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The butterflies in my stomach are getting out of control. I
haven't felt fear like this in a long time - a dread of something
that is coming, but for which I have no frame of reference. It
reminds me of when I was a c***d and did something wrong. I knew
then that I would be punished - but I had no idea what form the
punishment would take.
Today, I know I'll be punished, too. I know it because it is
part of what today is all about. But I have almost no idea what
the punishment will be. Or even what I will be punished for.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...

Several weeks ago, I broke up with my latest boyfriend. It
wasn't because he wasn't handsome and successful (he was a tall,
blond, WASP stockbroker who made well into six figures) or
attentive (he brought me flowers, remembered birthdays and
anniversaries, and shared the domestic drudgery) or fun (we had
similar tastes in sports, movies and other things - and the money
and time to enjoy them). The whole problem, in fact, had NOTHING
to do with him. It was me. I was bored to death with my sex life.
I've never had difficulty finding partners, as long as I have
been willing, in a crunch, to settle for someone shorter than me.
I'm 5'9. I weigh 141 pounds, have dark brown
hair down to my shoulders, and hazel eyes that seem to attract as
much attention as the rest of me. At 38B,26,37 I'm a little too
big to model - but I did manage to do a little commercial work when
I was in college. That was twelve years ago.
What faced me when I kicked Roger out was that I had never had
a sexual partner who really excited me. He was as good, stable and
strong in bed as he was out of it, but he didn't do any more for
me than any other guy had. Not that I'm gay - my one (relatively
recent) fling with an old college roommate said more about the fact
that I wanted a change than it did about a lesbian bent. I've had
no difficulty climaxing with the men I've been with, and I've
sampled quite a few. But somehow they never seemed to treat me the
way I wanted to be treated, and I never seemed to know what to ask
for - so it was just more of the same, over and over.
One afternoon soon after my breakup with Roger, my girlfriend
Paula and I contacted a bulletin board on her personal computer.
k**ding around, we started chatting with a guy called Fred who had
a good sense of humor and was quite sexy. He wanted to engage in
what he called "computer sex" - sharing fantasies over the
computer. For some reason or other, it turned both of us on - I
was really hot instantly. I didn't want to admit it, for some
reason, but this seemed to be what was missing, after all this
time. We started into it, and I took the lead. I did the typing,
came up with most of the wild ideas, and soon we had the guy
admitting that he was playing with himself as he read. Meanwhile,
so were we! I had my skirt hiked up over my thighs and my hand up
under my panties whenever it wasn't occupied on the keyboard.
Paula was doing the same thing with her left hand - and soon her
right was stroking the inside of MY thigh!
That really turned me on, but it also frightened me. I had
never made it with another woman - and Paula and I were best
friends. I was embarrassed to be feeling what I felt, and pushed
her hand away. She was a persistent little dickens, though, and
as soon as my hands went back to the keyboard, she went back to her
assault on my thighs. Finally, I gave up and let her do what she
wanted - which was first to lower my panties and play with my
pussy, and later to kneel between my knees while I typed and
slowly, expertly lick me to several climaxes!
The excitement I had that afternoon was greater than all the
loving I'd had in the last couple of years. And I didn't only
receive attention. After she had thoroughly wrung me out, she sat
in my place at the terminal and continued our "correspondence".
I knelt in front of her and slowly, tentatively began to play with
her pussy. It was definitely NOT the same as playing with mine!
It turned me on even more than if I had my own hand buried between
my legs. As I knelt there with two fingers playing with her
clitoris, the aroma of her reached me and I almost fainted. Hardly
believing I was doing it, I raised my hand, covered with the juice
from her pussy, to my nose. The smell was stronger and even sexier
than before. I couldn't stop my tongue from licking my fingers.
The taste was musky and a little bit metallic - but definitely NOT
unpleasant. I bent my head and began to lick. She moaned and slid
down in the chair, her heavily-lidded eyes watching as my tongue
traced the shape of her outer lips. As I stuck my tongue further
out and up into her pussy, she began to press herself against my
mouth and my face, covering my chin, lips and nose in her juices.
I found her sweet clit with my tongue and began to lick - just as
she had been licking me a few minutes before. In no time at all,
she exploded. That was the beginning of a whole new life for me.
