(Thank you, as always, to VMKane for editing and trying to improve my awful grammar. Thanks also to Kat for proofreading.)
I often ask myself if I’m an immoral person. I have arranged to meet another woman for the sole purpose of having sex, and I’m not single. There are just things that Jen can’t provide for me. Deviant things. I don’t expect you to understand, this is something that one isn’t supposed to indulge. Infidelity is perhaps the biggest sin of all.
Nerves are paralysing me. I haven’t done this before. Of course I’ve thought about it and spoken about it online, but actually meeting in person makes it all very real. My throat is dry and my stomach is in knots, I’m fighting the urge to run to the ladies and spew my guts up. I spent hours trying to decide what to wear, and still I feel like she’s going to be disappointed.
My hand is wrapped around the now lukewarm cardboard cup sitting on the cheaply made table in front of me, in one of the many nondescript coffee outlets that plague the high street. She’s late. What did I expect? Her main objective is to make me feel shame, and she’s already succeeding. I’ve chosen a town far enough away to not bump into anyone I know.
We’ve exchanged photos online so I know what she looks like; tall, slim waist, young. The lump in my throat is getting bigger as I’m hit with flashbacks of our previous conversations. She’s had me crawling around on my hands and knees, with my tits scooped out of my shirt, ordering me to slap them until they go red. And denied me an orgasm at the end of it.
My pants are sodden; I desperately want to change them for a less uncomfortably sticky pair. I’m paranoid that the middle-aged woman at the next table will be able to smell me. I lifted my dress out from under my bum as I sat down. I can feel the coolness of the chair on the back of my thighs; the only problem is the wet patch I am likely to leave behind.
She appears just as I’m taking a sip of coffee, half of it managing to dribble down my chin. Great first impression. The first thing I notice about her is how assertively she carries herself, her heels clicking, causing everyone she passes to turn for a second glance. Her brunette hair is up in a sleek ponytail. We’ve arranged to meet after work, which somehow adds to the sordidness of this whole thing.
“Ava, hi. Run and get me a double espresso will you.”
I’m dumbfounded. Has she really just dismissed me like I’m her maid? It’s making my insides throb. I’m so taken aback that I just sit there opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish.
“Now, Ava. That is if you want to follow through with our little arrangement?”
People have started to take an interest in us. Their curious looks are making me feel self-conscious and my cheeks have gone bright pink.
“Sorry, I’ll go get it for you … Miss Page.”
I can’t meet her eyes, how is she doing this? I’m thirty-three years old and I feel like I’ve been transported back to my teens when women just had to speak to me and my ability to function would disappear, along with my dignity.
“Hurry along, I’m sure you’re aware we have things to discuss.”
I clumsily push my chair backwards, the noise of it scraping across the floor filling the room. As I walk up to the coffee bar to join the back of the queue I know she’s assessing me. Is she thinking this is a bad idea? Does she still like me now she’s seen me? It’s almost as if there is a fishing hook in my cheek, I’m struggling to escape but she’s reeling me in.
She’s taken a seat in one of the sofas in the corner of the room. As I walk back with her drink she motions for me to sit in the leather chair opposite her. I put her drink down and try and sit in the low chair without my hem riding too far up my legs.
“You are very cute, Ava. Trying so hard not to flash me the tops of those hold-ups, aren’t you?”
I’m thankful we’re in a quiet corner, although I have no doubt that if she intends to publicly humiliate me, she will. Finally I manage to look into her eyes, there is something in them, something that tells me this is more to her than just a game. Others want to be held and whispered sweet nothings to, I want to be abused and humiliated.
I haven’t lied to her, she knows I have a girlfriend. And she knows that makes me very ashamed to be here. We’ve been emailing for months, we’ve shared intimate secrets, secrets I haven’t even told Jen. And now I’m face to face with her.
“Open your legs for me, Ava. Not wide, just enough so I can see your panties.”
“Wha .. what? Here? I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
I swallow hard and glance around the room. No one is looking in our direction. I slowly part my thighs and close my eyes as the cool air meets the heat of my pussy. I’m aching deep inside my stomach.
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes open. She holds my gaze before looking down between my legs. She must surely be able to see the dark stain.
