I held the myriad emotions swirling through my mind at bay until I got into the limo. Accepting the chauffeur's lusty gaze that ran over my body as a compliment, I merely smiled when he focused on my hard nipples, obviously braless, and held out his hand to help me into the luxurious passenger section. His eyes were rays of heat on my exposed back as I climbed in. I could feel his stare scorching the top of my ass, also exposed in my new dress, and feigned obliviousness, focusing on the bottle of champagne and fresh strawberries within the interior.
I’d kept myself hectically busy the entire day as a distraction, and I was in a rush to get dressed for my big night. That all-too-familiar feeling of living in a romance novel fairy tale washed over me, a known blend of emotions that sweetened the riot of other sensations vibrating my soul. I needed to concentrate on what I was about to do. Would I do it? Could I? I wasn’t positive I’d like it, but it had been my request. I needed to deal with these intense feelings.
Instead, I pondered how on earth my husband managed to pull this off with only a few hours' notice. Fuck Hollywood; he does romance on an epic, god-like level. It had been just past 7:30 AM when I weaseled out of cooking dinner and asked him, “how about you take me to a fancy place for dinner, and we can go over my submission contract there? I’ll wear whatever you pick out for me—that and only that. You can wine and dine me while we negotiate my total, complete surrender to you.”
In roughly eleven hours, he’d procured a Meshki Sabine, a backless, designer dress and matching heels as well as a limousine with a cute driver, with strawberries and a bottle of Cristal champagne to drive me to the restaurant to meet him. The Pretty Reckless played on the limo’s stereo as I meditated over how he managed to do these things. It wasn’t just this once, it was daily. Besides, it was far easier to ruminate over how elegant and glamorous I felt than to deal with the other emotions.
My dress was exquisite. A maxi dress with a body-con fit, it swooped low in the neck and was thick enough to be opaque, but stretchy and thin enough to mold itself to my bare breasts, highlighting my erect nipples. Backless, my bare flesh was exposed all the way down to just past my waist, the wide circular cut in the back exposing the top of my tailbone and the dimples atop my ass cheeks. Holding it together was a small array of crisscrossing strings. It was intentionally designed to look classy, elegant, and sexy, boldly advertising that undergarments shall not, cannot be worn.
I fantasized about fucking the chauffeur. He was cute, and a little muscular, and the image of him pounding his hard, throbbing cock into me while wearing his driver’s cap made me wet. I pictured myself walking into the restaurant, my tongue and lips salty from swallowing his cum, kissing my husband, and telling him that his slutty wife fucked the limo driver; that’s why she was late. That would definitely set the tone for negotiating my contract to submit to him and his will, both sexually and completely.
That thought caused my fantasy, just a second away from being realized, to halt and catch fire, burning into the ashes of lost opportunity. I’d told Glade, my husband, that I wanted to explore the Dominant/ submissive thing, not as just a night of play, but for a long duration and in-depth. We’d played at it before, and I’d even been dominated by a few others, but, while he’s a very dominant man, he isn’t domineering or the type to attempt to control another. I wanted to explore that, being voluntarily under his complete and utter control.
Those feelings and emotions still crashed against my consciousness like angry waves. Arousal and fear, nervousness and excitement, the fear of the unknown, and my zeal to discover it all consumed me. I had doubts and trepidation coupled with eagerness and enthusiasm; it was maddening. I was going to be owned, controlled, and commanded to do terrible, dirty, naughty, and filthy things. I wouldn’t submit to just anyone; I’d found the one person that gave me everything I need in life, a love that completely consumes me.
Noting that my hand was up my dress, gently stroking my soaked cunt, I decided that I was going to seduce the driver. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, leaning forward, my tits thrusting out to look even sexier.
“Pulling in shortly; about one minute, ma’am,” he replied, oblivious to the fact that, had it not been for him driving so fast, I would have fucked his brains out, having him finish in my mouth. “Here it is. Thank Mr. Glade for me, please.”
Fine, then, an intentional flash of my dripping pussy as he helped out would have to do. The dress, being classy, didn’t exactly facilitate me spreading my legs, so he could see my cleanly-shaven slit, but I managed it, to his delight.
“Hope you enjoyed the view,” I giggled to him, patting his erection through his pants, then exaggeratedly wiggling my ass as I walked into the restaurant.
