tagBDSMA Very Delicious Surprise

A Very Delicious Surprise


I- Paying the bill

It is Saturday evening. I'm just relaxing with a book as a hard and insistent ringing of the doorbell tears through the silence, snapping me out of my stillness. I look at my watch, then at the clock on the wall. Nine thirty. Who could that be?

When I open the door I am surprised to see a pretty woman, with thick dark and wavy curls that frame an enchanting and earnest face. She looks like in her early twenties and is very beautiful. Wearing a long coat she eyes me without saying a thing. Just stands there.

It takes a moment before I realize I know her from somewhere. Then it dawns upon me: she is that gorgeous girl who was sitting next to that big guy in his large luxurious car, the huge and shiny two-seating American convertible that last week had pulled into my repair shop. With its roof down it was a bragging display of excessive wealth, its exorbitant interior full of shiny metal, leather, plush and even fur.

The guy looked as if he owned me, my shop, the world. Stone rich, big blinking rings on his manicured fingers and dressed expensively, he was white haired and his tanned face showed he'd been catching too much sun. Without even getting out, he called me from behind the wheel. If maybe I could have a look at the motor. Seemed it made some funny noises. He spoke to me loud and in a disturbingly jovial manner, as if I were a close friend owing him one. It was a bit irritating. I'd never seen him before. But a rich customer is always welcome in my small garage, whatever his behavior. And that dashing girl sitting next to him, taking off her sunglasses to reveal large sparkling eyes, smiled happily at me. She was a sight to behold.

They both stayed in their seats while I found and fixed a broken part, and soon they drove off, throwing me a small gold-rimmed business card with a post box address. Good enough for me. I mailed my bill the next day, having overpriced the repair considerably. These people can pay whatever I want.

And now that girl suddenly stands at my doorway. Although a bit paler in her face than last week, she still looks gorgeous. Better actually than last week, as I can now admire the full outlines of her shape.

"You're the girl from that super car, aren't you?"

She nods. "I've come to... eh... pay you, sir," The seriousness of her stare beautifies the light in her eyes. But she seems nervous and her face wears a somewhat forced smile, "My husband has sent me."

I glance behind her onto the street. No car in sight. "What do you mean, haven't you received my bill? Bank account is on it. You don't have to come to pay me personally."

"I know, sir," she says, "We got the bill, but my husband sent me anyway. Maybe I should come in?"

"Of course." I step aside. One doesn't keep a woman like that on the wrong side of one's door.

She enters my apartment. Her hips move like waves rippling through a quiet lake. I have to catch my breath when I take her coat, its collar adorned with a little strip of dark fur. Standing there before me in my living quarters, looking up at me with those big eyes, she is even more spectacular than when sitting with that guy in his expensive car. She's much smaller than I remember, a lot shorter than I am, but she's got contours to bite into. Sexuality radiates from her. My heart skips a beat. I show her into my living room, and soon we sit opposite each other, holding cups of tea.

"So you've come to pay me?"

She tries to smile again, but the corners of her mouth remain tense. "Well... yes sir."

"You pay his bills?"

"No sir, I don't... I mean..." She takes a sip of tea, and hesitates. "Excuse me, sir, but I've never before done this eh... kind of errand..., sir." Her words come hesitatingly and have a ring of embarrassment.

"So?" I put my teacup on the table, looking at her expectantly.

But instead of clarifying herself she just lowers her head in some kind of confusion, like not knowing what to say, and remains silent. I watch her breasts. They slightly heave and descend with her breathing. There is silence in the room. Until I finally break it. "Well then," I say, smiling at her, "do you bring money?"

She does not answer and for quite some time we both remain silent. Finally she lifts her pretty head again and looks up at me as if wanting to tell me something. But still she remains silent. I wonder what's worrying her. Her eyes now clearly betray discomfort. I raise a brow, a question on my face.

Sensing my need for an answer she finally says in a small voice: "It's not... I mean..., I have no money with me." And again there is that nervous look and the forced smile.

"I don't understand. Why did you come here then? You said you came to pay, didn't you?"

"Well, yes sir. But it's my husband sir, he... he has sent me to you."

I am puzzled. "Is he not satisfied with the repair?"

"No, no, that's OK sir," she says quickly, almost urgently. But then she falls silent once more, and watches the teacup in front of her with those large beautiful eyes.

"You're talking in riddles, dear."

Again no response. But after a while, looking down at the floor, she begins to speak. Softly and barely audibly. "Sir, he wants..." She hesitates, searches for the right words. "I... I mean... my husband... I mean I'm..." Faltering she stops speaking and, as if bracing herself for bravery, takes a deep breath. And then, suddenly, she bursts out crying, putting her face in her hands.

