Mr. Bear Ch. 2

Heading back downstairs, I returned to the foyer, clacked onto the slate tiles, swung around smoothly, and stopped in front of my new sub. Mr. Bear wasn't leaning back all the way, though he did at least have his hands behind his neck as he stared at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his good behavior. His penis, I noted, was just as erect as it had been when I'd walked through the door. I wondered idly if he'd obeyed me and refrained from touching it between his phone call and now. Setting that thought aside, I 'made a leg'. That meant putting my weight on my left leg and posing the right one, slightly bent and ultra-shapely, in front of the other, toe pointed at Mr. Bear.

"Greet your Mistress," I instructed him lightly. He broke his position after a moment's blankness, guessing correctly that he was to kiss my dainty black suede shoe. Bending over, hands braced on the floor, he kissed the tip, hesitated, then kissed it again. Then kissed the top of my foot, through the sheer material of my white stocking. Straight black was boring, expected. Sometimes expected was good, or at least what the sub wanted, and sometimes it was good to indulge one's subs with a touch of traditionalism, but I always thought a truly spectacular Domina could be effective clad in baggy shorts, a sloppy, ageworn teeshirt, and flipflops, the foam-based, toe-wedged footwear people wore to the beach. Especially the flipflops, since the sound of them smacking the bottom of a bare foot was highly reminiscent of the sound of a paddle lightly striking a sub's buttocks. At least, to me, it was evocative of paddling someone.

Pulling my foot away, I extended the other one just so it wouldn't be jealous of the first. He did a good job of worshipping that one, too. I let him kiss and stroke it for a few moments more, then pulled it back.

"Enough. Resume the position."

Righting himself, he sat back on his heels, knees shifting a little wider and muscular arms lacing behind his back. One of these days, I had to find out why he'd kept himself in such great physical shape. Time enough for more personal information later, though. Turning to the door, I looked down at the picnic basket. And noticed it wasn't in the exact same position I'd placed it in upon entering. Since I distinctly remembered setting it down only an inch from the edge of the front door, and here it was, a good two inches to the side, I crouched and lifted the lid. The neat, orderly array of toys hadn't been disturbed, but my notebook had been shoved a little further back, revealing some of those toys. I would have to do something about that.

Straightening, I drew off my black leather driving gloves and stuffed them into their respective pockets, then unbuttoned my kneelength coat and removed it. The gasp from behind me showed it was worth the effort. I wasn't the world's prettiest woman, but I was voluptuous, and I had squeezed my overripe body into a royal blue merry-widow corset with matching crotchless panties and a full-cut miniskirt, sort of like a French maid's skirt, top and bottom edged in vertical stripes of delicate white lace.

That wasn't all; more exotic lingerie covered my legs in white, lace-topped stockings and my arms in elbow-length white lace gloves, both sets with seams down their backs. I was quite a sight, even from the back. Since there was a coat-rack by the front door, I hung my overcoat on it, taking a few moments in profile to my bear to twitch its folds straight. That gave him a great view of how much I overflowed the demi-cups , which was to say quite a lot. Voluptuous, as I said.

Stooping, knees together in that way ladies are supposed to stoop, I picked up the picnic basket and tucked it over my arm, then turned neatly and faced my sub. His hands were barely laced behind his head, his body slouched, and his penis rampant as he stared at my unconventional Domina attire. I'd even tied my hair back from my face with a scrap of royal blue ribbon, tied in a cute little bow just behind one temple. I let him devour my appearance from head to foot for several seconds, then closed the distance between us with three slow, measured steps, stopped, and bent over. Giving him a generous eyeful of cleavage.

"Looks like a very naughty bear got into my picnic basket while I wasn't here...."

He licked his lips and smiled slightly, gaze fixated on my chest. "Well, you know us bears; we love them pick-in-ick baskets..."

*Clever boy,* I thought, and was tempted to praise him for his sense of humor. But he'd moved from his punishment position when I'd told him not to. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you ten extra lashes, for moving when I told you not to. But since you were so curious about the contents of my picnic basket, I'll be kind and share some of them with you."

"Yes, please, Mistress," he murmured, and I resisted the urge to show him how much I loved his compliance—what a sub he was turning out to be! I felt like Goldilocks, finding the porridge, chair, and bed that were all 'just right'. Nevermind that he was Papa-Bear sized, not Baby-Bear, and just as correspondingly hard.

