UNDER MY THUMB
By Fidelus Blue and Kitten
Chapter Two
One morning she called him. 'Can you meet me in town?' She gave the name of the
largest department store. 'I need your advice.'
He met her at the cafe in the basement.
'What sort of advice?'
'I'm going to buy some underwear,' she said. 'I want it to be for you.'
They went up to the lingerie department on the third floor. Matt thought he
had never seen such a cornucopia of corsets, a plethora of panties. Silks and
satins cascaded from hangers, tables were festooned with lace and lycra.
Elizabeth picked out a bra and knickers in purple satin trimmed with black
lace. There was a tiny suspender belt to match; it looked almost too delicate to
hold up stockings.
'What do you think?' she smiled.
He rolled his eyes.
'You don't like it?'
'Yes, I like it.' But he'd caught sight of the price tag. No one could pay
that much for underwear.
She picked up another matching set. He saw the label: La Perla. It meant
nothing to him, but he could see the luxury in the workmanship. He put out his
hand and felt the glossy black satin.
'Come,' she said.
She disappeared into a changing booth, drawing the curtain across.
'Don't go away,' she called out.
He heard the sound of zippers and fastenings. Her head appeared round the
curtain.
'Come in and see,' she said.
A few yards away a female sales assistant was watching him. He slipped into
the booth, blushing. Elizabeth stood in the purple satin. He saw how the bra
pushed up her neat, round breasts. It was cut so low he could see the top of the
aureoles.
'What do you think?' she said.
'It's gorgeous. But isn't it expensive?'
'It's just money,' she said. It was almost arrogant.
She took off the bra, then put on the other one. It fitted snugly. God,
she's lovely, he thought.
'OK,' she said. 'Let me get changed.'
When she came out he thought they were finished. But with a cry of delight
she rushed up to a rack of red silk corsets.
'It's me, don't you think?' she said, picking one out, her eyes shining.
He hated himself for looking at the price tag but he couldn't help it. For
that much he could have kept himself in artist's supplies for six months.
She found a size to fit and went back to the changing booth. Again she
invited him in to look. The corset gripped her waist and raised her breasts,
offering them. Below the line of her hips she was naked, the roundness of her
bottom accentuated by the tightness of the waist. She twirled round for him,
flaunting herself. There's something of the whore in her nature, he thought;
perhaps there is in every woman.
As he came out of the booth he saw a middle-aged man standing across the
way, staring. On an impulse Matt pulled back the curtain. Inside the booth
Elizabeth had her back to them. She was unhooking the fastenings at the back of
the corset, her arms twisted behind her back, above her naked bottom. Suddenly
she turned, saw the watching stranger and grabbed the curtain to pull it back
across. Matt held it open. He stepped behind her, holding her arms, turning her
to face outwards, displaying her naked belly to the watching man.
'Look at him,' Matt hissed in her ear. 'Let him see what you are.'
She was still for a moment, then pulled away from him, drawing the curtain
across once more.
'What the hell were you doing?' She looked at him fiercely.
'Don't play the modest maiden with me,' he retorted. 'I know better.'
By the time they got back to her apartment she'd mellowed.
'Sit down. I'll give you a fashion show.'
She modelled each set of lingerie in turn, first the purple satin, then the
black, finally the red silk corset. It had a pair of tiny matching briefs, no
more than a cache-sex. She'd put on sheer black stockings and a pair of
high-heeled shoes. If she was a whore, she was the very best, most expensive one
he'd ever seen. One I could never afford, he thought.
'What's the matter?' she asked. 'You don't approve?'
'It's sensational,' he said. 'I'm just not used to such extravagance.'
She stood in front of him, her weight on one leg, her hand on her hip in
the classic streetwalker pose.
'You think I'm a spoilt, rich bitch, don't you?'
'Or something else.'
'If that's what you think, say it,' she said. 'Don't be so fucking polite.'
'Sometimes,' he said slowly, 'I think you need reining in.'
'And you're the man to do it?' She was looking at him with fire in her
eyes. Defiant, insolent almost. But underneath there was something else. She was
daring him to seek it out.
'The other night you wanted me to hurt your nipples.'
'Yes,' she said, in hardly more than a whisper.
He stood up and took off the thin leather belt around his waist.
'What are you going to do?' she said nervously.
He went up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her round and
pushed her hard up against the wall. She struggled but he was too strong. He
pulled her elbows together and wrapped the belt around them tight, buckling it
fast. Then he led her over to a straight-backed chair.