Alarmed at this turn of events, my first impulse is to go up to her and put an arm around her shoulder. But I restrain myself. She's such a sexy girl that maybe that kind of behavior would be misinterpreted and make her feel even more embarrassed. So I wait until she recaptures some calm, wipes the wetness from her eyes and forces another apologetic smile.

Carefully I ask: "Did I say something to hurt you?" I realize I'm afraid to speak too loud.

She shakes her head, and seems to regain some control over herself. "No sir, its not that, sir, I'm sorry." She swallows. "I'm really sorry sir..."

"So, what's the matter? I just don't understand. Have you lost the money or something?"

"No sir," she says again, "that's not it." She swallows again several times. Then, quite unexpectedly, a dam seems to burst and she suddenly blurts it all out: "I'm here, sir, because he wants... he wants me to serve you."

The words both startle and confuse me. "What? What did you say?"

But she remains silent, her eyes downcast.

"I'm not sure I understand," I finally say, "What do you mean?"

Still keeping her gaze on her feet she softly speaks, almost in a whisper: "That's what my husband told me to say to you, sir." She is quiet for a moment. Then, barely audibly, she says: "I'm here as payment sir, you may want to use me."

"What?! " Suddenly I stand at a precipitous abyss.

A tense silence envelops the room. Neither of us says a thing for a long time. Finally she raises her gaze and, staring at me with a wetness glistening in her eye, tries to force another apologetic smile. Then, very slowly a deep blush colors her face.

"You're blushing," I say, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes sir, I know," she whispers, lowering her head now in obvious distress and humiliation.

That subdued gesture tips me over the line, and in a flash I realize the full extent of her mission. Straight away my imagination runs amok. "You mean… you're to eh… I mean… if I want to…?" I gasp. There is no need to be more clear and mention my bed.

She nods silently.

A great surge of adrenaline injects into my veins. This is crazy! Absolutely crazy! I look at her inquisitively. This can't be serious!

But it seems clear to her that her message has been received. A tear gently drops down her face as she whispers: "Yes sir… you may do with me whatever you wish, sir."

The words take a long time to register.


II - Clarifications

"What's your name?"

"Anna, sir."

She keeps addressing me dutifully with that "sir". There is something very erotic in her use of that word, a suggestion of humility and obedience. "Tell me Anna, does your husband always pays his dues this way?"

Her mouth moves almost imperceptibly. "No sir." Again she seems to look for words but, unable to find them, she remains silent.

"He sent you here telling you to... eh... to offer yourself as... as payment...?"

Silently se nods.

I'm quiet for a moment. "And you let him?"

Another nod, barely noticeable.

"Forgive me Anna," I say, blood pounding in my temples, "this is rather unusual." To calm down I take a slow sip of tea, then look again at her breasts. Is this a dream? He sends his wife to me to be used as a prostitute, just for a car repair? It can't be true! I take a deep breath. Is this a trap? For want of other things to say, I ask again: "You don't object?"

She raises her head and looks up at me now. There is real despondency in her eyes. "I'm not consulted, sir," she says.

I am taken aback. "But..."

She interrupts me: "That's how he is, sir. Likes to... I mean… kinky things, sir...." Once again she falls silent and we remain quiet for a long time. The old clock on my wall chimes ten times. I feel definitely sexually aroused, but at the same time I'm very uneasy.

"Kinky eh," I finally say, as if to confirm that I understand.

She looks at me, but gives no answer.

"You and your husband...," I ask putting care in my voice, "are you... I mean... is this a game between the two of you, or what?"

She hesitates. "No sir," she says, "It's not really a game, sir. It's just him, sir. He likes to eh… force me.. to do things with me," and softly she ads: "It's not easy sir, but I've no choice, I'm his wife."

I'm not amazed. If I were married to this sexy morsel, I'd also like to do all kinds of things with her. "Has he ever asked you this sort of thing before?"

She shakes her head. "No sir, never."

Both of us remain quiet. In the end I put to her the only question that remains to be asked, although it might seem impertinent: "Do you love him, Anna?"

She remains silent for a long time, as if making up her mind, but finally she gives a tiny affirmative nod. "Yes sir, I do," she says downcasting her eyes and blushing fiercely, "and very much. That's why I married him."


III - First cash

"Well then... why don't you come over to me here Anna, and sit next to me," I say, suddenly feeling reckless, and with a pounding heart I tap the couch besides me with the flat of my hand.

