Thank you to my beta readers Mal_Bey and 29wordsforsnow for their suggestions and corrections
Real bondage play is best conducted between two partners who know and trust each other and have fully discussed their desires and limits before the session begins. The fantasy of erotica, however, allows us to daydream doing which might be really bad ideas if attempted in real life…
1. The Shop
Rhonda was at the end of a bullshit day. She was in medical equipment purchasing, but that affected only the specific details the bullshit not the overall shape. Those would be familiar to every white-collar worker in the country: the weekly meeting that never begins on time, the e-mail chain that never ends, the memo that never nails down the point, the colleague who never responds, the client who never gives up, your predecessor’s fuck-up, your boss’ slow motion car crash, the broken printer, the broken coffee machine, the broken promises — bullshit, all of it, and all of it seeming happening all at once today. For bonus points, she’d also had the extra bullshit resulting from being a woman in a male dominated field, and, while she tried to see the best in people, she couldn’t help but wonder if some of the animosity from one of the clients today had been more related to the colour of her skin than the specifics of her job.
It was a bullshit Friday, which, while not necessarily worse than a bullshit Monday, always wound Rhonda up more other days because she was constantly on edge that each fresh load of BS would delay the start of the weekend. So indeed it had proved, with her being hit with the inevitable 4:55 crisis just as she was packing up to go. It was now half-past seven, raining, and she’d forgotten her umbrella. That was annoying but she couldn’t count it as bullshit, because it was solely on her. She’d heard Suzanne Charlton say very clearly that it was going to be pissing it down on the breakfast news this morning. They’d even had those fancy computer graphics with the miniature thunderstorms flashing all over the bloody country, and she’d still left without a brolly. Her hair, her smart business clothes and her tights were all half-soaked. Her left leg was completely soaked, her heel having landed badly in a rapidly deepening puddle as she crossed the road.
She scanned the numbers of the buses already waiting to pick up passengers and saw the thirty-seven just as it pulled away. That wasn’t so much bullshit as proof that the whole universe had a grudge against her. There was limited spaces under the protection of the bus shelter and she didn’t feel much like squeezing in under there for the twenty-five minutes she’d have to wait for the next one. There had to be somewhere drier. She considered her options. There was that All-You-Can-Eat Chinese buffet over the road, although according to her latest diet it was really a Nothing-You-Should-Eat restaurant. She could go round the corner and pick up a few items from the Afro-Caribbean shop. Her cupboards were practically bare, and, if the kids hadn’t been staying with her mother, she would have considered it an obligation. But by the time she got there and back, she’d have missed the bus again, no doubt, and be back in exactly the same situation. It would be better to stay closer to the stop. There was a newsagent and she could stand there flipping through the latest celebrity gossip until her brain dribbled out of her ears, but the apparent success of Posh and Beck’s relationship was hardly going to make her feel better about her own failed marriage.
Her new Nokia phone beeped. She flipped it open and didn’t bother to read past the first line of text from her boss. Whatever he wanted could wait until Monday. What remained of tonight was hers. She half-wished she’d taken Robert from IT Support up on his offer of dinner tonight, but only half-wished. She wasn’t ready for anything more than a dinner date and accepting that would have only encouraged him to push harder for everything else. Still, a dry car, followed by a dry restaurant and an even drier white wine sounded good right now.
Then her gaze fell upon the shop. It had always been there, right behind the bus stop and she’d always been curious about it. She’d just never gone in. It wasn’t really the sort of place a respectable married woman went. Or a respectable single woman for that matter. Though maybe it was perfectly fine for divorcees, who were never particularly respectable in society’s eyes anyway, even when it had been their husbands who had done all the disrespecting in the relationship and who were now shacked up with fitness instructors nearly half their age in Runcorn. Put like that, she decided, and she should definitely go in just to show society who was boss. She could do with a good laugh anyway.
The shop was, on one hand, particularly coy about what was sold there, with its windows painted-over and, on the other, particularly direct about its purpose. A couple of white silhouettes on the black background hinted vaguely at couples that, while not currently sexy, were mere moments away from being so. The name above the door simply said Sex Shop.
