Easy Mark

She searched his eyes. After several seconds, she said, "What if you told me I had to share my fantasies with you? That I had to answer all of your questions honestly or there would be consequences?"

He nearly growled into her mouth as he kissed her, more firmly this time, before answering, "I would say you are a very good girl." They kissed for several minutes. Then he whispered in her ear. "Say stop at any time and I stop, okay?" She nodded. A feeling of total peace and calm washed over her. She was ready for complete surrender.

His questions then came assertively. "Are you wet right now?"

"Yes, very."

"You're dying to call me 'sir,' aren't you?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Good girl. Be more specific about how wet you are. When did I first make you wet?"

"I've been wet since we sat down together at the bookstore, maybe even before we sat. My thong is completely soaked through, sir."

"What a horny girl you are. I bet any man here looking at you can see your arousal. Probably even smell it."

"Yes, sir."

"That wasn't a question. You won't speak unless I ask you a direct question."

"Y-" she stopped.

"Don't worry, training sluts takes time." They kept their voices low but she still felt a flush across her face, acting this out in public.

"Do you like to be called a little slut?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"Because it turns me on to be totally available to you, existing only for your pleasure." She couldn't believe how quickly this had escalated. Another part of her understood completely. This urge was always inside her.

"Are there names you don't like to be called?"

"I don't like 'bitch' or 'cunt,' sir."

"Thank you for your honesty." He stroked her face with real tenderness and she felt warmth and pleasure suffuse her entire body. She smiled at him, careful not to speak. Was she really being trained this quickly?

"How do you like to have your pussy licked?"

"I like very light licks, sir. My clit can get so sensitive. Sometimes the lighter the licks, the stronger my orgasm, sir."

"Interesting. Have you ever had another woman lick your pussy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you lick her's?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you like it?"

"I didn't mind it, sir, but I prefer cock."

"You prefer cock...?"

"I prefer cock, sir."

He laughed. "Not surprising. Have you wondered tonight what my cock looks like?"

"Many times, sir."

"And how do you imagine it?"

"The perfect size, sir. Straight and hard."

"Mmm. Well, I'll have you begging for it eventually. But not yet."

A server came toward the table and they shifted to a more natural position. "Last call in a few minutes, guys." They looked at each other and laughed.

"Is this okay?" He looked utterly sincere.

She kissed him sweetly. "Beyond okay."

"Good. You're so beautiful." His hand tightened just slightly on her thigh. "Now go to the bathroom and take your panties off. Take a picture of them, send it to me, and then throw them away. Then order us another drink at the bar. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." She got up immediately, in a complete happy haze at being commanded this way. She'd never felt freer. In the bathroom, she did as he said, peeling off her wet thong, snapping a picture that showed her arousal, and throwing it in the trash. She stood at the bar, welcoming the cool air under her short skirt as it teased her pussy. She felt wonderfully exposed in the middle of a group of men all trying to get the bartender's attention. Would they notice her lack of panties? Maybe they would take it in turns to finger her and comment on the state of her wet, ready vagina. Somehow, despite her state, she managed to get their drinks and escape the crowd of men before completely melting into a horny puddle.

In the quiet corner, she handed Mark his drink. "Thank you, slut. I like it when you serve me. How does it feel to have your pussy more exposed?"

"It feels so good, sir."

"I bet it does. How did it feel in the crowded bar?"

"I imagined that group of men fingering me, sir. Being passed around for all of them to inspect my whore holes."

He let out a deep breath. "Well, they're not your holes, they're mine. But I like letting other men use my slut sometimes. Do you often imagine yourself being used by multiple men?"

"Yes sir, it's one of my biggest fantasies. I imagine being naked in a room full of men watching a football game or something together, knowing I'm there, silent, naked, ready to service any one of them at any time if you tell me to."

"Oh, that's my good little whore. You're just a toy for us to use, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a sex slave for you and your friends. Maybe even their girlfriends and wives, too, sir."

"Part your legs right now and finish your drink. Most likely nobody will be able to see your pussy, but maybe they will. Don't close your legs until your drink is finished, understand?"

"Yes, sir." She parted her legs a bit, heart thumping.

"More."

She opened them as wide as she dared and sipped her drink as fast as she could. She knew there would be a wet spot on the couch when she stood up. They sat in silence finishing their drinks, a small smirk on his face.

This was crazy. She started to hear the doubts again. He must be an asshole, a jerk, maybe even an abuser. Why did she allow herself to be this reckless? She finished her drink in a final gulp and shut her legs.

He took her hand. "Time out, yeah? I don't want to keep doing this if you're not having fun. I just sensed something change."

"I got scared," she said, "I'm loving every minute of this, but I'm worried I'm being reckless. You might just be an asshole."

"Victoria. Can I be honest with you? I'm feeling reckless too, and a little scared. Trust me, just because I'm playing out the dominant role sexually doesn't mean I feel like I actually control you. Honestly, you're, like, everything I've always fantasized about and more. A woman who wants to play these Dom/sub games but is smart and fun and interesting and someone I actually want to be around. It's rarer than you would think. I don't want to fuck this up. At every moment, you have an out with no questions asked."

