Eve St. Albert
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SUSAN, Redux - Ch. 2
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 08:26:45 +0000 UTC“Welcome back,” the pretty little Goth. beamed at her, lips luscious and red as an evil queen’s apple, just the glint of a silver stud in her mouth. Once again, Susan felt the wild impulse to stick her tongue down the woman’s throat.
“Did you see something you liked, the other day?” she asked politely. “Is there something specific you’d like me to show you.”
Susan had no idea. She was standing in the middle of an adult novelty store, and she had no idea what she wanted or needed.
Her impulse was just to say: Here’s my credit card, it’s empty. Just give me everything in your kink session. Fill it up, package it, ship it over. I’ll figure it out.
But that wasn’t going to work.
Okay, plan B.
Why not just be honest with someone?
“I’m looking for... for ideas,” she said. “I have a date tonight, and...”
She was watching Susan expectantly. Why couldn’t she just read Susan’s fucking mind.
“We’ve been doing some things, just...”
“Things,” the little Goth. nodded. She looked over at the fetish section of the store. Susan nodded gratefully.
“Yes, exactly,” Susan told her.
The Goth. beamed, Susan watched for a glimpse of the tongue stud, but didn’t see it. Instead, she took Susan’s arm in hers.
“No problem,” she smiled. “I know what you mean. Let’s go see.”
Susan felt a palpable wave of relief wash over her, a fleeting sense that it was all under control, that it would all work out.
“I’m Susan,” she said.
“Elaine du Lac,” the girl said. “As in Mort d’Arthur.”
“Nice,” Susan said. There was a lot of leather, and shiny plasticky material. Susan ran her hands along what seemed to be a glistening black pantsuit for a famine victim.
“PVC,” Elaine said. “It would look great on you.”
“It’s nice,” Susan said. “He likes boots.”
“We have an entire fetish footwear section,” Elaine told her.
“Oh nice.” Did she want to do that again? What did she want to do? “Non toxic.”
The girl, Elaine nodded and smiled. There was that tongue stud again. “Absolutely. Everything is lickable.”
All right, that did it. Susan was wet again.
She hesitated. There was too much here, the choices were overwhelming. She need some kind of reference.
“Is there,” Susan began, choosing her words carefully, “is there an instruction manual for S&M? Maybe a guidebook? Step by step? Something like that?”
Elaine nodded and walked her to a corner.
“We have a very good selection of literature,” Elaine told her. She picked up a large paperback, and placed it in Susan’s hands. “This is an excellent Shibari guide.”
“Shibari?”
Susan flipped through the pages which contained elaborate drawings of people tied up in increasingly ludicrous positions with what appeared to be miles of rope.
“Japanese rope binding,” Elaine explained. “An ancient erotic art. This is one of the best manuals. It has an entire section on knots at the back. It’s definitive.”
Susan flipped to the back, it was like sailors manual. She flipped forward, there was a large drawing of someone suspended in a contorted position, rope would around every other inch. It would take forever to tie someone up like that. Who could possibly get into this?
“I have my own copy,” Elaine confided.
Susan glanced at the petite woman, covered head to toe in clothes. What was under there? Tattoos? Of course. But what else? Piercings? If she was naked, would she have rope marks all over. Where? She imagined porcelain white skin, pink nipples, cris-crossed with rope marks Susan was wet all over again.
She shook her head to dispel the image, and handed the book back.
“It’s a little elaborate,” Susan said carefully as Elaine replaced the book. “Maybe something more basic.”
“We do have a variety of restraints for every experience level. Metal cuffs. Leather. Velcro.”
“Velcro?” Susan perked up. That sounded simple, appealing.
“Oh,” Elaine replied, “Velcro is very popular. Some of our best sellers. Machine washable, you know. I can show you.”
“Very nice,” Susan said. She had mentioned tying him up. But knots and things seemed complicated and fraught. Velcro seemed like it might be the way to go. “I think I’d like to see those.”
“Of course,” Elaine said, offering her arm. Gratefully, Susan slid hers in, entwining, enjoying the Victorian sensuality of it, as they walked together, and tried not to think of her naked. Embarrassed by the thought, she looked away, at a row of what seemed to be stubby strap on harnesses.
“What are those?”
“Harnesses, of course,” Elaine said. “Vacu-Lock.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a brand, and a technology. The trick with strap ons, is holding them in place. That peg you see on the plate, in front...”
Elaine disengaged to pull a unit down, holding one between them. “It’s a vacuum lock seal, so that it remains tight in place. You can switch out the dildos, different sizes, colors, shapes. Even vibrators. Double penetrators. It’s very versatile.”
Sally took it in her hands.
“Is this something your... friend would like?”
“It’s a him.”
Elaine licked her lips. “It works for boys and girls.”
“Nice,” Susan said. Handing it back. “... Maybe? Later?”
“The trick is getting the harness right. If you change your mind, I’ll help you get it fitted properly.”
