Yo, Adrian

Adrian was not the sort of girl I would have expected to make the sort of proposition that she made. She was something of a wallflower. I had her in a couple of classes because we both shared an English major and though she was intelligent, she was quiet, and seldom joined the conversation unless specifically called upon. Nor was she the type to elicit a second glance, from men or women. Tall and slender, she dressed neatly, but not in any way that called attention to her figure. In fact, it was not readily apparent that she even had a figure. When she approached me and asked me to meet her in the coffee lounge after class, I assumed it had something to do with one of our classes. Nothing could have prepared me for what ultimately transpired.

I arrived early and she found me at a table near the back wall. The coffee lounge was open on two sides, making it easily accessible to the student body and giving it an open feeling. The table near the one wall that wasn’t the serving counter provided about as much privacy as there was to be had–which is to say, not much. I chose this table because I sensed some urgency in her invitation. Nothing spoken, mind you, but–well, I could have imagined it, but in retrospect, I did pick up on it somehow, perhaps just in the tone of her voice. Body language? I don’t know.

The first thing that struck me about her when she sat down was her eyes. They were deep blue, which, to me, seemed unusual for a girl with hair so dark it was almost black–and it was obvious it didn’t come out of a bottle, even for one with my limited knowledge of cosmetology. They were so vivid, I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed them before.

“You’re eyes are beautiful,” I blurted out when she slid in next to me in the booth, rather than sit in the chair opposite.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she said, obviously pleased. “I hope you’ll be looking into them for months or years to come.”

The look of confusion on my face must have been obvious. I was never a good poker player because my cards might as well have been flashing in neon on my forehead; I was that transparent.

“I’m sorry to have been so surreptitious,” she apologized, “but I have a proposal for you that is not something to be discussed where it is easily overheard. I know you’re single,” she said, “and I want to fill that void. I want to be your girl.” I’m not sure what registered on my face at that point, but she didn’t wait for me to say anything. “I don’t mean in the ordinary sense,” she clarified. “You see, sexually, I’m submissive. I want to be your girl, but in more of a master/slave context if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make any sense at all!” I said in a loud, low voice. “Who put you up to this? Is this a joke? Am I on camera?” Adrian was flustered.

“No camera. No joke,” she assured me. “I did tell you this wouldn’t be ordinary.” She gathered her thoughts and began to explain. “I know you probably don’t love me. You may not even find me attractive at all, but I’ve worshipped you from afar for two semesters now. I know you may not understand, I hope in time you will, but I want to give myself to you completely, sexually and otherwise, in every way possible.”

I tried to digest what she was telling me, but I had no frame of reference, no schema, to be able to connect with it. I’m sure my incomprehension was vividly portrayed in my expression.

“So, you want to be my girlfriend?” was the closest I could come up with.

“Yes,” she agreed, “but not necessarily exclusively. If you wanted to date someone else, you still could. I wouldn’t interfere–unless you wanted me to. If you wanted me to engage in sex with other people for your enjoyment, I would. Male or female.” I’m not sure what my face must have looked like after she dropped that bombshell.

“So pretty much anything goes, sexually?” I thought out loud.

“As long as it doesn’t land me in the emergency room, break bones, make scars, or draw blood,” she answered, then added “Or put me in jail.”

“Is there anything you won’t do?” I asked, expecting a negative response.

“Scat,” she answered. “I’ll lick ass for hours on end, but don’t ever ask me to suck on a turd.”

“Noted,” I replied.

So, the girl did have limits. Not that I had any intention of testing them. I wasn’t really into domination. Before I began working on my degree, I’d been in the Navy. One of the grand old traditions of that service was the Shellback ceremony. This was where worthless pollywogs, those who hadn’t yet crossed the equator, were indoctrinated into the mysteries of Davy Jones’s Locker and, after suffering numerous indignities, became certified Shellbacks. Among the indignities were being subject to repeated swats on the behind with sections of fire hose that had been fashioned into paddles. On the receiving end, this is not a pleasant experience, but when I had the opportunity to be the one serving up the swats on my third cruise, it was a little bit more fun. In fact, I found it disturbingly so and had to give it up altogether. It just seemed wrong to me to derive pleasure from inflicting pain. Unfortunately, it sounded like this was just what Adrian was after.

