Sweet Surrender

She put her delicate hand on his arm and leaned close. He could feel her breast gently pressed against him. He lips were near his ear. "How do you suppose you should address me when you speak to me Gregory?"

There was no fucking way this was happening. No way in hell. Greg managed to squeak out something about not being sure, about now knowing too much about this sort of thing, not knowing her name. "Too bad Greg I thought you had promise." With that, she turned and started to walk away. He couldn't let her walk out of his life again.

He was sure it was "her." He yelled out to her again, "No, please wait. Tell me what I should call you. I don't know." The guy behind the counter was hanging on every word. He had put his magazine down and had moved closer to hear every word that was exchanged between the two late night customers. None of that mattered to Greg right then. She didn't turn back. She put her hand on the door and pushed it open, the chimes ringing in his ears. He ran after her and out into the night, into the dark and desolate parking lot. She was putting her key into her car door when he called out to her again, "Wait . . . Please don't leave . . .Mistress."

He stopped dead in his tracks, waiting for some form of acknowledgement from her. She turned and stood in silence. He walked over to her; his eyes were on the ground. "Good boy, I'm proud of you." She reached out and put her hand in his pants pocket. His erection was more than obvious as she got his keys and said, " Come on, let's go." She walked over to his truck and got in on the driver's side. Nobody had ever driven Greg's truck before, except an occasional valet. Greg quickly got in on the passenger side and sat in awe as the woman adjusted the seat and mirrors to suit her. Just then, her cell phone rang. " . . . This is Chantal, no . . . I'll be in in the morning." She turned her head and examined Greg's demeanor and expression. "I need to get a lot of work done so I'll probably be there the entire day. Have all the files that I requested and be prepared to pull an all nighter. I don't really care that it's a Saturday. Be there tomorrow at 8 am and be ready with the things I asked for."

How incredible could this woman be? She was a woman in control and that made Greg's dick leak precum like a faucet. They were off. It only took a few minutes to figure out that she was driving to Greg's home. "Wait, how do you know where I live?"

She didn't even bother to respond. Greg had never even been on the passenger side of his own truck. The view was intoxicating. Here was this magnificent woman controlling him, and he wasn't even sure how it had happened so fast. He was unsure of what to do with his hands. He was nervous and fidgety. "Caress my thighs Gregory."

"Yes Mistress." He wanted, no needed, to say it now. He placed his hand on her knee and electricity shot through his body. The muscles in her thighs were tensed. He gently caressed her leg, scared to move up too high and risk offending her. He was drunk with lust. This was the most exquisite sensation he had ever had in his life. For a brief, second he got lost in thoughts of why he so desperately needed to be controlled by a strong Black woman. This was not the time for such reflections. Right now, all he could think about was the unbelievably stunning woman who was capable of controlling his every move. He was caressing her leg softly, getting more and more comfortable with that fact when his hand encountered skin. He realized that she was wearing stockings. "Mmmmm." He whimpered like a baby. Chantal laughed out loud. Surely, Greg had seen dozens of women in stockings before, but this had affected him in the most intense way. They were in his carport before he knew it. All the details of how they got inside his condo were a blur. All Greg knew was that he was in his bedroom with this magnificent woman and she was undressing in front of him like this was her home.

She unbuttoned her suit jacket and revealed the most magnificent set of 36 C's known to man. They weren't too big, not too small, they were just right. They were beautifully encased in the most expensive black La Perla bra ever made. Her nipples were works of art poking through the lace. They were perfect peaks of sensuality to cap off those smooth, brown tits. Her stomach muscles showed evidence of many a personally trained workout. She turned around an unzipped the back of her skirt and slipped it down her legs. The matching panties were French cut, so much more sophisticated than the all too popular thong. Of course, a garter belt held up her stockings. Her ass defied words. OK, if one were to try to describe it, they would probably use the words soft, round, high, big, simply a beautiful representation of Black femininity.

She moved about the room comfortably. Emerging from the walk in closet, she held several belts and ties. Her taste was exquisite; they were the most expensive imports from his collection. She arranged them at the foot of the bed. "It's showtime little boy." It sounded comical coming from a woman of her stature compared to Greg's size. He had a look of confusion in his eyes. He was watching all of this transpire as if it was a movie happening in his own bedroom.