Elaine replaced it on the shelf. Was the girl flirting with her, Susan wondered.
“I would really like that, thank you.”
They passed a glass cabinet, full of oddly shaped metal objects.
“What are those?”
“Specialty items. Sounds, chastity devices, Tense...”
Susan shrugged, that all seemed very oblique. There was so much else to look at, things that actually made sense.
“Cool. Let’s look at the restraints,” Susan said. “I’m very curious about this velcro. And maybe after, I’d love to see your boots.”
Arm in arm they walked the store. Susan felt safe, she patted Elaine’s arm in hers.
It was all going to work out.
&&&
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Susan called. Could he hear? She didn’t want to shout. That would be undignified. She picked up her phone and texted. “Come in. The door is unlocked. Lock it behind you when you enter.”
Then she put it to the side and waited.
An instant later, she heard the door open. Her heart skipped a beat. There was the clicking of the door locking, exciting, a little scary. There was a finality to the sound of the lock engaging, trapping her in. Ridiculous, she told herself, the lock was inside, if she needed to escape and made it to the door it wouldn’t slow her for an instant. Still, her pulse was racing as she listened to the footsteps down the hall towards her living room.
Nervously, she took a breath and tried a smile.
Mark turned the corner and froze with shock, staring at her, his eyes wide, mouth dropping.
Susan was in her tall red wingback chair, absolutely naked except for shining black boots extending all the way up to her knee, laced so tightly they clung to her legs like a second skin, silver stilettos gleaming, her legs were discreetly crossed, one foot swinging lightly in the air. A glass of red wine was held, cupped casually by the base.
Had he noticed her boots. They were PVC, a shining latex plastic that literally shimmered, with stiletto spike heels so tall she could barely walk in them. They made her legs look fantastic. They’d certainly cost enough. She wanted to make sure he appreciated them.
She felt absolutely powerful. The wingback, covered in red velvet, was an outlier among her furnishings, a bit outsized, dwarfing her sofa. She’d always felt a little lost in it, like a little girl. But it was perfect for cuddling up in with a blanket to watch some streaming movie with a cup of hot cocoa.
But now, for the first time in her life, Susan felt like she filled the chair, that she inhabited it. It wasn’t a chair for her to be a little girl in. It felt like a throne, a sensual, carnal throne, that she occupied as a goddess.
She’d carefully arranged the sight line, moving furniture aside, so that when he walked in, he would have a clear view of her sitting here, with no obstructions, no furniture. She’d even fiddled with the lights, arranging lamps, changing out bulbs, trying for exactly the right effect.
It worked perfectly. Paul had stepped around the corner, and been struck dumb by her glorious, powerful nakedness.
“Hello,” Susan finally said, “I’m glad you could come... Although not just yet.”
The entendre went completely over his head, she could tell. Disappointing, she’d practiced that line. But she was still immensely satisfied, as he stared at her, she could see his pupils dilating, his face flush, his erection stiffening in his pants.
Mark was completely in her power, as if she’d put a spell on him.
“Hi,” Mark replied. His voice cracked slightly.
“Please,” Susan said, smiling. She dipped her wine glass, toward the couch facing her, just out of his direct line of sight. “Come in, sit down. I’ve poured you a glass of wine.”
“All right,” he agreed, crossing hastily over to the couch. There was something about the loose awkward way he moved, as if his body had come unstrung, untethered by
She watched him take a seat. He picked up the wine, stared at her, then stared away. His eyes darted, not sure where to look. He kept sneaking peaks at her, looking at her body, but not sure where to look and then looking away. His expression was so awkward, it was perfect.
“My eyes are up here,” Susan told him flatly.
Secretly, she wanted to laugh at the intense blush that spread over his features, the nervous way he startled, as if she’d caught him being naughty. With an effort of will, he met her eyes. She could tell he didn’t want to, he looked trapped, like the last thing he wanted to do was make eye contact, but at the same time, he didn’t want to look away, and although every fiber of him wanted it, he didn’t dare look at her.
Instead, she simply maintained her composure, staring back at him, like a cat staring at a juicy mouse. Her smile grew more intense.
I love this! She thought to herself, it was so satisfying.
“Thank you for dropping by,” Susan said. “I was looking forward to it.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Was he sweating? Was he actually sweating? This was too delicious!
“How was your week?” Susan asked, feigning casual innocence.
“My week?” Mark said, as if thrown by the topic. “My week. Yes. It was... it was okay.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said casually. “Anything interesting.”
“I ... uhm,” he tried to think. There was a glass of wine on a little coffee table beside the couch. Normally, it was in front, but she hadn’t wanted anything to spoil the view. She let him trail off.
“So...” he began again.
“You’re naked?”
“Very much,” she replied. “Yes.”
“Should I be looking at you?” he asked, finally.
“I am sitting here, absolutely naked,” Susan replied. “I’m insisting you look.”
