erotica

Read Part I here.

She saw him, but he didn’t know that. And that was fine with her. Annie wondered if he would ask her but he didn’t, and she knew he wouldn’t the minute his mouth closed over her. It’s not that he was predictable, but let’s be honest. At the most elemental level, he was male. And that made some things dependable.

Truth of it is, she was glad he didn’t ask. Because if he had, she would have had to give him the predictable good girl answer she always did. Annie hadn’t misbehaved…yet. And she wasn’t about to take up smoking, or doing anything she shouldn’t be, but damn it was tiresome to always be so good.

“Okay if I hang with my friends to have lunch again after class, or did you want to meet up?”

She hung onto the pole above in the subway, tiles whizzing by, chewing her gum-hoping like hell he wouldn’t say he wanted to meet. Honestly, she didn’t know if he’d take the bait at all, but either way, there was a back up plan that would likely end up pleasing them both. It was risky, no matter what she did, it could just piss him off–but she was hoping she knew him well enough at this point to take the chance.

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “No, I’ve got some things to take care of after I drop you off. Let’s just meet back home.”

Had to give him credit. He certainly was playing it cool. He glanced sideways more than once at the bag, right where they were, in the front pocket. But, something in his voice told her he was watching closer than she thought. It rattled her.

She was replaying this conversation when Jay and Amy climbed out on the fire escape with her after the morning session. Annie couldn’t slam my gear into the locker fast enough and get out into the air. Students weren’t supposed to be out here and they knew it. Lambach had waved her finger at them plenty through the window telling them to get off and move on. Teachers were supposed to do that.

“Jesus, what the hell with that model!?”

It was Amy, leaning against the railing shaking her head and laughing.

“It’s not like formal you know, they let them bring in props. It’s…I don’t know…creative maybe?” Jay shrugged.

“But, really? A baguette? On the end of a sword? And isn’t that like a weapon anyway? How safe is that?” Amy countered.

Annie rolled her eyes and just let them go at it. Already Jay was losing interest as he fished a smashed granola bar out of his pocket. She plunked my bag down on the stair and sat down. The packet felt cool against her fingers.

Glancing up and down the street there were cabs, tourists with cameras, delivery people on bikes, weaving in and out of pedestrians. If he was coming to meet her he always came around the corner by Cafe Europa. Nothing.

When the lighter clicked they both stopped talking. She took a deep drag and concentrated on steadying her hand. God, it had been years. The smoke pulling in deep, the smell, that smell…bringing her back to a time when she actually was misbehaved. And it made her smile.

“Are you serious with that, Annie?” Amy whined.

She pulled her knees up and pressed one heavy booted foot up against the escape. Annie shrugged.

“What do you care?” She glanced down the street again, looking for him. Maybe he wasn’t going to show after all.

Jay snapped his fingers close to my face and she jumped.

“Jerkface.”

He laughed. “Least you could do is share.”

She pointed to the bag. Well, now at least she was in it with someone.

“That’s illegal you know.” Amy continued.

Now it was Jay’s turn to glare at her while he lit up.

“So go back inside, where it’s safe. You know, with the baguettes and the swords.” She didn’t need to hear it from Amy today.

_________________________
He actually thought he would surprise her and take her to lunch. But, running late seemed to have its advantages. And there she was, now gesturing as the other girl left and her and some guy hung out on the fire escape, both of them lit up and laughing.

What the fuck she was doing? She never seemed like she cared so much about fitting in or doing anything special to make friends. But she sure seemed to be laughing it up with this guy. It was tempting, to think of calling her cell, seeing her face when he asked what she was up to.
He wanted to walk up there and grab her by her long ponytail and yank her right back in that window. She looked like she usually did after a painting session, exhilarated, up for it. Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes were bright. She stood now and the breeze caught the black edge of her short skirt, flipping it against her fishnets. He knew that smooth skin under there, every curve and fold. And right now he’d like to lay his hands on the back of her thighs and ass until it was screaming red. She might think she’d like it, but he didn’t know how long that would last. Outside of the play they’d done together he’d never had to punish her. And he knew enough to know that he could give her a paddling that was not a good time.

He saw the cop coming before they did. Sipped his coffee as he heard the shout up to the fire escape, and saw the cop disappear into the school. Scott shook his head. Well it wasn’t going to cost him, it was going to cost her, now and later. He drained the last of his coffee and tossed it in the bin. He watched the exchange through the window, the two disappear, and then Annie climbed back out on her own. She had the ticket in her hand, folding it up and unfolding it over and over again, as if it might change the message on it. She turned her head and looked at the building across the street, so he saw her profile. He saw her jaw working and worrying and knew she was chewing her lip.

She looked like she might cry. He wasn’t sorry about that. In fact, she’d better get used to it. They’d never had a ‘no smoking’ rule, but she was a smart girl and she damn well knew that she was supposed to be looking after her health. He didn’t have to micromanage her, but he would manage her.

___________________
The phone buzzed in her pocket and pulled her from her thoughts. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Now a ticket was a real consequence, that was money. That was something she would have to ask for, and explain. Really she’d just wanted…..well, she couldn’t even figure out what it was she wanted. Why did she want to provoke him? They were in this together and she was a willing participant, so what possessed her to think this was a good idea. She could have just asked him. But asked him for what?

It buzzed again and she yanked the zipper down on her hoodie pocket and pulled it out. Daddy. Of course. How did he know when to text her. She slid her finger across the screen and the black text stamped against the white light…just one word….all caps….

BUSTED.

Annie lifted her eyes in the direction of the cafe, but only caught his back as he turned the corner toward the subway entrance. All of it, the look she might give him, the body language they might be able to exchange, completely gone. Suddenly she felt cold inside. Gone was the illicit thrill and the excitement of playing her little game. Now she really did feel bad. And though they’d talked about the possibility of consequences for behavior, she hadn’t had to face any…until now. She knew enough to know that him not waiting for her or telling her to come to him was not a good sign.
And now she had the trip home to think about what was waiting for her.

By: Juliette van der Molen

Writer of completely unladylike erotica and other sundry things. After discovering that people actually do these crazy, kinky things, she began exploring the lifestyle in 1993 and never looked back. She writes about her experience in authority based relationships, BDSM fiction and even the occasional hot sonnet. She is currently the assistant direction for MAsT Central New Jersey and the co-host of a submissive support group (SSASE) in the same area. Her work has appeared in Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, My Erotica.com, and The Junction. You can find her in these publications at: https://medium.com/@juliette.vandermolen and connect with her on Twitter @j_vandermolen and fetlife at: juliette_ .

Good girls will fool you every time, if you let them. Annie was good and no matter how much I looked for cracks in her porcelain I couldn’t find any. Never had to tell her something twice, never saw her lift her chin and look down her nose because she wasn’t happy with some declaration I’d made. I knew she was for me the moment I slipped my hand into hers. We were synergy electrified. 

More often than not she stayed with me weekends and I sent her off to school on Saturday mornings. We had a routine, I dropped her off at the train and met her in the early evening. She’d show up exhausted, tell-tale signs of paint still on her finger tips, maybe the inside of her forearm. But she always greeted me with a smile on her face, stood up on tiptoe and whispered “Daddy” in my ear. The word tumbled off her tongue and slipped in to grab me.  I could hardly wait to get her home, looking down into those dark green eyes and feeling her soft baby breath against my thumb as I pressed the pad deep into the center of her pink lip. When she was charged it was all I could do not to press her up against the car and slide my hand up her skirt and take her right there.

