Connie looked up at me with the widest, most curious pair of eyes I had ever seen. They were like a bear back from a failed salmon hunt: hungry and brown. Her lips burst with youthful fullness. My cock hardened.
I ushered her inside my apartment, closing the door as soon as she was through it. Neighbours like to judge.
I gave her the classic European greeting. A brush on each of her radiant, rose-tinted cheeks. Formal enough for a first meeting, yet just warm enough to open the door to promise and possibility. She seemed more than ready for it.
In fact, Connie beamed with willingness. I had expected more nerves on her part. This was better than I had dared hope.
“Here is my identity card,” she said, holding up a yellow-and-white plastic rectangle before I even had the chance to ask for it. “I hope it’s okay for you?”
I examined it closely. The name on the card matched: Connie. So did the picture: it was the same fresh-faced girl now standing in my hallway. I double-checked her date of birth. Then I checked it a third time. If she’d lied about her age, I’d be the one going to jail.
“This is your school student card?” I asked her, noting the name of an institution in the bottom right-hand corner. I stiffened further as I anticipated her reply.
She nodded, looking right at me with those sweet doe eyes. They’d only seen eighteen years of this world. Right on the number.
The lust and the longing billowed from her never-taken body. I had been wary of a time-waster, but those doubts already looked misplaced. She had come here instead of backing out. She had presented herself and her credentials with clear intent. She oozed promise.
Yet I could hear the nerves in the way she breathed. Young Connie would need a glass of wine before we went any further.
“You can put your handbag down here, in the hallway,” I instructed.
She did as she was told, squatting down as she put the identity card back in her purse, then her purse back in her bag. Then she rose back to her feet and waited for her next command. She seemed anxious for it, her head poised to nod the moment it came.
“Take off your jacket, and let’s have a drink,” I smiled. It was a warm day outside, but the moment she took off her coat I understood why she’d worn something so bulky. They didn’t do school uniforms in this country, but I suspected this short grey skirt and low-cut white blouse weren’t what Connie had worn in the classroom a couple of hours earlier.
Her top button was loose and I could see deep into her substantial cleavage. The black bra beneath it made its presence distinctly known through the bright fabric of the blouse. Her shoes had heels, but they weren’t over the top - just an inch or so. She’d wanted to start becoming a woman - and this afternoon she’d made sure to dress like one. I was thrilled with how well she’d done it.
I raised one eyebrow in approval. She smiled with something like relief. She looked more nervous than when she’d arrived. I suspected that she may have rehearsed how the opening exchanges might go, but now that we were past that, she was less able to hide her edginess.
Tense she might have been, but her outfit, her manner and her sexy perfume left no room for doubt: she was serious about this. Where I led her today, she would follow. But I wasn’t going to rush it. I wanted to savour the slow build. And that would be easier if she weren’t a bundle of jumpiness. Alcohol was the answer.
I was supposed to be ‘working from home’ today. Not welcoming schoolgirl submissives to my apartment on the edge of town. But Connie had an early evening curfew at home, so her first sexual education session had to happen in the afternoon.
Well, that was fine with me. Some things were more important than spreadsheets. A lot more important.
I sought to put her at ease as I took her to the kitchen and poured us each a glass of white wine, topping it with soda water as per the local fashion. I spoke to her in her own language, cracking a joke or two and showing that I was a friend. I didn’t touch her, even though if she had lowered her agreeable eyes a little as we stood in the kitchen, she would have noticed that my dark grey chinos were bulging.
She loosened up in a matter of seconds after we clinked glasses, moved through to the living room and sat on the sofa. I placed myself a respectful distance from her, but close enough to keep the sexual tension fizzing through the entire apartment as we sat there talking about anything that would calm her down. Travel, family, sports. We had more in common than I expected. The wine glasses emptied fast.
It turned out we’d both been to Belgium more than once. For want of a little more diversion, I asked if she’d like to see some pictures from my last trip there. She nodded vigorously, fixing her giant, smiling eyes on me for a moment before dropping them demurely. Her hands lay prim on her stockinged thighs. Her knees were turned towards me, those thighs pressed together.
I sat a little closer to her as I returned to the sofa with my album. Now our knees touched, as I spread the book across my lap. I could feel her body warmth. I also sensed the most profound craving to be touched I had ever shared a room with. But I didn’t want to move yet. I liked these earnest nods of hers as I told her the stories behind the pictures. The genuine curiosity with which she asked questions. Connie would be a very good student.
“I think I would make a good submissive,” she’d written in our first text exchanges since she’d found my profile on Fetlife. That had only been a few days ago.
“It would be good for you to have some training,” I’d written back, mostly joking.
“Training would be fantastic,” she’d replied, without a second’s hesitation. “When do you have time?”
I’d reeled at her eagerness, but felt sure she would disappear when push came to shove. I was a complete stranger, a man just about twice her age. And if any training was going to happen, it would be done in the privacy of my apartment. Weren’t young girls more careful nowadays? Surely she was just having a little online fun?
But she’d never once slowed down or changed the subject when it came to making an appointment for her first visit. “I’m excited and looking forward to it,” she’d said once we’d settled on this particular Tuesday afternoon.
Then she’d started sending me pictures of her full and magnificent tits, decorated by broad, faint areolae. I’d told her she was a good girl for sending them, but asked her to stop. I wanted to keep some surprises for the day itself.
Besides, I preferred to assume the day wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want this to end up as a big tease. She’d chicken out in the end - I was sure of it! And if she told any of her friends that she was planning to come for sex training at the home of an unknown older man, they would march her straight home.
