From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Oral (FF, FM, oral, mdom) [1/3]
Date: 25 Mar 1996 02:17:24 GMT

				Oral
			       Part One

	The butterflies in my stomach are getting out of control. I
haven't felt fear like this in a long time - a dread of something that
is coming, but for which I have no frame of reference. It reminds me
of when I was a child and did something wrong. I knew then that I
would be punished - but I had no idea what form the punishment would
take.

	Today, I know I'll be punished, too. I know it because it is
part of what today is all about. But I have almost no idea what the
punishment will be. Or even what I will be punished for.

	Perhaps I should start at the beginning...

	Several weeks ago, I broke up with my latest boyfriend. It
wasn't because he wasn't handsome and successful (he was a tall,
blond, WASP stockbroker who made well into six figures) or attentive
(he brought me flowers, remembered birthdays and anniversaries, and
shared the domestic drudgery) or fun (we had similar tastes in sports,
movies and other things - and the money and time to enjoy them). The
whole problem, in fact, had NOTHING to do with him. It was me. I was
bored to death with my sex life.

	I've never had difficulty finding partners, as long as I have
been willing, in a crunch, to settle for someone shorter than me. I'm
six feet tall, exactly. I weigh 141 pounds, have dark brown hair down
to my shoulders, and hazel eyes that seem to attract as much attention
as the rest of me. At 38B,26,37 I'm a little too big to model - but I
did manage to do a little commercial work when I was in college. That
was twelve years ago.

	What faced me when I kicked Roger out was that I had never had
a sexual partner who really excited me. He was as good, stable and
strong in bed as he was out of it, but he didn't do any more for me
than any other guy had. Not that I'm gay - my one (relatively recent)
fling with an old college roommate said more about the fact that I
wanted a change than it did about a lesbian bent. I've had no
difficulty climaxing with the men I've been with, and I've sampled
quite a few. But somehow they never seemed to treat me the way I
wanted to be treated, and I never seemed to know what to ask for - so
it was just more of the same, over and over.

	One afternoon soon after my breakup with Roger, my girlfriend
Paula and I contacted a bulletin board on her personal computer.
Kidding around, we started chatting with a guy called Fred who had a
good sense of humor and was quite sexy. He wanted to engage in what he
called "computer sex" - sharing fantasies over the computer. For some
reason or other, it turned both of us on - I was really hot instantly.
I didn't want to admit it, for some reason, but this seemed to be what
was missing, after all this time. We started into it, and I took the
lead. I did the typing, came up with most of the wild ideas, and soon
we had the guy admitting that he was playing with himself as he read.
Meanwhile, so were we! I had my skirt hiked up over my thighs and my
hand up under my panties whenever it wasn't occupied on the keyboard.
Paula was doing the same thing with her left hand - and soon her right
was stroking the inside of MY thigh!

	That really turned me on, but it also frightened me. I had
never made it with another woman - and Paula and I were best friends.
I was embarrassed to be feeling what I felt, and pushed her hand away.
She was a persistent little dickens, though, and as soon as my hands
went back to the keyboard, she went back to her assault on my thighs.
Finally, I gave up and let her do what she wanted - which was first to
lower my panties and play with my pussy, and later to kneel between my
knees while I typed and slowly, expertly lick me to several climaxes!

	The excitement I had that afternoon was greater than all the
loving I'd had in the last couple of years. And I didn't only receive
attention. After she had thoroughly wrung me out, she sat in my place
at the terminal and continued our "correspondence". I knelt in front
of her and slowly, tentatively began to play with her pussy. It was
definitely NOT the same as playing with mine! It turned me on even
more than if I had my own hand buried between my legs. As I knelt
there with two fingers playing with her clitoris, the aroma of her
reached me and I almost fainted. Hardly believing I was doing it, I
raised my hand, covered with the juice from her pussy, to my nose.
The smell was stronger and even sexier than before. I couldn't stop my
tongue from licking my fingers. The taste was musky and a little bit
metallic - but definitely NOT unpleasant. I bent my head and began to
lick. She moaned and slid down in the chair, her heavily-lidded eyes
watching as my tongue traced the shape of her outer lips. As I stuck
my tongue further out and up into her pussy, she began to press
herself against my mouth and my face, covering my chin, lips and nose
in her juices. I found her sweet clit with my tongue and began to lick
- just as she had been licking me a few minutes before. In no time at
all, she exploded. That was the beginning of a whole new life for me.