She took a quick look around her, being happy to give society as a whole the middle finger as long as it didn’t include anyone she actually knew, and then darted inside. No patrons under the age of 18 the sign said, which only really confirmed to Rhonda that she should have come in half a lifetime ago to see what all the fuss was about.
Surprisingly the shop was not actually unpleasant. To be sure, there was some potentially unpleasant stuff on the wall or on the shelves, but in terms of décor, it was nice enough. The clientele, while distinctly male and somewhat furtive, didn’t actually seem like they belonged on some register. True, some of them were wearing mackintoshes, but these were more wet than dirty and entirely sensible given the weather. She spent a moment by the shop door getting her bearings — magazines and DVDs on that wall, lingerie and sexy clothing in the middle and sex toys at the back. She resolved then and there that she was walking out with a vibrator, she’d been meaning to get one ever since the separation, but there was no rush. It was mostly a matter of killing time.
The DVDs were a shock. She’d been under the impression that hard-core pornography wasn’t allowed in the UK. The girl on the front cover of the first one she picked up managed to tell her she was wrong even with her mouth full. Rhonda flipped the case over. The girl was equally busy on the back as well, entertaining three male performers at the same time. There had been a time in Rhonda’s life when this would have looked like fun, now it just looked like the girl was creating unnecessary work for herself. She idly flicked through some of the rest of them. The girls’ hair and breast-sizes changed; their vacant smiles didn’t. She wandered over to the magazines.
As she did so, one of the gentlemen customers quickly put back a magazine he’d been examining and started to look intently at something else or maybe even anything else. This strategy would have worked in an ordinary newsagents, where he could have pretended he’d been looking at Top Gear magazine all along, but here no one section of the shelf was particularly more respectable than any other and so the new focus of his attention was barely legal.
With an “Excuse me,” Rhonda reached past him and pulled the replaced magazine out for a gander. She was feeling playful, but stopped dead when she saw the title, Big Black Mistresses Monthly. No wonder he’d been in such a rush to get rid of it – the lady on the front cover even looked quite a lot like her, although, with a cane in her hand and a stilettoed boot resting on the back of a cowering white sub, it looked like the model was having a much better day than Rhonda was. She was struck with a sudden urge to buy it, just in case it contained the secret of this happiness somewhere inside the rest of its contents, although she balked slightly when she saw the price sticker. She looked back at the customer, sizing him up, although he refused to make eye-contact — late forties, glasses, white and somewhat weedy. Not exactly her type, but as she got older she was increasingly worried that she wasn’t her type’s type any more, and the idea of her potentially being an object of someone’s lust gave her a little thrill.
Taking the magazine with her, she moved over to the clothes. There was a tacky selection of cheap boxed costumes on a shelf on the wall — sexy nurse, sexy school-teacher, sexy devil that promised that one size fits all — something Rhonda seriously doubted. Next to that though was a selection of more expensive and heavier duty gear — leather and latex bodysuits. She pulled out the largest sized item they had and, facing her towards the customer, held it up to her body as though he were her husband and she was choosing a nice floral dress in River Island. He went cross-eyed trying to look and not look at the same time.
She’d been right. This was a laugh.
She put the suit back — it was clearly an item for a specific occasion that she didn’t currently have marked in her calendar. She made a mental note to come back for it if the opportunity ever presented itself and then quickly made another mental note to find out how one made these opportunities. She checked her phone. It was time to grab a vibrator and get out of here before she missed another bus, but then on the way to the sex toy shelf she passed a hanging collection of bondage items — whips, floggers and paddles. This was a whole new world for her and, despite the pressure of time, she stopped to investigate. She pulled out one of the smaller paddles and tried it softly against her hand. It stung very slightly. She tried again a bit harder. “Fuck.” For a moment she drew the attention of all the shop’s patrons and even the lady behind the counter looked up from her Grazia magazine for a fraction of a second.
Rhonda picked the item up from the floor and put it back. Undeterred, she saw a longer whip hanging in pride of place above everything else. It was about a meter long and had an imitation snake-skin texture and a little diamond shaped tail on the end. If the dress needed an occasion, this very clearly needed practice. She noticed that the gentleman from earlier was still surreptitiously lookeing over at her. Yes, she’d definitely gotten an admirer. She had no idea how to use the whip but she made an imitation cracking noise and motion and then hummed the first few bars of the Indiana Jones theme. She made another snap decision. This would be great for getting rid of her frustration. Even if she had no illicit activities currently in mind, she could still put empty coke cans on her bird bath and practice smacking them off. That might actually be an exercise programme she could keep up for once. Whip and magazine in hand she headed for the last of her purchases.
