The next morning, he was full of praises for her. How sexy she was, how erotic, how creative. How she had made him wild. How no one had ever put so much effort into teasing him with photos like she had. That he owed her a special treat.
She wanted it right away, him, right away, even if she didn’t cum again, just to feel his cock inside her. Anywhere inside her. But there was no time. No time for anything more than a passionate kiss and a deep regret at his leaving mixed with an incredible exhaustion from having been up too late, drinking too much, and getting fucked hard enough that she was sore.
He told her to take the day off, from him he meant, and try to relax at work. Relaxation was an order. He fucking ordered her. Like she was his slave. His servant. To take a nap after work. In the nude.
The gall of the man, Vivian thought to herself, finally back at the hotel, stripping out of her work clothes. It wasn’t a question if she’d do it. She’d have probably done it anyway. But it was somewhat annoying how turned on she got knowing that she was naked and taking a nap like a child because a man had ordered her to do it. How eager she was to follow his orders like a child, eager for his praise.
But he had smiled in that teasing way that seemed to say, “yes its ridiculous, but we both know you’re a slut that will get off on it.” Plus, he had promised her a treat and promised a night that she’d want to be fully rested to experience. And she really was quite turned on. Just the way his voice sounded when he ordered her to do something. When she knew she’d do it, no matter what it was.
it was her last night staying in the hotel. Her last night with him. Her last night to be this strange person.
As she drifted into her nap the feeling made her happy. It was for the best. This isn’t who she was. Not who she is. She’s a married woman with kids and a job and a life. Not the sort of woman that fucks strange men in hotels. Not the sort of woman that cheats with men who treat her like a slave. The sort of woman that sends pictures of her asshole to men. It was for the best that it was ending. A strange little chapter in her life.
But their was sadness too. She wasn’t that woman. But she liked being her.
***********************
She texted him when she awoke. His order. A picture of her still in bed nude. And a question. “What’s next Sir?”
She touched herself lightly while she waited. Finger tips sliding across her breasts, her nipples, her stomach. She had bruises here and there. His marks, she thought, and shivered, letting her fingers slide between her legs.
He hadn’t told her she couldn’t cum, but she knew he’d not want her to without him, without permission. It was hard, she had teased and denied herself the day before at his orders. But it was also delicious, to feel how badly she wanted it. To deny herself because someone else controlled her. An awful, delicious, feeling.
His reply came. “Shower and shave, not a hair below your neck. We are going out on the town. Wear something smashing and sexy. Get yourself tarted up like a good little whore. Have you had an orgasm today?”
Tarted up. Like a good little whore. She made an annoyed but aroused grunt and she sped up the hand between her legs. Why did she love him treating her this way? Why did she feel so much pride as she typed back, “no Sir, I didn’t have permission.” Then included a picture of her fingers between her legs, fingers showing how wet she had gotten.
Why did it make her so fucking happy and horny when he responded, “good girl. You are lovely. Meet me out front at 7.”
She would do as she asked. She would shave it all. She normally left a small, well trimmed bush. But not today. Today she was letting a stranger tell her how to prepare herself. Like a whore.
As she shaved herself bare, at his orders, she felt embarrassed. It had been a symbol of her womanhood. And now she felt like a girl. Little and small, even as it felt good to slide her fingers across the bare slick skin. She had never changed her body to please a man. And here she was, eagerly doing it. Excited to imagine him seeing it. Touching herself imagining it. Feeling the hot water on her skin, feeling her breasts, finding the small sensitive bruises and pushing on them as her other hand alternated between her smooth mons and her clit. Working herself up further and further until she could almost, she was almost, she was going to . . . . stop.
She gasped as she stopped. So close. He hadn’t even ordered it, but still, she felt like his good girl. His good whore. She wanted to please him so badly. Why did she want to please him so badly? It felt so good to please him.
********
She was outside promptly at 7, in the little black dress she had grabbed at the last second just in case the customers had wanted to go out somewhere nice. Sexy, but appropriate for a work engagement. Though she found herself wishing she had time to buy something sluttier to wear.
Her hair was as done as she could do it in a hotel bathroom and she had pulled out all the stops with her make up. She had been a little shocked looking in the mirror. It wasn’t that she didn’t know she was pretty, she worked hard, exercised, and watched her food to stay in shape. It was just that she rarely did herself up like this at home. Rarely had an occasion to dress up. To be sexy. She rarely had occasion to do so for her husband and when she did, he’d tell her how good she looked, but never do anything about it. All words. No action. How badly she wanted him just to be so overwhelmed with her that he took her, smearing the make up with his passion. But he never did. And how that made her feel so unwanted. If she was as pretty as he said, why did he never show her?
