As I looked up the steps to the front door of the Hawkwood family home, I was filled with dread and anxiety. I started up the first step and I could hear my mother pull away in her car behind me. I could hear the sound of rubber on the wet asphalt fade out as it made its way down the the circle of the drop off area to the black ribbon of the long driveway that led to the front gate, passing the lush grass and trees that lined it. I wasn't entirely sure why I was there.
Just two days before, I had returned from a disastrous date with the school slut. It's harsh to say, I know, but that's what I have to call a woman who ditches her date at a party to go off and get high and fuck another guy. Granted, I was pretty hopeless with women. I was despondent. I had graduated from high school just the week before. It was 2009, and no one was hiring for summer jobs. I couldn't even get laid or find someone to love. When I unloaded my feelings on my mother, she was quiet but sympathetic.
My mother is one of my heroes. At 18 and a senior, she got pregnant. What makes that especially surprising for her is she was one of the smartest girls in school. Nevertheless, she fell for a bad boy and got knocked up with me. Her Catholic mother insisted she keep me, although I think my mother readily agreed. My grandmother, Sue, was a widower and a hospital administrator. I was born in July just after my mother graduated from high school. Grandma Sue was in her late fifties by that point. My mom, Laura, was a late in life child and her only child. To keep mom on the college track, she was willing to raise me. While I was still a baby, my father, who never did marry my mom, overdosed. My mom — Kate is her name — went on to finish college and then after a few years of work, got her MBA in finance. By the time I had graduated from high school, she was the youngest female CFO at a major corporation.
On the board of the company for which my mother works sat Jane Hawkwood, the 40-something matriarch of one of the oldest and richest families in Central City. Just the evening before that fateful morning in the summer of 2009, my mother informed me that she had obtained a summer job for me. I was going to be a personal assistant to Ms. Hawkwood.
After I rang the bell, I watched through the thick glass of the door as Jane Hawkwood exited one of the rooms along the hallway of the main floor and started walking down the wide front hall. I could write an epic poem about her appearance but I'll spare you the torture. Her skin was alabaster white, her hair long and red, her figure statuesque. In short, especially to a virgin, like me, she was a mesmerizing vision.
The click of the tumblers in the door lock woke me from my revery.
"You must be Trevor Brooks?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, come in," she said as she opened the door wide. "Follow me, Trevor."
We walked back to the room she had exited a moment before. It was a surprisingly modern office for a 120-year-old mansion. The clutter was minimal, exhibiting instead all the elements of sleek design.
"Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a chair. "Tell me about yourself."
I skipped over the family history. Mom probably had told her about it or preferred her not to know. I talked about school, my interests, and even touched on my recent problems with girls. She smiled at that.
"OK, well, Kate probably told you that I'm looking for a personal assistant. I'll pay you $100 a day, and I can guarantee you at least this first week. We'll talk like this again on Friday and assess whether we like the situation enough to continue it through the summer. Does that sound good?"
It sounded great. I could earn as much as $6,000 by the end of the summer.
Ms. Hawkwood even gave me use of an old Jaguar in the six-car garage out back for errands around town. Basically, I was a go-fer. I picked up and dropped off dry cleaning. I picked up lunch, I made reservations, I made appointments for her. When she didn't have anything for me, she had me on "on call" status. That meant I was given ample time to read in the large family library. Friday rolled around sooner than expected. Most of the day was full of chores. I didn't get much library time, but the activity kept me from being nervous about the end of the week assessment. A little after four o'clock, Ms. Hawkwood entered library, where I had been for the first time that day.
She sat down opposite me in the other overstuffed, leather reading chair.
"I'll get straight to it, Trevor," she said. "You've been an excellent personal assistant. I have no complaints. You're a fast learner."
I beamed with pride and relief.
"You have only one more test to pass. I know you can fill the ordinary, every day role. The question is can you handle special duties."
I'm sure I looked crestfallen and disappointed.
"Let me explain, Trevor. I need a house boy, not just a personal assistant," she said. Now, I even was more confused. "House boy has a special meaning among my circle of female friends. You see, Trevor, I'm an especially busy woman. You know that now as well as anybody. Time is precious to me, which is why you are here. But, I need more than a personal assistant. I'm a highly sexual person, and I need someone who will serve those needs, too."
Ms. Hawkwood laughed. "Don't be so petrified. Tell me what you think. Take a minute to gather your thoughts." I did. I took more than one.
A thousand thoughts crossed my mind, but they settled on one immutable truth: I was a virgin without any immediate hopes of that changing. I probably should explain here what some of my disadvantages were. I was and am 5 feet 6 inches and of slender build. My head was crowned by an unruly mop of curly black hair, and I have a weak chin. To top it all off, I ordinarily was petrified before a beautiful woman. Although still intimidating, Ms. Hawkwood already had become familiar enough that I had lost most of my nervousness around her. She was super smart, sexy as hell and I could learn a lot from her about sex and more.
In my reply, I more or less told her this. At the end, she smiled and stood up.
"You're a wiser young man than I expected," she said. "Please follow me and we will begin your training."
