Chapter One

 

It wasn't unusual for Tyler and me to make out on the sofa. The living room was very comfortable and cozy, with several upholstered chairs and a sofa gathered around the fireplace. My father was a doctor and my mother was a lawyer and they worked long hours so we often had to place to ourselves with a pretty good degree of confidence that it would remain that way and we would be interrupted.

Still, it was unusual for him to strip me completely naked there on the sofa. He was usually the one more worried about my parents walking in than I was. Mind you, he kept all his clothes on. It felt kind of exciting to be naked as I wriggled in his lap and his hands stroked and caressed my body.

It was unusual for me to be naked and him fully clothed, as well. And that added a strange little novelty to our sex play that was exciting for some reason. He was certainly doing his best to give me a sense of excitement, too. His hands were paying careful attention to the parts of my body he knew liked to be stroked and rolled and caressed and I was starting to heat up pretty good.

"So tell me how the modeling lessons are going," he asked out of the blue.

It seemed odd that he had pulled his mouth off my throbbing nipples to ask that and I looked at him a little confused at first, breathing heavily as he used his fingers to call my bangs away from my face.

"Fine," I gulped.

"Maybe you can get some jobs with that."

I looked at him with further confusion. The modeling lessons weren't so I could get a job as a model and he knew that. They were a handy way for me to learn fashion and how to look after my hair and do makeup expertly as well as give me the kind of graceful, fluid movements that I wanted. I wasn't tall enough to be a model, and he knew that too.

"I don't want to be a model," I said.

Frankly, I thought that was beneath me. Models were airheads. Not their fault entirely. They lived off their looks. They were praised constantly for how they looked. They started modeling when they were barely adolescents and knew very little else.

I just finished my first year at Princeton where I was taking prelaw. No, I had no intention of being a model. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate that I was attractive. Any girl who says otherwise is lying. I have a well-toned, lithe body that is slender but nicely rounded in all the right places.

I've never had to dye my hair. I've been tempted a few times to see what it would be like to be a blonde or redhead, but my hair is this wonderful shade of hickory and is soft and full and rich because it's never known a lot of chemicals. It falls beautifully down past my shoulders and I'm quite proud of it. I think it's my best feature.

Of course, Tyler thought my best features were my breasts. But he was a guy, and that's what you expect from guys. They're nice breasts, don't get me wrong. But there was something about the idea of being proud of your body that I cringed away from. It was too much like those airhead models.

That doesn't mean I'm not pleased when I look at myself naked, or when he or some other guy sees me in a sexy dress and gets that look. You know, the look that says they think you're super-hot. It doesn't mean I'm not pleased to the point of being excited when I undressed before them and I see how I look in their eyes. I try not to be a narcissist but I am a girl, after all.

Yes, I'm hot. Nature has been generous to me. I have excellent DNA. Not that I haven't had anything to do with it. I do take care of my hair and body, after all. I'm fit and toned for a reason and it's not because I eat hamburgers and sit around on my ass all day.

But I have been raised by my parents and school and in a culture that says I should want to be valued for my intelligence and personality and skills, not my freaking breasts or butt or legs. That conflicts at times with my inner nature but I try to live up to the standards of a confident, educated liberal woman of the 21^st century.

"You should try it. I bet you'd make a great bikini model," he said. "You look great in a thong. Maybe you can be a lingerie model."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Is this leading up to letting you take dirty pictures of me?"

"Of course not," he said far too innocently.

"Because I think I've made myself clear on that."

It wasn't that I didn't trust him, exactly. But he is a guy, and far too proud of himself for having an attractive girlfriend. He likes showing me off to, and I usually don't mind that. But if he had a topless picture of me, I couldn't be absolutely sure he wouldn't show it to his best buds.

"I wasn't even thinking of that," he protested.

"Then what?"

"So is this modeling stuff helping you out?"

The question was a little uncomfortable because I was after all taking lessons and in to make myself look attractive. I didn't really think anything was wrong with that but it did go somewhat against the grain of my feminist liberal beliefs.

"It helps teach me how to walk gracefully, and improves my balance."

"I don't remember ever seeing anything wrong with the way you walk."

"It's not a matter of being wrong. It's a matter of being better."