“I haven’t even bahis firmaları said anything to you and you’re already in quite a state, Ava. I think I have an exhibitionist on my hands. Dirty slut likes meeting strangers and exposing her cunt on demand. Next time you’re not to wear anything, I will have a lot of fun with you.”
“Yes, Miss Page.”
Did that voice come out of me?
“I know you’ve been struggling, Ava. But I’m not going to wrap you up in a big fluffy dressing gown and tell you everything is going to be ok. Can you handle that? We’re adults and I have too much respect for you to treat you any other way. When I beat you it’s because I enjoy doing it, not because I’m helping you work out your unresolved daddy issues.”
“I can handle it.”
“Come on, I’m parked just around the corner.”
She makes me wait as she finishes her drink before picking up her bag, turning and walking briskly towards the door. I feel like a puppy trying to keep up with my mistress. Her hips sway as she walks, I’d do anything to be able to touch.
Her house is detached and set back off the main road. It doesn’t fit her persona; I didn’t expect her to live in such a quaint little cottage, complete with thatched roof. She parks up in the driveway and turns off the engine.
“So, you sure about this, Ava? Last chance to walk away, I’ll completely understand if you do.”
“I’ve never been more sure. Please.”
“Take your panties off for me, I want to have a look at them.”
Thumbs hooking over the band, hands trembling as I lift my arse and pull them down to my ankles. The crotch is covered in thick, sticky strings of cum. How can I pass these to her? I know we’re off the road but what if someone comes, the postman innocently going about his business only to stumble upon our little sex game.
I pull them over my shoes and hand them to her, once again not being able to meet her eyes. She has leather seats, which she must have taken into consideration before telling me to take off my underwear, I doubt she wants me ruining her upholstery.
She grips them with her thumb and forefinger, massaging my cum into the cotton, before chucking them back into my lap and raising her finger to her mouth, tongue meeting the tip and seductively circling.
“I like girls to taste natural, not of soap; you certainly succeed on that front. You’ve made my whole car smell like a cheap hotel. Out you get, make sure you wipe the seat off, you can use your panties.”
I climb out and wipe the seat, as if I was at the gym cleaning the equipment after a particularly vigorous session. At the same time a gust of wind catches my hem and lifts it around my thighs. I drop my pants as my hands instinctively try to stop it flashing my naked arse.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, I’ll get to see it all very shortly anyway, Ava.”
Natasha walks up to the door and puts her key into the hole, but doesn’t turn it. Instead she turns to me.
Little click of her fingers as she says it.
I’m far from graceful as I get down on my knees and I can tell she’s disappointed with me. The path is rough and apart from it being uncomfortable I know it’s going to ladder the nylon. But that’s the least of my worries, I’m terrified that someone is going to spot me. I know my dress is hiding nothing and the thought of a stranger seeing my pussy is adding an extra layer of kink to this whole set up.
“You’ll crawl into my house.”
She opens the door and I follow on my hands and knees, my inner thighs coated with what she’s making me feel. I’ve never, as an adult, crawled in anyone’s presence before and it’s even more demeaning than I imagined. My breasts feel heavy and I’m very aware that I am flashing my cunt as I follow behind her. I am doing the one thing I thought I’d never do, completely submit.
She motions for me to crawl in front of her as she steps around me and shuts the door.
“Have you ever seen any of those silent Victorian films where the women get undressed and flash their ankles provocatively?”
I can’t speak, just shake my head.
“Well they always have such womanly figures, full hips and voluptuous bottoms. You are so delicious, my dear. I am going to take great pleasure in using you. Forehead to the floor and raise your dress for me.”
The thing a lot of people don’t understand is that this is about human connection. It’s not just about the physical; it’s also about trusting another person enough to let them use you. To let them get inside your head and dig out those shameful secrets that we all keep repressed. I need her to be cruel, to laugh at me and embarrass me, and I need that from her alone.
I remember telling her one of these secrets in an earlier conversation – how I liked to insert objects into my arsehole and walk around without anyone knowing. The feeling of something inside me as I moved got me soaking wet.
