tagBDSMI'm Different: The Beginning

I'm Different: The Beginning

bysublaura©

I'm a bit different from most of the sub women that people (mostly men I think) write about at Literotica and other places I've read stuff. Firstly I'm not ravishingly beautiful and sexy with a perfect body. I'm 37, very ordinary, slightly over weight - but working on it - with stretch marks from my last pregnancy. I've got small breasts and I wear glasses!

Secondly I love my husband and my three kids. My husband loves me. He does his share of the domestic chores willingly and happily. He is a good father. Sex with him is usually delightful and not at all a chore and I almost always have an orgasm. My kids are more important to me than anything, even my Master.

Thirdly my Master isn't a hunk with a cock much bigger than husband's who is able to fuck like no other man I've ever met. Looking at him objectively he isn't as good looking as my husband and he's not anything outstandingly special in the sex department, although I'm not saying he's inadequate.

Fourthly we didn't just meet as strangers and know immediately that we were sub and Master, or meet over the net in chatrooms or personals boards or any of the other ways most other D/s couples seem to have met. I'd known him for years and he never stirred one sensual or submissive urge in me. He is my twin brother's best friend and I've known him for well over 20 years. We had always been familiar acquaintances who were pleasant to each other and never thought of each other when we weren't in the same room.

It was only 2 years ago that things changed. I was at my brother's place at a sort of a low-key party and the man who is now my master and I were in the kitchen cleaning up a bit while others still lingered around the table or were talking in the lounge room. I was rinsing some plates and accidentally dropped one. He told that I was a "very naughty girl" and I deserved to be spanked. He said in a really joking sort of way but the thought of being spanked just excited me and I replied "yes. I do don't I" or something like that.

He said "well if you break any more, I'll just have to do it to you".

For a reason I still cannot fully explain I picked up the next plate and slowly and deliberately dropped it on the floor in front of him. It shattered. He just looked into my eyes and I looked into his and I felt so excited, not just sexually but in my whole body and mind. He just walked behind me and hit me once fairly hard across my butt with his open hand, over my skirt. I pushed my bottom back towards him, turned to look at him and picked up another plate. I didn't need to drop it. He hit me again. I moaned or made a sound something like that and he just lifted up my skirt, pulled my panties sort of out and down and gave me a hard whack on my bare skin. Then we heard someone coming down the hall to the kitchen and he just let my panties go and they jumped back around my waist as he let my skirt fall. He quickly bent down and started picking up the broken plate bits and I, blushing like anything, my butt stinging with a most tremendous warm feeling, and my sexual antennae, vagina and nipples, working overtime. I was excited, horny and very, very confused. His wife and my brother's wife and another woman came in all talking and laughing. They thought he had dropped the plates and joked about his clumsiness while I kept my head over the sink and worried about what if she'd come in while he had my bare butt on show? What if my husband had? Or my brother? And then my spanked butt intruded on my thoughts and I saw a mental picture of myself as if I was watching myself from a spot on the ceiling reliving his spanking me. I wanted to flick my nipples, squeeze my legs together and masturbate to orgasm. But I wasn't really sure why.

I wasn't very sexually experienced. I had been a faithful wife since I married. Well there had been the odd groping kiss at office Christmas parties before the kids, a bit of flirting now and then with friends' husbands, but no adultery, no affairs, and no desire for any. I wasn't a virgin when I met my husband, but I certainly wasn't promiscuous. I'd been with four men: one was a longish term live-in relationship my husband knew about. Two of the other three were holiday flings and the last was an on again off again affair with an older married man who taught me a lot about sex and the range of things you could do to give each other pleasure and the endless variety and combinations of positions and techniques with which you could enhance it. I broke off with him for good when I met my husband. With none of these 5 men was I sexually submissive. I didn't actively seek submissive sex in any way and if I'd been polled for a Cosmo quiz or something like that I would have said that I desired equality between bed partners.