She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, mainly to do something with her hand. She was covered in goose pimples. Her stomach was full of butterflies, surging around. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the last time, but she felt nowhere near as poised as she looked.
It was exciting.
Susan watched him, watching her. He stared, not looking at her eyes, just stared at her, blinking. She tracked the slow progress of his gaze, top to bottom. What drew him? Her breasts? Nipples? Her legs? Everything? It warmed her, the naked lust, the fixation and attention.
His whole world was narrowed down to her, her nudity. Nothing else.
“So... “ Susan offered critically, “this is the male gaze, I’ve been hearing so much about. Interesting. Not sure I’m impressed.”
She fixed a glance at him, his eyes darted up, half awkward and embarrassed.
“No!” she snapped. “Don’t look at my eyes. Look at me.”
His eyes dropped, staring at her.
“That’s right,” she said. “I want you to look at my naked body. Don’t look anywhere else. Just look at me.”
He nodded slightly, staring at her. He was blushing, brightly.
He’ll do anything I tell him. The thought was almost delirious. A thought occurred to her.
“Tell me what you see.”
“What?”
“What do you see? What hits you. Give me your first impressions...” she hesitated. “Give me your impressions. One word, and don’t make it a cliche.”
She watched him think for a moment, his brow furrowing.
“Raw,” he said finally. “Overpowering.”
Susan thought about it for a moment, and decided she liked it.
“Interesting,” she replied. “You can have some wine... don’t look away... Elaborate.”
Keeping his eyes on her, Mark reached for the glass of wine, finding it by feel. His eyes kept sliding all over her body. He didn’t seem to be able to stop at any one spot, no matter where they settled, they’d be drawn. What drew him most, she wondered. Breasts? Nipples? Legs?
“We section ourselves,” he said, there was something tentative, as if he was trying to work it out as he was speaking.
“What do you mean?”
“Section. Sections -We divide ourselves up visually. Faces, but shirts and blouses and jackets, pants and skirts, shoes and boots, different shapes, different covers. We divide our look into sections, styles and colors, textures. Visually, we’re assembled. You walk along you see a person wearing all the same color or shade, it’s striking. We’re used to experiencing each other, subdivided into all these little sections,” he said.
Susan’s brow furrowed and she sipped her wine.
“Interesting,” she said. And it really was. “I’m intrigued. Please go on.”
“I don’t know. I think we relate to each other in those sections. We treat people differently by how nice their shoes are, how expensive their handbags or wrist watches, the condition or quality of clothes. Sections allow us to slot people into cultures and subcultures.”
She nodded.
“I see,” she said. “So stark, unapologetic, nudity....”
“Is overwhelming,” he said. “It short circuits everything. You’ve just got raw total person.”
“Powerful,” she said.
“Very powerful,” he agreed.
It was interesting, and satisfying. He’d articulated something she’d intuitively stumbled towards preparing for the night, and she liked it. She felt in synch with him, as if their minds understood each other.
Still, as intuitively right it felt, she had to poke at the idea.
“You’ve seen naked women before,” she said. “I’m very sure of that. Strip clubs. Porn. You’ve had girlfriends. Hook ups. I don’t think that’s the same, is it. The effect isn’t the same as it is now. You don’t get power from nudity there, you just get your rocks off..”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But that’s different.”
“How?” she asked.
“Uhm...” he seemed uncertain. “I don’t know.”
“I think,” she said, speculatively, “because those other times, you’re in control. You’re the customer at the club. You’re the viewer. You’re with a girlfriend, or a hooker, or a hook up. There’s an order, a top and a bottom, someone in control, the man, and someone just following... the woman, actor and object.”
She paused.
“But you’re not in control now, are you? You’re not the actor.”
“No.”
“There’s a naked woman in front of you,” she said. “But this time, she’s the one with the power. That’s very different, isn’t it? I’m in control. I have it, and you don’t. I’m naked, but you’re the object.”
“Yes.”
Susan hesitated. Should she ask him if he liked not being in control? Better yet, tell him he liked not being in control? That he loved her being in control?
But then, that made it all about him, didn’t it? Talking about him liking it was begging for his approval. He loved it, there was no need to weaken herself, by acknowledging it.
She was in control, it was her pleasure that mattered. She wasn’t going to discuss it, or debate it, or ask him how he felt about it, or if he liked it. This was what it was.
“I want to see your cock now,” she said. “Stand up.”
Awkwardly Mark put down the wine glass and stood up, fumbling with his trousers.
“No!” Susan barked. Mark froze.
“The last time you did it,” she said, “it was like you were doing laundry for me. That was boring. That was so boring. You wouldn’t accept a stripper getting undressed like she was doing laundry. Why should I? Do it better this time, a little style, a little sexiness, take your time doing it, make it interesting.”
He stood, the expression of confusion on his face was almost comical. “I’m not sure what to do?”
