Chapter 2

It was not lost on me as I reminisced that evening that on that particular day my car had gotten royally fucked by the little minx from next door and all I had gotten was a peck on the cheek and set of seriously aching blue balls. I had learned to shrug off most of life's little injustices, but somehow this one really galled me. Yeah, it had been by my own choice, I know. But still, it rankled.

I spent most the rest of that day and far into the night burning the whole series of jpegs onto a writable CD-ROM. I had taken a lot of pictures of her performance, but it took even longer than it should have as I had to keep cleaning off the keyboard and the monitor screen. Yeah, I jerked off, but, well, you would have, too. She was one fine looking lady.

Needless to say, the photos were sensational. Even as biased as I was, having taken them, I could tell these were golden, hot. The whole story was there, from the first ass-giggling movements when she started by bending over the hood and ending with her gut-wrenching orgasm on the hood ornament. I was blurry-eyed when the last photo was cropped and enhanced, but the slideshow I produced was first class. It was hot enough to melt the computer chips that would run it.

Damned if Janet didn't ring that fucking doorbell at 7:30 sharp. I staggered to the door, forgetting to put on my robe. Her grin nearly blinded me when she saw me in my shorts, my tired and sore pecker sticking out at half-mast with a morning woody.

"Grab a shower and come on over, sir. I've just put the coffee on. I, uh, saw your lights on late and figured you wouldn't be ready quite this early." With that she turned and bounced back over to her own house.

I showered, shaved, and dressed — complete with my Dockers and sandals, this time. I also grabbed a small bag I had prepared the night before — just in case...

Her back door was open and there were more aromas than coffee spilling out into the dew-laden morning air. I identified bacon immediately, that being one of the many forbidden foods at my house. I also recognized the smell of fresh baked croissants. I'm afraid I stood in the doorway and just salivated for a minute or two. If the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, Janet had prepared for open-heart surgery.

As I stood there, the investigator in me automatically cataloged the details of her home, or what I could see of it. It struck me that the room reflected her personality perfectly. Feminine, but with the wit and humor of a strong intelligence. The colors were blended perfectly, giving an impression of warmth, but having an undercurrent of strong sensuality. And she could cook, too!

Janet had to take me by the hand and pull me over to one of the places she had set at the table. A sudden attack of shyness overcame me as I stood there. I suddenly wondered what the Hell I was doing there, and if it had all been a glorious dream yesterday. I knew that if I followed through today with what I had planned in the heat of my lust last night, it could be a huge mistake. But the food smelled so good. Maybe just a few bites, then I would leave. I let her force me to the table. Yup, she did it. It was all her fault. Hey, if Adam can blame the woman, so can I.

The croissants melted in my mouth, and there were more of them than I could eat. She must have baked 3 or 4 dozen of them. She watched me eat each bite with an innocent joy, seemingly fascinated by my huge appetite. Piping hot eggs, creamy grits, crispy bacon and chicory coffee. I half expected to see biscuits and gravy appear on my plate next, but apparently she wanted to eat light that morning.

Sated and stuffed, I sat back, thoughtfully caressing the thick mug of hot coffee between my two hands. I looked up to see Janet watching me.

"Outstanding, Janet. Simply the best breakfast I have ever had. Honest."

She blushed at the praise. "Thank you." She hesitated a moment. "And thank you for yesterday, too."

Oh, Damn! There it was, lying right there on the table among the detritus of an excellent breakfast. Damn! Damn! Damn! The topic I was dreading and hoping for all at the same time. Ball's in your court, mister.

"Yes. Well, uh, you know..." I tapered off. A great start, no?

She sensed my embarrassment. Hell, a dead man could have sensed my embarrassment.

"I never did anything like that before..." We both spoke at the same time and stopped at the same place. And burst out laughing at the same time.

The ice broken, we began to talk, openly and honestly. She told me of her short, loveless marriage to my neighbor. It was, in some ways, worse than my own. The guy was a mortician and thought it was an exciting job. He came home smelling like death and was then even more lifeless in bed than his clients. She was not a virgin any longer, having waited for marriage, but she might as well have been for all the fucking she didn't get.

