Read the first part here: Thanks for Donating, Part One
On Friday afternoon, while the rest of the office was counting down the hours until a fun-filled weekend, I was counting down the hours until Beth was the boss of me. I still didn’t quite get by what she meant by “silly girl stuff” and I knew that her vagueness was part of her own little way of being superior to me. I was finishing up one last project before the weekend, and reading the last bits of email sent my way. I always did my best to read the company newsletter, although this week, I was hoping for a bit of a mention:
Subject: Company Newsletter
Body: “...Finally, we would like to recognize Ashlyn Martinez for her remarkable effort for the local food bank. She successfully raised over $5000, all from independent and small donors, and the charity could not be more grateful. We would also like to recognize newcomer to the company Elizabeth Haustaff, who also raised an impressive $2300 with efforts earlier in the month. Both of these ladies know the meaning of hard work and dedication, and we commend
both their achievements.”
I stopped reading after that paragraph. That was it. That was what I had sacrificed my weekend and possibly dignity for? A tiny little mention in a corporate email. I was seething a bit, when I saw Elizabeth saunter over to my desk. The office was starting to empty out for the weekend, and I knew she had a vested interest in checking up on me.
“So, I guess the weekend just about starts now, huh winner?”
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts
Friday, June 1, 2012
Thanks for Donating, Part Two
Labels:
BDSM,
control,
Exhibitionism,
humiliation,
lesbian
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thanks for Donating, Part One
I’m usually not so competitive in office politics. My cube is by no means the biggest, I never get wrapped up in power games, and even when there are contests (like the annual contests we have at our holiday parties), I’m not one to try to win. I would rather get my work done, and make sure everyone gets paid at my company, or everyone have a good time at the Christmas party, than be wrapped up in who wins and loses.
Maybe it was the recent failures I’d had in getting the raise, or the fact that I had been single for longer than I like, but when the office started a donation fundraising drive for the local food bank, and publicly posted everyone’s stats on the bulletin board, a fire in my heart ignited. I wanted to be named the best at that more than anything, and each day I would carefully monitor my numbers, and the numbers of my closest adversaries, to see who was nipping at my heels.
Maybe it was the recent failures I’d had in getting the raise, or the fact that I had been single for longer than I like, but when the office started a donation fundraising drive for the local food bank, and publicly posted everyone’s stats on the bulletin board, a fire in my heart ignited. I wanted to be named the best at that more than anything, and each day I would carefully monitor my numbers, and the numbers of my closest adversaries, to see who was nipping at my heels.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Birdie's Contract, Part Two
Read Part One of Birdie's Contract here
It was three days later on a Tuesday that I came back from work and found Vince and Tatiana at the kitchen table, with a few papers between them. If I didn’t know them better, I would have guessed they were an old married couple, looking over their finances. I stopped dead in my tracks, and was a bit surprised.
“Tatiana,” I said. “What brings you around here?”
“Oh, honey, you don’t really need to be here for this, it’s all preliminary stuff,” Vince explained as Tatiana giggled a bit. “We’re just coming to some terms that we can all live with when it comes to what you’ll do at Tatiana’s house.”
“Tatiana,” I said. “What brings you around here?”
“Oh, honey, you don’t really need to be here for this, it’s all preliminary stuff,” Vince explained as Tatiana giggled a bit. “We’re just coming to some terms that we can all live with when it comes to what you’ll do at Tatiana’s house.”
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Birdie's Contract, Part One
My phone chimed, like it does a hundred times a day, and I checked the text message. I absolutely hate voicemail, and I’ve trained my circle that the best way to get a hold of me is through instant message. I was relieved when I read it that it wasn’t yet another request from one of my managers, but a very nice request from my mistress:
Birdie, your contract is up tonight, when you come home, be ready for some fun.
Birdie, your contract is up tonight, when you come home, be ready for some fun.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Just a Dollar, Part Two
Author's note: Read part one of "Just a Dollar" here.
I reread the text message about a thousand times before I could get a break from work to respond. Finally, I found a minute, and walked into the alley behind the restaurant to give Alyssa a call.
“Hi, whore,” she replied. “Have some questions?”
“Is it really a he?” I asked. I had a million questions but that seemed most important.
“Hi, whore,” she replied. “Have some questions?”
“Is it really a he?” I asked. I had a million questions but that seemed most important.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Just a Dollar, Part One
I came home at around eight at night from the late afternoon and early dinner rush at the restaurant, exhausted from being on my feet all day and smiling, which are two of the most exhausting things you’ll ever do. While my job is fun most times, my boss isn’t too horrible and I get along with the other girls, I’m always thankful when I can get home and finally kick off my shoes.
As I slipped off my white sneakers, I saw that Alyssa was at the kitchen table, as usual, with the computer open and typing away. Also, as usual, she was naked except for a pair of white cotton panties. I was thankful she had at least had the decency, this time, to close the windows of our first floor apartment. Of course, she had nothing to be ashamed about, but as her girlfriend, I liked asserting my right of being the only one allowed to see her naked.
As I slipped off my white sneakers, I saw that Alyssa was at the kitchen table, as usual, with the computer open and typing away. Also, as usual, she was naked except for a pair of white cotton panties. I was thankful she had at least had the decency, this time, to close the windows of our first floor apartment. Of course, she had nothing to be ashamed about, but as her girlfriend, I liked asserting my right of being the only one allowed to see her naked.
Labels:
BDSM,
Exhibitionism,
humiliation,
lesbian,
men,
wet,
women
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Camp Shower
I got to the camp shower, that morning in my towel, carrying my waterproof bag of shower essentials. Another woman was sitting on the bench already, waiting in her own towel for a stall to free up, and I took a seat next to her. I pulled out an emery board, and idly started grinding away at my fingernails, not really doing anything substantial, but without a cellphone for anything else on me, I found myself without a thing to pass the time.
“I’m Stephanie,” she said, holding out a hand.
“I’m Stephanie,” she said, holding out a hand.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Neighbors
I bought my house a year ago as a short sale. The previous owner was underwater and owed more than the house was ever going to be worth, and so I got a very good deal. One thing I didn’t count on was the isolation that my new suburban home would provide me. Yes, there were other homes, technically, all around me, but they all were marked with those familiar green and white signs from the local realtor, who was evidently making a very good living putting them up. Of the sixteen homes that were in my area, thirteen were vacant, and the ones that were occupied were on the other end of the block, a good half-mile away. O, the new American dream!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Over the Fence
I think every woman engaged in an extra-marital relationship says it started out innocent enough. A random wink here, a flirtatious glance there, and before they knew it, they were in a hotel room at two in the morning three freeway exits away, thinking how they were going to get home in time for breakfast. My own started a little less dignified, and did not afford me such claims of innocence corrupted. I made several mistakes, pursued it, and landed right where I was supposed to be.
I had been chatting online for about a month, just browsing some recipe forum. She first complimented me on my crème brûlée recipe, and thing escalated a bit from there. She was the first to ask my age, if I was married, and for a picture, which I gave readily. The shower of compliments flowed from there, she said she absolutely adored by brown curls, cutie pie face, and girl next-door charm, and soon our conversations were steered towards our mutual favorite topic--sex. Before I knew it, I was giving her very explicit details about what went on in the bedroom with my husband of four years, even more details than probably he knows.
I had been chatting online for about a month, just browsing some recipe forum. She first complimented me on my crème brûlée recipe, and thing escalated a bit from there. She was the first to ask my age, if I was married, and for a picture, which I gave readily. The shower of compliments flowed from there, she said she absolutely adored by brown curls, cutie pie face, and girl next-door charm, and soon our conversations were steered towards our mutual favorite topic--sex. Before I knew it, I was giving her very explicit details about what went on in the bedroom with my husband of four years, even more details than probably he knows.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Lights Out
I sat in my apartment just waiting for the minutes to tick by, hoping the power would come back soon. The city was suffering from a long power outage, and I had hoped it would come back before dinner. Dinner had come and gone, and I made myself a turkey sandwich, a diet coke, and some other things that require no power to make. While the outage did give me a good excuse to eat the last of the ice cream, I was nervous as night fell and still no lights. I was just about to turn in for the night, when I heard a knock at the door.
“Hi Molly,” the voice said. “You have a minute?”
“Hi Molly,” the voice said. “You have a minute?”
Monday, September 5, 2011
Bail
Cassie walked into the police station as if she had stepped into an alien world. The small town of Guadalupe Springs, New Mexico barely had enough residents to allow for a bowling alley, let alone an all-night police station. Most of the lights in the station were off, and only a few officers were there, mostly keeping the drunks in the drunk tank company, or filing away the last of their paperwork. They looked up when Cassie came in, but then looked back down when they realized it was nobody special.