I’d never been to this place, before. Growing up impoverished, a restaurant that had tablecloths was out of our budget. Fast food, after scrimping and saving for a month, was high cuisine for us. This place was all shining brass, luxurious decor, and linen-covered, intimate tables. He was there, of course, leaning over the dark wood counter, chatting to the hostess in the lobby.
His back was turned to me, but I’d know that body from any angle. His medium blond hair wildly played over his head, brushing past those broad, muscular shoulders that tapered down into a tiny waist. He was wearing a light, button-down shirt, and charcoal slacks, even shining dress shoes instead of his usual moccasins.
The hostess was hot. She was of medium height, with light brown hair, perfectly done to look classy, beautiful, and professional. Her makeup was smoky, matching the romantic intimacy of the restaurant, and her stylish uniform blazer didn’t conceal her large breasts. Her name tag read, “Amber,” and her expression, as she looked up into my husband’s hypnotic eyes, said, “fuck me, please.”
“And there she is, looking even more perfect and stunning than the last time I saw her,” Glade, my husband, said to me, or her. He hadn’t turned, and there was no way he could have seen me walk in.
“How do you know? You haven’t even glimpsed at me.”
He chuckled. “No need. I heard the hush when everyone stopped talking to gawk at you, saw the gangly busboy drop a plate and stare at your physical perfection, and Amanda’s eyes, here, lit up as if she’d seen the most beautiful thing in all creation. Only you provoke such a response.”
So much for me setting the mood. He hadn’t even looked at me and was already making my heart melt, setting my soul on fire, my pussy gushing wetness to quench the inferno. Then, he turned, all crooked, pussy-drenching smile and hypnotic eyes, those pleated pants of his looking so sexy, and those muscles bristling with every subtle movement.
He stared into my soul, communicating volumes without a single word. There was passion, desire, respect, and pride. With my knees growing weak, I admonished myself for always falling instantly under his spell. I didn’t want to eat dinner; I wanted to tear those sexy clothes off of him and hump that beautiful face of his until he drowned in my pussy juice. Let the jealous bitches watch if they want. My lusty desire was almost overpowering.
Instead, he gently grasped my hands in his and smiled wider. “I lied; you’ve taken the perfection that is you and multiplied it.”
Then he kissed me, right there in the restaurant lobby, close to one-hundred people staring at us. There are infinite types of kisses, from platonic to horny. His was, as always, a soul-changing embrace. Timed perfectly, just as my mind screamed out that I wanted him to lay one on me, his lips met mine as they instinctively parted, betraying my desires. Gentle, hot, and moist, with the perfect amount of pressure, as if he read my mind and could see into my soul, his arms tightened around me just as I relaxed into the smooch, my mouth opening wider in a silent plea for him to take me, to ravish me.
Our tongues met, slowly caressing to advertise desire, as his strong, manly hands grazed the bare skin of my back, sending jolts of need through my entire body as he pulled me into his rock-hard body. My lips were moist, but my cunt grew instantly soaked. Instinctively finding my rhythm and pace, he didn’t lead or control, only matched my intensity, his heart beating with mine as his physical urging made my heart explode, tore my soul into flaming, bliss-filled embers, and cause my emotions to surge along with my heat and desire.
An eternity of rapture later, we broke off our greeting, me wanting him to continue caressing my exposed skin and ass forever.
“I’m surprised you didn’t pick out slutty clothes for me to wear. I mean, what man would pass up that opportunity? But I do love this dress. Where did you find it, and the limo, and everything else?”
To my sadistic delight, Amber, the hostess, was staring at me, her mouth agape. Her expression was pure jealousy. Suck it, bitch. He’s mine, were my thoughts.
“I have my ways,” he mused. I knew that was all the explanation I’d ever get. He turned to the hostess. “Is everything ready for us? Thank you again. I’ll be forever in your debt.”
She picked up the in-house phone, covering the mouthpiece so I couldn't hear. She nodded to my husband, a direct invitation to him to fuck her like a whore, then her beaming face looked toward an awaiting waitress and nodded.
She pranced to us and sidled up near. Our waitress was a woman in her thirties, I guessed, with black dyed hair, demure makeup, and a stunning, thin figure. She had an aura of openness and amicability.
“I’m Tiffany,” she said, thrusting out her boob to display both it and the name tag to my husband. “I’ll take excellent care of you. We have everything ready.”
