Becoming Owned

The club was busy. Someone more cool than me might say it was jumpin' or hoppin' or slammin'. I'm not that cool, I can't pull that off. But, it was busy. Bodies were pressed against each other up by the bar, only barely visible through the violet haze that permeated the air from the smoke machines and darkness. Bodies were pressed against each other on the dance floor, moving and sliding sinuously or banging around violently, all in time to the music.

I felt the beat and wanted to dance, but shyness kept me from it. I hadn't danced since high school, and the styles had changed, the music had changed. I didn't want to look like an idiot and I was afraid I would. In fact, I was already afraid I did. I had taken the advice of some friends and borrowed some clothes from them. Leather skirt, lightly laced corset, high heeled leather boots. What was I doing in these clothes? I'd never worn anything like this in my life. I felt like I was in a costume.

I stood in the doorway, off to the side so as not to block traffic flow, hesitant to take the next steps into the room. I couldn't see my friends from here, and they were supposed to meet me. Of course, I was early, and they were often not the most punctual of people. They probably weren't even here yet, even though they were the ones who had talked me into coming here to get out of the house after my last break up. It had been months since I'd gone anywhere social. I didn't see myself having much luck here either, since I wasn't into the bar scene, no matter if the bar was a goth bar/dance club. Who cared? They were all the same, just different people with different interests doing the same thing.

I smoothed my skirt, took a deep breath, and followed a particularly bedecked couple into the interior of the dance portion of the club. A bar, some couches, stools and chairs, and the dance floor. I wandered around a little, looking to see if my friends were actually here or not, and I couldn't find them. I settled onto a stool in the darkest, most hidden corner I could find that still had a view of the doorway. Maybe no one would notice me or at least not talk to me until they were here.

I sat there, not making eye contact with people for about ten minutes. I watched the dancers on the floor, checked the doorway periodically for my friends, and slowly drifted into a mind-numbed dazed brought about by the music, lighting, and fog. I don't know how long I sat there, mesmerized, staring at the dance floor, at one of the paid dancers in particular on top of a platform. I couldn't hear anything but the music even though people were all around me laughing and talking.

My glazed eyes caught a bit of brightness over to the right, and I glanced away from the dancer for just a moment, and stopped. The music faded to the background of my consciousness, the chatter of the people completely gone. I no longer saw the dancers. Just him.

He was looking at me too. No, he was watching me. Not staring, not mesmerized like I was. Just watching, arms crossed, calmly, patiently waiting for me to notice him. The brightness, a vibrant red satin shirt covering a black t-shirt, leather pants, boots. Oh, the boots. I stared. I couldn't help it. There was a girl there with him, talking to him. He was responding to her, but his attention kept returning to me.

When his deep brown eyes met mine, my mouth went dry. He cocked his head to one side and beckoned to me with one hand. I paused and then stood up, rocking a little on the unfamiliar heels. Without really thinking, with my breath caught in my throat, I went to him. I weaved through the crowd easily, looking as though I was completely at ease in those leather boots.

I stopped about a foot away from him, still staring. The girl wandered off, and he was watching me stare at him. I could feel his presence, large, warm, and safe. I wanted to touch him, but my shyness and natural reserve held me back.

"Well, what do we have here?" His voice was smooth, comforting, hot in my ears. His head was tilted to the side, the brown eyes seeming to be hard and kind at the same time, now that I was closer. I shook myself mentally, breaking eye contact to regain control over my senses and looking instead at my boots.

"I'm Jessie," I said, not looking up.

"Matt," he said shortly, as if my name was not the information he wanted. I wasn't looking, so I jumped when he touched my chin with his forefinger, lifting my head so that my eyes met his again. "You must have come here to find me," he said softly, sending chills down my back. "You've got the look in your eyes."

Startled, I pulled away from him now, his hand returning to his crossed arms. "What look?"

He did not answer my question, instead taking my hand. "Dance with me." There was no question, no offer in the statement. It was an order, but I didn't argue or hesitate. I just went out onto the dance floor with him, and it was my undoing.