Cassie immediately saw Claire, handcuffed to a bench, wearing a baby blue jumpsuit which was branded with “City of Guadalupe Springs” lettering on the side. Claire looked up and saw Cassie, but immediately averted her gaze. There was a lot of shame to go around in this situation, and Claire had debated calling Cassie at all for bail money, or pressing her luck in the drunk tank.
Cassie approached the main desk, and a female police officer handed her a clipboard. “If you have the bail, you can just sign here,” she said sternly. Cassie was pleased that the process was so quick, and that the majority of the effort was just getting out of bed and raiding the cash stash. She was glad that it would soon be over. Cassie read over the paper and the charge, drunk and disorderly. It was by no means a high crime, or even something that would follow Claire forever, but it was embarrassing nonetheless.
“What’s this extra fee?” Cassie asked. The bail had been set by the judge, but the station had levied an extra thirty dollar fee labelled processing on top of that.
“She wasn’t wearing what she’s wearing now when she was arrested. She had already removed all of her clothing, so we had to give her something to cover up.” Cassie let out an audible sigh, knowing that Claire had heard. Claire kept her head down, as Cassie signed away. The officer then came over and released Claire from her cuffs, and helped her to her feet.
“You have a good friend there,” the officer said to Claire. Claire sulked away, walking out of the police station a free woman, waiting for Cassie to join her outside.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with her,” Cassie said. “But don’t worry officer, she’s not going to end up here again, that’s for damn sure.”
Cassie exited the station and joined Claire in her sulk. It was six months since they had moved to this town, and Cassie knew that Claire was having trouble adjusting. Of course, she was in her mid-twenties, and Cassie was only in her early thirties, and so her behavior this night was nothing but Claire’s immature and bratty nature gone amok. She was getting too old to be acting out like this, and Cassie needed to make sure she set the law down tonight.
“C’mon, let’s go home,” Cassie said, tugging at Claire’s new jumpsuit. She padded along in flipflops that were also provided, courtesy of the jail. Claire walked to the passenger door of the car, and waited for Cassie to unlock it.
“Claire,” Cassie said. “Now that we’re alone, I can be a bit more normal with you.”
Claire sighed, knowing what “normal” for Cassie meant. “What do I need to do?”
“You were very, very bad this evening, and could not control your drinking. This is behavior that needs to be punished.”
“I was arrested,” Claire protested. “Time served?”
“Um, I think not!” Cassie threw back. “You may be basically square in the eyes of the law, you just need to pay a little fine, but you caused a considerable amount of grief for me this evening. Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to get the call to bail your ass out? Do you know how much people in these small towns talk?”
Claire nodded, knowing that more protesting would just lead to more punishment. “Get in the back seat,” Cassie ordered. Claire climbed into the back, and before Cassie closed the door, she leaned in and looked Claire up and down. “Now, Claire, I had to pay extra for that cute little getup you’re wearing. Do you think it’s fair that you forced me to buy that,and I don’t get to have it, even though I just purchased it?”
“No,” Claire said.
“Good, we’re in agreement then,” Cassie said. “Hand it over.”
Claire relunctantly looked around and sighed. Cassie had her cornered, which is what Cassie did best, and Claire knew better than to fight her on any point. Claire fumbled with the snaps and lone zipper and quickly shed the jumpsuit. She had to fidget in her seat a bit, but eventually the suit was off, revealing what Claire had really been arrested in: An American Flag thong panty and blue star nipple covers, covering Claire’s C-cup breasts.
“Now,” Cassie said, “I don’t see why they had to cover you up with anything. That’s just about formal wear for you!”
The costume Claire was wearing had placed second in Maddigan’s annual third of July bikini contest. As most towns in America, July the fourth was dedicated to family barbecue and fireworks, with all the bars in Guadalupe Springs closed. Maddigan’s took the third of July as the perfect day for a raunchy bikini contest, with contestants from many towns over taking part.
Claire had pleaded with Cassie to come for support, but Cassie refused saying it was objectifying to women, and taking the feminist high road. An argument had erupted in their house, with the end being Claire storming out of the house to take part in the fun, and Cassie going to bed early. What Claire had not counted on was a jealous bitch from Las Cruces getting drunk and accusing her of trying to “steal her man.” No amount of talking could calm the woman, and when the police arrived the fight was already well underway. All the witnesses, and the owners of the bar, were just happy to claim they both started the fight, and be able to continue the night’s festivities, minus the few bad elements. Cassie was still fuming at this injustice, mostly because there was no possible way that she would ever attempt to “steal” anyone’s “man”.
She sat and sulked in the car as Cassie drove, the night turning out to be an unquestionable disaster. “Listen, I’m sorry we fought,” Claire started. “But the bar fight really wasn’t my fault!”
“Claire, you’re never going to grow up if you don’t take responsibility once or twice for your actions,” Cassie angrily shouted from the driver’s seat. “Bail money does not come free you know!” They pulled into the garage and Cassie stopped the engine and opened the door. “Stay here until I say to get out!” she ordered.
Cassie left Claire alone in the garage, and she wondered what was next. The light was on a timer and clicked off, leaving Claire alone in the dark car, patiently awaiting Cassie’s next order. Cassie finally came back and made her way to Claire’s door and opened it. “Get out, and come with me,” she said fuming.
They exited the garage and entered the backyard, the patio lit by by the lights on inside the house. Cassie led Claire to the hose and stated, “We’re going to get that jailhouse stank off of you! Now strip!”
Claire looked around nervously, wondering if she was understanding fully. “Here?” she asked.
“Of course here!” Cassie yelled. “Now!”
Claire’s breathing quickened and she pulled the adhesive stars off her nipples. “Toss it all in the garbage can,” Cassie ordered. Claire was on the verge of tears as she placed the stars in the garbage, and pulled the thong down, off her legs.
“That goes in the garbage too!” Cassie insisted. Claire sniffled some more, and tossed the remains of her bikini in the trash. Cassie then walked over to the hose, and turned on the faucet. Water started flowing from the hose, and Cassie, placed her finger at the end of the hose, increasing the water pressure of the stream which came out.
Claire flinched as the first jet of water hit her, but then eventually get used to the assault. Water formed in droplets all across her skin, and even the warm summer air couldn’t help to make the experience less frigid. Claire covered her pussy and breasts, in a vain attempt to maintain some modesty, but Cassie expertly sprayed her without mercy.
“Please Cassie!” Claire yelled. Tears were streaming down her face, but of course those were overwhelmed by the gallons of water that Cassie had forced over it. “I’m sorry!” she said.
“Then take your punishment! Spread your legs, arms out!” Cassie barked. She loved giving orders like this and was getting wetter by the second as she applied more of the hose to Claire. Claire dutifully did as she was told, and Cassie wasted no time in taking advantage. Her pussy tits and face were blasted with icy cold well-water that did more to utterly humiliate her than actually clean her.
“It just occured to me, Claire,” Cassie taunted. “I paid good money tonight for you, and you insisted on prancing around like a whore tonight without me. Now is that anyway to treat a client?” Cassie laughed with an evil grin.
“No,” Claire whimpered.
“So are you going to be a good whore for me?”
Claire’s mind was so clouded with everything that had happened tonight and the lashing she was getting at the hands of Cassie’s hose. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be a good whore for you!”
The water was turned off and Cassie put the hose down. She walked over to the blubbering Claire who was looking up at her with sad, puppy-dog eyes. “All forgiven?” she asked.
Cassie kissed her on the forehead and told her, “Now go upstairs and take a nice long shower. You wanted to parade around like a whore tonight, and you’re going to make good on your promise!”
Claire broadly smiled, and pranced to the house, eager to hop in the shower and make sure she showed Cassie tonight that her bail money was worth every cent.
Cassie immediately saw Claire, handcuffed to a bench, wearing a baby blue jumpsuit which was branded with “City of Guadalupe Springs” lettering on the side. Claire looked up and saw Cassie, but immediately averted her gaze. There was a lot of shame to go around in this situation, and Claire had debated calling Cassie at all for bail money, or pressing her luck in the drunk tank.
Cassie approached the main desk, and a female police officer handed her a clipboard. “If you have the bail, you can just sign here,” she said sternly. Cassie was pleased that the process was so quick, and that the majority of the effort was just getting out of bed and raiding the cash stash. She was glad that it would soon be over. Cassie read over the paper and the charge, drunk and disorderly. It was by no means a high crime, or even something that would follow Claire forever, but it was embarrassing nonetheless.