The sex toys were quite the collection. It couldn’t quite be said that they came in every size and shape, because very clearly the phallus had played a central role in most of their designs, but there were still a crazy number of variations. Of course there was the more neutral pink egg-shaped model, for the more discreet modern lady, but Rhonda ignored this and pulled out what was, in her experience, a slightly more than life-sized model. Although it was contained in a cardboard box with a plastic window, she tested it for weight and feel in her hands as well as she could. It would do nicely she decided.
As she went over to the counter, the woman behind stubbed out the butt of her cigarette. Even before she handed over the items, she was informed, “Three free magazines with purchases over a hundred pounds. I can count that one as the first, why don’t you go and get another two?”
Rhonda didn’t really want another two magazines, but had been brought up knowing the value of free and, having already picked out one, couldn’t really pretend she wasn’t interested. She went back to the rack to have a look. No sooner had she settled there than her admirer, moving at practically a run, grabbed something from the sex toy rack and headed to the counter. Rhonda didn’t see what it was, but the saleslady, new cigarette already in hand, asked, “You want lube with that? I would.”
By the time Rhonda had picked out two similar bondage themed magazines and headed back to the counter, the admirer had paid and fled. The sales assistant wrapped the magazines in a brown envelope and put the rest of the items in a black bag which still screamed sex shop due to its total lack of branding or transparency.
Rhonda went outside, saw her bus was coming in three minutes, and sat down right next to her new friend, who she knew with absolute certainty was going to be waiting for exactly the same bus.
2. The Bus
The bus went from the centre of town to the western suburbs, past the university on its way. For this leg of the journey it didn’t need to be a double-decker, but on its return it would be loaded with students out on the Friday night piss. With the work rush now well and truly over, only the two of them were getting on. As the doors to the bus opened, he gave way to her with a gentlemanly gesture, but a moment later she was struggling to find her purse in her bag and waved him back in front of her. By the time she’d found her change, her admirer was disappearing up the stairs. Rhonda’s normal spot would be bottom-floor towards the back. Today she headed straight up as well.
As she climbed, the bus set off and immediately started its own ascent of the hill on the way out of town. She held tight to rail to keep her balance. The customer was sitting right behind the stairwell and had placed one shopping bag next to him on the seat and one on the floor, partially but not completely tucked in behind the seat. She could see his recent purchases poking out of the top of the bag. As she passed, she kicked the bag with her foot in such a way as to get it to tumble. The top three items competed in a race to see which could travel furthest. The winner was a bottle of milk which hit the back wall, the brown-paper wrapped magazine came in second and the sex toy managed a meagre handful of centimetres.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Let me help you with that.”
Despite his protests she immediately leant down and picked up the toy. It was a set of three butt plugs. She’d briefly perused that section not five minutes earlier. They’d sold both hetero and homosexual versions of the product, those these seemed identical except who was posing on the box. This was the heterosexual one. She deposited it back in the bag with a helpful smile.
She took a couple of steps forward and bent down to get the magazine. A naughty thought occurred to her. She surreptitiously slid her own set of bound magazines out of her bag and switched over the two bundles. She then returned and handed it straight to him. He eyed it for a second, clearly able to see that it was three times thicker than it had been a moment ago.
Finally, she went and got the milk. By now the bus had reached the apex of the hill and the bottle started to roll back slightly as she approached it. She picked it up from the floor. She turned, checked the man was looking at her before making her next move. She twisted the plastic top off and pulled off the plastic covering.
“Oh dear,” she said, completely straight. “It seems like this has split. It’s probably better I drink this now so as not to waste it.”
“Err, no that’s fine,” the man said uncertainly. She took a deep chug, letting just a drop of the milk trickle down her chin as she did so.