Not that Paula and I began to sleep together regularly. Far
from it! We have been friends so long that neither of us knows
what to do with this new way of relating. Besides, we both LOVE
men, and want regular relationships, so it's only happened once
more in the last four weeks. But my imagination has been awakened.
I was never much interested in fantasy. I thought that it was
much better to be a doer than a dreamer. Well, that may still be
true, but I've found that dreaming can be better than much of the
doing I've had in the past. I began to tell myself stories - first
about Paula and me, then about the two of us and a man (usually one
of my old boyfriends). The stories were most frequent at bedtime,
and resulted in my masturbating nearly every night. Then, more and
more, the story was just about me and a man - but in a way that I
had never been with a man.
I contacted more bulletin boards, during this time, and began
to chat with men by electronic mail about different types of sex.
The beauty of it was that I was able to delve into many types of
sex which, normally, I would have been afraid to talk about.
Many of the new things interested me not at all. I had no
desire to wear high leather boots and tan a man's ass with a riding
crop. And as for the women, I doubted that anyone would turn me
on more than Paula did - and I KNEW her and CARED about her, so why
look for someone else?
But over and over, I got little peeks at the world of
domination of the female by the male, and that began to prey on my
mind. I spoke to a woman on a board up in Westchester who was a
"slave" (her word!) to a man she called "My Master". When I first
heard those terms, I didn't like the idea at all. I had no
intention of giving up my independence and my freedom to a man I
didn't even know! She praised the life she led - told me it was
the most exciting and joyful she had ever been. I couldn't believe
her.
But then, I met another woman on a local board in New York
City who was delighted to be completely controlled by her lover -
not only ordered around, but forced to wear very revealing outfits
and fetish clothes and to play with herself (and with him!) at his
order and under his direction. As I spoke with her, I found myself
getting strangely excited.
I began to see that one of the problems with being a very tall
and good-looking woman is that men tend to be a little less
demanding of one. They're a little in awe, I guess, at their luck
in attracting such a woman - or they want to make damn sure not to
lose her, so they give in more to her desires. The problem with
that, I realized (now that I began to tell the truth to myself) was
that I wanted to be told what to do - particularly sexually.
The more I spoke to these two, the more I envied what they
had. I wanted to serve a man. I wanted to see what it was like
to do exactly what my lover (my master?) wanted - to be treated
like a toy made expressly for his pleasure. As I told the truth
to myself, I began to be more comfortable telling it over the
computer lines.
Within a couple of days, I had met a man called Richard. I
was introduced to him by a woman whose name was Janice. The two
of them had an on-going relationship in which he was the dominant
partner and she the submissive one. As Richard and I explored my
desires on the BBS, I began to see that there were certain things
that particularly turned me on - and Richard seemed to be the
perfect match for me there.
I wanted to be dressed very sexily for a man. I had always
worn sexy, feminine underwear, but now I wanted to be introduced
to the kind of clothing I would have scorned a few weeks earlier.
I wanted to wear things that were designed to display me - that
were there specifically to turn a man on. I wanted to be
controlled, to be psychologically humiliated, in a sense. And I
wanted to perform oral sex for hours.
Of course, oral sex wasn't new to me. The men I had dated
loved it when I ate them, but I had to admit that I had never
gotten as deeply into it, in reality, as I now did in fantasy. The
problem was that, to me, sucking a man's cock was a very submissive
position to be in, and I had not attracted the kind of men who
would take full advantage of that position in the past. The reason
probably was that they weren't, themselves, very dominant.
As Richard and I got into more and more detailed fantasies,
I found myself spending half the evening every night playing with
myself in front of my new computer. More and more, I would
fantasize during the day about the fantasies to come that evening
- and the fact that I'd be able to raise my skirt (or take it off
entirely) and masturbate to my heart's content.
Finally, Richard suggested meeting in person. We had lunch
at a small restaurant in Manhattan. He was attractive, about 40
years old, 6'3" tall, with graying temples and VERY sophisticated.
He was trim and obviously exercised regularly to keep himself that
way. I was immediately interested and turned on. After talking
over lunch, it just got better. We discussed the sort of things
we both liked (keeping our voices down so we wouldn't shock the
neighbors) and came to an agreement about the ground rules for
our first "session", as Richard called it.