“What’s this extra fee?” Cassie asked. The bail had been set by the judge, but the station had levied an extra thirty dollar fee labelled processing on top of that.
“She wasn’t wearing what she’s wearing now when she was arrested. She had already removed all of her clothing, so we had to give her something to cover up.” Cassie let out an audible sigh, knowing that Claire had heard. Claire kept her head down, as Cassie signed away. The officer then came over and released Claire from her cuffs, and helped her to her feet.
“You have a good friend there,” the officer said to Claire. Claire sulked away, walking out of the police station a free woman, waiting for Cassie to join her outside.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with her,” Cassie said. “But don’t worry officer, she’s not going to end up here again, that’s for damn sure.”
Cassie exited the station and joined Claire in her sulk. It was six months since they had moved to this town, and Cassie knew that Claire was having trouble adjusting. Of course, she was in her mid-twenties, and Cassie was only in her early thirties, and so her behavior this night was nothing but Claire’s immature and bratty nature gone amok. She was getting too old to be acting out like this, and Cassie needed to make sure she set the law down tonight.
“C’mon, let’s go home,” Cassie said, tugging at Claire’s new jumpsuit. She padded along in flipflops that were also provided, courtesy of the jail. Claire walked to the passenger door of the car, and waited for Cassie to unlock it.
“Claire,” Cassie said. “Now that we’re alone, I can be a bit more normal with you.”
Claire sighed, knowing what “normal” for Cassie meant. “What do I need to do?”
“You were very, very bad this evening, and could not control your drinking. This is behavior that needs to be punished.”
“I was arrested,” Claire protested. “Time served?”
“Um, I think not!” Cassie threw back. “You may be basically square in the eyes of the law, you just need to pay a little fine, but you caused a considerable amount of grief for me this evening. Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to get the call to bail your ass out? Do you know how much people in these small towns talk?”
Claire nodded, knowing that more protesting would just lead to more punishment. “Get in the back seat,” Cassie ordered. Claire climbed into the back, and before Cassie closed the door, she leaned in and looked Claire up and down. “Now, Claire, I had to pay extra for that cute little getup you’re wearing. Do you think it’s fair that you forced me to buy that,and I don’t get to have it, even though I just purchased it?”
“No,” Claire said.
“Good, we’re in agreement then,” Cassie said. “Hand it over.”
Claire relunctantly looked around and sighed. Cassie had her cornered, which is what Cassie did best, and Claire knew better than to fight her on any point. Claire fumbled with the snaps and lone zipper and quickly shed the jumpsuit. She had to fidget in her seat a bit, but eventually the suit was off, revealing what Claire had really been arrested in: An American Flag thong panty and blue star nipple covers, covering Claire’s C-cup breasts.
“Now,” Cassie said, “I don’t see why they had to cover you up with anything. That’s just about formal wear for you!”
The costume Claire was wearing had placed second in Maddigan’s annual third of July bikini contest. As most towns in America, July the fourth was dedicated to family barbecue and fireworks, with all the bars in Guadalupe Springs closed. Maddigan’s took the third of July as the perfect day for a raunchy bikini contest, with contestants from many towns over taking part.
Claire had pleaded with Cassie to come for support, but Cassie refused saying it was objectifying to women, and taking the feminist high road. An argument had erupted in their house, with the end being Claire storming out of the house to take part in the fun, and Cassie going to bed early. What Claire had not counted on was a jealous bitch from Las Cruces getting drunk and accusing her of trying to “steal her man.” No amount of talking could calm the woman, and when the police arrived the fight was already well underway. All the witnesses, and the owners of the bar, were just happy to claim they both started the fight, and be able to continue the night’s festivities, minus the few bad elements. Cassie was still fuming at this injustice, mostly because there was no possible way that she would ever attempt to “steal” anyone’s “man”.
She sat and sulked in the car as Cassie drove, the night turning out to be an unquestionable disaster. “Listen, I’m sorry we fought,” Claire started. “But the bar fight really wasn’t my fault!”
“Claire, you’re never going to grow up if you don’t take responsibility once or twice for your actions,” Cassie angrily shouted from the driver’s seat. “Bail money does not come free you know!” They pulled into the garage and Cassie stopped the engine and opened the door. “Stay here until I say to get out!” she ordered.
Cassie left Claire alone in the garage, and she wondered what was next. The light was on a timer and clicked off, leaving Claire alone in the dark car, patiently awaiting Cassie’s next order. Cassie finally came back and made her way to Claire’s door and opened it. “Get out, and come with me,” she said fuming.
They exited the garage and entered the backyard, the patio lit by by the lights on inside the house. Cassie led Claire to the hose and stated, “We’re going to get that jailhouse stank off of you! Now strip!”
Claire looked around nervously, wondering if she was understanding fully. “Here?” she asked.
“Of course here!” Cassie yelled. “Now!”
Claire’s breathing quickened and she pulled the adhesive stars off her nipples. “Toss it all in the garbage can,” Cassie ordered. Claire was on the verge of tears as she placed the stars in the garbage, and pulled the thong down, off her legs.
“That goes in the garbage too!” Cassie insisted. Claire sniffled some more, and tossed the remains of her bikini in the trash. Cassie then walked over to the hose, and turned on the faucet. Water started flowing from the hose, and Cassie, placed her finger at the end of the hose, increasing the water pressure of the stream which came out.
Claire flinched as the first jet of water hit her, but then eventually get used to the assault. Water formed in droplets all across her skin, and even the warm summer air couldn’t help to make the experience less frigid. Claire covered her pussy and breasts, in a vain attempt to maintain some modesty, but Cassie expertly sprayed her without mercy.
“Please Cassie!” Claire yelled. Tears were streaming down her face, but of course those were overwhelmed by the gallons of water that Cassie had forced over it. “I’m sorry!” she said.
“Then take your punishment! Spread your legs, arms out!” Cassie barked. She loved giving orders like this and was getting wetter by the second as she applied more of the hose to Claire. Claire dutifully did as she was told, and Cassie wasted no time in taking advantage. Her pussy tits and face were blasted with icy cold well-water that did more to utterly humiliate her than actually clean her.
“It just occured to me, Claire,” Cassie taunted. “I paid good money tonight for you, and you insisted on prancing around like a whore tonight without me. Now is that anyway to treat a client?” Cassie laughed with an evil grin.
“No,” Claire whimpered.
“So are you going to be a good whore for me?”
Claire’s mind was so clouded with everything that had happened tonight and the lashing she was getting at the hands of Cassie’s hose. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be a good whore for you!”
The water was turned off and Cassie put the hose down. She walked over to the blubbering Claire who was looking up at her with sad, puppy-dog eyes. “All forgiven?” she asked.
Cassie kissed her on the forehead and told her, “Now go upstairs and take a nice long shower. You wanted to parade around like a whore tonight, and you’re going to make good on your promise!”
Claire broadly smiled, and pranced to the house, eager to hop in the shower and make sure she showed Cassie tonight that her bail money was worth every cent.
Labels:
bar,
BDSM,
Exhibitionism,
humiliation,
lesbian,
wet,
women
The Grind
I always seem to wake up exactly five minutes before the alarm is set to go off. Still too early for my brain, but not enough time to even make a difference. I laid in bed staring at 5:55 in the big red LED symbols on my clock, letting out a huge sigh. It was Wednesday, which meant I would have to stay after work with Indira for our weekly “special session,” and that I would have to check my email before getting dressed to find out what to wear.
I certainly don’t have the worst boss in the world, and Indira has done many things for me and my career. While a lot of other girls I know are either struggling to make ends meet, or trapped with hopeless loser boyfriends, Indira quickly promoted me to personal assistant, and I definitely have a more blessed life because of it. However, I do have that nagging feeling that many of my talents are physical, and have to do with my mocha skin and slender figure, and that Indira just likes the way a young black woman like me looks in a business suit.
My first project when I was hired was to go shopping for myself, using a company credit card to get fitted at all the stores that Indira had picked out. Many of the boutiques were quite specialized, and more than two were very intimate, requiring me to bare all to get accurate measurements. Indira wanted a “complete teardown,” as she called it, of my wardrobe, and I was to wear only the clothes that she picked out for me. She even extended this requirement to casual-wear and I was to only wear t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that she and her special line of stores could provide.
In my bedroom I stripped down out of my pajamas and headed straight for the kitchen, fully nude, to make myself breakfast. This morning ritual was another thing that Indira wanted me to do exactly as she instructed each morning. Of course, there was no way for her to check up on me, unless she was in cahoots with the landlord and they installed cameras or something, but I complied since Indira made such a good case that this was for my own good, and professional development. She had said that she did this each morning, and I did look to her as a mentor, and so I followed her example.