Rhonda had, for most of her life, been more often the one bullied than the one doing the bullying. That came with being larger. But this felt great. She’d taken something of his, he’d watched her, and then she’d been able to make him deny the reality of what was happening. She clearly had him in the palm of her hand. He was either too nervous or too turned-on to argue with her. When she’d kicked the bag it had been an accident — an accident brought on by her focusing on the contents of the bag as she’d passed, but an accident nonetheless. Now she was keen to see if there was a limit she could push him to.
She took a seat one row back and on the opposite side. She stretched out her legs into the aisle so that her high-heels were practically level with him. She could see him glancing down at them every few seconds. The third time he looked over, she gently slipped out of the heels and rubbed one foot over the other, as if massaging it.
The bus made a stop and picked up a couple of passengers. After it started moving and it became clear that neither of them was coming up, Rhonda started to think about her next move. She pulled her vibrator out of the bag. She picked at the sellotape sealing the top of the box and then slid the toy out. The guy hadn’t looked round yet. She reached into her bag and pulled out the dictaphone she used for meetings. She undid the back and pulled out the two batteries. She fitted them into the vibrator and twisted the base to turn it on.
The buzzing sound finally got his attention. He nearly jumped out of his seat. As he turned around, she turned around, gave him a satisfied look as if to say well, that works fine, kissed it neatly on the tip and put it neatly back in her bag. He turned away again, his attention suddenly gripped by the row of shops they were passing on his side of the bus.
“Oh, drat,” she said, demanding his attention again. Once she had it, she once again twisted the top of the milk bottom and very carefully began to pour a small but significant amount of the contents over the top of her tights. She stood up and casually moving down one row began to take them off. This required her to lean forward. She was wearing her usual office get-up so it was less revealing than she would have liked, but her breasts practically came into contact with his face anyway. The seat squeaked as he pushed his body as far back into it as he could. She could see he was also sporting an erection pointing through his trousers. That was all to the good.
“Be out of your way in a second.”
Now she wiggled the tights down fully and slipped out of them. At least she’d chosen a reasonably short skirt this morning. She handed the soaked tights to the shell-shocked man. “Sorry, could you just hold onto those for a second?”
Now she slid her knickers down her legs the same way. She turned away in mock modesty, but all this meant was that the man got a clear view of her voluptuous bare backside. She sat back down, this time directly behind him. Although she put her pants away in her bag, she made no move to reclaim her tights. For a moment the man looked as if he was about to say something and then decided against it, rolling the tights up and putting them in his pocket.
The bus was now rounding the corner and passing the big supermarket. She had time for maybe one last play. She leant forward, wrinkled her nose and asked, “Sorry, do you have a hankie?” The man reached into his breast pocket and handed her a neatly folded piece of cloth. She took it with a “thank you.” For a moment she put her hand up as it about to blow her nose and then reached down between her legs, rubbing it up and down soaking up all her pussy juice into it. She neatly folded it and handed it back to the man.
It had been fun, but that was now officially it. She rang the bell for her stop, and, leaving the half-drunk bottle of milk on the seat, got back into her heels, gathered up her belongings and made her way down the stairs. It was only as she was thanking to the driver that she realized her victim of the evening had also made his way down holding the shopping bags in front of him as he went. He was doing a good job of hiding his erection from those who didn’t know about it.
As she got off the bus and headed back towards her street, the man followed in the same direction. Rhonda was momentarily shaken. Had she taken things too far? Was he now following her? There was still traffic and people on this busy street, but once they got onto the backstreets there’d be sections between houses that an assailant could take advantage of. She stopped for a moment, pretending to look at some house details in the window of an estate agent. The man passed without stopping. A minute later, she resumed walking, keeping the man at a fair distance ahead.
He turned into Trawler Street. That was her way home. She could have kept going, gone up Reed Lane and doubled back instead. That would have been safer. She didn’t. She made the same turn, but maintained her distance. She kept watching to see if he’d look behind and see her. He didn’t.
About five hundred meters up the street the man opened a gate into a terraced house and walked up the narrow garden. At the door he put his shopping bags down and started to pat his pockets for his keys. Rhonda unconsciously slowed as she passed the low garden wall. As she did so, the man finally looked back. He found his keys and went inside, leaving one shopping bag at by the step and leaving both porch and main door open. As he passed into the porch he looked back again and, for just a moment too long, their eyes met again.