Since he wasn't married, he suggested that I meet him at his
apartment. I was to leave information with someone about where I
would be, so that I wouldn't be concerned about my safety. He
didn't want me to be distracted from my full enjoyment of what was
to take place. He explained that he wasn't really into heavy pain
- but got more enjoyment from the psychological sort of control
that I had been fantasizing about. He told me that he would expect
me to arrive at 6 o'clock on Friday evening - punctually, since
tardiness would be punished. He informed me that he already had
most of the equipment we might want, but that he wanted to take me
shopping after lunch.
So, when lunch was over, he accompanied me to a small boutique
in the Village which specialized in sexy and sensual underwear and
lengerie. He was not in the least bit embarrassed, as most men might
be, but went through the racks carefully, looking for what he
wanted. He finally settled on two very sexy corsets. The first
was white satin with pink lace detail. It was only half-cup, so
it supported and presented the breasts, rather than covering them,
leaving the entire top half of the breasts and the nipples
completely exposed. The pink lace framed the breasts and the lower
edge, ran down the front in sexy, pretty strips and covered each
of the detachable garters. The second was the same design, but
made entirely out of black lace - as sexy a thing as I had ever
seen. Both corsets came with matching g-string panties. He then
found very sheer, seamed stockings in black and white, shoulder-
length gloves in white satin and black lace and a long white hair
ribbon. He paid for everything, gave me one bag containing the
white outfit, and he carried the one with the black.
"When you come to my apartment on Friday, I will expect you
to be wearing the corset, stockings and panties. Over that, I want
you to wear something white that is very feminine and also VERY
sexy. Between now and then, you will buy two pairs of shoes - one
white and one black. They should both have very high heels - at
least three and one-half inches, but the higher, the better. I
prefer slingbacks, or something that has a sexy bow in the back.
Sandals are not acceptable. You will carry a bag which contains
the white satin gloves, your black shoes, your makeup, your
toothbrush and your house keys. You may bring a $10 bill for the
cab fare back home. That is all - absolutely NOTHING else. Do you
understand?"
I agreed to do as he asked, and he spun on his heel and walked
away without saying goodbye. I was left standing there, in the
middle of Bleeker St., feeling annoyed, excited and scared - all
at once.
Yesterday, I went shopping and found exactly what he wanted
for shoes. I got a pair of white calf pumps with four inch heels.
At the back, above the heel, was a white leather bow. I had never
worn anything so high, and the little bow seemed to scream "Fuck
me!". But the black ones are worse. The heels must be almost five
inches. They are black calf, highly polished. Each side is made
out of five very slim black leather laces that come up out of the
sole of the shoe, are gathered together and become one at the back
of the heel, where they tie in a VERY sexy bow. I was embarrassed
to even try them on in the store - I was SURE everyone would know
what I wanted them for. But I did it, and it made me even more
excited! Both pairs are perfect!
I couldn't find the right dress to wear over there until
today. In a store I would NEVER have thought to look in down near
Wall St., which seemed to cater to the secretaries from Brooklyn
and Queens, I found a white satin dress with a tight, low-cut
bodice and very full, puffy sleeves down to the elbow. The skirt
flared WAY out, and hung only to about four inches above my knees.
I got a very, very full white lace crinoline to wear under it, and
it held the skirt out perfectly. When I got it home, and tried it
on again, it was even sexier than I had thought in the store.
I had to take today off from work. I was so excited and crazy
that I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on anything, anyway.
I spent some time on the computer talking to some of the BBS', then
took a llloooong bath with perfumed oil in the afternoon, shaved
my legs and underarms, toweled dry and powdered myself. I took
a long time over my makeup, getting everything perfect. Richard
had said nothing about my hair, but had left me the ribbon. So I
wore my hair up with the ribbon holding it off my face. Then, I
went into the bedroom to dress.
As I put on the corset, I realized how small it was! It held
my waist in very tightly, which emphasized my breasts, hips and
buttocks. I drew the long, sexy stockings up my legs and attached
them to the garters, and pulled on the g-string, which served only
to cover up most of my pubic hair in front. In back, my ass was
still completely bare. I stepped into the crinoline and drew it
up to my waist, then put on the dress and zipped it up. The bra
was doing its job, all right - most of the upper half of my breasts
were exposed above the deep neckline of the dress. My nipples WERE
covered - but just barely! I put on the shoes, and walked over to
my full-length mirror to check out the full effect of the outfit.