After breakfast, I made my way to the bathroom and showered, using the special soap that Indira picked out. This was something she did have the power to check up on, and would often come over to my desk and lean over my shoulder. I knew she was smelling me when she did this, I could hear her taking in a whiff through her nose, and she was always pleased with the fruity peach scent that I gave off. I covered my body in this, since I would have to stay extra late this evening, on account of tonight being Wednesday.
After the shower, I dried off and headed to my laptop to find out what I was to wear. Indira had an inventory of all my clothes, and everything was cataloged completely. Most days, I picked out whatever I wanted, but Wednesdays were for Indira. If there was no email, I could wear pick out anything from my wardrobe, but today there was an email, which meant she would decide. I opened it and found my assignment of a familiar gray skirt, pink blouse and sportcoat. The email also cam with a surprising postscript:
“Adanya, you’ll notice that there is no specification for bra or panties for today. I’m sure you will not deviate from this.”
I read that line again, making sure I understood it, and sighed. This was a little over the line, even for Indira, but there was no way for me to reject this command. I pulled together the outfit and slipped it on, feeling the fabric against my skin for the first time at every point in my skin. I found myself walking more slowly on the streets of the city, as each sway and movement rubbed the fabric against a new area of my skin that was simply not used to such stimulation. While I knew that nobody else could see, or even suspected there was something different about me, I knew that once I got to the office, Indira would be able to look directly through this suit, which was really the company’s and see just a naked girl underneath. And tonight, we had a special session which was usually anything but work, and I was certain she would use the opportunity to take full advantage of the state of my dress.
Five in the evening came and went, and I was summoned by email to Indira’s office. The sun was setting beautifully on the water, and Indira sat in her chair, mesmerized by it. These special sessions were never really about accomplishing work, but usually just involved me sitting patiently, listening to her reminisce about her childhood, growing up in India, moving to the United States in her teens, getting her MBA, and everything that a biographer would need to know. She would also ask about my relationships, and it was assumed that during these times I would be an open book to her. Over the past weeks, I had revealed almost all the personal details of every relationship I had ever had, from first puppy love crushes, to boyfriends and girlfriends that had occupied my time. I hoped that tonight she would not force me to reminisce about my sexual experiences, like she had done before, as I feared my braless and pantieless state would prove too exciting for such discussions.
“It’s my birthday today,” Indira started as I entered and closed the door. “I’m forty-one.”
“Happy birthday,” I politely responded. She had not said a word to anyone about it, and nobody I worked with had mentioned it.
“You can make it a little happier for me,” she said, with a little wink. My stomach was filled with butterflies as she said that. While Indira had listened intently as I revealed all my sexual relationships to her, she was married and had two beautiful children. And, I was just not prepared, nor did I have any desire to be, the office slut.
“Indira,” I said forcefully and in an almost accusatory manner, “I don’t know what you have planned for this evening, but I am a professional, and I demand to be respected as such.”
Indira’s smile widened. “Yes!” she hissed. “That’s it, tell me more.”
“More?”
“Yes, please tell me how inappropriate I’ve been!” Indira rose from her chair and took a seat on the couch of her office. “Please, this is good executive practice for you. Let me know exactly what’s wrong with how I’ve been treating you.”
“Indira,” I said, “well, the wardrobe and daily ritual you have for me, is something we should discuss.” I wanted to test the waters with this leeway she was giving. “I don’t appreciate being told what to wear every Wednesday, or how to get myself ready for the day. These are things that I already know how to do.”
Indira put her head down, refusing to look at me in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I understand, it was too far-reaching of me to suggest such a routine, Ms. Jackson.”
Ms. Jackson hit me by surprise. Indira would never call me with a title, but here she was, taking an obviously submissive stance. While offended at being objectified throughout the day, I also recognized that she was giving me carte blanche for a little retribution. I contemplated if this was another test of executive willpower on my part, a game, or a little bit of both. I decided that since I had the power here, I would decide whether or not to continue.
“It’s ok, Indira,” I said, addressing her by her first name again. I was expecting a correction, as she normally did, but it never came. “And I can forgive you for it, if I was certain you had instituted the same rules for yourself today, in what you are wearing.” I could see that there were no visible straps of a bra in the light that came through her shirt, and she was sitting a bit differently that how she normally did.
“Oh, but I did Ms.Jackson,” she said to me, with the intonation of a student in trouble with her teacher. I told her to stand and I sat on the edge of her desk. She obeyed and stood straight and I could see in the light the outline of her dark nipples showing through her cotton shirt. I crossed my legs, and saw her eyes drift down to see my skirt riding up my thigh. I kicked off my heels and said, “but how do I know you really did, Indira? Maybe I should send your little email to me to HR if you don’t prove to me right now you are not doing the same.”
I knew that at that moment that I was either on the precipice of a good time, or getting fired. I was relieved when Indira started fumbling at the buttons for her blouse. They came undone one by one, and she opened her shirt to reveal her olive skin, and dark brown nipples. She still had young and refreshing skin, and she obviously took care of it well. “That doesn’t prove everything,” I pressed knowing I was safe. I was beginning to get used to my new found power and wanted to push Indira as far as she wanted to go.
She dropped the shirt to the ground and nervously undid the skirt she was wearing and let it drop to the floor. She now stood nude in her own office, staring at me, breathlessly awaiting a new order.
My mind took in her body and was a bit dumbstruck at what to do next. Indira’s body was certainly very sexy, and I could see myself getting very turned on by this power, but did she have the courage to really go the distance with me? She came from an extremely conservative family, and had so much to lose, I needed assurances that she would put it on the line for me.
“Sit on the floor and lift your leg up, as I high as it can go,” I ordered. She proved herself to be quite flexible and soon her leg was pointed up, awaiting a new order, and displaying a rapidly moistening pussy. I walked over barefoot and raised my own foot directly above this slit, feeling her heat radiate from her excitement. She expected the sole of my foot to make contact, and I did not disappoint.
“This is no place to do this,” I said sternly. “I’m not just some cheap office tramp,” I declared, pressing my foot into her exposed labia and clit. She shuddered as I made contact with my foot and hot pink pedicured toenails. “But you have the means to make it better.”
I released my foot from her pussy and said, “We are going to go to the nicest hotel you can get a room for. There we will not have some tawdry one night stand for your forty-first birthday, Indira. We are to make passionate love to one another, understood? Put your leg down now.”
Indira nodded as she put her leg down, her taught olive toned body still groveling on the carpeted office floor at my feet. “I understand Ms. Jackson.”
“And I want you to get on the phone right now with the hotel, don’t make your assistant do YOUR job,” I said sternly. She nodded in agreement again and made her way to the phone. Instead of walking she crawled on all fours, her breasts jiggling comically as she was reduced to a groveling servant before me. Indira would still be my boss, but I would forever have a special power over her, at least every Wednesday.
As she dialed for the hotel, and started ordering the room, I knew that my job would never be quite the same again. I looked over the city, and across the water as the sky darkened, and knew this was my time to be Ms. Jackson.
I certainly don’t have the worst boss in the world, and Indira has done many things for me and my career. While a lot of other girls I know are either struggling to make ends meet, or trapped with hopeless loser boyfriends, Indira quickly promoted me to personal assistant, and I definitely have a more blessed life because of it. However, I do have that nagging feeling that many of my talents are physical, and have to do with my mocha skin and slender figure, and that Indira just likes the way a young black woman like me looks in a business suit.
My first project when I was hired was to go shopping for myself, using a company credit card to get fitted at all the stores that Indira had picked out. Many of the boutiques were quite specialized, and more than two were very intimate, requiring me to bare all to get accurate measurements. Indira wanted a “complete teardown,” as she called it, of my wardrobe, and I was to wear only the clothes that she picked out for me. She even extended this requirement to casual-wear and I was to only wear t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that she and her special line of stores could provide.
In my bedroom I stripped down out of my pajamas and headed straight for the kitchen, fully nude, to make myself breakfast. This morning ritual was another thing that Indira wanted me to do exactly as she instructed each morning. Of course, there was no way for her to check up on me, unless she was in cahoots with the landlord and they installed cameras or something, but I complied since Indira made such a good case that this was for my own good, and professional development. She had said that she did this each morning, and I did look to her as a mentor, and so I followed her example.
After breakfast, I made my way to the bathroom and showered, using the special soap that Indira picked out. This was something she did have the power to check up on, and would often come over to my desk and lean over my shoulder. I knew she was smelling me when she did this, I could hear her taking in a whiff through her nose, and she was always pleased with the fruity peach scent that I gave off. I covered my body in this, since I would have to stay extra late this evening, on account of tonight being Wednesday.
