US Highways
Disciplinary Action
19 September 2013
THE PLACE WAS BILLED as a condo resort in the Mojave Desert, but the rooms were little more than a hotel room with a half-kitchen and living area. It was nice, though, to get out of the trailer for a week and have unlimited hot water for showers, a big bed, a swimming pool, and a hot tub. The scenery at the pool wasn’t bad either. It was a spa, so there weren’t that many little kids and those that were there confined their activity to the waterslide and kiddie side of the pool. It was a big pool that wound its way around a fake rock island. The entrance to the waterslide was on top, but beneath it, in a grotto complete with a waterfall, was a spa. The jets were locked in the ‘on’ position.
I’d put the trailer in storage for the week. I own some timeshares—one of the world’s great rip-offs—and tried to use up the weeks by taking a break from the trailer periodically. It also gave me the opportunity to haul my printer out of the cubbyhole where I stored it and print out various business things, like first drafts of stories that I wanted to work on with a pencil. I still do that at times.
I’d made it my habit to get to the pool soon after it opened at eight in the morning and to come back in the evening between five and ten when it was ‘adults only.’ I was catching up on some work, some writing, and my personal finances—which were in ragged shape. I didn’t like how money was running through my fingers. That’s probably why I wasn’t paying all that much attention as I opened the stairwell door and headed down for my evening dip in the pool.
I get a room on an upper floor—third in this case—and convince myself that I’m exercising when I use the stairs instead of the elevator. The truth is, the stairs are faster. I hate waiting for elevators as much as I hate waiting for an Internet connection on the resort’s antiquated WiFi. So, I didn’t even see her before I was sitting on my butt in the middle of the staircase with a blonde bikini model towering over me. The impact had jarred loose the towel she’d had wrapped around her waist and her still-wet suit outlined a luscious cleft between her legs and the distinct shape of her nipples up top.
“Oh, my god! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, please be all right.” She knelt on the step beside me and wrapped an arm around me, pressing those golden globes against my arm. I shook my head to clear it and shifted my weight to test my tailbone. The shift rubbed her breasts against my arm delightfully. She, on the other hand, thought my headshake was an answer to her question. “Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.” She started to get up, but I caught her arm and pulled her back down beside me.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just a little shook up and impressed by your… um… charms.”
A pink glow began in her cheeks and spread down over her breasts in a wave, but she didn’t move them away from where they were pressed against my arm. She was quiet a moment before she spoke softly.
“May I help you up, sir?”
There is absolutely nothing in this world that makes me feel like an old fart as much as having a beautiful young woman call me ‘sir.’ Still, she wasn’t exactly running away from me.
Thirty years ago: Sir
I’d had chronic back pain for years. I blamed it on a high school football injury but the way it plagued me through the years, it might well have been in my head. Nonetheless, I tried to stay active and walking was a good way to get out and get moving.
I went out one night for a walk on our cul de sac, leaning more heavily on my cane than usual. I was about to open a new training program for would-be publishers who needed to know literally everything about what they were supposed to do. I’d designed the program and hired the trainers and the next day, everyone would know if I knew anything about what I was talking about. It felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.
I hobbled down the street—we didn’t have sidewalks in that suburban neighborhood—with my thoughts in a jumble when I saw another walker headed toward me.
Now one thing you need to know is that whether it is a fedora or a homburg, a Stetson or a trilby, I have worn hats for the better part of my life. I think I was wearing a fedora that night, and walking with a brass-knobbed cane. This vision of young loveliness was approaching me.
“Good evening, sir. How are you this evening?”
In three words, I was crushed. She might as well have said, “Good evening, old man.” There is nothing like a teenager calling you sir to age you fifty years.
“Thank you, I’m fine, miss. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”
“Thank you, sir. Be careful. There’s a rough patch of pavement up ahead.” She kept walking past me and I thought of all the beautiful young women I’d known through my life and cursed that before I was even forty, the teens considered me an old man. My daughter hadn’t even been born yet! I hobbled on my way, cursing that high school football coach who sent me into the ‘meatgrinder.’
Back to the Spa
“My name’s Aroslav,” I said. “What’s yours?”
“Angie, sir. Um, Mr. Aroslav.”
“Well, Angie, on future trips, maybe you could lift your pretty eyes up the stairs. If you really want to land on top of me, I can think of several ways you could that would be more pleasant.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. Is there anything I can do for you to make it better?” I’m sure she didn’t have in mind what instantly sprang to my mind—and was influencing the springing of other parts as well. “Can I go get your wife or help you to her?”
“I’m alone here,” I said. “No one needs to be notified that I’ve been bowled over by a beautiful young woman. I suppose you need to get back to your boyfriend.” I was making the same assumption she was. Few people come to these resort hotels alone.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m here with my mother. I’m trying to plot out the next three months or the rest of my life or something. Listen to me babble. Please let me help you, Mr. Aroslav, sir. Then you can tell me what kind of punishment I should have for being so careless.”
Lights, bells, and sirens went off in my head. She bowed her head as I stood up, her blush continuing all the way to her waist. This was a woman who needed to make up for her mistakes. There was just one obstacle preventing me from taking matters in hand, so to speak.
“Angie, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two, sir.” She didn’t hesitate or attempt to lie. She kept her head down, refusing to look me in the eye. Her hair had come loose from a knot on top and the strands were so light that they blew in the slightest breeze as a stairway door opened two floors below us.