When she told me she was as celibate as I was, I looked at her in disbelief. She must have seen the look on my face as she asked me if I thought she should have gone out and picked up something from a bar or a street corner. I stammered that it was hard to believe someone as beautiful as she was would be forced into abstinence. She shot back that she couldn't understand how someone as handsome as I was should be in the exact same situation, and I had a job where I could get out of the house and therefore had more opportunities than she did, locked in her suburban prison.

Touché. Point to the lady.

Despite the compliment she paid me, I had never considered myself handsome. Rugged, maybe, but not gigolo handsome. I kept myself in shape, and for my age, my doctor said I was doing fine. I still wish he hadn't used that fucking qualifier, though. I was well aware of the effects of my age. Remember the glasses I needed to use?

I asked her straight out how she had ended up with my neighbor. I had never even known he had gotten married, and we had lived next to each other for close to fifteen years. She said she had developed an unfounded deep-seated fear of men as she had grown up, probably helped along by too much 'women's' propaganda and all the white-male bashing, testosterone-hating feminists in the public school systems. She had truly believed that all men were dominant, insensitive, testosterone driven animals that would only use her for her body. She had fallen for her husband because of his passiveness, which she has misinterpreted as gentleness. She had had no idea how lonely you could get living with someone else who wasn't there, even when they were bodily present.

I asked where he went every weekend.

"Oh, he goes to Momma's."

A sudden surge of panic flashed through me when I heard that name and I bolted upright, suddenly alert for danger. I damn near tipped over the chair. I envisioned that this whole thing had all been an elaborate setup, just to get my wife her excuse for a divorce. The panic began to well up within my throat, spoiling the excellent breakfast. Then sanity kicked back in and I took a deep breath. Janet's eyes were huge as she watched this silent drama play out on my face. I smiled sheepishly.

"Let me guess," I ventured weakly, after I could finally talk again. "'Momma' is a short, heavy-set, beady-eyed, sharp-nosed woman with a voice like fingernails on a blackboard and a face that makes her voice sound soothing. Her kids hate her, but dote on her every whim. She makes frequent demands on their time, which they can only fulfill by giving up all their time with their own spouses. She has money, which she never spends, and she holds the possibility of getting an inheritance over their heads, clubbing them with her 'Will' at every opportunity. You and I both know all the money will go to the fucking cats, but her stupid kids, blinded by greed, haven't figured that out yet. Besides, she will probably outlive them all, anyway.

"Only one opinion counts, and that's hers. If your opinion turns out to be right, it was hers all along and you stole it from her. She picked you out for her son, but you have never been good enough. She berates you in front of him at Christmas for your shortcomings, and berates him all the rest of the year for his. She has never contributed anything to society, but acts as if the rest of the world should be thankful she is alive. Oh yeah, she has six trophy heads mounted on the study wall." I looked over at her. "That about right?"

She had been laughing so hard she had to hold her sides as I described 'Momma' to her. She queried me about the 'trophy heads'.

"Ex-husbands," I explained.

This brought such a violent fit of laughter I thought she would choke on her tongue. Getting back a bit of control she simply held up four fingers. I took that to indicate that her husband's Momma had been a slacker, and said as much.

She looked around with a horrified look on her face to see if anyone had heard my derogatory comments, but then remembered it was just the two of us. Still, the sudden spontaneous flash of fear in her eyes at that moment touched a kindred feeling in my own soul. We were perhaps more alike than we had realized.

It was after noon before we knew it. By then, we had gone over both my situation and hers in agonizing detail. I found I liked her, and that she felt the same way about me, in spite of our ages. I was old enough to be her father, as she was barely into her twenties.

The silences lingered as we listened to the big grandfather clock strike the hour. It continued to linger until it became obvious and awkward between us.

"About yesterday..." What the fuck. Might as well just jump in, right?

"Yes?" She was suddenly serious and alert. Intense. Her willingness and readiness to talk about it cared the shit out of me.