As she reached the boundary between his house and the neighbours, Rhonda stopped walking completely. She stood there for thirty seconds and then confidently and purposely went inside the house.
3. The House
The house was small. A cramped corridor ran parallel to a cramped staircase. There was an old wooden umbrella stand near the door and a jacket hanging over the bottom of the banister. A couple of sliding doors separated the corridor from first a dining room and then a living room and at the end was the kitchen. Rhonda caught up to him loading the first bag of shopping into the fridge.
“Don’t turn around,” she said matter-of-factly.
He didn’t. He just nodded. She reached into her bag for the whip. She wrapped the middle round his neck with just enough tension to keep it in place.
“You know what I want?” she asked, her tone completely neutral.
He shook his head.
“Good, but whatever it turns out to be, you’re going to give it to me, aren’t you?”
He nodded again, this time more vigorously.
“I must say, I’m disappointed. I thought I felt a connection in the shop. Was I wrong?”
“N…No,” he replied.
“And yet, there was me on the bus working so hard to get your attention. Me! Your dream woman. You just walked away without even asking for my number. Really, expecting the lady to make the first move, and then the second, and then the third. I must say I’m a little hurt.”
“I’m…sorry.”
“No, not yet, you’re not. Not fully. But we’re going to work on that. Still, I guess I learned that it’s a mistake expecting you to act like a man. Valuable lesson for me that. They’re good, sex shops, aren’t they? You get such wonderful little insights into people’s desires, don’t you? Why a couple could be married years before the husband is brave enough to ask for his wife to sodomize him, but five minutes in a sex shop and you and I are way ahead of the curve, aren’t we? Really helps to establish the dynamics of the relationship early on.”
The man remained silent and stationary.
“Now, I’m wondering what you learnt about me during our little shopping spree. You were certainly paying close attention.”
The man hesitated. “You like whipping people?”
“Never tried it. What else?”
“You want to have a slave?”
“Not particularly. That sounds like a lot of commitment and emotional effort. Oh dear, I can tell this evening is going to be full of disappointments for me. Well, if you work anything out, please do let me know. Now, where shall we begin? Right, rules — we’d better have some, I suppose. I’m going to work on making all your sick and twisted fantasies come true, but if any point you decide that your fantasies were a bit too sick or a bit too twisted, feel free to click your heels together three times and say ‘There’s no place like home.’ Now, my second rule, and I want you to listen very carefully, is that I touch you, you never touch me. For any reason. Failure to follow this simple rule will be an instant Game Over. Clear?”
She waited for a second for her new sub to nod in agreement. “My third and final rule is that this is a one-time event, so there’s no need to get on a first name basis, or even a surname basis for that matter. You can call me mistress and I can call you…well, whatever the hell I like, to be absolutely frank. Okay, so do you have any rules for me?”
The sub shook his head.
“Nothing. Well, I have put you on the spot a bit, I admit. Still, rules for thee and not for me sounds about right. Okay, now let me see, where are we going to do this? Not the bedroom certainly. Too relationshippy. Don’t want you getting attached. No, here will do. Kitchen always feel like the most subservient room in the house, don’t they? Okay, now drop your trousers. No need to turn around. I’m really not interested in anything actual inside them, it just puts you at a further disadvantage.”
The sub undid his belt and let his trousers fall. He was about to kick them off completely when his mistress said, “No, I said drop, not remove. Leave them round your ankles. Okay, so now I’d like you to stay there. I just need to make a few preparations. Just like that. Don’t move.”
Rhonda went back into the hall and brought the shopping in from outside. As she shut the door, she glanced up and down the street in case anyone who cared had noted her presence. She wondered what kind of relationship this guy had with his neighbours. If she was seen, would tongues wag at all? She started to rummage through it as she headed back inside the house. It was a fairly standard daily shop, but there were some things she could press into service.
Leaving the bag on the kitchen worktop she picked up the kettle, filled it with fresh water and left it boiling. Then she ordered her sub out of the way and started to check the fridge. “Tut, tut, no milk, really!” she exclaimed. Despite this the fridge did offer certain possibilities, not least of all a nicely chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. She found a corkscrew in the draw, opened the bottle up and poured herself a glass. Returning to the fridge, she pulled out a large tub of apricot yoghurt. She put it on the kitchen’s linoleum.