“Angie, you are to meet me in the grotto spa in twenty minutes.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “This is a one-time offer, Angie. Do not attempt to speak to me again if you are not there in twenty minutes.” I bent to retrieve her towel and handed it to her. Her breathing had quickened. She took the towel but made no attempt to cover herself as she stood staring at me. I thought, in fact, that she straightened up a bit and pushed her pretty breasts out more. Well, maybe you can’t just push those points out the way they popped. It could have been an automatic reaction to the breeze, I suppose.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. Then looking up at the last flight to the third-floor door, she ran up and through the door. Somehow, I didn’t feel so old when she called me ‘sir’ this time. I nodded to an overweight couple as they puffed up to the second-floor landing and I went ahead to the pool.
I don’t know what got into me. Under normal circumstances, I would have chatted her up, flirted, invited her for a drink, and been summarily dismissed. This time I’d simply given her twenty minutes to hide in her room and then by my own declaration she would never need to speak to me or acknowledge my existence again.
I’m not much of a dom. I can be just as pussy-whipped as the next guy and have always been attracted to strong, independent women. The kind who eventually get bored with me. Don’t ever believe a woman when she says she’ll never get tired of you being sappy and romantic. It’s not true.
Still, the idea of having a twenty-two-year-old blonde bombshell submissively attending to my every whim put some lead in my pencil. I had to really think through how I would handle this situation. I wasn’t even sure I could maintain a position of dominance for very long. I mean, playing a game for a night was one thing, but actually taking on a sub was serious business. First, I’m not rich. I can’t just take on a dependent. So, if I’m not providing money, a home, security, a new wardrobe, an education, a house with five bedrooms in a good suburb, health insurance, and 2.3 children, what is the attraction for a woman to subjugate her beautiful body to me? And not just her body. From everything I’d read, submissiveness like Angie was showing was a psychological need. It surrendered the key thing that my life was built on: making decisions. My best hope was that she realized what a mistake it was and didn’t show up.
I went over my impressions of her in my mind, kicking myself that I hadn’t spent more time just looking at her.
I guessed she was about 5' 2" or near that. It was hard to tell when we were on a stairway, but I was sure she was significantly shorter than me. There was no question that she was beautiful. She had a narrow waist enhanced by a fairly flat stomach with just a hint of softness in the middle. Personally, I don’t have washboard abs, but I was proud of the fact that I was one of the fitter men at the pool and didn’t have the pronounced beer gut that so many had. I made a note to myself to start working out a little more. I’d like to be in damned good shape by the time I get to Florida next spring.
Of course, thinking about her stomach gave me cause to let my memories drift a little lower. Her pale blue bikini tied just below her hipbones and the tiny scrap of fabric that was tightly stretched between her legs, accented the Delta of Venus. Her labia were puffy enough to give a distinctive shape to the nearly transparent fabric that showed none of the roughness that pubic hair would cause. Her legs looked smooth and, while lightly tanned by the desert sun, looked healthy and not overcooked.
The breasts she’d so innocently—innocently??—pressed into my arms were not huge and were what sparked my fears that she was a teenager. They were soft, though, and her nipples bumped out the fabric nicely. Her face had a clear complexion with lush lips framing nearly perfect white teeth. What struck me most, though, was the electric blue of her eyes—so deep and intense. With her feathery blonde hair floating around her head, she looked like an angel.
At least in my memory.
A Long Time Ago: Spank
My little cousin liked to play at ‘discipline’. Of course, we didn’t call it that. We called it being naughty and getting spanked. Playfully, of course. I never tried to hurt her. But when the families got together—our mothers were sisters—the kids would all scatter and Emmy and I would often get left to our own devices. She was a year younger than me and I figured I was too old to babysit her. The older kids, on the other hand, felt the same way about me.
So, Emmy and I ended up being thrown together. I would tell her to do things, hoping to get her to go back to the house and play with dolls while I became a pirate sailing my imaginary ship across the sea. She would obey my commands. Climb to the second limb in the willow tree. Swing higher than my head and jump into the sand pit. Spin around the monkey bar on one leg. I didn’t think she knew that everything I told her to do, showed me her panties. Ha!
Girls all wore skirts in those days—at least Emmy did. Climbing, swinging, and other gymnastics would show her panties to me and ever since playing doctor with the neighbor girl, I’d been fascinated by what was up there.
There was a locker room joke about the little girl who came home from school with her pockets jingling with change. ‘Where did you get all that money?’ her mother asked. ‘The boys paid me to swing high on the swing,’ the little girl said proudly. ‘Honey, don’t you know the boys were just trying to see your underwear?’ her mother asked exasperatedly. ‘Yeah, but I fooled them. I took my panties off.’
Emmy had me fooled.
Eventually, she would refuse to do something or she’d sneak up behind me and push me or she’d stick her tongue out at me. What could I do but chase her down and punish her? I’d manage to drag her—not putting up much resistance—to a tree stump and pull her over my knee so I could spank her. We played the game a lot that summer.
It started out that I’d just spank her a couple swats and then she’d jump up and run away or stick out her tongue again so I’d chase her. The next time, when she accused me of just trying to see her panties, I pulled her over my lap and flipped her skirt up so I spanked the little pink panties in question. It took a little time, but before long she would simply lie on my lap and I’d not only flip up her skirt, but I’d pull down her panties so I could spank her bare bottom.
The spanks kept getting softer, the less clothing that was between my hand and her skin. But I’d give her a lot more of the gentle slaps once she was bare. Maybe my hand stayed on those innocent globes a little longer each time, too.
Emmy told her older sister what we were did, and one day as she was bending over my knee she said, “You can pull my skirt up, but you aren’t supposed to pull my panties down. Okay?” Of course it was okay. For the first couple swats. Eventually, her panties ended up around her ankles and my hand ended up on her bare bottom. The difference now was that we knew, explicitly, that we weren’t supposed to do that.