Rather than lead us to our table, she took me by the elbow, guiding me toward our table. The look on her face alerted me that she knew exactly why we were there. She was beaming with flushed cheeks, smiling widely as she looked at me. She didn’t need to guide me to the table; which one was ours was glaringly obvious due to its uniqueness.
Our destination was off to one corner, offering some sense of privacy. Mosaic glass sconces were on either wall, casting a romantic, dancing sheen over the table. Our table was unlike the others, mainly due to the bouquet of long-stemmed roses in its center—a dozen white blossoms with a perfect red one in the middle. It was “our” flowers, similar to the ones he’d first given me the morning after I met him, after having the most incredible, addictive sex I’d ever experienced.
With the ambiance and his thoughtfulness tugging at my heart and soul, I paused the litany of feelings spurting through my head to take in the rest of the immaculately-tailored setting. A wine steward was at the ready, a bottle of Hubert Lignier Les Chaffots Pinot Noir wine in his hands. The tablecloth was a light, forest green to match my hair, unlike the off-white ones elsewhere. Three of the waitstaff nodded to us and immediately scampered away, smiling at my husband.
We were seated, his eyes only on me, my mind a whirlwind of horny desire and trepidation about the journey I was about to embark upon. Tiffany rattled off the chef’s specials, my not knowing what a champagne sauce is or exactly why an aged steak is more special than a fresh one. I only half-listened, trying to stare into my husband’s soul as he does to me. Instead, I found myself lost in his eyes, marveling over that intense, torrid kiss, and wondering what else was in store.
“...and your appetizers will be out in just a second,” our waitress finished.
“Would madame care to sample the wine before accepting it?” the cute wine steward asked me. As I didn’t want to embarrass myself and spoil the moment by opening my big mouth, I filled it with wine. It was excellent and robust, and much better balanced than the twenty-dollar-per-bottle stuff I usually quaff.
With a hand on my shoulder and a smile, Tiffany went away to retrieve our appetizers. I was too nervous to even glance at the menu, so I busied myself with the wine.
“Did you tell them what’s going on?” I finally asked. “It’s like everyone knows we’re here to go over our bondage contract!”
“They do now,” my husband laughed. His eyes were looking behind me.
Turning my head, feeling the heat of all the blood rushing to flush my cheeks, I saw Amanda, the hostess, Tiffany, our waitress, the wine steward, and another waiter right behind me.
“Yes,” I told them, letting the three glasses of champagne and my wine do the talking for me. “We’re doing a sex thing. I’m going to submit to him as his slave, and we’re here to go over the contract.”
Amanda nodded and smiled and Tiffany said, “Oh, like fifty shades?”
“Better,” I retorted. “I mean, look at him.” I ran out of courage at that exact moment, “More wine, please. I’m so embarrassed.”
The appetizers, stuffed mushroom caps as big as my hand and Southern shrimp arrived, and, while they still hovered, the waitstaff backed off enough to let us talk.
“I think my mouth just had an orgasm,” I began, defying the classiness of my attire. “So, where’s the contract?”
“First, let me make sure I completely and totally understand your desires.”
We talked out my expectations, me growing hornier and tipsier each minute. When I said, “No, I mean, really treat me like your own personal fuck-toy and just fucking take me hard and savage whenever you want,” the poor wine steward nearly spilled the wine on my arm.
When Tiffany came to collect our appetizer plates, we were involved in discussing another topic. By then, I was so horny that I was squeezing my thighs together for the arousing sensations.
“May I ask you something,” I said to her. She nodded, smiling. “If you were going to unconditionally submit yourself to another, would it be hotter to wear a slave outfit or be forced to be completely nude all the time?”
“Um, sexy clothing, I think, is always hotter than just nude. Not that my opinion counts.”
“See? She agrees.”
Being alerted that our meals would be out momentarily, Glade having thankfully ordered for me, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. Somehow, somewhere throughout the evening, all my fears and anguish morphed into extreme arousal. The reality that I was about to plunge myself into a sexual lifestyle that I’d never tasted had begun to overwhelm me.
Slamming the bathroom stall door so hard that it ricocheted open, I kicked it closed and latched it, pulling my luxurious dress up over my bare twat. My fingers plunged between my thighs, one hand plunging into my hole, the other tugging and pulling on my swollen clit. The squishing sound of my fingers echoed through the otherwise empty and pristine-clean bathroom. I tried not to moan, failed, as a massive orgasm ripped through me in record time.