"So let's see you display your balance."

"Like what?" I asked suspiciously.

"I was watching a demonstration someone was making on the Internet about great balance. You squat down and you put your hands on top of your head."

"And?"

"And that's it. But you hold it. Not as easy as it seems."

I looked at him doubtfully, still wondering why the hell he had brought this up in the middle of us having fun.

"It's not hard," I said in annoyance.

I slipped off his lap and onto the floor then squatted down my hands on my head.

"Oh, I forgot, you have to raise your heels in the air and only squat on the balls of your feet," he said.

"So now you tell me," I said with a frown.

I rose up unsteadily on the balls of my feet.

"Your knees are supposed to be kind of wide apart," he said casually.

I should've been more suspicious of that, but after all, it wasn't like he needed me to pose in some way to see me in all my graphic beauty. He'd spent enough time between my legs performing oral sex on me. So I carefully spread my knees apart and balanced there on the balls of my feet kind of sitting on my raised heels.

Obviously, it wasn't the kind of pose I would've made in front of strangers, not naked anyway. I wasn't blind to the fact I was naked with my legs spread apart. But it was just Tyler there.

"How long am I supposed to stay like this," I asked.

"It was a competition. As long as they could."

"Why?"

"Because they were ordered to."

I looked at him in confusion.

"By their masters," he said.

What in the hell was he going on about?

"The first girl who fell or gave in got a spanking," he said with a grin.

The light dawned on me. He'd probably seen this in some kind of porn video. At first, I was irritated and indignant. And then at least I understood why while making out with me naked he was suddenly thinking of something like this. And I could see the appreciative look in his eyes as they drank me in while I squatted like that with my knees apart and my hands raised above my head to pull the skin tighter across my breasts.

Well, as I said, it isn't that I don't appreciate being appreciated for my looks in the right context. And so I looked back at him and saw the approval and hunger in his eyes and felt a little ripple of excitement roll through me.

Ordered to? Masters? This was some kind of a submission and dominance thing? Yes, I supposed I could see that; a naked girl ordered to pose like this by her 'master'. I could see it as some kind of fantasy, anyway. And I could certainly understand where Tyler would have a fantasy about being able to order me around! Ha! As if!

"And what does the winner get out of it?" I asked.

"As I recall, she got to lay back and have the loser perform oral sex on her."

"So it seems to me like this is some kind of perverted male sex fantasy. Am I right?"

"Well, I don't know about perverted. Perverted would be a weird sexual thought. I don't think there are too many guys who wouldn't like to see you like this so it's not really perverted."

"Presuming that most guys aren't perverts," I said dryly.

Still, my nipples were tingling and hard, and some part of me was certainly enjoying putting on a little show for him. It's not like it was beneath me to try and turn on my boyfriend.

"And you like what you see... Master?" I asked mockingly.

"Oh yeah," he said enthusiastically.

That was flattering but a little confusing.

"You've seen me naked lots of times," I said.

"And always enjoy it."

I had spent years doing Irish dancing, and since a lot of that involved strong use of dancing on your toes and the balls of your feet, as well as a lot of leaping, the exercises I had practiced and still did involved strengthening my calf muscles, as well as my ankles and the many small muscles at the bottom of my feet. I never really change those exercises so I was confident I could do this for a while. Still, I could feel the strain on my instep.

"I bet you'd like to take a picture of me now," I teased.

"Can I?"

"Absolutely not. You just have to remember it."

"I'm not likely to forget it anytime soon."

I was starting to enjoy turning him on so easily. I mean I wasn't doing anything except sitting on my heels like this. But I could see his reaction, and though it confused me to an extent, I liked it. Who doesn't like your boyfriend getting turned on just by looking at you?

I sensed there was more to it than that, though. It wasn't just my body, as well displayed as it was just then. It was something about this position he was enjoying and I don't mean my legs apart. Like I said, he'd spent enough time between them to get used to what I look like down there.

"And what other positions were these girls were ordered to be in?" I asked.

"A few," he said hesitantly.

He's hiding something, I thought.

"Like what?"

"Well... One had to sit on the edge of a hard chair with her hands behind her neck and her back arched."

"I'm guessing her legs were spread open," I said dryly.