That was disappointing, she thought. But Susan found she was unwilling to let it go.
“You’ve seen strippers right, women taking off their clothes,” she said. “Do that.”
He still hesitated.
“I don’t have those kinds of assets,” he mumbled.
For a second, she had the impulse to be cruel and biting, but she bit it back at the last minute. That was true, he didn’t have an ass, or boobs, or legs, his body was okay but unremarkable and men didn’t radiate sexy like women could. He probably wasn’t even wearing lingerie - they didn’t even make lingerie for men anyway.
He genuinely didn’t know what to do. It would be easy to humiliate him.
Which would be like kicking a puppy, really. That didn’t feel right. So, what to do, Susan wondered? Just let him off the hook and have him undress? But she’d already upped the ante.
She was in control, he’d given that up to her. She couldn’t blame him for not knowing, it was up to her to tell him.
“All right,” she said, “then I’ll help you. I want you to swivel your hips slowly, roll them, a quarter turn each time, until you’ve made a complete circle.”
That should keep him busy, Susan thought, while she figured out what to do next. Why the fuck had she opened her mouth in the first place? Why couldn’t he just know how to do things like an experienced male sex slave?
Awkwardly, Mark began rolling his hips in a slow quarter turn, she could see him blushing, his face drawn in tension, as if he was concentrating.
“Unbutton your shirt,” she ordered. “Start with the cuffs.”
He fumbled with them, awkwardly, doing two things at once was a challenge. He managed the uneasy quarter turn, and then began another. Undoing buttons, Susan decided, was just not sexy. And he clearly wasn’t having fun. Another quarter turn, his back was to her.
“Like that,” she said. “I want your back to me, I like looking at your ass.”
She didn’t, not especially, want to look at his ass. But him facing away from her was easier for them both. She couldn’t bear his awkward expression.
Not having to look at his face counted as being sexy. When had she turned into such a bitch, she wondered?
“I like that,” she said, “swing your shoulders a little, as you unbutton your shirt. Just put some movement into it.”
He obeyed, and it seemed he was looser. More comfortable.
“Good boy,” she said, she winced a little every time she did that. “When your shirt is unbuttoned, pull it out of your pants, slide it down your shoulders, one shoulder first, and then work it down slow.”
He did as she ordered bringing a kind of slow sensuality to it that pleased her. He did have a nice back, she decided. It was hard to go wrong with a back, she thought. The front was always geography and texture, nipples and navels and collarbones and muscle. A man’s back was simply, smoother, there was an elegance to it. If not erotic, then at least something like dignity.
The shirt slid down his back, down his arms, and dropped away. She clapped lightly, he was catching on. He reached in front, undoing his pants.
“Keep them tight,” she ordered. “Don’t just drop them, pull them tight against your ass, stretch the fabric across your butt, and slide them down, keeping tension. Bend forward as you lower them, bend down as far as you can.:
The pants stretched tight, pulled smoothly across his butt, slowly revealing his cheeks as she watched. It actually was surprisingly sexy, and watching set butterflies going in the pit of her stomach. As he bent forward lower and lower, his testicles swung into view between his thighs, darker than his regular skin tone and hairy. The cheeks of his ass flexed slowly apart.
“No boxers this time?” she asked. Was he wearing underwear? The last time he’d pulled it off with his pants, but this time she hadn’t spotted it.
“No,” he said, rising to stand straight, “I...”
“Good choice,” she said. “New rule: Never wear underwear when you come to see me. I like you better without it.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
She smiled. His trousers were down around his ankles, trapping him. There were shoes and socks, but above that, he was naked. He didn’t look bad from behind, not bad at all.
“Nice ass,” she said, conversationally.
“Thank you miss,” he said to the wall in front of them. He wasn’t turning around. He was waiting for instructions, she supposed.
“Are you nervous,” she asked. “Self conscious. Being naked for me.”
“Very, Miss!” he replied.
“Interesting,” she sipped her wine. “I’ve been naked all along, but I’m not even a little self conscious. That’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Are you hard?” She was genuinely curious.
If a tree falls in the forest, when there’s no one to hear it... Is a man still hard if he’s not looking at you? Did it matter? Men’s erections were something of a mystery. Were they hard all the time? Most of the time? Or just when needed? Mark had been rigid the entire time he’d been licking her boots. But did that prove anything?
“Yes, Miss.”
“Show me,” she ordered. “Turn around. Slowly...”
When he was in profile, his cock sticking straight out, she barked a command. “Stop.”
She sipped her wine again, making him wait. His erection was still standing straight, pointing slightly upwards. It bobbed a little, was he doing that? Or did it move on its own? She noted he was sucking in his gut, but didn’t fault him for it.
The surprise was his ass, flat and muscular, definitely male. But shaped and pleasing nevertheless.
“You know, that is a nice ass,” Susan’s voice was conversational. “I think I want to leave my teeth marks in one of those juicy cheeks. You don’t mind, do you?”
