She looked up at me from her position kneeling naked between my legs, asking a silent question with vapid blue eyes. Straight blond hair framed an aristocratic face, high cheekbones and a poise that suggested she was used to better than the station I appointed her; her expression of passive acceptance belied she was anything more than my property.

I nodded my assent.

There was no trace of humiliation as she raised on her knees and slowly parted her lips over my phallus. Her will and her dignity were among the first things I required her to surrender, and she had not yet experienced the opportunity to miss them.

I was pleasure made flesh for my Jennifer.

She was very nearly the same for me, although my pleasure was less from the physical sensations she evoked, and much more from the power she gave me. I owned her-mind, body and soul-she belonged to me. The unwavering control I had over her was a drug that I had become instantly addicted to.

There was minor resistance as I reached the back of her mouth, but she adjusted smoothly and swallowed me. I sighed as she massaged me with her tongue, the crown of my penis embraced snugly in the confines of her throat. Her delicate nose remained buried in my pubic hair for a few seconds, then slowly retracted that she might do it all again.

I reached out and caressed her flawless cheek as she made the journey back down my length. She did not acknowledge the touch; she was far too invested in giving me pleasure to be distracted. Accepting this, I played with her silky tresses as she did all in her power to maximize my enjoyment of her mouth. She knew from past experience that I could prolong the pleasure almost indefinitely, but as always she did her best to make me climax as soon as possible.

Such a good girl.

I took a moment as she slowly pulled back to reflect on who we used to be. It always made this act of submission so much more potent to remember how our relationship had changed for the better.

Once upon a time, we had adjoining cubes in a fairly good sized corporation. I was IT, she was Sales, and although we shared a close proximity, we had little else in common. Back then, she would have given me the time of day just to be polite, but it was quite clear she expected me to stay in my world and leave her alone in hers.

Then she had broken up with her boyfriend. Abruptly aware of me as a male, she seemed to toy with the idea of becoming more than acquaintances. We began having fairly personal conversations, and she even started flirting with me. I, of course, was thrilled with this change in her attitude, but it was short lived. She ended up mending the fences with her boyfriend, and I was seriously resentful when I was relegated back to "Coworker, embarrassing, avoid if possible" status.

Still, there was little I could do. We each lived our own lives, and I knew from the beginning that my chances with this goddess were slim to none. After a few weeks of nursing my injured pride, life was back to business as usual, and while I still harbored fantasies of her changing her attitude and realizing I was the best thing for her, our relationship normalized back to purely professional.

Until I won $87 million in the Lottery.

Oddly enough, I always assumed that I was the type that, upon winning the Lottery, would waltz into work the next day, tell everyone off, quit on the spot, and move to someplace where girls wore bikinis year-round. Instead, it didn't seem to hit me right away. I took a personal day to go down to the Capitol and verify my winning ticket. They arranged for money to be in my accounts within two weeks, and I just nodded, signed the form, took some photo ops, and went home.

Not being very photogenic and fairly awful at theatric performance, I was never asked to do any sort of advertisement for the Lottery Commission, which suited me quite well. The next morning I got up with my alarm clock, I showered, dressed, and went to work.

Perhaps it is a reflection of my introverted nature, but I never found myself wanting to share the news with my coworkers of the windfall that had come my way. Nor, for some reason, did I quit, although my attitude may have been a bit more carefree, now that I knew I no longer needed a job. If anything, my newfound confidence seemed to make me more popular with management. It felt wonderful to be the only one in the office in on this private joke of mine. This is not to say I did nothing with the money, as I had already invested a significant amount, which in a short time was already showing impressive returns.

I did toy with the idea more than once of trying to impress the lady now fellating me with my recent luck, but the idea of her being interested in me because I was rich was most unattractive, so I never said a word.

Four months passed, and no one was the wiser. I was considering purchasing a house, but still living in my apartment, when late one evening I received a visitor.

Expecting no company, I was shocked to be greeted by name by a sharply dressed gentleman and his gorgeous companion, a 5'10" brunette with the face and figure of a supermodel, but dressed like a porn star. He politely asked for a few moments of my time, and not about to turn a vision like her away, I numbly agreed.

It changed my life like the money never did.

He laid his spiel on me. I had attracted their attention because I had come into a significant amount of cash and had kept it low-key-which was the type of customer they preferred. At this point I figured he was just another one of the shady opportunists that I had had to deal with in those first few weeks after winning the jackpot, but then he told me what he was selling.

Slaves.

Say what? I said.

Yes slaves, he said. Consider Veronica here. Beautiful, isn't she? She will do anything I command, with no hesitation or argument, he said. Her large brown eyes seemed completely transfixed of him, not reacting to his misogynistic declaration at all.

Yeah right, was my silent response. I wish.

His cultured eyebrow raised expressively at the implicit challenge written on my features, and he smiled. His own expression reminded me of the car salesman that had lured me into engaging him on price, sure that he could make the deal. That guy had read me like a book, too. I still had that car.

Turning to Veronica, he told her that she was my property for the next 24 hours. She nodded serenely, murmuring "Yes Master". Focusing back on me, he told me he would return the following evening to discuss the "offering".

Then he left. Me. And her. My slave, pro-tem. Whose gaze was now riveted on me.

Hardly daring to believe, I started out timidly. I asked her for a glass of water, which she leaped to provide. She returned from the kitchen moments later and knelt in front of me, glass of water in her hand as she offered it up to me with an eager smile.

With trembling hands, I took the glass from her and thanked her. I had never understood comparing a smile to the sun until that point. The joy expressed in her smile upon pleasing me dazzled and humbled me.

I took a few sips, looking uncomfortably through the glass at this incredible woman still kneeling at my feet.

So what sorts of things can I tell you to do? I asked, unwilling to accept a lack of limitations after a whole life of clearly defined boundaries.

Anything, was the immediate response.

Anything, including killing somebody, or yourself, or parading down the street naked? I asked, hypothetically of course-although truthfully, the idea of seeing her naked was highly intriguing and had long since captured my imagination.

Yes, Master, was her response, although she qualified immediately after that if she did any of those things, she probably would not be able to serve me any more. I experienced yet another humbling moment as I entertained the notion for the first time that this "offering" might be legitimate. My resolve to test the limitations of her servitude crystallized.

Still, being a cautious sort of fellow, especially in the hitherto unexplored arena of the modern-day slave trade, I asked a series of questions, determined to discover the "catch." Would I be held responsible for your actions, would this "slavery" attitude wear off, was it easy to break, et cetera, all aimed to discover my true question: Would I find myself dealing with serious repercussions if I pushed just a little too far?

Her responses were clear and no-nonsense. She was aware that she had been "treated" like many before her, and even so she could not imagine disobeying her master, even if her master required her to take her own life to prove her loyalty. She expected, even anticipated, her service to take sexual form. Her loyalty and obedience could not be broken by any means that she knew. Pure trust and confidence radiated from those liquid brown eyes. It was hard to meet her gaze. I was undeserving of such devotion.

The time for the acid test had come.

Strip, was my simple command, my trousers uncomfortably tight.

With her serene smile, she quickly divested herself of every last stitch of clothing and kneeled back down in her original position, awaiting my next directive. Her eyes were cast down, but a small, satisfied smile played across her exquisite lips.