Belinda and Dean

Belinda and Dean

soppingwetpanties

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

This story is dedicated to Belinda, who has finally embraced who she truly is.

Dean Franklin sat in his car, still shivering from his unforgettable night, the exhaust from his idling engine forming a plume of white steam in front of Jacqueline Broussard's stately house. His sweaty palms rested on the steering wheel as he collected himself. It was well past 2 a.m., and he had just left Jacqueline's house. It was hard for him to imagine re-entering the real world, the vanilla world, in a few short hours, to put on his suit and ever too tight tie and continue the drudgery of his job as a glorified forensic accountant.

How could reading endless piles of mind-numbing reports compare to being in the company of three beautiful woman, having sex with you and each other, for the good part of the last six hours?

Granted, not all of it was to his liking, for example having his balls stretched by a weight clipped to his scrotum and having his anal cherry taken by a lesbian with a strap-on. But how did you compare your vanilla existence with having sex with a big-titted whore like his business associate Belinda, or watching her, a prude in the office, so wantonly debasing herself for her pleasure?

Belinda ... what a piece of work she was, Dean thought. Belinda had entrapped him a few weeks back, making him think that she had stolen a sizeable sum of money from their employer. As it turned out, Belinda had falsified the accounting records to make it look as if she had stolen the money so that Dean would take advantage of the situation, and of her. Belinda was a repressed slut, and had lusted after Dean. Dean unwittingly fell for Belinda's deception, and used his perceived leverage to put Belinda into a number of compromising situations.

One of Dean's not so bright ideas was to task Belinda with getting Jacqueline Broussard's panties. Dean had always had a crush over Jacqueline, even though it was common knowledge she was a lesbian, because she was an attractive, statuesque redhead, and because she was unattainable. It was an idea hatched in a moment of insanity because Jacqueline was the company's in-house litigation attorney, and had the skillset and will to bust anyone's balls.

Dean now realized that fucking with a red meat corporate attorney was not a good idea. Belinda confessed to Jacqueline that Dean was blackmailing her, and that's why she was tasked with getting Jacqueline's panties. He had spent the night at Jacqueline's because she demanded his presence after finding out about his blackmail scheme.

Even though he was more or less treated as a plaything, even the strident heterosexual male couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the attention, albeit sometimes painful, of three highly sexed women. He had no idea how he was going to escape Jacqueline's clutches, or even if he wanted to. His mixed emotions about being dominated by women was a true puzzlement to him. He told himself he was a normal, red blooded American male. He was tall, good looking, and usually had his choice of willing women to play with. Why did he even entertain the thought that he would willingly continue his role as a submissive to two women with a nasty sadistic streak and paired up with Belinda, whose submissive desires seemed to have no boundaries?

He started his car in the darkened neighborhood, then rolled down his driver's side window and let the cool night air flood the stuffy interior of his car, hoping it would clear his head. Instead, the confusion remained. Dean finally understood the gravity of losing control of his life, and wondered if he had been shown a path few took, and even fewer chose willingly. He decided he would ask Belinda. She had already chosen this path, and seemed to have finally found her calling.

* * *

Spring was usually Dean's favorite time of the year. He looked out his office window at the cherry blossoms, which signaled the start of the baseball season. Usually the thought of his beloved Red Sox, and his annual pilgrimage to Fenway Park, would lift his spirits, but this year was different. He looked at the plain, unmarked manila envelope on his desk and pulled out the three page document inside. His angst about whether he wanted to be a submissive seemed to be resolved, whether he liked it or not. The document was an affidavit, signed by Belinda but undoubtedly drafted by Jacqueline. The affidavit laid out in gory detail Dean's blackmailing Belinda to get Jacqueline's panties. This affidavit could never see the light of day.