After that summer, when we went back to our own schools, we never played the spanking game again. We were more grown up and it wasn’t proper behavior. It was my first and almost only experience in being a dom and administering punishment. I wasn’t very good at it. But my first wet dream was filled with images of that bare butt beneath my hand.
Back to Angie
I swam several laps, paying absolutely no attention to the time. What difference would it make? I knew she wasn’t coming back. I left the pool in the full darkness and made my way into the grotto to soak in the hot water and let the jets beat my back muscles into submission.
“Hello, sir,” she whispered beside me before I’d set my foot in the hot water. “Let me take your hand as you come into the water.”
“Do you think that I am old and decrepit?” I asked harshly.
“Oh no, sir! I just wanted to… to help you if I could. May I?”
I looked at her. She’d changed to a different bikini, this one white. In the dim light of the grotto it was still easy to make out the exact shape and size of her nipples and areolae. She was waist deep in the water and I stepped down to join her.
“Sit with me, Angie. I want to know more about you.”
We settled into the tub and I found a jet that pounded against my lower back. It hadn’t felt so good in years. Angie slid right up beside me, our legs touching beneath the turbulent water.
“There’s not much to know about me, si…, I mean Mr. Aroslav. I’m twenty-two, a graduate of UCLA with a teaching degree and no job.”
“How did you end up here at the spa?” I noticed that she couldn’t bring herself to use just my name. Respectful or frightened?
“It was my mother’s idea. I’ve been talking about going on a road trip for a while and she suggested we come out here and talk about it. That means I dream and she convinces me not to.”
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” I quoted.
“And our little life is rounded with a sleep,” she concluded. I was impressed. A Shakespeare student?
“What did you say your degree was?”
“Secondary education, technically. It’s a teaching degree. I want to teach high school English someday.”
“I’m afraid that would be quite a challenge. I can’t imagine a high school boy who could sit through your class without getting a hard-on. And you’re so young, they might try some inappropriate things.”
“Sadly, that’s pretty much what was said in my interviews—though they neglected to use the word hard-on.” She giggled a little. Then looked at me seriously.
“Do you think I’m that pretty?”
“Absolutely. You must know that.”
“Well… um… not exactly. I mean, I know I’m pretty, and I’m not insecure. But I can’t identify with it. It still surprises me when someone says I’m pretty. I was always a little overweight in high school and most of college. I decided that I needed to lose the weight and shape up or I’d always regret it. The problem is that I still think of myself like I did when I was fat. And I need to lose more weight. I have this tummy.”
She stood on the bench, placing all her delicious bits right at eye-level and patted her tummy. Yes, there was a little roundness to the soft flesh, but I wanted to place my lips on it and begin kissing all over her body. My hand reached of its own volition and I placed it on her soft tummy. She caught her breath, but didn’t move away. I pulled her back into the water and she floated over onto my lap. I kept my left hand on her stomach as my right guided her.
“What’s the difference between men and women?” I asked.
“You mean the obvious, sir? Women have breasts and a vagina and men have a penis and testicles.”
“Okay. Beyond the primary sex characteristics.”
“Oh. Secondary. Men are hairy… sort of.” She placed a hand on my chest among the sparse hairs. Genetically I just didn’t come from hairy stock and what little I had on my chest I’d gladly transplant to my head. She moved her hand from my chest to my beard. “Soft,” she whispered. “I mean… women are softer than men.”
“Yes. Women are usually softer than men, usually not as hairy, usually have a higher voice. There are exceptions on both sides. But those secondary characteristics that make you distinct as a woman—why would you want to get rid of them?” She looked into my eyes as if trying to gauge whether I was serious. I caught the glimmer of a tear there.
“I just don’t want to be fat any longer.”
“I won’t say you are just fine because that discounts how you feel about yourself, but think seriously about what that means before you get caught in a cycle of unending dieting and self-criticism. You are no longer the fat girl. How much thinner do you really want to be, and why? I could show you the most beautiful statues of women in the world and none of them have a flatter stomach than yours.” For the first time since I’d pulled her back into the water, she began to relax. She leaned against me.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Would you really show me beautiful statues?”
“Wherever we found them. Now tell me more. Tell me about what these dreams of yours are.”
A Long Time Ago: Follow the Dream
I know something of dreams. I’ve had a few.
And I know what it is like to put them off. As much as I despised the idea of working in technical theater instead of being a playwright, it was true that I needed to earn a living. After my master’s degree, two years during which I designed and built twenty-four shows in twenty-four months in addition to writing a thesis and teaching, I was nearly burnt out. Paula’s and my relationship didn’t survive the struggle. It would be easy to blame my shelving of dreams on her, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. I had to earn a living. I was beginning to hate theater. I struggled on through my PhD and wrote a couple of plays that got some attention, but the stress was killing me, and all relationships that I potentially had.
So, I decided to go into something low-stress. Like publishing.
It evolved slowly as I completed my PhD. I would become a great novelist. I wrote volumes. But I discovered that I could make money by writing and publishing technical materials. My first contract was to develop a massive real estate sales instruction course. Then brochures, newsletters, trade journals. I made a lot of money writing.
But my novels kept being pushed aside and, eventually, I stopped writing them.
I worked for years in high tech, mostly developing documentation and training materials for publishing technology, when what I wanted to do was write novels and have people read them. I wanted to touch people with words. I wanted to make the world a better place in a way that writing error messages for computers wasn’t achieving.
I had dreams that I’d delayed for years until the day I got pushed out of my nest and went off to see the world. Or at least this little corner of it. I wasn’t in the business of fulfilling other people’s dreams. I was just beginning to fulfill my own.