After the shower, I dried off and headed to my laptop to find out what I was to wear. Indira had an inventory of all my clothes, and everything was cataloged completely. Most days, I picked out whatever I wanted, but Wednesdays were for Indira. If there was no email, I could wear pick out anything from my wardrobe, but today there was an email, which meant she would decide. I opened it and found my assignment of a familiar gray skirt, pink blouse and sportcoat. The email also cam with a surprising postscript:
“Adanya, you’ll notice that there is no specification for bra or panties for today. I’m sure you will not deviate from this.”
I read that line again, making sure I understood it, and sighed. This was a little over the line, even for Indira, but there was no way for me to reject this command. I pulled together the outfit and slipped it on, feeling the fabric against my skin for the first time at every point in my skin. I found myself walking more slowly on the streets of the city, as each sway and movement rubbed the fabric against a new area of my skin that was simply not used to such stimulation. While I knew that nobody else could see, or even suspected there was something different about me, I knew that once I got to the office, Indira would be able to look directly through this suit, which was really the company’s and see just a naked girl underneath. And tonight, we had a special session which was usually anything but work, and I was certain she would use the opportunity to take full advantage of the state of my dress.
Five in the evening came and went, and I was summoned by email to Indira’s office. The sun was setting beautifully on the water, and Indira sat in her chair, mesmerized by it. These special sessions were never really about accomplishing work, but usually just involved me sitting patiently, listening to her reminisce about her childhood, growing up in India, moving to the United States in her teens, getting her MBA, and everything that a biographer would need to know. She would also ask about my relationships, and it was assumed that during these times I would be an open book to her. Over the past weeks, I had revealed almost all the personal details of every relationship I had ever had, from first puppy love crushes, to boyfriends and girlfriends that had occupied my time. I hoped that tonight she would not force me to reminisce about my sexual experiences, like she had done before, as I feared my braless and pantieless state would prove too exciting for such discussions.
“It’s my birthday today,” Indira started as I entered and closed the door. “I’m forty-one.”
“Happy birthday,” I politely responded. She had not said a word to anyone about it, and nobody I worked with had mentioned it.
“You can make it a little happier for me,” she said, with a little wink. My stomach was filled with butterflies as she said that. While Indira had listened intently as I revealed all my sexual relationships to her, she was married and had two beautiful children. And, I was just not prepared, nor did I have any desire to be, the office slut.
“Indira,” I said forcefully and in an almost accusatory manner, “I don’t know what you have planned for this evening, but I am a professional, and I demand to be respected as such.”
Indira’s smile widened. “Yes!” she hissed. “That’s it, tell me more.”
“More?”
“Yes, please tell me how inappropriate I’ve been!” Indira rose from her chair and took a seat on the couch of her office. “Please, this is good executive practice for you. Let me know exactly what’s wrong with how I’ve been treating you.”
“Indira,” I said, “well, the wardrobe and daily ritual you have for me, is something we should discuss.” I wanted to test the waters with this leeway she was giving. “I don’t appreciate being told what to wear every Wednesday, or how to get myself ready for the day. These are things that I already know how to do.”
Indira put her head down, refusing to look at me in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I understand, it was too far-reaching of me to suggest such a routine, Ms. Jackson.”
Ms. Jackson hit me by surprise. Indira would never call me with a title, but here she was, taking an obviously submissive stance. While offended at being objectified throughout the day, I also recognized that she was giving me carte blanche for a little retribution. I contemplated if this was another test of executive willpower on my part, a game, or a little bit of both. I decided that since I had the power here, I would decide whether or not to continue.
“It’s ok, Indira,” I said, addressing her by her first name again. I was expecting a correction, as she normally did, but it never came. “And I can forgive you for it, if I was certain you had instituted the same rules for yourself today, in what you are wearing.” I could see that there were no visible straps of a bra in the light that came through her shirt, and she was sitting a bit differently that how she normally did.
“Oh, but I did Ms.Jackson,” she said to me, with the intonation of a student in trouble with her teacher. I told her to stand and I sat on the edge of her desk. She obeyed and stood straight and I could see in the light the outline of her dark nipples showing through her cotton shirt. I crossed my legs, and saw her eyes drift down to see my skirt riding up my thigh. I kicked off my heels and said, “but how do I know you really did, Indira? Maybe I should send your little email to me to HR if you don’t prove to me right now you are not doing the same.”
I knew that at that moment that I was either on the precipice of a good time, or getting fired. I was relieved when Indira started fumbling at the buttons for her blouse. They came undone one by one, and she opened her shirt to reveal her olive skin, and dark brown nipples. She still had young and refreshing skin, and she obviously took care of it well. “That doesn’t prove everything,” I pressed knowing I was safe. I was beginning to get used to my new found power and wanted to push Indira as far as she wanted to go.
She dropped the shirt to the ground and nervously undid the skirt she was wearing and let it drop to the floor. She now stood nude in her own office, staring at me, breathlessly awaiting a new order.
My mind took in her body and was a bit dumbstruck at what to do next. Indira’s body was certainly very sexy, and I could see myself getting very turned on by this power, but did she have the courage to really go the distance with me? She came from an extremely conservative family, and had so much to lose, I needed assurances that she would put it on the line for me.
“Sit on the floor and lift your leg up, as I high as it can go,” I ordered. She proved herself to be quite flexible and soon her leg was pointed up, awaiting a new order, and displaying a rapidly moistening pussy. I walked over barefoot and raised my own foot directly above this slit, feeling her heat radiate from her excitement. She expected the sole of my foot to make contact, and I did not disappoint.
“This is no place to do this,” I said sternly. “I’m not just some cheap office tramp,” I declared, pressing my foot into her exposed labia and clit. She shuddered as I made contact with my foot and hot pink pedicured toenails. “But you have the means to make it better.”
I released my foot from her pussy and said, “We are going to go to the nicest hotel you can get a room for. There we will not have some tawdry one night stand for your forty-first birthday, Indira. We are to make passionate love to one another, understood? Put your leg down now.”
Indira nodded as she put her leg down, her taught olive toned body still groveling on the carpeted office floor at my feet. “I understand Ms. Jackson.”
“And I want you to get on the phone right now with the hotel, don’t make your assistant do YOUR job,” I said sternly. She nodded in agreement again and made her way to the phone. Instead of walking she crawled on all fours, her breasts jiggling comically as she was reduced to a groveling servant before me. Indira would still be my boss, but I would forever have a special power over her, at least every Wednesday.
As she dialed for the hotel, and started ordering the room, I knew that my job would never be quite the same again. I looked over the city, and across the water as the sky darkened, and knew this was my time to be Ms. Jackson.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Rope, Part Three
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Rope, Part Two
Read Rope, Part One here:
We drove for quite a distance, over some smooth roads, but also a few rocky ones. The ropes that surrounded me did almost nothing to support my breasts, which jiggled with every bump. I knew my back, and probably my butt, was getting bruised, thanks to the vans lacklustre suspension, and the board’s lack of any cushion. It did have a coat of varnish on it, so at least there were no splinters, but it still forced me to brace myself constantly, as I never knew what would rock the van next.
My head and neck were still free, and if I had stretched myself I probably could have propped myself up to a seated position, with my legs spread wide. But I knew that would be pointless, and probably seen as a gesture of disobedience, one to be punished severely later.
I did crane my neck to look around, when my eyes got tired of the unblinking stare of the van’s yellow dome light. Although the back of the van was windowless, I could see that it was still light outside. Although I lost all track of time as I felt every jolt and bump in the road, I did see that it was getting dimmer and eventually, the driver’s dashboard lit up as he turned on the headlights.
“She is a knockout,” the woman said, breaking the silence. She reached down and grabbed my left nipple and pulled. She raised my C-cup breast as far as she could until I finally winced my face and then she let go, which made me sigh in relief. “Honey, what kind of skin is this?” she said, genuinely curious. “You have quite the tan.”
“I’m half-Indian and half-white,” I said.
“Well, the mix is appreciated, you have fine breeding, even if you are a tad on the old side.” The woman looked to be in her late twenties, and I did have to admit that at thirty-six, my age was showing a little. I nodded, long ago learning that reacting to such bluntness was a mortal sin for the Willow. This younger woman would always be my superior in the Willow, and the hurt feelings of a submissive were of no concern for her. This would be true for as long as I was a member. “So what happened?” she asked. “If you can’t keep a man happy with this body, there’s no hope for anyone over 35.”