To say I was taken aback when we talked into a hall closet would be an understatement. Next, she accessed an app on her smart phone, appeared to enter a passcode and then spoke a voice command, "Open seasame." I almost laughed.
An audible click came from within the inside wall of the closet and the panel swung open an inch. Ms. Hawkwood pushed it further open and stepped forward onto a small landing. Wordlessly, I followed her down a narrow flight of stairs to a basement. Motion-activated lights came on along the walls, providing ample but soft, indirect light. I had been all over the house and had no idea this large room was even here. There was no doorway out to the rest of the basement, which only housed the heart of the HVAC system, a washer dryer and storage. The room was so large it must have taken up half or more of the footprint.
In one corner was a very ordinary setting --- a king size bed, two bedside tables with lamps, a table a few feet from the foot of the bed with a large, flat screen TV. However, the rest of the basement was probably the best equipped and designed sex dungeon in America. There were sawhorses, three Sybian machines, peg board walls replete with sex toys. I could go on, but you at least have the general picture.
When we got to the foot of the stairs, Ms. Hawkwood ordered me to disrobe and hang my clothes on the clothes rack that stood there. Now, I was beginning to get the jitters, but I complied. She looked me up and down like a farm animal she was assessing for purchase.
"You're not in bad shape," she said. Her eyes had traveled over my cock, but now returned for a closer look.
"Now, that is a surprise." I blushed. "How big are you, Trevor?"
"Uh, a little under 5 inches flaccid, and almost eight inches when very hard."
"Very nice," she said. "I didn't tell you this, Trevor, but whenever we are down in this room, you are to refer to me as Mistress Jane or Miss J. Understood?"
"Yes, Miss J." She smiled again.
As we walked to the far end of the room, navigating around various large toys and bizarre machines, Miss J continued to talk.
"I have to say it's unusual in my experience for a man of your size to be so well endowed. Your cock also looks to have a lovely shape, Trevor." I blushed again.
"Just as I am Miss J in this room, I think I will give you a special name. You will be 'Teapot.'"
I laughed. "Why's that, Miss J?"
"Because, Trevor, you're short, but you have a big spout."
We both laughed, and that put me at ease.
Still fully dressed in simple black dress shoes with two inch heels and a simple, black dress, Miss J stopped before what I only can describe as a throne. She sat down on it.
"Bring that mat over and kneel before me, Teapot. Pick out some lube from the shelf over there," she said pointing to a spot along the wall.
I complied. There I was --- a naked and well-endowed virgin kneeling before a fully clothed, beautiful goddess. My cock was as hard as stone.
"Now, Trevor. I want you to give me seven edges. That's masturbating just short of orgasm and stopping. You can use the lube."
I squirted some KY into my hand and started stroking.
"When you are close say, "Edge, Miss J. Thank you, Miss J.'"
I nodded in the affirmative and said I would obey.
"Good, I'm going to explain some things while you do that. ... First, don't assume I think your virginity is a problem. I know you're disease free, and I like a blank slate." She gave me a kind smile.
"If you take my discipline and guidance, then you'll learn a lot from me and become a confident and skilled lover."
Then, her demeanor became more severe.
"However, I regard men as beneath women in most instances," she explained. "That doesn't mean you don't have value. I love a good dick as much as the next girl, but they should be submissive and obedient to women. I will teach you this truth. Fortunately, you don't appear to have become too polluted by patriarchy. You're still young."
I don't know why, but her words were exciting to me.
"Edge, Miss J. Thank you, Miss J."
"Stop! Hands at your side."
I let my arms and hands hang loosely while I rest on my haunches.
"One of the chief sources of the world's troubles is patriarchy," Miss J explained. "War, inequality, hierarchy, many of these evils stem from the out-of-balance psychology and social structures that flow from patriarchy. I'm part of a network of women working to change that, a quiet revolution, and we need knights. Would you like to be my knight, Teapot?"
"Yes, Miss J."
Her smile returned. "I'd like that, too. Time will tell if we both can make that happen. ... You may resume your edging, Teapot."
I was so hard. I found her commanding presence, erotic and arousing. My lack of experience made it even more appealing. I could relax and follow her lead.
I hit an edge in about two minutes, her silent staring only turned me on more. She laughed, and then I blushed and complied with her second command to cease and desist.
"You see, Teapot. Most men, and many women, are betas. That doesn't mean they are stupid or incompetent. It just means they're more suitable as followers. Women are more empathetic. They understand feelings and people more quickly than men. That's why they are more suited to lead. Patriarchy has brainwashed them and directed them away from realizing that truth."
I hit my third edge. It almost felt as though my semen was a wave crashing at a seawall. I felt it surge and then fall back as I took my hand away. My cock was purple and bone hard.
"You are a beta, Teapot. You're smart. Despite your size, you may even be an excellent knight, but I can tell from our week together that you are a natural servant. You want to be led, you want to be taught, don't you, Teapot?"
"Yes, Miss J."
"Keep stroking. I like watching you play with your big dick."