“Okay, down on your knees and open it up.”
It took him a couple of seconds to wrestle with the tinfoil top before it came off completely. She kicked off her shoes, and gently dipped a toe into the yoghurt. She offered it to her new slave. As he reached up to take her foot in her hand, she reminded him, “Careful, mouth only. No touching without permission.” He took the toe in his mouth. She removed it and dipped her foot in again, this time covering her three largest toes. The faint yellow of the yoghurt contrasted not only with her skin but also her red nail varnish. He lapped at them hungrily.
“Okay, now kneel before me, close your eyes and open your mouth,” she commanded.
She took a banana from his shopping bag and peeled it. “Now, no biting, but close your mouth.”
He sealed his lips around it, with his face betraying a moment of perhaps relieved recognition as he tasted it. She pushed it into and then out of his mouth several times before finally pushing the whole thing in hard. He started to choke a little as he tried to swallow it all.
“Good boy,” she said. “You’ve done that before.”
His throat was still too full of the fruit to protest.
Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She pointed to the garden through the window. “Be a dear and get me those clothes pegs from the line would you.”
He got to his feet and started to pull his trousers and pants back up.
“No, I didn’t say you could put them back on. Just get the pegs.”
For a moment, Rhonda wondered if she’d gone too far. She could see his eyes darting around at the kitchen door trying to work out if he could risk it or not. The clothesline was towards the back of the garden. While a neighbour couldn’t see directly over the fence when standing next to it, it was less clear what they could and could not see from their kitchen windows. And if anyone was in their bedroom they would definitely be able to see a lot. But the order had been issued, she could hardly rescind it now. Still, if he started saying ‘no’ to things, if he even started to say ‘maybe’, that would be it and her spell would be broken. “I’m waiting,” she said, hands on her hips and yoghurty toes tapping the floor.
He ran out as quickly as his betrousered ankles would allow, grabbed a handful of pegs and ran back, practically slamming the door on his return. Rhonda briefly considered berating him for having got so few, but she’d decided to let it slide. He’d already been a very good boy. Having gotten the pegs she now had to plan what to do with them without trying to appear like she was stuck for ideas. She didn’t want to go near his groin area and she also liked the fact that he still had his shirt on. Somehow a man with just his trousers down was more vulnerable than a man who was fully naked. She settled on earlobes and one on each side of his mouth. He winced as each one went on.
The kettle had now finished boiling. She checked under the sink and pulled out a round plastic basin. She filled it partially with the hot water and partially with water from the tap, testing the temperature as she went. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat herself down, leaning back. With her tights and panties off, her pussy would be clearly visible from her sub’s position. Regardless, he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor. She reached over the counter and pulled out a new bar of soap from the bag.
“Wash my feet,” she commanded.
He didn’t move, and it took her a moment to remember her previous command. “You have my permission to touch my feet. Only my feet, mind. And keep your eyes on them.”
He gently lifted each leg up and put them in the bowl. He also put the soap in and started to lather it. After a few seconds he took her left foot out and started gently to rub the bar over it. Rhonda squirmed with pleasure. It was weird that in their nine years of marriage, she’d never asked Gavin to do this.
She reached over to her bag and pulled out the new vibrator out of its box. She turned it on and, gently rolling up her skirt for access, applied it to the top of her pussy.
“Eyes down,” she commanded as her sub found his attention wandering. He redoubled his efforts on her feet, washing carefully between each toe. Rhonda lay back in the chair and started to enjoy the sensations. The fun and games on the bus had put her in a better mood, but now the tension deeper in her bones started to fade.
Still, before she was too comfortable there was something she needed to do. “Wait,” she ordered. The sub stopped the massage and risked a glance upwards.
“Turn around. On your hands and knees.” He naturally obeyed. She was presented with his rear. She reached into the shopping bag again and took out a new tea towel, ripping the label off at the little plastic ring. She dipped the towel into the water then wrung most of the water from it. She then applied the towel between her sub’s crack moving it up and down a couple of times until she was satisfied. Now she got out the lube from the black bag. It was hard to get the damn thing out of the wrapping and she spent several seconds in a manner most unbecoming any dominatrix, powerless against consumer goods packaging.