"Undress." Her command was simple and to the point. Completely aware that there was a strange woman giving him orders filled Greg with pleasure. Chantal could tell the thoughts running through his mind. It aroused her to see him so confused, so stimulated. She imagined that if she desired, she could make him cum with a simple voice command. Greg had only dreamt of giving up control before. All of his sexual life, he was the predator. A few months earlier, he had begun to fantasize about what it would be like to give up control. To be used if you will. He didn't even want to think about why these thoughts thrilled him so. He did know they were extreme. He wondered if this woman would truly have the power to take him there. Chantal taunted him. "Would you like it if I humiliated you like you did that young lady at the club?"

Perhaps out of habit, more out of fear, quietly he whispered, "No."

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly. Do you think I'm here to play games with you? If you don't want me here, I can leave. I don't need you, need I remind you? You created me. I am your fantasy, not the other way around." Greg panicked. There was no turning back now. If he let this opportunity slip through his fingers, he would never forgive himself.

"Yes Mistress, I need you to use me. I crave your domination and control." He was reminded of his command to undress. His hands were trembling. The buttons on his shirt seemed outrageously small. He took off his shirt and stood there motionless and speechless. Chantal walked around him, admiring his smooth brown chest, strong arms, and broad shoulders. She picked up one of the belts, folded it in half, and gently touched it to his lips. She leaned close; her body heat seemed to scorch his skin. She whispered in his ear, "I said, undress."

He felt awkward but he knelt down to take off his shoes, then undid his belt and kicked them to the side. He had never been more proud of his body at that moment. All of his hard work had paid off because his Mistress looked pleased. He reached into his boxer briefs and grabbed his shaft. It had never felt thicker. He couldn't resist stroking it just a little before he hauled it out. He finished getting undressed and stood there before his Mistress, erect in more ways than one.

She walked around him, examined him from every angle. She caressed his chest and arms, ran her hand over his stomach, pressed her body against his back. She walked over to the dragging the belt behind her. Greg stared at her ass in awe and disbelief. She sat on the dresser and spread her legs wide.

"Crawl to me."

It took a minute for Greg's brain to register what she had said. He wasn't even thinking as he put his right foot out. "I SAID CRAWL. You do understand what that means, don't you?"

This was it, the deciding moment. Greg had to decide if he wanted all of his fantasies to come true at that very instant. Could he really give over his power to a woman, be controlled, dominated by her. This was unreal. Chantal took the belt and flicked it against the dresser with force. "Crawl Now!" It seemed like a million miles between him and this powerful Nubian queen, no Goddess. Again, Greg didn't know what to do. Chantal spread her legs even wider and slid her finger inside her panties. She was rubbing her clit and Greg could tell, but he wanted to see, up close and personal.

This time, it was only a whisper. He wasn't even sure he heard her correctly. "Come here little boy, come to Mommy." In the perfect act of submission, he got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards her. Kneeling before her like that was an indescribable sensation. Chantal took her pump and placed it squarely on his shoulder. Never taking her finger off of her clit or her other hand off of the belt, she got into pleasuring herself. Her heel was digging into Greg's flesh but he was sure the sensation pleasurable. He could smell pussy in the air, sweet, sexy pussy. His mouth was watering. She was keenly aware of his position and her control over him so she just leaned her head back against the mirror and rubbed the sensitive spot between her legs with passion. He was whimpering and his neck was strained upward because she was positioned higher than eye level at that particular moment. She took her fingers and slid her panties to the side. Beautiful was not the word to describe her pussy. Rather than being shaved, it seemed her baby soft hair naturally tapered to her mound. Her outer lips were soft and fat but they closed perfectly to hide her deepest recesses. Her inner flesh was the most glorious pink and he could tell how wet she was from the way it shined. Her clit was the size of the very tip of his pinky, the perfect bundle of nerves just waiting to be sucked. It peaked out from under its hood and called to him. Greg swallowed hard. His knees were hurting, his shoulder was in pain, his neck was cramped and his dick, there weren't even words to describe it.

