We were sitting in a motel lounge when David whispered in my ear, “Take my cock out of my pants.”
I never know when David will decide to assert his control over me. Even when he has me dress for the part, as he had that evening, in one of what he calls my high-class-slut outfits, sometimes he just shows me off to strangers and occasionally he does nothing at all. Giving up control to David is my way of getting past my inhibitions and unleashing my total sexuality, and he knows my limits, the boundaries of what he can tell me to do. The uncertainty of not knowing when or even whether he’ll have me do something makes being with him even more exciting for me, and he knows that.
I met David soon after the nasty divorce that followed my ill-considered marriage, and we’d become good friends, but I’ll never forget the first time he asserted himself in our relationship. We’d discussed my unfortunate choice of spouse, but things between us changed forever on the night of my 28th birthday, when he got fed up enough with my maudlin self-pity over that failed relationship to take action. He stomped across my living room, yanked me up off the couch, held my hands down at my sides, and kissed me firmly through my sputtering protests. He kissed me like a sexual assault about to happen rather than as a supportive friend, and he didn’t let my struggling or my verbal objections, when I could rip my mouth away from his long enough to shout them, stop him.
I was thoroughly shocked by his unexpected behavior, but I could feel, and both of us could smell, that my being forced to accept what he was doing had gotten me hotter than a firecracker and wetter than Niagara Falls. Neither of us knew this before it happened, but it took his dominating me to bring out my full sexual potential, and the results were awesome.
I sighed as my thoughts returned to the present and I surveyed the place he’d brought me this time, which was fairly empty and rather dimly lit. We were on tall, low-backed stools at the bar, sipping from our drinks and making idle conversation, when a man walked in and sat on the stool next to me. He was ordinary-looking, neither handsome nor ugly; he had dark hair and eyes and seemed reasonably fit, a middle-manager type in his forties. I’ll never know why, with all the other places available, he chose to sit there; fate can take strange turns.
David looked him over quickly, then issued his command. Before I could react, he took my left hand in his right, guided it under the counter of the bar to his lap, and moved it back and forth over his crotch. He told me to do what he’d said, took his hand away from mine, turned slightly sideways, and put his right hand on the back of my stool.
I struggled to get his zipper down and his fully-erect cock out with one hand. Then I sat there, raising my drink with my right hand and sipping it while stroking his erection with my left. Knowing without looking that the stranger sitting on my right was trying to see what I was doing, I turned my body to the left to put more of my shoulders in his way, an automatic embarrassed reaction. I could almost feel his breath on the side of my neck, and then he leaned over and said to David, across my back, “Excuse me, but your lady is about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
It was a dumb line, but David makes allowances for what sudden horniness does to other men. “Thank you,” he replied. “She’s a special kind of woman. If you want to know why, just ask her; her name is Carol.”
The man looked at me, then glanced down and around my body to where my hand was still sliding slowly up and down on David’s hard cock. He brought his gaze back to my face and asked, “Why are you such a special woman, Carol?”
David said softly, “Tell him you’re special because you know how to behave like a whore. Whisper it into his ear.”
My agreement with David is that I must obey him within my limits or he’ll never play the game again, so I leaned over to the stranger and whispered, “I’m special because I know how to behave like a whore.”
His eyes widened, and then he got a kind of confused look, like he didn’t know what to do next. He swigged his beer and turned toward the TV behind the bar.
“Tell him you want to show him something,” David said, “and lean back so he can see what you’re doing. Then ask him if you can rub your other hand on his cock and make him hard too.”
I leaned toward the guy, but he kept his eyes focused on the TV screen. “I want to show you something,” I whispered. Then I leaned back, and with my eyes I directed his toward David’s lap. He gulped, and I whispered, “Can I hold your cock in my other hand and make it hard too?”
The man turned his head both ways, looking around the near-empty lounge, and saw that no one was paying any attention to us. He took my right hand and moved it to his lap, and I felt myself beginning to get wet as I started rubbing the front of his pants.
“Take it out for him,” David prompted, and I did. Now I had two stiff cocks, one in each hand, and I was getting more than a little turned on. I gently squeezed the stranger’s cock-head, and a small amount of pre-cum oozed out of the slit. I ran my thumb over the top of his cock and spread the moisture around.
David spoke again. “Tell him if he makes sure no one else sees, he can put his hand under your skirt and feel your wet pussy.”
“If you don’t make it obvious,” I whispered, “you can reach under my skirt and feel my sopping-wet pussy.” It was true, too; I was juicing pretty heavily, and the front triangle of my thong was soaked. With my two hands still pumping away, I watched his hand slide along the top of my thigh, under my skirt. He hesitated for a couple of seconds when he touched the garter at the top of my stocking, then slid his hand up until his fingers were probing at my pussy through the thong. His fingers glided up and down my slit, bumping my erect clit at the top of each stroke. I started breathing more heavily, sighing softly each time he contacted my joy-button.
“Ask him what his favorite fantasy is,” David directed quietly. “Ask what he’s always wanted to do with a woman but never has.”
“Tell me your wildest fantasy,” I whispered as he continued to rub my pussy. “Tell me what you’ve always dreamed of doing with a woman, but never have.” My sighs had become little gasps of pleasure each time his finger bumped my clit.
He leaned closer to me, and I could smell the beer on his breath. “I’ve never fucked a woman in the ass,” he said. “Are you going to let me fuck your ass?”
I turned back to David “He said he’s never had anal sex.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wants to know if I’ll let him fuck my ass.”
“You’re turned on, aren’t you.” David knows me well, and his tone implied it wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. When David makes me put on a show, or offer myself to another man, I get so hot I’ll do just about anything he orders me to; my limits mostly have to do with disease prevention, not sexual matters. He knows, for example, that I won’t do scat play, but I’ve had plenty of golden showers and I don’t even mind the taste any more. “Tell him you need to taste some cum but I won’t let you unless he fucks your ass first. You do need that, don’t you, cum-slut?”
That’s another thing David knows about me; when I get really cranked up, I crave the taste of a man’s spend. “Yes, Sir, I need that,” I answered, and my clit tingled when I said the words.
“Then ask him nicely if he would fuck your ass and come in your mouth, and don’t forget to say please.”
Both cocks were twitching in my hands and my pussy was gushing as I turned back to the stranger, and he leaned toward me, putting his ear next to my lips. “I want to taste some hot cum but David says I can’t unless I let you fuck my ass first. Will you please fuck my ass and then come in my mouth?”
“Where?” he whispered back.
That one I could handle without coaching. “Anywhere you want.”
“The restroom.”
I turned to David. “He wants to do it in the restroom.”
“Okay,” he said. “Go into the ladies’ room and make sure it’s empty. Then put the closed for cleaning sign out, take your thong off, and finger yourself until we get there, but don’t come.”
I took my hands away from their laps, got off my stool, and headed for the rest rooms, rolling my hips as I strutted across the lounge on my four-inch fuck-me heels. There was no one in the ladies’ room, so I looked around, found the closed sign, and hung it on the outside of the door. Then I took off my thong, put it in my purse, hiked up the front of my skirt, and stood in the middle of the room, touching myself. I was incredibly ready; my face was flushed and my chest was heaving. It was a struggle for me to keep from going over the edge as I slid my fingers between my swollen, sticky labia and diddled my throbbing clit.
