It took Tracy a while to process what had happened with Guy. She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she wasn't collapsing under the weight of guilt over having betrayed Kyle. She did feel guilty, but it was ameliorated by the fact she was reasonably sure he was having an affair himself. And what she had done was really more of an experiment in her mind, than an out and out affair.
She certainly didn't love Guy; no question there. If anything, her feelings for Paul were far more dangerous to her marriage than the fact that she had let another man fuck her. The sex with Guy, she had to admit, had been almost incidental. Good thing she was on the pill, since Guy hadn't even brought up the issue of protection.
Now he constantly hovered around her at work, dropping her little notes, trying to get her to go to lunch again. For some reason, she refused him. It wasn't that she was avoiding him specifically. She wasn't ready to face what she was sure would be an onslaught of effort to convince her to meet again.
It had been exciting, to a point, but it wasn't the stuff of her dreams. Still, what else was there? One day, about three weeks after their first little fling, Guy left a note on her desk that made her flush as she read it, before crumpling it into a tight ball in her hand.
"Slave. Time's up. I am tired of waiting for you to make a move. Now I am taking over, and you have nothing to say in the matter. Here is the plan. This Friday after work, you will meet me at the same motel. I'll provide the key and room number as before.
"You will be naked and lying face down on the bed when I arrive. You will not turn around or move when I enter the room. I am going to bind you, slave, in strong white rope that will completely immobilize you. I am going to gag you so you cannot scream.
"You will be totally at my mercy. If I want to whip you, I will whip you. If I want to fuck you, I will fuck you. If I just want to leave you there while I watch TV that's what I'll do.
"You will be my total and complete slave girl for the hour I have you. My complete whore slut. Again, I'm not asking your permission; I'm informing you of what will happen to you this Friday.
Master Guy"
The normal Tracy, the rational Tracy, would have laughed out loud at this man's presumption. How dare he inform her of what he was going to do to her, and she had nothing to say about it. The submissive woman in her, the one irrevocably awakened by the past months' explorations, responded on a gut level to his demands.
He may not be the man of her dreams, or a 'real' Dom, but he had just pushed the right buttons with the head teller at Houston First Federal, and when he dropped the key at her desk Friday, she put it in her purse without protest.
This time, at least, she didn't have to try and fit into any frilly little getups. The room, though not the same one as before, was identically decorated and had the same dank smell. Again, a part of Tracy couldn't believe she was here, but she hushed that part of herself and stripped off her banker's suit and silk blouse, hanging them carefully in the closet.
Hesitating in her bra and panties, she looked at herself in the mirror, trying to summon the courage to get completely naked for 'Master Guy.' He was due in five minutes, which made the decision easier for her. Without thinking anymore about it, she unclasped her bra and slid her little panties down her smooth thighs.
Tentatively she started to lie down on the polyester bedspread. It didn't smell especially fresh and she recoiled, images of clandestine couples copulating on it without even bothering to ready the bed. She remembered with a sheepish grin and a little shudder that that was precisely what she and Guy had done the last time.
Carefully she pulled the spread down, pinching an edge between finger and thumb to avoid contact with it as much as possible. At least the sheets looked clean, and they smelled like laundry detergent.
Hearing the key scrape in the lock, Tracy hurriedly lay down as she had been instructed, glad for his command that she be face down, as she hid her face in the crook of an elbow.
She heard him enter. "Very fine. Very fine indeed," he said, the drawl on in full force. Tracy tried to stay still, resisting her impulse to sit up and look around at him. She wanted this 'game' of theirs to be as real as possible.
She heard much rustling, zipping and unzipping of pants and duffel bags, and random sounds as Guy readied himself to 'take' his slave girl.
She could smell his cologne, which was a heavy piney scent she didn't particularly favor, as he stood near her and ordered, "Put your hands behind your back, just above that little ass of yours. Touch your wrists together and don't move, no matter what I do."
Tracy obeyed, and her pulse had begun to race as she felt his large hand on her wrists. And then the rope, a thin but very strong nylon that he had cut into strips in preparation for binding his slave girl.