She knew it. Good girl she might be, but that never stopped her from teasing me. I didn’t mind it, because I always got what I wanted in the end.

Lately, though, she was restless. It wasn’t anything she said. No acting out. No misbehaving. But something was different. We were about six months into this dance and I expected there would be adjustments. I was suspicious Friday night when I nearly tripped over her messenger bag. Cursing her carelessness I shoved it to the side with my foot. It wasn’t like her; she usually put things exactly where they belonged. I teased her about her OCD that was extraordinarily selective. It didn’t extend to her cosmetics scattered over the bathroom counter, or the hair ties she was constantly putting in and out of her hair and leaving like bread crumbs all over my house. Well. I never said Annie was perfect, did I? The thought made me smile. I’d take her over my knee before bed and make her repeat the rules while I warmed her. Not for punishment, but for reinforcement. That was always good for both of us.

As I reached out to flip the bag closed I caught the flash of a blue carton and the whiff of something pungent. My fingers slipped in fishing out the tiny box. I didn’t really understand why they were here. I wanted to believe that they belonged to a friend. Isn’t that what kids tried to pass off when they thought they were in trouble? Funny thing was, Annie didn’t smoke and I knew it. I would have smelled it on her, on her clothes, tasted it on her tongue and she never tasted or smelled like any of that. I ran my thumb across the smooth cellophane still intact over the box. Gauloises. Blonde. Well, if she was going to do it, this seemed like something she would choose. French cigarettes.

I didn’t want her smoking, but I admit the thought of catching her mid-drag, the look on her face when her auburn eyebrows would shoot up to crinkle that smooth forehead, was appealing. 

Illicit. 

That’s what she was for me in our fantasies. And I liked her that way. Still, that fantasy was a far cry from her actually damaging her health. I needed to bring it up with her, but it was late, and she had an early train ride in the morning. I dropped the box back in the bag and buckled the soft leather over the top.

“Daddy?”

I looked up from my crouch and there she was, standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway filtering through her sheer baby doll nightie. I could see the curves of her figure a dark silhouette, one hip jutted out to tempt me. She pressed the tips of her painted toes against the dark wood floorboards and arched her foot absently. Her long hair parted on either side of her head tucked behind her ears in two low ponytails, the edges curling just above the swell of her breasts.

“Ready for bed?”

She nodded slowly as I stood and walked toward her. Her gaze traveled past me and down to the bag neatly pushed against the baseboard. Her eyes narrowed for a second. She blinked and looked at me and I had to hand it to her. She played the innocent card well. I’d never caught her in anything remotely like a lie and I wondered now if she might not have me wrapped around her finger, after all. I bristled inside at that thought.

But right now, she was looking at me and pressing those perfect white teeth into the center of her lower lip. I couldn’t hold myself in anymore. I reached out and placed my palm flat against her breastbone and pressed her until she backed up against the wall, my mouth coming down over her hard. I would devour her. She tasted minty from her night time routine. Her hair smelled like lavender, but it mingled with something musky and I knew this was her desire. My knee pressed roughly between her legs and she slid onto it, grinding softly. Her lips parted under me, over me and locked us tight together.

Breaking the kiss I looked down into her eyes, lids already at half mast, eyelashes sweeping soft against her freckles. Her breathing came quick and needy. I pressed into her cleft harder and she responded, her hips rocking, her shoulders still pressed to the wall. She was hypnotic. And she was mine. All woman. All girl. When my hand closed around the soft flesh of her throat she lolled her head to the side, groaning softly. 

Whatever she was or wasn’t up to, I would figure it out later. But tonight, Daddy had needs and they were going to be satisfied.

Valerie Nicholls had found her motivation to work out regularly. His name was Connor, and he owned the gym that was incongruously tucked away behind an upscale European furniture store in what most people probably assumed was an area of tony shops and places where you paid four dollars for a small pastry that was wrapped up for you to take away in a small box tied with a ribbon.

At forty-two, Valerie had been divorced for six years and was content enough with her situation not to settle for less than what she wanted and needed in a mate. As long as her life included men—a variety—for good, toe-curling sex in the meantime (no strings, safe sex, relationship ended if the man wanted more but she knew he’d never be THE one), she continued to look for the long-term relationship she wanted. One reason this was taking a while was that in addition to a good supply of the lovely, satisfying yet inventive, male-female coupling that she so enjoyed and which was considered the norm, Valerie had discovered another erotic delight.

She adored fucking a man in the ass.

She savored finding the occasional male toy who enjoyed having her take control of his naked backside (though some of them would never admit their enjoyment, the way they arched their asses up for easy access and pushed back on the dildo when she buried her strapon into them told her otherwise). Some of these deliciously taboo sexual dalliances were with men who also acknowledged the pleasure they received when Valerie added spanking foreplay to the mix.

Sadly, though, these toys never measured up as potential life mates, and she only found them rarely: a Halloween party, a bar downtown populated by twenty-something metrosexuals, once at a bookstore when she noticed a guy browsing through a certain section of a used bookstore close to the local university.

But a man who possessed long-term potential—including a fondness for frequent, good ol’ toe- curling lovemaking in what most people would call “normal”—AND who liked giving his naked asshole to Valerie for her pleasure as well as his own was not something she had not yet come across. Resigned that such a man was going to be exceedingly difficult to find, she contented herself with her life and kept hoping that at some point a new lover would also enjoy being her naughty little assboy on occasion, and she would no longer have to find the two kinds of sex in different lovers and playthings.

And so, Connor . . . it became her instant fantasy upon meeting this man that he would be the perfect lover, strong and a marvelous protector and mate, yet a man who could also abandon himself every now and then to a wanton desire to be naked, face down and ass up, and giving himself completely to Valerie as he squirmed back against her strapon while she slid the last inch deep into him.

In that fantasy, he growled out a low, deep groan that morphed into a higher-pitched, panting moan of wanton delight produced with each bottoming thrust of her strapon into his opened and eager asshole.

* * *

Like Valerie, the neighborhood where she lived was upscale. She had ignored the gym when she strolled on warm summer nights through this neighborhood shopping area. She, like other residents, owned a townhouse in the mixed-use development where an ecologically conscious developer had put together a neighborhood that allowed both living and shopping in an area where no car was needed to get to either place. She rode the light rail to her job in the financial district downtown and reserved driving her sensible yet comfortable sedan for getting to nearby malls, going to the city’s cultural events, and so on.

And that’s precisely why she walked into the gym that Saturday during an open-house that had been advertised in the townhome community newsletter. A job at a desk, sitting during her commutes, mostly curling up with reading material or TV guilty pleasures at home after work with her two cats all conspired to add some pounds she didn’t want. Sex (when she got it) was at this point providing most of the physical workout in her life, and she wanted to get back to the toned body she’d had as a flag corps member with the university marching band during her undergraduate days.

“Hi, I’m Connor Washington. I own the gym, and we’d love to have you take advantage of a six- week introductory package with no commitment and which only costs $50.”

She liked him instantly. She guessed his age at forty-five, but because he obviously stayed in shape, maybe he was older. Certainly the gray creeping into the hair around his temples might mean he was older than a cursory inspection would indicate. He had expressive brown eyes and a warm smile full of white teeth set off by boyish dimples at the sides of his mouth. Because he was in gym clothes for the open house, she noted his muscular arms, trim waist, and powerful legs. As Conner gave her a tour of the facilities, her quick glances at his ass, nicely curved underneath the cotton shorts he was wearing, told Valerie that she would find the firm, rounded and meaty globes of his gym-trained butt as endearing and attractive as his boyish smile.

