I've never done any real BDSM stuff, but I am curious to try and have imagined various things at various times. I've been running this part thru in my head each night before I
For what seems to be the fiftieth time this evening, I check the clock on the side of my bed. The minutes have been passing so slowly, each second dragging by, the numbers flicking round at a snail's pace. I turn my eyes back to the book which I'm failing quite successfully to read, hoping it will help make this waiting go by quicker. But when I realise I've read the same paragraph at least six times and still have no idea what's happening in the story, I give up and throw the book to the floor, onto a pile of clothes I was sorting through earlier.
I sigh and fix my eyes to the ceiling, counting in my head, determined not to look at the clock again until I've reached three hundred. That means five minutes will have passed. Five minutes closer to receiving my instructions from my master. I reach two-hundred-and-something before my traitorous eyes betray me and make mockery of my determined stance. I look at the clock once more. 7:57. Three whole minutes left until I can expect the email from you that was promised last week when we spoke on the phone.
Unbidden, the memories of that night return, surging through me in a second, making me shiver in the memory of your disembodied voice in the pitch black of the early hours whispering in my ear. Telling me what to do, how to do it, what to say and how to say. Making me so bad for you. Making me feel so ashamed of how much worse I wanted to beg to be for you.
But then you knew that didn't you? You knew my desire and the embarrassment which came along with it. As I lay there shaking on the floor surrounded by the detritus of my playtime, my body coated with sweat and dried wax, the phone clutched to my ear, my orgasm ripping through me, I could still detect that trace of wry, almost patronising amusement in your voice. A pleasure not even sexual in your tone as congratulated me on being such a good girl for you.
The most shameful thing is that your praise touched me in a way which I'd never experienced before. It made me hunger for more, hunger to please you, so eager to agree to what you asked when next we spoke.
"I want you to do something for me."
"I want you to swear that you will do it before I tell you what it is. Do you swear?"
"Yes Master, I swear..."
You never insisted that I call you Master or Sir, you never seemed to need that honorific, to know exactly who was in charge during our online and phone exchanges. I rarely used it, only doing so in this instance to show you that in this matter I was happy to oblige and carry out whatever task you wished me to perform. I trusted you enough already to know that whatever you had in mind, I would enjoy. And if I didn't enjoy it....? Well then I was sure you'd enjoy it enough for both of us. That was enough for me.
After I agreed, you quickly outlined your simple plan for me. You would send me a package during the week, which I was not to open until I received your email on Saturday at Eight. The mail would also contain further instructions.
Honestly, I was expecting to receive a webcam or something in the post, perhaps some cool or kinky toys, something like that, something small, maybe kind of seedy. Instead, I awoke on Thursday morning to discover a postman, holding a very large box, banging hard on the front door. For the past two days now that box has been sat, Pandora like, on my dressing table. I keep imagining that it has eyes and they're motioning towards the scissors in the penpot on my desk. 'Open me, open me, you know you want to...'
I have resolutely ignored it, but it has been hard. Yesterday morning, I literally got myself off whilst starting at a box wrapped in brown paper. Now there's a fetish which must be quite rare...
But today, finally, I get to open it up. I get to discover what devious scheme you have plotted for my evening. I'm assuming now that it involves more than just phone sex or online play. I can't wait. My fingers itch to claw that paper away to reveal the delicious secret underneath.
I check the clock again. 7.59. One minute left. I'm utterly on edge by this point. A culmination of a week's worth of imaginings is coming to a head. I feel ready for anything. I trace a finger down the side of the crinkled paper as I stare at the clock. Finally that magic number 8 appears.
Immediately I check my mails and at the third refresh your message is sat there waiting for me in my inbox. I do not open it straight away. Instead, I force myself to go downstairs, get a glass of water and return slowly to the screen, sitting myself comfortably before I open it.
"Slave, you are to shave and wash thoroughly, then put on the contents of the box, nothing more, nothing less, and you are to get a cab to the Dungeon club. You are to leave the house with no money and nothing else but the address of the club printed below. Failure to meet this simple instruction will mean an end to our game before it starts. You may now open the package and dress, wear your hair up."
I figure it takes me approximately 1.2 seconds from reading the mail to having the paper off the box. I open it up just as quickly and, as I'd figured by now, it contains an outfit for me. I quickly hang it up, raising my eyebrows at it and growing damp at the thought of having to leave the house wearing it. Next I shower and shave myself carefully, then dry off before applying my make up. A little mascara, a touch of eyeshadow and a deep red lipstick. I put on perfume and do my hair carefully. I must be perfect tonight.
I slip off my bathrobe and stand naked for a moment, letting the cool air wash over my skin. I slide my fingers over my freshly shaved crotch, telling myself I am only checking I didn't leave any stray stubble. In reality I am simply enjoying the feeling of my hand cupped firmly over my lips, squeezing myself gently. My fingers tensing in synchronicity with the pulsing of my clit.
With a wrench, I pull my hand free and reach for the clothes I have been sent. I start with the black stockings, smoothing them up over my legs and straightening the elasticated tops, checking them over for any small imperfections. Once they are on, I look for underwear, unsurprisingly finding none, a shiver running through me at this discovery.