Dean took a sip of his morning coffee and then walked over to the copy room, clutching the envelope with the document inside. Thankfully, no one else was in the copy room. Dean fed the envelope into the paper shredder, listening to the metal teeth grind as they ate the document that all but sealed his submission to Jacqueline. He was sure that she had another copy in her office safe, ready to be produced if Dean didn't do her bidding. He told himself that he should be feeling awful, but for a reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

He went back to his office and closed the door. He looked at the mountain of reports he had to review that day. He had no interest in picking one up to review. His mind drifted, not to baseball, but to Jacqueline. He told himself that he should hate her for taking advantage of his egregious mistake, but somehow there was no resentment. Instead, he thought about her beauty as she meted out her punishment and his unexpected desire to please her.

Jacqueline admitted she wasn't a Domme. She brought in her college roommate Laney, who was a switch, mostly a submissive, but a wicked Domme when she wanted to be, and it was Laney that gave her a glimpse of the power (and pleasure) of domination. As a tall redhead, and a successful litigator, Jacqueline certainly had the physical and emotional attributes of a Domme, and Laney's introduction to her world of domination and submission couldn't have gone better. Belinda was a more than willing submissive and Dean, though a deer in the headlights during their evening together, was a promising addition.

Dean decided that he was not in a state of mind to work, so he sent an e-mail to Belinda to see if she was available to talk. Dean was pleased that she responded immediately, inviting him to her office. He decided to visit the men's room to check his appearance before heading to her office. Greg from Shipping and Receiving was in the restroom when he arrived. Dean recognized him immediately as the guy Belinda was sucking off in the restaurant bathroom during the company's holiday party. Dean averted his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't have to say anything. No such luck.

"Hey ... Dean is it?" Greg called out.

Dean turned to acknowledge him. "Yes ... you're Greg, right?"

"Yeah ... I'm pretty sure you were watching when Belinda was on her knees. She's quite the whore, isn't she?"

Dean bristled at the reference and the inflection Greg put on it. Greg's connotation of the word "whore" was not the same as his. He had heard plenty about Greg from others after the holiday party and thought he was an asshole who unabashedly lacked respect for women. Dean appreciated the fact that domination and submission was an art practiced between consenting adults, and not, like Greg, simply an excuse to abuse another person. Dean had changed his mindset without even realizing it.

"Greg, Belinda was living out a fantasy. Feel grateful you got to be a part of it. As far as your opinion about her, I'd appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself." He left the restroom, glad that he had defended her.

As he was walking down the hall, he heard from behind, "Hey asshole, no one talks to me that way. Especially a pencil neck from Internal Audit." Dean kept walking, but the insult wasn't going to go unanswered.

* * *

"Dean, so good to see you." Belinda rose from her desk, and meant it. She always had a secret crush on Dean, and their night together as submissives with Jacqueline and Laney made her feel as if he was in the trenches with her. Dean was majorly distracted by Belinda's changed appearance. She no longer wore the conservative business suits that hid, rather than accentuated her generously sized breasts. Now she was wearing a dress, appropriately red, low cut by business standards and giving more than a hint as to the busty treasures within. She had changed her hair to a style more flattering to her face and was wearing more make-up. His pulse quickened as he saw her.

"Belinda." He closed the door behind him and went around the desk to embrace her.

Dean's experience as a reluctant submissive and his interest in this lifestyle made Belinda the only person he could be completely frank with. He could usually share his thoughts with his friends and sometimes his family, but of course his inadvertent journey into submission was not something he felt he could discuss with anyone ... except Belinda.

"So how goes it?" Belinda seemed much more relaxed than in the past. Her manner was breezy instead of formal.

Dean still couldn't get over Belinda's transformation. "Belinda, you look terrific."

The buxom bleach blonde blushed [try saying that 10 times] at the compliment. "I'd like to think that our night at Jacqueline's was my real coming out party."

Belinda had always craved submission, dreamed about it for years, yet the night at Jacqueline's, where she was spanked, played with, teased, and touched with practiced expertise by Laney and then by Jacqueline, and then granted her orgasm, exceeded her wildest expectations. For her, submission was her ticket to sexual freedom, and that freedom motivated her to makeover her hair, cosmetics selection and wardrobe. She was no longer reticent to display her obvious physical charms. And she found a much safer, and better, outlet for her sexual proclivities. Her performance in the men's restroom at the last holiday party was a one-time deal.