"Hold out your hands, Mr. Bear," I instructed him, and he complied. Setting the basket in them, I directed him to hold it up a little higher, a little more, then opened the lid when it was past his field of view, and dug into its contents. When I had what I wanted, I closed the lid, then lifted it out of his hands and set it on the floor. "I'm a fair Mistress; I'm going to give you a chance to back away from all of this," I told him gently. "You see, I'm about to put this collar and leash on you, and once I do, I will begin to train you. Once you are collared and leashed, Mr. Bear, you will learn to dance to my tune. As your Mistress, I will do my best to ensure that you like it, or at least will like the end result. This is all about playing with each other consentually. Do you consent?"

Again, he licked his lips, then looked up at me. "What about at Halloween? You treated me like I didn't have a choice. You said you'd hunt me down, if I didn't agree."

"You peed all over the floor of the Ladies' Room," I reminded him dryly, coolly. "That was punishment, not pleasure. That you found pleasure in it only proves you were meant for this life, and that you will find great enjoyment in sublimating your many desires to my will. I will ensure that, but only if you consent here and now." Reaching out, I stroked his cheek gently with the edge of the leash in my hand. His eyes slid shut. *What a sensual man. His last girlfriend must've been a fucking idiot...* I smiled softly. "Do you consent to be my sub, Craig McCracken?"

Those wonderful green eyes opened, and showed me compliance and trust. "I do."

I think I fell just a little bit in love with him, right there, right then. "Then I consent to be your Domina." Slipping the collar around his throat, I buckled it in place, careful to keep from tightening it too much. A good two finger's width of looseness was usually best for the first time, as it kept the new sub from panicking too much, but his neck was so big, I only managed to give him a single finger's width of looseness. Clipping the lead onto the D-ring at the front, I smiled down at him. "You're doing very good, Mr. Bear. Now, since you like picnic baskets so much, you may stand up and carry my picnic basket for me."

He did so, unfolding his long, muscular body, until he towered over me on his feet. I didn't let him see any sign of apprehension at his greater size and height, and I didn't really feel any, save for that slight twinge all large men gave average-sized women when they made them feel positively petite. Of course, being petite in comparison, yet literally holding the reins in this relationship, was a thrill all of its own. When he bent and picked up the basket, I gave his leash a little tug and headed for the stairs.

"Where are we going, Mistress?" he asked me, hope in his voice. "To the bedroom?"

"To the bathroom, in the bedroom. Our first meeting, you peed all over the place. I'm afraid you'll have to stick to tile floors until I know you've been properly house-trained. Now, given it is a Tuesday night...what time do you have to be at work in the morning?" I asked him, reaching the stairs and starting up.

"Nine, Mistress, though I don't absolutely have to go in to work, if I don't want to," he added. When I glanced back, he explained a little more. "I own the Mr. Mighty Fitness Gym chain."

I knew that chain. I'd never gone to it myself, but Cho did; he liked to keep himself strong enough to support his plump goddess. "Five stores, right?"

"That's right. Are you a member?" he asked as we reached the top of the stairs.

I couldn't lie to him. I prided myself on my honesty with my subs. "No, but my other sub is."

He stopped, making the leash jerk a little in my hand. Turning around, I found him frowning down at me. "I don't want to share you with anyone. I threw out my last girlfriend because of that."

There were several responses I could've made to that arrogance. That, as the dominant in this relationship, it was my prerogative to have as many subs as I wanted and could handle. That as he was still rather vanilla to this lifestyle, he had no clue how good it felt for the subs to know they were not alone in their sufferings. That, as he had given his consent to whatever I wanted to do, he had no grounds on which to stage a protest. But as I wanted him, and as he was new to the D/s life, and as it was only Cho, I gave him a much kinder reply.

"It's not a sexual relationship." When one his brows rose in skeptical doubt, I shrugged. "Cho likes being treated like furniture. He rests on his hands and knees, and I sit on his back. Or he'll sit on a chair or a stool, and I'll sit on his lap—and I'm almost always clothed when I do that. There's no intercourse, no fondling, and no oral sex. Just me treating him like a piece of furniture, and him loving it. I'm not even attracted to him. In fact, I find it a little boring, so I usually spice things up by using him as furniture when I'm playing around with others."