That is, if she ever got the chance to bend him over, plant her hands on those sexy glutes, and pry him open to gaze at his hidden treasure which she would own for viewing, fingering, licking, and ultimately, for her strapon pleasure.

She signed up without hesitation, noting with anticipation that Mr. Washington was not wearing a wedding ring.

But the first evening she hurried to the gym from the train station after work, she was disappointed to find him absent. She found a tactful way to inquire about his absence without creating the impression she might be interested in him.

“Oh, Mr. Washington comes in to open the gym in the mornings,” said the trainer who came with the introductory package in order to show newbies how to use the weight machines. “He works out most mornings right after he opens up and until the morning guy comes in. Then he heads to his job with that sports management firm; you know, that granite building a couple of miles north of here on the expressway with their name across the top?”

“But I thought he owned the gym,” Valerie said as she settled into the seat of the lat pull-down machine.

“He does,” said the 30ish brunette with a ponytail as she adjusted the poundage on the weight stack. “I guess he made some good money as an agent or something, and he invested some of it in opening this place. But he still keeps his day job.

“Oh,” said Valerie, hiding her disappointment at this evening’s missed opportunity.

On her way out she made sure to verify opening time as printed on the placard next to the door.

It was going to mean getting up at an ungodly hour for her, but the sacrifice—both for getting back the body she wanted and for getting Connor—was worth it. Valerie re-arranged her schedule and planned for six weeks’ worth of early mornings and getting to bed much earlier than usual.

The next morning she got to the gym shortly after opening time and found the door unlocked and the “morning guy” at the reception desk working on the computer. She saw Connor in the gym behind the double glass doors to the right, and she hurried to the women’s locker room.

Moving quickly to get into her workout gear—she didn’t want to risk other gym goers being in the gym to interpret any conversation she might have with Connor as hitting on him—Valerie laced up her cross-training workout shoes and bounded up the stairs to the gym.

He was at the Smith machine, a barbell with impressive weights across his back, and he was descending to the bottom of a squat, back arched and butt thrust back in what Valerie remembered from her introduction to the gym machines was the proper form for squats.

My very lucky day, thought Valerie as Connor pushed himself up with a grunt. Doing so pinched some of the cotton material on the back of his shorts up in between his cheeks, where it remained until his next descent to the bottom of the following squat.

Oh, my. This is an EXTREMELY lucky day, Valerie thought, drinking in the sight of Connor’s powerful legs and rounded ass working through his squat routine.

And no one else was yet in the gym.

Fearing that he would see her staring at his gorgeous ass, Valerie chose a machine at an angle and behind Connor’s current workout so he wouldn’t notice in the mirror in front of the machine how much she was enjoying the view. She made up all manner of time-wasting activity (a drink from her water bottle, adjusting her shoe, smoothing out the towel on the seat of the machine) to allow her to take in the fantasy-inspiring sight: Connor Washington, back arched and butt thrust out, followed by the ntoxicating aftermath in each repetition which was his gym shorts riding up into the furrow between his cheeks, smoothing the material tautly across the rounded globes of his delicious butt.

Why had no producer of visual erotica for women ever filmed a scene like this? she thought.

Disappointingly, Connor finally racked the barbell on the machine and collapsed into a seated position on a nearby workout bench. He was gasping for breath and bent over with his forearms on his thighs as he recovered.

Valerie continued, finally settling into position on the weight machine’s seat.

“Oh, Miss Nicholls,” said Connor, finally looking up from his bout of exhaustion, “you’re definitely jumping in right away to the introductory package.” He wiped beads of perspiration from his face with a towel.

“Didn’t make sense to procrastinate,” she smiled.

“Well, if you come this early every time, there shouldn’t be many wait times for any of the machines. We don’t get a lot of real early-morning traffic. Things pick up around 6:45 or so, though,” he said, rising from his seat and moving to the rack of dumbbells against the wall.

“Good to hear,” she answered. “I’m eager to get into a focused circuit that will tone and burn fat.”

Valerie didn’t much know what that meant—the trainer at her session the night before had used the phrase. It was a calculated comment, hough. She wanted Connor to know she was serious about being in the gym.

He gave her a surprised smile as he picked up a pair of dumbbells. “Good for you!” With no more than that, he stepped to a spot on one end of an aisle between machines and began a series of steps forward and dips down to bring one knee to the floor before rising to advance with the other foot.

Valerie later learned these were walking split-squats. It didn’t matter what they were called. Connor’s blue shorts were once again a delightful focus of her gaze, though this time her glances had to be furtive and careful not to let him know she was looking at him.

But what happened after his walking squats instantly converted Valerie into a gym rat. Connor replaced the dumbbells, wiped the sweat from his forearms and face, and walked quickly to the leg curl machine. After setting the weight he wanted, he laid face-down on the bench and adjusted himself so the lift bar was where he wanted it at the bottom of his calves.

And then, Valerie stared openly (Connor’s eyes were squeezed shut as he concentrated on the exercise and lifting the heavy weight, so she didn’t worry that he would see her). When he began each repetition, his butt would rise up with the effort as his hamstrings and glutes contracted against the weight. As he worked the entire range of motion, his butt remained high until briefly lowering at the end of the downstroke before once again rising as his round globes contracted for the next effort.

God, thought Valerie, this is going to be replayed in my mind tonight at home after work.

Tonight, however, she would be rolling her hardened and slippery clitoris underneath her fingers as the movie in her mind played in glorious color in her imagination. One difference, though, between what she was so enjoying right now and what would be her mental movie this evening, was that Connor Washington would be completely naked as he starred in her private mental screening.

The movie would become a favorite in the next few days, she suspected, with endless variations. Connor face-down on that bench, naked, laboring to lift the weight as Valerie laid both hands on his naked ass to feel his muscular glutes. Maybe she would slap his ass at the bottom of a repetition: “You’re not working hard enough, Mr. Washington. These cheeks must be worthy of my affection when I spread them apart to look at your naked asshole,” followed by his quiet whimper before he redoubled his efforts to prove how eager he was to have her do it to him.

Yes, Valerie was enjoying the scene before her and was recording all the details in her mind to make her private time with the fantasy as exciting as possible.

And then she heard something. It was arousing. Connor was working really hard to get the weight up, and sometimes when he exerted himself at the very start of a repetition—which pushed his butt up into the air—he made this sound, something like a cross between a grunt and a moan. He was quiet, and he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

But Valerie remembered with fondness and excitement just that kind of sound made by a man whom she had initiated into strapon sex. The guy was so conflicted: he obviously loved getting screwed in the ass, but he would never admit it. He even played some silly game with her about denying it ever happened. But that one time it did, his quiet moans when she slid her fake cock deep into him, withdrew and then slid home again, were incredibly arousing.

Would Connor make noises like he was making now when she fucked him in the ass?

Too soon for Valerie, this morning’s in-person show ended.

Or maybe it ended just in time. Much more of watching Connor’s ass would very probably increase the moistness between her legs to the point that it would become apparent in the crotch of her workout shorts.

“Leg days are always the hardest,” Connor said to her as he toweled off and gathered up his water bottle and workout notebook. “The big muscles in the legs and backside, though, burn the most calories. You gotta keep them strong and firm in order to rev the ol’ metabolism.”

“Umm,” was all Valerie managed as she sagged against the back of the machine’s inclined bench and seat. Watching Connor walk out of the gym, she was more exhausted by the frustration of being so aroused and unable to do anything about it than by a physical workout.