"God, I can't go out like THAT!" was the first thing that came
to my mind. The sexy, feminine dress with its view of my breasts,
combined with the "Fuck me!" pumps and the tiny waist (courtesy of
the corset) was just too much - added as it was to my normal dark,
somewhat sultry look and my six-foot height, it was like carrying
a neon sign advertising sex.
I HAD to go out, though. It was the only way to take the
first step toward my new adventure. So I did the only thing I
could think of - I called a car service and spent $35 on a limo to
take me the fifteen blocks to Richard's house.
So, here I am, standing out on West 10th Street, EARLY for the
appointment. I'm too nervous to knock on the door - I assume that
I am to be ON TIME, not early. But the looks of the men passing
by are becoming a little unnerving. It's almost six o'clock. I
can't wait!

Finally, six o'clock came. Punctually on time, I stood at
Richard's front door and rang the bell. The door was opened
immediately, and I saw Richard standing in a long hallway, wearing
an impeccable Italian-cut suit. His shoes gleamed and his tie was
such luxurious silk, I could almost feel it with my eyes. The
expression on his face, though, wasn't happy.
"Come in," he said curtly, then stepped aside for me to
comply. He motioned me to enter a living room that was just off
the hallway. I entered and stood in the center of a beautiful
room, as he closed the door, then turned to face me.
"You are almost two minutes late!" he growled at me,
glowering. "Is this the way you begin your service with me?"
I quickly showed him my watch and explained that I had
actually gotten there early, but he brushed aside my explanations.
"You should have thought to ask me what time it was by my
watch when we made the agreement to meet at six o'clock. That is
the most basic agreement - one of time - and one of the most
important. If you can't keep that, how can I rely on you to do
anything right?"
I was devastated! I had been standing on the sidewalk,
nervously trying not to meet the eyes of the men who had been
staring at my clothing, at the swell of my breasts over the low-cut
neckline of the dress. I had ignored the whistles, the "Hey,
Baby!"'s and the gestures. I had swallowed my embarrassment -
feeling overdressed for the hour, on a summer evening, and
uncomfortable to be just standing and waiting. All of this I had
put up with so I would make a good impression on Richard - and now
I was late!
"Perhaps we should forget this - or at least put it off for
another day," he said. I immediately cried out, saying I had so
looked forward to this meeting, and begging him not to put it off!
"I will be punctual in the future, I promise!", I said.
"Please don't send me away, now! I've gone to such pains to get
things I thought you would like, and...."
"And that is no more than I would expect you to do, Michelle!
That is your job, your part of this relationship. Mine is to
evaluate how well you have done what you were supposed to do, and
to help you to explore frontiers you have not had the courage to
approach before. Alright - I'll let this one infraction pass. But
in the future, I will expect you to pay far more attention to
details. Is that understood?"
I nodded my head, my heart beating wildly in reaction to my
momentary fear that my fantasies would not be explored.
"Good. Now, empty out your bag on the table, there, so I can
see what you've brought."
I did as he asked, and was pleased when he complimented me on
following those orders properly, at least. He also complimented
me on my choice for the black shoes - and said he found them sexy,
which thrilled me!
"Now, put everything back in the bag. I'm going to take you
upstairs, now, and show you a few of the other rooms of the house.
By the way, remember that you are to go only where you are told to,
and only with me accompanying you (unless I tell you differently)
while you are here. Some of the rooms are off-limits to you, so
follow my instructions carefully. Understand?"
"Yes, I understand, Richard," I said, as I began to follow him
out into the hallway. He turned and looked at me, and said:
"That is something else we'd better get out of the way, now.
From now on, unless I tell you otherwise, you will address me as
"Master". When you are spoken to, you will immediately lower
your eyes to the level of my crotch, where they will remain until
any conversation is finished. Is that understood, also?"
"Yes...master," I stammered. This had been something we had
discussed in principle, but no specific rule had been set until
now.
"And, again unless I expressly give you permission, you will
speak only when spoken to. You will NEVER initiate a conversation,
ask for a further explanation of an order, or open your mouth
unless you are spoken to first! Understand?"
"Yes, Master. I understand."