I looked her right in the eyes. "Did you, uh, enjoy what happened?"

She blushed. "You couldn't tell?"

It was my turn to blush. My hand still smelled of her juices, as I had held it outside the shower door when I washed up that morning. "Well, I thought you did, but I just wanted to make sure."

"Yes, I did." She said it simply, as if she too had wrestled with the question all night, as well. She probably had, as she had seen my lights on, but she didn't show any sign that the lack of sleep affected her at all. Ah, the resiliency of youth.

Now the killer question. "Would you like to do more?"

"Yes," no hesitation, no doubts. "I want to do it all." Damn! She had thought about this.

"Now?" My voice was quivering, in both hope and fear.

"Yes." Her voice was a bare whisper. I looked up from my intense study of the tabletop and saw her eyes were closed. Tears were leaking from them but, as she was smiling, I didn't think she was sad.

"Just one thing."

I jerked back to attention as she continued.

"Yes? What?"

"You have to wear just your boxers, like you did yesterday." She was grinning so impishly, I half expected to see half-eaten feathers, paws and whiskers.

I thought about that, then grinned. "I can live with that. Any other restrictions?"

"No, sir... but it would be nice to know your name."

I nearly crawled under the table from shame. I hadn't even noticed. Shit, damn, hell and fuck, what a dunce! According to one of the manuals I had downloaded from the 'Net' last night, one in a series called "Domination for Dummies" I think, or "SDBM for Dyslexics" maybe, it had said to never allow the submissive get the upper hand. I was supposed to turn any smart-ass banter to my advantage.

Of course, as I had browsed through the manual, I realized I had pretty much broken every rule in it already, and I had only been a Dom for less than 24 hours at that point. So I figured I'd wing it. What the Fuck! It had seemed to work for me so far. I mentally crawled out from under the table. I thought back to the emotions I was feeling yesterday. The anger, the heat, the passion. I tapped into the memories.

I scowled at her, eyes blazing, "'Sir' will do nicely, but if you do need to address me in public, you may call me 'John'." I pitched my voice just short of a shout.

The effect was amazing. She paled and seemed to shrink in front of my face. I could see her lip trembling. She really thought she had screwed up. She looked like she was going to cry. I guess I'm just a big softie, and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stand to see her afraid. I wanted — and she wanted — domination, not terror. I winked at her.

She blinked as she suddenly realized I was just acting. As she began to relax, I stood suddenly, this time sending my chair crashing to the floor behind me. I moved to stand behind her chair. I towered over her. She was forced to tip her head all the way back to keep me in view. I fixed her gaze with my own, continuing to glare at her angrily. Her bottom lip trembled so daintily, I almost melted into the chair with her. But not yet.

"Stand up!" I snapped the command, leaving no room for questions. There were none.

"Are you wearing panties?"

She nodded. I simply held out my hand and waited. The silky undergarments soon rustled to the floor and then settled into my palm. They were damp. I stifled a grin as I felt the dampness cool on my skin. I raised them to my nose and inhaled in an overly obvious manner. This caused her to blush a deeper red, as it was obvious even without holding them to my nose that she was secreting her juices. When I stuffed them into the pocket of my shorts it looked like she was about to protest. They were a delicate and expensive pair. She had been hoping I might see them, I think, just not in this manner. Tough shit.

I took stock of what she was wearing. It would not suit what I intended to do for the rest of the day. They were too nice. I needed something I could rip up or cut off if I needed to.

"Bring me the clothes you were wearing yesterday."

She didn't move immediately, so I leaned forward and swatted her ass sharply.

"NOW!"

She squealed in mock fear as she scampered out of the kitchen. I heard her thumping footsteps on the floor directly above, which told me where the master bedroom was. Soon she was standing in front of me, panting from the exertion of running up and down stairs. She held the soiled T-shirt and shorts in her hands.

"Where are the panties?"

Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. A second swat caught her behind as she rushed back up to get the dirty undergarment. She seemed to enjoy the swats so much, I almost wondered if she had forgotten the panties intentionally. I wouldn't have put it past her. She was sharp and good at getting what she wanted. Well, today I intended for her to get all she wanted and more.