	Not that Paula and I began to sleep together regularly. Far
from it! We have been friends so long that neither of us knows what
to do with this new way of relating. Besides, we both LOVE men, and
want regular relationships, so it's only happened once more in the
last four weeks. But my imagination has been awakened.

	I was never much interested in fantasy. I thought that it was
much better to be a doer than a dreamer. Well, that may still be true,
but I've found that dreaming can be better than much of the doing I've
had in the past. I began to tell myself stories - first about Paula
and me, then about the two of us and a man (usually one of my old
boyfriends). The stories were most frequent at bedtime, and resulted
in my masturbating nearly every night. Then, more and more, the story
was just about me and a man - but in a way that I had never been with
a man.

	I contacted more bulletin boards, during this time, and began
to chat with men by electronic mail about different types of sex. The
beauty of it was that I was able to delve into many types of sex
which, normally, I would have been afraid to talk about.

	Many of the new things interested me not at all. I had no
desire to wear high leather boots and tan a man's ass with a riding
crop. And as for the women, I doubted that anyone would turn me on
more than Paula did - and I KNEW her and CARED about her, so why look
for someone else?

	But over and over, I got little peeks at the world of
domination of the female by the male, and that began to prey on my
mind. I spoke to a woman on a board up in Westchester who was a
"slave" (her word!) to a man she called "My Master". When I first
heard those terms, I didn't like the idea at all. I had no intention
of giving up my independence and my freedom to a man I didn't even
know! She praised the life she led - told me it was the most exciting
and joyful she had ever been. I couldn't believe her.

	But then, I met another woman on a local board in New York
City who was delighted to be completely controlled by her lover - not
only ordered around, but forced to wear very revealing outfits and
fetish clothes and to play with herself (and with him!) at his order
and under his direction. As I spoke with her, I found myself getting
strangely excited.

	I began to see that one of the problems with being a very tall
and good-looking woman is that men tend to be a little less demanding
of one. They're a little in awe, I guess, at their luck in attracting
such a woman - or they want to make damn sure not to lose her, so they
give in more to her desires. The problem with that, I realized (now
that I began to tell the truth to myself) was that I wanted to be told
what to do - particularly sexually.

	The more I spoke to these two, the more I envied what they
had. I wanted to serve a man. I wanted to see what it was like to do
exactly what my lover (my master?) wanted - to be treated like a toy
made expressly for his pleasure. As I told the truth to myself, I
began to be more comfortable telling it over the computer lines.

	Within a couple of days, I had met a man called Richard. I was
introduced to him by a woman whose name was Janice. The two of them
had an on-going relationship in which he was the dominant partner and
she the submissive one. As Richard and I explored my desires on the
BBS, I began to see that there were certain things that particularly
turned me on - and Richard seemed to be the perfect match for me
there.

	I wanted to be dressed very sexily for a man. I had always
worn sexy, feminine underwear, but now I wanted to be introduced to
the kind of clothing I would have scorned a few weeks earlier. I
wanted to wear things that were designed to display me - that were
there specifically to turn a man on. I wanted to be controlled, to be
psychologically humiliated, in a sense. And I wanted to perform oral
sex for hours.

	Of course, oral sex wasn't new to me. The men I had dated
loved it when I ate them, but I had to admit that I had never gotten
as deeply into it, in reality, as I now did in fantasy. The problem
was that, to me, sucking a man's cock was a very submissive position
to be in, and I had not attracted the kind of men who would take full
advantage of that position in the past. The reason probably was that
they weren't, themselves, very dominant.

	As Richard and I got into more and more detailed fantasies, I
found myself spending half the evening every night playing with myself
in front of my new computer. More and more, I would fantasize during
the day about the fantasies to come that evening - and the fact that
I'd be able to raise my skirt (or take it off entirely) and masturbate
to my heart's content.

	Finally, Richard suggested meeting in person. We had lunch at
a small restaurant in Manhattan. He was attractive, about 40 years
old, 6'3" tall, with greying temples and VERY sophisticated. He was
trim and obviously exercised regularly to keep himself that way. I was
immediately interested and turned on. After talking over lunch, it
just got better. We discussed the sort of things we both liked
(keeping our voices down so we wouldn't shock the neighbors) and came
to an agreement about the ground rules for our first "session", as
Richard called it.

