I stand in front of the blond god, all six foot two inches of him.
He sprawls in his deep brown leather couch, his muscular legs splayed wide open, displaying a firm bulge in between. The tight denim of his jeans encases this bulge like a wrapper around a rapidly expanding balloon.
“So you’re Gia,” he drawls.
“Gina,” I timidly correct him. “Gina Wesley.”
“How long have you been at Gifford, Gia Wesley?”
He unnerves me, this gorgeous Adonis in his straining Levis and white wife-beater. His eyes are a remarkable blue. His nose would have graced a CK ad. His lips . . . I don’t even want to think of his lips. And right now, he’s the only thing standing between me and my acceptance into Phi Kappa Omega.
“Two months,” I softly say.
“Two months!” He laughs heartily, flashing white teeth. “Two months, and you want to get in?”
I cringe before him. Everyone told me it was futile, useless. They would never accept me – not at this stage.
What’s my bug about getting into Phi Kappa Omega?
Well, it’s the club of all clubs at Gifford. Enter, and it’s an instant passport to a lucrative career after college. Job offers flow your way like tap water from a burst pipe. Their network promises you extensive contacts from Minnesota to Peru. My sister, Karyn, was a senior before she finally got accepted, and here I am – a freshman – trying for the greatest club Gifford has ever known.
A freshman!
Imagine me trumping Karyn by a good three years. She’ll never live it down during Thanksgiving!
“You are whatever I call you,” the god says, tipping his head back to gaze at me out of narrowed eyes.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir.”
A slow grin spreads across his generous lips. “Nah. Not sir. I’ll teach you to call me master.”
“Yes, master.” I swallow. Karyn did hint at a lengthy ‘initiation’ process. She wasn’t too specific about it, only that it was “something you’ll have to find out for yourself”, a phrase she often delivers with a ghost of an uneasy smile.
The blond god’s name is Max Devlin, but I’m not allowed to call him Max.
“How far are you willing to go to enter Phi Kappa Omega, Gia?”
My hands are nervously wringing themselves in front of the pink baby doll dress I’m wearing.
“Anything it takes, if it pleases you, master,” I whisper.
I wonder if he can tell that I’ve put on fresh panties for this occasion. They’re white, lacy and wonderfully girly. But those were his instructions – conveyed to me before this fortuitous meeting. “Dress like a little party princess.”
“Good,” he says, folding his hands behind his marvelous head. His blond hair is cropped short, the way I imagine Apollo’s, Greek god of the sun, would be. “Now slide off your panties. Real slow.”
Gulping, I hasten to obey him. Part of me had expected this.
My trembling fingers creep under the hem of my baby doll dress. The frilly skirt is so short that the tops of my thighs are almost showing. My thumbs dig into the thin fabric of my new panties. As my hem flutters up, I swear he can catch a glimpse of my crotch – which is now leaking like a creamy sundae fountain onto that little cotton scrap.
I ease my panties off slowly, taking care not to let the hem of my skirt ride up again. They fall around my ankles in a miniscule string. My nether lips are throbbing around the little moist kernel of my clit, and copious juices are flooding my entire pussy in a warm, wet tide.
“Very good. I can tell we’re going to get along here,” he says.
I step out of my panties, teetering in my two-inch pink heels. Those were a requirement by Max Devlin as well. He stares at the area between my legs, hidden only by the fall of lacy pink chiffon.
Gathering his magnificent long torso, he abruptly rises from the couch.
He says but one word, “Come.”
He strides off to the direction of the bathroom without looking at me.
Flustered, I debate whether to gather the forlorn little heap of my wet panties, but hastily decide against it. Max Devlin is not a man who likes to be kept waiting, I’ve been told. I hurry after him in my heels, taking not to trip over them. A little breeze trails in from the open window and lifts my skirt to reveal the shoal of my buttocks. Bashfully, I hold my dress down.
The bathroom is wide, with a porcelain bathtub, toilet and sink, and a most unusual feature to be found in a college house – a bidet.
Max turns to me suddenly. I almost bundle into his rock hard body, but stop myself in time. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink – wild mahogany hair tumbling all over my shoulders, anxious green eyes, the tops of my breasts peeking out of the low frilly neckline of my baby doll dress.