Flushed, and with a fine sheen of perspiration touching her forehead, she handed the missing panties to me. I sniffed this pair as well, and stuck them in my pocket with the others. This pair was mine. Plain cotton, dime a dozen, but God, what a fragrance!

She had lost her shoes in her hurry. They were high-heeled sandals, totally inappropriate for around the house. So was her tight black leather mini-skirt and peach-colored silk blouse. She definitely knew how to dress to bring out her colors. She looked as if she could have stepped straight out of a fashion photo-shoot.

I stared at her bare feet until she realized what I wanted. I got to spank her a third time as she bolted to the bottom of the stairs, where she had kicked them off. I held out my hand out for them as well. She placed them in my hand.

I folded the shirt neatly, then the shorts, then placed the high heels on top of the neat stack of dirty clothes. I handed the neat stack to her and pointed to a small room off the kitchen which I had already determined was the pantry.

"Go put these on. Just those, nothing else. Understand?"

She nodded silently.

"Bring me the clothes you are wearing."

Two minutes later she was again standing before me, dressed as she had been the day before, with the addition of the shoes. They were a nice addition.

I took her expensive silk blouse and retrieved a hanger from the hall closet. I hung it neatly on the hanger and hung the short skirt below it. Her eyes widened as she saw the care I took with her expensive clothing. I think if she had had any doubts about what we were about to do, the care I took not to ruin the things she cared about eased them completely. The dainty bra I placed over the hanger then took the matching pair of panties from my pocket and placed them with the bra.

Next, I dropped my shorts, having only my boxers on underneath. She couldn't keep the grin off her face as she saw the head of my prick peeking out at her. She licked her lips as she looked at it and I nearly raped her then and there. But I had a plan. Stick to the plan, damnit! I whipped off my shirt and sandals with a flourish, and stood posing in front of her in just my boxers. God, I loved to hear her laughter. It was like water to a man in the desert.

When I finished posing for her — or ex-posing, more correctly, I turned to glare at her again.

"Is there a computer in the house?" I knew there was. I had seen the boxes they came in being tossed in the trash.

She nodded, taken a little aback by this question. Good. At least I could surprise her.

"Well? Take me to it!" I got to spank her perky little ass again. I was beginning to like this Dom shit.

She led me to a locked door on the first floor of the house and then hesitated again. It was obviously her husband's office. This time I didn't push her. She was afraid of something, and I didn't want to make her do anything that might get her into real trouble with him. Sure, as if what I had planned was any less despicable than breaking into a locked office.

Taking a deep breath, she seemed to come to a resolution of the conflict in her mind. She reached down and lifted a loosened edge of the carpet. Hidden under the loose flap was the key to the door. She unlocked the door and eased it open. She replaced the key and the carpet carefully, and then stepped inside the darkened room. She stepped so lightly I thought the room was wired with an alarm, so I waited outside the door for her to disarm it.

She turned and looked at me.

"Is it safe?" I asked.

"What?"

"You were being so careful. I thought maybe there was an alarm or something."

"Oh, no! It's just, well, Darrin doesn't like me in here even when he's here. He'd shit if he knew I knew where he hid the key."

"Oh. We don't have to —..." I was stopped by a derisive snort. Very ladylike, that.

"Fuck him," she interrupted me. She pointed. "There's the computer."

I was still outside the room and as I looked in, I noticed something odd. The monitor's screen was not visible from either the door where I was standing or from the window. Not that that was odd in itself, it's just that it would have been a whole lot better use of the available space if he had arranged the furniture differently. The investigator in me was piqued and I filed that question away to be researched later. Right now I had a hot willing woman to defile, and I was looking forward to it.

I walked over to the desk and looked at his office chair. It was perfect for what I had in mind. I motioned her over to sit in the chair. I studied the PC briefly, then turned it on. As it was booting, I walked around the room, opening the curtains wide and adjusting the lamps in the room to cast their light on the quiet figure in the desk chair. When I was done, the light was adequate for my needs.