	Since he wasn't married, he suggested that I meet him at his
apartment. I was to leave information with someone about where I would
be, so that I wouldn't be concerned about my safety. He didn't want me
to be distracted from my full enjoyment of what was to take place. He
explained that he wasn't really into heavy pain - but got more
enjoyment from the psychological sort of control that I had been
fantasizing about. He told me that he would expect me to arrive at 6
o'clock on Friday evening - punctually, since tardiness would be
punished. He informed me that he already had most of the equipment we
might want, but that he wanted to take me shopping after lunch.

	So, when lunch was over, he accompanied me to a small boutique
in the Village which specialized in sexy and sensual underwear and
lingerie. He was not in the least bit embarrassed, as most men might
be, but went through the racks carefully, looking for what he wanted.
He finally settled on two very sexy corsets. The first was white satin
with pink lace detail. It was only half-cup, so it supported and
presented the breasts, rather than covering them, leaving the entire
top half of the breasts and the nipples completely exposed. The pink
lace framed the breasts and the lower edge, ran down the front in
sexy, pretty strips and covered each of the detachable garters. The
second was the same design, but made entirely out of black lace - as
sexy a thing as I had ever seen. Both corsets came with matching g-
string panties. He then found very sheer, seamed stockings in black
and white, shoulder- length gloves in white satin and black lace and a
long white hair ribbon. He paid for everything, gave me one bag
containing the white outfit, and he carried the one with the black.

	"When you come to my apartment on Friday, I will expect you to
be wearing the corset, stockings and panties. Over that, I want you to
wear something white that is very feminine and also VERY sexy. Between
now and then, you will buy two pairs of shoes - one white and one
black. They should both have very high heels - at least three and
one-half inches, but the higher, the better. I prefer sling-backs, or
something that has a sexy bow in the back. Sandals are not acceptable.
You will carry a bag which contains the white satin gloves, your black
shoes, your makeup, your toothbrush and your housekeys. You may bring
a $10 bill for the cab fare back home. That is all - absolutely
NOTHING else. Do you understand?"

	I agreed to do as he asked, and he spun on his heel and walked
away without saying goodbye. I was left standing there, in the middle
of Bleeker St., feeling annoyed, excited and scared - all at once.

				* * *

	Yesterday, I went shopping and found exactly what he wanted
for shoes. I got a pair of white calf pumps with four inch heels. At
the back, above the heel, was a white leather bow. I had never worn
anything so high, and the little bow seemed to scream "Fuck me!". But
the black ones are worse. The heels must be almost five inches. They
are black calf, highly polished. Each side is made out of five very
slim black leather laces that come up out of the sole of the shoe, are
gathered together and become one at the back of the heel, where they
tie in a VERY sexy bow. I was embarrassed to even try them on in the
store - I was SURE everyone would know what I wanted them for. But I
did it, and it made me even more excited! Both pairs are perfect!

	I couldn't find the right dress to wear over there until
today. In a store I would NEVER have thought to look in down near
Wall St., which seemed to cater to the secretaries from Brooklyn and
Queens, I found a white satin dress with a tight, low-cut bodice and
very full, puffy sleeves down to the elbow. The skirt flared WAY out,
and hung only to about four inches above my knees. I got a very, very
full white lace crinoline to wear under it, and it held the skirt out
perfectly. When I got it home, and tried it on again, it was even
sexier than I had thought in the store.

	I had to take today off from work. I was so excited and crazy
that I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on anything, anyway. I
spent some time on the computer talking to some of the BBS', then took
a llloooong bath with perfumed oil in the afternoon, shaved my legs
and underarms, toweled dry and powdered myself. I took a long time
over my makeup, getting everything perfect. Richard had said nothing
about my hair, but had left me the ribbon. So I wore my hair up with
the ribbon holding it off my face. Then, I went into the bedroom to
dress.

	As I put on the corset, I realized how small it was! It held
my waist in very tightly, which emphasized my breasts, hips and
buttocks. I drew the long, sexy stockings up my legs and attached them
to the garters, and pulled on the g-string, which served only to cover
up most of my pubic hair in front. In back, my ass was still
completely bare. I stepped into the crinoline and drew it up to my
waist, then put on the dress and zipped it up. The bra was doing its
job, all right - most of the upper half of my breasts were exposed
above the deep neckline of the dress. My nipples WERE covered - but
just barely! I put on the shoes, and walked over to my full-length
mirror to check out the full effect of the outfit.