Next comes the top-half, firstly a fishnet top, which is tight to my skin, the gaps in its pattern too small to let my nipples poke through, holding them back, the fine net crossed over them. Over this there is a cupless black corset with dark-red inlay to go on. I hold it up admiringly, the decorative pattern, the tight waist, held together at the rear by a series of many laces. I pull it round me, fitting it underneath my breasts, letting it push them up and out slightly, and reach back to tighten and tie the laces. It is tight, but reassuringly so, not hindering my breath or movement in the slightest. I look down and can't deny that it certainly shows my breasts off well.
The skirt, also black, and in some kind of pvc or latex, I don't know enough to say which it is, is smaller than those which my father disapprovingly would call belts. It literally comes only as far as it needs to to cover my groin. To finish off there is a set of ankle boots, stiletto heeled ,giving me an extra four inches. I can only imagine how much my hips will sway whilst walking in them. I slip them on and walk to the full length mirror on the back of my door.
In front of me stands a total slut, an utter whore. My tits are all but out, I'm in fuck-me-heels, my stocking tops and bare thighs are on display. On top of all this, I'm in a skirt so short it shows everything I have, should I so much as bend more than a little forwards.
I can't resist... I raise the skirt, pretending that I am displaying myself under orders, checking that what I have is worthy to show. My small thin lips shout out my excitement, glistening already as I hold them open, so close to touching my clit right here, I know it wouldn't take more than a few seconds to make myself cum.
But I have to go. I drop the skirt and print off the mail, rereading it quickly. This time I realise the full implications of leaving the house with nothing but this sheet of paper. How am I expected to get to this club with no money? Surely I am not being instructed to walk. No. There's only one possible answer and it makes me feel like the utter whore I'm dressed as. Well, all or nothing I say to myself as I pull the catch on the front door, slipping the key under a pot and walking down the driveway looking like nothing more than a reasonably priced prostitute.
I am literally quivering as I approach the busy main road at the end of the street. So far I've not encountered anyone. At this time of night most of my neighbours are tucked into their armchairs, digesting their evening meals, totally unaware that one of their own is parading down the footpath half naked. The main road is another matter though, and as I step out of the relative shadows of the side street, I am immediately stared at by two guys. Did I say stared? I meant leered. My appearance leaves them thankfully speechless and they can only gawp, their heads swivelling like drooling owls as they pass me.
Cheeks burning, I start scanning the road for available taxis, my shoulders hunching forwards, arms folded, trying to hide my bare breasts from as many passing people as I can, whilst I stand at the curb. Though this shelters me somewhat from the pedestrian traffic, it leaves me fully displayed for the irregular stream of cars zipping past me. More than one horn is honked by a grateful motorist and a few cars even slow slightly to get a longer look. I'm almost positive one guy turns at the roundabout further along, just so he can come back past me and have a second glance. I feel utterly exposed.
Finally the sweet mercy of a lit-up taxi sign appears and I flag down a somewhat flustered taxi driver, who can't work out whether or not it's OK to stare directly at my hanging breasts as I lean down to talk to him. I'm acutely aware too that should anyone pass behind me, they will be treated to a view of my bare behind. I keep my legs tightly together, so my pale ass is all they'll get to see.
I look at the driver, and I try to hold my nerve, knowing that ultimately I am doing this to please my master. I take a breath and debase myself utterly, giving in, becoming a toy for another's pleasure. I've worked out what I'm going to say. Short and simple. Honest:
"Hi. I need to get somewhere but I don't have any cash, if you take me there I'll suck you off."
Did I really just say that out loud to a perfect stranger? Well as I look like a whore, I might as well sound like one, right? And act like one too, I guess.
The embarrassed confusion on the taxi driver's face lifts instantly on hearing my once-in-a- life-time offer. His eyes scan down my face and breasts, as if judging whether I'm hot enough to warrant losing the cash fare. He reaches over the passenger seat and instead of opening the door like I assume he's about to, he takes the weight of my breast in his paw and squeezes it somewhat roughly. As he does so, he starts to barter with me.
"Will you swallow?"
This really shouldn't turn me on as much as it does, I should be outraged and incandescent. But instead his fingers on my nipple send shocks right down between my legs and I have to stifle a moan. I nod in reply to his question, not letting on that I would have swallowed him anyway, if only to avoid him ruining my make-up or outfit. I really don't want to be messy when I present myself later on. Admittedly if I'm gonna bother sucking off a guy, then I want the reward to swallow.
He releases my breast and pushes the passenger side door open. I seat myself carefully, trying to keep my skirt from showing everything. Once I've successfully achieved this minor feat of contortionism, he already has his cock out, stroking it with his right hand as the left releases the handbrake and he pulls away into the road.
I tell him the name of the club and he replies that he knows where it is and gruffly says that I should start sucking him now. So brutal and opportunistic, but all I can do is lean over and take his cock in my hands and start to kiss the head slowly, teasingly. I really don't wanna have to do this again, so I can't make him finish until I'm at least in walking distance of my destination. He might just kick me out of his car once he's got what he wants after all.
