Slaves/oralgal2
                                      R. Bolla
                                    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.

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  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,
                                              Master."
                      "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
                                              painful.
                    "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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