Chapter One

 

Since this story is kind of about me, I suppose I should start by introducing myself. My name is Sloan, Sloan Perrington. And I'm rich. Well, my family is, which is essentially the same thing. I don't mean to say we're wealthy. That's a whole other level. That's the level of people who own private jets and three hundred foot super yachts.

Rich is ... comfortable. We have a very large, very nice house. No servants, though we do have a maid service and a gardening and pool service. We also have a 'cottage' which I put in quotes because, well, it seems inadequate. It's got six bedrooms and seven bathrooms on two acres, and the boat house is bigger and nicer than what most people think of as a 'cottage'.

It has all the conveniences you could imagine, and a nicely landscaped plot full of trees and flowers, with two man-made waterfalls flowing across it to the lake.

But you do get used to such things. The cottage was a pleasant place, but not exactly a wonder to me. I grew up in comparative luxury, after all. I am, in a word, spoiled. I take such beauty and luxury for granted for it's all I've ever known. I have never known want, need, hunger or fear.

Nature has been generous, as well. I'm fit, accounted a rare beauty, with a body which is both athletic and toned and has curves in all the right places. My hair is not blonde, alas, but it is a lovely shade of dark brown and it's almost as obedient to my will as... well, I am to the will of others.

My parents have always been rather cold and stern, more concerned with their own lives than the raising of a daughter I often suspected they had only had because it was considered the proper thing to do. I was, to them, a check on a list of things they ought to have, along with the pared BMWs, the cottage, the Rolex, the fashionable clothes, and the political influence.

My father spent much of his time at work. My mother spent much of her time socializing, which to her meant organizing charitable events which would cause people to admire her. My time was spent with teachers, tutors, and coaches of various sorts. My life was carefully scheduled and regimented, all decisions made for me well in advance. My task merely to carry them out.

It was not I who decided I should play the violin, nor was I consulted before being signed up for lessons. I did not really have a lot of interest in ballet, but I was required to attend lessons regardless. I had a personal trainer not because I wanted one but because one was assigned me. He, of course, then assigned me my daily exercise regimen and ensured I kept up with it.

What food I ate, and when, was carefully selected. No snacks, unless they were healthy. My play dates were assigned me, sometimes with children I had never previously met. They were mainly the children of the 'right type' of people, which was to say, people my parents liked or felt were of the right social standing, so they could enhance their connections with them.

No one ever hit me, of course, for that wasn't progressive and fashionable. But I was kept strictly in line, and sternly punished for the slightest transgressions. It was very much like I had a job, for each day had a list of tasks to complete.

And so I grew up, in this tightly scheduled and monitored cocoon, and graduated, eventually, from the very expensive private school to which I had been sent. My next stop was Princeton. It was chosen for me, of course, as were my courses. Ultimately I was to attend law school, as my father had done.

No one ever asked my opinion, or whether I might prefer something else, nor had I offered it.

Am I making myself sound like the poor little rich girl? Woe is me? I don't mean to, really. I never felt sorry for myself. I accepted this as the way life was, as the way my life was. I don't recall ever feeling frustrated at it, not, at least, until lately.

I mean, if you've grown up under strict discipline then that's all you know. Accepting it becomes second nature, obedience routine. But when I got to Princeton I finally found a measure of freedom. I had to make at least some decisions myself, there, decide for myself when to do some things.

I also met people my parents had not screened first, first my roommates, then a number of people, including men, at a variety of social gatherings. This led to the awakening of curiosity, among other things, and the stirring of ideas of my own.

My parents lectured me on my responsibilities, which meant studying hard and getting good grades. They also made it clear I was not here to do anything else. Nevertheless, socializing was something which I encountered and began to explore. And that included dating.

Dating, for me, while in private school, had been sparse. It was an all-girl school. So my opportunities to meet boys were few. I was certainly not permitted to roam the neighborhood, where I might have met strange boys. The only opportunity to meet them, really, came at arranged social gatherings - arranged by my parents. And doing anything wrong there was fraught with the danger of discovery.

