Blond Wig appeared, a crumpled ticket clutched in her trembling hand. In the half-light, I could see the ticket was fluorescent orange: a half hour of my time in private.
“All right,” I told her, “in the cell.” I pointed with my riding crop for her to precede me. So far, she hadn't said a word, and I knew she was one to be handled relatively gently at first, or she would bolt, not get her money's worth, and never come back. Bad for business.
Among the various paraphernalia in the cell were a high stool and a mat.
“Get down there,” I ordered her to the mat. “I want you kneeling with your hands behind your back. Chin up. Look at me.'
“Yes, ma'am,” she whispered, and suddenly a chill ran down my spine. Before taking my own seat, I adjusted the lighting so it was almost entirely on her, hiding me behind a wall of protective glare. My voice would come at her from the darkness.
I paced behind her, the heel plates on my boots the only sound, and meant to intimidate. “What's your name, sub?” I demanded suddenly.
“L-L-Lolita,” she squeaked.
My knees almost gave out. I had to get her to talk more, but I already thought I knew who she was. “First time?” I proceeded, controlling myself.
“Yes, ma'am,” her voice no longer shook as much. She was relaxing, but I wasn't.
“Safeword?” I probed.
“Wha-what's that?” she quavered a little again.
“A word you use when you really and truly want to stop,” I said, making my voice as gruff as possible. “Nothing like, ‘No,’ or ‘Stop,’ or ‘Enough,’ because those are words you're likely to say even when you want more. A word you would hardly ever use under the circumstances, like ‘black,’ or ‘red,'” I suggested.
“Um, okay. Red,” she said.
I was right behind her now and I swatted her backside with the crop.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“Don't slouch,” I told her and immediately she straightened. Her posture gave me the last clue I needed. I was close enough to smell her musk, and she was close enough to smell mine. “You wait here. Don't move. You won't be charged for this… delay,” I informed her. I slipped out and ran to find Beverly.
Beverly had a sub on her back over a couple of sawhorses, legs spread. The woman was screaming with need, close to climax as Beverly desultorily whipped her pussy. “I need to talk to you right now,” I hissed.
Beverly heard the urgency in my voice and knew I was serious. “Hold it right there, slut,” she advised her howling captive, and we went to a dark corner to consult.
“The Wig is in my cell,” I told my friend. “It's my boss.'
Beverly looked genuinely shocked. “That little bitch of a principal?'
“Yes! What the fuck do I do? I can't blow her cover. Should I do her?'
“Can you maintain? Do you want to?” Beverly asked.
I was shaking. “Hell, yes. I want her mouth on me so bad I've already half-creamed myself.'
“Then treat her like any other client. Give her a good time, let her get you off, let her go,” Beverly told me. “Don't do it for revenge for the way she treats you.'
“No, I won't. You sure this is kosher?” I asked,
“It is if you play the game as she expects it to be played,” Beverly reminded me gently, working to calm me down.
“Okay. Thanks. Sorry for the interruption, Frau Sturmbahnfuhrer,” I apologized.
“You vill be punished,” Beverly cracked.
“I understand.” I clicked my heels and bowed to her. I went back to the cell with a sigh of relief. This was going to be fun.
I stepped into the cell where “Lolita” was no longer kneeling upright, but sitting with her legs curled under her. Normally a sub would be punished for such a lapse, but she was new, she was about to be my lover, and I cared for her.
“Up on your knees, Lolita,” I grunted, keeping my voice gruff. God forbid she should make me as I had made her! I hated the name but I had to play along with it. “I should whip you for changing your position without permission, but I'll let you off with a warning this time.” I circled around to stand in front of her. “Why are you here, Lolita?” I asked. “Have you been bad? Do you need to be punished?'
“Yes, I've been bad. I'm always bad,” she confessed.
“How bad are you? What bad things do you do?” I pressed her, raising her chin with the tip of my riding crop.
“I… think of strong women using me, and I play with myself,” she whispered.
“Do you do it at home or at work?” I asked smoothly.
Some time passed and I snapped, “Answer me!'
“Both,” she managed to croak.
“You really are bad,” I said. “I'll have to whip your bare bottom for that. Pull your skirt up and your pants down, and bend over that stool,” I directed.
Lolita was panting now and I wondered if she had fingered herself at all while I was out deciding her fate. “Hold on,” I warned her, and I let her feel the crop, three medium strokes to each pretty pink cheek. And I do mean pretty. Lynn Jeffries, or “Lolita” as I now had to call her, had the finest fanny I had ever seen. Tight, muscular and beautifully shaped, I could have spent the whole night on my knees kissing it.
“Oh! Please! Major!” she yipped. Her voice was so high, she sounded a little like a poodle. Her ass had turned even pinker and I stopped to caress it.
“Ohhhh,” she sighed. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Do you think a little slut like you ought to be allowed to come?” I demanded of her.
“Not unless,” she swallowed, “I earn it.” She stayed bent over like a good girl.
“Down on your knees on the mat, slut. Spread your legs and show me what you do… at work,” I decided. I moved the stool over nearer the mat. “You can lick my boots while you do it.'
“At work,” she said hesitantly, “I sit in my big leather chair, and put my feet up on my desk. It won't look the same.'
“Yes, but at work, you don't have a dominant telling you how to act, which is a pity. Just touch yourself the way you do at work, Lolita,” I clarified, sliding onto the stool. “And show me how you're gonna lick my pussy after I let you come.'
“Yes, Major,” she said obediently. She bowed her face to my boot and I felt her tongue for the first time.
Now I was the one who had to hang onto the stool for dear life. As she rubbed her sloppy twat for me, and oozed out onto the mat, and licked the toecaps of my combat boots, it was all I could do to keep from touching myself!
“Good girl. Let me feel some tongue. Are you coming?” I asked smoothly.
“Y-y-yes,” she gasped.
“Stop!” I shouted.
“Oh, please, please,” she begged. “You have no idea…'
“I have more of an idea than you think, slut,” I said, opening my pants all the way back to the crack of my ass. I yanked her head up to my crotch. “Lick me. Both hands on my ass. Now.'
Oh, God, it was heaven. Her mouth was so greedy. It was as if she had been starving for it. I had been there, too, so many times, even in my own marriage. When she threw her arms around me, she almost knocked me over. As scrawny as she looked, she was dense with muscle and I was excited and shocked to feel her strength. I had thought she would be a pushover. I was wrong and I was thrilled to discover it. I definitely didn't want her to stop, but the professional in me took over.
“Get off me, you scrawny little excuse for a woman! Fuck yourself right now! Come at my feet while you kiss my boots!” I hollered. They loved to hear the words that described their fetishes. For emphasis, I gave her fanny a couple of good whacks with the crop.
She yelped, dropped to her belly and crawled back to my feet, reached under herself and in about ten seconds, she was rolling around and screaming with release. “Oh, Jesus God! Oh, God, Major! Yes! Yes!” she howled. Her body was really a piece of work, and she looked so sensuous and healthy as she unconsciously showed
