine caused quite a stir, for a rather strange reason. In many ways it was a fairly classic centerfold shot. She was standing in a doorway, hands above her head holding the door frame, dressed in an open cup ‘Merry Widow”, with black stockings and high heels. However, she was Playboy’s first shaved centerfold. To read the Letters to the Editor, this ranked up there with the first full frontal nude, the first tattooed nude, and the first body-pierced nude. Rather controversial, if silly.
She didn’t win Playmate of the Year—that was a more conventional girl (36C-23-35, 5′6″, blonde and blue-eyed). Still, Playboy only uses professional models for about half it’s Playmates; Sue was in the amateur grouping, the traditional ‘girl next door’. She considered it a real honor. She stayed out on the West Coast for most of the school year, modeling and building up a sizeable bank account, before coming back the following summer with a deep tan and no tan lines, to start school a year late. Summers and vacations usually found her flying back for modeling assignments. You could say that Sue’s tits paid her way through college!
Midway through her senior year, Sue ran into a fellow on campus who managed to meet her criteria for heroic. She literally ran into him—they were both walking across campus, not watching where they were going and talking to their individual friends when they barreled into each other. Sue went flying, only to be helped up again by the person who had knocked her down. He was a Marine captain, about five years older than her, on a temporary assignment at the school’s NROTC detachment. He promptly apologized by inviting her to dinner, and they promptly fell head over heels again, this time in love with each other.
They were married a couple of years later and Sue eagerly fell into the role of camp follower, merrily traipsing after him every few years whenever he got transferred, teaching elementary grades in base schools. She’s happily monogamous and they’ve got four kids now, two sets of twins, boys and girls. It seems they run in his family. Apparently he really is heroic, with several combat medals from a military service notorious for being stingy with medals, and is now a colonel (brigadier general designate). They’re stationed now at a base near Palermo, Italy.
I once used The Power to quiz him without him remembering, and he gleefully responded that Sue is the hottest piece of ass he’s ever had. “She knows tricks that a Bangkok hooker doesn’t know!", he exclaimed. “She first fucked me on our third date, and later on told me she had waited simply because she was on the rag for the first two. I mean, like whenever we go out, she never wears underwear. Ever! And she always wants me to screw her, pussy, ass, mouth, whatever. A night doesn’t go by without us getting it on. Christ she gave me blowjobs the nights before the kids were born!”
I didn’t tell him, but all I could think was that Mom and I had trained her well.
As for me...
I graduated from high school on schedule and enrolled at the University of Georgia. I continued living at home, since with both Mom and Sue eagerly servicing my dick, I had very little reason to chase broads on campus. Not that I didn’t screw them ragged, too. If I met a pretty coed, I would simply use The Power to make them take me back to their dorm for a good fucking. They always thought it was their idea, and eagerly drained my balls of their come in pleasant nooners.
I majored in History, and renewed my acquaintance with Professor Blackhawk. He was ecstatic that I had entered his field, especially after I told him that he had been a big influence on me. He invited me over to his house for dinner, where he and Mrs. Professor told me that Jenny had gone to school back in Denver. I told them to send her my best wishes, and they asked what I was going to do after graduation. I shrugged and replied that I hadn’t really thought about it, but that I really liked the college atmosphere. They told me to consider grad school and getting my Ph.D.
I did consider it, and the concept had quite a bit of appeal to me. The financial independence The Power gave me meant that I wouldn’t have to get a job or pay off school loans. So why not? I enjoyed it, and I doubted it would be too terribly much more challenging than what I was doing already. Besides, Georgia is a big school—there were simply tons of honeys roaming the campus! The Professor greased my way through the admission process and I became his protégé.
Shortly after I started grad school, I moved out of Mom’s house. Sue was spending most of her time away from it now, in the company of her Marine, and it was simply time to fly the coop. Mom cried, of course, but she got over it pretty fast when I pointed out how she could bring her own boyfriends over now, so it went fairly well.
For myself, I bought five acres about half an hour from the school, and then built a house. Specifically I had a house built for me, I really don’t know which end of a hammer is the business end. It’s a large T-shaped split level. The ground floor has a sizeable family room, laundry and utility, and garage (read junk room). Then it’s up a half-flight of stairs to the main guest portion, living room, dining room, kitchen, and den. Another half-flight takes you back over the family room portion, where four good sized bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, and two full baths splitting the bedrooms and with adjoining doors, then up the last stairs to the master suite. This is where I sleep, above the living room, et al, and has a monstrously large bedroom/sitting room arrangement, along with just about the largest bath imaginable. Dual sinks and vanities, three seat shower and whirlpool, even a bidet, everything a Lothario could ask for. Very plush indeed.