He radiated power. He moved me through the unfamiliar dance moves with such knowledge and grace, my body moving as he wanted it to move. My normal clumsiness did not exist, had in fact vanished. The fact that I didn't know these moves, that I didn't know the music, never affected my feet, my body. I swayed, slithered, and slid all to the music, at the guidance of his hand.

And I felt myself open. I felt myself drawn in. His hand slid up my back, to my neck, winding into my hair and grasping. My knees buckled, but he was there to catch me. His mouth devoured mine, tongue pushing deep into me, and I let him, pressing my leather clad hips against his. Grinding into him. He slid his one of his legs between mine, and moved me against his thigh.

My already heated body ignited, and I writhed against his thigh, pressing myself against him, seeking the release that he was offering me. I stared into his hard yet warm eyes and wanted more. I wanted to be possessed by him, to have him take me right there on that dance floor. My pleasure built and built almost reaching crescendo, and then the song ended, and he moved me away from him.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, and he said nothing, just led me toward the door of the club. I followed, unresisting. Down some stairs, out the door. My eyes were locked on the back of his shoulders, his neck. My clit throbbed beneath my skirt, but more than that, I wanted him. I wanted to pleasure him. I wanted him in my mouth, my pussy. I wanted him to conquer my body, with those hard warm eyes and his knowledge of me and what I needed to be.

I didn't know where we were going, and didn't say a word when he led me to an alley. He leaned up against a wall, and I knelt down before him, unzipping his fly and taking him into my mouth. He was hard, apparently as turned on as I was. I swallowed him, tongue swirling, back and forth with my head. He tasted divine, slightly salty, warm, smooth. I wanted more of him, as deep into my mouth as possible.

But he stopped me. "Pull your skirt up," he said to me. I said nothing, just did as he said, exposing my black satin panties to the chilled night air. "Take them off."

I hesitated only slightly before obeying, handing them to him. He nodded and then indicated his stiffened prick. "Back to work."

I dropped back to my knees, skirt still hiked, mouth enveloping him again. My desire was still building within me, albeit slower now. My bare ass and pussy were exposed to the chilled air, but that only seemed to make them more sensitive.

He groaned above me now, pushing me away from him gently. Then he helped me to my feet. I was saddened to no longer have him in my mouth. He pushed me against the wall, though, and spread my legs. He shoved two fingers into my pussy, which spread and stretched easily to accommodate him.

He fingered me for just a few moments, before withdrawing his fingers and shoving his cock deep into me. I moaned in relief when he did so, moving as much as I could to accommodate more of him. He began thrusting into me roughly.

He wrapped his fingers back into my hair, and shoved my head gently against the wall while he fucked me. He leaned in close to my ear.

"This is the first time you've done something like this, isn't it?"

"Yes, oh God, don't stop."

"Why now?"

I couldn't think, desire was flowing over me, building, crashing against me.

"What?"

"Why now? Why me?" He paused in his thrusts, controlling himself when I could not.

"Your eyes, your manner," I moaned. "Please, keep going."

"What about them?" he asked, thrusting slowly into me now, and drawing himself back out even more slowly. I couldn't stand it.

"It was as if you owned me. I couldn't help but obey. Fuck me, please. I can't take this much longer," I begged.

"I do own you," he said. "You're mine from now on." He began thrusting in earnest. I thrust back against him as well as I could with my head pressed against the brick.

"Ok." I said, or rather, moaned.

"Say it." He fucked me harder and I felt my orgasm crashing over me.

"You own me. I belong to you. Oh God, yes, yes!" I shrieked as I came. He released my hair and I thrust back against him, using his cock as I came to increase my pleasure. I caught my breath and he pulled out of me, not having come himself.

He pushed me to my knees and placed his cock against my lips. I eagerly swallowed it, but he held my head and fucked my mouth for a few moments, coming into my throat. I swallowed gratefully and licked him clean.

He pulled himself out of my mouth, and zipped his pants back up. I knelt at his feet and hugged his knees. My new owner, my Master.