“Listen, Adrian,” I began, “you seem like a nice girl. I just don’t know if I’m the kind of guy you’re looking for. I don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather focus on making you happy.”

“What if hurting me makes me happy?” she shot back.

“I just don’t know if I’d be comfortable with that.”

“Can you at least give me a chance? You’ve got nothing to lose. You can fuck me in every hole, piss down my throat, spank my titties and ass… then, if you really find me to be cumbersome, you can sell me to someone else.”

I pretended not to hear the part about selling her. I knew what she meant, but there was no way I would do that to her. Still, the opportunity to have such uninhibited sex with a girl who was more than willing and not at all unattractive was probably more than I could pass up. I knew this because I had already decided I would give it a shot.

“All right, Adrian. I accept your proposal.”

“You do?” she beamed. The smile that lit up her face was uncharacteristic, but it looked lovely on her. “You won’t regret it,” she gushed. “I promise.”

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I understand that you intend to be perfectly obedient.”

“Absolutely, master,” she said.

“Yeah. About that…” I frowned. “I don’t want you to call me that. People would talk. You and I both know what’s going on between us. Normal terms of endearment will be sufficient. You can call me, ‘babe,’ or ‘love,’ or ‘honey,’ but not ‘master.’ The master title is implicit. Just let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and don’t ever say ‘no’ unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”

“Yes… babe,” she said in a way that made ‘babe’ sound like ‘master.’

“And you can’t dress like such a wallflower anymore. People need to know that you’re a woman.”

“What does that mean?” she said, trying not to sound insulted.

“It means that I want you to go into that restroom, throw away your bra and come back with your shirt unbuttoned down to your navel.”

“But people will see…” and then the light went on. “Yes, ma–babe.”

Adrian did as I asked. When she came back to the table, her loose blouse was held closed only by the one button above her jeans. She didn’t have a lot in the way of boobage for anyone to see. AA cup breasts aren’t’ the sort that will flop out unannounced. But if she turned a certain way, or bent down, what she had was clearly visible. For the record, I liked them. Though they were small, barely more than raised bumps on her chest, they were adorned with dark areolas about the size of a quarter and rigid nipples like the kind on a fat pencil a second grader would use. I wasn’t sure if her nipples were always that rigid, or if it was just the exposure that was doing it. I assumed it was the latter, or else I’m certain I would have noticed her nipples sooner. They would have come up on my radar.

“Well done!” I said. “I hope that praise is something that will bring you as much happiness as pain. I plan to do a lot of it.”

“Thank you, babe,” she said, still making ‘babe’ sound like ‘master.’

“We’re going to have to go find you some clothes that show off your other assets,” I said. “At the very least, yoga pants, so we can all appreciate your ass. Or maybe a short skirt with no panties.”

“You heard the part about me not getting arrested, right?” she asked with a nervous smile.

“I don’t think that will get you arrested,” I assured her. “Even if it did, I promise I would bail you out of jail. I wouldn’t want all of those felons in the slammer to have their way with you.”

“I packed my stuff, assuming you would say ‘yes,'” she said. “Is it okay if I follow you to your place? A slave should be with her master, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but we’re not going to use the ‘s’ word. You’ll just have to be content with being my girlfriend. And with being naked whenever you’re there.” I added that last part as an afterthought, but a brilliant one, if I do say so myself. What better way to be in touch with your inner slave than being forced to be naked?

“I have to be naked when I’m at your apartment?”

“We can up it to all the time, if that’s not enough for you,” I suggested dryly.

“Naked at your apartment is fine,” she acquiesced.

“I’ll put a basket by the door where you can put your clothes as soon as you walk in the door.” Perhaps I was going to be better at this than I thought.

“Thank you, babe,” she said with a little less ‘master.’

Adrian followed me to my apartment, a modest two bedroom in a complex with hundreds of apartments. I didn’t need the second bedroom and used it for… not much of anything. There was no way I was giving it to Adrian, however. She was with me. You see, as soon as we got back to my apartment, I made her strip down and discovered that though she was lacking in the titty department, her ass was to die for. I don’t know how she kept that a secret all this time. I tend to notice such things. I resolved then and there that if she wore anything, it would have to clearly display her wonderful ass. I told her as much and she even smiled as she said, “Yes, babe.”