I start to suck the head gently, illicting a sigh of pleasure from him as my tongue flows accross the eye and around the ridge. Thankfully I've been lucky enough that this guy's in OK shape. No beer gut to work around, no oil painitng admittedly and certainly no-one who I'd do this to given any choice. But he's clean and his cock's quite nice, if not overly large. He's maybe about 4-and-a-half, five inches into my mouth when my nose hits his thigh.
I bob up and down on it at an easy rhythm as he drives us on for the next few minutes. I only hope he's not taking too many diversions, but once again I'm pretty much powerless to change this situation in the slightest. Though if he tries to drag me out the car, these heels would defiantly do some damage. I may not dance any more, but my thighs are still fairly capable of packing a precise and powerful kick should the opportunity arise.
As I suck, I pull out his balls, massaging them slowly, but occasionally pressing the base of his shaft through the skin under there, having heard this help delay orgasm in men. Who knows if it's true or not, but I need every advantage I can get. Like I say this guy's certainly no great Romeo and judging by the guttural noises he's making, he doesn't seem to receive this kinda treatment very often from a girl dressed like a hooker. Well without paying for it first he doesn't...
We pull to a stop, and I pause a second until he informs me curtly that we've only waiting at some traffic lights. He takes the opportunity to grab my head and take control of my motions, ramming my face down and dragging it up so my mouth is fucking his cock. I fear he's getting close as a little precum smears over my tongue and he starts to talk dirty.as his left hand moves over me and down to maul my breast.
"You like that dontcha, you fucking nasty street walking whore. You like sucking that cock dontcha."
The worst thing is that I do like it. This strange and abusive guy's cock ramming in and out of my mouth, feeling it pulse on my tongue, the taste of him so strong. God yes I adore it. But please mr taxi driver, please don't cum yet. Not till we get there.
His hand moves from my head and he pulls off again, the hand at my breast staying where it is. I slow the pace down again, tickling his eye once more, squeezing the base of his cock tightly as I dare, keeping him on a knife edge. We must be getting close to the place by now surely?
I do my best to look up and out of the window, past his arm, to work out where we are. We're definitely approaching the city centre, as the tops of tall office blocks flick past. As much as part of me loves this slutty behaviour, another part just wants to get past this, to get to my real business for the night. I can walk from here if I have to. I start to suck harder, my fingers now encouraging, rather than delaying his orgasm. I pull back so I am sucking just the head, wraping my fingers around him, jerking the shaft hard. My tongue circles the head over and over, occassionally dragging over it, flicking the eye, then round the back. I push down deeper, taking more in my mouth, then back up and a return to circling.
He's starting to tense, his thighs are taut now under his trousers and he's rising a little to each stroke of my hand, pushing deeper and deeper into my willing mouth. He's so close to finishing. Sensibly, he pulls up to the curb and parks with a juddering halt. His hand returns to my head, pushing on it as his other hand grasps hard at my breast. I hope he's not bruising me, after all I want to be perfect for my master.
He starts to babble, stray words shooting from bewteen his lips. Fuck. Whore. Yeah. Slut. Take it. And I do take it as he starts to cum, pushing me fully onto him. I feel one, two, three full spurts of his warm cum hit the insides of my cheeks, the roof of my mouth and the opening to my throat. I gag slightly at this, but he holds me firmly over his cock, for 4 or 5 seconds before a last smaller squirt of cum follows onto my tongue.
I do so at once, making sure I gulp audibly, taking that mouthful of thick cum down my throat and into my stomach. His cum is so strong, a little acidic, the taste still powerful on my tongue even once my throat has taken the cum from my mouth. I tenderly lick around the head and give it a final cleansing suck. His grip on my head and breast both slackened with his orgasm and I am free to sit back up, rubbing fresh blood back into the veins of my neck.
He looks away from me, out of windscreen, avoiding my eyes as I straighten my top and check my hair in the mirror. Thankfully I don't look too rumpled after this encounter. I'm acutely aware of the dampness at my crotch and now I am away from his lap I can smell my aroma in the confines of the car.
The driver is clearly, if not regretting this, then at least feeling somewhat abashed now he's found his release. He seems almost sweet in his awkwardness, his hands fumbling with his shrinking cock, tucking it away then zipping his fly in two sharp jerks. His eyes studiously fixed on a shop front across the street.
"You know where you are?"
"That place is just around the corner. Two minute walk."
With that I open the car door and extract myself, he's already pulling away as the door swings shut behind me. I run a finger across my lips to make sure I didn't miss any cum. I smile at a blushing besuited guy walking past me, clearly on his way home from a late night at work. I imagine him jerking off over this sight of me once he's home. I'm half tempted to offer to help him right there, after the last encounter I'm hungry for more cock and cum and he is kinda cute. But I resist, and just give him a smile I do have a master waiting for me, and so I set off for the Dungeon club and whatever it may hold.
Well I hope y'all enjoyed that. It's very much just a scene setter, and as for what happens when I get to the club... only time, and this blog will tell!