The Proposal

All I really wanted was a long, hot soak in the tub, a glass of wine, and to read a good book until I was pruney. It had been such an infuriating day at work. The project I was working on was falling to pieces. My supervisor was on vacation and not available to consult. My assistant was useless, hired by my predecessor, and had a voice that gave me a headache.

I was beat, and had no hope that the next day would be any better.

I unlocked my front door, ready to shed the day, and kicked off my shoes. On the floor in front of the door lay the day's assortment of mail – bills, flyers, junk. I scooped it up and tossed it on the dining room table. As the envelopes flew helter-skelter on the table top, I noticed a cream colored envelope that didn't look like the usual fare. I picked it up and turned it over to see who it was from, but the front of the envelope was blank. I carried it with me into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of wine. I wandered into the living room, put my glass down on the marble coffee table top, and plopped down on the couch. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who the envelope had been delivered by, and at the thought of him, I felt myself become a little juicy down below. I groaned. I didn't want to see him, or anyone else, tonight. I loved him, but I was exhausted, and seeing him wasn't conducive to a good night's sleep. I cursed my body's response and tossed the envelope, unopened, on the coffee table.

I resisted for all of fifteen minutes. There was nothing good on television. The idea of a long, hot soak had been overshadowed by my body's need to know what was in the envelope. I chuckled to myself, opened the envelope, and sighed deeply. It was a single piece of cream colored cardstock, engraved in silver lettering.

23 Rue St. George
8:00 p.m.
Be there.

I couldn't help but smile a little, feeling my saucy self rise a to the occasion. Did I want to go? My body did. That was obvious from the way my rate of respiration increased, from the increasing slickness I felt between my legs. My mind was perched on the edge between yes and no. I wanted rest. I wanted to recovery from my day. But my pussy was throbbing in anticipation of what might be waiting for me at 23 Rue St. George, and I'd long since learned not to argue with my pussy. Besides, standing him up really wasn't an option.

I dragged my weary self up the stairs and ran a bath. It was only 6:30. I had plenty of time to make it to Rue St. George. I looked over the envelope again. There were no instructions regarding what I should wear. I took a quick shower, anointed myself liberally with jasmine scented oil, brushed out my long, auburn hair, and threw on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I put on a bit of make-up – mascara, gloss, powder – and declared myself ready. I called a cab and downed another glass of wine while I waited for it to pull up at the curb.

The sky outside the taxi cab's windows was pewter blue touched with pink. The sun was dipping down beneath the horizon, and though I couldn't watch it descend, I could see how it painted the clouds above it in vivid farewell shades. It was nearly dark by the time the cab pulled up to 23 Rue St. George. I paid the fare and got out, took a few deep breaths to steel my nerves, and approached the door.

As I stood before it, I wondered if I should knock. I tried the door knob and found it locked. I rapped hard on the solid oak of it and waited. It wasn't long before it opened to grant me entrance. I'd expected to see him standing there. Instead, a beautiful, tiny woman with hair down to her ass, wearing nothing but a mask and velvety red lipstick stood there beckoning me to come inside. She led me through the hallway into a dimly lit room that was empty save for a comfortable looking armchair. The lighting shone in a soft areola around the chair, but didn't reach much further than that.

"Please take off your clothes." The woman said, holding out her arms to provide me with a place to put them as I did as she asked. I stripped, feeling awkward as a teenager in a high school locker room. She watched me as I shed my clothes and smiled appreciatively.

"You have beautiful tits." She said. I blushed.

"So do you."

"But yours are so big, so lush! No wonder he loves you best."

I knew my lover had other 'pets', as he liked to call them, and I suspected that this vision of dark-haired beauty was one of them, but my pride stung to know that I was being handled by one of them. I was a possessive girl. I didn't want to share him with anyone. I took the words 'he loves you best' and tucked them away for safe keeping. It soothed the sting a little. I opened my mouth to ask if he was here, but the beauty before me shook her head before I could speak.

"No questions. Please be seated."