Pausing to collect herself, Valerie filed all the sights away in her mental memory bank: Connor’s smile and pleasant demeanor. Connor’s taut asscheeks as he ascended from the bottom of his squats. Connor’s raised butt as he labored his legs upward during his leg curls.

Then she threw herself into a vigorous workout of her own to rev metabolism and burn fat.

It was a good workout, and the fact that she came in so early meant that she had time before her shower to spend a few minutes in the women’s sauna, her head leaned back against the smooth wood as beads of sweat dripped down her face.

One hand was innocently placed underneath the towel on her lap. With her legs slightly open she was able to stroke her damp pussy as she played a trailer in her head of the movie she would luxuriate in that evening.

A quick mini-orgasm later, she headed to the shower and prepared herself for what she knew would be a distracted day at her job, diddling with numerical figures when what she really wanted was to diddle with Connor’s figure.

* * *

Their conversations continued for the next three weeks on the several days each week that Connor worked out. (Valerie quickly discovered his schedule: Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, with weights, and Saturdays for cardio on the treadmills or stairclimbers.) He was pretty focused on working out (a necessity, he said), but he was always pleasant and really seemed to be interested in Valerie when they chatted away from the weights and the machines.

She let him know in ways other than words that she was interested and available. Done in a very classy manner, of course. It wouldn’t be long, Valerie knew, before he would ask if she’d like to get together.

But all this was before that fateful Wednesday morning.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. Realizing his dedication to his workouts, Valerie knew Connor would be there that Wednesday morning. And so would she, as usual.

When she got there, though, Connor was on the phone at the front desk instead of the gym, and there was no sign of the usual morning worker that tended to things as Connor and Valerie worked out (along with the occasional early bird gym member who intruded sometimes, though those instances were rare).

He hung up the phone at the desk just as she walked through the door. He read her surprised expression.

“Jeremy’s sick, Kristin is already away for Thanksgiving, and Marsha can’t get here until 8 AM due to getting her kids to school,” Connor explained. “Every so often personnel issues like this come up.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Is this a problem? Do I need to leave?” Valerie truly hoped not. This might actually be a chance to be alone with Connor in the gym.

“No, no. Of course not,” he said, writing something on a small whiteboard before moving around the desk toward the door with the small sign in his hand. Looking over his shoulder as he clipped the sign into the holder on the back side of the glass door, he smiled pologetically. Then he locked the door.

Valerie liked that.

“You know we don’t get much traffic early in the morning, and the day before Thanksgiving I’d wager we won’t get any, Valerie. If you’re okay with it, the sign says to ring the bell to be let in while we work out. Without someone at the desk, though, I want to ensure this is a safe environment for you.”

He looked at her with his lovely brown eyes. “Is that good with you?”

“Sure, Connor. Go ahead and get changed, and I’ll just get right into my workout.” She smiled at him, a slight tingle running up her spine.

Maybe it was because he knew they were completely alone, but Connor seemed more relaxed with her this morning as they worked out. Makes sense, thought Valerie. He wouldn’t want to hit on me when his employees or other gym members are here.

He asked her out as he lingered at the incline bench where she was doing biceps curls when he’d finished his workout. A lunch date. Safe, not pressing, not rushing. Classy.

Valerie finally got that warm feeling in her tummy that she had so much been anticipating.

Then he was gone through the gym door to head down to the men’s locker room.

And it took Valerie only two more curls to realize the possibilities at hand.

No one else in the gym.

The gym locked.

Connor stripping naked only a few yards from where she sat.

Most importantly, if the men’s locker room had the same layout as the ladies’ locker room, Valerie knew there was an alcove designed as a stand-up counter in front of a mirror with a hand-held hair dryer mounted on the wall. Its most important feature, though, was that someone standing there could see the shower stalls without being seen by anyone taking a shower, obviously a design flaw overlooked by the architect.

For her purposes, though, what could be more convenient?

She rose quickly and rushed out the gym and tread quietly down the stairs to the men’s locker room. With luck, knowing no one else was in the gym, Connor wouldn’t have bothered to pull a shower curtain across the stall opening where he would be showering.

Valerie held her breath as she silently moved into position, delighted to find the same layout inthe men’s locker room as in the ladies’.

Congratulating herself for her acumen—but only for the first moment or two because the sight before was breathtaking—Valerie settled against one side of the alcove in order to be a guilt-free voyeur indulging herself with a show about which she had dreamed since the first day she met Connor Washington.

By: escriterra

Ten girls line up precisely with the tips of their ballet flats just brushing against a thick wool rug. The slight flare of their simple black dresses bumped against each other connecting them like paper dolls I once folded and cut as a child. I’m smiling because I’m pleased that they appear so poised and deferential. They stare ahead and I gift them with a little nod they’ll only catch as I walk the line. I should have brought a notebook to write my observations. But, it always seems so much more effective to let them think that you remember absolutely everything. Mostly, I do. Age hasn’t caught me completely yet.

I can see the girl midway, Camille, if I remember right and she’s struggling to hold herself together. The curve of her full lower lip is trembling with a threat to break into sob. I’m hoping she will stop and I focus on each girl around her, I don’t want this to be harder on them than it needs to be, not today. It’s been a difficult trial for them all, as a first whipping generally tends to be. The room is quiet, not just silent. It is hushed like a breath cut short. It’s as if all the sound has been siphoned out and replaced with reverence. As I round the corner of the last girl, I feel a silent sigh of relief wash through them. It ripples soft like a breeze through connected aspens. They are undoubtedly connected to one another today.

Behind them, each skirt is tucked up neatly under the belt at their waists. The whipping warden has done her duty seriously, I can see that right away. Afternoon sun shines through the floor to ceiling windows and presses hard against these virgin backsides. They are dotted with welts from ass to mid thigh. As I reach Camille, I can see the reasons for her trembling and it’s a wonder that she hasn’t broken down completely, but perhaps that happened earlier. I motion to the warden and she is next to me as I gesture to this display of angry handiwork.

“Explain.”

“She was resistant.”

The clipped reply is not apologetic and I nod. She knows damn well that this is a benchmark whipping. Something is not right here and I’m not sure if it’s to do with Camille or my devoted acolyte, Greta. I take a deep breath and try to tamp down my anger. The most difficult part about what I do is maintaining appearances. I’d like to slap the warden across her face, but we’ll have to have that discussion privately. When I leave the room I hear Greta bark at the girls and command them to cover themselves before shuffling them into the dining hall.

They aren’t really girls, they’re women. Somehow when they consent to be called ‘girl’ upon entry, it shucks a kind of hardness from them. As I sit in my study now to make notes on each girl, I press their names into my mind, even though they are numbered for now. Some will leave here with new names, if they choose. It’s funny how a change in name can redirect the whole carriage of a person. I should know, I was once named Flora Potter, a ridiculous sounding name to me now.

Even so, I’ll never forget the first time Michel called me ‘girl’.

He took me by surprise, but he’d done that the minute he walked into the room.  It was a shabby room with painted second hand furniture and sagging mattress on the bed. I had a small sink in the corner and shared the bathroom down the hall with a dozen other women. We got along well enough and it wasn’t as if I lived there full time like some of them. I was going to university then, paying my way through college with what my mother would have called dirty money. But, to me it felt empowering. I was a sex worker because I chose it and I chose it for a lot of reasons. I could make a lot of money quickly. My money went to education and then to savings.

When Michel followed me up to the room I could feel the jealous stares heating up my back. No one had ever seen him there before. It was his first and last time in the whorehouse, he told me later. He never would tell me why he ended up there in the first place. Most of the men that came up to my room were not men I would have wanted to see outside of work. There was usually a reason that they chose to pay for sex. Some of them were awkward. Some of them were ugly. Some of them were impatient.