Shortly after I moved in, I learned what millions of other homeowners have learned over the years. Those beautiful Home and Garden looks, don’t last. I needed to keep things up, to clean the house, vacuum, wash clothes, cook—keep house! Mom had spoiled me all those years. After another few weeks, I also learned, like everybody else, that I don’t like to do these things. The difference was, that I could hire people to do them for me.
A little thought (very little, it came to me as I was eating lunch one day in a Hooters), that not only should I hire a woman to take care of things, but I should hire one to take care of me as well. My waitress was a pretty brunette, medium tall and with a nice build, and looked like she would do nicely. I used The Power to arrange a date, and the date ended up in bed, where she performed quite adequately. That girl gave a hell of a hummer!
I had already learned from her that she had quit after three years at Georgia State, and was working at Hooters to pay for her last year. The next morning, over breakfast, I proposed that she quit and come to work for me. I would pay roughly ten percent over what she was making now, tips included, and throw in room and board. She would simply move in for the rest of the year and clean house. Hauling my ashes was never directly specified, but was certainly implied.
Lynn jumped at the idea. She reached out across the kitchen table and shook my hand, then crawled under the table and pulled my robe open. I was slightly startled and lost even the half-erection I had, but she simply took my flaccid cock entirely into her mouth and began to suck. Even when I had grown to my nine inches, she kept me completely in her mouth and down her throat, sucking away, and she must have swallowed a gallon of jism when I came. She crawled back out from under the table, smacked her lips loudly, and shook my hand again. I laughed heartily, and agreed on the deal.
Trouble started about a week later. The first few days, she was busy moving in, and besides, I had never had a servant before, so I was winging it to boot as well. But by that weekend, I knew something was wrong. I had come home from a surprisingly long and tiring Friday, grading undergrad midterms, astonished by the inability of twenty-year-olds to form sentences consisting of nouns and verbs in the proper order. Lynn greeted me at the door with a kiss, wanting to know where we were going for dinner.
Where we were going? I hadn’t said anything about going out! Besides, if I did go out, who was she to think that I was taking her? She was the hired help, not my girlfriend! I brushed past her and plopped down into an armchair. “Go get me a beer!”
Lynn slumped off into the kitchen. I heard her open the fridge but not a cabinet, and she stomped back in with an unopened bottle of Bud, which she thrust at me with a “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Just shut up!", I ordered. I stared around the living room and was not overly pleased. The end table by the couch was dusty, there were magazines scattered all over the coffee table, and I could see a few candy wrappers on the floor, along with some ring marks from iced drinks on another table. She moved to leave, and I said, “Stay right there!” <Stay!> She turned to face me.
“You seem to have the wrong conception of what we have going on here, Lynn. You seem to think that I’m your sugar daddy, and you’re my live-in girlfriend. As I recall, I hired you to clean house and cook.”
Lynn’s face clouded up and she began to protest.
“Silence!", I bellowed. <Silence!> She shut up.
“Let me make a few things clear to you. First, you are not my girlfriend. You are not my fiancée, you are not my wife, you are not my lover. You will serve me in the kitchen, you will serve me by cleaning my house, you will serve me by mowing my lawn, and you will serve me by getting on your knees and on your back. I hired you to do these things, not because I am in some strange need for imitation romance, but because I need my house and property taken care of. I have no need to hire a full time whore, or girlfriend as you seem to think you are. After all, didn’t I do just fine getting you to spread your legs?”
She looked as if she was about to protest again, so I stopped her. “Be quiet and listen.” <Hear and obey!> I began to give her orders, reinforcing them with savage mental directives. “You will dust and vacuum and clean the house every day, not when you feel like it, but every day, the entire house. You will cook me my meals, what I want to eat, not what you want to eat. You will not eat with me unless I invite you to. Servants do not dine with their employers. You will wash my clothes and make my bed. You will mow my lawn and weed my grass. You will water my flowers and sweep my walk. And you will do this every day, all day long, whenever I am not home.” <Dust! Vacuum! Clean! Cook! Wash! Mow! Weed! Water! Sweep!>
“Your personal hygiene and dress need improvement. You will bathe at least once a day. You will douche at least once a day. It’s not that you have any problems in this regard, but I want it clearly understood. You will keep your armpits, legs, and cunt clean shaven—that’s right, your pussy gets shaved bare, too.” <Bathe! Douche! Shave!> She had opened her eyes wide at this, but I rammed it home anyway.