She felt the nylon close tightly against her wrists, pulling them together, ratcheting her arms up higher against her back so that she was almost uncomfortable and certainly immobilized.
Tentatively she tried the bonds, pulling gently at first, then harder, against the rope. It didn't budge. Guy remembered his knot tying skills from his Boy Scout days, and had finally found a good use for them.
Tracy felt that thrill of being bound; of being unable to escape. A certain indefinable languor seemed to settle over her, and her breathing slowed from its shallow flutter to something deeper and more profound.
She gasped when he pulled her head up by the hair and slipped a scarf around her mouth, tying it behind her head. Unaware of what was happening with Tracy, only knowing that his own erection was almost painful against his proper white briefs, Guy moved quickly, slipping a pillow under Tracy's hips to make her inviting ass and pussy more accessible to his attentions.
She had expected him to tie her feet at the ankles, and so was surprised when he pulled one ankle and looped rope over it, securing it against a corner of the mattress by tying off the rope underneath the bed to the metal bed frame.
Then the other ankle, forcing Tracy to splay her legs and offer her sex like the captive whore she was at that moment, open for whatever this man planned to do to her. Even though it was only Guy, the experience was an intense one for Tracy, who had only ever dreamed of being completely bound and truly at another's mercy.
She felt his hand, large and warm against her bottom, as he smoothed and kneaded the flesh for a moment. Then a light slap. Was she going to get another spanking?
Tracy wriggled slightly, recognizing that her body was eager for another spanking; her ass tingled with anticipation, but she was disappointed. Guy was too eager to fuck this delectable slut he had tied, spread eagle, on the bed before him. Had she known, Guy wasn't especially dominant at all. He didn't care a whit about the finer aspects of control and submission.
No, his interests lay in subduing a woman. In holding her down and taking her by force; in tying her up so she couldn't resist him and then fucking the shit out of her. Where Paul was subtle and deeply romantic in his dominant tendencies, Guy was practical. He knew what got him off and he sought it out.
Usually his only release came from porno downloaded from the net, or videos watched furtively in the middle of the night while his wife snored softly in the upstairs master bedroom, wrapped in the armor of her full length nightgown and no nonsense cotton briefs. Their two little children snuffled in their own dreams, tucked snuggly in their designer bedrooms down the hall.
Today he had the real thing, and by God, he wasn't going to waste another minute with foreplay. If he'd taken the time to think about it, he knew Tracy wanted it. Too bad, she was his cunt for this hour, and he would do as he pleased.
With only a cursory exploration of her spread pussy, to make sure she was wet enough for him to use her, Guy straddled Tracy and entered her from behind. Moaning his pleasure, he immediately began to buck and writhe on top of her.
He was heavy against Tracy's thighs, and she felt his fat belly slap against her back as he fucked her unceremoniously. What the hell was she doing here? How had she let this happen? The erotic sexual languor that Guy had succeeded in creating by binding her was completely erased by his base and animal claiming of her, as if she were a dog or a pig in heat.
He came into her, jerking himself roughly against her, hurting her still bound arms as he fell heavily onto her. Quickly he rolled off, his penis rapidly going flaccid. He lay still next to Tracy, and said, "Shit. You were just too fucking sexy. I couldn't help it. Next time it'll be for you, I promise." As he spoke, he removed the scarf gag from Tracy's face, then collapsed with a satiated sigh next to her.
She realized with a sharp prick of disappointment that he was done. Like so many men, the second he orgasmed, the jig was up; the game was over. If he had been her lover she would have protested, but it came to her with startling clarity that he most emphatically was not her lover, and not even her friend.
He had used her, plain and simple. He had played upon her desires, taking advantage of her virginal ardency to taste the forbidden pleasures he seemed to offer. Despite the trappings of bondage, what had really just happened was a typical, 'wham bam thank you ma'am'.
She felt used, and frustrated. "Untie me, Guy," she said, her voice tight with controlled anger.