Michel was none of these.

He stood so tidy in my room.  I almost didn’t want my surroundings to touch him, as if they might tarnish him in some way. His navy blue pants were pressed with a knife crease, his wool vest buttoned up neatly with a flash of purple silk in the pocket. He looked at me seriously behind his wire rimmed glasses.

“So, what would you like?” I began in the typical way.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small leather book not much bigger than the palm of his hand. He fished in again and placed a fat roll of cash on the bedside table. I remember trying not to open my mouth like an idiot. He could have almost whatever he wanted for that, I thought. I stared at the cash and he flipped open his book.

“Stand there.” He said.

He was writing and I thought, ok, this must be some arty thing.

“Would you like me to pose?”

“No, girl.” He snapped.

I was quiet then and more than a little bit confused. He wrote a few more sentences and snapped the book shut, tossing it onto the table.

“I’d like to spank you.”

“I’m not one of those women. There are others to choose from.”

“But, I think you are.”

I shook my head as he drew closer to me. His fingertips found my chin and as I lifted my eyes to his I knew I would not say no again. His mouth quirked up in a smile beneath his short, dark mustache.

“Let’s have a try, shall we? If you don’t like it then I’ll leave you with the money and you’ll never see me again.”

He brushed his lips onto mine and an electric wave of static shot into my mouth. I opened beneath him without a thought. He drew my lower lip into his mouth and suckled it between his teeth.

“Good girl.” He whispered.

I trembled into him. I’d always steered clear of SM clients. I heard through the thin walls sometimes, the things the other women went through. It definitely wasn’t for me. But this, this was a spanking. He didn’t even have any tools, no toy bag—which usually gave those clients away immediately. I hadn’t been spanked since I was a child.

“Yes.”

Before the word was out of my mouth he had settled himself onto the groaning mattress and pulled me down over his knee. He shoved up my short skirt and opened my legs slightly. I wasn’t wearing any panties, as was often the case, it always felt impractical at work.

“Your skirt is too short.” He murmured.

This didn’t require an answer and I wasn’t entirely sure he was even talking to me. Then the spanking began. His hand smacked down on my flesh with a crack loud enough to make me yelp. It hadn’t hurt so much as shocked me. He found a rhythm that lulled me, that felt good. Sting mingled with gentle touch and just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he would stop. My body began to move, like a puppet on a string. His hand left, and I magnetized, pushed my ass in the air toward him. He was less gentle as we went along and I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I could have stopped him at any time but the pain was traveling through every extremity and lighting me on fire. I was a pulsing and throbbing nerve compelled to beat against him.

When his fingers parted my lips and drifted up and down my wet slit I pressed my face to his leg in utter embarrassment. Women I knew tolerated this from clients. They did it for the extra money it paid.  But this was pure pleasure. I could feel the glow of my skin and imagined it flashing neon where he had rained his hard blows, beating me like a tribal drum. His breath came harder but he did not speak.  I felt his cock swell against me and he shifted. He slid a finger deep inside me easily, I was not up to the task of pretending I didn’t want this. The pad of his thumb found my clit. He barely touched me, and I pushed back against him.

“Good girl.” He whispered again.

Lust. This was lust.

For a moment, I forgot myself completely and the self control I prided myself on slipped away like water over stones. I squeezed on his finger with my cunt and I rode the soft meaty muscle of his thumb until I gushed and flooded. I didn’t understand the sounds, and that they were coming from me until they stopped.  I slid from his knee when he released me and pulled my knees up to my chest.  I watched as he stood calmly and put the book back in his pocket.  I didn’t understand. I hadn’t done anything for him. Didn’t he want to fuck me? Didn’t he want to at least cum? The questions stuck in my throat and I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Michel smiled. He smiled so gentle and kind, like he had all the patience in the world. I could see the bulge still rock hard against his zipper.  I expected for him to demand satisfaction at any moment. Instead, he bent down and kissed my forehead.  His lips lingered there, leaving an impression I would feel for days. Before he left, he placed a thick white business card with raised lettering next to the cash. It had a phone number on it and one word: Michel. No last name. No other particulars.

I thumbed that card inside my pockets for weeks. I ran my fingers across the raised lettering and replayed that day in one long unending loop. I knew I needed to call him.

And I did.

Which is how I left Flora Potter behind, and how I embarked upon my journey to become….

The Governess.

By: Juliette van der Molen

Writer of completely unladylike erotica and other sundry things. After discovering that
people actually do these crazy, kinky things, she began exploring the lifestyle in 1993 and
never looked back. She writes about her experience in authority based relationships,
BDSM fiction and even the occasional hot sonnet. She is currently the assistant direction
for MAsT Central New Jersey and the co-host of a submissive support group (SSASE) in
the same area. Her work has appeared in Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, My Erotica.com, and
The Junction. You can find her in these publications at:
https://medium.com/@juliette.vandermolen and connect with her on Twitter
@j_vandermolen and fetlife at: juliette_ .

Sally lay face down in our bed. Clad in only her panties; her soft dark curls fanned out across her shoulders. I was slowly rubbing her back and neck in the soft light of the early morning.

“Hmmmm,” she hummed as my hand kneaded and caressed the muscles in her shoulders and along her spine. My other arm supported my head as I lovingly touched her. I loved looking at her body. Sally had broad hips and a full, round ass. Her thighs were probably best described as “thick” but were proportionate to her body. I had always found them lovely, especially when they were wrapped around my waist. The skin on her back was soft and while she was enjoying being pampered, I was getting aroused by the intimacy.

“Rub my buns” she whispered, slightly shy, but more than willing to demand what she wanted.

I gave a little, flirty growl, “You bet, gorgeous.” My hand slid lower, pushing her panties down around her thighs. I began to slowly caress her round globes, first one side, and then the other. Alternating between using my full palm, and just letting my fingers dance across the more sensitive skin along the lower edges of her buttocks. She sighed a mewling moan.

I began to tease a little more, my fingers sliding a little further between her legs and then gently tracing the crack of her lovely ass. She would tense a little, signaling me to back off, my palm still caressing her with care. However, each time, my fingers would start to explore her forbidden areas again. I used my pinky finger to push her boundaries as the others brushed and caressed her full cheeks. Gently, my finger found her tight rose bud, and she whimpered slightly. Almost objecting, but not quite. Again and again, I teased and I played.

I slid down the bed, kneeling next to her outstretched legs. My hands grabbed her panties on either side and pulled them down until they cleared her thighs, and then easily slid off her calves past her feet. Gently, I spread her legs and crawled between her knees. I let my fingers slide along the insides of her thighs, slowly teasing as they got closer and closer to her now exposed sex and ass. Sally mewled, a sound of uncertainty mixed with arousal and desire.

With my right hand, I began to tease at her pretty little pussy. My fingers danced along the edges of her labia as she lifted her hips up to expose more of herself to me. She was starting to get wet, and my fingers slipped between her pink folds easily. I gently brushed her clit and caressed her glistening opening. With my other hand, I began to tease and caress her rose.

Her cheeks clenched and her hips thrust against the bed, as she tried to avoid my attention to her ass.

“Relax, Sally, just enjoy it,” I whispered.

“But,” her voice a mix between arousal and a whine, “it’s dirty back there. I shouldn’t let you.”

“Shhhh, baby. It’s beautiful, it’s not dirty. It turns me on.” My cock throbbed at her words and her conflicted desire. She whimpered again, relaxing but still unsure.