	"God, I can't go out like THAT!" was the first thing that came
to my mind. The sexy, feminine dress with its view of my breasts,
combined with the "Fuck me!" pumps and the tiny waist (courtesy of the
corset) was just too much - added as it was to my normal dark,
somewhat sultry look and my six-foot height, it was like carrying a
neon sign advertising sex.

	I HAD to go out, though. It was the only way to take the first
step toward my new adventure. So I did the only thing I could think of
- I called a car service and spent $35 on a limo to take me the
fifteen blocks to Richard's house.

	So, here I am, standing out on West 10th Street, EARLY for the
appointment. I'm too nervous to knock on the door - I assume that I am
to be ON TIME, not early. But the looks of the men passing by are
becoming a little unnerving. It's almost six o'clock. I can't wait!

From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Oral (MF, mdom) [2/3]
Date: 25 Mar 1996 02:18:13 GMT

				Oral
			       Part Two

	Finally, six o'clock came. Punctually on time, I stood at
Richard's front door and rang the bell. The door was opened
immediately, and I saw Richard standing in a long hallway, wearing an
impeccable Italian-cut suit. His shoes gleamed and his tie was such
luxurious silk, I could almost feel it with my eyes. The expression on
his face, though, wasn't happy.

	"Come in," he said curtly, then stepped aside for me to
comply. He motioned me to enter a living room that was just off the
hallway. I entered and stood in the center of a beautiful room, as he
closed the door, then turned to face me.

	"You are almost two minutes late!" he growled at me,
glowering. "Is this the way you begin your service with me?"

	I quickly showed him my watch and explained that I had
actually gotten there early, but he brushed aside my explanations.

	"You should have thought to ask me what time it was by my
watch when we made the agreement to meet at six o'clock. That is the
most basic agreement - one of time - and one of the most important. If
you can't keep that, how can I rely on you to do anything right?"

	I was devastated! I had been standing on the sidewalk,
nervously trying not to meet the eyes of the men who had been staring
at my clothing, at the swell of my breasts over the low-cut neckline
of the dress. I had ignored the whistles, the "Hey, Baby!"'s and the
gestures. I had swallowed my embarrassment - feeling overdressed for
the hour, on a summer evening, and uncomfortable to be just standing
and waiting. All of this I had put up with so I would make a good
impression on Richard - and now I was late!

	"Perhaps we should forget this - or at least put it off for
another day," he said. I immediately cried out, saying I had so looked
forward to this meeting, and begging him not to put it off!

	"I will be punctual in the future, I promise!" I said. "Please
don't send me away, now! I've gone to such pains to get things I
thought you would like, and... "

	"And that is no more than I would expect you to do, Michelle!
That is your job, your part of this relationship. Mine is to evaluate
how well you have done what you were supposed to do, and to help you
to explore frontiers you have not had the courage to approach before.
All right - I'll let this one infraction pass. But in the future, I
will expect you to pay far more attention to details. Is that
understood?"

	I nodded my head, my heart beating wildly in reaction to my
momentary fear that my fantasies would not be explored.

	"Good. Now, empty out your bag on the table, there, so I can
see what you've brought."

	I did as he asked, and was pleased when he complimented me on
following those orders properly, at least. He also complimented me on
my choice for the black shoes - and said he found them sexy, which
thrilled me!

	"Now, put everything back in the bag. I'm going to take you
upstairs, now, and show you a few of the other rooms of the house. By
the way, remember that you are to go only where you are told to, and
only with me accompanying you (unless I tell you differently) while
you are here. Some of the rooms are off-limits to you, so follow my
instructions carefully. Understand?"

	"Yes, I understand, Richard," I said, as I began to follow him
out into the hallway. He turned and looked at me, and said:

	"That is something else we'd better get out of the way, now.
From now on, unless I tell you otherwise, you will address me as
"Master". When you are spoken to, you will immediately lower your eyes
to the level of my crotch, where they will remain until any
conversation is finished. Is that understood, also?"

	"Yes... master," I stammered. This had been something we had
discussed in principle, but no specific rule had been set until now.

	"And, again unless I expressly give you permission, you will
speak only when spoken to. You will NEVER initiate a conversation, ask
for a further explanation of an order, or open your mouth unless you
are spoken to first! Understand?"

	"Yes, Master. I understand."