“I am divorced,” I volunteered. My career had always come first in my marriage, and for us children were out of the picture. In our twenties, childless had meant so much freedom, but by our thirties, my husband had changed. My mother had said his “biological imperative” set in, and he wasn’t mature enough to know what to do with it. He would go on to father a child, and while our divorce was final only nine months ago, his child was now a year and a half. I spared the woman before be the gory details of my marriage. “It didn’t work out,” I said vaguely.
“Well, you can think of this as a marriage of sorts, one that will most certainly work out for you. And you’ll get quite the workout tonight.” she winked and giggled at her little pun.
The car stopped, and the driver got out of the car, and opened the back. This is the first time I had seen the driver and saw that he was a tall African man, must have been at least 6”7’, and looked no older than twenty-five. He had a completely bald head, and wore a formal business suit with a completely black tie. The man who had doused my dress with lighter fluid jumped out and the two of them grabbed hold of the base of the board I was strapped to. There were leather straps underneath, and they pulled the board out, so my body was about halfway out. They paused to allow the woman and her boyfriend to grab the leather straps on the other corners of the board, and then eased the whole piece out of the van carefully.
The cool night air travelled up and down my entire exposed body, and I instinctively thought to myself that I should have worn a jacket. I then immediately admonished myself for thinking such a silly thought, and that my comfort was not to be a priority this night, or any other night hereafter. It was a lesson I would know that I would have to force myself to learn and relearn many times in the years to come.
I still had no idea where I was, but I did see quite a number of stars, although the night was young, and heard the chirping of crickets and splashing of water in the distance. In my field of vision there was also a tree, and I could not hear the familiar rumble of any freeway, so I deduced that I was most likely somewhere in the countryside.
The men at my feet, even the one that had ogled me in the van, no longer looked at me as an object of affection, or even something they wanted to fuck. No, I was now a bit of a problem for them now, as I was helplessly attached to my board, and the four of them would have to carry me somewhere. “Just to the dock, right?” the man asked.
I turned my head and saw that sure enough, a dock was just ten feet away. My heart quickened a little as I realized that this dock was not for large boats or even small ferries, but simply for small canoes and little motorboats. I was a little unsure if they were just going to drop me in the water and see if I floated. I started breathing harder as we got to the water, terrified of what they may do, but I then retreated back to my training. Rule #1: The Willow thinks of everything. I had already decided to lay my life in the hands of the Willow, and these strangers, these were just the consequences of that decision.
As we got to the ramp where canoes would launch from, my board was raised a bit higher, and then set down again, on something inflatable. I could feel and hear the rubber, and realized my board had rested on an inflatable raft. My mind then raced at the implication of this, I would be floating tonight, floating down the river, all tied up, for everyone looking to see. The cover of night would give some measure of modesty, but I was to be set adrift down a river, with no control, no way to steer and no idea of where I was or where I was going.
All the scenarios of what would happen seemed to form inside my head all at once. In one, I would get stuck on the side of the river, to be found by hikers taking an evening stroll. In another, the inflatable raft would graze against a branch, spring a leak, and I would gradually start to sink, helplessly slipping feet first into the icy water. In yet another scenario, I’d go down the wrong fork in a river, take some rides on some rapids and survive, only to be discovered by a family of bears. These worst case scenarios did terrify me to my core, thinking that this would be the last night of my life, but I soon realized that even these incredibly scary thoughts were not enough to force me to even sit up, or give any sign of protest. The risk was well worth it, for acceptance into the Willow.
A little cold water was literally splashed across my face, jolting me out of these nightmare scenarios. A canoe was not resting along side my boat, and I could see that preparations were being made. So, thankfully, I would not be set adrift, but towed like a tugboat pulling a barge. The rower of this barge was yet another man, an old grizzled man who looked like a prospector. He held an old style camping lantern over my body, getting a good look.
“Wow, that’s quite a nice rope job, she did this herself?” he asked the black man.
“Yes,” he responded. “Well, we didn’t do it.”
“And she didn’t give you lip on the way here?”
“Not much,” he responded. “I think she was a little surprised that we took her car and purse.”
Shit, I thought I had gotten away with that one. The two continued to talk about my trip over me, like I wasn’t even there or conscious. The old man asked again, just to confirm, if the others in the van had taken any liberties with me, acts that I would never admit to.
“I was there the whole time, nothing happened, you can check her cunt too.”
“Later, all in good time,” the old man said, climbing into his canoe. “Off we go,” he proclaimed, using his oar to push his canoe from the ramp and into the water. I felt the tug of the rope which tethered my raft to his by the end where my head was, and we were off.
He rowed quickly, to get to the normal current, which were nothing rapid at all. In his rowing, he inevitably scooped up some water and splashed my face. It only happened about seven times, which led me to believe that each time it had happened, it was done partly on purpose. I gasped the first time, but made sure not to protest each additional time it happened. I also kept my wrists perfectly still.
He stopped rowing a bit as we entered the main current, and I relaxed, as much as I could. The night sky was quite peaceful, and although I was more exposed than I had ever been in my life, I felt safe. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said, breaking the silence. His oar continued to be in the water, but it was more for steering now, rather than speed. “You can talk, you know, we have about fifteen minutes before we get there.”
“I have not been asked any question yet,” I asserted. My training over the last few months had conditioned me never to contribute too much to a conversation, and speak only when spoken to.
“All right,” he started. “What’s your name, honey?”
I swallowed hard and smiled. “I have no name,” I responded.
“Hot damn,” he said, “you’re really all in, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “I intend to become part of the Weeping Willow.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no problems, if you keep doing what you’re doing. But really, you really don’t want your name anymore?”
“I will keep it as it suits me in my real life,” I said. “But my identity to the Weeping Willow will be the only one that counts.”
“You know, last time I did this, we had a woman that was quite the talker. I think it was a bit too much for her, not prepared at all. You know what I did with her?”
“No,” I responded.
“I cut the bitch loose,” he giggled at the thought. “You should have seen it, I beached the canoe on the side of the river there, untied the straps and said ‘You’re done.’ She ran into those woods, never knew what came of her.”
I had no way of knowing if his story was real, or some ghost story to spook me. I gave no response except, “I guess I won’t see her tonight.”
After a few more minutes, we floated into a more deep part of the woods. I could tell that the stars were being obscured more by trees, until I couldn’t see them at all. We floated effortlessly into an area, shrouded my falling branches, and of course, a giant willow tree which grew up out of the shallow water. Its tendrils graced over my exposed body, touching me softly.
“We’re here,” the old man said. He expertly guided the boat so that we were parallel to the shore and then pushed us to a post. There was a country house in the distance, and four Willow members came out to bring me inside. Again, they looked at me as a chore, bringing me into the main dining hall, as if I were the main course.
My board was placed on an incline, so that I could see the entire hall, in which a long table with lots of fine food was laid out. Each member of the Weeping Willow was there, seated according to their respective leadership roles. In the middle were the Master and Mistress of the Weeping Willow, and to their sides were men and women dining on the fine food. I scanned the room and saw that over two dozen people were seated, and immediately recognized them all to be dominants or dominatrices. I thought it to be quite unusual for me to be the only submissive in attendance, but I knew better than to question.
It was at that moment, I saw them. The table cloth had obscured them, but I noticed a string of feet lined up perfectly, the soles of their feet facing me, which meant they were all kneeling, facing their own masters or mistresses. Each slave was under the table, either giving pleasure to them orally, or begging for a bite of the fine food that their superiors were feasting on.
Finally, the Master and Mistress acknowledged my presence and I swallowed hard for my final test. “Welcome, slut.” The Master rose from the table and walked to where my board was propped up. The Mistress met him on the other side of me and I looked down dutifully. I was too close to be caught on a technicality now.
“So, I hear that you are interested in being part of our little social club,” the Master started. “Tell me, who brought you here, slut.”
“The Mistress known as Vicky,” I said nervously.
“And what were you doing when Vicky first met you?”
“I was shopping, Sir, in a supermarket.”
“And what were you buying? How did she strike up the conversation?”
I felt ashamed, but I continued. “I was buying frozen food, dinner for ones, that kind of thing.”
“And why were you buying these pathetic meals?” the Mistress asked.
I swallowed hard. “I was alone at the time. All alone, I had not been on a real date in months. Vicky saved me from all of that, and for that, I am very grateful to her.”
The Master called Vicky over and she quickly obeyed. She was wearing a long flowing gown, that was quite elegant on her, and I smiled as she approached. “So this is what you want now?” the Mistress asked. She cupped Vicky’s breasts from behind her, and gave her a kiss on the neck. I stared as Vicky relented and started to kiss her back. I stood in shock, but I knew this was all part of the process. Vicky introduced me into the Willow, but she was just a bridge from the vanilla world. I would have to burn that bridge if I was to continue.