I waited, teasing her pussy more, before resuming my attention to her delicate little bud. This time when my finger gently started teasing, just barely at the edges of the crepe like skin, her barely audible whimper was a reluctant acceptance of her own desire. A guilty admission of enjoying the sensations she was feeling.

I let my finger slowly circle her forbidden pink rose, circling closer to the center, and then back out. Lightly teasing, and then occasionally letting my fingers drift back across her curvy globes. Each time I returned to her tight bud, she whimpered with guilty pleasure.

I paused and reached up, grabbing a pillow. Guiding her hips with my hand, I slide the pillow underneath. She relaxed more, and I slid down on my stomach between her thighs. Supporting myself on my elbows, my hands just under her thighs, I began to kiss and nibble at her inner thighs, just barely below her sex. Her low moan was as encouraging as it was arousing. I moved to the soft skin right where her thighs joined her ass, my lips nibbling and sucking at her. Her moans turned to mewls, and then I let my tongue slide between her lips, tasting her tangy juices. Her moan turned deep and throaty.

Her hips rotated, urging my tongue to address her needy clit. I let my tongue slide and tease her pussy, not quite reaching her clit. Delving into her tunnel and sucking on her thick, aroused lips. She arched more, silently begging for me to lick her clit. I held back, still teasing as she moaned her wordless needs. Then, I let my tongue slide up to her ass. Her arched back and rotated hips had opened her ass wide, and her little back door was extremely exposed. The taste was dark and musky, but her reaction was nearly a scream. My tongue swirled and teased as she collapsed her hips back onto the pillow as I continued my attention to her virgin back hole. I used my hands to push her hips back up, almost feeding her gorgeous ass to my mouth. Her whimpers suggested that she wanted to object, but her body was overruling her mind.

After a few moments of teasing her ass with my mouth, I slid my knees back under myself. I let my right hand begin to tease at her sexy pink pussy again, and my finger soon found her swollen clit. “God, yes,” she gasped as I started a slow swirling motion around it. Her hips pushed down, demanding more pressure. With my left hand I rubbed and caressed her full ass. “Don’t stop,” she demanded, and I obliged her.

In a moment, she exploded, her hips bucking against my trapped hand. My other hand teased at her stunning ass some more, taking the opportunity to build the association between orgasm and ass play. After a moment, her convulsions began to subside and I slipped my hand from underneath her. Using her juices as lubricant, I slowly pushed my middle finger into her ass.

“Oh…” she paused. “Stop…” pausing, “wait.” Her surprised objections coming between her attempts to catch her breath from her orgasm.

“Shhhh, just relax, Sally,” I whispered. I held my finger, just one knuckle deep so far, not moving, but not removing it either.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, and then she relaxed slightly. I waited, and then slowly began to slide my finger deeper. Past her tight ring, until it was buried completely in her beautiful ass. With my other hand, I caressed her globes, her thighs, and teased at her sensitive pussy. I could feel her begin to relax and I slowly pulled my finger back out. I paused, waiting to feel her relax and adjust, before slowly sliding it back in her ass. Her moan was almost a grunt, acquiescing, but not quite accepting.

I added a second finger and she squealed, not quite in pain, more in surprise as it stretched her. Slowly, I pushed them both into her, until again, they were as deep as I could reach. I waited, my other hand still caressing and teasing her. Again, she started to relax and I began to fuck her ass with my fingers. “What…” she paused, “what are you going to do?” She asked, but we both knew the answer. I wanted to take her virgin ass, and she knew it. I remained silent, slowly finger fucking her lovely ass.

“Please,” her voice a mixture of fear, but also desire and arousal, “use more lube.”

I slowly and gently slid my fingers out, and reached over to the nightstand. I took the bottle of lube, and squirted a generous dollop into the palm of my hand. I put my fingers into the pool, carefully coating them and warming the lube. They slid into her almost effortlessly, and I felt her relaxing. I spread the leftover lubricant on my throbbing cock, as I continued to slowly prepare her ass.

I was surprised at how quickly she was accepting the new intrusion. I could feel her relaxing and opening to these new, but challenging sensations. I continued my ministrations, gently probing, teasing and letting her move beyond mere acceptance. Slowly I began to fuck her ass with my two fingers. As she mewled slightly, I knew she was ready, and I shifted to prepare myself.

Taking another dollop of lubricant, I added it to my cock, and then spread a little around the slightly gaping opening of her ass. She whimpered and I said, “Relax baby, we’ll go slow.”

I positioned myself on top of her, my cock just barely pushing at her tight rose. She gasped, “Please, if it hurts…please…,” her voice questioning, hoping, fearing, wanting and needing all at once.

“Shhhh,” I comforted, “yes darling, relax, it’ll be ok.”

I began to slowly push myself into her. She gasped as I entered and then squeaked when the head of my cock pushed past her inner ring. “Oh, God, wait…wait, stop,” her voice was breathless.

I stopped, holding myself as still as I could, my cock throbbing with the pleasure of the tight grip and my mind reeling with the heady excitement of a fantasy finally being fulfilled.

“Shhhh, relax baby, it’s so sexy. God, you feel so good.” I stayed still until I felt her body start to relax again. Then, I slowly began pushing my cock deep into her ass again.

I moaned into her ear, “Oh, God, yes, Sally! That feels amazing!” My voice low, thick with arousal and wanton desire.

I paused when I was fully inside her. “Sally, I love your ass! It’s so gorgeous, and feels so wonderful,” I whispered into her ear as I began to slowly thrust in and out.

I was ready to stop if she objected until I heard her shaking voice, “Oh, God, oh…,” her voice rising in pitch.

She started to moan and whimper. Between the heady sensations and her sexy vocals, I found myself quickly reaching orgasm. My cock pumped hard as I groaned, “Oh. God! Yes. Ohhhh, Sally!” In a moment, it was over and I lay still on top of her, catching my breath. Her ass still gripped my now softening cock and I finally rolled off her, slipping it out with almost a ‘pop’ as my head cleared the tight ring. I laid on my side and she turned her head to face me. I steeled myself for her to be angry or ashamed. She had always objected to anal, and I feared that she would feel used. Her eyes twinkled a little, though, as a wry smile crossed her face.

“Did you enjoy it?” her voice soft and genuine.

“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly, “was it at least unpainful?”

Her face flushed a little red. “I think I came,” she admitted with deep embarrassment, “if I didn’t, I think I could next time.”

I must have looked really surprised at the words, “next time.”

She giggled, “Well, only if you do the same kind of job preparing me.”

By: lakesailer_mi

True to her word, Marcia did begin working out with me. She had no time to do so before going to work, so I would go in the mornings and work on my aerobics and swimming. Instead of walking on the treadmill, I was now able to do light jogging. On the bikes, I could now get between 15-20 miles in an hours time, depending on the program I set the bike on. I was working towards 30 laps in swimming. It was only a 25 meter pool, so 30 laps was only 750 meters, but it was still a far cry from where I started.

After she got off work, Marcia would come with me and we’d work on weights for an hour. She showed me more of the machines and how to use them to effectively strengthen different muscle groups. She also informed me that my idea that I didn’t have to work my legs due to aerobics was totally wrong. She said that the two things were different and that my legs had to keep up with the rest of my strength training. She did agree with me that lower weights and more repetitions would be better overall in building strength rather than going for heavier weights and lower reps, which would tend to bulk me up. She also had me working my abdominals more to get rid of the little belly I was still carrying around. She alternated the days that we would work on different muscle groups, doing three different groups on three different days, saying that our muscles usually required three days to recover from a heavy workout.

