Unknown - Her brute master

I nodded my head.

"So, it would better if they were not to see you, yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So you will spend all of tomorrow in the pleasure room."

"Yes, Master. I understand."

He left that afternoon after packing some clothes and His papers from His office. I said good-bye to Him at the front door and He kissed me on the mouth. I was too thrilled for words. He had never kissed me before. I took it as a gesture of acceptance as well as affection. My life and relationship with Him were both looking up.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, preparing my French homework. The irony of my studying the French language at the same time that my master was giving me such painstaking instruction in French love was not lost on me.

That night I made myself a light supper in the massive downstairs kitchen. Just a little salad and cold cuts was all I could eat. As happy as I was living in my master's house, I nevertheless felt a little intimidated being in it alone. It was so big, so forbidding, I was afraid of breaking or spoiling something by accident.

I quickly retreated back up to my own little quarters. I felt safe and secure there. I felt as though they were my own home, my own little nest. I got undressed and snuggled down in my bed to watch a little television before drifting off to sleep. I was as happy as I'd ever been.

The next morning I got up with the sun. Bright, clear rays of sunshine were slanting into the room, the clock said six-thirty and I felt marvelous. I yawned, stretched and jumped out of bed. I pulled a soft silk robe over my shoulders and skipped down the stairs to fix myself some coffee and cereal for breakfast.

The house seemed less intimidating in the daytime, more manageable. I munched a bowl of cold cereal while the coffee was brewing. Absently, my hand cupped my breast and tweaked my nipple while late.

My new-found sexual freedom was a revelation to me. I had always enjoyed sex before, but it was like dessert, something special that I gave myself only occasionally. Now, under the tutelage of my new master, sexual pleasure was quickly turning into the main course of my life's banquet. I was becoming a hedonist, a libertine and I liked it. It was completely against all my training.

Like most girls my age I had been taught that sex was something dangerous and dirty. If you did it too much you either got pregnant, venereal disease, or, at the very least, a bad reputation. This new freedom my master had given me was intoxicating to me. I wondered if, as it seemed, He was willing to let me fully explore this new freedom, or if He wanted to fully control me.

I went to the front door and retrieved the morning paper from the stoop. I peeked out through the peep-hole before opening the door. I was still naked and didn't want anyone to see me. There was no one in sight. I brought it back in and was just sitting down to read it over my second cup of coffee when a sudden noise made me freeze.

I listened carefully. An automobile was pulling into the driveway. I looked out the window. Of course! It was the cleaning crew. He told me they were coming that day, I just hadn't expected them to be so early. I ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, just as they were coming through the back door.

I ran to the pleasure room and locked myself in. Leaning against the door I tried to catch my breath and be completely silent. My pulse was racing. I don't know why I was so scared. I had every right to be there. I belonged in that house as much as or even more than they did. Nevertheless, my knees were shaking as if I were a thief.

Gradually I calmed myself down. I decided to try to distract myself until the cleaners left. Unfortunately, there were no books in the pleasure room, only some magazines.

I sat down in the armchair and leafed through the magazines. I had never seen anything like them before. There was no text, only pictures. They showed men and women, mostly women, engaged in love-making. They were doing things I was familiar with, some other things I had only just learned about from my new master, and some other things I had never even imagined.

In one magazine, beautiful young women were shown making love to one another. I thought about my afternoon with Mandy. I was pleased and relieved that my master apparently enjoyed seeing women loving one another. I wondered if Mandy would like to come for a visit, probably not. I wondered if He knew any women like Mandy, probably.

A second magazine had pictures of what I would call "straight" sex, men and women exploring each other's bodies in every conceivable way, with their mouths, with their genitals, everything. I had never considered feet to be particularly erotic, but one series of pictures showing a young man kissing and sucking his partner's toes got me very excited. I was intrigued, I wondered how it must feel to have a warm, wet tongue playing in the cracks between my toes. In the final picture of that particular series, we were shown the woman masturbating the man with her feet. There was no mistaking the look of pleasure on her face as she manipulated, (podipulated?), him to orgasm. There was equally no mistaking his obvious pleasure because the camera had caught him in mid-ejaculation.

Another magazine had pictures of other women, these were not so pretty as the first two. In fact, they looked like what I imagined whores and prostitutes must look like, tired and uninterested in what, to anyone else, would be either fascinating or disgusting. I was torn between the two emotions. The women were, how can I describe it, making love to animals. I wanted to put the magazine down, tear it up, burn it, anything, but I could not. I was held in awe. How could anyone do such a thing? What looked natural and exciting between two women, or between a man and a woman, in this context was repulsive, and exciting, nevertheless. I was horrified at my fascination with this perversion.

I put the magazine down and went to the window, wanting to clear my mind. Outside, it was clear summer day in Southern California. I opened the window and drank in the cool morning air. Goosebumps prickled on my skin and I crossed my arms over my breasts. Birds sang their sweet serenade oblivious to civilization and its discontents and uncertainties. I leaned back against the window frame, enjoying the sun and air on my skin and face.

My mind drifted back to morality, what is perversion? How much is too much? What is normal? If I had already drifted this far into the realm of the senses, what was my destination? When and where would I stop? Would I one day enjoy what I now despised?

I tried to will my consciousness to drift out of my body. I wanted to fly away with the birds, to have no thought but to live my life with no control, no thought, no judgment. I closed my eyes and concentrated my attention on the feel of the sun on my skin. I relaxed into the nurturing warmth of it. I heard my breath sighing in my ears, the wind rustled the trees. I let my vocal chords hum with my breath.

Another humming crept into my consciousness without my awareness, a soft, steady, droning hum. Gradually it increased in volume until I became aware of it as an intrusion. Simultaneously I had the sensation of being watched. I felt someone's eyes on me.

I opened mine slowly. I peered through the narrow slits of my eyelids at the shimmering green lawn before me. Near the house, holding a pair of electric shears, was a young man with dark skin. He was looking directly up at me. I froze there, numb and startled. For some reason, unknown to myself, I was afraid.

He was just the housekeeper, after all. I was a guest more than an employee, wasn't I? Didn't I have a perfect right to be there? Why was I edging slowly away from the window? Why was he watching me like that? Why, oh, why had I let him see me? Why did I stand in the window?