It was everything she ever wanted to hear. Was that a red flag? She remembered her commitment to staying in the moment. "This feels special," she said.

"I feel it too."

"Maybe we should go home separately tonight," she suggested, "not only to sleep on it and make sure we're in the right headspace but also because I love extra anticipation."

He sighed. "Yes. That's a good idea. I hate it, but it's a good idea. They kissed again, hugging afterward, laughing as they held hands leaving the bar.

He called her an Uber and helped her in. "Text me when you get home," he said.

She looked at him with a sideways grin, "Yes, sir."

Victoria spent the next day in agony. After the Uber dropped her off and she told him she was home, he texted only, "Good. You'll hear from me soon." She was mad. Insecure. Uncomfortable. Horny as hell. How dare he? Does he think she'll fall for it? This whole song and dance where he's the perfect, impossible combination of a good man and a practiced Dom? It couldn't be real. The other shoe would drop. But what if it didn't? What if she spoiled it by putting up walls and doubting him? Was there a way to luxuriate in this submissive stupor and still be a feminist? She thought it might be possible if he was the man he seemed to be, possessing this irresistible duality. Maybe she had it too. Her clit practically vibrated. Somehow, already, she knew she shouldn't touch herself without his permission.

She did her best to have a normal Saturday. She took her customary long walk, did some yoga and errands, and FaceTimed with a girlfriend. It was 7:00 pm when he finally texted. She was engrossed in a Netflix documentary, having finally relaxed, and her head whipped in the direction of her buzzing phone.

"How was your day, gorgeous?"

A blush erupted on her face and extended the length of her body. "Hey, you! Pretty ordinary day over here. You?" Stupid, she thought. And why didn't she wait even 30 seconds before texting back?

"I spent the day writing. Finally coming up for air."

She smiled. He writes? "Oh wow! I didn't even know you write. I guess I never even asked what you do for work."

Two interminable minutes passed until he wrote, "Can I make you dinner tomorrow and tell you all about it?"

Pure elation. "I would love that," she wrote.

"Have a condition though..." she waited while the ellipses danced as he wrote another message. "Well first, tell me this: have you gotten yourself off today?"

Her pussy throbbed but her heart sank. Yeah, he wants to take me out tomorrow and tell me about his writing, but it's all just so he can fuck me and discard me, I bet. She ran through the same cycle of doubt and lust and confusion before writing back, "No, sir."

"Such a good girl," he said. "You may not touch yourself between now and our date. I don't just mean you can't cum. You can't even touch yourself. Not even for a moment and not even the slightest graze. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"And you may not touch your nipples, either."

"Yes, sir." Every part of her felt electrified.

He texted her his address in Brooklyn. "I'll Venmo you for an Uber, I know it's far ;) Be here at 7:00. Be ready to obey."

She put down her phone and thought she must be experiencing every possible emotion at once: from bliss to rage and everything in between. She didn't have to touch her pussy to know it was dripping wet and unbelievably ripe and engorged. Sitting up in her bed, she lifted her oversized t-shirt to expose her full bush of pubic hair. She wondered whether he liked his women natural or fully bare. She usually went for something in between. Plans started forming in her mind for preparation, all of the things she normally did before sex to help her feel desirable. It would be impossible to sleep, especially without being able to cum. She would have to put him out of her mind until tomorrow, she thought. She put the documentary back on, something depressing about Fundamentalist Mormons. That would work. She put on a pair of pants and hunkered down in bed, determined to put Mark out of her mind until tomorrow.

When she woke up, she mapped out her day while she sipped her coffee. A workout for sure, a light breakfast and lunch, a long shower, and plenty of time to wash and dry her hair and do her makeup. In the shower, she shaved her labia smooth, leaving a nice bush on top. She hoped this didn't count as touching herself. Her mind wandered to what the punishment might be if it did. She wasn't into serious pain, but she thought it would turn her on a lot if he spanked her. Or denied her orgasm. God, she wanted him to take her completely, be the master of her orgasms and her pleasure, and treat her like the slut she was born to be. "Focus," she thought.

She was rarely ready early, but today she finished at 5:30, a half-hour ahead of schedule. She had chosen everything carefully: her best black lace thong and her favorite unlined lace underwire bra, makeup that highlighted her hazel eyes with a bit of dark liner. Her skin glowed, smooth and lightly tanned, her hair down long and soft and fragrant. A little bit of color on her lips topped with a smooth vanilla balm. If he didn't want her like this, there was no hope. She'd never felt more beautiful. It was harder to decide what to wear. She went with a simple but flattering green wrap dress, one of her favorites. Her phone buzzed to tell her the Uber had arrived. "Now or never," she thought.

Her stomach flipped for the whole ride. She thought she might pass out when she finally entered the building and buzzed his apartment. Fifth floor. Thank goodness it's an elevator building, she thought. She stood outside of a door marked 501. This was it. She took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened, and they were face to face. He beamed. She couldn't help but smile back. He was somehow even more handsome than she remembered.

"Come on in!" he said. "You look great!"