“I actually like the more athletic look,” she said, “rather than the body builder physique. You maintain more flexibility and don’t look so muscle bound. More like Michael Phelps or LeBron James than Arnold Schwarzenegger or his ilk. Plus I’ve talked to some of the older body builders and weight lifters and they said the bigger weights put a lot of stress on their joints when they were younger and many of them have joint or back problems now.”

We would take turns pushing each other on the weight machines. I noted that she was using 40 or 50 pounds for her reps, less for the upper body, more for the legs, although she easily managed multiple sets of 30 reps at those levels.

I asked her why and she said that she still wanted to look like a woman and not some type of cyborg hybrid. God knows she looked like a hell of a woman, so I didn’t question her methods. Working out with her while she wore leotards was a kind of torture. She could easily have worn sweats, but she knew the affect she was having on me and every other male in the place. It was her way of reminding me of what I was shooting for.

After we returned home, we’d usually shower together, taking the perfectly appropriate amount of time to wash each other off, wink, wink. She was keeping herself clean shaven for me, which I found to be highly erotic. There’s nothing like going down on a woman and not having to contend with hair. Let’s just say I liked tacos better than shredded wheat. I started doing a little man trimming as well, so she had less hair to contend with when fellating me. The hair trimmer with the shortest hair attachment kept everything at a nice manageable length.

I learned to automate some of my day trading. I would have orders entered that would only execute if a stock was at a certain price, I would put trailing stops on some of my stocks to sell if they started dropping too much so I could keep more of my profits without paying an excessive amount of attention to them. I would get warning alerts on my smart phone when stocks crossed over certain moving averages. I could spend more time working on my life and less time sitting on a computer screen.

One of the things I had more time to do was look into dominance/submission relationships. My 2 days of being a Master to Marcia were based more upon my desire to fuck her and use her in every way possible, than in any understanding of the lifestyle. Other than trying out a lot of the fantasies that my fevered imagination had held for years, I hadn’t really thought about what it meant to be in a Master/slave relationship. But it turned out that it really was a lifestyle for a lot of people.

I did a lot of reading and investigation and found there were a lot of variations in the lifestyle. There were the sadists and masochists who tended to get off on giving and receiving pain. A lot of the things that they were into, I would have considered torture, things like body mutilations, needle piercings, cuts, public humiliations, golden showers, scat or shit stuff, caning which could leave the submissive bruised for weeks. None of that appealed to me at all, nor, would I guess, appeal to Marcia. I loved her too much to ever hurt her or mark her up. We both realized that a little spanking now or then, something that would wear off in a couple hours, was not a permanent hurt. Even though there was pain, it was transitory and fleeting. There was a difference between erotic pain and just pain. She might cum from a spanking, but never would from a headache. I suppose if those types of people can find each other and are happy, that’s on them, but not for me.

The milder form of that was bondage and discipline, a lesser form of submission. That’s what we’d just explored in our own little way. Tying a person down, administering spankings, paddling or whatnot in ways designed to not leave more than temporary striping or bruising, milder humiliation, all of it designed primarily to just enhance sex. What was clear about what we’d done is that the submissive was ultimately in charge. She was the one who set the levels of what she was willing to tolerate, that safe words would always be used and respected. While the submissive was allowing more to her master than the normal person might, the ultimate limits were always the submissives and never the masters. That’s where I saw ourselves. No matter what I did, how far and how long it proceeded was totally up to Marcia, her limits, not mine.

There were other variations I saw, pony play or pet play, Gorean play, based upon the novels of John Norman and Gor, and a lot of other stuff I hadn’t fully investigated yet. Dominants could be male or female, as could their submissives. Some adventurous souls would have both male and female submissives, while some submissives would alternate between male and female masters, probably depending on their overall sexual orientation.

One other item that I ran across was a huge D/s lifestyle convention around Valentine’s Day in, where else, Las Vegas. It lasted for three days, February 12-14, perfect as it looked as though I was going to make 215 pounds by my next weigh-in on January 24 and that meant Marcia had to submit to me for 3 days. It would mean delaying our play time until mid-February, not a particular hardship as I was getting regular sex again, but putting me awful close to our next weigh-in February 24 which was crowding our play dates.

The organizers were renting an entire hotel for the duration and the hotel would be closed to any other guests. That meant that nudity could abound, play could be organized, scenarios played out. The hotel staffing was going to be at a reduced level, as they had to depend on volunteers to work during that time, people who wouldn’t be affected or offended by nudity or anything else that might happen, but the hotel had done this for three straight years, so about 75% of the staff was okay with whatever went on. And of course, since it was in Vegas, it stayed in Vegas.

I really wanted to go to this thing. We could meet others who thought playing was fun, much the same as we did, discover something about each of the variations in the lifestyle, see what others were doing and if we wanted to incorporate any of it into our own life. I printed off something about the convention to show Marcia later.

After working out, eating and showering that night, we retired to the bedroom. I used the vibrator on my wife while she sucked my cock, followed by a pleasurable interlude of my fucking her pussy for fifteen minutes; before I replaced my cock with her vibrator. My cock, now free, could plunge in her dark hole for another ten before she managed to vacuum the cum from my balls. Of course, this happened as she was spasming on my cock during her third orgasm of the evening. There are times when it pays to be a woman. We were both feeling quite sated and were cuddling while catching our breath.

“I want to show you something, honey,” I said.

“What is it?”

“Take a look at this I printed off the internet today.”

She looked at me askance. “Is this something I want to see?”

“I won’t know until you look at it.”

She read it over; the hotel, the location, the purpose of the convention. She wasn’t dismissing it out of hand, I could almost see the gears in her head spinning.

“Would you want me nude in front of bunch of strangers?” She asked.

“That is my hope, you and me both. What good is it to have the best sex slave in all the world if you can’t brag on it to anybody? I’m proud of my little sex slave and would like to show her off, in all her natural wonder.”

“Would I be having sex in front of strangers?”

“Only with me. Nobody else gets to have sex with you but me. There may be some other touching though.”

“What kind of touching?” She asked, concerned.

“Almost certainly spanking or paddling, I’m guessing some digital penetration, playing with your breasts, maybe some licking, kissing, and fondling, maybe some toys. No cocks other than mine, in any way, shape or form.”

“And you would be okay with this, other people touching me?”

“Under controlled circumstances determined by me with your agreement; yeah, I’m okay with it. It’s for three days, I’m a week away from my weigh-in and I’m a pound away. The three days at the convention would be your three days of slavery. The issues would be waiting for the convention, plus my next weigh in is ten days later so we’re crowding a lot of your slavery into two weeks.”

“And don’t forget the issue of ‘Will I do this'”, Marcia said. “You really want to do this? This is pretty far out there, even for you. Parading me naked in front of a bunch of strangers, having sex with me in front of others. Why do you want to do this?”

“The fact that it is strangers actually makes it easier,” I said. “Parading you naked in front of people we know would be a problem, but strangers; not so much. The main thing is, we get to meet other people with similar interests, maybe learn some things we didn’t know, incorporate new ideas in our play; really see what the whole Domination/submission thing is all about. And, you know that what happens in Vegas -”

“Stays in Vegas,” she finished for me. “I’m familiar with the concept. What if we meet some people we do actually know?”

“Let’s say we meet your Chief of Police at the convention. Do you think he’s going to be any more eager in exposing his proclivities than you are in exposing yours? I think it would still ‘Stay in Vegas’, if you know what I mean.”

“I want to think about it,” she said. “I’ll let you know my answer at your weigh-in.”