Eventually, with the top now off, she managed to squeeze a few drops of lube onto her willing sub’s back. Unfortunately, it did not roll down quite as much as she had hoped — it remained a motionless viscous blob. Rhonda didn’t fancy making skin to skin contact there, not just yet, so she looked into the bag again for inspiration. She pulled out a pair of yellow washing-up gloves. They would be useful later. Then she pulled out a cucumber, still wrapped, out of the bag, an appropriate applicator.
As she lubed it up, it occurred to her that the edge of the butt-plug itself would had served just as well and that reminded her. Balancing the cucumber against her thigh, lubed-side up, she fetched the sex toy from the bag. She examined the packaging — if the bottle of lube had been hard this was clearly military grade plastic. She’d been caught out once already, so she did the smart thing. She slid it down the lino to her sub.
“Open,” she commanded. The subs head turned to a pair of scissors standing in the washing up bowl. “With your teeth,” she added. He ripped into it like a dog with a chew toy. That would keep him busy while she completed the necessary preparations.
She took the cucumber and began to probe his nether regions, getting the whole area nice and slippery. Every few seconds she’d stop and bring the cucumber back for another squeeze of the lubricant. After a couple of passes around the outer area, she started to focus on his hole, both applying the lube and testing for its tightness. As she pushed gently, it started to yield. She held back. It wasn’t time yet.
“How’s that package coming along?” she barked. Clearly not very well. He’d managed to make some tooth marks and small rips in the outer shell and there were several sections that had been turned white with twisting damage, but the plug was still firmly shielded.
She tutted, stood up, pulled it out of his mouth and grabbed the same pair of scissors he’d just been eying. She applied them to the section that looked as though it had been weakened the most. She mentally sighed with relief as she was able to cut across it in one go, the vacuum sealing popping and the toy being set free.
With no further hesitation, she returned to her chair, got the toy ready and started to insert it. Her earlier preparation had clearly not been in vain because it went in almost at once, his hungry ass swallowing the whole thing up to the base. She wondered to herself if this was his first butt-plug or if it was a replacement for one that had been worn out through overuse. It was looking like the second option was the more likely.
It was also very clear even with him in the doggy position, that he was fully hard. She’d have to do something about that. She unwrapped the washing-up cloves and put them on each hand. Then she gave his cock a slap.
“What’s the fuck is this?” she asked, like Gordon Ramsey finding a worm in an otherwise perfectly presented aubergine timbale. Her sub was wordless. Was the swearing too much? A good domme didn’t swear she decided. What was the expression? Speak softly and carry a big whip. She’d have to dial it back a bit..
“How can you give a proper foot massage in that state?” She gave his dick a long squeeze then removed her hand. “You’ll have to sort yourself out.”
He started to masturbate himself furiously.
“With dignity please. Remember, your mistress is present.”
His motions slowed to a more allegretto tempo.
“That’s better.” She leaned back on her chair and reached out with a foot. She touched the base of the butt-plug with her big toe, just pushing it in slightly further and then relaxing the pressure. Her sub squealed with the added sensation. A second later and her heel was on it, pushing down much harder.
She adopted the faux-posh accent of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. “I say, I hope you are not going to be too long. It really is the most crushing bore.”
The sub was now caught between trying to finish faster and not breaking the legal speed limit. He seemed to put slightly more pressure on, but otherwise there was little he could do. Rhonda gave him a little more anal encouragement with her foot.
“I suppose you need some visual help. Certainly I don’t want you looking at me while engaging in such behaviour. Here, I guess you need these.”
She sent the magazines she’d bought earlier his way, tossing them as a bound set over his head. He opened them up and let the first one fall open. Rhonda stood and craned over his neck to see the image. It was one of the more vanilla ones she’d picked up in a rush at the counter.
“I say, they look like they’re having fun. Imagine actually fucking a woman. And then it must have been a while for you, I’d guess. Do you, though? I wonder. I mean actually imagine being the man. Or do you imagine being the girl and getting proper cock inside you? No, don’t answer. I don’t actually want to know what’s going on in either of your little heads.”
The sub’s breath and strokes now became more intense. “Finally,” Rhonda said with some impatience. “I’ll take it from here.”
