Thanks to my writing and my personal fantasies, the week flew and Friday night I was early to work. I was in such a good mood, sure I would see my new lover, that I tried out some new pieces of bondage equipment on a couple of my usual subs who had been begging for more for weeks, but I myself hadn't been ready. I thought, “What if Lynn wants this? I had better be prepared.” So I practiced on them for her. I did everything for her that night, but she didn't appear.
I was disappointed and Beverly noticed. Even so, she was hardly sympathetic. “In the unlikely event she realized this isn't for her, at least you don't have to worry about a conflict of interest. You don't need that kind of grief,” she counseled.
“I'll try to remember that,” I said, hoping I sounded philosophical. But what I thought was, Easy for you to say.
Saturday evening, when I arrived at the dungeon, I saw that my last hour had already been reserved. Lolita!
I went to my locker to dress and found I was so breathless at the thought of loving her again that I had to sit down. I decided to practice on every sub again, the way I had the previous night. I forced myself through my usual routine of dressing in my costume, and decided as I did so that as long as I could possibly avoid it, I would not come until I was with Lynn. No, I warned myself, Lolita. It would be disastrous if her name slipped out.
Nipple clamps were my next thought. They don't have to be painful, just present to get the wearer's attention. I put the lightest pair in my pocket. None of my usual subs would even have noticed them, so I put heavier, weighted ones in my other pockets, along with clothespins, which I personally hate, but I do it. I have to.
Into my other pockets went handcuffs, a buttplug or two, dildoes and a ball gag. Everything I used had to be properly disinfected between clients. One of the things we sold along with anonymity was safe sex. I should probably have used a dental dam when demanding oral sex from Lolita, but I felt I knew her well enough to dispense with it. All the more reason to look forward to being with her. But for everyone else, all safety procedures had to be followed.
I went to the full-length mirror at the end of the locker room. Everything had to be perfect, everything in place for the demanding, the exacting, Dr. Lynn Jeffries. I saluted myself and went out.
I had a big, black woman under me when Lolita came in and sat in the first row of the bleachers. She was becoming bolder. I was glad, since I had yet to really accept her in my mind as a submissive. I think I was hoping at that point that one day, ultimately, we would be able to switch.
I ignored her, of course, although I knew she was watching me hungrily, and that realization made me sweat. I closed my eyes behind my glasses and pretended my African-American Amazon was Lolita. Slowly I drew out the woman's torture, making her beg and plead, refusing her and using her until she rolled off the sawhorses onto the floor and climaxed at my feet.
“MAJOR-MAJOR-MAJOR!” she howled as I permitted her to come.
I glanced down at her without a hint of emotion. “Whatever,” I said, and walked away.
Lolita's session would be private, of course. How could a woman who so carefully guarded every aspect of her life come in public, even if nobody knew who she was?
I had a few minutes during which to clean and prepare my equipment, and when I got to the door of the small room to which we had been assigned, she was waiting.
“Go,” I ordered, pointing with my crop.
She skittered into the room ahead of me, but the minute I shut the door, she fell to her knees and kissed my boots. I wanted to yank her up and kiss her, but understanding she needed to do this, I stood with my hands on my hips and looked down at her bobbing head, wishing I could run my hands through her soft black curls instead of the synthetic strands of wig hair.
“All right, that's enough for now,” I said, prodding her with my crop. I walked across the room. “Take your clothes off and crawl over here to the couch. On your belly."
She did it. She tore off the trashy fake mohair sweater and the velveteen skirt that more or less went with it. Her underwear was nice, though, some sort of ecru, silky stuff. I wouldn't have minded if she had left it on, but she threw it aside and slithered toward me. Her ass was perfection, creamy globes kept tight from some sport or other. Jazzercise? Tennis? She was so graceful and controlled at work, I could imagine she was a dancer.
She rested her cheek against my boot and waited. She was panting hard, and I wanted so much for her to love me.
“Kneel so I can reach you, slut,” I murmured, and when she was upright, I tipped her head back and took her in a kiss. I could tell she was startled because a slight gasp of surprise escaped before she surrendered, and gladly, sagging in my arms as though defenseless before me. Normally I would never have kissed a sub. Not only was it too intimate and too egalitarian, it was dangerous for health reasons. Again, I knew this woman. If anyone was safe to kiss, it was Lynn Jeffries. No germ would have dared get on her.