I didn’t give her time to pack, not that she brought much with her, only a single medium-sized suitcase. I probably wasn’t going to let her wear much of that anyhow. No. I put her right to work.

“Undress me,” I ordered. I stood in front of my worn, but still serviceable couch, and let her awkwardly undress me. It’s funny, but the awkwardness was all on her. I didn’t feel awkward at all, despite the circumstances. I guess it’s because I was the one in control. I didn’t have to please anyone. There was no pressure to make a good impression. She was here to serve me. I was beginning to see that there was a lot to like about this arrangement.

Once she got my clothes off, and put neatly away, I told her to go into the bathroom and wash her ass, because I intended to eat it and I didn’t want it to smell like shit. I thought I saw her grinning as she ran to do my bidding.

She returned and presented her ass for inspection, as directed. I fondled it, squeezed it, smacked it, massaged it, in short, I had a helluva good time playing with it, before getting down to business licking it. It was a different dynamic having her body as my own personal toy. I didn’t have to please her. I only had to please me. I did what I wanted. Ironically, that also pleased her. Go figure.

I already mentioned that Adrian had a nice ass, and it was clean, too. I’d always wanted to eat a nice ass. Trouble was, either my girl du jour didn’t really have an edible ass, or if she did–there was only one I’d had that I really wanted to put my tongue into–the odor kept me from it. I worked on Adrian’s asshole for what seemed like an hour, though it was probably only a few minutes. I just was really enjoying myself. Eventually, my stiff dick demanded my attention and I decided I ought to do something about it.

You might have expected that I would have Adrian suck me off. The thought crossed my mind. I was never really big on blowjobs, though that was about to change. No, I was going straight for the pussy. It wasn’t fancy. Wouldn’t have made a very good porno film, probably. I didn’t care. I laid her down and impaled her with my cock until she cried. She really cried. After her orgasm, of course. I made her cum, all right. Twice. Before I did! (Never did that before!) I must have shot about a quart of cum up inside of her. She never said anything about birth control and I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. I have to tell you, it felt really good to shoot my seed inside of her. Really good. Because she was mine, you see. All mine. I was really starting to get into this master/slave thing.

“You on birth control?” I asked afterwards.

“No, babe,” she answered.

“What if I let all my friends fuck you? What then?” I asked. A horrified look came over her. She had obviously never considered such a scenario. Oops.

“Nobody cums inside you but me,” I ordered. “If anyone else should fuck you, for whatever reason, they have a condom on, got it?

“Yes, babe,” she said.

“But they can cum all over the rest of you. They can cum in your mouth, in your face, on your tits, up your ass–just not in your pussy. Got it?”

“Yes, babe,” she said with about as much enthusiasm as you would expect from someone who never expected to be subject to such abuse. Hey, she’s the one that wanted this. It’s not my fault I have a better imagination than she does.

We didn’t discuss it anymore that night. I was hungry, so I made her cook us dinner. It wasn’t fancy–I didn’t keep fancy groceries around–but it was tasty. I guess you’d call it stir fried chicken? I don’t know. But considering the limited ingredients I had on hand to choose from, I was quite satisfied. I know it was a better meal than I could have come up with.

We had some wine after dinner. Drinking wine is much better when done with company. Drinking beer is fine when you’re alone, or with friends, anytime really, but drinking wine alone just seems like a waste of good wine. This wasn’t good wine, mind you, but it was better because I was drinking it with her.

We went to bed soon after. No fancy sex or anything, although I did allow myself to play with her pussy for a while before we drifted off to sleep. And lest you think I’m a completely unfeeling bastard, Adrian had two apparently very intense orgasms as a result of my playtime.

The next morning, I awoke with Adrian lying next to me. This was both startling and refreshing. Startling because it was something I was unused to and refreshing because it was real and not just a dream.