Back to Angie
“Well, I thought that since I didn’t get a teaching job this fall, that it would be a good opportunity for me to go see the country for a while,” Angie said. “Lots of people I know have taken a year off to travel sometime during or after college. I just want to take a few months. I’ve been accepted on a program to begin my Master’s degree in January.”
“How did you plan to accomplish seeing the country?”
“You sound like my mother. I was just going to get in my car and go. She’s all about ‘Where are you going to stay? Who will travel with you? How are you going to support yourself?’ All the stuff I should have thought about. I mean, I have some money that I can use, but not enough to stay in a resort like this every week. And she keeps telling me that it’s too dangerous for a girl to travel alone and my car isn’t dependable and on and on.”
“All valid points,” I said. My head was filling with ideas and I had to keep myself in check before I said something more. She squirmed on my lap a little. At first, I thought she was uncomfortable and wanted to get away, but I moved my hand from her stomach and she kept wiggling until she could feel my cock pressed against her butt. Then she sighed.
“Are you going to punish me for running into you earlier?” she whispered in my ear. Hmm. There was no one else in the grotto. Apparently, the old folks at the resort had already had their Ensure and gone to bed. Maybe the younger couples had managed to go to bed, too. There was no nightclub at this resort and it was a good twenty-minute drive or taxi ride to get to one.
“I’m reluctant to punish you severely for an unfortunate accident,” I said as I let my right hand move down her body to cup her ass cheeks. She caught her breath but didn’t move away from my implied ‘severe’ punishment. I moved to the right, freeing the jet that I’d been leaning against. “No. However, a little discomfort might be in order to remind you to look before you dash upstairs.” The shining in her eyes was no longer tears of frustration, but a sense of excitement exuded from her.
I pulled Angie off my lap and faced her toward the waterfall outside the hot tub. I moved her intentionally so the powerful jet hit her squarely.
“Kneel on the bench,” I said. She immediately obeyed and I tapped the inside of her knees with my hand under water. She spread them apart. She moaned. I moved my right hand up to cup her ass again, my left having never left her stomach. In this position, the jets were hitting directly against her mound. I squeezed her ass and her hips rocked forward slightly. Another moan escaped her lips.
“Sir. Mr. Aroslav. What if someone…?” Her breathing was getting shallower and more rapid.
“Then they will see a naughty girl getting what she deserves,” I said. She was biting her lips and her eyes were closed as the water beat unmercifully against her sex. My hands on her tummy and her butt kept her in place and encouraged the rhythmic rocking of her hips as she moved closer and closer toward a climax, humping the water jet. When I heard a whine in her throat and felt her stomach muscles begin to clench, I pulled her away from the jets and back to my lap.
“Mmm. No. Please. So close.”
“This is punishment, not a reward, Angie. I will consider rewarding you after you decide if you are coming with me.”
“With you?” She turned to face me, pushing a knee into my cock. Quickly realizing what she’d done she straightened up and placed her knees on either side of my legs facing me. I knew she could feel my cock pressed against the tender places that had just been stimulated. “Where do you want to take me?”
“I travel, Angie. When we all check out of here on Sunday, I will collect my trailer and start wandering generally east and south from here so I can enjoy warm weather during winter. Sometimes it is lonely out there and having an obedient young companion and assistant would please me. You want to see the country. Your mother doesn’t want you to travel alone. I agree. It could be just what you need. In many ways.”
“You would take me with you?” she asked.
“If we reach an agreement,” I said. I involuntarily twitched against her. She jerked back a bit so we were no longer touching.
“Sex?”
“No.” She was startled. It had appeared that she’d been ready to fuck me all afternoon, but was suddenly afraid of it if it were an obligation. She was surprised when I said no. “There are some rules that must be obeyed, but sex is not one of them. In fact, I haven’t decided if I even want to have sex with you,” I lied. I would have to swing the other direction not to want sex with this pert little nymph.
“What rules?”
“Well, for one, I consider my trailer, like my hotel room, to be a fabric free zone.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no clothes. I lived entirely too much of my life in uncomfortable underwear, suits, ties, starched shirts, and tight belts. When I enter the trailer after a day of traveling, or when I stay in it on days that I’m working, I get rid of my clothes. Not only would you be expected to respect my nudity, but to join in it.”
“You mean I’d have to travel with you naked?”
“No. It would be way too dangerous on many levels to have a naked twenty-two-year-old in the truck when I’m driving. Nudity is confined to time in the trailer, or in a hotel room. Or if we happen to be in a location where nudity is acceptable.”
“Oh. I see. What else?”
“There is only one bed.” She blinked a couple of times while she put together all the implications.
“But we wouldn’t have sex?”
“Correct. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be touching each other. I love to cuddle and if something came up, you’d just have to learn to deal with it. Or rather to not deal with it. In fact, you would be forbidden to try to deal with it without my permission.”
“Right. So, you’ll have a hard cock pressed against my ass, but you won’t fuck me with it and I can’t give you relief without your permission. That is so weird.”
“There is nothing normal about the relationship I’m proposing. You’d be expected to do your share in keeping the trailer tidy, making meals, and cleaning up.”
“Well, that’s fair.”
“I have to buy gas, campsites, and food whether you are with me or not. You do not need to contribute to that unless you want a better grade of food than I supply or more than I can afford to feed you. Of course, your personal expenses, including your healthcare, shopping, admission to events, and meals in restaurants or snacks are your own responsibility. I tend to eat simply, but get good nourishment. If you are not an omnivore, please tell me now.”
“I eat pretty much anything, but I try not to eat too much so I don’t gain my weight back. And I know how to cook. I wouldn’t mind helping with that.”
“Good. One cooks, the other cleans up,” I said. “No drugs.”