He led me up the staircase to the second floor. Toward the
back of the building, straight ahead from the staircase, was a
door, which led to a very beautiful bedroom. There was a
queen-sized, white enameled, old-fashioned bed, with a beautiful
pink coverlet trimmed in white lace. A dressing table on the side
wall was covered in a matching pink cloth, on which were a
hairbrush and mirror made from tortoise-shell. Next to the dressing
table was a door that led into a private bath. On the back wall
were four large windows, now covered with drawn shades, and on the
left side wall was a door that seemed to lead to a closet.
"This will be your bedroom for the weekend, Michelle. You may
put your bag on the bed, for now, and follow me."
After putting down the bag, I followed him out to the second
floor landing. He led me up to the third floor. As I climbed the
steps, I marveled at the value of the home we were in! Richard
was rich - no doubt about that! A three-story brownstone here in
the Village would sell, I was sure, for more than a million dollars
- although how much more, I had no idea. On the third floor,
directly over my room, was a bedroom clearly furnished for a man.
It had two deep arm chairs, a large, king-sized bed, and the colors
were all burgundy, brown and black. It was a "handsome" room, I
thought - where mine had been pretty and feminine. It seemed that
Richard believed in some of the old-fashioned sexual stereotypes
- which was in keeping with some of the things we had spoken about
together.
Richard threw himself down on the bed, propped his head up on
his right hand and said, "Stand over there in the middle of the
floor, where I can get a good look at you."
I did as he asked, my hands down at my sides, my heart,
strangely, beating nervously. Perhaps it was the tone in his
voice, which was almost flat, with no emotion.
"Now raise your skirt and your petticoat above your waist."
I was shocked - although I suppose I shouldn't have been. I
guess I just expected to work up to the sexual part of things - not
just jump in with both feet! I reached down and gathered the full
satin skirt and its supporting crinoline in both hands and raised
them above my waist, as he had ordered. They became a double
armful in front of my breasts, as I stood there feeling how
naked I was below the waist.
"Turn around, slowly, so I can see what you look like," he
said.
I turned to my right, slowly, presenting more and more of my
body to his eyes. When my back was completely to him, I shivered,
remembering how naked my ass was with just the string of the pantie
running up between my buttocks. When I had made a complete
revolution, he said:
"Now, pull off that foolish g-string. It doesn't cover you
at all - it just serves to give you a sense of being covered. It's
only a psychological defense against your nakedness."
How right he was! As I removed the g-string, I realized how
much comfort I had been deriving from that tiny scrap of cloth.
Without it, I felt completely naked!
He continued to scrutinize me - examining me carefully, but
still from a distance. I stood, still holding the g-string with
my left hand as I struggled to keep the skirt and crinoline held
up with my arms.
"Those stockings fit you well. That's unusual for a woman
your height - they usually stop all too short, down near the knees,
someplace. I want you to remember to write down the brand name
when you get back to your room. There is a pen and writing paper
in the dressing table drawer."
His statement didn't seem to require a response - but I was
unsure whether to answer "Yes, Master," or to stand there silently.
I decided that he would know that I had heard, and elected to
remain silent.
"When I give you a command, like that, you will acknowledge
it by answering "Yes, Master". Is that understood?"
Wrong again! I felt stupid and embarrassed as I answered,
"Yes, Master."
"Come stand over here, in front of me," he commanded. I
walked nervously over to the bed, stopping right next to it, on a
level with his head. I could no longer see his face, because of
the mass of petticoat I was holding, but knew he was looking
directly at my pubic area. I began to blush, embarrassed at being
so carefully studied.
"Give me the g-string," he said, and I clumsily passed it to
him while holding the mass of nylon in place in front of me.
"Your pussy has wet these panties. Did you know that?"
I blushed furiously. "No, M-m-master," I stuttered. I had
been continuously excited since my bath, over two hours ago. I
wasn't surprised that the g-string had absorbed some of the
moisture, but I was very uncomfortable to have him speak so matter-
of-factly about it. The blush on my face flowed down into my lower
body, though, as I felt his fingers gently but firmly pressing the
lips of my pussy apart. My knees began to shake, and I must have
been quivering like a sapling all over, because he snapped:
"Come, now, stand up straight and stop shaking! I'm only
examining you! This is something that you'll come to find a common
occurrence when you're with me in private - if I choose to have it
be so. Am I hurting you or in any other way being inconsiderate?"
Inconsiderate! How could he even use that term when he had
his index and middle fingers up inside my pussy? He treated what
he was doing as commonplace, his right - whereas I had had men in
the past chasing me for weeks, praying for a chance to do the same
thing!