Because of that, I had not even attempted to lose my virginity. At least - technically. The girls at school were rich and spoiled and modern, and sex was not a big secret to most of them. So I had experimented with girls, and quite enjoyed long kissing and fondling sessions, as well as mutual masturbation. I was also introduced to the wonders of dildos, and was able to acquire one and hide it.

In my first semester at Princeton my experiments with girls had gotten much more interesting. I had sex with one of my roommates. That was the first time I had lain naked with another girl, in bed, fingering, kissing, fondling, and then licking each other to orgasms.

It was something of a revelation!

There is a saying that without valleys there can be no mountains. My life had been, up to that point, fairly ordinary, extremely predictable, uneventful. There were no valleys, but then again there were no mountains. This was quite the mountain! The pleasure was enormously greater than I'd been able to give myself, and the excitement... well, that just didn't compare to anything I'd ever done!

Laura was not a lesbian, though. She had a boyfriend named Preston, and so I experienced my first ménage a trois, and lost my virginity at the same time.

I felt guilty, but also gleeful. I had done something wild on my own and my parents had no way of knowing about it! Spencer introduced me to several guys after that, and I experimented with each of them, enjoying myself immensely. I have to say I ran through a lot of boys that first year, and became something of a slut.

Again, that made me feel guilty, because I knew my parents would not want me to be behaving like that, and would be both disappointed and angry if they found out. The guilt was a constant thing, and it kind of gnawed at me. I had spent my life doing as I was told, and now I was defying not only my parents, but, really, the rules of our society, which said I ought to be a 'good girl' and not sleep around.

I was supposed to be a respectable lawyer one day after all!

This troubled me, but it didn't stop me. I was becoming addicted to the freedom to do as I chose and see who I chose and do with them as I chose. And addicted too, to the hot, passionate sex. Oh, granted, it was often disappointing. A lot of these confident, cocky guys were not exactly great in bed, however much they might have thought otherwise.

And being young, eager men, well, the sex was sort of... the same. It seemed like they had all watched the same porn movies, and so they all did the same things, and it all became... routine. I have to say I didn't exactly feel impressed by them. They were all so eager to please, like over-sized puppies. I sometimes pictured them with their tongues lolling out of their mouths when I undressed, and had to repress a giggle.

That rapt excitement did do wonders for my ego, though. If the mere sight of my body would render a guy into a panting, fumbling, eager dog in heat, well, I must be something, right?

Returning home for the summer was difficult. I was expected to continue with all my normal lessons, and be just as obedient and dutiful as I had been before leaving, notwithstanding that I was now an adult - legally speaking.

It was a relief to pack up and head for the cottage. That had always been a place I could roam a little more freely. And I intended to roam a lot more freely this summer.

My parents used the cottage as a place for social gatherings, benignly gifting their cottage-less acquaintances with invitations for a few days or a week or two. My task was to be the pretty daughter in attendance, and occasionally fetch things for adults. But I could, of course, enjoy myself in the lake, use the boats and personal watercraft, and wander the paths as I chose.

All of this I present as mere background on who and what I am, and how I came to meet Troy Savage.

Savage was not one of those granted attendance there, but the owner of a nearby and larger 'cottage'. I first encountered him when I wandered down the along the shore and up onto the dock, then over to the boathouse.

The boathouse is a large, single story structure. On one side are a couple of covered docks for boats. There were also lifts for the personal watercraft, to raise and lower them into the water. On the other side was a large covered area which contained a bathroom, as well as a small kitchen with refrigerator, freezer, and of course, a large gas barbecue. A wide dock surrounded the boathouse, and a number of padded chairs had been placed on it.

That was where I found my mother laying back regally, and talking to a man who wore a bathing suit and nothing more. This was Troy Savage. He caught my eye immediately simply because he was so... big. He was tall, had very broad shoulders, and a powerful chest.

I had met large men, of course, but they seemed almost delicate and dainty compared to him. They were, except when drunk, quite polite, and well-mannered, very civilized men, as you would expect of Princeton.

Troy Savage looked like, well, a rough sort of man. I'm not sure what gave me the impression, really. His boat was sleek and obviously expensive. And it wasn't like his clothing could make me frown, what he wore of it.