'Sit down,' he ordered.
He went into the kitchen and came back with two wooden clothes pegs. He
stood behind her and pulled down the straps of her corset. He took hold of her
breasts and lifted them up above the top of the red silk. Carefully he opened
the little wooden jaws of one peg and positioned it over her right nipple, then
let it go. She gasped with pain. With equal deliberation he placed the other peg
on her left nipple.
'Oh, jesus,' she said. 'It hurts. Really, it does.'
'You thought to provoke me by throwing money in my face,' he said.
She hesitated before replying. 'Something like that.'
'And are you sorry?'
'No. Yes, I don't know. God, it hurts. Take them off.'
He stood over her, watching her face.
'I'm going to teach you some respect,' he said.
'Yes,' she said. 'Respect. OK.'
He put his hand out to one of the pegs and twisted it slightly. She caught
her breath.
'I'll do anything,' she said. 'Please. Just take them off.'
He twisted the other peg, a little harder. She gasped.
'You want them off?'
'Yes, oh please, yes.'
'You have to beg.'
She got off the chair, down on her knees and kissed his shoes.
'I beg you. I beseech you. I'm pleading with you.'
He lifted her to her feet. She grunted with pain as he took the pegs off,
one at a time. Then he led her over to the couch and pushed her face down onto
it, her arms still bound behind her back. He sat beside her and put his hand
between her legs. Juice was seeping out of her. He found her clitoris and began
to circle it slowly with his finger. He knew by now just how she liked it,
rubbing against the base, gradually a little harder, a little faster. He held
her back for a while, listening to her. He could tell just how close to coming
she was from her breathing.
He began to stroke her bottom with his other hand, luxuriating in the silky
smoothness of the skin. He bent and kissed her there, first one cheek then the
other. He spread her a little with his hand and looked down at the
damask-coloured little mouth nestling between the buttocks, so prudishly pursed.
He kissed it, then ran his tongue around the edge of the opening.
'Oooh,' she sighed.
He pushed against her with his tongue. She was tight, but she relaxed a bit
as his tongue insistently nudged against her. He pressed harder, trying to roll
his tongue into a funnel and inch it inside her. He could feel her getting
wider, accepting him, but he was continuing to work her clitoris with his finger
and suddenly there was no holding her, as her thighs clenched and her hips
trembled and her orgasm swept over her.
He let her rest for a moment. Then he stood up and unzipped his trousers.
He lifted her up to her knees and knelt behind her. Still her arms were bound.
Slowly he slid his cock into her sodden cunt. He moved it in and out several
times, then pulled out again. She groaned with disappointment. He put the tip of
his now slippery cock to her asshole. Nothing happened at first when he pushed,
but then the head suddenly slipped into her. He waited for a while, feeling the
incredible tightness, exulting in the mastery he felt, entering her secret
forbidden place. He wanted to debauch her, make her the slave of perverted
lusts, make her his slut. But in a part of his mind he knew it was the other way
round. She was the one who was leading them into the dark places.
She was tight, so tight he was afraid of hurting her.
'Open for me, Lizzie,' he said. 'Take it in, my little Beth, right in.
You've got to take it all.'
He could feel her give a little. He eased his cock into her further, just
an inch at a time. At last he was up to the hilt. He began to slide in and out,
not pulling fully back and thrusting in, just moving the shaft up and down
inside its skin, so she could feel its strength and hardness in her bowels. It
was such a wonderful sensation he wanted it to last forever, but she was
gripping him so hard it was like it was being squeezed out of him from deep
inside, and his ejaculation poured forth in a flood.
'You see?' she said as they lay together, her arms unbound at last.
And he thought, yes, I am beginning to see.
He still didn't think he could beat her. It was such a taboo, to strike a
woman. But if she provoked him again, and it seemed that indeed she would, then
he would show her he was not to be trifled with.
One afternoon he was walking in a part of the city he rarely passed
through. Down a seedy side street he came upon a sex shop. Always before he had
shied away from such places, their air of furtive sleaziness, the garish
pictures of women with impossible breasts, the tacky, cheaply made garments. But
today something drew him through the door.
Inside were shelves of videos and books, with a couple of men leafing
through them. At the far end were rows of sex toys, dildos eye-wateringly large,
vibrators of all shapes. Next to them was a selection of bondage gear. He looked
with a more than passing interest at the leather cuffs for ankles and wrists,
spreader-bars to hold the legs apart, leather collars and gags. In a box lined
with black velvet were a pair of handcuffs, chrome-plated, gleaming brightly in
the neon light. He picked them up. Unlike most of the goods they were well-made,
carefully finished. He looked at the price. He was glad they weren't cheap. He
couldn't have bought anything he thought she'd look down on.
