Summer Training Pt. 01

All persons are above the age of 18. This story is complete fiction and and similarities to real life are coincidence.

Part 1: My Sweet Little Pet

The Texas heat was heavy enough to taste. Thick, sweet, and almost cruel, baking every inch of Bellfield under a relentless sun.

I sat on the back porch of Mike's parents' house, an old bottle of beer sweating in my hand, watching the party stretch lazily across the yard. It was the same old scene I'd known my whole life -- neighbors laughing, kids darting around with sodas, the smell of charred meat hanging in the still air.

But my eyes weren't really on the party.

They were on him.

Mike Jameson. Eighteen years old now -- officially a man by everyone's standards. Still the same shy, sweet boy I'd been babysitting since he was ten.

Except... not.

The years had filled him out, softened him in some ways, hardened him in others. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a cute roundness to his belly he tried to hide with baggy T-shirts. Shaggy brown hair that curled damply against his forehead. A neat little beard he must have grown to look tougher than he felt.

It didn't fool me.

Underneath it all, he was still my shy little Mikey.

And today -- for the first time -- I was allowing myself to really see him.

To really want him.

It wasn't just that he was cute. It wasn't even just that he was still so clearly, deliciously submissive. It was everything else -- the vulnerability he tried to hide, the way his eyes kept sneaking glances at the girls by the pool, too embarrassed to even look properly.

The way he flushed when one of them laughed too loudly, the way he physically recoiled from attention.

God, he was practically aching for someone to take control.

And I intended to be that someone.

---

It hadn't started today.

The idea had been planted a month ago -- at this very house -- during his graduation party.

I had needed to pee. The bathroom off the kitchen was full, a line of kids waiting and chattering, so I'd slipped upstairs, knowing Mike's bathroom would be empty.

And that was when I saw it.

His laptop, open on the desk, screen still bright.

At first, I wasn't going to look. I had no reason to. But then, like fate pulling my eyes, I caught the words glowing against the white background:

Femdom initiation stories. Worship her panties. Foot worship first time experiences.

I stood there frozen, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face.

Poor, sweet Mikey.

All those shy smiles, all those stammered greetings, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention -- it all made perfect sense now.

He didn't just have a crush on me.

He needed someone to own him.

Someone he trusted.

Someone who would mold him carefully, patiently -- with a firm hand and a kind heart.

Someone who would teach him that his cravings, his neediness, weren't weaknesses at all.

They were gifts.

And I would be the one to unwrap them.

---

Now, sitting on the porch swing with him fidgeting nervously beside me, the sun casting golden light over everything, I knew the timing was perfect.

He was legally an adult. Fresh, soft clay in my hands.

And he wanted to be shaped.

He just didn't know how to ask.

Not yet.

But he would.

I took a slow sip from my beer, stretching my legs out lazily, pretending to enjoy the view while my mind whirled with wicked possibilities.

He was wearing a black T-shirt and loose athletic shorts. His thighs spread just enough for me to see the outline of something... small.

Tiny.

Perfect.

My mouth almost watered at the thought.

I wore cutoff denim shorts so small they barely counted as clothes, and a thin white ribbed tank top with no bra underneath -- the thin fabric clinging to my heavy breasts, nipples faintly visible in the golden light. My hair was tied back in a loose braid that swung over my shoulder.

I looked casual, effortless.

Predatory.

Mike was trying so hard not to stare.

It was adorable.

And I intended to make it so much worse for him.

---

"You nervous, cariño?" I asked, turning my head lazily toward him.

He jumped like a rabbit, cheeks flushing immediately.

God, he was easy.

He nodded mutely.

I laughed -- low and soft -- and leaned back against the swing, letting my chest push forward just slightly.

"Relax," I purred. "I don't bite. Not unless you beg me to."

His whole body stiffened, and I saw the desperate twitch in his lap.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

I let the silence stretch for a moment, feeling the heat cling to our skin, thick and heavy.

"You know," I said finally, in the most casual tone I could muster, "I've been thinking about you lately."

His head snapped up in confusion.

I smiled sweetly at him, tracing a slow, lazy circle on my thigh with one finger.

"You ever think about... what you want, Mikey?" I asked. "Now that school's done? Now that you're all grown up?"

He shrugged helplessly, clearly struggling to find words.

"I dunno," he mumbled. "Work, I guess. Maybe college."

I shook my head slowly.

"Not that, cariño," I said, voice dropping low. "I mean... what you want. Deep down."

He blinked at me, utterly lost.

Perfect.

I leaned closer, letting my bare thigh brush against his jeans just slightly.

"You ever have fantasies, Mikey?" I whispered. "Things you dream about but never dare say out loud?"

He froze, swallowing hard.

Time to push a little harder.

"You ever dream about serving someone?" I murmured. "About giving up control?"

His mouth opened, then closed again helplessly.

I smiled warmly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair off his forehead.

"It's okay," I said softly. "I understand."

And then, I twisted the knife.

"You know..." I said, pretending to be thoughtful. "Back at your party... when I snuck upstairs to use the bathroom..."

Mike's body went rigid.

I smiled wider.

"I saw your laptop, cariño."

He made a choked noise, face going scarlet.

"I saw what you were looking at."

I let that hang in the air between us.

The confession.

The threat.

The promise.

Too be continued...