But today, looking in the mirror, she looked so good. Gorgeous. Sexy. A good little slut. And she knew, he’d appreciate it.
He did too. He told her and kissed her and told her and kissed her and told her that she looked so good he had half a mind to cancel everything he had planned and just take her back upstairs and fuck her all night long.
Her heart was racing from his kisses, from the hand he so casually put on her bare knee as if he was allowed, as if he could do anything he wanted, as if he owned her. Because he could, because he did. She understood it so well, with such clarity in moments like this, in his presence. So she only said, smiling, trying to show him how eager she was to be his, “whatever Sir wants.”
And he just laughed as he started to drive. A laugh of pure joy, of excitement, of fun. She was fun. He thought she was fun. He thought she was beautiful. He thought she was sexy. And he didn’t move his hand from her knee as he drove.
He asked her about her day, about her life. Chit chat. But as he did, his hand began to slide and slide down her leg. She didn’t stop it, in fact, she spread her legs wider, slid further down into the seat to give him more space. Moaned loudly as his finger found her panties, the pretty black ones, and began to slide against her clit, pressing the fabric into her.
“No this won’t do at all he said,” he said, sounding stern, sounding upset. But she could hear the laughter in his voice. Hear that this was part of the game.
“What Sir,” she asked, truly stumped, wondering if he meant that she should be touching him. He was the dom after all.
“I can’t properly touch you through those. Take them off and hand them to me,” he said, taking the hand from her cunt and holding it out in front of her.
She was so pleased at how fast she reacted. At how quickly she slid them off and put them into his hand. It wasn’t like they were really in public, in the car. It felt naughty in the right way. Especially if it meant he was going to touch her more as they drove. She wondered if he’d have her keep them off for awhile or put them back on before they got to where they were going.
She had enjoyed not wearing underwear to the bar and thought it would be so much better had he been there to touch her. To tease her. To slide his hand up her leg and . . .
She handed him the panties and he quickly put them into his pocket before his hand found her bare thigh again. Found its way down as he drove. Found its way to her and found her wet. So wet. Shaved bald for him.
“Good girl,” he said, as his fingers rubbed at her bare mons. “This is how I want you tonight, you can grow it back if you like.”
There would be no future night, but the idea, the idea that he was giving her permission to have pubic hair. Had she not already been wet, she knew she would be now. She felt the idea tickling through her brain. Imagining being with him. Imagining letting him control her body, her clothes, her pleasure.
His fingers idly traced around her mons, her labia, her clit. Sliding against her. Teasing her. Focusing on the road, not on her pleasure. He drove safely and she enjoyed his teasing touches. She was so amped up though after the denial. After the teasing. It made his lazy pleasure amazing and unbearable at the same time. He started to laugh and she realized she was making horny little whining noises. She wanted to cum so badly, she was trying to thrust her crotch harder against his hand, humping at it as he rubbed.
“Like a bitch in heat,” he said, with kindness in his voice, but it had a throaty aroused sound to it.
“Yes Sir,” she managed and realized she could smell herself, the car was filled with her slutty scent.
“There are rules for tonight,” he said as he touched her. As he pleasured her. As he let her moan. “You may not talk to anyone but me without permission from me. You will not have an orgasm or leave my presence without specific permission. That includes using the bathroom. You will call me Sir, even if someone might hear you and you will refer to me as Sir whenever you speak to me.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a small happy shiver.
His fingers kept at it, the tease, during the drive, almost 20 minutes of it. Slow, teasing pleasure, then they were pulling up to a restaurant, a decent looking one, and he pulled far into the back of the lot. Out into the empty lot where it connected with some big box stores parking. The lights off. The car stopping in a deep pool of shadow.
“Sit,” he said, as he shut off the car and popped open the trunk. He got out and went around back. Vivian kept her mouth closed. Not sure what he was doing or planning, but sure she was going to like whatever it was as much as she hated it.
Then he was at her door, opening it for her and helping her out. A gentlemen with ungentlemanly-like plans. He held her hand tenderly and pulled her towards the front of the car, turning her to face the hood.
“Hands on the hood, ass up, and spread those legs like a good whore, then close your eyes,” he said. Vivian looked around nervously. She could see people in the distance, they weren’t looking but . . . if they did . . . well in the dark, at this distance, they might not realize exactly what was happening.
She complied though. Placed her hands on the still warm hood and lowered her chest so her ass would be raised and spread her legs. And closed her eyes.
She felt him behind her, his hands running down her legs. His mouth pressing between them. His tongue on her clit. Sliding. Pressing. Spinning. Pleasure. Pleasure. He stopped for a moment and she felt something hard push into her pussy, she wanted to open her eyes but he had said not too and despite that people might be looking, might be wondering, she did as he had asked and felt the pleasure as he started to slide the thing, was it a dildo? Into and out of her as his tongue went back to her clit.