“Yessir. I… well, I tried some once, but I realized that it could damage my career opportunities. I… broke up with my boyfriend over it.”
“Good girl.” I reached up and stroked her silky hair as I said that and she leaned into my hand, a brilliant smile lighting her face.
“Does that mean I get a reward?” she asked.
“This is your reward, my sweet.” I caressed her cheek and neck and she shivered, even in the hot water.
“Thank you, sir.”
We sat there for a few minutes and she slipped off my lap to cuddle under my arm. I still wasn’t sure if there was any point in all this. I couldn’t imagine any young woman would willingly put up with the requirements this old fart had spelled out for her. But she hadn’t slapped me and run away. And I had a feeling her pussy was still tingling. That gave me one last idea.
“Well, it’s time for me to get back to my room. Perhaps you’d help this poor man who was nearly run over this evening get up the stairs.”
“Yessir. It would be my pleasure.” We stepped out of the water and I reached for my towel. Angie snatched it out of my hand and proceeded to dry me. She was circumspect, drying up my legs to my crotch, but not overtly touching anything of interest. She held my T-shirt and slipped it over my head. I did not offer to dry her and she tucked her towel around her and took my arm as we headed back to the stairs.
When we reached my door, I inserted my keycard and stepped inside. Angie started to follow me, but I turned her back.
“Not tonight, young lady. You have until noon Saturday to decide if you want to take me up on my offer. There will be details to be worked out, but I don’t care to waste mental cycles on them unless you decide you want to travel as my companion. You should know that within the rules I have stated, I expect to be obeyed. My first order to you is this. You are not to come—let me be clear and say orgasm—until you have brought me your decision. Do you understand?”
Her mouth dropped open. I’m sure she planned to jill herself off as soon as she was alone. I reached over to close her mouth and she started to speak.
“Not tonight,” I said. “Go consider everything I’ve said and even talk it over with your mother. But no answers tonight. Think about it.” I stroked her cheek one last time, honestly believing I wouldn’t see her again. Then I closed the door.
If she talked it over with her mother, they’d be gone tomorrow.
I had prepared myself to never see Angie again. She was a nice young woman who would come to her senses about the time she reached her orgasm, strumming her little clit as fast as the water jets had vibrated it. It was an image I would savor the next time I stroked myself.
Nonetheless, I was disappointed that I didn’t see her at all the next day. I had visions of her fleeing with her mother back to the safety of wherever home was—LA, I presumed. I spent more time by the pool that day than usual for me, wanting to be in plain sight when she sought me out. I could feel my skin beginning to heat and rushed into my room for a long cool shower.
I was a little sullen that night and passed on my usual evening hot tub. I passed on jerking off, as well. I just didn’t feel up to it.
I went out to the pool the next morning and settled into a lounge chair in the shade. I had my coffee and my clipboard and was ready to do some serious work. Unfortunately, my mind kept wandering and I found myself staring vacantly into space.
“Are you staring at my boobs?” a harsh woman’s voice jerked my mind back from its reverie. I focused on the woman five feet in front of me. She was attractive, no question. She packed a few extra pounds on her five-four frame, but it wasn’t unsightly in a comparably modest two-piece bathing suit. I caught a glimpse of Angie standing a few feet away, watching. Ah. This must be the mother. Well, I was ‘offering’ to take her daughter off her hands for a few months. I figured I might as well brazen it out.
“I apologize, ma’am. I certainly would be happy to stare at your boobs, but I’m wearing my reading glasses and you would need to bring them much closer.” There was an awkward moment of silence before her laugh echoed around the low-walled pool. She looked over at Angie and made a shooing gesture. Angie left and I saw her lie down on a lounger across the pool, still looking toward us.
“So, you are the dirty old man who wants my daughter naked in your travel trailer,” she said.
“Well, I confess to being a dirty old man,” I said. “However, being naked is simply a condition of traveling with me—not an invitation to assuage my prurient interests.”
“How well-spoken,” she said. “As you might have guessed, I am Angie’s mother, Margaret. I take my daughter’s well-being and safety very seriously.”
“If Angie has told you that a condition of traveling with me was to be naked in my trailer, then I have to assume that she told you the rest of my rules and requirements.”
“Right down to and including you forbidding her to come until she had answered you. Frankly, I was relieved that you are still here. If you had left before she answered you, I’m afraid my daughter would never have climaxed again.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Now, I want to know all about you and your intentions. I want to know what kind of man you are. I want to know if I trust you with my daughter, because Lord! she is gone on you.”
We talked. Margaret was charming and witty and nearly as sexy as her daughter. I told her of the accident on the staircase and of my sudden realization that Angie craved being submissive. I considered that a dangerous situation and thought that if I gave her a little of what she needed, it might help her to settle so she could think straight.
“That’s her father’s fault, the rat bastard,” Margaret said. In spite of her words, there didn’t seem to be any real sting behind them.
“Did he abuse her?”
“Oh heavens, no! He doted on her—adored her—and the feeling was returned. But she looked to him for everything. His approval. His instruction. His love—and not a sexual love. He genuinely loved her as a father loves a daughter. Sometimes, I admit I was jealous,” Margaret said. “We lost him two years ago. It was quick. A heart attack at two in the afternoon and at two-thirty, I was a widow and she was an orphan. It left her without an anchor. I was afraid she’d go with any man who could fill his place.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. Both of you.”
“Thank you. That was the problem with her last boyfriend,” Margaret continued. “He stepped into her father’s shoes to order her around, but had none of the moral fiber of her father. He pushed her to try drugs. That was the last straw. I can’t tell you how thankful I was that she had the spine to reject him when it came to that. I was worried, but I’m more pleased with her ability to make a decision.”
