“Don’t apologize!” she interrupted him emphatically, and he jumped in surprise. “No, it’s not about that. It was great. You told me what I could do to make you happy, and I did. That’s all I want.”
He looked at her. Sexy little Emily Turner, her slender body quite literally on display for his enjoyment, asking him to let her make him happy. It was insane—as insane as his power had first been to him. Was it evolving? That seemed unlikely—nobody else had behaved like this. Ashley had been good to him, but that was probably just her getting to act out her kinks. Probably. Maybe this was just Emily’s kink? He’d heard that there was such a thing as a submissive, but he’d never really had a thing for dominating women as a concept before, and in any event, he never expected to actually encounter one. But it definitely made more sense than anything else coming to mind. Plus, he considered, if she really was a sub, he could just ask her. So he did.
“So, are you like, a submissive? Is that it—you get off on being told what to do, that kind of thing?”
“If that’s what you want me to be,” she replied deferentially. An odd answer, but it seemed like a “yes.” Still…
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? Whatever I said before, whatever I did, I don’t expect you to come down here and… you know. Be my sex slave, or whatever.”
She shivered slightly. “No, I have to. I want it. I need it. Please tell me how to make you happy. Whatever it is. Anything you want, I’ll do it. Please.”
Man, she’s really into this. Well, if she put herself out there like this, the least I can do is humor her. “Well for starters, then, why don’t you call me ‘master.’”
Her eyes darted up, giving him a hard look that made him worry he’d pushed it too far, read her wrong somehow. But then the look was gone in a flash, replaced by a look of deference so earnest he thought he must’ve imagined the first part. “Yes, master.”
“Man, I’ve never had my own, um, slave before. Not sure what to do with one. I’d have had you clean the room, but you beat me to the punch I guess.” He chuckled awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, master. Would you like me not to try to anticipate your desires in the future?”
“No no, it’s fine, uh, slave. Geez that’s awkward—hard to get that word out without it conjuring all kinds of unpleasant historical notions, isn’t it?”
“Uh… I’m white. I don’t think it’s racist.” She looked at him like he was a dolt. “Master.”
“No I know, just… whatever. How about instead of ‘master’ and ‘slave,’ let’s go ‘sir’ and ‘slut.’ That still OK?”
She adopted an obviously forced smile. “Of course, master. Err, sir. And you can call me whatever you want.”
“See, that’s the kind of useful feedback I need if I’m going to do this right. Anything else I need to know?”
Emily seemed to consider, frowning prettily. “You just tell me what to do, and I do it. You tell me something that makes you happy and I do it. Become it, if needs be. It’s simple.”
“What do you mean, ‘become it’?”
She sounded like she was forcing the patience into her explanation. “Well like the other night—I became an unwilling victim for you. Well, a seemingly unwilling. I was of course willing. Thank you for that, sir. Or say you wanted a ditzy cheerleader, or a… fuck, I don’t know about this stuff. But whatever you want me to act like, I will.”
When he still sat there unresponding, she continued. “Look, I’m here and I’m naked. Would it make you happy to fuck me? Sir?”
He sighed. “Not right now, actually—kinda worn out from yesterday. And I need to get to class, I guess.” He frowned, kicking himself mentally that he was about to choose to go to some boring lectures rather than play with his willing nubile sex slave, a girl he’d fantasized about for months without being able to touch, whom he could now do absolutely anything with—if she was to be believed.
“You sound like you don’t want to go to class, sir,” she observed.
“Obviously. Got a crap course load this semester.”
“Well if you don’t have any use for me here, I could go for you. Take notes, record lectures, get assignments for you.”
“Wow, that’d actually be kind of awesome.” Damn, she’s even willing to do the boring stuff—not even just in it for the sex. “But I’m sure you have your own classes to go to,” he realized with a sigh, dashing his own briefly raised hopes.
“I’d rather go to yours!” she insisted, bouncing to her feet. “Please, sir? If it would make you happy, please let me do it for you.”
He eyed her curiously. What a freakin’ weirdo—it was one thing to get off on being his fuck toy, but this wasn’t even sexual. He supposed he could at least try to give her a thrill, though, a token of appreciation for her troubles. “Hmm. You said you have that slutty cop uniform?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. You’d rather I stay here and play Bad Cop with you?”
“No, I really do need my rest. But hey, maybe you could wear the uniform to my classes. That’d be hot, eh slut?”
She shivered again. Man, she really gets off on this, doesn’t she. “It would, sir.”
As she slipped into the outfit, which she’d hung neatly in his closet, he gave her his schedule and an assignment that was due in one class. By the time she was done getting dressed, it was hard to give her permission to leave—one of those outfits that looks so damn hot that it’s hard to imagine the girl wearing it looking hotter naked. Still, he didn’t want to toy with her by changing his mind, so he sent her on her way.
As she stepped out the door, though, inspiration struck him, and he halted her. “Oh hey, slut, while you’re out, pick up a sexy maid uniform. Something along these lines. Gotta make sure you got something to wear around the dorm, don’t we?”
She blushed. “Yes sir.”
He swatted her ass affectionately and sent her on her way, then fell into bed and slept like the dead—even aside from having had an active day yesterday and staying up late, resting next to Ashley just hadn’t been all that restful. Every time she woke up she’d started fondling and kissing him again, and when she was asleep, she snored—pretty loudly, for a girl.
When DJ did wake up, much of the afternoon went towards reading and homework; he really did want to actually learn something if he was going to keep being a college student. Regardless of what he’d arranged with Dr. Missy, he kept thinking he’d rather just take whatever grades he earned. It felt more honest—and not like it seemed he was going to need to worry about his GPA anyways.
Emily texted him to ask if she could bring him dinner, then asked a bunch of questions as to what would make him happiest. She was fastidiousness itself about it, to the point of being kind of annoying. He wound up just ordering it himself and asking her to pick it up. This time at least it would be paid for, unlike with Ashley yesterday. This felt a little better, too. Not good, but decent.
When his sex slave actually strode into the room with it, however, things felt entirely amazing. It wasn’t what he’d expected, honestly. He’d had a picture in his head of the cliché French maid uniform—black and white with a short skirt splayed wide, a bustier displaying what cleavage Emily’s B cups allowed her to show off, some fishnet stockings with heels, maybe one of those little hats. Instead…
Emily was clad in what looked like cover-alls. In place of heels, she wore a pair of heavy boots, and instead of the hat, it was a bandana. Pink, to match the bright pink coveralls, which were unzipped all the way, showing her small breasts to the nipple and then clearly demonstrating that she wasn’t wearing any panties without quite revealing her pussy—though it did reveal she’d shaved it into a little heart shape. The outfit was doubly tantalizing, as she’d also cut the legs off so short that her butt cheeks were partially visible from behind from where her tight little ass peeked out from beneath the skin-tight fabric.