I continued. “Around the house, you will no longer wear underwear. You will no longer wear pants or shorts, unless I tell you to. You will no longer wear sneakers or low heeled shoes, or socks. From now on you will wear low cut tops and blouses, and short skirts or dresses, the shorter the better. You will not wear pantyhose, but stockings, both garter length, with a garter belt or garters, and thigh top. And you will wear fuck-me shoes with at least a three inch heel.” <No undies! Short skirts! Stockings! High Heels!> “Do you understand this?” She nodded dumbly.
“Good. You’re not stupid, just lazy. Now, when working outside, you may wear shorts, very tight and short, and tank tops or halters, but no underwear of any kind, and you may wear low sneakers, but not any socks. When you are menstruating, only then may you wear panties and pants or shorts indoors, but you must go topless at all times then. The rest of the time, you should dress like a very sexy ‘French Maid’. Do you understand this?", I asked. Back when I had bought Mom her house, I had made her buy a ‘French Maid’ outfit and it had really turned me on!
“Yes, Paul.", she answered.
“Not sufficient. A servant does not call her employer by his first name. To you, I am Mister Harron. Or Master. Do you understand?”
Lynn looked down at the floor, avoiding my eyes. “Yes, Mr. Harron.", she said quietly.
I was feeling a bit manic by then, and later I was to really wonder whether I was going overboard using The Power, but I continued on. “It’s about time. Now, run upstairs and bring down your highest pair of high heels.” Lynn literally ran to the stairs, and I had to yell after her, “And no platform shoes either. I hate platform shoes.” I finished off my beer, and she was down in under two minutes, standing meekly before me, her hands in front holding a pair of slightly scuffed black stiletto pumps. They had what looked to be about two-and-a-half inch heels.
“Those will have to do for tonight. However, tomorrow, I expect you to go shopping and obtain proper clothing and shoes. Mind you, you still have to do your work around the house. Understand?” Lynn nodded quietly.
“Fine. Now take off those jeans and shoes.” In abject silence, Lynn kicked her sneakers off, then set the pumps down on the coffee table. She unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, then wriggled out of them, kicking them to the side. Now she stood before me barefoot, in a bright red midriff baring top and pale pink cotton panties.
I looked her up and down briefly, and she ventured to look me in the eye, cringing slightly. “You obviously weren’t listening.", I told her. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I held up my hand, palm out, and stopped her. “Silence. I said, ‘No underwear.’ Unless you are on the rag, lose the panties and bra.” Still looking me in the eye, but now with an anticipatory gleam, she crossed her arms in front of her and began to pull the hem of the top. “Stop!", I ordered. “I didn’t say anything about the top, did I?”
“Quiet! I didn’t say you could talk, either. Now lose the bra. You figure it out.” This really wasn’t that difficult. Her top was basically a sleeveless tank; she simply reached around behind her, under it, and undid the clasp, then pulled it off her arms and out the front. She tossed it to one side, then grabbed her panties at the hips and skinned them off as well, to stand before me almost naked. I nodded in satisfaction, then pointed at her black pumps. “Put ‘em on.” She slipped them on as I continued to peruse her.
Lynn was actually a very pretty girl. Like I said, about medium height, dark brown hair and eyes, about a 36C cup, slim waist and hips, nicely slim and long legs. Her pussy was framed in a thick patch of dark brown hair, neatly trimmed short, in a very narrow Mohawk quite suited for almost any bathing suit. Still, I wanted it gone.
To really drive home her change in perceived status, I ordered her to the kitchen, to return with the largest wooden spoon in the utensil drawer. She brought back one a little over a foot long, and was very nervous as she handed it to me. As I took it I stood up and faced her.
“Now, you have been very naughty and need to be punished. Naughty girls get spanked.” Her face fell. “Now, I’m sure that when you were little, your parents spanked you, so don’t look surprised. This is nothing new. Now, turn to face the fireplace.” She slowly turned to roughly a ninety degree angle to me, although she kept her eyes on me the entire time, specifically on the wooden spoon I now held. I reached out with my left hand and took the top of her head, to face it towards the fireplace. “Don’t look at me. Look straight ahead. Now, bend at the waist...hands on your knees...lower...lower...stick your ass up, straighten your legs...spread them...ah, just right.” I positioned her for her punishment, and stepped back to view her. I must admit she made a really erotic sight that way. I was very tempted to simply toss aside the spoon and fuck her. But self discipline won out.