To my great delight she obeys, and soon we sit close enough for me to breath in her appetizing scent. But she remains motionless. She's obviously forcing herself. Her eyes remain lowered, her hands on her knees. Waiting.

I smile. "You know, Anna," I say slowly, "I feel kind of kinky myself. I might take you up on your words, I mean your husband's. What do you think?"

"You may do as you wish, sir," she whispers.

So, reassuring myself with some effort, I take the initiative and gently place a hand on her knee.

She freezes.

"Feeling uneasy?" I ask. It sounds concerned but it isn't really. Lust rises up in my body."

Softly she answers: "Yes sir."

I smile. "Show me your leg." I want it to be a command, and although it comes out rather kind, it works. Curling her fingers Anna begins to slowly crumple the hem of her dress up until it bares some of the soft flesh above her knee.


She does.


She moves the material up more, stopping when a small rim of her white slip shows.

"Hmmm...," I say, "That looks quite tasty. I'd like to see more of you. Go stand before me." My voice now sounds a little hoarse and inside my jeans my manhood stirs.

Slowly Anna gets up from her chair, takes a few steps and faces me, downcasting her eyes.

"Undress!" I am surprised by the resoluteness with which I speak the word. "Show me your husband's money."

Slowly Anna obeys and begins to strip. First she steps out of her shoes and stands barefooted. Her ten little toes are lovely, the nails polished carefully in a bright tint of red. Then, slightly trembling, she unbuttons her dark blue blouse. It opens and falls off her shoulders, revealing a splendid rib case with two beautiful breasts that are held in the white lace cups of her bra. She looks up at me questionly.

"Go on."

She hesitates, but then she bows down a little and her hands move elegantly to her left flank. With delicate fingers she slowly unzips her skirt at the waist. It drops to her feet, revealing incredibly luscious well-formed hips and thighs that meet together beautifully at the white triangle of her slip. I notice that the lower tip of the material shows dampness. It makes my heart beat louder.

Her belly is a priceless piece of art. It's pink soft flesh curves out lightly, a cute buttonhole at its top, and then slopes downhill to disappear from sight where her love mound hides behind the white slip.

Trembling she lets her arms hang along her sides, keeping her head lowered, and again she blushes deeply.

"You're quite wet, are you?" I ask, referring with my eyes to the dampness between her legs.

She remains silent with downcast eyes, red faced, and obviously very embarrassed.

"Look at me."

Obediently she lifts her gaze to me. Her large eyes are beautiful, but her facial expression has become one of anxious expectation. Her lower lip flutters adorably and the color on her face deepens even further. She's become incredibly desirable.

"Continue, but keep looking at me!"

While keeping her eyes fixed to mine, she arches her well-formed arms behind her back to unclip her bra and then reveals her breasts. They are breathtaking. Like white fresh apples on a young fruit tree. The nipples are surprisingly big, their thick pink flesh protruding out of large aureoles. They seem to invite being sucked and chewed. I can hardly restrain myself. And then, while again I lock my eyes to hers, I tell her to lower her slip.

She wavers and now the color drains from her face. But she slowly bends her head and upper body, reaching for the upper rim of her slip. What an obedient sexy kitten she is!

"Keep looking at me!"

Quickly her head raises again, her hair undulating on her shoulders. And thus obediently looking straight into my eyes again, she awkwardly begins to peel the flimsy white material down her so deliciously curved hips. It crumples between her legs, then falls down over her feet.

With sexual greed rising, I stare in fascination at an exquisite and completely hairless love mound. Sloping inward it ends in a thin dark gash, her entrance, her way in. And like a young girl's little cleft it is modestly closed by two small but promiscuous lips. She has the most perfect rounded body I have ever seen. I am thrilled. When I look at her face there is fierce embarrassment and a new twinkling tear on her pale cheek. I just love the sight. This display of reluctant submission arouses me enormously.

"Turn around, I want to see all of that juicy body of yours."

The blush returning to her face, she obediently turns, showing me her body's backside.

For minutes I watch her standing like that. Her back is supple and slender. And she has a small, almost boy-like behind with two little deliciously round cheeks. She would make a great dancer.

That's when I notice the faint slightly darkened lines.


IV - Flaring desires

They cover the smooth skin of her back, running from her fragile neck to the roundness of those lovely buttocks. Although hard to discern, they are telling remains of what must have been a vicious whipping of that tender body. I look for more evidence. And I find it. The skin around her wrists and ankles is slightly reddened. Ominous signs of the frequent use of rope or maybe handcuffs.