He paid for the cuffs and watched as they were wrapped.
The sales assistant gave him a leer. 'This should keep her under control.'
Matt said nothing. Outside, he was surprised at what he had done. But he
felt a surge of excitement in his loins.
When he got home he put the handcuffs away. Over the next few days he
forgot about them. One evening Elizabeth offered to come round and cook dinner
for them. Matt didn't cook himself, but he wasn't averse to her doing it for
him.
She arrived with a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of red carnations. He
took them both, thanking her. He opened the champagne and poured them each a
glass. Elizabeth got busy in the kitchen. He sat and sipped his champagne,
gazing out of the window into the woods.
She brought the dinner in, duck breasts in a plum sauce. It was good, no
question. They ate for a time in silence, the candlelight flickering on the
glasses and silver.
'Oh,' she said suddenly. 'Where are the flowers? Did you put them in
water?'
He shrugged. 'I guess not.'
She looked concerned. 'You didn't like them?'
'Where I come from,' he said slowly, 'women don't buy men flowers. It's the
other way around.'
'Oh, that's so silly!' she cried. 'Why shouldn't I buy you flowers? Men can
like beautiful things, can't they? Don't you have a female side?'
'If I do, it's buried deep. Unlike your masculine side.'
'You think I'm too in your face?'
'So you think I'm silly, do you?'
'Now you're being pompous.'
'Be careful,' he said. She must learn; he might be a gentleman, but she
couldn't just provoke him without consequences.
'Oh, phooey,' she said with a laugh that was only just short of
contemptuous.
Matt got up and went to stand behind her. He reached down and began to undo
her blouse. He pulled it down off her shoulders and arms. Then he unhooked her
bra and drew it off.
'Oh, Matt, you're so masterful,' she giggled.
'Shut up,' he snapped.
He went to his study and returned with the handcuffs. She looked at him
with surprise as he clicked one cuff on her left wrist, looped it round a strut
at the back of the chair and clicked the other cuff to her right wrist. Now she
was bound to the chair.
He sat opposite and looked at her. Her nipples had gone hard.
'What are you going to do?' She sounded a little nervous.
In the centre of the table a large red candle burned brightly. On an
impulse he picked it up and advanced towards her.
'Oh, no, god, no. Please Matt, I'm sorry.'
'I told you to shut up,' he said.
He set the candle down. From the floor he picked up her blouse. He twisted
it till it was like a rope, then pulled it tightly across her mouth and knotted
it behind. He picked up the candle again and held it just above her naked left
breast. He could see a gleam in her eyes. Was it fear, excitement, defiance or
all three? He tilted the candle and let a drop of wax fall. It hit her just
above the nipple. From behind the gag came muffled sounds. He moved the candle
across and let another drop fall next to her right nipple. Another drop fell
between her breasts. Each one solidified instantly when it landed. As she
wriggled and tried to call out he traced a pattern of wax across her chest, then
positioned the candle carefully for the final touch. Two drops of red wax fell
on to the tip of her left nipple. She flinched as the wax slowly cooled and her
nipple absorbed the heat. He repeated the action for the right nipple. The
handcuffs rattled as she struggled. He liked the effect, the wax making the
nipple seem extra long, standing out bright against the whiteness of her
breasts.
He blew the candle out and set it on the table. She looked at him
wide-eyed, fearful of what would come next. He unfastened the trousers she wore,
pulled them down over her ankles. Then he removed the black silk knickers. He
picked up the candle again. With one hand he pulled her thighs apart, opening
her. He pushed the candle up into her sex till only the tip was visible between
the lips.
He stood and looked at her. He liked the effect, a bound woman penetrated
by the thick red stick of wax. He opened his trousers and took out his cock. He
held it towards her, rigid, the head a deep purple, the skin glassy smooth. He
began to rub the shaft, at first scarcely more than caressing it, then gripping
harder, moving faster. All at once the stream of thick white stuff shot from
him, splashing her breasts and face. A large drop landed in the corner of her
mouth. She reached out her tongue and licked it, savouring the salty taste.
He untied her, a little shame-faced at what he had done. But this was one
of the things about her he loved the most, that she always knew how to put him
at his ease at such moments.