"Greg, you want to lick my pussy don't' you? You need my pussy don't you?" He had waited his entire life to be subjected to such treatment. In his mind, he was going over how many times he had been the controller. Now he was being controlled.

"Please mistress, I need nothing more than to taste your sweet treasure." He wasn't even sure those words were coming out of his mouth. With the flick of her fingers, Chantal unhooked the straps of her garter belt. She looked down on him with pride. He was going to become the best submissive she had ever possessed. She could see it in his eyes. He had fire and strength but he was willing to please at any cost.

"Remove my stockings with you mouth. And be very careful not to run them." The rush of adrenaline was out of this world. Chantal took the belt, placed it along the spine of his back, and slowly pulled it towards her. Her touch was so excruciatingly light it was painful. Greg swallowed hard. He was careful to use only his lips, not his teeth, lest he ruin the delicate nylons. She dug her heel in deeper to his shoulder. He couldn't resist using his tongue to caress the smooth flesh of her legs. Laughing at him, she kicked her heels off and helped him take her stocking the rest of the way off. She placed her perfectly pedicured soft toes on his lips and teased him. Instinctively, he began to lick them. Impossible, how could her toes taste so sweet? He was using his tongue and lips all over her foot. Chantal was caught up in her own rapture. "Mmmmm, Greg, did I tell you that you had permission to pleasure my feet that way?"

Greg panicked. He knew the unspoken code, even if he had only experienced it in his mind before. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. All I wanted to do was to give you pleasure."

"You understand that I'm going to have to punish you, don't you Greg," she whispered. His dick got harder than before, which he didn't think was possible. Chantal went into a little speech about pleasure and pain, but it was strictly for her amusement at that point. Greg couldn't hear a word. He was off in his own world. She signaled for him to follow her. She made him get on the bed in a kneeling position. "You have been a bad boy Greg, I am going to have to spank you, and you understand that I don't want to, but I have to." All he could do was nod but she accepted that as sufficient because she was so aroused herself at that point. There was nothing more Chantal loved than seeing the dominant become the submissive. It gave her such a rush.

WHAP! The first blow came without warning. The sting spread throughout his entire body. There was no doubt that he experienced the feeling as pleasure but he cried out in pain. "More, please mistress, more." He didn't want to think about what any of it meant. All he knew right then was that he had never felt safer, or sexier. He didn't have to be in control and that felt good. It felt damn good. To know that this woman could take him where he'd only ever dreamed was beyond his wildest fantasies. Whap! Whap! Whap! The heat spread across his ass. She was steadily reining down blows on him and he was overflowing with emotion. Whap, more pain, Whap, pleasure, Whap, ecstasy. Before he knew what hit him, Greg screamed out, "I'm cumming." His cum came spurting out. Never in his life had he ever cum without direct stimulation to his dick.

Chantal moved to take advantage of the situation quickly. She turned him over and secured his arms to his four-poster bed with his ties. Facing the head of the bed, she climbed on top of him and placed her pussy just inches from his mouth. He could see it, smell it, he could virtually taste it. What he couldn't do was touch it. His arms were tied so securely, he started to panic. What if she was crazy, out to hurt him seriously, rob him? What if . . . He was distracted by her lowering her pussy down onto his mouth. As much as his mind was racing, he could only concentrate on one task at that particular moment. Slick, that was the sensation he felt, her lips parted, and he gained access to her sweet treasure. It was so slippery, and sweet, and earthy. Heaven. She obviously knew what she wanted him to do because she worked his mouth like a fine tuned instrument. She moved back and forth, up and down, riding his tongue, lips, and mouth like a champion rodeo rider.

Greg did everything he could to work his mouth and make his lady cum. He nibbled on her fat lips, licked her slit, tongued her hole, and sucked her clit. He was not going to stop until she filled his mouth with nectar from the heavens. She was pulling on her nipples and getting all worked up. Her moaning became louder and louder, her hips were grinding away. "Greg, do you like being used?" All he could do was moan and lick and suck that much more. His arms were aching, his jaw was tired. He had no choice. He pointed his tongue and tried to fuck her mercilessly with it. Rhythmically, she bounced up and down. Greg's face was wet with her desire. She coated his lips and face with her sweet sauce. She was teasing him. She rubbed her clit and moved her pussy to within inches of his mouth. Fuck, if he could only move his arms, grab her hips, and pull her to his hungry mouth. Unconsciously, Greg was thrusting his hips, begging for her to please put her pussy back on his mouth. "Please, may I have more!"?