“I found her to be an amazing girl. When we talked, which is what we spent most of our time together doing, I found she was articulate, educated, funny, and pleasant company. She is definitely a young woman I would love to spend more time with.”
“Naked in your bed.”
“I confess, that appeals to me as well, but I won’t push her to that.”
“Well, remember that your initial assessment was correct. She is an amazing girl. Physically, she is twenty-two years old—twenty-three in January. Emotionally, she is still a teenager, trying on life, like a new pair of shoes, to see what fits.”
“I seem to detect that you are tending toward approving her travels with me.”
“Nearly. There is one more thing, though. Could we go someplace more private to discuss this?”
Call me naïve or an idiot. Both fit. I was seriously out of practice, to say the least. I led Margaret to my room and invited her inside. I asked if I could get her a cold water to drink and bent to the refrigerator to get a bottle. When I turned around, Margaret was standing in front of me, stark naked.
“Angie told me you considered your room to be a fabric free zone,” Margaret stated. “Well, now you can bring your reading glasses over here for a closer look.”
I handed Margaret her water and stripped out of my swimming trunks and T-shirt. I led her to the sofa and offered her a towel to sit on.
“I’m not really likely to leak on the sofa,” she laughed, “but God knows what might already be lurking in the cushions. Thank you.” We settled in and continued our discussion. There was really nothing new in what we talked about and I sensed that she was really interested in whether I could sit with a naked woman and keep my hands to myself. In other words, if I was what I said I was. I was surprised when she turned the conversation to sex, but not shocked.
“Angie tells me that you won’t order her to have sex with you. Is that true?”
“The only way Angie and I will ever have sex is if she asks, and there may be conditions to that.”
“So, if I asked you to have sex with me now, what are the conditions you would impose?”
“Margaret, when was the last time you were tested for STDs?”
“What? I’ve never needed to be tested. I was faithful to my husband and have done without for the past two years. Actually, for close to a year before that.”
“As likely as that makes it that you are disease free, before I had unprotected intercourse with you, I would insist on a blood test.”
“Unprotected.”
“I do have condoms. I even have little blue pills if they are needed, though I suspect they wouldn’t be. But Margaret, there is another condition.”
“What?”
“No, why? Why do you want to have sex with me? There are many reasons I can think of that are good reasons and several I can think of that are not good reasons. Because I don’t expect this to go any further, I’ll say that among the good reasons are that you are horny, lonely, in love, or curious. Of the not good reasons, the worst are that you want to put me in my place, you think I expect it of you, or that you want to spoil the experience for your daughter. I suspect, frankly, that it is the latter.”
“Then, Mr. Aroslav, you suspect wrongly.” I noted that she changed from the familiar address of Ari to the formal way her daughter referred to me. I’d have to figure that out eventually. “I’ve no reason to believe that you expect it of me,” she continued. “I would never try to spoil an experience for my daughter, nor do I think that my having sex with you would affect her decisions in the least. I am not sure what your place is, so I am the last person who should attempt to put you there.”
“Then why?”
“You covered a few of them. I am horny and lonely. I miss the days when Angelo, my husband, made love to me. I’ve missed them for more years than he’s been gone. I won’t pretend that I love you nor that I’m particularly curious. I know what sex is like and one man or another, there can’t be that much difference.”
“Would you like me to help with the first two of your issues?”
“You are a kind and attractive man, Ari. If you can put your reading glasses aside and not look too closely at what you are getting, I’d like very much to have sex with you.”
“I’ve never been able to do that.”
“Put your reading glasses aside?”
“Have sex. All I really know is how to make love.”
I pulled Margaret toward me and softly kissed her lips. She turned her body and settled into my arms before lifting her face for me to kiss her again.
Frankly, it had been a while. Actually, a long time. Aside from my brief encounter with Alice, I’d not touched a woman sexually for close to four years before my latest divorce. I was savoring each taste of her lips, the tip of her tongue, the depths of her mouth. Margaret was an experienced kisser and joined enthusiastically. For a long time, we were content to just kiss on the sofa, my hand softly stroking her side and occasionally rising over the mound of her breast. It flattened slightly against her chest meeting gravity’s demands. She had large round areolae and dark nipples that had gradually awakened to rise from the softer flesh. She sighed.
“I don’t think my nipples have been erect in years,” she said. “Not since menopause anyway. Everything kind of shriveled up then.” I bent my head trailing kisses down her neck, shoulder, and across her breast, finally flicking the nipple lightly with my tongue. Her sigh turned to a soft moan as she pressed her breast upward into my mouth. “So long. So good.”
As nice as it was to have her lying back in my lap, the position on the sofa had defined much of what I could do to bring her pleasure and it was not enough. I scooped my right arm under her butt and lifted her so I could stand and carry her to the bedroom. I’ve discovered that on a long lonely drive of a few hundred miles you can do several thousand stomach pulses, tightening and strengthening the abs as you watch the country go by. It doesn’t reduce any layer of fat over the muscles, but it strengthens the core enough that I could stand and lift her without throwing my back out.
“Oh, no! I’m too heavy to do that,” she gasped and put her arms tightly around my neck.
“Hush. If I can do it, you are not too heavy.”
“Then could I ask a moment to use the toilet before you get me all the way into your lair?”
“Of course, fair maiden. The dragon awaits.” I set her gently on her feet next to the bathroom door and stroked all the way up her body as I stood up. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. I continued into the bedroom and used the opportunity to straighten and turn down the bed. I heard the toilet flush and the water run. As I tightened the sheets, she slipped up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. She caressed my chest and let her hand drift to my lower abdomen. She eventually found what she was looking for, but it was a disappointment to her.
