As she waited in her car, Brenda couldn't believe she was here again. Her short, shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat evidence of her apprehension.

My God. I'm a happily married wife and mother, why can't I stop doing this? 

Brenda was the prototype Soccer Mom. She was thirty-three-years-old, married ten years, living in the suburbs with a nine-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter. Her husband was just what she dreamed about as a girl. Loving, handsome, dedicated to her and the kids, a good provider, he genuinely enjoyed being a family man. She appeared to be totally absorbed in the lifestyle of a stay-at-home Mom. She filled her days driving kids to school in the morning, keeping the house just right, volunteering to work at a number of charities and civic groups, picking up the kids in the afternoon and shuttling them to after-school activities.

But appearances can be deceiving. Here she was again. Down deep she knew why. There was great passion with her husband during their courtship and early in their marriage. Bill was a good lover: gentle, considerate. never demanding, always trying to fulfill her needs. A few months after they were married, she was pregnant with Bill Jr and things started to change. It was a difficult pregnancy and, after her son was born, it seemed there was never time for intimacy. She fell into the Mom routine, continuing to the birth of her daughter and beyond.

Now the kids were older, whenever she and her husband found time for sex it was only behind a locked bedroom door with the emphasis on being quiet so the kids wouldn't hear.

At five foot seven and 135 pounds, Brenda kept herself fit and, without bragging, she thought she had a nice body. It's true her figure had changed since having kids. She was quite slender when she was younger, now she had a woman's figure. At 36C-28-38 Brenda could best be described as voluptuous, and by most men, very desirable. Brenda felt like she was wasting away in a dull sex life. Then she started meeting... Him.

There was nothing dull about the meetings with him. As long as she could remember, Brenda had had fantasies involving strong men. When she was younger she dreamed of being swept off her feet. As she grew older the fantasies changed to being taken by a man. She never thought she could tell anyone how she felt, certainly not her husband. Then she told Him.

He questioned her about the specific details of her fantasies. Embarrassed about what she really wanted, Brenda tried to be vague. As they went on, it turned into an interrogation. He made her answer just by the force of his personality. Then he began to take control.

At first Brenda thought he was just doing what she wanted. Then she realized he was using the knowledge to take advantage of her and use her as he pleased. He constantly took Brenda to new limits. Some of the things he did Brenda had fantasized about since she was a teenager. Others she never dreamed of.

He was anything but gentle and considerate. The things he did were rough, sometimes degrading, even painful. She couldn't explain why the things he demanded gave her such pleasure, such ecstasy. She only knew she didn't want him to stop.

Today he had said nothing about how Brenda should dress. Sometimes, he instructed her to wear specific clothes and lingerie, but not today. Brenda was dressed like a suburban soccer mom: white short sleeve button down blouse and a light blue skirt. The skirt was snug but not too tight, above the knee but not too short.

Three inch heeled wedge sandals finished off her outfit for this warm spring day. The sandals had slim ankle straps and could either be viewed as sexy or stylish depending on the frame of mind of the viewer. Perfectly appropriate for shopping or pick up the kids after school. But today she was waiting for Him.

Brenda sent him the text this morning. "Master, may I please see you today?"

His reply came about twenty minutes later. "Twelve o'clock at the farm house, slave."

When Brenda read it she could hardly breathe. Since then the day had been a blur. After dropping the kids at school, Brenda went home to get ready. She started with a hot bubble bath, taking her time to carefully shave, everywhere. Since their first meeting he had been very specific about that. Brenda made sure her make up was just right and did her shoulder length chestnut hair in a very simple pony tail as was his preference. Then she dressed with new matching lace bra and thong panties. And now Brenda waited.

Brenda squirmed around on the car seat again. She felt the front of her panties slip under one of her cunt lips. It was still hard for her to believe she used words like that to describe her body. He had been pretty clear about her vocabulary. Slaves didn't have a vagina or breasts or rear. She had a cunt, tits and ass. Of course she had resisted, she never used that kind of language. After experiencing his methods of persuasion, she came around pretty quickly.

Now it had become second nature and she had to be careful during conversations in her regular life. Fortunately, Brenda rarely discussed her private body parts in the routine course of a day. She put her hands under her skirt. Slipping her fingers under the lacy fabric, she ran her fingers over her smooth shaved cunt lips, adjusting her panties out of her crack.

Her cunt was already starting to get wet. Her middle finger slipped between her cunt lips and touched her swollen clit. Brenda closed her eyes as she circled the base of her clit with her finger, then gently rubbed the tip. She inhaled deeply and leaned her head back against the headrest as the pleasurable sensations flowed through her body. She sighed and quickly pulled her hands out from under her skirt, resisting the urge to continue. Masturbating without permission was strictly forbidden. Brenda smoothed the hem of her skirt and looked around. Seeing no one, she continued to wait.

He always arrived after her. The farm house was a thirty minute drive from Brenda's home, most of it on the freeway, then ten minutes on country roads. Brenda was parked in front of the farm house.

It was hard to tell how long it had been since anyone had lived here, certainly a long time. The property was overgrown, the house not visible from the road. The home was in disrepair, unkempt and dusty, except for one bedroom. That was the only room in the house that was clean and had furniture.

Once more Brenda thought, I could leave now. I could send him a text saying something came up and I can't make it. I don't have to go through with this!

The movement in the rear view mirror startled her. The Sheriff's Department patrol car drove up the long gravel driveway and came to a stop directly behind Brenda's car. With no room to pull forward and the patrol car behind her, she was blocked in. Brenda had the sensation of ice water hitting her heart then a familiar tingling between her legs.

He's here!