'I guess,' she said smiling, 'when it comes to being in your face, you're
the champ.'
One evening they went to a party hosted by an old friend of Matt's, in a
large house in the country. Matt knew a lot of people there, and most of them he
hadn't seen in a while, so he was soon in deep conversation. Though he
introduced Elizabeth to some of his friends, she soon drifted away. When he went
in search of her he found her dancing with a young man. Matt watched from the
doorway as Elizabeth moved sinuously in time to the beat. There were only a
couple of inches between her and the guy and at points her belly, naked between
her low-slung velvet trousers and a tight top, touched his. Sensing his
presence, she glanced at Matt, smiling a little even as she inched closer to the
young man. Matt felt a twinge of jealousy and turned away.
Later he went to find her. He trawled through several rooms, ending up in
the kitchen. Just as he was pouring himself a drink, having failed to find her,
the back door opened and Elizabeth came in, followed by the young man she had
been dancing with.
'There you are,' Matt said. 'I've been looking for you.'
She had a slightly dishevelled look. Her face was flushed, whether from the
dancing or the wine she had drunk or something else he couldn't tell.
'Here I am,' she said. 'Is it time to go?'
Driving back in the car he chatted aimlessly about some of the people he'd
met at the party. When they got back to his house they went into the sitting
room. Matt sat in a chair. Elizabeth remained standing.
'Did you enjoy dancing?' he asked.
'That sounds like a loaded question,' she replied.
'Answer it.'
'I think I decline to, on the grounds that I might incriminate myself,' she
said.
'What were you doing outside with that guy?'
'What guy?'
'Don't try and be smart.'
'The guy I was dancing with? We went outside for some air.'
'Did he kiss you?'
'What is this,' she protested. 'The Spanish Inquisition?'
'Did he kiss you?'
She was silent.
'Go and kneel on the sofa,' he said.
She shrugged, a gesture she knew infuriated him. She knelt down, facing the
back of the sofa. Matt stood behind her and raised her skirt. Underneath she
wore a pair of red silk knickers that covered little more than the essentials.
Matt pulled them down and over her ankles. Her legs were bare. He stood and
looked at her naked bottom for a moment, then left the room. When he came back
something clinked in his jacket pocket. From it he took out the chrome-plated
handcuffs. He pulled her wrists behind her back and snapped the handcuffs on.
'Legs further apart,' he ordered.
'What are you going to do?' she asked.
'You had your chance to talk,' he said. 'Now be silent until I ask another
question. And don't move.'
From his pocket he took a handful of wooden clothes pegs. He began to apply
them to her sex, pinching the lips together then pinning them shut with the
pegs. Soon there was a line of half a dozen, from the bottom up to the top,
equidistant. Before he applied the last peg he felt for her clitoris. He pulled
it outwards and clipped on the peg at the base. She squealed as he let go.
'Hush,' he said.
He sat in a chair and looked at the line of pegs sealing up her slit. He
liked the aesthetic effect, the clean white wood against the flesh-tones, the
brighter pink just visible between the plump lips.
'Does it hurt?' he asked.
'Damn right it does,' she said. 'What the hell is this for?'
'It doesn't have to be for anything. I might just choose to do it. But I
will tell you what it's for. Not because you flirted, but because you only did
it to annoy me.'
'OK,' she said. 'I accept that. I'm sorry. It's a bit painful.'
'There's another thing. The pegs are meant as a symbol.'
'A symbol? Of what?'
'That your pussy belongs to me. I decide who has access to it, how it will
be used and when. You won't let other men touch it or even see it without my
permission. And in future you won't touch it yourself.'
She giggled. 'How are you going to stop me? You can't watch me twenty-four
hours a day.'
'It's an order. And I expect my orders to be obeyed.'
'Orders must be obeyed at all times and without question? I'd like to see
you try.'
'It seems you have an attitude problem,' he said.
'Attitude? What attitude?'
'You see?' he answered. 'You've still got it.'
'Bastard,' she said.
'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'You do seem to be looking for trouble.'
He walked over to her and slapped her hard on her right buttock. She
yelped. He slapped the left one, then repeated the action, a little harder, on
both sides. He sat down again. He could see the marks of his hands on her white
skin, the fingers clearly outlined in red.
'Did you let that guy kiss you?'
She was silent. He strode across and smacked her once again, harder still.
'Yes, OK, I did.'
'What else?'
Again she was silent. He smacked her several times, first one cheek then
the other. Her bottom was bright red now, on fire.