	He led me up the staircase to the second floor. Toward the
back of the building, straight ahead from the staircase, was a door,
which led to a very beautiful bedroom. There was a queen-sized, white
enameled, old-fashioned bed, with a beautiful pink coverlet trimmed in
white lace. A dressing table on the side wall was covered in a
matching pink cloth, on which were a hairbrush and mirror made from
tortoise-shell. Next to the dressing table was a door that led into a
private bath. On the back wall were four large windows, now covered
with drawn shades, and on the left side wall was a door that seemed to
lead to a closet.

	"This will be your bedroom for the weekend, Michelle. You may
put your bag on the bed, for now, and follow me."

	After putting down the bag, I followed him out to the second
floor landing. He led me up to the third floor. As I climbed the
steps, I marveled at the value of the home we were in! Richard was
rich - no doubt about that! A three-story brownstone here in the
Village would sell, I was sure, for more than a million dollars -
although how much more, I had no idea. On the third floor, directly
over my room, was a bedroom clearly furnished for a man. It had two
deep arm chairs, a large, king-sized bed, and the colors were all
burgundy, brown and black. It was a "handsome" room, I thought - where
mine had been pretty and feminine. It seemed that Richard believed in
some of the old-fashioned sexual stereotypes - which was in keeping
with some of the things we had spoken about together.

	Richard threw himself down on the bed, propped his head up on
his right hand and said, "Stand over there in the middle of the floor,
where I can get a good look at you."

	I did as he asked, my hands down at my sides, my heart,
strangely, beating nervously. Perhaps it was the tone in his voice,
which was almost flat, with no emotion.

	"Now raise your skirt and your petticoat above your waist."

	I was shocked - although I suppose I shouldn't have been. I
guess I just expected to work up to the sexual part of things - not
just jump in with both feet! I reached down and gathered the full
satin skirt and its supporting crinoline in both hands and raised them
above my waist, as he had ordered. They became a double armful in
front of my breasts, as I stood there feeling how naked I was below
the waist.

	"Turn around, slowly, so I can see what you look like," he
said.

	I turned to my right, slowly, presenting more and more of my
body to his eyes. When my back was completely to him, I shivered,
remembering how naked my ass was with just the string of the pantie
running up between my buttocks. When I had made a complete revolution,
he said:

	"Now, pull off that foolish g-string. It doesn't cover you at
all - it just serves to give you a sense of being covered. It's only a
psychological defense against your nakedness."

	How right he was! As I removed the g-string, I realized how
much comfort I had been deriving from that tiny scrap of cloth.
Without it, I felt completely naked!

	He continued to scrutinize me - examining me carefully, but
still from a distance. I stood, still holding the g-string with my
left hand as I struggled to keep the skirt and crinoline held up with
my arms.

	"Those stockings fit you well. That's unusual for a woman your
height - they usually stop all too short, down near the knees,
someplace. I want you to remember to write down the brand name when
you get back to your room. There is a pen and writing paper in the
dressing table drawer."

	His statement didn't seem to require a response - but I was
unsure whether to answer "Yes, Master," or to stand there silently. I
decided that he would know that I had heard, and elected to remain
silent.

	"When I give you a command, like that, you will acknowledge it
by answering "Yes, Master". Is that understood?"

	Wrong again! I felt stupid and embarrassed as I answered,
"Yes, Master."

	"Come stand over here, in front of me," he commanded. I walked
nervously over to the bed, stopping right next to it, on a level with
his head. I could no longer see his face, because of the mass of
petticoat I was holding, but knew he was looking directly at my pubic
area. I began to blush, embarrassed at being so carefully studied.

	"Give me the g-string," he said, and I clumsily passed it to
him while holding the mass of nylon in place in front of me.

	"Your pussy has wet these panties. Did you know that?"

	I blushed furiously. "No, M-m-master," I stuttered. I had been
continuously excited since my bath, over two hours ago. I wasn't
surprised that the g-string had absorbed some of the moisture, but I
was very uncomfortable to have him speak so matter- of-factly about
it. The blush on my face flowed down into my lower body, though, as I
felt his fingers gently but firmly pressing the lips of my pussy
apart. My knees began to shake, and I must have been quivering like a
sapling all over, because he snapped:

	"Come, now, stand up straight and stop shaking! I'm only
examining you! This is something that you'll come to find a common
occurrence when you're with me in private - if I choose to have it be
so. Am I hurting you or in any other way being inconsiderate?"

	Inconsiderate! How could he even use that term when he had his
index and middle fingers up inside my pussy? He treated what he was
doing as commonplace, his right - whereas I had had men in the past
chasing me for weeks, praying for a chance to do the same thing!