I'm fascinated. "Turn around again little girl, and look at me!"

She obeys and moves to meet my eyes again. Her blushed face now bears a blank expression.

"You're quite a little masochist, are you?" I say, and I smile.

In a wordless response her cheeks turn crimson.

"Down!" I command, "On all fours!".

She is quick to obey. I watch her like that for a long time. Her breasts hang like small ripe pears from her body.

"You're a real smutty slut," I say and push her hanging breasts with the tip of my shoe. They are quite soft and I make them swing.

She does not reply, just remains on all fours before me.

"Want to be fucked?"

No answer.

"Answer me!"

Just four little soft words: "If you wish, sir."

"I asked if you want to be fucked! Give me a proper answer!"

"Nnn... no sir," she stammers. There is a tremor in her voice now. She's on the verge of crying. "I… I don't sir.... but if you..." It's all she manages to say as fresh tears appear.

"So you don't, eh?"

A slight shake of her head.

"Say it, girl! Say you don't want to be fucked!"

"I don't want it, sir... to be fucked, sir."


"I DON'T WANT TO BE FUCKED, SIR!," she screams, half crying now.

"Good!", I say, "But I am going to fuck you! So what do you say to that, little girl?"

No reply.

"I asked you something! What do you say?"

Her voice is reduced to a hoarse whisper, "I'm just payment, sir. You can do with me whatever you wish, sir."

"Whatever, eh?"

"Yes sir."

"Come over to me then, and sit here like a nice little doggy.

Apparently somewhat relieved she crawls toward me and sits before me on her knees, looking at me with that beautiful face close to my lap. She trembles. Lovely.

"Listen, Anna, I'm going to fuck you. And you can't help it. You're such a sexy piece. I'm going to tremendously enjoy that body of yours."

"Yes sir."

"You're so... what can I say..., that obedience of yours, it really makes me feel sadistic."

"Yes sir... as you wish, sir."

"Well then, that's good," I say, and gently I caress her cheek, "Let's see if I can make that pretty face of you cry." And with the flat of my hand I slap her hard.

She jumps as if stung by a wasp. Her head jerks back making her hair flow wild as she shrinks away from me. But I grip her by a thick lock of hair, and pull her back towards me. "That was nice," I say with abroad smile, not letting go of her hair. "It's lovely to see you in pain, let's have more of it! Put your hands behind your back!" She does, and while I firmly hold her head, I hit that beautiful face again, this time with much more strength. Tears spring to her eyes like fountains. I hit her again... and again! Harder and harder. It's a sight to behold. Her eyes are wide with fear now and she begins to cry in a high squeaky voice, wet tears flowing in all directions. And I just continue slapping her. Can't get enough of it. It fires up my sexual appetite to unknown heights, and I'm rock hard in my pants.

When I've finally had enough and let go of her, she falls down sobbing below my feet. "Get up!" I command and to my surprise she obeys immediately. There are big smears of mascara around her eyes. With a nod of my head I indicate the direction of the bathroom. "Get your cunt over there! I want your body soaped and fresh like a baby before I fuck it."


V - The shower

Like an anxious child she stands in helpless nakedness between the white tiles of my big open shower, a gleaming water pipe behind her, her face a grimace of fear, one arm half covering her breasts, the other down, its hand shielding the little hill of her intimacy. I leave her standing like that and begin to undress myself in front of her, enjoying the alarm with which she watches my stoutly risen manhood. When I step in aside her, she instinctively moves towards a corner of the booth.

I smile and take her head into my hands, forcing her towards me. For a brief moment I drink in the fright in her eyes for being beaten again. But I don't. Instead I put my mouth hard over hers, pressing her face and then all of her full soft body forcefully against me. But she doesn't open her mouth for me. So I bite her lips. It's an unbelievable delicacy. And the flesh of her body, so warm and vibrant, is incredibly sensual. Pushing her arms away my hands probe her breasts. She begins to tremble violently. My fingers descend to knead her belly, and suddenly I grip her sex. She gives an acute high-pitched whimper and sags through her knees. But I hold her up with one arm and smile. She's definitely wet between her legs. "You little masochistic whore," I mumble in her ear. Her eyes in horrid shame, she tries to push me away with both hands. "I'm not a whore, sir," she breaths. Finally she shows some spirit. "What are you then," I laugh, but I let go of her. She staggers back to the tiles, her hands in a reflex recovering herself where I touched her so offensively, and fear flickering in her eyes like a frightened animal. "I'm a married woman, sir," she says softly in a choking voice.

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