Maybe it was his face. There was no delicacy to that face. It was a very square jawed face that needed a shave. He had short hair, and very thick neck. But his body was as smooth and well-shaved as his face was not. His mouth and jaw seemed to give off a grim, unhappy sense. And his eyes were dark and penetrating.

"Ah, Mister Savage, this is my daughter Sloan," my mother said in her genteel way. "She's just finished her first year at Princeton."

My mother had not failed to mention Princeton in any introduction of me since I had been accepted.

"Been swimming, dear?" she asked.

That was a criticism. My normally perfectly mannered hair was unkempt and untidy. I usually part it in the middle. At that moment my hair was kind of dangling down my back on one side, and across my face and down the side of my chest on the other. I was wearing my black bikini, with a pair of low-slung red track pants

"Yes, mother," I said.

"This is Mister Savage," she said. "He owns the cottage on the island over there to the north."

Savage stood up and I was impressed by his height, and by the full masculine size of him. He was one of those guys who straddled the middle point between bulky, muscular weightlifter types, and mere athletic men. I could imagine him as a boxer, or some other athletic sort. But I could also imagine him as one of those men in a movie I had recently seen who got into fights a lot - and won.

He held out his hand and mine all-but disappeared into it.

"Troy Savage," he said, in a deep voice.

"How do you do, Mister Savage," I said politely.

Now I had gone to Princeton as something of an innocent, but I had not stayed one. The intense, smoldering look Savage gave me was not one of a respectable older man to the young daughter of acquaintances. It was the look which said, "I want to fuck you very, very badly."

My mother didn't see it, but I, of course, looking up into his eyes, was left in no doubt.

He gave my hand an extra squeeze, then released it before sitting down again next to my mother. But the look in his eyes never changed as she regaled him with my many accomplishments.

I recognized the look, but not the tone. I had seen a lot of desire and lust in a lot of guys in the last year. But most of it was eager, from boys who sought to flatter me and ingratiate themselves into my affections. The burning hot look Troy Savage gave me was a more determined, deliberate thing which caused my pulse to become thready.

There was a restrained hunger in him that made me feel he could at any moment leap up out of his chair, grab me, tear my clothes off, and have me right there on the dock! And not in the way of an impassioned boy but more like a tiger bringing down its prey.

Mother went on babbling and he was silent, but his eyes spoke to me, and they told me he was coming after me, that he would hunt me down, chase me, and then that large, powerful male body would be all over me!

You think I was imagining it? You'd have to see him. Have to see his face. His eyes.

I did not get the idea, under that gaze, that he wanted to court me, to flatter me, to kiss his way along the nape of my neck, to delicately undress me. No, no. He wanted to rip my clothes off, throw me across his big shoulders, and take me back to his cave, there to ravage me again and again!

Perhaps he might even pound his chest like a big ape and howl his conquest to the world!

He listened politely to mother, and made the right approving sounds, but those eyes remained on me, and they were not approving. I don't think he was even listening, necessarily, and certainly didn't care that I could play the violin. His eyes skimmed up and down my body as if wondering where his teeth should best clamp down and bite!

I felt frozen under that gaze, and at the same time, a dark, roiling wave of heat swept through me. I could not help breathlessly imagine what it would be like to subject myself to the lust of this man, what he would do to me, and how he would do it!

Mother found a reason for me to go fetch, and so I walked up to the house, letting a breath out as I swallowed repeatedly. My nipples, I realized, were very, very hard inside the cups of my black bikini bra. It was a good thing it was black, I thought.

The idea, of course, was absurd. He was far older than I, well into his thirties. He was probably married. He was, I had gathered from their brief discussion, in 'oil', which was not the sort of thing my parents usually approved of. They liked old money, or at least, money in a more genteel profession like law or finance.

People who got their hands dirty were not my parents type. Though if they were rich enough I imagine they would make exceptions.

The boat house had a kitchen, and the kitchen had drinks, but of course, only a certain number. There was no wine there, and no beer. It was mostly fruit juices and some colas for visitors. I had been sent to the house for wine for mother, and a beer for Mr. Savage.

Father was not at the cottage at the time, having gone back to the city for a series of business meetings. We were not alone, of course, as several other couples were there, but they were out on the boat water-skiing. That left me alone in the big house, in the big kitchen, as I poured mother her wine, and then went to the secondary fridge (there were two) and found a beer for Savage.