“You’re not…”
“Right now, I’m interested in you,” I said. “It takes more, however, than merely being in the presence of a pretty woman for me to be ready. On the other hand, you will know when I am ready.”
I turned in her arms and kissed her again and she felt the stirrings of what she’d been looking for. We moved onto the bed and arranged ourselves so that we could roll in whichever direction passion moved us. And passion began to move us.
Margaret was a hungry lover. She didn’t kiss with her lips as much as try to swallow my mouth. I let her have her way and our tongues coupled. I explored her body with my hands as we kissed, hefting her breasts, petting her ass, reaching between her legs. She had been in a bathing suit most of the week at the spa and, while not shaved smooth like I suspected her daughter was, she was tightly trimmed and her lips opened in invitation. The pathway was moist which was as much as I expected.
A Long Time Ago: Great Skills
Treasure was a gourmand of oral sex—giving and receiving.
We’d begun our relationship as professionals and then began to socialize. We’d had a couple of sweet kisses and it seemed that our dating was going along well when we went out to dinner about four weeks after we started dating. We were still catching up on discarding former relationships and building the lives we wanted to live. It was during a lively and funny conversation over dinner that she surprised me with a question.
“What’s your greatest skill?”
Our conversation had been light and flirtatious. I hesitated, but finally decided she wasn’t looking for my ability to correctly identify all twelve tenses in the English language. This was definitely going into new territory for us.
“I can peel a grape with my tongue,” I said. I could tell by the way she gulped that it had the right effect. But she didn’t miss a beat as she looked into my eyes.
“I don’t have a gag reflex.”
That started an extremely satisfactory sexual relationship that had been all I needed for the better part of twenty years—even through the dry times. Oral sex was a pleasure to both of us. Eventually, she had begun turning her back to me when I initiated intimacy.
“You can rub your cock on my ass tonight. Go ahead. I don’t mind. You can owe me one this time.”
Foolishly, I believed her. It wasn’t long before all sex was me rubbing my cock in her crack. She didn’t even like me to hold her breasts. But she kept insisting, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.” I ended up owing her for each one.
Things progress slowly and you don’t realize how your relationship has changed over the course of a couple years. I became a master of a quick come so as not to inconvenience her for too long. Eventually, I realized that using my hand was more satisfying and I quit cuddling up against her ass at all. It got down to birthday cunnilingus. And then nothing.
I’d sworn that I would never be deceived about what a woman wanted again. ‘Go ahead’ and ‘I don’t mind’ became big red letter words in all capitals that had signs pointing to them saying ‘LIES!’
Back to Margaret
Whatever it was that Margaret wanted from me, it wasn’t being used as a dump for my pleasure.
“Ari, again. Lick me again!” Margaret called out. What was the old Woody Allen line? I should have feeling in my lips again sometime next week. But what the hell? I had my face buried in a very tasty and enthusiastic pussy for the first time in a very long time. I was making the most of it. And by Margaret’s first orgasm, I was hard as a rock and stayed that way as I slipped a condom on.
She shuddered under me as another wave overtook her.
“Now,” she whispered. “Please make love to me, Ari. I didn’t know I could be so ready for a man. I’m ready. I want you.”
I moved up her body sprinkling kisses as I went. As soon as she could reach it, Margaret had hold of my cock and guided it directly into her pussy. I slipped in without hindrance and buried myself deep within her.
Once I was in her, we slowed down. I slowed down because it had been so long since I’d felt the inside of a woman that I wanted to savor every moment. She slowed down because she had what she wanted right then. She affirmed that with panted words. “Yes. Good. Oh yes. So deep. Yes.” From the immediate orgasms that Margaret had when I went down on her, we had progressed to a long slow build as we moved together.
We kissed and her kisses no longer held the ravenous desperation of the first few, but were calmer. Yet more intense. We’d been in the missionary position since the beginning. I think Margaret wanted to experience the submissive posture, though I somehow didn’t think that was how her relationship with her husband had gone. For my part, I found this position to be one that sped my climax, so I slowed down and pulled her with me as I rolled to my back.
“Yes!” she said as she began posting on me. “I love it like this!” I thrust up into her to meet her bounces and realized this wasn’t going to slow me down that much. Note to self: Work on prolonging my orgasm. I’d worked too many years on speeding it up.
Nonetheless, Margaret had become sloppy wet and we were making enough noise where we were connected to think that we were sloshing in the bathtub. She went first and the orgasm as she ground her clit against my pubic bone was double what I’d achieved with my tongue. That delicious heat and pressure combined to trigger my release and a minute after her, I filled the condom with more come than I thought I was able to produce. It had been so long. So long since I’d come in a woman.
We lay in the afterglow, holding and stroking each other. I’d long since slipped out of her and she showed no inclination to restart the engine. Our kisses were light. We pulled a sheet over us to settle for the night.
“I think,” Margaret sighed, “that I might be ready to start dating again. I can’t expect that there are a lot of Aroslavs out there just waiting to satisfy mature women, but perhaps I can find one in the greater Los Angeles area. Now that I know the species exists, I know how to target my search. Thank you, Ari.”
“Thank you, Margaret. Perhaps someone is waiting for me as well.”
“Will you be able to provide what Angie wants? She needs you far more than I did. But it will be a challenge to you. You have a great deal of discipline, but my daughter can be… problematic. She’ll push you. She knew that her submissiveness to her father was also a way to manipulate him. He would do anything for her.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is going to be to have a beautiful, naked twenty-two-year-old blonde living in my little trailer?” I laughed. “But somebody’s got to do it. I’ll sacrifice myself to the cause.”
“It will do her good to see exactly how hard it is,” Margaret laughed, giving my cock a little stroke.