"No, Master, you're not hurting me," I responded, trying to
control the shaking in my legs (with very little success). I felt
his fingers slowly retreat, and he told me to turn around and bend
over.
I turned my back to him and bent over slightly, frightened to
allow myself to be vulnerable in this way. He spanked me sharply,
once, on my naked right buttock.
"Bend over, I said! Surely you've got more flexibility in
that lovely body than that? Now bend over so that I can see your
ass clearly!"
I bent deeply from the waist, my forehead nearly touching my
knees. As I remained in that uncomfortable and embarrassing
position, I felt his hand gently stroking my buttocks, then his
fingers spreading them apart. Whether it was the juice from my
pussy, or some other lubricant, one of his fingers was wet and
slippery enough to slowly press its way into my asshole. I was now
thoroughly mortified! No one had ever treated me anywhere near
like this in my life!
"Your ass is quite tight, Michelle. How many times have you
been fucked in there?"
"Never, Master! I have never done that!" I said, shocked at
the idea. I had once or twice had a man stick a finger in my ass,
but had turned down everyone who had suggested anal sex. I didn't
like the idea - it sounded too painful.
"Do you put fingers or toys in there when you masturbate?" he
asked, punctuating the "in there" with a few rapid back-and-forth
movements of his finger in my anus.
"No, Master, I haven't," I answered truthfully. The feel of
that one finger was enough to make my legs start to shake again and
my face felt that it was beet red - but my pussy was beginning to
ache with a deep sexual itch, and I could tell that I was soaking
wet down there!
He withdrew his finger and had me turn around to face him,
again. I still had the skirt and crinoline gathered in my arms,
and I felt foolish as I turned to face him. I peeked at his face,
when I got the chance, and saw that it was quite relaxed - not a
smile, nor a sign that he was in any way excited! I was shocked!
How could what he had just done not have effected him? He looked
as if a thought had just struck him, and his eyes turned up toward
my face. I hurriedly looked toward his crotch, as I had been
instructed to do.
"By the way, Michelle, your pussy hair is flattened down -
probably from the g-string and sitting down in the car on the way
here. I like nice, bushy hair on a pussy. Not lots of it - I
prefer it to be neat, like yours - but bushy. On our way back
downstairs, I want you to go into your bathroom, where you'll find
a small hairbrush. Brush your pubic hair to make it bush out more
for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"And don't make the mistake of taking that opportunity to go
to the bathroom. Bathroom visits will be strictly monitored here.
I will tell you when and where you may relieve yourself. Don't
worry, I won't forget about you - any more than I forget about
taking the dog for a walk!"
As he smiled at me, I felt that in a way that's what I was:
just another pet to him. I wasn't sure how I felt about all this.
I had wanted to explore submissiveness, but had expected it to turn
the man on a lot. I still expected, I guess, the kind of control
that a woman frequently has simply from turning the male on. For
him to be calm and cool like this didn't jibe with my previous
experience. I couldn't predict, based on that experience, what he
would do.

As Richard led me downstairs from his bedroom, I was still
kind of dully excited. It's the sort of thing that happens to me
occasionally when I get sexually excited up to a point - but have
no climax. My pussy is tender, kind of itchy/achy deep inside the
flesh of the lips. My clitoris is swollen and I feel little shocks
of pleasure when I walk. I was still very wet - he had given me
no opportunity to wipe myself off or anything - and I was intensely
conscious of that, since I would never just walk around like that.
As we passed my bedroom, he told me he would meet me
downstairs in the living room. I went in, found the paper and pen
in the dressing table, where he said it would be, and wrote down
the name of the stockings as I had been instructed. Then I went
into the bathroom to "brush my hair".
The hairbrush he had spoken of was on a counter to the right
of the sink. As I picked it up, I saw that it was round, with
bristles all around. It had a small head - almost like a c***d's
brush, I thought. I raised my skirt and petticoat up with my left
hand and, looking in the mirror to see what I was doing, I began
to brush my pubic hair.