When I turned from the fridge, there was Savage, standing there before me, tall and mostly naked, those eyes just as intense as I stared up at him. I froze like a deer in headlights and we sort of stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Your mother's guests have returned. She said you should bring the bottle."

"She used you as her errand boy?" I asked.

I had never seen a man less like an errand boy, which was why I thought it strange.

His lips curved slightly.

"I allowed myself to be used. Her guests seem to be the frippery sort."

"Frippery?"

"Not very serious."

"Some people might think the same of mother."

He stepped forward and took the beer from my hand.

"Some might."

"So why didn't you simply leave?"

"I wanted to discuss something with your father, but apparently he isn't here. I was about to leave, when you showed up."

"Me? Why would I keep you from leaving?" I asked warily.

His eyes looked me up and down, without apology or restraint.

"Because you're a beautiful girl. And men like to look at beautiful girls."

I felt my pulse rate increase, and licked my lips uncertainly. But in the light of his frank, unapologetic words, I was tempted...

"Is that all they like to do?" I asked.

He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed away. But I couldn't back very far away because the refrigerator was right behind me. The refrigerator was tall, and build into the wall, with a dark oak surface. I felt it pressing against my back and head and buttocks as he stepped right in against me, so close my breasts pressed lightly against his muscular chest.

I gulped as I cocked my head back.

"No," he said.

He took the wine from my hand and put it on the counter, then his hands gripped my jaw, basically folding themselves around my entire face, tilted it a little further back, and then leaned in and kissed me.

It was a kiss like I had never experienced before. It started out smooth and soft, with his lips melting against mine and spreading out, and spreading mine, and then rapidly became more and more demanding! His chest ground against my breasts as the kiss became harder, as if he were feeding at my mouth!

I moaned helplessly into his mouth, breathless, my hands, which had pressed against his powerful chest, had slid upward onto his bare shoulders. I felt a sense of utter helplessness, as if I were... completely under his power! My nipples tingled and my breasts throbbed, and still he kissed me!

He drew back, and I gulped in air, my hands, as he drew back, sliding off his shoulders, and down onto his chest.

"Hot, sexy, beautiful young girls need to be treated a certain way," he said.

"Wh-What... what way?!" I gasped.

He grinned softly, and he took my wrists then lifted my hands up and back against the wood behind me. He pinned them together with one powerful hand, then leaned over and kissed me again! This time, his free hand immediately slid down from my cheek to my left breast. He cupped and squeezed it as my heart pounded more and more, then jerked down on the fabric so my breast popped out!

I shuddered as his big hand fondled my breast, kneading and squeezing it, his fingers twisting and tugging at my nipple until I cried out!

He dropped his lips from mine, and then fastened them on my throat. I gasped, as his jaw opened wide, and closed on the front of my throat, and I swear I heard or felt - or perhaps imagined him growling as he held me in his jaws!

Then his mouth dropped and closed on the center of my left breast. Again I cried out, for his mouth was wide, and closed tightly, the teeth digging into my soft flesh, just on the edge of pain! His tongue swirled and twisted and taunted my nipple as he sucked against my flesh.

Meanwhile, his right hand slid down my quivering body and pushed firmly into my loose track pants, then in through the waist of my bikini bottom!

I cried out as his fingers found my sex. They were big and hard and warm, those fingers, and the sensations which rushed up through my body as they stroked along the line of my clitoris were incredibly powerful!

I felt my muscles spasm, my hips almost immediately grinding me against his fingers as his teeth... chewed at my breast! It ached, but the raw heat which swept through me left me too breathless to complain! My body trembled and my heart pounded madly as he forced a long, thick finger down between the lips of my sex, and let the tip curl under to push up inside me!

It didn't go far, but it made its presence felt! I whimpered and gulped in air as it dipped into the mouth of my sex, dipped in and pulled out, dipped in and pulled out, as if taunting me.

He straightened, pulling his hand out of my pants and stared into my eyes. Then he brought his right hand up to caress my cheek before pushing his index finger against my lips. As they were parted, the traced along my lips with it as I stared up at him, transfixed.