He didn’t reply immediately, but his butt cheeks clenched automatically, the sight thrilling her. It felt, now that she’d finally gone dominant, that the machineries of the male body were laid out before her, and that she could appreciate it in a way she’d never had before.
“No.” The word was hesitant. What did that mean? Was he into it? Not into it?
She really wanted to just seize his ass in her hands sometime during the night and just bite into it. She wanted to leave teeth marks, to lift her head up and look down and see her hunger written in his flesh.
“Is this what it’s like,” she wondered out loud, “when you watch strippers? You sit at the stage and wave dollar bills. Is it like this?”
He shook his head.
“It’s nothing like this?”
“Because it’s you this time, and not a stripper performing for you? Shoe’s on the other foot?”
He swallowed.
“No,” he said. “Strippers do their own thing on stage. This isn’t like that, this is you’re telling me exactly what to do, and I’m obeying.”
“Hum,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll accept that. Are you enjoying?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Very much, Miss.”
“All right,” she said, “Turn around and face me.”
He shuffled, his cock bobbed more as he moved, she noted. Was that a thin thread of pre-ejaculate beginning to ooze from it in a thin like? He was blushing, his hand swung inward, as if to wipe it, or perhaps in simple modesty.
“Don’t you dare cover it,” she said. She slowly uncrossed and then crossed her legs again. His cock twitched, she enjoyed the hunger in his eyes as they tracked the movement of her thighs.
“It’s interesting,” she said conversationally. “I’ve been sitting here naked all this time, and you’ve been staring at me. But, the part you’re most interested in, my pussy, you haven’t seen that at all. You know I’m naked, you know it’s there, you’re completely aware of it, I bet it’s all you can think about, you’re just waiting to glimpse it, wanting it, willing it, but you haven’t seen it.”
He swallowed, but didn’t reply.
She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs again, his eyes tracking her hips with insatiable hunger.
“So close...,” she said. “Almost, but never quite.”
A delicious pause, she could feel herself clenching, feel a little surge of wetness, as she contemplated her next words.
“Would you like to see it?” she asked. “Would you like to see my pussy? Would you like me to show it to you?”
His cock leaped visibly, she caught a flush of red in his chest, a blush across his face, tension in his posture.
“Yes, Miss,” he said carefully. “I would very much like that.”
She pretended to think about it.
“Beg,” she ordered.
“Please Miss,” he whispered. “Show me. Please, show me. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since last week, how it felt, how it tasted. I’ve been staring at you, and all I can think about is it, how much I want to see it, how much I need it.”
She looked up at the ceiling, thoughtfully.
“Acceptable,” she said finally, her thighs shifted, as if she was about to uncross her legs, but didn’t, settling back instead. “Supposing. Just supposing, I let you see my pussy, what will you do for me? What do I get?”
“Anything,” he said, his voice husked. “Anything you want, Miss. Just say it, and it’s yours.”
“You?” she teased. “What if I want you? What if I want to own you? Body and soul. My little toy? My property?”
“You already do, Miss,” he whispered. “From the moment you told me to kneel and lick your boots, you owned me. I was yours.”
She giggled, she couldn’t help it. She could tell, he was passionately sincere. Crazy horny, obviously, the way his cock jumped on its own. But what amused her, was the feeling that his memory of how it had begun was so very different from hers. For a moment, she saw herself the way he must see her, and the effect was giddying. She almost wanted to laugh with embarrassment and delight.
I wish I was her, she thought, the woman he saw.
And then... Maybe I am. Or I can be.
“You are such a good boy!” she teased. “So clever, so obedient. I think you do deserve a reward.”
She uncrossed her legs, keeping her knees together, sliding one hand down between her legs. She smiled at him.
“Ready?”
Without waiting for an answer, she slid her putt to the edge of the chair, her shoulders sinking down as her ass moved forward. Slowly, her knees parted, velvet thighs opening, parting wide like a dew covered flower opening to the morning sun. Her hand rested on her vagina, covering it.
Slowly she slid her hand back, fingers pressing down to part her lips as she exposed herself. Her hand slid all the way back resting on her public mound, pulling lightly on the skin to expose her clit.
Mark gasped involuntarily. His body seemed to shake.
She was dripping. She had never felt more powerful, more erotically charged.
“This is what you wanted to see,” she said. “Look. In fact, don’t stop looking. Don’t look away, don’t look at anything else. Don’t even blink. Just look, from now on,” she felt another wet surge, resisted the urge to roll her hips, to stroke her clit. “From now on, this is your world, this is everything. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Good boy,” she said. “Now listen very carefully, because if you make any mistake, if you disobey in the slightest, I’ll make you put your clothes back on, and send you out the door, and you’ll never ever see or hear of me again, do you understand?”
“Yes... Miss.”