I had since girlhood, certainly since before puberty, had some dreams of being submissive. I'd dreamt of being captured by pirates and being enslaved by them. I dreamt of being kidnapped by Mafia bosses and forced to serve them. But these dreams weren't primarily sexual. Often in them they would strip me naked and I would thrill at the naughtiness and humiliation of it, but I never had any hardcore sexually submissive dreams that I am aware of. I read romantic novels, and preferred those in which a strong man psychologically and physically dominated the heroine, but like the novels, my thoughts turned to crashing waves for climax rather than any nitty-gritty submissive sexual depictions. Even more importantly, I consider myself an active feminist. I believe, very strongly, in gender equality and I am highly educated. I can deconstruct any text concerning domination and submission as a metaphor for the power of ruling theory and a hegemonic gender relationship.

Yet here I was, more physically and mentally excited, more sexually charged than I could ever recall being, longing to relive, to experience again and again, the thrill, the sting, and the arousal of those three hard slaps across my butt. I felt cheated that we had been stopped. I wanted to break lots of plates. I wanted to be a really naughty girl. I wanted to be punished.

As soon as I finished in the kitchen I went to the bathroom and reaching under my skirt and in the front of my panties I roughly brought myself off with my fingers, taking only seconds and feeling my still stinging butt as I shook, leaning on the basin, with a shuddering, image-coloured climax.

The party broke up shortly after that. I didn't speak to him again, but as I left, saying general good byes and holding my husband's hand, I saw him staring at me across the room and I gave him a long look back. That night as my husband fucked me, for the first time I pretended that he was doing it forcibly, that I was restrained. I kept my hands under my head and held my legs tightly against the bed and responded only with the rest of my body. I could tell he noticed the difference but he didn't say anything and I had a huge orgasm as I pretended my brother's friend was watching us and was going to spank me for being a naughty girl.

Just after I had seen my two eldest kids off to school the next morning the phone rang. It was he.

"We have to talk," he said. We made arrangements to meet at a coffee shop not far from my youngest child's day care. I can't now easily describe the mixture of emotions I went through as I dressed my daughter and prepared her carry bag, and dressed myself in a way that I thought, while casual, would please this man whom I wouldn't have given a fig for two days ago. I was nervous, excited, sexually aroused, scared, worried that my husband would find out, desperate to see him, wondering what on earth I was going to say, and so much more.

I dropped the baby off and continued on to the coffee shop. He was there waiting for me, playing with the sugar and toying at his espresso. He saw me and ordered a cappuccino from a passing waitress as I sat down opposite him. I was really nervous and looked around to make sure that I knew no one there, as I said hello to him. He stared straight into my eyes and just looked for a long minute, maybe more before he said in a low, husky voice, much tenser than his normal one, "You know why you're here then?"

I didn't really, certainly not in a way I could verbalize. But I kept his gaze, feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable, and really conscious of my dampening pussy and sweaty palms, and above all of the inexpressibly positive, almost pleasant, feeling that I had to do what he told me, that I had no choice. .

I nodded.

"Good," he said. "You can leave now if you like and we'll never talk of it again."

He seemed to be taking half this conversation for granted, assuming things that I needed to understand and discuss, but I didn't say anything and I let him go on.

"Do you want to do that?"

"No," I whispered through dry lips as I hung my head. I was conscious as I acted and spoke like this that I was behaving in exactly the opposite way to my normal behaviour, and especially to my beliefs about myself yet I couldn't explain or even understand why.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," again in a dry mouthed whisper, although in reality I was far from sure, even about exactly what I was telling him I was sure about.

His hand reached across the table and he held two fingers of my left hand from next to my coffee cup and held them loosely, getting me to look into his eyes again.

"Go into the bathroom now, take off your panties and bring them back to me," he said. His eyes didn't move from my face as he said it.

I felt myself blush hotly. I could feel my heart beat and my mouth was totally dry. I knew that this was a pivotal point in my life even while another part of my brain told me that I shouldn't be here and that I was risking everything. He let go of my hand and I made my choice, ignoring my conscience, walked slowly across the room to the door to the restrooms, leaving him there, sipping his coffee, and feeling without looking, that his eyes followed me all the way. I entered the first stall and realized I was shaking all over. I couldn't stop the shaking, but I did take some deep breaths to calm myself as much as possible. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them down and off. For some reason I felt relieved that I had chosen sexy undies. I pulled my panties down my legs and held them in my fist as I got into the jeans again, feeling the uncomfortable rasp of the crotch against my pussy. I sat on the seat for a few minutes, still shaking a little and then went back to his table.