“Answer, slut,” the Master said impatiently. “Is Vicky the one woman that you want? Is she what you want for the rest of your life? Were you always a lesbian like that?”
I knew the Master knew the answers to all these questions, but I continued. “No,” I said on the verge of tears. “I’m not a lesbian, I just felt an urge to please her. I don’t want to just please one man or woman anymore. That part of my life is over.”
“So, you have had sex with Vicky?” the master asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But that was the last time. Vicky took me to her place, and had me please her orally, and then she took me to her bedroom and we,” I stopped, making sure what I was about to say was correct. “We made love,” I confessed.
“Oh,” the Master said. “So, why did you not continue with that relationship?”
“Vicky gave me the choice,” I said. “She said either a lifetime with her, or a lifetime in the Willow, not both.”
The Mistress turned Vicky around and pawed her even more forcefully. She kissed down her neck to her breasts, and started tearing at the clothing. Vicky’s hands were also exploring the Mistress and the two sank into a make out session on the floor. Soon, Vicky’s top was off and the Mistress was stepping out of her dress. “In the words of the slut over there,” the Mistress said, “make love to me, Vicky.”
Vicky smiled broadly. Although she was already a member, having one-on-one sex with the Mistress was a special treat. “YES!” she exclaimed. Attacking, the breasts of the Mistress, sucking on the nipples. The Mistress pulled her from her tits for a second to ask one final question. “Wait,” she said, “you’ll make love to me in front of her?”
“Of course,” Vicky said. She turned to me and looked deep into my eyes, to make sure I heard her words exactly. “She’s just a slut, and meant nothing. My love for you Mistress is pure, always has been and always will be.”
Vicky quickly tore off what remained of her clothes and embraced the nude Mistress. They kissed and fondled each other as lovers would, and would bring each other to multiple orgasms in front of me, and the entire assembled hall. As this lewd show went on, the Master asked. “So what do you choose, slut?”
This was the question, the moment of truth. All that had happened to me, from the supermarket, to that magical night with Vicky, to the morning after, to the months of training, to the ropes, to the van, to the raft, to here. It all meant nothing if I did not take the one final step and declaration. “I choose the Willow!” I exclaimed.
I knew that these words were the cue for all the dominants and their slaves to rise from there places. Almost fifty men and women surrounded me, and the men were already fondling themselves, or having their slaves do it for them, to get them ready. They formed a line, nice and orderly, with the Master at the lead. To the side the Mistress and Vicky were still writhing in passion.
“When you choose the Willow,” the Master said, “you choose all of us.” The Master then dropped his pants to reveal a large eight inch erection. It already had a droplet of precum on the head, and I knew it was his right to fuck me first. “Yes, Master,” I consented.
He eased himself inside me, filling my pussy with a sensation that had not been felt in so long. Although my night with Vicky was fantastic, there was still nothing like a good hard dick, filling me deep. I knew that my life with Vicky would always be wanting more, and Vicky knew that my role here, in the Willow, would be far superior that what she could provide.
I panted as the Master finished inside me, and I felt his warm sperm fill me up. As he stepped back, I felt empty, and was eager for the next one in line. My face had a content smile on it, like I was high on some sort of drug. He released the leather straps and I stepped off the board, the line of eager dominants and slaves forming a circle around me.
My head and neck were still free, and if I had stretched myself I probably could have propped myself up to a seated position, with my legs spread wide. But I knew that would be pointless, and probably seen as a gesture of disobedience, one to be punished severely later.
I did crane my neck to look around, when my eyes got tired of the unblinking stare of the van’s yellow dome light. Although the back of the van was windowless, I could see that it was still light outside. Although I lost all track of time as I felt every jolt and bump in the road, I did see that it was getting dimmer and eventually, the driver’s dashboard lit up as he turned on the headlights.
“She is a knockout,” the woman said, breaking the silence. She reached down and grabbed my left nipple and pulled. She raised my C-cup breast as far as she could until I finally winced my face and then she let go, which made me sigh in relief. “Honey, what kind of skin is this?” she said, genuinely curious. “You have quite the tan.”
“I’m half-Indian and half-white,” I said.
“Well, the mix is appreciated, you have fine breeding, even if you are a tad on the old side.” The woman looked to be in her late twenties, and I did have to admit that at thirty-six, my age was showing a little. I nodded, long ago learning that reacting to such bluntness was a mortal sin for the Willow. This younger woman would always be my superior in the Willow, and the hurt feelings of a submissive were of no concern for her. This would be true for as long as I was a member. “So what happened?” she asked. “If you can’t keep a man happy with this body, there’s no hope for anyone over 35.”
“I am divorced,” I volunteered. My career had always come first in my marriage, and for us children were out of the picture. In our twenties, childless had meant so much freedom, but by our thirties, my husband had changed. My mother had said his “biological imperative” set in, and he wasn’t mature enough to know what to do with it. He would go on to father a child, and while our divorce was final only nine months ago, his child was now a year and a half. I spared the woman before be the gory details of my marriage. “It didn’t work out,” I said vaguely.
“Well, you can think of this as a marriage of sorts, one that will most certainly work out for you. And you’ll get quite the workout tonight.” she winked and giggled at her little pun.
The car stopped, and the driver got out of the car, and opened the back. This is the first time I had seen the driver and saw that he was a tall African man, must have been at least 6”7’, and looked no older than twenty-five. He had a completely bald head, and wore a formal business suit with a completely black tie. The man who had doused my dress with lighter fluid jumped out and the two of them grabbed hold of the base of the board I was strapped to. There were leather straps underneath, and they pulled the board out, so my body was about halfway out. They paused to allow the woman and her boyfriend to grab the leather straps on the other corners of the board, and then eased the whole piece out of the van carefully.
The cool night air travelled up and down my entire exposed body, and I instinctively thought to myself that I should have worn a jacket. I then immediately admonished myself for thinking such a silly thought, and that my comfort was not to be a priority this night, or any other night hereafter. It was a lesson I would know that I would have to force myself to learn and relearn many times in the years to come.
I still had no idea where I was, but I did see quite a number of stars, although the night was young, and heard the chirping of crickets and splashing of water in the distance. In my field of vision there was also a tree, and I could not hear the familiar rumble of any freeway, so I deduced that I was most likely somewhere in the countryside.
The men at my feet, even the one that had ogled me in the van, no longer looked at me as an object of affection, or even something they wanted to fuck. No, I was now a bit of a problem for them now, as I was helplessly attached to my board, and the four of them would have to carry me somewhere. “Just to the dock, right?” the man asked.
I turned my head and saw that sure enough, a dock was just ten feet away. My heart quickened a little as I realized that this dock was not for large boats or even small ferries, but simply for small canoes and little motorboats. I was a little unsure if they were just going to drop me in the water and see if I floated. I started breathing harder as we got to the water, terrified of what they may do, but I then retreated back to my training. Rule #1: The Willow thinks of everything. I had already decided to lay my life in the hands of the Willow, and these strangers, these were just the consequences of that decision.
As we got to the ramp where canoes would launch from, my board was raised a bit higher, and then set down again, on something inflatable. I could feel and hear the rubber, and realized my board had rested on an inflatable raft. My mind then raced at the implication of this, I would be floating tonight, floating down the river, all tied up, for everyone looking to see. The cover of night would give some measure of modesty, but I was to be set adrift down a river, with no control, no way to steer and no idea of where I was or where I was going.
All the scenarios of what would happen seemed to form inside my head all at once. In one, I would get stuck on the side of the river, to be found by hikers taking an evening stroll. In another, the inflatable raft would graze against a branch, spring a leak, and I would gradually start to sink, helplessly slipping feet first into the icy water. In yet another scenario, I’d go down the wrong fork in a river, take some rides on some rapids and survive, only to be discovered by a family of bears. These worst case scenarios did terrify me to my core, thinking that this would be the last night of my life, but I soon realized that even these incredibly scary thoughts were not enough to force me to even sit up, or give any sign of protest. The risk was well worth it, for acceptance into the Willow.
A little cold water was literally splashed across my face, jolting me out of these nightmare scenarios. A canoe was not resting along side my boat, and I could see that preparations were being made. So, thankfully, I would not be set adrift, but towed like a tugboat pulling a barge. The rower of this barge was yet another man, an old grizzled man who looked like a prospector. He held an old style camping lantern over my body, getting a good look.
“Wow, that’s quite a nice rope job, she did this herself?” he asked the black man.
“Yes,” he responded. “Well, we didn’t do it.”
“And she didn’t give you lip on the way here?”