It took me less than two minutes to get myself off, but longer for me to catch my breath and regain some semblance of composure. When I got back to our table, needing to walk the entire length of the fancy restaurant, I felt all eyes on me. I bounced my tits for no reason other than I wanted the attention. My pantiless ass, still firm and shapely, rocked back and forth with each step as I drank in the attention.
“Miss me? Oh, our food is here.” Tiffany was putting our entrées on the table as I spoke.
”Every second without you was an eternity of anguish.”
“You’re always so sweet.” I took his hand over the table, making sure he saw my pussy juice on my fingers. Knowing that he was now fully aware of exactly what I was doing in the ladies’ room, I grabbed my wine glass and seasoned the rim of my goblet with my nectar.
Amanda, the buxom hostess, approached as I sipped. She held a leather-bound folder in her hands. “For you, Missus Blackfeather,” she smiled, handing it to me.
Dinner was exquisite, exploding with savory flavor, and perfectly presented and seasoned. The leather-bound folder contained the actual contract, neatly printed on high-quality paper. I read it, twice, before speaking, my foot running up and down his leg the entire time.
I was pleasantly surprised and a little shocked. The actual contract dealt mainly with the expectations. It detailed how all of my dominant’s attention would be devoted to me, how my happiness and emotional well-being were the most important parts, and how we would achieve this, together. Expected behaviors from both of us, the establishment of total trust, and other things that I hadn’t thought of were outlined in black and white.
Punishments for various infractions, such as lying, hesitating, disobedience, and others, were outlined, as well as how we would address each other.
”I don’t like this in section four, subsection two, about titles,” I told him. “I don’t want to be called ‘sub’ or ‘the submissive.’ I to be called ‘slut’ and ‘whore.’”
“Okay, cross those out and put in what you want.”
“And I want to have to call you ‘Master', not ‘Dom’. I want to feel utterly and completely mastered, total surrender.”
“As you wish.”
“And this part in section three about being instructed to sexually serve others,” I added. “I want that out of the contract. I want to be a whore, your whore, forced to obey your every dirty, nasty, vulgar whim.” Not waiting for an answer, I crossed out the paragraph. “There, I’m now also your wanton and willing sex slave.”
I’d grown used to the staff constantly being in our proximity to eavesdrop. They were in various stages of arousal and shock. As my second bottle of wine was opened, I targeted the steward. “Since you all know exactly what’s going on, do you think it’s hot if he had the power to command me to sexually serve others? I mean, if he said, ‘suck his dick,’ I’d have to drop to my knees and suck you off.”
He sputtered and stammered, but his cock answered for me. It swelled the front of his sharp uniform pants. Since they wanted in on our sex life, I used them as sounding boards. Amanda was enthusiastic; I think she has a BDSM kink. Tiffany took it in stride, acting embarrassed but smiling all the while. It was, I believe, the first time I’d given strange men hard-ons without flashing them.
Then, we came to the final section of the contract, a questionnaire. That part blew my drunken mind away. It was an alphabetized list of sexual acts, mostly pertaining to Dominance and submission and BDSM. There were several activities we’d done, multiple descriptions of several types of bondage, spanking, flogging, anal, being used as furniture, and so much more. At least eight pages of sex acts were there. My job was to rate them all according to my preferences and desirability. I could write, “NO,” to indicate that I refused to do that, or put in a number from zero to five to indicate that it had no appeal to me, but I’d do it to please him, up to “yes, all the fucking time, as much as possible.” I scrawled a lot of fives.
“Ready for dessert?” Tiffany interrupted a very descriptive conversation about me being used as a sexual object by multiple men and women with me bound, unable to do anything but receive
“Yes,” my husband intoned, his voice sexy and cheerful.
“I really need to pee.” My voice oozed refined class.
With only a few minor stumbles, I made it back to the restroom. Half a bottle of bubbly and one-and-a-half bottles of wine meant that my inhibitions had been long forgotten. Not even bothering to latch the stall, I almost ripped my new dress in my furious rush to claw at my cunt.
One finger sloshed in my wetness as I thought about sensory deprivation, which I’d given a three. My thumb and forefinger assaulted my clit, pulling and tugging on it as I squeezed and released the hard, sensitive nub to thoughts of being verbally degraded. With my wet, sexual lava dripping out of my pussy, I used my juices as lube and plunged two fingers deep in my ass, moaning as I thought of being forced to serve, made to submit my aching cunt, and flogged to orgasm.