Two days beforehand, though, all she’d wanted to talk about was how much she needed to learn. Her sexual experience, which was limited to some unsatisfactory kissing and giving one blowjob.
“Can you teach me how to kiss?” she’d texted. “I don’t think I know how to do it the way you’re supposed to. And blowjobs. I want to know how it’s done properly. I need to learn everything.”
My dick swelled each time I received one of these little gems. We had a lot of ground to cover. If this happened at all, then she was going to get a full course of training. I wasn’t going to throw everything into her first lesson.
“I’m still looking forward,” she’d written the previous day. “But I’m nervous. What tasks do you have for me?”
“A few things around the house,” I’d said. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”
I hadn’t wanted to scare her off. I’d wanted to keep her curious. But I hadn’t expected my answers to actually work.
Yet here she was, sitting on my sofa. Every fibre of her sex-hungry little being turned towards me. Still dying for answers. Craving to know how sex and submission really worked. Thank God, those nerves of hers had settled now. For the first time, it seemed possible that this was really happening.
It was time for action. I drained my wine and set it down on the table, next to her empty glass. I straightened up my body and gently gripped her shoulder. Until now I had treated her as an equal. Now it was time to change tack. I heard her breath catch and saw her lips part. She was straining against her impulses to move in closer. Waiting, quite correctly, for my directions. She was off to a promising start as a slave already.
“Are you ready to begin your training, Connie?” I asked.
She nodded that nod of hers. She couldn’t wait.
“Excellent,” I said. “Go and stand on the mat next to my desk.”
I watched her as she got up from the sofa, smoothed out her skirt and walked over to the round, red rug at which I was pointing. It was about three feet in diameter. She stood in the middle of it, holding her hands behind her back. Her eyes flitted between me and the floor, uncertain.
God, Connie really did have an instinct for this. Was there anything more arousing than a natural-born submissive awaiting her commands?
“Now, take off your shoes,” I said to her, standing up and walking across to where she stood. I stopped in front of her as she bent down awkwardly, removing first one heel and then the other. She placed them neatly next to the mat.
I nodded in approval. The sight of her black, stockinged feet, dead-centre on my rug was an arresting one. Soft meets soft. I imagined how tender and girlish it would feel to touch the fabric of both. I didn’t have to imagine, of course. I could do it right now. But I would wait. She wasn’t going to run anywhere now: her mouth was hanging half-open with anticipation.
Then I told Connie to remove her blouse and her skirt. I asked her to hand them to me. When she did, I tossed them away onto the sofa and surveyed her as she stood there in her stockings, her black lace panties and a bra with a semi-transparent lower extension that covered her midriff. It was like an understated corset that left nothing much to the imagination.
When she’d texted, she’d said she didn’t really have any sexy underwear. Or that what she did have had landed up in her mother’s bedroom due to some renovations going on in the house. My desire coiled as I imagined her stealing into Mom’s room to grab the things she was wearing now.
She stood there demurely, glancing for my approval. From the photographs online, I had wondered if she would be a little on the large side, but that had been an illusion. She was no rake - simply the right size for a healthy young woman in the prime of her life. I was thrilled with her body. It was perfect.
I stepped right up in front of her, and told her so.
“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her eyes to the mat.
I had wondered whether I should get her naked at this point, but decided I would wait a little longer. Teasing yourself is fun, as long as you know you can end it any time. Today, I could do exactly that.
“So now, Connie,” I said, dropping to a near-whisper myself as I spoke hotly down at her forehead. “I want you on your knees.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she sank into a kneeling position. I stayed where I was.
“Good girl,” I said to her, folding my arms in front of my black shirt and speaking up just a little. “It doesn’t look like you need a lot of teaching so far. Keep on doing as you’re told, just like this, and you’ll be a model submissive in no time.
“But we’re starting slow, okay? Easy tasks first. So, I want you to take care of the dust in this room and in the kitchen. I want you to get into every corner and under all the furniture. You will find the broom and the dustpan in the kitchen. When you are finished, come back here and kneel once again, just like you’re doing now. I have some work to do in the meantime. Do you have any questions?”
Connie looked up at me with willingness written all over her round, tanned face. “No questions, I understand.”
“Then stand up and begin,” I ordered. “And do it quietly, because I’ll be concentrating. And if you’re a good girl, then we’ll move on with something else.”
She nodded, stood up and went to the kitchen. And I sat down at my desk, where I’d been for the whole day up until her arrival.
It was a good thing that I really did have a little mini-deadline to hit in the next half an hour. I didn’t have to be fake-busy, occupying myself whilst she did the housework any committed slave would have to not only learn, but revel in. We both had our tasks: a perfect, real-life situation for Connie.
But working against the backdrop of a semi-naked schoolgirl getting on her knees and cleaning under my desk was certainly more pleasurable than working with nothing but the ticking clock for company. I wrote my emails with a raging hard-on, each sweep of the brush on the dustpan a sweet, swishing reminder of Connie’s dutiful submission.
She completed the job without uttering a single word - just as I had asked her. By the time she returned to kneel beside my desk, I needed just a few minutes more to finish what I was doing. Connie was exemplary, kneeling there quietly and unquestioningly until I got my work out of the way and turned my swivel chair towards her.
I was beyond pleased with her effort so far. I rewarded her by touching my right fingers to her left temple, gradually enveloping her cheek and her ear with my hand. I held her face head softly there. She leaned into my palm just a little. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. I brought my hand further around, cupping her chin.