She relaxed into it, felt her nerves so keyed up that she knew she was close already. Two days of teasing without release. 20 minutes of being fondled in the car. Now this attack on her clit, this fucking with the dildo or whatever it was. In and out, as his tongue slid along her clit.
“Sir,” she said, “Sir can I . . . ” but his mouth was gone before she could finish. The toy was pulling out of her before she could finish. She almost cried. The tease.
“Not yet,” he said, and she felt the toy, now wet with her own slick, pushing into her ass. “Good girl,” he said, as she moaned. A strange mix of discomfort and pleasure and feeling like a whore in a good and bad way. It was confusing, but before she could analyze it she felt physical relief as the toy seemed to have hit some point and was suddenly being greedily sucked into her ass. The pressure on her asshole abating as it filled her and then stayed stuck inside her.
She understood then that he had put a butt plug inside her. And that, because she was a very smart woman, she could guess that he was going to have her wear it into the restaurant. The idea made a shudder of humiliated pleasure wash through her.
Like a slut. A whore. Sitting at some table. Ordering drinks and food while her ass was being filled with some toy. What sort of woman would, but his mouth was already back on her clit and he was pushing something new, something slimmer, into her pussy. Sliding it in and out like a little cock as his tongue worked and worked her clit. As her ass was filled like a harlot. Like in some girl in some vile porno flick. As the pleasure pushed through her pelvis from all directions. As he made her feel delicious and wanted. As he licked and licked and gave her pleasure. Because she was his good girl. Because she deserved to be treated like a lovely whore sometimes.
And then it was coming, so fast, “Sir,” she barely managed, “Sir please, may I” and she didn’t finish because she heard him saying yes into her cunt, not that it was fast enough. Not technically. Before the Y was out of his mouth the orgasm was already crashing into her so hard that had she not have been holding the car, she would have fallen. Had he not been under her for her to almost sit on, she would have fallen. The pleasure. The shame. The feeling of being wanted. Rewarded. Crashed through her.
She heard the almost scream tear from her as she came. Not caring who heard. Not caring who saw. Pushing his face away from her as the pleasure became too much. Panting and gasping as he slowly turned her and sat her on the hood, and pulled against her to kiss her deeply. His mouth slick with her cunt. His fingers in her hair, slick with her slutty wet, leaving the smell behind. She could still feel both of the toys. The large one in her ass and the smaller one in her pussy. She would care later, wonder about it later, but for now, she just wanted his lips. His body pressed against hers. She wanted his cock inside her now, where everyone could see.
But he broke the kiss, smiling, and took her panties from his pocket and knelt to help her slide back into them. To help hold the toys in place. And held her arm, which was good because walking with the plug in was not easy, and led her up to the restaurant.
No one stared at them as they walked up. As they entered, he excused himself to wash his face. Her juices still glistening. Vivian couldn’t help but note that a man waiting in the lobby area was staring at her. Had he seen? Did she care?
***************************
He led her by the hand to the bar where he had reserved two stools. As they walked, she realized she was flushing as much at the feeling of the plug inside her, each step causing it to send little waves of pleasure and discomfort, as she was at intimate contact of being led by her hand by her secret lover, that all these people they were walking past would just see her on a date. They wouldn’t know what a whore she was. What a slut she was.
It was her secret. Hers and his. The idea made her heart beat faster, made her hyper-aware of the pleasure coming from whatever was in her pussy and the plug rubbing against each other. Made her feel dirty in a lovely way. And a little disappointed that she had to keep it a secret. A crazed, horny, part of her wanted to scream, “this man is my lover and I am his slave. My husband is at home and doesn’t know.”
Sitting on the stool was in itself an interesting experience. Feeling the toy pushing into her, filling her. It filled her mind as much as her ass. A constant source of dirty sexual pleasure. It was hard to focus on anything else. As he sat next to her, she realized, startled, that from how the bar was set up, how the seats where set up, no one would be able to see anything below her chest. That he would be able to, and certainly would, be touching her more, in public.
The bartender came over and asked them if they’d like a drink. She almost answered but remembered in the nick of time and looked over to see that he was grinning, waiting, curious what she would do. She just stared at him and he laughed.
“A bourbon on the rocks for myself and the lovely lady,” he said. The bartender gave her a look that made her flush all over, a look that said, “woman, do you really need him to choose your drinks.” But the bartender walked off to pour the drinks.