	"No, Master, you're not hurting me," I responded, trying to
control the shaking in my legs (with very little success). I felt his
fingers slowly retreat, and he told me to turn around and bend over.

	I turned my back to him and bent over slightly, frightened to
allow myself to be vulnerable in this way. He spanked me sharply,
once, on my naked right buttock.

	"Bend over, I said! Surely you've got more flexibility in that
lovely body than that? Now bend over so that I can see your ass
clearly!"

	I bent deeply from the waist, my forehead nearly touching my
knees. As I remained in that uncomfortable and embarrassing position,
I felt his hand gently stroking my buttocks, then his fingers
spreading them apart. Whether it was the juice from my pussy, or some
other lubricant, one of his fingers was wet and slippery enough to
slowly press its way into my asshole. I was now thoroughly mortified!
No one had ever treated me anywhere near like this in my life!

	"Your ass is quite tight, Michelle. How many times have you
been fucked in there?"

	"Never, Master! I have never done that!" I said, shocked at
the idea. I had once or twice had a man stick a finger in my ass, but
had turned down everyone who had suggested anal sex. I didn't like the
idea - it sounded too painful.

	"Do you put fingers or toys in there when you masturbate?" he
asked, punctuating the "in there" with a few rapid back-and-forth
movements of his finger in my anus.

	"No, Master, I haven't," I answered truthfully. The feel of
that one finger was enough to make my legs start to shake again and my
face felt that it was beet red - but my pussy was beginning to ache
with a deep sexual itch, and I could tell that I was soaking wet down
there!

	He withdrew his finger and had me turn around to face him,
again. I still had the skirt and crinoline gathered in my arms, and I
felt foolish as I turned to face him. I peeked at his face, when I got
the chance, and saw that it was quite relaxed - not a smile, nor a
sign that he was in any way excited! I was shocked! How could what he
had just done not have effected him? He looked as if a thought had
just struck him, and his eyes turned up toward my face. I hurriedly
looked toward his crotch, as I had been instructed to do.

	"By the way, Michelle, your pussy hair is flattened down -
probably from the g-string and sitting down in the car on the way
here. I like nice, bushy hair on a pussy. Not lots of it - I prefer it
to be neat, like yours - but bushy. On our way back downstairs, I want
you to go into your bathroom, where you'll find a small hairbrush.
Brush your pubic hair to make it bush out more for me. Do you
understand?"

	"Yes, Master."

	"And don't make the mistake of taking that opportunity to go
to the bathroom. Bathroom visits will be strictly monitored here. I
will tell you when and where you may relieve yourself. Don't worry, I
won't forget about you - any more than I forget about taking the dog
for a walk!"

	As he smiled at me, I felt that in a way that's what I was:
just another pet to him. I wasn't sure how I felt about all this. I
had wanted to explore submissiveness, but had expected it to turn the
man on a lot. I still expected, I guess, the kind of control that a
woman frequently has simply from turning the male on. For him to be
calm and cool like this didn't jibe with my previous experience. I
couldn't predict, based on that experience, what he would do.

From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Oral (MF, mdom) [3/3]
Date: 25 Mar 1996 02:21:11 GMT

				Oral
			      Part Three

	As Richard led me downstairs from his bedroom, I was still
kind of dully excited. It's the sort of thing that happens to me
occasionally when I get sexually excited up to a point - but have no
climax. My pussy is tender, kind of itchy/achy deep inside the flesh
of the lips. My clitoris is swollen and I feel little shocks of
pleasure when I walk. I was still very wet - he had given me no
opportunity to wipe myself off or anything - and I was intensely
conscious of that, since I would never just walk around like that.

	As we passed my bedroom, he told me he would meet me
downstairs in the living room. I went in, found the paper and pen in
the dressing table, where he said it would be, and wrote down the name
of the stockings as I had been instructed. Then I went into the
bathroom to "brush my hair".

	The hairbrush he had spoken of was on a counter to the right
of the sink. As I picked it up, I saw that it was round, with bristles
all around. It had a small head - almost like a child's brush, I
thought. I raised my skirt and petticoat up with my left hand and,
looking in the mirror to see what I was doing, I began to brush my
pubic hair.