“Very good boy. Now, just take off the rest of it. Don’t try to be sexy, you can’t be sexy taking off your socks. Just get naked. But don’t look away, not even for a second. Then, when you’re completely naked, I want you down on all fours, just like before, knees and elbows.”
“Then I want you to crawl towards me, like a dog, like my good little dog, crawl slowly towards me, always keeping your eyes on my pussy. That pussy is your whole world, its your universe, it’s god and Jesus and the sun and the moon all in one.
“I want you to crawl right up between my thighs on all fours, until it’s right in front of you. Until you’re so close you can practically taste me, so close it’s your entire field of view.”
His body was definitely flushed, his features were a mask of lust. His nipples were rigid, she’d never thought of them as being aroused on men, but they were. He was covered in goose pimples, almost trembling, his cock pulsed like a metronome swinging up and down, a clear thick thread of semen dangling from its tip.
For a moment, she wondered if she’d gone too far, if he might ejaculate standing there right in front of her. She almost wanted to see that, to make him do it. But then what?
Then nothing, if he ejaculated right now, she’d still make him crawl. She felt wild, almost drunk on nothing but the sensation of power.
“And if you do it right, if you do it perfectly,” she said. “I might, just might, allow you to kiss it, to taste it.”
“But one mistake, any mistake,” she warned sternly, “and you’re out of here. Gone forever. I’m serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. I won’t change my mind. Do you understand?”
He nodded, staring between her legs.
She was so fucking wet it was insane, she wanted to rub her thighs together, plunge fingers in, frig herself silly. She was seized with a wild excitement, an energy that filled her and left her surging. She wanted to jump up with excitement. It was all she could do to maintain her poise.
“Excuse me?” she snapped.
“Yes, Miss, I understand,” his voice was raw and hoarse with lust. He didn’t even sound like himself. His expression didn’t shift, his gaze didn’t shift.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Susan demanded.
Heart racing, she watched him clumsily pull out of the pants around his ankles and shuck off his shoes and socks. A task made more difficult by his self-conscious nudity, his erection flopping around wildly with each movement, and by his need to have eyes on her vagina at all times.
It was comical, and she grinned, careful not to laugh out loud. At one point, he almost fell over, and only the fear of humiliating him restrained her. There was freedom in being like this, she could look at him, she could look anywhere, but he was constrained, locked into the heavenly space between her legs.
Her vagina had conquered the male gaze, she thought, as she casually made circles around her clit with her fingertips. It hadn’t even been a contest.
Somehow, he made it out of his residual clothes without shaming himself, and carefully got down on knees and elbows. Susan hoped that the carpet wouldn’t be too rough on his skin. Maybe if they did this again, she’d get him kneepads and elbow pads.
And a leash.
That little afterthought made her wetness surge, she could feel herself dilate wetly. She knew he was staring, could see her arousal. She could feel herself grinning, knowing he didn’t dare look up to see it. Her eyes sparkled. She was elated.
Watch me, she thought. Here is my power. Worship me.
He waited, still and on all fours, staring between her legs. For a second, she wondered what he was doing, why wasn’t he moving. Then she got it, he was acting like it was in stages, like it was some kind of game of Simon-Says, and he was waiting for the next order.
It hadn’t occurred to her like that, but quickly going over their interactions, she could see it. She liked it.
“Congratulations. First round, you’ve made it. Are you waiting for permission?”
Silence.
“You are such a clever boy!” she told him. “Second round, then. Crawl! Slowly!”
Eyes locked between her thighs, me began crawling deliberately towards her.
“Stop!”
He froze half way to her. She hadn’t planned on it. It was a last minute inspiration that almost made her cackle with glee.
She regarded him, he was unnaturally still, paralyzed in mid-crawl. He was taking the game further than she’d thought. Or maybe just reading deeper, unknowingly improvising.
“You’re doing very well,” she told him. “I’m impressed. Most men by this time, they’re already riding the elevator on the way out, crying like little babies - boo hoo hoo. And of course, I’m stuck, having to bring myself off. I’m very pleased with you.”
Nothing.
“You may speak,” she granted.
“Thank you, Miss,” he ground out.
“Let’s take this moment to chat a bit,” she asked. Oh god, this was so much fun. “How are you feeling?”
“Good Miss.”
Not as loquacious as she hoped. Oh well.
“How are your knees and elbows? The carpet’s not too rough on them?”
“They’re fine, Miss.”
She nodded wisely, wearing a thoughtful expression that he couldn’t look at, of course.
“What about your cock?” she teased. She couldn’t see it under him, without twisting around. And that might wreck his view. “Is it hard?”
“Extremely hard, Miss.”
“Mmm,” she leaned back a little, “that’s vague. On a scale of one to ten.”
“Forty-two, Miss!”
Susan laughed with delight.
“Oh my!” she said. “I hope you don’t come. Premature ejaculation disqualifies you. Then you’re in the elevator going home, and I’m stuck having to take care of myself. You may only come with permission, understand.”