When the rapture of my orgasm hit me, I had a finger up my ass, two more fucking my hot cunt, and my thumb was rubbing my clit across the fingers of my other hand. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming, but, still, I moaned so loudly I’m positive all the diners heard my ecstatic release.
Brandy-covered ice cream was my dessert, and I ate it sparingly. It was incredibly delicious, but I didn’t want to upset my stomach. Finally, with the moon high in the night sky, it was time to leave.
He’d romance and surprised me, fucked with my mind until I was possessed by horny demons, and there was no way I was going to let him totally consume me like that, without giving something back.
“I noticed you put ‘NOW’ as your starting date on the contract. Your collar isn’t even here yet. Are you sure?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Does Master want his slut to ride home in this beautiful dress or nude?”
“Hmm. Nude, I think.”
Right there in the parking lot, the light shining down on me, I pulled off the very classy, sexy, backless dress and stood, proud and brazen, in just my high heels. I tossed it aside. “Does Master still open his slut’s doors?”
I waited, loving the fact that I’d surprised him, ignoring the onlookers. I did, however, wave to my staring voyeurs as I climbed into his car. We sped away, the both of us laughing.
“May your little, dirty whore have permission to fuck herself?” I didn’t wait for permission. My legs were spread across the dash, and my fingers were frantically fucking myself before I’d finished my sentence.
Several orgasms later, we arrived home. As soon as my car door was opened, he was all over me. With our lips crushing together, his hands everywhere, running over my flesh, exploring my wet folds, he picked me up and carried me into the house. When we entered, I made to drop to my knees, hungry to taste his cock, but he stopped me.
Smirking, he produced two red, silk strips of cloth, scarves. One was tied around my eyes, cutting off my sense of sight. The other was used to firmly but gently bind my arms at the wrists in front of my body.
“Kneel, slut,” he said.
Glade’s voice always carried confidence, mirth, and sensual delight. With just a slight change of inflection, his words carried a command that made me need to obey him, wanted to supplicate myself before his strength, and desperately yearned for his approval.
“What kind of slut begs her husband to dominate her?” he asked.
“A fucking horny one.”
I didn’t see it, only felt his thick, hard, cock invading my open mouth. I stretched my jaw, trying to take in its girth as he grabbed me by my hair and fucked my face, briefly.
“Answer properly or I’ll punish you. Say it, again.”
“A fucking horny slut, Master.”
Without a sound, he’d reached down and stroked my clit. I couldn’t help but moan in passion.
“Stay there. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”
“Master?”
“What, slut?”
“Would Master call me a whore, please?”
“You know you are. I don’t need to tell you for you to know that you are an insatiable, dirty, fucking whore, my nasty whore. You are now owned.”
“Thank you, Master. Your whore loves you.”
Words cannot describe what happened after that. I was tied to the ceiling, my arms above my head, with a spreader bar locked onto my ankles to keep my legs apart. Starting slowly and softly, he began to spank and whip me with various items.
A small flogger licked at my aroused flesh as I writhed, feeling the heat well up in my core. Then, the handle kissed my most sacred of places, making me hump the air. A whip followed, its sting leaving momentary pain wherever it touched, horny, lusty arousal filling its wake. A wooden ruler cracked over my nipples, making me squirm and moan. Having sex with Glade is always an adventure, and any handy object becomes a weapon of mass seduction in his hands; this was no different.
He played with my body, alternating between abusing it exactly as I’d fantasized to loving it. It didn’t take long until I was screaming, begging for him to let me, make me cum. Then came the spankings. Light staccato slaps gave way to slower, firmer spanks. I felt my ass catch horny fire, and every contact with my flesh sent electric jolts to my clit and nipples.
I was panting and moaning, my mind alternating between a realm where only blackness and pleasure existed and this incredibly kinky reality I’d subjected myself to. Finally, after having been spanked one or two swats away from orgasm, all my sex holes throbbing with desire, he untied my panting, sweat-covered body, and released me from bondage.
After being instructed in how to serve my Master and then edged for over two hours, finally cumming on the inserted toy without permission, it was time for bed. I’d even earned the privilege of sleeping in Master’s bed.
I fell asleep in his arms, his hands caressing my nude flesh, petting my hair. My last thought was that I hadn’t even truly submitted yet as my collar hadn’t arrived, but I couldn’t wait to find out what tomorrow would bring.
To be continued…