The next week went by rather slowly for me, I think a little too quickly for Marcia. We continued to work out together, do our jobs, everything normal. Two days before the weigh-in, Marcia submitted to a light spanking, using my hand. Thirty wonderful swats, after which I finger fucked her aroused pussy to orgasm and after which she swallowed my cock whole, licking and tonguing and sucking while she fondled my balls until I gave her a nice, juicy taste treat. I thought she might say something afterward, but she didn’t.

The day of my weigh-in arrived and I stood on the scales.

“215 pounds, Master. You’ve earned yourself three days with your little slave.”

“It was with your help, Marcia. I really appreciate the work you’re putting in to help me.”

“Well, it is for my benefit too, isn’t it.”

“Yes it is. At least you seem to enjoy it as much as I do. Have you thought about Vegas? Are you ready to make a decision?” I asked.

“You still want to go through with this?” Marcia asked.

“I do.”

“I will agree to go under the following conditions. You don’t gain a single pound back before we leave.”

“Done,” I agreed. “What are the other conditions?”

“The whole trip is assigned a safe word. If at any time I give that safe word, we’re done, we’re out of there. No complaints, protests, whining, or push back. We’re coming home and the three days are over. Future slave days may be up for renegotiation. I’m really nervous about this and while I want to be your little slave on this, we’re bumping against my limits.”

How much do I want to do this, I thought. If the whole master/slave thing were to end up cancelled, would it be worth it to me to go to Vegas for Valentines Day. I’ll have to be very careful what happens out there, or I’m screwed. I’ll have to make sure that nothing bad happens to Marcia. But I still thought it would be worth it.

“Agreed,” I said. “What do you want the safe word to be?”

“Cocoa Puffs, because I feel like I’m being a little cuckoo right now.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“One more thing,” she said. “Every night, before we go to sleep, we talk about everything that happened that day. What was good or bad and why, and if we still want to continue. Even though you say you have no problems with other people touching me, I know your first wife fooled around on you and it fucked you up a little. It took awhile before you really trusted me and knew that I wasn’t going to do the same thing to you. So, this isn’t just my decision. If you start getting uncomfortable about what’s happening, you can call it off too. My relationship with you is far too important to jeopardize over what’s essentially our games. I’m not going to ruin our life for games. If I even think you’re having a problem with anything that’s happening, I will call Cocoa Puffs, no matter if you think you’re having a problem or not. Understood?”

“Good call, honey. That makes a ton of sense. I don’t want to jeopardize our relationship either. I’m okay with all those things.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“I’ll make all the arrangements; you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Make sure I don’t, here or there.”

Could I love this woman any more? I kissed her goodnight and drifted off to sleep with visions of Marcia naked in front of strangers in my head and how proud I would be that she was my little slave.

********

The day of our departure arrived. I’d done all of the packing. Essentially it was clothes for the flights to and from Vegas and some lingerie for Marcia, some shorts and t-shirts for me. I really didn’t know what was considered normal Masters wear. The only examples I had were cheesy porno pics. I figured shorts and tee’s would do to start, and once I had an idea of what was commonplace, I could buy something else. I could easily move down in attire and that was another benefit of my diet and exercise plan. If I ended up naked, I was not going to look fat and cheesy. Because it was a convention, there were going to be booths by some manufacturers of D/s equipment and clothing. If I found something I liked, I could buy something from them.

I also brought a selection of our toys; well, really, most of them. We didn’t have that many as far as I was concerned. We were just starting down this path. I left the largest of the butt plugs and one of the vibrators. Everything else was going. I placed a couple items in my carry on, the rest went into our checked luggage. I really wondered what the TSA guys would think if they had to open my luggage. Probably have a lot of laughs tonight over beers.

Marcia was normally a calm, collected flyer, but she seemed edgier today. I tried to keep her engaged in conversations about work and our families, but I’m sure she was just thinking about the next three days and her part in it. This was a big step for her. She was nominally a private person. I was planning to negate her privacy. She was taking a real flyer here, and it was all due to me. She agreed, but this is not something that would show up at even the bottom of her bucket list. Not only would she be naked in front of many people, men and women, she would be exposing a lifestyle choice she’d done once for two days almost seven weeks ago. If it was just up to her, this wouldn’t be happening. She was doing it as a gift to me, a Valentine’s gift par excellence demonstrating unequivocally, how much she loved me.

Finally, I realized something that might help calm her down; an orgasm or two. Whispering, I handed her my carry-on and told her to take it to the restroom, insert her butt plug and attach her butterfly. She looked at me like my head had fallen off.

“No, seriously. Put it on and come back here,” I whispered.

“Your three days hasn’t started yet!” Marcia exclaimed, handing it back.

“This isn’t for me; this is for you. You’re as nervous as a chicken in a fox den. You’re too wrapped up in what might happen; you need to relax. The best way I know for that to happen is if you have a little happy time. No one needs to know. You’re not going through a scanner anywhere. You can even keep the remote, be in full control.”

She thought about it for a minute, then said, “You may be right. Give me that thing.”

She got up and went to the bathroom for about five minutes, then returned to her seat. She got comfortable in her seat, took the airline magazine out like she was going to read it, looked around briefly, then I saw her turn the remote on. She made a small movement as she felt it come on, then started turning the pages like she was actually scanning the pages, but I could tell by the look in her eye, she wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. I saw her adjust the setting at one point, finding a vibration that was doing more for her. After awhile, she slid an inch or two down her seat, her hips rolling forward, and she gave a small smile of contentment I’m sure I was the only one to notice.

I expected her to turn the thing off, but apparently, it was feeling much too fine to stop the sensations now. I was watching her closely, pretending to read a book. She grabbed my arm when she spasmed again, squeezing it pretty hard. Just as she’d hidden her orgasms quite well during our Christmas dinner out, she was giving no outward signs to anyone not paying close attention and looking for them that she was joining the mile high club on her own. One more time, she shivered slightly as if she were cold before I saw her turn her butterfly off. She floated off to sleep with a smile on her face, the magazine resting in her lap.

When the plane began it’s descent into Vegas, I woke her up and told her we would be landing soon. Apparently, her anxiety was ratcheting up again as I noticed she used the remote again. Two orgasms later, we touched down in Las Vegas. As it was still winter, the sun had already set, but it was almost like daylight, at least along the strip. Neon lights were blazing everywhere.

We grabbed a taxi to the hotel as we weren’t planning on going anywhere while we were there. The hotel wasn’t one of the big ones along the strip, but a couple blocks away from most of the gambling action. It was a modest structure, three stories tall and only taking up a corner of the street. From the outside, it looked like any other smaller hotel catering to a more modest crowd than the normal Vegas tourist. What it was catering to was the more kinky crowd, a fact immediately apparent when one entered the lobby. There a sign proclaimed that there was to be no nudity until 2/12, not the kind of sign likely to be seen in any other hotel in town.

The hotel was allowing the conventioneers to check in the day before and would be closed for cleaning the day after. So we were essentially paying for 5 days although no one would be there for longer than four. I know Marcia was happy that she didn’t have to shuck down to her birthday suit until tomorrow. We picked up a program listing the activities scheduled for the three days of the convention plus the exhibitors who were going to be there and went to our room. Marcia lay down on the bed and did some deep breathing, still pretty tense. I told her she might want to cum a couple more times since she was still so worked up. She apparently agreed with me. Removing her underwear, I saw her turn her butterfly on high and thrust two fingers up her sheath until I heard her moan out her release, her cunt contracting around her fingers as she came.

By: Thors_Fist