"Give them to me Laura."

I passed them over to him from my fist. He looked at them and, not hiding them as I had but not holding them up for the whole shop to see either, passed them beneath his nose and put them in his pocket.

"Let's go," he said.

Apart from the whispered "yes" and "no" I'd not spoken a word and my limbs were still shaking as we walked from the shop. He paid and stood back to let me leave first. As we walked out, his hand lightly slapped my jean-clad butt and I wanted him to hit me hard, but instead of hitting me he left his hand there and stroked me softly, like a husband or lover and not as I wanted it now. With his hand he steered me down an alleyway beside the shop. It was empty but people were walking past at the end where we had entered. He pushed me face forward towards the wall and slapped me hard. And now I knew why I was there. I was a naughty girl and I needed to be punished. And I so much wanted to be punished. He hit me again and it hurt. And again. My breasts were pushed against the brick wall, my cheek grazed it and my hips were being ground into a protruding concrete decoration. And I felt horny and sexy and alive and as if I had discovered freedom. He turned me around and his hands went to my breasts. He touched my nipples through shirt and bra and squeezed and I loved it. I wanted to feel him bite them. I wanted him to over-power me and fuck me hard and I wanted to be made, to be forced, to suck his cock. He stopped squeezing and looked at my flushed face, drew back his hand and slapped me hard on the cheek.

"You love it laura," he growled, "you slut"

I bridled. I didn't think I was a slut. Then I realized that by being there with him, I was acting like a slut. I was married to a good man whom until that minute I thought I loved completely. I was a mother to three young children. And here I was freely giving my panties to a man who wasn't my husband, letting him squeeze my breasts, letting him hit me, fantasizing about him making me suck his cock, letting him make me sexually aroused. I realized I that I was a slut, a pathetic, horny, promiscuous, cock wanting excuse for a wife and mother. And as I realized this, I also understood that it was because I was like this I deserved to be punished and that I would welcome the punishment. And I was still in control enough to analyse my feelings and to know it was the realisation of my sluttiness and my need for punishment that was turning me on so much.

I wanted to be the good wife and mother I was until two days ago. I knew I should leave him. But I also wanted, even more to be shown what a slut I was, to be punished for it and to experience in reality the sexual dreams and pleasures that were writhing in my mind.

"Be at my place 10 am tomorrow".

He grabbed a breast and squeezed it hard and without another look at me he was gone. I stood there for a few moments, walked unsteadily to my car, drove home, let myself in, stripped in the hallway lay down on the carpet and quickly, urgently, stroked my clit, as with the other hand I squeezed and pinched my nipple as hard as I could bear it until I came and came and came.

The next morning started like any other. A cuddle and kiss from my husband as we woke up. A loving and lingering goodbye kiss from him as he left. The two older kids made ready for school. Preparing the baby for daycare. Then came the difference. Instead of a perfunctory shower and toilet for cleanliness rather than appearance, I took the sort of care I was used to taking only for special occasions with my husband: a thorough scrubbing, shaving of my legs and armpits and trimming my pubic push, careful makeup, careful choice of perfume, put on carefully, including dabs between my breasts and at the top of my thighs. Lingerie to be seen by someone else rather than for my own comfort, garter belt and stockings rather than pantihose, a thong with matching bra, then a silk blouse and a shortish skirt and finally high heels rather than my more sensible normal outfits of jeans and boots.

I drove to the daycare centre and dropped off the little one, then went straight to his house. I parked walked, very nervously to the front door and knocked. The door opened a little and he told me peremptorily to park around the corner, then come back, open the door which would be unlocked, come in close the door, and stand there still without moving or talking.

I did as he ordered. I couldn't understand or analyze my feelings and I didn't know whether I was going to vomit or to have an orgasm.