“Now, Lynn, I’m just going to give you a few swats to make sure you understand. I want you to count them out loud for me. All right?” She nodded silently, although I could see tears welling up in her eyes at the humiliation of it. I stepped back and brought the spoon down on her right asscheek. SMACK!
Lynn let out a screech and damn near jumped up in the air, whirling to face me, her hands rubbing her ass. “That hurt!", she yelled.
“SILENCE!” <SILENCE!> She shut up. “Maybe you simply are stupid! Of course it hurt, it was supposed to. You’re getting a spanking remember? Now get back in position. Since you didn’t count that one off, we have to start over again.” I jockeyed her back into place and gave her a healthy swat on the left cheek. SMACK!
This time she understood, and although she yelped and reached back to grab her ass, she sang out, “One, Mister Harron.", and resumed her position.
I gave her a total of twenty, not including that first, and when I was finished, her ass was beet red and Lynn was crying fiercely, if quietly. I must also point out that I had the mother of all erections in my pants. I unzipped my pants and sat back down in my chair, my cock waving in the breeze, and commanded, “Now suck me off. And if it’s not the best blowjob you’ve ever given a guy, I’ll stick it up that ruby red ass of yours and you’ll really feel it!” Lynn dropped to her knees and immediately moved her face into my crotch, sucking my cock into her ovalled mouth and going straight into a sucking Deep Throat, bobbing her head rapidly while she rubbed my nuts and jerked my shaft. I have to admit, it was pretty damn good, and she took well under five minutes to get me off. As the final humiliation, just as I was about to come, I grabbed her ears and pulled her off my cock. “Make me come on your face.” She continued to jerk me off as I sprayed my semen on her face and forehead. When I stopped spurting strongly, she leaned back in to lick the remainder seeping out of my cockhead up.
“Fine. Now go into the kitchen and make me dinner. Nothing fancy, just a couple of sandwiches and some chips. Bring me another beer. And wash the come off your face, you look like a slut.”
Crying she went into the kitchen. While I ate, I had her stand in front of me, her right leg lifted onto the coffee table, and masturbate to orgasm for my amusement. Then I had her kneel while I fucked her ass anyway.
Within two months I had discovered two things, first, that I enjoyed having a servant to do various things around the house, and second, that Lynn was not what I really wanted for a servant. She never quite got used to the idea that she was not my live-in girlfriend but was my employee, and it didn’t take me long to discover that only some really major reprogramming with The Power would be needed to make her change. This I was reluctant to do, since I had always figured on changing servants at some point and would then have to deprogram her.
Better to be more careful in the future. After a couple of months I began to look around for a replacement and found one in a pretty brunette who was a cocktail waitress at an Atlanta night club. Jacqui was shorter and slimmer than Lynn, and actually a few years older than I was, but was still quite attractive. Best of all she seemed to have no desire to be my girlfriend, and was perfectly content to clean the house and haul my ashes. I did use The Power to overcome an innate disapproval of anything lesbian related, so that she would join in when I wanted more than one playmate, but that was just about the extent of my changes to her. I let Lynn go and hired Jacqui on in her place.
Since then I have always kept one or two girls around as housemaids. With two it is very convenient to run them on one year assignments, rotating through a new girl every six months. That way I’ve always got somebody around to teach the new girls the ropes—what I like, how I like it, and so forth—and there’s always somebody around who’s new and fresh. Variety really is the spice of life.
I almost never have to resort to punishment to get the performance I want, at least not since I’ve improved my screening of potential candidates. Well, there was this one girl, Brynn, but she enjoyed being punished! I had always told the new girls that if I found them performing poorly that they might just get a good spanking, but a few days after I told Brynn, she managed to spill some lemonade on the carpet. When I called her on it, her eyes lit up and she began to plead with me, “Oh, please, Professor, don’t spank me! Don’t make me pull my skirt up and bend over your knees! Don’t spank my bottom until it’s all red and tingly!” She actually pulled her skirt to her waist and bent forward with her legs straight and spread, giving me an excellent view of her nicely rounded ass. It took me a second to realize her protests were along the lines of Brer Rabbit asking not to be thrown in the briar patch. So I promptly proceeded to have her bend over my knees while I spanked her on the ass. After only a half-dozen swats or so, I noticed that her tits had popped out of the low cut top she wore and she was pinching her nipples while she humped her cunt against my thigh. Well, you don’t have to hit me with a sledgehammer! I spanked and fingered her until she had a very pleasant come, then pulled her into my lap for a very pleasant screw. Thereafter, she managed to have an accident worth punishing every week to ten days.
Very odd. I can’t say I have ever really sorted out my feelings towards S&M. Still, it was interesting.