“We need to meet and go over the details. Tomorrow is Saturday and we have to leave the resort on Sunday,” I said.
“Kiss me one more time, Ari. Then I’ll go to my room and tell my daughter that she can bring her answer to you in the morning. Do you want her here?”
“Might as well start here and see if she hesitates over the rules.”
“Fabric free? I’d like to see that.”
“You should be here, too. It will show her how serious I am.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to have a naked mother and daughter to assuage your lusts, old man?” she laughed.
“Hmm. The implications of that image hadn’t quite hit me. But I’m not into intergenerational incest. Let’s keep it calm and talk about the rules and how things will work. Okay?” I said.
“I have no complaints about that. I am sure she will want to move in with you tomorrow. Will you be okay with that?” she asked.
“A night in each other’s company before we move into the limited space of the trailer will probably be a good thing. We’ll play it by ear, but that’s how we’ll plan it.”
“Then goodnight, Ari. I’ll let myself out. Don’t get out of bed. I want to remember you with that freshly fucked look.”
Margaret left the room. There is something about watching a woman’s ass walk away from me that is almost as good as watching her tits walk toward me. I drifted off to a very pleasant sleep.
I just had coffee and toast for breakfast. Condo kitchens are supposed to be fully equipped, but I found that I couldn’t do without my Chemex coffee pot and my own grind from Trader Joe’s. I’d have to stock up on coffee when I headed east. I didn’t think there were any more TJs until I reached Florida. But the one appliance that I didn’t have in my trailer and missed was a toaster. I’d picked up a loaf of crusty peasant bread and cut thick slices to toast in the condo. I slathered butter on it and sprinkled a light coating of cinnamon and sugar over that. I guess I can be decadent when I choose to be.
I was sitting on a towel in the reading chair by the window when I heard the knock. It was precisely nine o’clock and I wondered how much Margaret had to restrain Angie to get her to wait that long.
I checked to be sure it was Angie before I opened the door. Her mother entered the room behind her.
“Good morning, Angie. Welcome. Good morning, Margaret. Please come in.”
“Good morning, Mr. Aroslav,” Angie began. “I’ve come to give you my answer and tell you…” I cut her off by placing a finger against her lips. She was startled and raised her eyebrows at me.
“You’re forgetting something, Angie,” I said. I glanced down at the very pretty sundress she was wearing. It left her shoulders bare and the loose skirt stopped about halfway down her thighs. It was a bright yellow plaid and it looked lovely on her. She’d taken the time to apply a light amount of makeup and her skin fairly glowed. A matching bow was in her blonde hair that otherwise hung loose around her shoulders. Very fetching. She wore flat sandals.
For the first time, Angie really focused on me and saw that I was nude. She caught her breath and reached for the bodice of her sundress. She turned quickly to look at her mother and got the shock of her life. As soon as she’d come through the door, Margaret had stripped off her shirt and shorts and was standing behind her daughter naked with her clothes dangling from one finger.
“Oh!” Angie squeaked. “You’re… It’s… You…” She unzipped the little dress, looking a little frightened as she held it to her and gazed into my eyes. I tried to stay relaxed and neutral and could see her eyes relax as well. Instead of fear, there was just a little shyness. She let the dress fall to the floor and stepped out of it. She wore a matching pair of yellow bikini panties, and frankly I was glad to see it wasn’t a thong. She’d been dressed as if to go out shopping, not to go out hooking. I kept my eyes on hers, even though it was a struggle. I would take my time thoroughly staring at her ripe, lush body later. Right now, though, this had to stay casual and simply be accepted as the rule of the house.
She pushed her panties down and took off the sandals as she slipped the undergarment off her feet. I could see her struggling with the effort not to use her arms and hands to try to cover herself but she could see that my eyes were locked on hers.
“Mr…” she paused long enough to reach up and pull the ribbon from her hair. It joined her clothes on the floor. “Mr. Aroslav, I would like to accept your offer to travel with you for a while. I accept your rules and will be obedient in return for your protection and care.”
“Angie, I’m happy to tentatively accept you, pending the three of us working out the details of the arrangement today. I don’t think there will be any problem. You might want to pick up your pretty dress and fold it,” I said. She smiled and quickly turned to pick up her clothes from where she’d let them fall. What a view. Watching that ass as she bent, would be enough to fill dreams for a month. Only I wasn’t going to have to dream about it. Her mother was smirking at me. I rolled my eyes. Angie obediently folded her clothes and stacked them on her mother’s clothes on the dining table.
“Thank you, sir,” Angie said, rushing to me. She flung her arms around me and pressed those beautiful breasts into my chest. It was all I could do to force myself to pry her off me. She looked slightly embarrassed, but I thought the flush might have another cause. She was tense and rubbed her legs together. How far was she willing to go?
“You may come now, Angie,” I said softly. I nodded toward the towel-covered sofa. She hesitated only a moment then flung herself down on the towel, spread her legs and jammed her fingers into her bare pussy. I ignored her and went to embrace Margaret. She found me responding to her naked hug and gentle kiss.
“That was brilliant,” she whispered. Behind me I heard Angie squeal as she brought herself off on the sofa. I turned and saw her lying there with one hand still idly rubbing her pussy while the other twiddled a beautiful pink nipple.
“Now,” I said, cheerily, “who would like a cup of coffee? I also have juice and toast. We’ll sit at the table to work out the details and then all go out to lunch.” I completely ignored the fact that Angie had just had a screaming orgasm a few steps away and was dripping onto the towels. “If you need to freshen up, dear, the bathroom is just in there,” I said. Angie looked at herself, grabbed the towel she was sitting on, and ran to the bathroom.
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