"Others?" he asked, that talented brow rising again. "What others?"

"There used to be two more, but one had a death in the family and quit, and the other picked a different Mistress and moved in with her. Aside from Cho, I've been a free agent for the past month and a half. Which is longer than you can account for," I added tartly. "Now, if you want an exclusive sexual relationship, I might consent to that, in exchange for a few concessions of my own. But Cho is not sexual. He is a footstool," I explained patiently. "A table. A chair. An ottoman. If I could brown bread between his buttcheeks, I could call him a toaster. Hell, I sometimes have him come over to my house just so I can use him as a t.v. tray stand, replete with microwaved dinner and a couple hours of sitcom shows, all while I'm ignoring him like I'd ignore a t.v. tray, and he loves it! But that is *all* it is, and that's exactly the way how he and I both like it."

"He *likes* being a piece of furniture for you?" he asked me, trying to comprehend the idea. "Just a piece of furniture? No orgasms, no anything?"

I shrugged. "Even for the non-vanilla crowd, he's a little weird, I know, but that's exactly what he wants, so that's exactly what he gets."

"What do *you* get out of it?" Mr. Bear asked me, still frowning in confusion. "If he's not getting you off, why do you do it?"

"Anime, manga, and hentai," I answered succinctly. At his puzzled look, I explained. "I'm a sucker for Japanese cartoons and comic books. Anime is Japanese cartoons and movies, like the old Rocket Boy cartoons, modern Pokemon, and animated films like *The Ghost in the Machine*. Manga are the comic-books...though they're much more like graphic novels, since they're aimed at the adult market even more often than at the kids," I added. "And lastly, hentai is, well...dirty comic books. Erotic art. That sort of thing. Cho has his cousin in Tokyo mail me the anime and such that I want, in exchange for my giving him what he wants."

"Being treated like a piece of furniture," he repeated, finally getting the idea.

"Exactly. No sex, just a lot of sitting around. You, on the other hand, are clearly interested in having sex with me," I stated, glancing pointedly down at his turgid penis. I looked back up at his eyes. "Do you want me to be sexually monogamous to you?"

"Yes. Please, Mistress," he added as I flicked the leash just a little, reminding him of its presence.

"Sexual monogamy comes at a very high price. If you're the only man giving and receiving satisfaction in my life, I will have to push your personal boundaries as far as they can go, and that just might be beyond what you think you can tolerate. Do you consent? Or do I get to have other lovers? Think very carefully, for if you consent, you will be agreeing to fulfil *ALL* of my needs," I stressed. "There will be no turning back, though I will do you the courtesy of introducing you slowly to my way of life, allowing you time to grow accustomed, and adjust."

He stood there and thought about it for a long time. Finally, he nodded, spearing secret pleasure straight through my body from head to toe. "I consent...but I want the full deal. None of this treating *me* like a piece of sexless furniture."

"Very well, Mr. Bear. I will be sexually monogamous to you, for as long as you like, and I will not treat you like a sexless piece of furniture," I agreed, doing my best to hide my amusement, and my triumph. "But I *will* demand more of you, and from you, in exchange for limiting my talents just to your body alone. However delectable. And at some point in the future, I may have Cho come by and provide me a seat while I punish you, whereupon you will see for yourself that my association with him is about as asexual as my association with a common household chair. Oh, and just because I've agreed to exclusivity doesn't mean I've forgotten that you still get thirty lashes in punishment, either."

I started walking down the hall again, and again he balked. "...How do I know you don't have any sexual diseases?"

I looked back at him. "How do I know *you* don't have any?"

He gave me an offended look at that. "I run five health clubs. I'm very careful about that sort of thing."

"Well, so am I. And hard as it may be for your dirty little bear's mind to comprehend, I rarely have actual sexual contact with my subs," I added tartly, tugging on his leash, forcing him to follow me to the bedroom. "I work in a dentist's office, so it's important for me to maintain my good health, too. Close the door behind you, Mr. Bear," I ordered him, flicking the leash again like it was a miniature whip. It didn't actually touch him, but it did get his attention. "No need for the whole world to hear you screaming as I punish you. Set the basket right down there," I added, pointing to a spot close to the edge of the bathroom nook tiles. "And do try to remember to address me respectfully as 'Mistress', or I will penalize you five lashes for each time you forget. You may, of course, address me as 'Goddess', if you wish to add a little variety, but you will be utterly respectful at all times."