I have to confess here that I was beginning to develop feelings for Adrian that went beyond the ones in my groin. Admittedly, I didn’t have a lot of sexual experience considering my years in the service. What I mean to say is, I didn’t get laid as much as you might think. And of the times I did, I never developed the kind of connection with my partner as I seemed to have developed with Adrian after just one time. What this meant, in practical terms, was that I would never subject her to the sort of wanton sexual abuse by strangers that I had suggested the evening last. I had already become too possessive of her to want to share her with anyone–at least sexually. Her hotness I felt obligated to share. Thus, it was time to go shopping.

One of the things I learned during this endeavor is that there’s no place you can go to purchase slut-wear. You can find sexy things even at department stores, or for that matter, Walmart, if you know what you’re looking for. I didn’t, but Adrian did, once I explained the sort of look I wanted her to have. She ended up building a great wardrobe of slut-wear that I wholeheartedly approved of. Mostly it involved polyester/spandex boy short panties worn as outerwear, along with various crop tops, bralettes, and tube tops. There were some yoga pants and a few skirts as well. None of it would land her in jail, but all of it would call attention to everything she had. My goal was that she should dress so that nothing was left to the imagination. Any top she wore had to either show her nipples through the fabric or be loose enough that the occasional glimpse could be had should she move in just the right way. Her bottoms had to be tight enough to display camel toe. If she wore a skirt, it had to be short enough to show her goods without trying too hard. She was not allowed to wear underwear at all–unless it was worn as outerwear.

Needless to say, when we attended classes later that week, Adrian was anything but a wallflower. I caught guys stealing glances at her all the time. I couldn’t blame them a bit. Adrian was something to behold. She seemed to enjoy the increased attention, although she admitted that she felt self-conscious being so almost-naked and on display. I assured her that it was simply something she must endure as a consequence of her station in life. Though she never admitted it–I never forced her to–I think she found strutting around almost naked very arousing. Every day we’d get home from school and she’d tear off her skimpy clothes, toss them in the basket by the door and beg me to fuck her. And I usually would.

I’d do other things to satisfy her peculiar bent. I’d handcuff her and then stretch her hands over her head and hang them from a hook on the ceiling–in front of the sliding glass patio doors on the front of our apartment. I checked it out. Although we were on the second floor, you could still see her naked form dangling from the parking lot below. I was worried that someone might call the cops on us, but no one ever did.

I also found that it wasn’t necessary to spend an exorbitant sum on sex toys to satisfy her fetish. A simple nylon pancake spatula provided hours of fun. Adrian squealed with delight–at least that’s what it sounded like to me–when I’d spank her breasts with it. She liked getting her ass beat with it as well. I was okay with satisfying her pain fix as long as it didn’t involve marking up her skin. There was no way I was going to mar the skin of her perfect tits or ass. Clothespins on the nipples worked fine, too.

Over the next few months, we got on very well. I played the master–while never actually letting her refer to me by that title–and she was my submissive little cum slut. She was an excellent cock sucker and I would occasionally allow her to suck me off–sometimes in public, albeit discretely. Mostly, though, I didn’t like to waste my cum anywhere but in her pussy. I’d fuck her at least once a day if she wasn’t on her period, and oftentimes two, three, or even more times a day. She just had that effect on me. I loved fucking her.

“Babe,” she said one day after we got home from class, “my mother is coming to visit.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I’d love to meet her.”

“I was wondering if, while she was here, I could go back to wearing regular clothes.”

“You mean, when you go out?” I asked, knowing full well that was NOT what she meant. Yes, I was being a bit of a bastard, but that’s what I committed to do.

“No, babe. I mean, here at home.”

“You know the rule.”

“Yes, babe,” she pleaded, “but it’s my mother.”

“I don’t see how that concerns me.” (I was pretty good at being pretty bad. Don’t you agree?)

“I can’t let my mother see me this way. She wouldn’t understand.”

“Did you not plead with me to accept you wholly and completely as my own possession?”

“Yes, babe,” she admitted ruefully. She could already see where this was going. She was smart.

“As my possession, you must abide by the rules I set forth. Primary among them is that you are to remain naked as the day you were born once you close the front door behind you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, babe,” she admitted and there was a heavy tinge of ‘master’ on the ‘babe.’