Gordon Lister knocked nervously on the large oak door of the house facing the car he’d collided with five minutes earlier. He’d been driving very carefully due to the light snow flurries, and the possibility of ice on the road, but somehow the car he’d been driving had still managed to slide slowly into the back of a parked car as he’d applied the brakes while taking a sharp bend.
He’d spent a whole minute trying to compose himself, and then gotten out to inspect the damage where he’d been pleasantly surprized to find that his mother’s car wasn’t even marked, and just as shocked by how much damage there was to a black BMW.
He’d spent another minute staring at the crumpled rear end, the hanging bumper bar, the smashed lights and the number plate hanging limply in the breeze when he’d noticed lights turning on in the house to his left, followed by movement behind the curtains of a ground floor room.
The next two minutes had been spent trying to decide how to tell the car’s owner that he wasn’t insured to drive his mother’s car and had only borrowed it as she was away for a week, and that he’d not yet managed to get a job since graduating.
And the last minute had been spent trying to think of how he could talk the car’s owner out of calling the police, and maybe, just maybe that whoever it was would take the holiday season into account and be both forgiving and understanding.
The door opened very slowly and Gordon looked slightly downwards at a slender barefoot woman with grey shoulder-length hair and piercing steel blue eyes framed by a pair of almost-octagonal black spectacles. She was wearing loose fitting jogging pants and a matching sweatshirt, and from the wrinkles forming at the corners of her mouth as she smiled he guessed that she was about ten years older than this mother.
“Yes?” she said looking as though she was trying not to laugh, “Can I help you?” Gordon stared down at the floor and started to stammer an apology. He tried several times to say how sorry he was for the damage, and how she obviously knew he’d crashed into her car, but he was so nervous that he found it difficult to put a coherent sentence together. The woman kept on smiling, and kept repeating that it didn’t matter, and how he’d not to worry but this only made him even less able to plead for any sort of understanding.
It took another five minutes before he was able to explain that he had no insurance, no permission to use his mother’s car and no money to pay for the damage to the BMW, as every time he’d paused the woman had repeated how it didn’t matter, but all he could do was cry and beg the woman not to call the police and give him a chance to make up for the damage he’d done.
She started to speak, but Gordon interrupted her, “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t call the police. Please. I’ll do anything.” The woman looked up at him and wiped the tears from his eyes with the cuff of her exercise top. “Don’t worry about it. Back your car up my drive and come in for a Christmas drink. I won’t tell anybody.”
He trudged back down the drive, inspected the BMW again, got into his mother’s car and reversed it up towards the house, parked it, got out, locked the door and confirmed that it as far as he could tell it was completely undamaged.
The large oak door was slightly ajar, and Gordon knocked politely before walking into a hallway and then into a large expensively furnished room where the woman stood holding two tumblers of whiskey. “So tell me again what you were saying earlier, just so I understand what you’re proposing.” Gordon slumped down into an armchair and repeated his offer to do absolutely anything in return for the woman not telling anyone about what had happened outside.
She smiled, gulped down her whiskey and stared down at him as she asked. “So I can … um…. name my terms if I agree not to tell anybody anything about the accident outside?” “Absolutely,” he nodded, “Whatever you want, Mrs ….err… Miss.. err.. I’m sorry what should I call you?” “Mistress,” she replied, very firmly. “I’ve always wanted someone to dominate. Some inferior man for me to do whatever I wanted with, and if you agree to be completely submissive to me for the next two days, if anybody ever asks, I’ll tell them I don’t know who crashed into the BMW.”
Gordon didn’t know what being submissive meant, but agreed without hesitation: “Ok.” The woman took a step forward and slapped Gordon across the face so hard that he dropped his glass and reeled backwards from shock and pain. “Ok, mistress!” She shouted, “and never speak to me unless I ask you a question, and always, always, call me mistress!” She slapped him again, only this time with the back of her hand on the other side of his face and grinned. “Now go upstairs and change. First room on the left. I’ve put something on the bed for you to wear for rest of the evening.”
He nodded, got up out of the chair and did as he’d been told, quickly working out that the woman had spent the five minutes he’d been moving his mother’s car thinking about what she wanted him to do, but not having any sort of idea as to what he might find in the bedroom. He pushed the door open to see a set of frilly, lacy underwear laid neatly on a large bed with corner posts and an ornate headboard. There was a pair of pink panties with white trim, a matching bra which fastened at the front, two stockings, suspender belt and what looked a hand written sign on a piece of string which said “FOR XMAS”.
Gordon Lister slowly undressed, folded his clothes over a chair in the corner and reluctantly squeezed into what he assumed was the woman’s lingerie. The stockings stretched as he pulled them up, the suspender belt strained as he clipped it in place, and his unexpected erection protruded from the top of the panties, but no matter now hard he tried, he couldn’t get the bra to fasten so left it hanging loose and put the sign over his head.
“You can take the bra off,” said a voice behind him, “I knew it wouldn’t fit. I just wanted to watch you try.” Gordon turned round to see the woman staring at him and licking her lips. “Delicious,” she added, “and if you’re wondering, getting you to wear my underwear just adds to the thrill. Not that I’d have anything that would fit you anyway, but that it doesn’t, just increases your humiliation and reinforces how much in charge I am doesn’t it?”
Gordon nodded, took off the bra and tried to process whether his shame was a result of wearing ill-fitting lingerie in front of woman more than twice his age, or whether it was because his now almost fully-erect penis was no longer constrained by the flimsy material.
“Put that away,” she said pointing towards his lower stomach before turning and beckoning him with a wave, “When I want to see it, I’ll tell you.” He pushed his penis back inside the panties as best he could, and followed her downstairs where she sat in the large comfortable chair he’d used earlier and listed a succession of menial household tasks she wanted him to perform.
Gordon spent hours cleaning, dusting, polishing and vacuuming while his mistress sat, watched and occasionally stroked him, before she eventually stood up and told him to kneel. He did as he’d been told, and the woman pushed her tracksuit bottoms down her legs, stepped out of them, straddled his shoulders and pushed his face deep into her. “It’s midnight. Christmas comes once a year. But you better make sure that I come many times.”
Gordon licked, and sucked, and licked again while the woman with her thighs pressed tightly against his ears, shuddered, moaned, squirmed, and gripped the back of his head with such intensity he found it difficult to breathe.
He lost count of the number of times he thought she’d had an orgasm, and couldn’t even begin to guess how long he’d been licking for, but when she eventually released him, he collapsed on the floor and just managed to see her stagger out of the room before he fell into an exhausted sleep.