He took her softly by the chin, turning her flushed face from the bartender to him. “I’m very proud of you,” he said, “you are being such a good girl.” Then he leaned in while pulling her closely and began to kiss her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, his lips on hers and then he pulled her hard against him, his mouth capturing hers, which perfectly muffled her cry of surprise as whatever he had placed up her pussy began to vibrate.
She panicked for a moment, terrified people would hear, but it was too loud in the restaurant for anyone to notice the quite buzzing she felt inside herself. She forced herself to relax into his kiss, into the buzzing pleasure that rattled the butt plug as well. It felt good, but was at a low speed, not enough to make her cum, she thought.
Then his hand was sliding up her leg, up her thigh, and the buzzing got stronger, stronger as his finger was about to graze her clit, then his hand slid back, the buzzing slowed. Teasing. She wouldn’t cum. He wasn’t about to make her cum. But she knew, she could feel his intent. His amusement at her predicament. She felt the toy cycling up higher. And that though, that would be too much. She’d humiliate herself in front of strangers who were just trying to have dinner. That was too much. Not in front of people that didn’t want to be involved. She made a decision and broke the kiss to whisper to him.
“Yellow sir,” she said softly, “Just don’t make me . . . Have an orgasm at the bar. I won’t be able to control myself and it would be embarrassing in a bad way.”
She felt her heart skip a beat. Because if he pushed her on this, she’d let him. She had said yellow and meant yellow. She wouldn’t safe word. She’d take the humiliation. She knew that she’d enjoy it in the moment as much as she hated it. She knew that she’d masturbate to the memory as much as it made her cringe. But she didn’t want him too. She wanted him to be the man she hoped he was.
As she leaned back from him, she felt the buzzing slow but not stop and saw the chagrined smile on his face. “Your right toy,” he said, “that would be in bad taste. Forgive my excitement.”
And she started to breathe again. Felt gratitude and pleasure filling her. He had apologized to her. He had listened to her. It made her feel warm and seen and heard and sexy.
He turned the little buzzing thing off whenever the bartender came over and while they ate. But at other times, as they talked about this and that, she’d feel it whirring to life inside her. Felt his hand sliding up her leg again, towards her wet center. Always slowly, never doing more than distracting her.
She took the initiate herself. Not unzipping him. But finding moments to rub him through his pants as he talked. To feel his erection growing through the cloth.
Not being allowed to talk to the bartender. Having him talk for her. Place her order as she looked at him helplessly. And once, once having to ask him, out loud, to go to the bathroom. She thought from the bartenders look that the woman had heard. It had been humiliating . . . in a sort of good way.
As she finished her second glass wine, she relaxed into it. The mild tipsyness. The pleasant pleasure. The feeling of being owned and controlled. The feeling of his cock growing hard because of her. For her. Of her pleasure. It was a nice night.
Of course, as he would whisper to her as he paid the check, it was only beginning. They had a party to visit.
He held her around the waist as they walked out to the car, which was good because between the wine and the way he kept spinning the power of the toy up and down, she almost stumbled more than once. As they sat, once she had her belt on, she felt it speeding up again. In private. His slut in private. Not in front of 50 people. Where she could scream and beg and be totally owned by him. His slave. She accepted it. Enjoyed it. Relished in it quietly. Until she was begging.
“Please sir,” she said, “May I.”
But no. He snapped it off. It was too good to be true.
As they drove he unzipped and said, “stroke me” so she did. Enjoying the naughty feeling of it. Pulling his cock out where someone might see. Of sliding her fingers into herself, feeling the buzzing in her finger tips, as she wet her fingers to lubricate them to rub his stiff cock.
As she rubbed, she felt the toy speeding up again. He spoke to her quietly. How sexy she was. What a good toy she was. How he couldn’t get her body, her mouth, her breasts off of his mind. How he wanted to show her off to the world. In chains. In leather. On a leash. On her knees.
She luxuriated in the praise as she stroked him. As the toy sped up inside her. Luxuriated in the pleasure and giving of pleasure. She was a mindless fuck toy. A delicious slave. It was rapture.
It wasn’t a long drive. Perhaps 15 minutes. But twice more the toy sped up inside her to the point that she begged and pleaded. Begging as she stroked him. Twice more she begged. Twice more he turned it off. It was maddening. It was delicious. She had no power over her own pleasure. Her own cunt. Her own ass. She chose to have no power. She gave him the power. It was freeing.
They were pulling in somewhere shortly after her third denial. A building that looked more like a warehouse, but with a sign that just read Temptation, adults only. She looked to him curious and he pulled a bag from behind his seat, and handed her a pretty little sequined domino mask.
“Have you ever been to a kink club,” he asked with a grin, as he pulled on his own matching mask.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ourz23/vivians_date_mf_bdsm_humiliation