“Not much,” he responded. “I think she was a little surprised that we took her car and purse.”
Shit, I thought I had gotten away with that one. The two continued to talk about my trip over me, like I wasn’t even there or conscious. The old man asked again, just to confirm, if the others in the van had taken any liberties with me, acts that I would never admit to.
“I was there the whole time, nothing happened, you can check her cunt too.”
“Later, all in good time,” the old man said, climbing into his canoe. “Off we go,” he proclaimed, using his oar to push his canoe from the ramp and into the water. I felt the tug of the rope which tethered my raft to his by the end where my head was, and we were off.
He rowed quickly, to get to the normal current, which were nothing rapid at all. In his rowing, he inevitably scooped up some water and splashed my face. It only happened about seven times, which led me to believe that each time it had happened, it was done partly on purpose. I gasped the first time, but made sure not to protest each additional time it happened. I also kept my wrists perfectly still.
He stopped rowing a bit as we entered the main current, and I relaxed, as much as I could. The night sky was quite peaceful, and although I was more exposed than I had ever been in my life, I felt safe. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said, breaking the silence. His oar continued to be in the water, but it was more for steering now, rather than speed. “You can talk, you know, we have about fifteen minutes before we get there.”
“I have not been asked any question yet,” I asserted. My training over the last few months had conditioned me never to contribute too much to a conversation, and speak only when spoken to.
“All right,” he started. “What’s your name, honey?”
I swallowed hard and smiled. “I have no name,” I responded.
“Hot damn,” he said, “you’re really all in, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “I intend to become part of the Weeping Willow.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no problems, if you keep doing what you’re doing. But really, you really don’t want your name anymore?”
“I will keep it as it suits me in my real life,” I said. “But my identity to the Weeping Willow will be the only one that counts.”
“You know, last time I did this, we had a woman that was quite the talker. I think it was a bit too much for her, not prepared at all. You know what I did with her?”
“No,” I responded.
“I cut the bitch loose,” he giggled at the thought. “You should have seen it, I beached the canoe on the side of the river there, untied the straps and said ‘You’re done.’ She ran into those woods, never knew what came of her.”
I had no way of knowing if his story was real, or some ghost story to spook me. I gave no response except, “I guess I won’t see her tonight.”
After a few more minutes, we floated into a more deep part of the woods. I could tell that the stars were being obscured more by trees, until I couldn’t see them at all. We floated effortlessly into an area, shrouded my falling branches, and of course, a giant willow tree which grew up out of the shallow water. Its tendrils graced over my exposed body, touching me softly.
“We’re here,” the old man said. He expertly guided the boat so that we were parallel to the shore and then pushed us to a post. There was a country house in the distance, and four Willow members came out to bring me inside. Again, they looked at me as a chore, bringing me into the main dining hall, as if I were the main course.
My board was placed on an incline, so that I could see the entire hall, in which a long table with lots of fine food was laid out. Each member of the Weeping Willow was there, seated according to their respective leadership roles. In the middle were the Master and Mistress of the Weeping Willow, and to their sides were men and women dining on the fine food. I scanned the room and saw that over two dozen people were seated, and immediately recognized them all to be dominants or dominatrices. I thought it to be quite unusual for me to be the only submissive in attendance, but I knew better than to question.
It was at that moment, I saw them. The table cloth had obscured them, but I noticed a string of feet lined up perfectly, the soles of their feet facing me, which meant they were all kneeling, facing their own masters or mistresses. Each slave was under the table, either giving pleasure to them orally, or begging for a bite of the fine food that their superiors were feasting on.
Finally, the Master and Mistress acknowledged my presence and I swallowed hard for my final test. “Welcome, slut.” The Master rose from the table and walked to where my board was propped up. The Mistress met him on the other side of me and I looked down dutifully. I was too close to be caught on a technicality now.
“So, I hear that you are interested in being part of our little social club,” the Master started. “Tell me, who brought you here, slut.”
“The Mistress known as Vicky,” I said nervously.
“And what were you doing when Vicky first met you?”
“I was shopping, Sir, in a supermarket.”
“And what were you buying? How did she strike up the conversation?”
I felt ashamed, but I continued. “I was buying frozen food, dinner for ones, that kind of thing.”
“And why were you buying these pathetic meals?” the Mistress asked.
I swallowed hard. “I was alone at the time. All alone, I had not been on a real date in months. Vicky saved me from all of that, and for that, I am very grateful to her.”
The Master called Vicky over and she quickly obeyed. She was wearing a long flowing gown, that was quite elegant on her, and I smiled as she approached. “So this is what you want now?” the Mistress asked. She cupped Vicky’s breasts from behind her, and gave her a kiss on the neck. I stared as Vicky relented and started to kiss her back. I stood in shock, but I knew this was all part of the process. Vicky introduced me into the Willow, but she was just a bridge from the vanilla world. I would have to burn that bridge if I was to continue.
“Answer, slut,” the Master said impatiently. “Is Vicky the one woman that you want? Is she what you want for the rest of your life? Were you always a lesbian like that?”
I knew the Master knew the answers to all these questions, but I continued. “No,” I said on the verge of tears. “I’m not a lesbian, I just felt an urge to please her. I don’t want to just please one man or woman anymore. That part of my life is over.”
“So, you have had sex with Vicky?” the master asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But that was the last time. Vicky took me to her place, and had me please her orally, and then she took me to her bedroom and we,” I stopped, making sure what I was about to say was correct. “We made love,” I confessed.
“Oh,” the Master said. “So, why did you not continue with that relationship?”
“Vicky gave me the choice,” I said. “She said either a lifetime with her, or a lifetime in the Willow, not both.”
The Mistress turned Vicky around and pawed her even more forcefully. She kissed down her neck to her breasts, and started tearing at the clothing. Vicky’s hands were also exploring the Mistress and the two sank into a make out session on the floor. Soon, Vicky’s top was off and the Mistress was stepping out of her dress. “In the words of the slut over there,” the Mistress said, “make love to me, Vicky.”
Vicky smiled broadly. Although she was already a member, having one-on-one sex with the Mistress was a special treat. “YES!” she exclaimed. Attacking, the breasts of the Mistress, sucking on the nipples. The Mistress pulled her from her tits for a second to ask one final question. “Wait,” she said, “you’ll make love to me in front of her?”
“Of course,” Vicky said. She turned to me and looked deep into my eyes, to make sure I heard her words exactly. “She’s just a slut, and meant nothing. My love for you Mistress is pure, always has been and always will be.”
Vicky quickly tore off what remained of her clothes and embraced the nude Mistress. They kissed and fondled each other as lovers would, and would bring each other to multiple orgasms in front of me, and the entire assembled hall. As this lewd show went on, the Master asked. “So what do you choose, slut?”
This was the question, the moment of truth. All that had happened to me, from the supermarket, to that magical night with Vicky, to the morning after, to the months of training, to the ropes, to the van, to the raft, to here. It all meant nothing if I did not take the one final step and declaration. “I choose the Willow!” I exclaimed.
I knew that these words were the cue for all the dominants and their slaves to rise from there places. Almost fifty men and women surrounded me, and the men were already fondling themselves, or having their slaves do it for them, to get them ready. They formed a line, nice and orderly, with the Master at the lead. To the side the Mistress and Vicky were still writhing in passion.
“When you choose the Willow,” the Master said, “you choose all of us.” The Master then dropped his pants to reveal a large eight inch erection. It already had a droplet of precum on the head, and I knew it was his right to fuck me first. “Yes, Master,” I consented.
He eased himself inside me, filling my pussy with a sensation that had not been felt in so long. Although my night with Vicky was fantastic, there was still nothing like a good hard dick, filling me deep. I knew that my life with Vicky would always be wanting more, and Vicky knew that my role here, in the Willow, would be far superior that what she could provide.
I panted as the Master finished inside me, and I felt his warm sperm fill me up. As he stepped back, I felt empty, and was eager for the next one in line. My face had a content smile on it, like I was high on some sort of drug. He released the leather straps and I stepped off the board, the line of eager dominants and slaves forming a circle around me.
“Slut,” the Master said. “You just received my cum. How much more do you want from all of these fine people?”
The answer to this question was easy, and laid out explicitlly in the training. It had been repeated over and over by countless other submissives I had seen, and I smiled broadly as it was my turn to say it.
“All of it!” I yelled, and the crowd descended upon me.
Read part three, now available:
http://asporina.blogspot.com/2011/08/rope-part-three.html
“All of it!” I yelled, and the crowd descended upon me.
Read part three, now available:
http://asporina.blogspot.com/2011/08/rope-part-three.html
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)