She pulled the apricot yoghurt directly under him. With her yellow-gloved hand she took his penis and continued to stroke it in the same manner as he had been doing. As he finally erupted, she pointed his dick at the tub. The first biggest spurt hit the side, but the others were on target. She picked up the plastic spoon that had been tucked in the lid and, while strenuously avoiding getting any on her hand, ladled as much of the missed spunk as possible back into the container.
She proudly presented him with both tub and spoon, a layer of cum now sitting on the surface of the yoghurt.
“Eat up,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He took it off her. There was doubt in his eyes, but not disobedience. She returned to her chair. A few mouthfuls later, she announced “Okay, that’s better. I’m glad we got it out of the way. You may return to washing my feet.”
That interlude had broken her flow somewhat, but she supposed it was only fair that he got something out of this encounter — something more than just serving her at least. She probably should have found a way to work it into the session earlier in a more natural way. No, being a domme clearly required a significant amount of planning and creativity, she realized. It could just be all commands and foot-rubs. Still, the focus could now be back on her for a while. Speaking of which, she turned her vibrator back on and applied it again.
The next few minutes were absolute heaven. After a week of having to hustle for a living, she could finally kick back and have some of her own time – no boss shouting at her about unmeetable deadlines, no children demanding lunch, dinner, or snacks and definitely no deadbeat husband demanding a level of sexual performance he himself could come close to meeting. Just a bottle of wine, a sex toy and a total stranger rubbing her feet. She should make a habit of this.
Still, as she came close, she began to wonder how a dominatrix was supposed to orgasm. Being too loud and too euphoric might erode some of her mystique. Even if her sub was not the one bringing her to climax, she should remain in control. Effing and blinding during the climax, which was frequently her style on the occasions when her ex-husband had been able to get her there, seemed undignified. Was it possible to remain regal during such moments?
Whether or not there was consensus on such matter in the worldwide BDSM community or not, most dominatrices would probably agree that it is better, where possible, not to kick your sub in the face during orgasm, which unfortunately is exactly what Rhonda did. The kick was hard enough, in fact, that from the squatting position he’d been in, her sub fell straight back onto his arse, pushing his butt-plug further up inside. He yelped and immediately sprang back to his feet, upsetting the bowl of soapy water as he did so, spilling it all over Rhonda’s legs even before her second wave ended.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she said and scrambled to her feet. A minute later she was applying ice to his forehead. He was protesting that it was okay, but there were already the signs of a large bruise forming above his right eye.
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They hadn’t really said anything much, but the spell was already broken. She was Rhonda again — medical equipment specialist and divorced mother of two and not some goddess deserving of worship. Still, it had been fun while it lasted.
“I should go,” she said.
She half hoped he would ask if he could see her again. She wouldn’t have answered him, but it would have made her happy. As she reached the door, he handed her the bags — the one for work and the one with her purchases from the sex shop.
“Wait,” he said and then pulled out an umbrella from the cupboard under the stairs. It was a nice gesture, and maybe a little clever. Though if he thought that lending it to her guaranteed a second meeting, well, he’d have to hope the summer was dry.
She gave him a little peck on the cheek as she left. He’d earned that much. At the end of his front garden she paused. Right was home, but she felt pizza calling, or at least her own kitchen shooing her away, so she turned left instead and headed back to the main road.
As she passed the bike shop, she stopped to look for a moment. The lights were still on. Don, the owner and a regular at her church was working on adding stabilizers to a kid’s bike in the middle of the shop floor. He looked up and waved. She tried the door and found it wasn’t locked.
“Hey, Don, you’re not still open, are you?”
“Not supposed to be, but I’ve been catching up on repairs and never got round to locking up. You after repairs or are you looking for a brand new bike?”
Rhonda came further into the shop and started to look at the more sensible adult choices. “I was thinking I might start to cycle to work. Haven’t ridden a bike since secondary school.”
“On an exercise kick?”
Rhonda spun the tyres of a lady’s upright that was hanging down vertically. “Not really. I mean, kinda. To be honest, I just wanted to avoid the bus for a while.”
“What, too many weirdos?”
Rhonda laughed. “Yeah, something like that. They’re enough to drive you crazy.”