	I had never done this before, and I was surprised at how good
it felt. Of course, I was so excited that any attention paid to the
area around my pussy was going to be pleasurable. But this was
relaxingly exciting. It kept the thrills of electricity jumping
through the lips of my pussy and each tiny tug pulling on the lips
made my clit throb. I could have gotten lost in the feeling - but I
knew without his having told me that Richard expected me to do what I
had been told and get downstairs immediately. So I concentrated on
brushing and sort of twisting the handle of the brush as I stroked,
which made my pubic hair fluff out the way Richard wanted it. There
was something very strange about styling my pubic hair for a man I had
only met once before and with whom I had not even gone to bed yet -
but it was exciting and kind of nasty, which was exactly what I
wanted!

	I finished and smoothed the dress and crinoline back into
place. I was happy to see that, even though Richard had made me stand
with the skirt bunched up over my waist for quite a while, it still
looked unwrinkled and presentable. I wanted to look good for him -
particularly for this first meeting.

	As I entered the living room, I saw that Richard was sitting
in an easy chair, sipping a glass of champagne. I walked over toward
his chair, but didn't get too close. I was unsure what he wanted of
me, and preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

	"Come over here in front of me and lift your skirt so I can
see how you look," Richard ordered.

	I stopped about 3 feet in front of him and lifted the skirt.
He sat there for a moment studying me, then nodded and told me to let
my skirt down.

	"That's good, Michelle," he said. "From now on, when you're
with me, you'll pay particular attention to your pussy hair for me.

	"I want you to brush it often, like that. I like it to be
brushed, on either side, away from the lips, so they are clearly
visible. You have thick, luxuriant hair there. While it's attractive,
we don't want it to cover up those lips." He smiled at me. "When you
shower, I will expect you to use shampoo and conditioner on it, as you
would the hair on your head. Since it pleases me to see your pussy
hair looking good, it will please you to make sure that it does.
Understood?"

	"Yes, Master," I replied, my eyes directed toward his crotch,
as I had been ordered to do earlier. For the first time, I thought
that I detected more there than usual. It looked like he had a bit of
a hard-on! Thank God!! Maybe I was finally turning him on!

	"We have reservations this evening at a restaurant down in
TriBeCa called "211". Are you all ready to go out?"

	"Yes, Master," I responded. I was becoming very careful. I
would have liked to say that I was ready, unless he wanted me to dress
differently, or anything. I would not, by myself or with others, have
gone to TriBeCa wearing what I was wearing. It was the artists'
section of New York, and everyone down there, practically, wore black
cotton everything in the summer. But I knew that to do more than
simply reply would be to incur his anger.

	"Good! I have a small evening bag here for you to carry. It
has everything in it that you might need. No need to open it and look
- just take it with you."

	"Yes, Master," I meekly replied - but I was immediately
suspicious. Why didn't he want me to look into the bag?

	I followed him out the front door and stood on the landing
while he locked the door and set the alarm. It was a beautiful late
summer evening - warm enough to be comfortable wearing very little,
but not hot enough for me to be uncomfortable with the petticoat and
stockings I was wearing.

	We walked out to the sidewalk and toward Seventh Avenue to
look for a cab. He took my arm, and to everyone who passed us we must
have looked like two "normal" lovers. I felt relaxed and comfortable
with him - but I couldn't escape the novel feeling of my naked pussy
under my dress, and the coolness as the breeze occasionally found the
small drops of moisture that coated the outer part of the lips.

	After a short ride down to the lower part of Manhattan, we
drew up in front of a really lovely restaurant set in the street floor
of a manufacturing and warehouse building. Out front were a number of
tables. One, it turned out, had been reserved for us - a table for
four with two chairs on adjoining sides, just to the left of the front
door.

	I sat down in the chair closest to the street. The platform
the tables were on was elevated about four feet above street level, so
we had a great view of the passing parade of pedestrians. Richard sat
on my left. He ordered champagne for himself and seltzer water for me
(since I don't drink) and settled back, getting comfortable. It was
obvious that all the waiters and waitresses knew him and deferred to
him as one would to a favored customer.

	As we reviewed the menu, Richard told me to relax and talk
"normally" to him. He would not, at this stage in our relationship,
force me to call him "Master" in public, he said. Although it was nice
to relax and enjoy the evening, there was a certain "edge" that I had
already begun to enjoy in our roles of master/slave that I sort of
missed.

	Dinner was delicious. After salad and the main course, we both
elected only coffee for desert. I was full - and some of the
excitement, which had subsided while we ate our meal and talked
quietly, was coming back. I had butterflies in my stomach,
remembering the purpose of the weekend, and assuming that we would get
back to that purpose when we got back to the apartment.