'OK,' she cried. 'I let him put his hand up my skirt, let him feel me.'
'Inside your underwear?'
He smacked again without waiting for an answer.
'Yes, yes, but only a little feel. I made him take his hand out again.'
'That was all?'
'Yes, really.'
He smacked her again, as hard as he could. His hand was getting sore.
'Really, I swear.'
He'd like to give her some more treatment. The problem was, he wanted her,
wanted her badly. It seemed as though a certain amount of self-discipline was
also required if you were a dominant, but just now he couldn't resist her. He
got up again and started pulling the clothes pegs off her, one at a time. He
heard her catch her breath as each one pulled away from the tender skin. He
undid himself and entered her, fucking her quickly, forcing himself to come
before she had a chance to reach an orgasm.
He called her two days later and invited her to dinner that evening.
'Sorry,' she said. 'I'm dining with someone else.'
'Who?'
'Someone I used to know.'
'A man?'
'Yes.' Something in her voice made him suspicious.
'A lover?'
She hesitated. 'Well, yes, but it was a long time ago.'
'So why do you still see him?' She was holding something back.
'Unfinished business.'
'Cancel it,' he said. 'I want you to dine with me.'
'I can't.' Her voice trembled slightly.
'Can't or won't?'
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'll explain later.'
'Don't bother,' he retorted and put the phone down.
Was she trying to provoke him, or was there some secret she was determined
to hide? Either way he felt the anger rising again. He realised now how much he
wanted to control her. The thought that there was another man tormented him. He
would have her all to himself or not at all.
She called him the next day. 'Please can we talk?' she pleaded.
At first he was cold, distant. He wasn't sure if he'd have time that day,
he said. She begged him not to freeze her out. At last he relented somewhat. She
said she was leaving work early to go riding. She kept a horse at a stables on
the outskirts of town.
'Meet me there at six,' she said. 'I'll be finished then. We can go
somewhere quiet.'
When he got there a stable girl was closing up.
'I've come to meet Elizabeth Lawrence,' he said.
'That's OK, the girl replied. 'She's still out but you can wait inside.
She's got a key.'
The girl left. He strolled around the stables. Horses snuffled and snorted
in their stalls. He peeped into the harness room. There was a powerful smell of
old leather. On the walls bits and bridles hung together with reins and
stirrups. He heard the sound of a horse's hooves and turned to see Elizabeth
ride into the yard. She dismounted, smiling.
'Have to unsaddle and rub him down,' she said.
'What's his name?' Matt asked.
'Princeling. He's a gelding.'
That would figure, Matt thought to himself. He followed her into the stall.
Her face was flushed with the exercise. He'd never seen her look so handsome.
She wore classical riding gear, a crisp white blouse under a tight-fitting black
velvet jacket. Her hair was pinned up under a black riding helmet. As she bent
to undo the horse's girth he looked at her rounded bottom encased in skin-tight
tan breeches. The outfit was completely by shiny black leather boots, knee-high.
'How was your dinner?' he said, trying to sound non-committal.
'Good. It was good.'
'And this guy is exactly who?'
'Just a guy.' She gave him a look that was cocky, almost defiant.
'So you stood me up just for a nobody?'
'I didn't stand you up,' she said spiritedly. 'I had a date with him first,
remember?'
'And I asked you to break it.'
'And I said no,' she retorted. She had stopped brushing the horse and stood
with hand on hip, looking him in the eye.
His heart was hammering in his chest. Something was coming over him,
something too powerful to be denied.
'And you think you can say no to me, just like that?'
'Can't I?' Her eyes sparkled. She was breathing quickly.
'I won't be trifled with,' he answered.
'Oh, won't you?' She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, what was he prepared
to do about it?
'No, I won't.'
He picked up a long leather strap lying across a wooden rail. Grabbing her,
he held her wrists while he bound them tight together. He pulled her over to the
side of the stall and looped the end of the strap through a ring set high on the
wall, so that her arms were pinioned above her head. She struggled silently,
determinedly, but to no avail. Seizing another strap, he knelt and bound her
ankles together. Then he undid the belt around her waist, pulled down the zipper
of her breeches and yanked them down to her knees. Underneath she wore a tiny
pair of white silk panties. These too he pulled down, with such violence that he
tore the thin material. The horse turned its head to look, mildly curious.
Bound hand and foot, she'd ceased struggling, but she glanced behind her
nervously to see what he intended. On a bench nearby she'd set down her riding
crop. He picked it up and advanced on her.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I was disrespectful, I know. Please
don't do it hard.'