I had never done this before, and I was surprised at how good
it felt. Of course, I was so excited that any attention paid to
the area around my pussy was going to be pleasurable. But this was
relaxingly exciting. It kept the thrills of electricity jumping
through the lips of my pussy and each tiny tug pulling on the lips
made my clit throb. I could have gotten lost in the feeling - but
I knew without his having told me that Richard expected me to do
what I had been told and get downstairs immediately. So I
concentrated on brushing and sort of twisting the handle of the
brush as I stroked, which made my pubic hair fluff out the way
Richard wanted it. There was something very strange about styling
my pubic hair for a man I had only met once before and with whom
I had not even gone to bed yet - but it was exciting and kind of
nasty, which was exactly what I wanted!
I finished and smoothed the dress and crinoline back into
place. I was happy to see that, even though Richard had made me
stand with the skirt bunched up over my waist for quite a while,
it still looked unwrinkled and presentable. I wanted to look good
for him - particularly for this first meeting.
As I entered the living room, I saw that Richard was sitting
in an easy chair, sipping a glass of champagne. I walked over
toward his chair, but didn't get too close. I was unsure what he
wanted of me, and preferred to be safe rather than sorry.
"Come over here in front of me and lift your skirt so I can
see how you look," Richard ordered.
I stopped about 3 feet in front of him and lifted the skirt.
He sat there for a moment studying me, then nodded and told me to
let my skirt down.
"That's good, Michelle," he said. "From now on, when you're
with me, you'll pay particular attention to your pussy hair for me.

I want you to brush it often, like that. I like it to be brushed,
on either side, away from the lips, so they are clearly visible.
You have thick, luxuriant hair there. While it's attractive, we
don't want it to cover up those lips." He smiled at me. "When you
shower, I will expect you to use shampoo and conditioner on it, as
you would the hair on your head. Since it pleases me to see your
pussy hair looking good, it will please you to make sure that it
does. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," I replied, my eyes directed toward his crotch,
as I had been ordered to do earlier. For the first time, I thought
that I detected more there than usual. It looked like he had a bit
of a hard-on! Thank God!! Maybe I was finally turning him on!
"We have reservations this evening at a restaurant down in
TriBeCa called "211". Are you all ready to go out?"
"Yes, Master," I responded. I was becoming very careful. I
would have liked to say that I was ready, unless he wanted me to
dress differently, or anything. I would not, by myself or with
others, have gone to TriBeCa wearing what I was wearing. It was
the artists' section of New York, and everyone down there,
practically, wore black cotton everything in the summer. But I
knew that to do more than simply reply would be to incur his anger.
"Good! I have a small evening bag here for you to carry. It
has everything in it that you might need. No need to open it and
look - just take it with you."
"Yes, Master," I meekly replied - but I was immediately
suspicious. Why didn't he want me to look into the bag?
I followed him out the front door and stood on the landing
while he locked the door and set the alarm. It was a beautiful
late summer evening - warm enough to be comfortable wearing very
little, but not hot enough for me to be uncomfortable with the
petticoat and stockings I was wearing.
We walked out to the sidewalk and toward Seventh Avenue to
look for a cab. He took my arm, and to everyone who passed us we
must have looked like two "normal" lovers. I felt relaxed and
comfortable with him - but I couldn't escape the novel feeling of
my naked pussy under my dress, and the coolness as the breeze
occasionally found the small drops of moisture that coated the
outer part of the lips.
After a short ride down to the lower part of Manhattan, we
drew up in front of a really lovely restaurant set in the street
floor of a manufacturing and warehouse building. Out front were
a number of tables. One, it turned out, had been reserved for us
-
a table for four with two chairs on adjoining sides, just to the
left of the front door.
I sat down in the chair closest to the street. The platform
the tables were on was elevated about four feet above street level,
so we had a great view of the passing parade of pedestrians.
Richard sat on my left. He ordered champagne for himself and
seltzer water for me (since I don't drink) and settled back,
getting comfortable. It was obvious that all the waiters and
waitresses knew him and deferred to him as one would to a favored
customer.
As we reviewed the menu, Richard told me to relax and talk
"normally" to him. He would not, at this stage in our
relationship, force me to call him "Master" in public, he said.
Although it was nice to relax and enjoy the evening, there was a
certain "edge" that I had already begun to enjoy in our roles of
master/slave that I sort of missed.
Dinner was delicious. After salad and the main course, we
both elected only coffee for desert. I was full - and some of the
excitement, which had subsided while we ate our meal and talked
quietly, was coming back. I had butterflies in my stomach,
remembering the purpose of the weekend, and assuming that we would
get back to that purpose when we got back to the apartment.