Perhaps Guy sensed at last that she was upset, because he tried to 'clean it up' by saying, "That's right, slave girl. I'm going to untie you so you can make yourself come for me. You're gonna make yourself come, like the slut you are."
Tracy didn't respond, waiting until he had released her before saying, "Wrong, Guy. I'm going to get dressed and go home."
"What?!" Guy spluttered, attempting outrage, thinking she was still playing a role. He seemed to be trying to figure out if it was 'stubborn maiden needing to be subdued' or 'haughty whore' needing to be put in her place. Truth to tell, the excitement of tying her down and fucking her like that had completely worn him out and what he really wanted to do was take a nap.
Instead he gamely commanded, "You will lie down this instant and come for me, slave girl, or get a thrashing you won't soon forget!"
Tracy ignored him, irritated by how obviously this was all a stupid little game to him. Grabbing her clothes, she went into the bathroom, using a wet towel with soap to try and wash away the smell and feel of him from her body.
She came out fully dressed a few minutes later. Guy was lying on the bed, still naked, his penis ridiculously small against his large white belly. Repulsed, and angry with herself for succumbing to his ruses yet again, Tracy grabbed her purse and said simply, "Don't get up. I'll see myself home." And she was gone.
Ironically, it was Paul who helped her to see that the experience hadn't been a total waste. She had typed furiously to him that evening, even though Kyle was in the next room. She told him everything that had happened, and how stupid and used she felt by the whole thing.
Paul sympathized with that aspect of it, but suggested, "Tell me about the good parts. Focus on what excited you; what turned you on. Forget Guy as a fallible horny jerk who used your trust and innocence to get himself off. Think about what you took away from it; what he unwittingly gave you even though he clearly wasn't doing it for you.
"You got a little taste of bondage, of being bound and truly unable to move. What did that feel like? You felt what it was like to be gagged; to be unable to scream."
Remembering the gut level thrill of being tied down, actually tied down, just like in her endless fantasies, gave Tracy a little zing in her pussy as she sat there watching Paul's words scroll across the screen.
He continued, "Beyond that, you learned some things you'll want toavoid in the future. The 'wannabe's', the pretenders, who use the chic guise of BDSM and Dominance and submission, but who really only want a passive woman to fuck."
Tracy thought about what he wrote, and had to agree he made some good points. She felt as if she hated Guy now; he had used and tricked her. Again Paul disagreed, suggesting she try and think of it from his point of view. She hadn't confided very much at all to Guy. He knew nothing, really, about her secret dreams or longing for a connection.
She had pasted her image of what she wanted in a Dom onto Guy, who remained happily oblivious of her intentions or expectations. He couldn't be blamed for being a horny guy who would jump at the chance to get into her pants. It was her own expectations she should find fault with; not him.
Guy continued after that to try and reconnect with Tracy. On some level he knew the experience had been less than satisfactory, but he wasn't insightful, or involved enough, to really understand. Tracy had been a delightful diversion, and was still a constant temptation, as she was always in his direct line of sight at work.
She, on the other hand, no longer had the slightest interest in meeting him again 'after hours'. His attempts with further little letters 'ordering' her to comply, were ignored, as were his efforts to try and get her to another happy hour, presumably to get her drunk and compliant.
She did finally agree to go to lunch with him, to explain herself and make it clear, once and for all time, that whatever they had had was definitely over. To his credit, Guy backed down like a proper southern gentleman, when he finally saw it was hopeless. There was a cute little thing in collections he had his eye on, anyway. Tracy was just too much work.
Tracy found she no longer had any ill feelings toward him. As Paul had said, he was really just a guy as frustrated and lonely as so many people were, trying to find something in his life that approximated joy. And again, Tracy realized Paul was right. She also acknowledged another thing that had been growing like a secret seed in her mind and heart for some time. A little flower of admission pushed up into her consciousness – it wasn't Guy she wanted; and it wasn't an abstract experience of being dominated by another. It was Paul.