"Yup. Also, she was kind of raised up on the balls of her feet too."

This would give me an excuse to change positions, at least. And I was interested in seeing just how turned on these things made him. I mean, he'd been enjoying fondling my naked body, so surely he should want to do that again rather than just looking at me posing. This was definitely worth exploring.

I pushed myself to my feet and dropped my arms, then went into the front hall and took the hardback chair from there, carrying it back in and setting it down a few feet in front of him. Then I sat down on the edge, pulling my legs apart and rising onto the balls of my feet as I put my hands behind my neck.

"Arch your back and raise your chin more," he said, his voice sounding excited.

I was a bit mystified at first, but then I thought I realized what this was all about. This was about control and power. This was about the idea of a master ordering his beautiful slave girl to pose in a very sexually provocative position for him and hold it.

It wasn't the position itself that was so interesting but the idea of being able to order it. That was what was turning him on. Being able to pose me like some slutty little Barbie doll. That offended me to some extent but it was also very intriguing. Because you see, what turns men on is in turn what gives women power. I'm talking about sexual power. So in a sense, this was also about how I could control or reward him.

Yes, he was objectifying my body, but I wasn't that hardcore a feminist. I realize there is no way around what nature built into us. We both objectify each other's bodies in certain ways. And really this is more about him pretending to be in a position of control, sexual control. Again, this probably should have offended me, and if I was more of a feminist it would have. Instead, it kind of amused me.

Because he would never have that control in reality, of course. And we both knew. But a little teasing and gameplaying wasn't exactly something I felt I needed to shy away from.

"Wait!" he said excitedly, jumping up from his seat. "Don't move!"

He ran upstairs and I lost sight of him on the staircase. If he came down with a camera he was going to be in big trouble. But this was my house, and he would know where my father's camera was. Plus he had his cell phone sitting right on the table beside him. Where the hell was he going? The bathroom? There was one downstairs.

I started to relax but then hesitated as I felt a little flutter of excitement. The idea that I had to maintain this position by my master was a silly thing given modern cultural mores. But as a sexual fantasy, it could be quite delicious.

I had had my share of sexual fantasies in my life, of course. Being a slave girl had never been among them. But I had certainly had plenty where I was being forced to do things that I would never normally do in life. Some of them had been rather rough.

He hurried back downstairs and entered the living room, circling around the sofa to come over to where I sat. I felt a little jolt as I recognize what he held in his hand. It was a vibrator. It was one we had experimented with once or twice. It was comparatively small. The way it worked was it slipped inside you and when it vibrated it was right against your G spot behind her clitoris. It also worked with a phone app that would allow someone else to control it.

He knew where it was because he had seen me take it out and put it away the last time we had used it and I had not used it since. It was because we had been playing games in public, and he had been less than obedient to my demands to turn it off in certain situations. I very much value my dignity and had almost had public orgasms.

I scowled at him as he brought it over and knelt in front of me. "I told you I wasn't going to use that again," I said.

"Yes but were inside and alone now," he said.

I scowled at him but I was still intrigued and wanted to explore this further so I leaned back in the chair, consciously arching way back and raising my knees lifting to give him a good view. I felt his fingers at my sex stroking and massaging then the vibrator was turned on and rather than pushing it into me, he rubbed it slowly back and forth against my clit.

Since I was already a little turned on the effect was fairly quick and I gulped in air as I felt my chest tightening. I was also well aware I was in a very graphic and obscene position, arched very sharply back with my knees raised and spread as far apart as they would go. He had a very good view there on his knees.

But that was fine with me as long as he was making some good use of it. And he was. His finger slipped inside me, and he had a large finger. He pumped it slowly in and out as he rubbed the vibrator against my clit. I was rocked back on my tailbone, my knees high and apart, my feet in midair now as he slid a second finger inside me.

He took his fingers out and then worked the vibrator up inside. It was an oddly shaped thing, kind of like a large, elongated sperm complete with a tail. The tail stuck out as a kind of antenna; I think. And as the vibrator buzzed inside me he leaned in and began to lick my clitoris.

Well! It didn't take very long before I was starting to pant helplessly, heat flooding through my body as my breasts swelled and my nipples tingled hotly. But then he drew back and sat back down.