The tiles feel cool against my forehead. My hands are still shaking, kaçak iddaa I want to cry, my mind is racing. I pull it up slowly, decadently, feel the material slide over my pale skin. I’m sweating, my hair sticking to my face.
“Gorgeous. Just begging to be spanked. I bet you’d let anyone take you there, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t … you already know.”
“You let him stick it in you in that car park, didn’t you? He threw your pants away and tried to fuck you with his half erect cock. I bet you fucking loved feeling it pressing against your tight arsehole, while people walked past, oblivious.”
Her fingers meet no resistance. They slide inside me, hooked down, finding that ridge that makes me crazy.
“Tell me, Ava.”
“I was on my knees, hand wrapped around his shaft, sucking him. He was gripping my hair, fucking my mouth.”
I’m sobbing now, my body convulsing around her fingers as she uses my shame to get me off.
“Do I mean more to you than that?”
“Oh, Natasha, you know you do.”
She is kneeling behind me, fingering me as she leans over me, her mouth close to my left ear. Her left hand wrapped around underneath my waist, pulling me back against her.
“Oh no, you haven’t earned that privilege yet, slut. It’s Miss Page to you.”
She moves her left hand around my throat, tightening her grip just enough to remind me what type of person she is.
“Do you want to cum?”
Filthy grunt confirms what she already knows.
“Crawling like a bitch has quite the effect on you. Maybe next time I should buy you a cheap dog collar with a lead and parade you around the garden for the neighbours to see, what do you think about that?”
“No, please, Miss. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.”
“No? You’re going to regret using that word with me. Someone’s bottom is going to be smarting later.”
She’s still fucking me, has three fingers inside and I feel deliciously full, she’s giving me more than enough to work myself on. My hips pushing back against her, sloppy sounds filling the hallway.
“Cum for me you little whore.”
Being given permission is like a fuse, I know I’m seconds from orgasm. Its building deep inside my belly, feels almost too intense, like I’m not going to survive it. Her fingers have found my clit again and she’s circling it slowly, teasingly. I cry out and try to pull away from her relentless fingers; everything goes dark for a few seconds until I come to lying in a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs on the floor.
Every time I think about what we did my stomach lurches. I want to serve you Miss Page, will you consider it? I am alone all weekend if you have no other plans? I know this is presumptuous of me but I couldn’t help but notice how wet you were after making me crawl. Thank you for letting me worship your clit, I know I am nothing more than something you use to get yourself off. I have slapped my thighs like you ordered and now they are very red and sore, but I haven’t touched myself, I wouldn’t without your permission.
I went straight for a shower when I got home. Jen was in bed, so luckily I didn’t have to face lying to her right away. I’d told her I was out with some work colleagues and not to wait up for me. I could still taste Natasha’s cum on my tongue, still had the images of our debauchery flashing through my mind. I scrubbed my skin so hard I thought I was going to bleed, if only I could do the same to my mind.
After I climbed into bed as quietly as I could I checked my phone:
I haven’t forgotten about you using the word ‘no’ earlier. I will be addressing this next time I see you. N
There is no way I could fuck another woman in our bed, although I don’t know where this sudden moral high ground has appeared from, considering everything else I have done. Once you start bending the rules it’s easy to rationalise all the doubts away.
She makes me feel alive, I crave for her touch. I know she gets this look in her eyes when she’s with me, it’s so cruel. Humiliating me is fun for her, seeing me blushing and stammering only encourages her to be even more imaginative. I think she likes that I am older than her, that the balance of power is automatically not what it should be.
Now I’m sat by my computer hoping she’ll say yes. Hoping she’ll use me in my own house.
If I come over I expect a few things from you. I want you to go out tomorrow morning and buy a grey pleated skirt and tie and wear it for me when you answer the door. I already assume you own a white blouse. Hold-ups are also a necessity. This isn’t for your pleasure, I know how your filthy mind works, checking out the college girls as you walk to work. No, this is for me, I want to see you ashamed of yourself as I spank your flabby bottom.
If I don’t hear from you I’ll assume this is acceptable and I’ll see you at six tomorrow.
PS no frigging.