The chair was softly upholstered in rich, deep red. The arms and legs were of a dark, curved wood. I sat myself down and made myself as comfortable as I could, considering I was naked in a room I'd never been in before, being handled by a woman I'd never laid eyes on before.

She left the soft circle of light for a moment and returned in a few moments with two bars – one for my legs, and one for my arms. She wove the bars in between my body and the chair's arms and legs, cuffing me securely with my arms behind my back and my ankles bound tightly to a chair leg on either side. She knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my knees.

"You must keep them open." She instructed as she pushed them further apart. My pussy, oozing now, glistened in the dim light. She noticed and ran one long silver-painted fingernail down the length of it from my clit to the rosebud nestled between my ass cheeks.

"You have a beautiful pussy, too!" She said, smiling. "It becomes clearer and clearer all the time why you are his favorite."

She sucked her finger, making pretty noises with her succulent, red mouth, and then stood up and walked away, leaving me to wonder what would happen next.

It wasn't long before I heard rustling directly in front of me. Suddenly, a curtain was flung open and in the same moment, lights went on above a spot about ten feet away. There was a table placed there in a bright spot of light that was unlike any table I'd ever seen. It seemed to be some kind of modified massage table with cut outs for the face and the breasts. A woman I'd never seen before lay face down upon it. Her arms were lain out on the table, cuffed at the wrist, and chained to the underside of it, which appeared to be composed of sturdy folding legs. Her own legs were spread wide and dangling from the knee on either side. Her ass hung off the edge, which afforded me a perfect view of her rim and pussy. Her breasts hung through the gap in the table, their size obscuring any view I might have of her face, which was placed face down in another gap so she could breathe. A heavy chain ran from each ankle and was clipped into a D ring on her wrist cuffs.

She was about my size, I noticed. Same abundant curves, same approximate height. I shifted in the chair, trying to get a look at her face, but it was to no avail. Her breasts heaved with her breathing as she waited, like I waited. After a period of time I heard footsteps. It was him. He was fully clothed in black. His hands were gloved. He was carrying a familiar leather bag, which he placed on the floor beside the table. I waited for him to turn and acknowledge me, but he kept his eyes on the woman spread out on the table. He walked around it, never taking his eyes off of her. He grabbed a handful of her curly black hair, and tugged gently.

"Comfy, pet?"

She nodded, making her breasts sway even more. He knelt down and took stock of the placement of her body, giving one of her raspberry colored nipples a hard tweak as he did so. Her breath caught in her throat and he chuckled, low in his throat and tweaked her again.

"Do you like that, pet?"

She nodded again.

"Of course you do."

I didn't know how to feel. He was mine, goddammit! Mine! We'd talked about how I felt about his so-called stable of pets. The agreement was that he not talk to me about them. The agreement was that I be allowed to blissfully ignore the fact of the others. How cruel of him to expose me to this! I struggled in my chair, but the movement caused my thighs to close. He noticed immediately and snapped his fingers. The dark-haired beauty that had prepared me ran toward me clucking her tongue. She was carrying leather thigh straps with huge silver buckles. She strapped my thighs to the lower curve of the chair's arms, murmuring in soothing tones all the while. "You must keep them open. Mmm? It feels good to have them open, yes?" She rubbed the downy hairs on the insides of my thighs lightly with her fingertips before taking leave of me once more. Still, he didn't acknowledge me. Satisfied that I wouldn't disturb him any further, he proceeded with his work on the woman on the table.

He removed a collar from his leather bag. I strained to get a good look at it. Bastard! That was MY collar!

"Hey! You can't do that! That's MINE!" I bellowed, despite knowing better. He snapped his fingers again, and a ball gag was swiftly put in place. Tears of humiliation streamed down my cheeks. How could he use my collar on someone else? This was not at all what I had in mind when I accepted his invitation. I wanted to stop now. I tried to get our safe word out from around the ball gag, but I couldn't get it out. All I could do was grunt, and when grunting failed to get his attention, I let the most inhuman sounds come from deep, deep in my belly and chest. I hated him as I'd never hated any one before in that moment.