'Be quiet,' he said.
He measured the distance carefully, tapping the crop lightly against her
bare buttocks. Then he raised it above his shoulder and brought it down hard
across the centre of her behind. She whimpered softly. He raised the crop and
struck her again, aiming at exactly the same spot. Two livid red lines marked
the white skin. Again he raised the crop. As he brought it sharply down, she
tried to move out of the way and it struck her to one side, partly on the hip.
'Keep still,' he said curtly. 'You're going to get a dozen strokes, and if
you move on any of them they will be repeated. Do you understand?'
'Yes,' she whispered, so low he could hardly hear her.
The crop rose and fell. Her body was trembling now but, resigned to her
fate, she no longer tried to move away. The sweetly rounded buttocks were
criss-crossed with welts. He knew if he stopped he would not have the nerve to
go on; he steeled himself to deliver what he had promised. He could see her
tears falling now. A terrible excitement was upon him, as though his body were
humming with electricity.
At last he was finished. He lowered his arm and stood panting. He could
feel his cock throbbing. He opened his trousers and took it out. Standing behind
her, he felt between her legs. Her slit oozed. He slid inside her, holding her
scorched, bruised buttocks in his hands. He fucked her slowly, savouring the
moment. She moaned softly as he came.
He put his arms around her and held her as his cock slowly slipped out of
her. He untied her and pulled her knickers and breeches gently up over her
behind. He kissed her face, tasting the salt tears.
'I love you,' he said.
'Matt,' she breathed, holding him tight.
He helped her finish caring for the horse. They drove away from the stables
to her house. He led her by the hand into the bedroom and undressed her, laying
her on the bed face down. Tenderly he stroked the marks he had made, tracing the
deep red lines, now changing to purple. He turned her and kissed between her
legs, circling her clitoris with his tongue, not teasing her this time, only
thinking of her pleasure, till she came with a cry of delight.
He cradled her in his arms. 'So, tell me about this guy. If you want to.'
She took a deep breath. 'Five years ago I met a man. I didn't like him at
first, but he pursued me relentlessly and eventually I agreed to go out with
him. I recognised that there was something strangely compelling about him, even
as I resisted him. Our love-making was intense, even violent. He never struck
me, but he often held me down. He buggered me frequently, the first man I had
ever allowed to do so. And one day he put me across his knee and spanked me. I
was outraged, at least I acted outraged. But I could not disguise the excitement
I felt. He had only to put his hand between my legs to feel it, after all.
Things progressed rapidly. He began to beat me regularly, in more and more
elaborate rituals. He told me that he was my master, that I was to subjugate
myself to him in all things sexual, that my body belonged to him. I accepted
this. In truth, I was in thrall to him.
'After a year he moved away. It became impossible to continue our
relationship on the same basis, though we continued to communicate. I embarked
on a frenzied search for sexual satisfaction with other men, sleeping with
dozens in the next two years. But none of them could offer me the pleasure I
received from Jonathan. However much I hinted, however much I provoked and
teased, none would take me in hand.
'I discovered with Jonathan that I have a deep need to be submissive. In
everyday life people find me confident, assertive, even bossy. But in the
bedroom I need to be dominated. I want to feel that I am utterly in the control
of a strong man who will bend me to his will; who will break me if I try to
resist. I want to be free of my own will, to have no other desire than to serve.
I don't know why I am this way; I only know it is the deepest thing in me.
'Because I could no longer see Jonathan on a regular basis I asked to be
released from my vow of obedience to him. He refused. He said that a submissive
may never again become a sexually free woman. I could only be released from my
obedience to him if I found someone else to take his place. I have been looking
for that someone. I thought when I met you I might have found him. That is why I
went to meet Jonathan, to tell him about you and get his approval to continue my
quest to become your slave. But for a long time you refused to be cast in that
role. Now, at last, I wish to humbly request to be your submissive. Tell me that
you accept me.'
She got off the bed and knelt at his feet. She lowered her head and kissed
them.
'Do you accept my offer of complete and utter obedience, master?'
He opened his trousers and showed her his cock.
'Kiss it.'
She bent her head and kissed it reverently.
'Do you worship it?'
'I do,' she said.
'Do you promise to serve it, to prostrate yourself before it?'
'I do.'
'Suck me, then. And swallow.'
She did as he commanded. Afterwards he took her into bed and they slept,
their arms around one another.