Uncomfortable isn’t the word for it. Have you ever tried to kaçak bahis find a pleated skirt as an adult? It’s not an easy task. Luckily the uniform shop catered for adult hockey players, although I think the sales girl thought there was something very strange about me as I grabbed my change and got out of there as soon as I could. But that was Natasha’s intention, I’m sure.
I’m looking at myself in the mirror. Skirt that barely comes half way down my thighs, black hold-ups, white blouse tucked in, straining over my chest as it’s a bit too tight. I’ve decided not to wear a bra, knowing that I’ll more than likely be punished for being too slutty. The black pencil tie stops just below my navel. My wavy blonde hair is tied up loosely with my fringe across to one side.
I’ve remembered her comment about not wearing any underwear next time I see her. I have perhaps applied too much mascara, I know it’s going to be running down my face later.
She’s here. I’ve never been so nervous about answering the door, my house isn’t as secluded as hers and the possibility of being spotted is much higher, although still unlikely. I pad down the stairs taking in a few deep breaths to try and gain my composure. I reach out and depress the handle, making sure I’m as far back from the door as I can get away with.
For the second time she’s shocked me senseless. She’s wearing a suit, it’s obviously a woman’s cut but it’s slim and masculine. The even more shocking part is the obvious bulge in her trousers. Her long, sleek dark hair is tied high and tight.
“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to invite me in?”
Her smile extends to her eyes as she steps over the threshold and walks past me towards to kitchen, leaving me once again to follow along behind.
“Dressing up is ridiculous when you think about it, isn’t it? That’s why I’ve asked you to do it. You are not original and you’re not an individual. You are simply a generic schoolgirl fantasy held by millions of horny men, and women, who watch too much porn.”
She’s making me feel more self-conscious. I crave her affection; we know each other pretty well and have discussed these scenarios over email, but when it’s actually happening I want her to take me into her arms and tell me everything is going to be ok.
“I feel pretty ridiculous.”
She’s leaning back against the worktop, while I’m stood in the middle of the room staring down at my feet.
“Look at me.”
I raise my head and look at her face, the light dusting of freckles make her look even younger than her twenty seven years. Her lips are full and painted a vivid red, she is classically beautiful. I imagine she’d never go out of style.
“Take them off. I don’t want to play those games, I want to humiliate you, not some character we’ve invented. You can’t hide behind a persona.”
My hands are shaking, it makes it difficult for me to loosen the knot from around my neck. She takes a couple of steps towards me and wraps the bottom of the tie around her hand and pulls me into her. Her lips are as soft as I’d imagined, this isn’t part of the plan, a sub isn’t supposed to kiss her Mistress. But then I’m not hers, am I? I have ties to another.
She steps back and waves her hand at me, dismissing the previous intimacy. I remove the tie and place it on the table next to me. I untuck my blouse and get to work on the buttons, it hangs open and exposes the swell of my breasts and stomach.
“Leave your blouse on.”
With trembling fingers I unclasp my skirt and let it drop to my feet. The blouse does nothing to hide my bush, which I should have trimmed. My black, opaque stockings offset my pale thighs which have a slight hint of muscle.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
“Would you like vodka or a soft drink? Or I could make some tea?”
“Vodka. Feel free to get yourself one.”
She remains in the same position as I move around the kitchen. The length of the blouse is just short enough to sit above the curve of my backside. I can feel it wobbling as I pad around the room and become very self-conscious about my body.
The lime spurts as the knife cuts through it, as acquiescent as my mind and body. I squeeze the juice through my fingers into the tall glasses already full of liquor and mixer. Some of it runs down the outside of the glass like little beads of sweat.
“Your hands are beautiful, Ava. I think I want to watch them at work on something else …”
I pass her the drink and take a large gulp of my own.
“At work on what, Miss Page?”
“Sit on the table for me, there’s a good girl.”
I place my drink on the counter and lift myself up onto the table top. The Perspex is cold against my skin and I know my cum is already smearing over its surface.
“I know how much you enjoy being watched. But even by your standards, you’re in quite a mess.”
She stalks up to me and stops in between my thighs.
“Do you always make it a habit to stare at women’s crotches, Ava?”
Her fingers are on my skin, running over the nylon and down my calves. My eyes close as I’m overtaken with the sensation. All I want to do is wrap my legs around her waist and pull her into me.