He wasn't in the hall when I came in, closing the door behind me. I stood there still. Looking ahead. After about 3 minutes I began to wonder if I had heard him correctly and was starting to wonder what I should do. Then he came in. I thrilled at his sight even as my analytical mind once again asked myself what I was doing here with this man. He walked around me looking without touching.

After a few minutes he asked me to open my mouth. I did. He came close and I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he spat into my open mouth. I tasted his spittle, wet and slimy in my dry mouth. I felt dirty and abused, and, for reasons I still found impossible to fathom, incredibly sexually excited.

"Slut!" he hissed, "Slut!"

I swallowed hard, letting much of his spit go down my throat.

Keep your mouth open"

I did

"Take off your blouse!"

I did and let it fall to the floor behind me. He examined me once more, walking around me and then once more he spat into my mouth.

"Take off your skirt!"

I unzipped it, and stepped out of it, leaving it heaped untidily below me. Once more he examined me. Once more he spat in my mouth. He still hadn't touched me and I still hadn't spoken.

He then reached out one finger and gently flicked my right nipple through the stretch satin of the bra. My nipples were already hard and distended and his flick was like an electric shock through my whole body. I shuddered. Then his hand went to the front of my panties and flicked, almost unerringly, just near my clitoris, then stroked downwards over my lips. He unzipped my bra and pulled it from me and I moved my arms for him letting it fall to the ground too. He tore my panties from me, deliberately ripping the off rather than taking them down. As the material strained they cut into my groin and hurt me and I cried out with the sharp pain. He looked angrily at me, but then used both his hands to tear them off where the thin material of the side of the thong was weakest. I stood naked in only garter and stockings. He brought his face near mine again and I readied for more spit, but he instead closed his mouth on mine in a hard rapacious, very sexual kiss. I felt his tongue just as I felt his fingers hard and pressing on my clit. As his fingers started a heavy circling motion, trying not to think of my husband, I let my tongue respond to his and joined him in a grinding kiss and then I came. He had to hold me up as the orgasm shook me, but he continued his invasive kissing and rasping at my clitoris, even after the orgasm slowed, and hurting me as he did so. Eventually I stopped shaking and he stopped too.

"Follow me," he said and we walked into the lounge room.

"Kneel."

I knelt. He moved in front of me and unzipped his trousers. He let his penis out, hard and erect, but still an average, ordinary circumcised cock, not as I guess I had expected the rod of a stud or a sexual athlete. It didn't look that much different from my husband's.

"Suck me slut!"

I leaned forward and kissed his cock, and then holding it at first I took it into my mouth, doing the things that pleased my husband when I sucked him. I licked and slurped as I moved my head up and down and tried to make a vacuum with my mouth on its head. He held my head by the hair but let me do all the work. I liked oral sex with my husband and I sucked his cock at least once a week. My new Master was different to my husband and kept much more still than my husband. He didn't last long. As he was about to come he started calling me "slut, slut, slut, you bitch, you fucking whore slut cunt slut bitch whore." I don't like the taste of semen much, but I can stand it, and I let my husband cum in my mouth whenever he wants to. I swallow some times but other times I'd keep it in my mouth and use a tissue to dispose of it. I didn't like the taste of this new cum any better than my husband's but I wanted to taste it and I wanted to drink it for him and as he came into my mouth I slurped and swallowed it even as I shuddered at its tatse.

He quickly pulled his cock out, much quicker than my husband does, and slapped me once across the face.

"You slut," he said again, "now stay there and don't move!"

I knelt, tasting the not very pleasant taste of his cum, feeling a bit of it drying on my chin and looking ahead, while he pulled out some tissues and wiped off his cock before zipping up his trousers. He pulled the leather belt out of his trousers and I trembled with anticipation. He told me to put my hands on my head and then he hit me seven times with the belt, punctuating each lash with "slut" or "cunt" or "whore". He lashed me twice across the breasts with such stinging power that tears came immediately to my eyes, once across the back and four times on my buttocks. I cried openly with pain and fear. It didn't make me feel sexy but I did feel I deserved it, that this was my punishment for being an adulterous, submissive slut and a bad mother and a bad wife and I longed for him to hit me more and harder.

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bysublaura© 6 comments/ 39504 views/ 3 favorites

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