"No baby," she cooed, "It's time for the ride of your life." Chantal climbed off of Greg, heated as she was and desperate to cum her damn self. She walked to the foot of the bed and grabbed another belt. Greg's dick jumped, remembering the indescribable pleasure he had experienced just a short while before with that accessory of pain. Chantal surveyed her prize. Here was this fine specimen of Black man, fine beyond description, lying helplessly tied to his own bed. He had 8 inches of fat meat sticking up proudly from his body, betraying his true feelings. She grabbed another tie and secured it around his eyes. He begged her to let him see. All he wanted to do was see. Silently she just walked around the bed, examining her "victim." She ran her fingers over his nipples and pulled and twisted on them. His body twisted and contorted to the pain. She took the belt and lightly rubbed the leather over the fronts of his thighs and across his hips. "Are you scared Greg?" She asked that as she gently rubbed the belt over his dick and balls. Words were stuck in his throat. She climbed on the bed and started using her tongue to tease her little boy. He didn't know where the sensations were coming from, or where the next one was going to land. She licked his lips, reminding him of the intense pleasure he had experienced just minutes before. She ran her tongue down his neck, across his shoulder blades. She sucked and bit his nipples. Greg couldn't take any more.

"Please mistress, Please, fuck me. Just fuck me. Use me to make yourself cum. Please." This was it, the defining moment of truth for Greg. He was helpless and he loved it. He had no control, over his body or his reactions. At that moment, the words came pouring out of his mouth. "This was not supposed to happen to me, yet you have done it. My fear at this moment is, what happens if I submerge myself completely and never return? I've gone to a place where I feel this restriction has become my freedom and where I gain so much pleasure from satisfying the very person who has claimed me. It is no longer about the satisfaction of my pleasure but I have begun to enjoy the sensations that cause your pleasure. The torments I feel are now delicious. I truly loved what I used to do, but will I love this more. That is what scares me. I know how arousing desperation feels, I know how utterly tempting complete and total submission is from both sides of the coin. This . . . there truly is nothing like it. I don't want to lose this anytime soon. Please mistress, you have my control, I pray you use it wisely."

This time, Chantal was frozen. She had been moved by his reflections. Never before had a man touched her so deeply. Pleasure belonged to Chantal to do with what she pleased. Greg's arms were fatigued and tired from pulling against the restraints. Surely if she let him go, he would flip her over and ram his dick up in her so hard she would scream. Greg was paralyzed; he couldn't move. The sensation of being restrained was almost too arousing. Chantal straddled his body, placed her hot pussy inches above his dick. She placed her delicate hand around the base of his dick. He wanted to see but he had no say in the matter. All he could do was wait. Enjoying her power immensely, Chantal rubbed the head of his dick back and forth on her slit. The heat was intense and Greg cried out in anguish. She used it to masturbate herself; really, the vision of him squirming around was more arousing than anything else. She reached back and played with his balls, rolling them around between her soft fingers. Without warning, she slammed her pussy down on Greg's dick and they both moaned in sweet agony.

Greg felt like his dick was wrapped in the hottest, wettest, tightest piece of heaven he had ever felt. Chantal knew that she had met her match. His dick penetrated her like none she had ever had before. They fit. They fit perfectly as a matter of fact. It was a dance of lover where they worked out a perfect rhythm. She started bouncing up and down; he began thrusting into her, trying to throw her off. She held on and his dick hit every hot spot she had. She leaned close to him and started pinching his nipples and grinding her pussy all over his dick, just using her muscles to squeeze and work his dick. She was masterful in her control. Just when she thought that Greg could handle more stimulation she started fucking him again. His breathing was out of control. He felt light headed. His nuts were aching from his dick being hard so long, but he had never felt so much pleasure. Harder, Faster, stronger, there was no holding back now. Up and down she rode him. Her face was hot, and her body was covered with sweat. She was going to time it just right. "OK, motherfucker, tell me now, whose . . . dick . . . is . . . this . . .?"