“I won’t come, Miss. I’ll take care of you.”
“Bold!” she said. “You need to understand, there’s no guarantee that cock will be in me. This is not for you. This is for me, not you. If I allow you to come, I’ll be doing you a favor. And if I do allow it, you’ll come the way I choose. Understand.”
Was she overdoing it?
“I understand, Miss!”
She was okay, so far.
“Good boy! Now, I want you to get lower, you’re too high. Spread your knees and elbows. And crawl.”
He moved again, slowly and carefully. His ass was higher than his shoulders, she noted. She didn’t mind, she didn’t want carpet fibers in his cock head. His gaze remained fixed on her vagina. She leaned further back, spreading her thighs wider, reaching down with both hands on either side, to open her lips and pull back on her clit hood.
She desperately wanted to masturbate.
“Stop!”
His head and shoulders were between the heels and ankles of her boots. He was close enough now that he had to bend his neck sharply to keep eyes on her vagina. His body from ass to forehead was an exquisite bow curve.
“Lower please,” she told him. The bow curve grew more extreme.
“Do you like my boots?” she said conversationally. “PVC! So shiny, you can see your face in them! I bought them especially for you!”
“I’m flattered, Miss,” he hissed, staring straight at her vagina. His shoulders shook slightly. Excitement? Or the posture? Or some combination.
“You should be. Never worn outdoors. First time wearing them actually. Tell me what you think of them, I’d love your honest opinion.”
“They’re amazing, Miss.”
“You’re not even looking at them,” she probed.
“Anything you choose is amazing, Miss,” his eyes did not flicker from her vagina. Honestly, she didn’t expect them to, she understood the game he thought she was playing. It was fun to torture him.
“You do want to look, at those boots? Up close, sensuous. I know you’ve seen them, but they’re amazing, so amazing up close. You’re not even tempted?”
“Very much so, Miss.”
“But you won’t look.”
His eyes were locked on her vagina. She was so wet, she couldn’t stand it. She stroked her clitoris, desperately wanting to engage in full on masturbation. If she had her vibrator...
No answer.
“You win again! I am so impressed,” she told him. “All right, for this round I allow you to raise up, so you’re at eye level. You may approach to within one inch. But twice as slow again. Do you understand.”
A careful nod.
“Proceed.”
She watched him move again, with delicious, delirious excitement, almost breathless as he approached, stopping precisely one inch from her vaginal lips. He was panting, she could feel his breath, like a series of butterfly pats on her lips.
Susan realized she’d made a mistake. There should have been boot licking, but she’d lost her way, become distracted. It was past that now. With his face so close to her pussy, she couldn’t see any good way to reverse course and have him lick her boot toes.
And she’d spent so fucking much money on these boots!
And it wasn’t like you could wear weird fetish boots in regular life. Fuck. What a waste!
She couldn’t let the momentum wane, and his breath on her pussy was driving her wild. She had the wild urge to grab his head like last time, and just slam it into her pussy, grab him hard by the ears and just use his face to masturbate savagely.
But that was last time.
“Almost there,” she said. “You’re so good at this! Now, I want you to be absolutely motionless. Don’t move a muscle. Don’t even blink, I want you to open your mouth as wide as you can, and stick your tongue out as far as you can. I’ll do the rest.”
This time, there wasn’t even a nod, just a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were watering. Maybe she should have let him blink. His jaws stretched open. His tongue slowly pushed out. It was long, she had to retreat a little from it. It poked out there, wet and pink, the tip pointed. His body was trembling with effort.
Bracing herself on the arms of the chair, Susan lifted her hips up, easing them forward, drawing them along his tongue, from her taint up the center of her lips, to her clit. She ground her clitoris against the tip of his tongue, careful not to allow her body to touch his face. She did this again, and again, until her thighs and belly began to tremble with the strain.
Abruptly, she decided it was a stupid idea. Why was she doing the work? She was torturing him, not herself. She relaxed letting her ass fall to the seat’s cushion.
"Do you know what I'm going to do?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes."
"And..."
"Do it!"
Roughly, Susan grabbed him by the back of the head with one hand, twining fingers in his hair, drawing him in. His mouth surrounded her pussy, and she moved his head back and forth, as he licked passionately from lips to clit, in rhythm to her motions.
Susan gloried in the sensation, careful to avoid the frantic grinding of her first encounter. His tongue felt better, smoother, more fluid as it moved. Maybe making him spend an hour licking patent leather on their first date hadn’t been the best idea. His slips were supple, he responded so well to her finger's touch. His oral skills were quite satisfying. She'd have told him, if she'd had breath to spare.
She relaxed, laying back, enjoying the situations, watching the movement of his back and shoulders, and stroking his hair. He brought her to the edge of orgasm, her hips lifted, but she couldn’t quite make it. She fell back, starting all over again. And again, this time pressing his face, becoming more aggressive.
