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Subject: Title story: "Oral Gal - 3" Author: R. Bolla 64661762
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Date: Fri, 13 Jan 2006 13:58:03 +0000
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Oral Gal - 3
As Richard led me downstairs from his bedroom, I was still kind of dully
excited. It's the sort of thing that happens to me occasionally when I get
sexually excited up to a point - but have no climax. My pussy is tender, kind of
itchy/achy deep inside the flesh of the lips. My clitoris is swollen and I feel
little shocks of pleasure when I walk. I was still very wet - he had given me no
opportunity to wipe myself off or anything - and I was intensely conscious of
that, since I would never just walk around like that.
As we passed my bedroom, he told me he would meet me downstairs in the living
room. I went in, found the paper and pen in the dressing table, where he said it
would be, and wrote down the name of the stockings as I had been instructed.
Then I went into the bathroom to "brush my hair".
The hairbrush he had spoken of was on a counter to the right of the sink. As I
picked it up, I saw that it was round, with bristles all around. It had a small
head - almost like a child's brush, I thought. I raised my skirt and pettycoat
up with my left hand and, looking in the mirror to see what I was doing, I began
to brush my pubic hair.
I had never done this before, and I was surprised at how good it felt. Of
course, I was so excited that any attention paid to the area around my pussy
was going to be pleasurable. But this was relaxingly exciting. It kept the
thrills of electricity jumping through the lips of my pussy and each tiny tug
pulling on the lips made my clit throb. I could have gotten lost in the feeling
- but I knew without his having told me that Richard expected me to do what I
had been told and get downstairs immediately. So I concentrated on brushing and
sort of twisting the handle of the brush as I stroked, which made my pubic hair
fluff out the way Richard wanted it. There was something very strange about
styling my pubic hair for a man I had only met once before and with whom I had
not even gone to bed yet - but it was exciting and kind of nasty, which was
exactly what I wanted!
I finished and smoothed the dress and crinoline back into place. I was happy to
see that, even though Richard had made me stand with the skirt bunched up over
my waist for quite a while, it still looked unwrinkled and presentable.
I wanted to look good for him - particularly for this first meeting.
As I entered the living room, I saw that Richard was sitting in an easy chair,
sipping a glass of champagne. I walked over toward his chair, but didn't get
too close. I was unsure what he wanted of me, and preferred to be safe rather
than sorry.
"Come over here in front of me and lift your skirt so I can see how you look,"
Richard ordered.
I stopped about 3 feet in front of him and lifted the skirt. He sat there for a
moment studying me, then nodded and told me to let my skirt down.
"That's good, Michelle," he said. "From now on, when you're with me, you'll pay
particular attention to your pussy hair for me.
I want you to brush it often, like that. I like it to be brushed, on either
side, away from the lips, so they are clearly visible. You have thick, luxurient
hair there. While it's attractive, we don't want it to cover up those lips." He
smiled at me. "When you shower, I will expect you to use shampoo and conditioner
on it, as you would the hair on your head. Since it pleases me to see your pussy
hair looking good, it will please you to make sure that it does. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," I replied, my eyes directed toward his crotch, as I had been
ordered to do earlier. For the first time, I thought that I detected more there
than usual. It looked like he had a bit of a hard-on! Thank God!! Maybe I was
finally turning him on!
"We have reservations this evening at a restaurant down in TriBeCa called "211".
Are you all ready to go out?"
"Yes, Master," I responded. I was becoming very careful. I would have liked to
say that I was ready, unless he wanted me to dress differently, or anything. I
would not, by myself or with others, have gone to TriBeCa wearing what I was
wearing. It was the artists' section of New York, and everyone down there,
practically, wore black cotton everything in the summer. But I knew that to do
more than simply reply would be to incur his anger.
"Good! I have a small evening bag here for you to carry. It has everything in it
that you might need. No need to open it and look - just take it with you."
"Yes, Master," I meekly replied - but I was immediately suspicious. Why didn't
he want me to look into the bag?
I followed him out the front door and stood on the landing while he locked the
door and set the alarm. It was a beautiful late summer evening - warm enough to
be comfortable wearing very little, but not hot enough for me to be
uncomfortable with the petticoat and stockings I was wearing.
We walked out to the ...
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