	As we sipped our coffee, I felt Richard's hand on the inside
of my left thigh. The skirt was short and rode up quite a ways as I
sat - so my legs were almost completely bare under the tablecloth. No
one could see as he stroked and caressed me - within a few feet of
other diners and right above the heads of the pedestrians. I sat, not
moving, as his hand went higher and higher, above the top of my
stocking. He stroked the sensitive skin of my groin, between my thighs
and my pussy, with just the tips of his fingers. In fact, his hand
flitted here and there all around my pussy and my clit -but never
touched either. I was churning with excitement, and my lips were wet,
again, from it. I wanted him to touch me there so badly - but I could
only sit there casually chatting with him, putting on a front for the
other diners.

	When I thought I couldn't take it any more, he suddenly
stopped teasing me. His hand rose from my legs and, grasping my left
hand, drew it under the tablecloth and down to his lap. When he let
go, I realized that his zipper was down and his cock was exposed! For
a moment, my hand just lay there. I was too shocked to do anything
about it. I looked at him, and his eyes bored into mine. The meaning
was clear, of course, and slowly (careful not to make a movement which
would be seen by others) I took his hard cock in my hand.

	It was much larger than I had thought. Thicker and longer,
from the feel of it, than most of the cocks I had experienced before.
I began to stroke him and found that he was not circumcised, which
surprised me. For some reason, he was the first uncircumcised man I
had ever been with. I enjoyed the feeling of the foreskin sliding up
and back over the head of his cock - and the excitement of feeling the
head stick further and further out until it was fully exposed. As I
slowly stroked his cock, he carried on a perfectly normal conversation
- as though nothing at all were going on! I had never encountered a
man who was so calm and collected. I, meanwhile, was dripping wet and
dying to go back to the apartment and (as I thought to myself) really
get going!

	After I had stroked him for a few minutes, he leaned his head
close to mine and whispered:

	"I want you to go into the Ladies' Room. If you need to, you
may relieve yourself now - and I would suggest it, since you may not
have another opportunity for some time. When you are through, I want
you to wash your pussy clean - I want it fresh and sweet smelling. In
your bag you'll find a brush similar to the one you used back in your
bathroom. You'll also find something else that I want you to wear. It
should be obvious how it works. It had better be, since you'll be
punished if you don't get it right. Now leave immediately!"

	We were obviously back to Master/Slave - and I was delirious
with excitement, again. I regretfully let go of his cock and stood up,
walking toward the rear of the restaurant, looking for the rest rooms.
When I found the Ladies' Room, I sat down immediately and urinated - I
had been holding it in for quite a while, and it had started to get
uncomfortable in the last few minutes. It was a relief to be able to
pee. When I was finished and had flushed the toilet, I walked over to
the sink and carefully washed myself using the fine scented soap and
paper towels I found there. After I dried myself off, I looked in my
handbag for the brush. It was in there, all right - underneath a
cock-shaped thing about five inches long and quite fat. It had an
adjustable, elasticized set of half- inch straps that was clearly
designed to hold it in place, with one strap to go over it and between
the legs which joined another around the waist. As he said - it was
obvious how it worked! I brushed the hair away from my pussy lips and
spread them open. I had never used a dildo before, but I was excited
and trembling at the thought. I carefully slid it into my pussy and
tightened the straps to hold it firmly in position inside me. It was
strange to move around and feel this thing in me - and very sexy! When
I was sure it wouldn't fall out or move a great deal, I again used the
brush to style my pubic hair the way Richard liked it.

	I walked back out to the table, feeling the dildo inside me
and almost falling down with the continual flow of pleasure from my
pussy. I reached the table and sat down, allowing the dress to ride
way up my thighs again, nearly exposing the tops of my nylons.

	I wanted to reach over and stroke his cock, again, but I was
afraid to take permission to do that for granted. And I knew we were
back to the stage where I was not expected to initiate any discussions
- so I just sat and waited to be told what to do.

	"The check's paid, my dear. Let's walk a bit before we get a
cab, shall we?"

	He took my arm, led me down the steps and started walking
west, which I knew wasn't the direction we'd go if we were looking for
a cab. He was just roaming around, and it was a nice night and
everything - but I had a dildo in me that was doing things that I had
never felt before with each step! I just prayed that soon we'd be
heading home and I could have the climax I'd been building toward for
several hours, now!

			       The End