Despite all my protests, he placed the collar lovingly around the woman's neck and knelt down so she could kiss the tips of his fingers in gratitude. I squeezed my eyes shut tight against the sight of his tenderness with another woman, but I couldn't keep them closed for long. I realized I had to see, had to witness this or I'd never break free of him.

I stopped struggling. I shifted in my seat so that I could look resolutely forward and take it all in. My eyes flashed a 'fuck you' in his direction. I hardly blinked as he removed the nipple clips I'd bought him for his birthday from the bag and screwed them on tight. I counted my breaths to calm myself as he ran the chain from the clips up through the gap in the table, clipping the ends onto an O ring, and then ran another single chain, one of mine, down her back, threading in between the cleft of her ass. He clipped the end of the single chain to her clit piercing and then tugged hard enough to make her whimper. Her breasts rose, parting as he pulled on the chain. She squirmed a little and was rewarded with a quick, hard slap on her left ass cheek. She regained her composure immediately and remained very still as he asked her a series of questions.

"Is anything feeling too tight, pet?"

She shook her head as best she could, consider it was face down and shoved into the padded opening in the table.

"Do you remember your safe word?"

She nodded.

"Tell me your safe word, pet."

I was ready for it. She uttered the word, and it was, of course, my safe word. Our safe word. I finally understood what was happening. I readied myself with a very deep breath. I was drooling miserably around the ball gag, and I knew my mascara was running down my face in black rivers, but I didn't care. I sat up as straight as I could, and prepared myself to witness every intimacy we'd ever shared between us reenacted ten feet from me. Bring it on, you bastard! I thought, since I couldn't speak. And he did. Every scene we'd done together, he acted out in an abridged version, with the woman on the table. Moments I cherished played themselves out before me. It wasn't long before I began to relive the moments along with him. It wasn't long before my resolve to hate him began to melt a little. As each scene played out, it began to feel more and more like I was watching home movies of our encounters, and my eyes began to run hot and wet. The dark-haired girl came over and removed the ball gag. She wiped my face with a cool cloth and offered me water to sip from a straw.

The woman on the table became more and more aroused, sank deeper and deeper in that delicious space we call 'sub space'. She was writhing, the chains attached to her body pulling taut as she did so. Her ass was rosy red from his strenuous cropping. Her pussy was wide open and dripping with juice. As her body heaved and writhed in search of resolution, mine began to do the same. The heat of my arousal wafted up, bringing my own scent up into my face. I wanted desperately to touch myself, to relieve the pressure building inside me. I started rocking in the chair, hoping I could somehow maneuver myself so my pussy could rub against the soft fabric of the chair. I realized I was moaning just as loudly as the woman on the table when he raised his head and looked at me from across the space between us. He was smiling with infinite tenderness.

"Do you know that I love you, pet?" He asked me as he stroked the rounds of her red and swollen ass.

"I do." I said. And in that moment, it was all I could feel. I understood why he'd shown me what he'd shown me. He had a gorgeous woman under his hands, strapped to his table, begging for his touch, and yet, here he was, looking across this space at me, professing his love.

He signaled my caretaker with a nod of his head. She came and undid my bonds, offering the wet cloth again so I could wipe my face. She offered me a gauzy black ankle length dress to put on, and instructed me to sit back down in the chair. The lights over the table clicked off and the room was plunged into darkness. The curtains before me were closed, and when they opened again, and the lights came on, the room was empty. The table had been packed up and placed in a carrying bag much like those lugged around by massage therapists. The leather bag on the floor was packed and zipped shut. There was a rose on the floor, thorns resplendent among the foliage, and another cream colored envelope.

I rose up out of my chair and walked toward the letter. I sat down on the floor, gathering the fabric of the dress around me. I opened the envelope.

Happy Anniversary, pet.

I thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane.
The table is yours to keep, of course. The bag...well, it's still mine,
but I was hoping you'd keep it at your place
until after the wedding.
After all, I really won't have further use for it
unless you're there, will I?

In the bottom of the envelope, nestled in the cream paper, shone a brilliant solitaire diamond set in white gold.

An End