"You've changed Belinda, and for the better." Dean's view of Belinda had changed since the night a Jacqueline's. He no longer viewed her as just a sex-crazed woman, but a woman with particular needs that required a person who was able to recognize and fulfill those needs. Laney did just that at Jacqueline's house. Dean now understood the power of domination and submission and, having experienced submission first hand, admired instead of pitied Belinda.

Likewise, Belinda saw Dean in a different light. She was still physically attracted to him, but she also saw him softening his self-centered focus, and was impressed at his seeming acceptance of her chosen lifestyle.

"At the risk of making this into a lovefest, I feel the same way about you. You're not running around like an arrogant asshole anymore."

Instead of being offended, Dean was flattered by her remark. "I'll take that as a compliment, although ouch on the asshole part. And speaking of assholes, I ran into Greg in the restroom. You know who I mean."

The joyful mood became a bit more somber. "Greg ... now he's a real asshole." Belinda sat down at her desk and absentmindedly rearranged some papers on her desk. "He accosted me in the bathroom when you had me leave my panties in the men's room."

"He did?"

"Yeah, if he didn't need to go someplace else he probably would have made me go into a stall with him."

"Hmmm ... seems like something we need to address."

"I would love to."

"Let me think about that." Dean wanted to change the subject. Talking about Greg depressed him. "Look at you. What's up with the change? It's great. You look amazing."

"I thought I'd dress to more reflect my lifestyle. I feel sexy and want to look that way."

"Mission accomplished there. Honestly, if you want to be my sub I'd have you get under my desk right now."

Belinda's eyes brightened. "That can be arranged."

"Don't tempt me. I think with our little episodes with Greg and Jacqueline, maybe it's best we keep playtime outside the office."

"Spoil sport." Belinda winked at him. "But I appreciate what you're saying. No reason to further jeopardize our jobs. I think we both know where we stand with each other."

"I won't rule out kneeling as well."

Belinda laughed. "You know I like to kneel," she said with a glint in her eye.

"All too well." He paused for a moment. "You know, while we were talking, an evil little plan popped into my mind about Greg. Did you want to hear about it?"

"I'm all ears."

* * *

Greg Monroe had worked in Shipping and Receiving for five years. In that time, he ingratiated himself with his boss, allowing him plenty of free time at work. He was known in the office as a grabber, and every woman who was aware of his reputation stayed clear of his meaty paws. He presented himself as an egotistical male, the crotch grabbing, foul mouthed sort, disrespectful of women and an asshole to most men. What the folks didn't know is that at home his wife, Carla, ruled the roost. She was a good looking woman, but much like Belinda, masked her curvy body and big tits with loose fitting clothes and went to church every Sunday with Greg in tow. As a result, Greg rarely watched the football games on Sunday, but knew better than to complain.

In fact, Greg never complained at home and had been brought to heel by Carla shortly after they were married. Despite her conservative inclinations, Carla took her mother's advice and kept Greg happy sexually, and the power of her pussy assured it. In addition to twice a week intercourse, she had no hesitation about giving him blowjobs, and even on occasion letting him take her anally. But Greg, being a big, burly man, who was a bully all the way through high school, resented being pussy whipped and projected his misogynistic image at work as his way of acting out.

One workday he got into his jacked up pick-up truck and drove to work, it being a sunny spring day. He was in a good mood when he got to work, and in an even better one when he found out his boss took a day of PTO. That meant he could do anything he wanted that day. He followed his usual routine and went to the company cafeteria for breakfast, then a visit to the men's room before returning to work. As he was approaching the men's room, he saw Belinda taking a drink out of the water fountain.

"Belinda ... hey."

Belinda finished her drink and looked up. "Oh ... it's you ...," she said in a voice that registered disappointment.

