by Cherry Allen
I wanted to grab her and say, "It's Greg. Just fucking Greg!" But that would have only caused more problems, and her mother and I had enough problems from day one without me adding to them. Two years into the marriage, I found out she'd cheated on me with Amber's dad shortly after we'd tied the knot--how rich was that, fucking the man she'd divorced right after getting a new husband? So I filed for divorce. Amber was overjoyed, both that her parents had gotten closer again and that I was out of the picture. In fact, she gleefully pointed out to me how she'd done everything she could to get them back together, even telling her mother that I'd been looking at her "funny," like I wanted to rip her clothes off.
Don't get me wrong. Amber was a pretty girl, but she was a high school student. Sixteen. My step-daughter. I never looked at her in the way she claimed.
In fact, I was disappointed that I didn't have time to win Amber over and make her see I wasn't the bastard she thought I was. I didn't break up her parents, and I wasn't trying to ruin her family. I'll admit I thought of her as a little bitch more than once, and that was probably immature of me, but I'm only human.
Amber called me up several months after her mom and I split. Shocked doesn't begin to describe how I felt. She had nothing but spite for me for two years, but now that her mom and I were truly finished she wanted to see me about something? Of course I agreed, if only out of curiosity.
Her mom had squandered her college savings, and she was having trouble covering the tuition for her freshman year at the university because apparently her father wasn't responsible with money either. That's really a shame. Every kid should get to go to college, and each kid's parents should do what they can to see to that. But I'm not her parent--she made that abundantly clear to me every single day.
Can you believe the nerve of her to come and ask me after the way she'd treated me? And the way she was dressed--black high-heels, super short skirt, a tight white T-shirt without a bra beneath it. Amber was 18 now, and very much a beautiful woman. A fucking hot woman. I felt guilty for thinking that at first, but she was 18, and she'd never wanted to be my step-daughter. As I said, I'm human.
I had no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing. She was hoping I'd see tits and ass and write a check spotted with my own drool. I'll be honest with you. That might have happened if she'd come to see me on a different day. As it was, I'd just gotten a call from her mother who was trying to pry more cash out of me in the settlement. Two years and you'd think I owed the woman a fortune. I was planning on fighting that (and winning it, according to my lawyer), but the aggravation was still getting to me. I also hadn't had a good date in a while. Then Amber showed up, all supple and curvy and big-tittied, flipping her long, thick hair and batting her pretty hazel eyes and acting nice for the first time ever.
Here’s how good she was--she looked down after she asked me for the few thousand dollars she needed, then look up at me with her head still tilted down, all seductive and sultry. And then, I swear to God, she sucked her thick, pink bottom lip into her mouth, biting it as if nervous, in a way that made me want to feel those lips somewhere on me right fucking now.
"Amber . . . you've been nothing but a little bitch to me. Why--?"
"Look, I'm sorry about that," she said, and she was almost convincing. "I was a little . . . jealous and intimidated that my mom was with someone so completely . . . sexy and together. You were always a little too good for her. Anyway, if I hadn't found you so attractive, we'd have probably had a great relationship. It's completely my fault, and I'm sorry."
I'm sure it was the seductive way she was acting that made me even think such a thing could be possible. I didn't believe her flattery, but it was still hot to hear it. When I was married to her mom I just wanted her to be nice or go back to her dad's house. Now she was trying to say she'd been a bitch because she thought I was attractive? In the list of things in my life that are probably too good to be true, that one ranks pretty high.
But when she chewed her lip and looked up at me, the only thing I could think of was her looking up at me like that with my cock right in her face. God, she was sexy--and she knew it.
I could have just given her the money. I probably should have, or I should have told her no and been done with it. But I'm a red-blooded man, and there was an 18-year-old temptress in my living room asking me for a huge favor after treating me like shit for two years. I decided I'd give her the money, but I was going to get something out of it, too.
"Sure, I'll help you out," I said. Her whole head lifted then, and she smiled. I could tell she was surprised.
"Thank you, Greg. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."
That was the first time she'd said my name in anything but a hateful sing-song.
"I expect you to show me how much you appreciate it."
Her smile shifted a little. "I . . . don't know what you mean."
"I mean that if I give you the money, I expect you to show your appreciation in return. By doing whatever I want you to do. Payback for my generosity."
"Oh, I could . . . clean your house once a week, or do your laundry or something?"
I laughed, though I couldn't tell if she was playing innocent or really hadn't figured it out yet. "I don't need help with those things. But I do need someone to suck my cock and spread her legs when I'm horny." I'd said it as casually as if I'd been dictating a grocery list. I felt excited and like a sleazeball at the same time.
Her smile disappeared. "You've got to be joking."
I just kept looking at her. "How badly do you want to go to college?"
"I could sell my car and have enough, probably."
"So why didn't you do that before you came here? Thought I'd be a pushover, didn't you? Go ahead and sell your car, and deal with walking and public transportation, and relying on your mother to take you back and forth when you need to come home for holidays or breaks or something. You know how reliable she is. Or . . . do what I ask."
She thought for a few minutes, and then asked, "For how long?"
"Until you go to college--the full two months between now and then."
Her lips trembled just enough for me to see it. It is completely wrong of me to think she looked even sexier vulnerable that way?
"And . . . what exactly would I have to do? Just suck your dick now and then, or . . . or let you fuck me?"
"That," I said, "but not exactly. I want you to be my slave--at my complete mercy when you're with me. I've always thought that was a hot idea. You can fulfill my fantasy of having a submissive little slut to give me pleasure, while I help you with your dream of going to college."
"I am not a slut!" She stood up as if she were going to storm out.
"You look sort of like one today. I can almost taste your nipples through that T-shirt." I really had no idea I could be such a bastard, but I was enjoying her discomfort after the two years she was a complete bitch to me.
She bit her lip again, clearly considering it. Just the idea that it could be possible--I swear to God my cock hardened instantly, 0 to 60 in a second flat.
"You thought it was all right to look like a little tart to get me to give you money. It's not that much different to go ahead and be one, is it?"
"You're a bastard," she said.
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Worship Your Master
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About the author:
Cherry Allen writes sexy, dirty things for you to enjoy.
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