As we sipped our coffee, I felt Richard's hand on the inside
of my left thigh. The skirt was short and rode up quite a ways as
I sat - so my legs were almost completely bare under the
tablecloth. No one could see as he stroked and caressed me -
within a few feet of other diners and right above the heads of the
pedestrians. I sat, not moving, as his hand went higher and
higher, above the top of my stocking. He stroked the sensitive
skin of my groin, between my thighs and my pussy, with just the
tips of his fingers. In fact, his hand flitted here and there all
around my pussy and my clit -but never touched either. I was
churning with excitement, and my lips were wet, again, from it.
I wanted him to touch me there so badly - but I could only sit
there casually chatting with him, putting on a front for the other
diners.
When I thought I couldn't take it any more, he suddenly
stopped teasing me. His hand rose from my legs and, grasping my
left hand, drew it under the tablecloth and down to his lap. When
he let go, I realized that his zipper was down and his cock was
exposed! For a moment, my hand just lay there. I was too shocked
to do anything about it. I looked at him, and his eyes bored into
mine. The meaning was clear, of course, and slowly (careful not
to make a movement which would be seen by others) I took his hard
cock in my hand.
It was much larger than I had thought. Thicker and longer,
from the feel of it, than most of the cocks I had experienced
before. I began to stroke him and found that he was not
circumcised, which surprised me. For some reason, he was the first
uncircumcised man I had ever been with. I enjoyed the feeling of
the foreskin sliding up and back over the head of his cock - and
the excitement of feeling the head stick further and further out
until it was fully exposed. As I slowly stroked his cock, he
carried on a perfectly normal conversation - as though nothing at
all were going on! I had never encountered a man who was so calm
and collected. I, meanwhile, was dripping wet and dying to go back
to the apartment and (as I thought to myself) really get going!
After I had stroked him for a few minutes, he leaned his head
close to mine and whispered:
"I want you to go into the Ladies' Room. If you need to, you
may relieve yourself now - and I would suggest it, since you may
not have another opportunity for some time. When you are through,
I want you to wash your pussy clean - I want it fresh and sweet
smelling. In your bag you'll find a brush similar to the one you
used back in your bathroom. You'll also find something else that
I want you to wear. It should be obvious how it works. It had
better be, since you'll be punished if you don't get it right. Now
leave immediately!"
We were obviously back to Master/Slave - and I was delirious
with excitement, again. I regretfully let go of his cock and stood
up, walking toward the rear of the restaurant, looking for the rest
rooms. When I found the Ladies' Room, I sat down immediately and
urinated - I had been holding it in for quite a while, and it had
started to get uncomfortable in the last few minutes. It was a
relief to be able to pee. When I was finished and had flushed the
toilet, I walked over to the sink and carefully washed myself using
the fine scented soap and paper towels I found there. After I
dried myself off, I looked in my handbag for the brush. It was in
there, all right - underneath a cock-shaped thing about five inches
long and quite fat. It had an adjustable, elasticized set of half-
inch straps that was clearly designed to hold it in place, with one
strap to go over it and between the legs which joined another
around the waist. As he said - it was obvious how it worked! I
brushed the hair away from my pussy lips and spread them open. I
had never used a dildo before, but I was excited and trembling at
the thought. I carefully slid it into my pussy and tightened the
straps to hold it firmly in position inside me. It was strange to
move around and feel this thing in me - and very sexy! When I was
sure it wouldn't fall out or move a great deal, I again used the
brush to style my pubic hair the way Richard liked it.
I walked back out to the table, feeling the dildo inside me
and almost falling down with the continual flow of pleasure from
my pussy. I reached the table and sat down, allowing the dress to
ride way up my thighs again, nearly exposing the tops of my nylons.

I wanted to reach over and stroke his cock, again, but I was afraid
to take permission to do that for granted. And I knew we were back
to the stage where I was not expected to initiate any discussions
-
so I just sat and waited to be told what to do.
"The check's paid, my dear. Let's walk a bit before we get
a cab, shall we?"
He took my arm, led me down the steps and started walking
west, which I knew wasn't the direction we'd go if we were looking
for a cab. He was just roaming around, and it was a nice night and
everything - but I had a dildo in me that was doing things that I
had never felt before with each step! I just prayed that soon we'd
be heading home and I could have the climax I'd been building
toward for several hours, now!