“Come on, damn you!” she snarled, beginning again, grinding his face as she lifted her hips. So close, so fucking close. And no. What was wrong with him. Wrong with her. Had she waited too long?
“Fuck this shit!” she finally lost it. She leaned forward, yanking his hair back, pulling him upright on his knees. Kneeling straight up, his erection bobbed in front of her.
“Come here,” Susan barked, reaching down and wrapping her hand around it. It felt hot and hard, wet and urgent, dripping pre-ejaculate. She dragged it towards her pussy, and felt an almost flaming satisfaction course through her body as she drew it into her. She met his eyes, his face slicked with her wetness. He was luminous, transported by lust and desire.
"Oh god, thank you, Miss!" he cried out. "Use me!"
“Don’t you dare come first!” she ordered, as she laid back in the chair, pulling him on top of her, and wrapping her legs around his hips. He started pumping her with wild abandon, lunging with fierce strokes, that made her hold onto him tighter. The huge chair began to rock back and forth. He was fucking so hard, the wooden frame was creaking. She could feel lightning dancing in her spine.
“Fuck harder!” she screamed. “Harder!”
She was so close, she could taste it.
“More! Harder! Now!” She looked up at his face, swollen and red, his eyes were wild. “You’re close. Do it! Do it!”
She dug the stiletto heels of her PVC boots into his ass, stabbing them, pulling his cheeks with her hands. The chair was rocking so hard on its legs it felt like it might tip over completely. There. There it was!
“Yes!” she screamed and clamped down hard on him. “Yes! Yes!”
It was blissful, and intense, and when it was over she could feel him turning to water on top of her. He went limp and loose. For a moment, she almost thought he’d lost consciousness. Did that happen with men? But no, he was just weak.
As she rose up, he slid down her body, until he was kneeling in front of her chair. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. The stiletto heels of the PVC boots briefly dug into his calves, before she eased them apart. He leaned into her, boneless, as she held him, the both of them panting away in the afterglow.
Had he come? She hadn’t noticed. It must have happened during her orgasm. Simultaneous orgasms, she thought, that was nice.
Something occurred to her.
“You weren’t wearing a condom, were you?”
He blinked at her incredulously, unable to form words.
“Okay, right,” she said, panting. “That one’s on me. Don’t worry about it.”
He was slick against her. His body was covered with sweat, he must have lit up like a furnace at the moment of orgasm. He was completely limp in her arms. She held him close, running her fingers through his hair, affectionately kissing his forehead.
She could feel his heart beating, the urgent panting. He was exhausted, she could tell. How difficult was this for him, she wondered. There must be an inherent tension in being submissive, in having someone in complete control. She held him in her arms like a child, letting that tension drain out.
“I think I jumped the gun a little,” she said.
“That’s okay.”
She nodded.
“So,” she whispered in his ear, “I was thinking of taking you into my bedroom, tying you hand and feet to my bed, and shaving off all your body hair. Every bit of it, your chest, your legs, your pubic hair, your balls.”
“Why?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I thought it might be fun. To feel you smoothed. I don’t, know, it occurred to me that maybe if your scrotum was properly shaved smooth, someone might hypothetically be willing to put her tongue on them.”
She looked him in the eye.
“I am in charge, and I think it’s a very good plan. Any objections?”
“Nope.”
She paused.
“And then... take it from there. See what comes up.”
That had been the big plan. She’d actually been looking forward to it. But if he was done, she wouldn’t push it. Maybe next time, if there was a next time. If she hadn’t scared him off completely.
He had enjoyed it, she was pretty sure. But you never know, it had been pretty wild. And it might all be too much.
You could never tell with men, they were a deeply twitchy bunch. You could never fathom what went on in their heads. You could have the best night of your life, and then they ghost you, change their names and move to Australia, or they could be damp squibs and you never get them out of your hair.
Susan felt she sort of liked this one, and she’d been shocked at what he’d brought out of her. She suspected though, that he’d hit his limit. Whatever strange electricity had sparked between them was probably too much for him. He’d vanish from her life.
She’d be sorry if that happened. But it had been amazing. So be it.
Susan felt his cock move between them, swelling and twitching.
“That sounds good,” he whispered.
Susan smiled.
Comments
FU
Here’s an idea maybe she goes back to goth girl and is even more honest about what she is doing, asking for pointers and then finds herself being submissive to goth girl who teaches her things about being a real dominant female.
Royston smith
Loved it. Encore, please.
Eve St. Albert
I have some plans. ;)
Allen R
"While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads." I went to bed last night with visions of "lips luscious and red as an evil queen's apple" dancing in my head. Great imagery, I can see that smile in my mind's eye. It would be highly entertaining to see Susan and Elaine together, especially as Susan is very much attracted to her. You know, a kind of mentoring session for a new dominatrix.
FU
Well that was interesting! I can’t say I’ve ever been in a relationship where I was not the dominant person, but I could imagine you doing this to someone.