I luxuriated in the taste of her. She was the epitome of everything I found perfect in womankind. She was brilliant, successful and attractive. She lacked only for intimacy, I knew that already. I was sure if loved properly, her heart would open and allow her to love in return. I thought I had the answer to that problem, too, and then she really would be perfect. And mine.
“Oh, Lolita,” I murmured, pulling back. “I am gonna have some fun with you tonight."
She looked up at me. “That's what I want, Major. I want to please you. That would be fun for me."
“Then let's try these,” I said, showing her the clips.
“Will they hurt?"
“Does it matter?” I countered.
She swallowed. “No."
I grinned. “Good girl. Come up here,” I patted the couch.
Hesitantly she rose and obeyed. I looked at her thoughtfully. “I'd really like to be able to see your eyes, Lolita. It would help me tell if and when you might really be afraid or in pain. May I?"
She recoiled. “I'm afraid of being recognized. Do I have to?"
“No,” I said gently. “Maybe you'll just think about it for some other time.” I reached out and began to stroke her nipples lightly. She shuddered and the delightful brown nubs hardened.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, squirming. I leaned over her and sucked each one, not too hard, just to get them totally erect, and as she writhed under my touch, I very delicately applied the clamps and screwed them down just enough to stay on. She looked at them.
“Don't touch,” I warned. “I want those on for the whole hour."
“Yes, Major,” she nodded. She bit her lip and reached for her crotch.
I grabbed her hand. “Oh, no you don't.” I pulled out the handcuffs and easily turned her around to secure her wrists. “Lie on your back over my lap, Lolita, and bring your arms up over your head and out of my way."
With a sigh, she lay back and opened her legs even though I had not yet required it.
I stroked her bush lightly. It was soaking already. “Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you now?” I growled.
“You can do anything… anything you want,” she replied. Her ass ground into my crotch and I put my hand in her thatch to hold her down harder, tighter, against me.
“I'm going to use you for my own pleasure, and you're not going to come unless you please me for the whole hour. Understand?"
“Mmmm… mmmmm,” she moaned, biting her lips. “Please… use me,” she begged. Her hips moved as if of their own accord.
I slid my fingers inside her. She was so open already that I got three in without any trouble.
“Oh, please!” she screamed. “Touch my clit!"
“You demanding little bitch!” I laughed. I pulled out, stood up, and all but dumped her on the floor, although I would never have allowed her to be hurt.
“Lick my pussy, slut,” I demanded. Since her hands were secured, I had to open my own pants, but the minute I sat back down she was on me, and in me, and I let her have me.
I had held back from coming all night. I didn't hold back another minute. I took hold of that stupid wig and held her head in my crotch and just let her eat me. The build-up was quick, and I was gushing juices. She lapped at me frantically, just what I would expect from a submissive who never has a chance to perform. She held nothing back from me, and I could tell she was starting to let go and trust, although her wig and glasses were a pain. I had an idea about those, though.
Not that I was actually thinking at that point. I was a lot more interested in filling up my sub with my come, and in a very short time, that was precisely what I did. The spasms tore through me and I groaned with pleasure, remembering just in time not to yell, “Lynn!” and it was very hard. I wanted so badly to do that.
I shoved her back, because I wanted to be able to come again before the hour was up. I pushed her onto her back, rested my boot in her crotch and she began to rub herself on it.
“Slowly, Lolita. You don't have permission to come."
“Oh, I know. Don't let me come yet,” she begged, her voice dreamy. She pressed herself against the sole of my boot, moving slowly, gasping with need.
“Not a chance, slave,” I told her. She wasn't my slave, really. Not yet, anyway, but subs love to hear dominants talk like that.
“Please, I was so bad this week. Punish me,” she whispered.
“Tell me about how bad you were,” I instructed, waiting to get over the aftershocks of the pleasure she had given me.
“I was… mean to my staff,” she began.
I almost laughed. I knew that was a lie, for a change. “Mean in what way?"
She seemed to be considering. “I made them wait for me while I masturbated. I thought about you and I held up the staff meeting until I came and cleaned myself up.” She pressed tighter against my boot and just held still.
“You were definitely bad, Lolita. Get up and lean over the stool. I want you so your breasts are hanging free and you can feel the weight of the clamps pulling on them."