"You should be happy to see me. I haven't told anybody about your little adventure in the men's room during the last Christmas party. Blowing a bunch of guys probably wouldn't be good on your resume."

"You know Greg, at this point I'm pretty much sick of seeing you and I'm almost ready to go to HR and tell them myself." In fact, Belinda wasn't worried because Jacqueline, the company's principal in-house attorney, already knew all about it. "I'll tell you what. Why don't we meet at Frasier's for a few drinks and maybe you can talk me into going into the men's room with you. But you have to promise you'll leave me alone after that."

Greg's eyes lit up. "Of course. You have my word. What time?" In fact, Greg had no intention of keeping his word. His little bit of blackmail information seemed like a free pass for blowjobs from a very sexy woman. "And by the way, you look great." Greg stared at Belinda's substantial cleavage. Belinda was usually flattered at the attention, but not by him.

"Thanks ... I guess," giving her half-hearted response to his compliment. "How about seven?"

Greg thought to himself that he could tell his wife he had to work overtime tonight. "Sure, seven's great. See you then."

* * *

Belinda went home early so she could get ready for her "date" with Greg. She took a long, hot shower, shaved her legs, and put on her sexiest outfit, a clingy black jersey dress that was four inches above the knee and very low cut. Even though she hated them because they killed her feet, she wore her new, shiny black designer pumps with four inch heels. She felt like a slut and had revamped her wardrobe because she now wanted to look like one too.

She looked at her full length mirror and adjusted her dress. She let out a light, huffy laugh when she stared at her own cleavage. She then looked at herself sideways in the mirror, admiring her own, impressive tits. "I'd fuck her," she thought.

This was a sea change in the mindset of the self-admitted slut. Belinda had spent her life in corporate America, a cog in a grey flannel world, where for women they were to blend into that colorless world and hide themselves behind ill fitting suits and baggy sweaters. It was fine for administrative assistants to dress more colorfully, and provocatively, but for women in her position, Belinda was expected to convey business, not her sexuality.

Belinda had never celebrated the fact that she had huge, amazing tits. As a teenager, they were the source of unwanted attention. All of the boys, and even some of the teachers, leered at Belinda when she walked the halls, holding her books to her chest to hide her 38DD's. Belinda was valedictorian of her high school class, and wanted herself viewed as smart, witty person, and not a dumb girl with big tits. She dated infrequently, and had to continually discourage her dates clumsily pawing at her breasts. She knew that men were attracted to big breasted women, and that she should be grateful, but the world she lived in never let her feel that way.

When Belinda went to college in another state, the opportunities for her to explore her sexuality were limitless. In her freshman year she shared a room with Erica, a talky and oversexed New Yorker. Belinda was still a virgin and had only a few instances where her tits were fondled or her pussy fingered. Erica was already 19, and bragged about the number of times she already had intercourse.

Belinda was curious, but always too embarrassed to talk about sex with her girlfriends. She was fairly naïve, and Erica turned out to be eye opener for her. Her stories about her exploration of sex with men ... and women ... were a revelation to Belinda. Those stories became a part of her masturbation fantasies and for the first time she masturbated with someone else present, late at night, when the lights were out, and Erica would be describing when she had sex with her boyfriend and two other men, or when she was blindfolded and whipped. Belinda would be fingering herself and pinching and pulling on her nipples as Erica's ribald tales unfolded. It was then that Belinda discovered she was aroused by the prospect of her being used, and spanked, by strangers.

After a failed marriage and a string of disappointing vanilla relationships, Belinda finally admitted to herself that her sexual appetites weren't mainstream, and that she really wanted to be Erica -- free to satiate her sexual desires without judgment from others. But she also wanted respect. Being a slut didn't mean she was an object for abuse. And Greg was abusive. She had a special place in her heart for Greg, and he was soon going to find out how she felt about men like Greg.

She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Satisfied with the way she looked, she got into her car and arrived at Frasier's fifteen minutes early. She chatted with the bartender while she was waiting, and in the fifteen minutes she waited two men had already offered to buy her drinks.