"Yes, Mistress." When he complied, I tugged him into the walk-in closet. Picking out a couple of large, silvery blue bath towels, the kinds called bath sheets and the only kind I liked to use, personally, I backed him out of the little room and led him onto the tiles. Holding out the towels, I waited for him to take them, then nodded at the middle of the floor.

"Lay them out, one on top of the other about three feet from the basket, then kneel on them and assume the position—no, wait," I corrected, changing my mind as he started to drop onto the double layer of fluffy terrycloth. "I could use Cho right about now, but that chair over there will have to do." Crossing to the piece of furniture in question, which was made of the same dark cherrywood as the poster bed and sat with its white-cushioned seat near the side of the huge bed, I looked at him expectantly. He didn't get the idea until I prodded verbally, "Pick it up, and carry it back, there's a good bear. We might as well put all those bulging health-club muscles to good use, since they're there."

"...Yes, Mistress." Hefting it in one hand, he started to head back to the bathroom nook. I tugged on his leash, stopping him.

"Your Mistress always goes first when you are leashed to her hand, unless she says otherwise," I instructed him patiently, then headed for the nook myself, allowing him to follow me obediently. I stopped in front of the towels, right next to the picnic basket, and glanced behind me expectantly. He got the message much more quickly this time, and placed it neatly behind my knees, as if we'd been at a fine restaurant instead of in his bedroom suite. Seating myself, I crossed my legs neatly and gestured at the towels. "Very good, Mr. Bear. Now you may assume the position."

Moving around in front of me, he settled onto his knees and heels, placed his hands behind his head, and looked up at me. I took my time, studying him from scalp to knee. Admiring the sculpting job he'd done on his body, in between managing five health clubs. No wonder he could afford this house; Mr. Mighty Fitness was very popular, locally. One of those closed doors downstairs probably led to a home gym, too; he just seemed the type to bring that kind of work home with him. Extending my free leg, I slid it off the other knee, and ran the front sole of my shoe lightly over his muscular leg. He tensed a little, but not out of distaste. If I'd stretched out my toe to its absolute limit, I might have been able to brush against his penis. I refrained; I wasn't in the mood to slouch, or put that much effort into it, not when I should be saving my strength for the rest of the show.

Lowering my foot, I crossed my other leg, and studied him, content to just sit and do so. He really was a magnificent specimen, the culmination of many a woman's wet-dreams...

"—Well?"

"Are you challenging my authority, and how I exercise my power over you?" I asked him mildly. Or maybe not quite so mildly.

"Uh, no. No, Mistress," he amended. "I'm just awaiting my orders..."

"I see. Seems to me like you're trying to anticipate your orders," I drawled. "Anticipation is part of the pleasure, yes, but not if one rushes it too much. But if you insist..." Bending over, I unclipped his leash, then opened the picnic basket. The position threatened to spill my generous breasts from their inadequate confinement. Almost, but not quite. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Bear's penis jumped happily at the sight of my bountiful cleavage. I wondered what I should start with. The penis strap, the one with the D-ring so I could reattatch his leash? No, he was expecting a lashing, and he had earned one. Our first official D/s meeting was not the time to teach him how to hold back from cumming, and it was too early to teach him how to anticipate my movements, preventing serious damage from occuring to his cock, should he zig when I zag.

First he had to know, bone-deep know, that the line between pain and pleasure was in truth a rather thin one. That would take a few carefully gauged lessons to let it truly sink in.

Last time had been the quirt, with its thin, hard, sudden attack, and his own drunken state to help loosen his inhibitions. This time, I wanted to work him up to the point where he could relax that pain-pleasure boundary while perfectly sober. So I pulled out the doeskin flogger, the multiple suede strips and matching handle dyed a non-traditional, lovely shade of burgundy purple. I trailed the strands through my fingers, enjoying the sensual feel then draped it over his thighs, his penis, then up his stomach and chest, flicking it ever so lightly in a sensual, sueded caress. From the way his muscles tightened and a rumble escaped that surprisingly hairless chest, my big little bear liked that.