Silently she rose and went to the stool where she carefully leaned over until she was arranged as I had required. She was so short that her feet didn't quite touch the floor and I could tell she was uncomfortable. Too bad.
“How long did you make your staff wait for you, Lolita?” I asked. I had my crop out now and I was tracing the cheeks of her ass with it.
“Fifteen minutes,” she grunted. “I came twice."
“Then I'll give you 15 lashes, and if you take them well, you can come once,” I decided.
“Fifteen?” she shrieked, but the descending crop cut her off.
I wasn't hitting her that hard. Sure, it stung, because if it didn't, the sub didn't reach “subspace,” that mental condition in which pain and pleasure couldn't possibly be separated. Some subs could climax just from being whipped. You didn't even have to touch them. But I would touch Lolita.
She was wailing when I got to ten, so I stopped and left her over the stool while I went for some lotion for her bottom. Part of the deal was not only pain, but also caretaking, yet another form of control. I applied the lotion liberally and smoothed it on slowly while she panted with relief.
Then her wig fell off.
I had hoped it would. Being head-down in that position long enough, and sweating, gravity would have its way. With a yelp of surprise, she grabbed at it with her manacled hands, and her glasses dropped off, too.
Rather than returning the items to her, I helped her slide back to an upright position. She buried her face in my shoulder. “Please don't look,” she begged.
“All right, I won't, but you have the loveliest hair,” I remarked, running my fingers through it gently. “I'll take your cuffs off and turn away and you can put this stuff back on, if you want, okay? Then we'll continue."
She nodded and I did as I had promised. I wished I could have seen her eyes, but it wasn't as if I had never seen them.
“All right,” she announced, and when I looked, only the glasses were in place.
I must have looked surprised because she said, “Well, you've already seen my real hair, and the wig is hot. I can put it on before I go back out there,” she nodded at the door.
“I won't tell anyone about your crowning glory,” I told her. “Now, get down on your knees. I need a shine."
“Yes, Major,” she agreed quickly, kneeling.
I'm sure she thought I meant for her to shine my boots with polish, but I had a better idea. I brought a chair and a footstool, of which there were several of varying heights in the room. Putting my foot on the stool brought my combat boot to the level of her crotch. “Shine it,” I ordered.
“Wh-with what?” she asked, absolutely baffled.
“Your twat,” I snarled, “and if I don't like the way it looks, you'll lick it off."
She was on the boot in a heartbeat, maybe less. She was a small woman, but she packed a wallop in that hard, trim body. She grabbed onto my thigh and rode me like a real rodeo star. It took about six seconds for me to wet myself again as she squished her hot little quim all over my boot. I wondered if she might break my leg with her efforts, but her balance was excellent.
“Oh, God, oh, please, Major, let me come,” she whimpered.
“Not yet,” I told her. “I want you to shine both of them, so you had better slow down."
She did, looking up at me, all but worshipping me. I crossed my arms and scowled down at her, but then I relented and caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. “Slowly, sub. Make it last. And I want you between my legs before you come. Remember that."
She grunted with effort, changing boots at my command, and finally when I felt her pulling back, I knew she had had all she could take.
“Eat me, you cunt,” I said, my voice a low growl, and I felt her shudder.
I leaned back and raised my feet so she could get into my crotch, and then I rested my boots on her back while she went down on me. My hands were finally in those soft curls I had so longed to touch, and I let her finish me off twice before I permitted her to raise her head and breathe.
“You love it, don't you, my slut?” I demanded when I could breathe again. “All right, get on my boots. I know you want it."
“I want it, I want it so badly,” she agreed, her perfect grammar never deserting her even under this much duress.
“Fuck my leather,” I commanded, and I grabbed her hands and held her in place so she would have more freedom of movement.
Hanging onto me, depending on me, she squirmed down hard with all her strength, bouncing and groaning in desperation. Lolita's release was explosive, and she cried out and sagged, but I held her up and jiggled my foot so that she came again and again until she slumped bonelessly to the floor.
I devoured her presence, feeling strong and protective and utterly in her control, all appearances to the contrary. After a few minutes, she crept to my feet and began to softly lick my boots.
“That's not necessary,” I said. “You did a good job."
“I want to,” she whispered.
I let her.