They exchanged small talk while he got her a glass of wine. She looked around his apartment. It was a normally-sized New York one-bedroom: small but surprisingly well decorated and comfortable. There were quality rugs on the hardwood floors and attractive, grown-up furniture. With men, one never really knew what kind of apartment one might find. His was a home with a welcoming vibe. She felt more relaxed.

He handed her a glass of cold sauvignon blanc. Had she mentioned it was her favorite? They sat on his couch and fell into comfortable conversation. She tried to ignore her arousal as they talked about books and music and the shows they were watching. Before she knew it, she had finished her wine.

"Finally, you're done," he said with a smile, taking her empty glass and placing it on the coffee table. "There's more where that came from, but first there are a few things I need you to do." He kissed her sweetly and whispered, "are you ready to follow instructions, slut?"

The abrupt shift from the sweet conversation on the couch to his commanding tone sent her reeling. This was it. She was all in. The thrilling safety of it washed over her.

"Stand up and face me."

She got up and turned to him, barefoot but fully dressed.

"Keep staring straight ahead at the wall. Take off your dress."

She trembled as she untied the knot on the side. The dress fell open. She shrugged it off her shoulders. Mark came toward her, picking up the dress where it fell and throwing it aside.

"Very good." He circled her, eyes penetrating every part of her body. She felt so exposed, worrying about whether he liked what he saw. She turned to look at him. "Eyes straight ahead." He didn't say it angrily, but it was a clear correction. She didn't like the feeling of failing him. "Stay there."

She stood barefoot in her bra and panties, still trembling slightly. She could feel her thong soaked through already. Her nipples were straining lewdly against the thin material of her bra.

He came back with a drink in hand. Bourbon, she thought, though she didn't dare move her eyes from the spot on the wall. He came close and studied her again. A hand cupped her between the legs. "Already soaking wet. And look at these big nipples poking out. You really are such a horny slut." He walked back to the couch and sat, staring at her and taking sips of his drink.

"Leave the bra on, but pull your tits out of it."

She pulled each large breast out of the fabric of her bra. Her nipples pointed right at him and she willed him to get off the couch and touch them to give her some relief.

"Panties off."

She did as he said.

"Now toss them to me." He smelled them and laughed. "Mmmmm God, so horny. If you're not careful, you'll get fucked by every man that sees you. They'll be able to tell how ready you are for cock just by smelling you."

She had never been more aroused and possibly, never happier.

"Stand up nice and straight and put your hands behind your head. Yes, I like seeing your tits on display like that. And look at your hairy little bush. I want you to keep that, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Open your legs."

She stood in a v shape, pussy lips now spread slightly, arms behind her head displaying her tits.

"So, as promised, I'll tell you about my writing. All the rules apply, don't speak unless spoken to, and maintain this position."

He sat back on the couch, still fully clothed, and started telling her in a natural tone of voice, the way he might if they were on a real date in public, about the novel he was writing and how he had landed a book deal and was trying to meet his deadline. He told her about his characters, what inspired him, and his writing process. She was truly interested and it deepened her feelings for him, but she was forced to listen passively as her pussy dripped and her nipples turned to hard stones on her exposed tits.

"What do you think, slut? You may look at me."

She looked at him, maintaining her position, "I think you are very interesting, sir. I feel privileged to hear about your writing. I hope I can read it one day, sir."

"I hope so too."

He got up and came to her again "You've been a very good girl so far. You may put your hands at your sides." She was grateful. They were tired. "Let's see how you're doing." He slid a finger along her slit and it came up glistening. He licked off her juices. "Mmmmm, I knew your whore hole would taste good. And these titties..." he squeezed her nipples and she made an involuntary moan of pleasure. "Ahh, not yet, little one. I know, you're so turned on it almost hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir. I'm aching, sir."

"Well, I'd like to help you, but we have one small problem."

Her stomach dropped. What was it?

"Sit down in the chair there and spread your legs."

She sat in the armchair near the couch, spreading her legs as told. Mark sat on the ottoman and leaned forward as if examining her. "Put your legs up over the arms of the chair." She couldn't believe how exposed she felt, pussy completely on display for him like this, so close. He ran his fingers on her smooth, swollen labia. "You shaved here today, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted my pussy lips to be smooth for you."

"What did I say about touching yourself?"

"I hoped it wouldn't count, sir."

"It counts, slut, and there will be punishment." He took out his phone and snapped a picture of her. It showed her from the neck down, no face exposed, but a clear shot of her open, dripping pussy. He whispered in her ear, "Say 'stop,' and we stop at any point, okay gorgeous?" She nodded. "I think I should show your little whore hole to some of my guy friends, what do you think?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have a choice. I can send this picture to five people, or I can invite one person over right now to look at your holes in person."

She hesitated. "Who would the one person be, sir?"

"I have a neighbor that I know and trust. He has experience with kink. Would you like to show off your holes to him?"

She couldn't believe it. It was a fantasy coming true, but she was terrified.

"You're in control, Victoria. Seriously, we can stop at any time."

She heard herself as if from a great distance, "Please, Mark, invite him over so he can see the little slut you found for yourself." He smiled and kissed her. She remained in the armchair with both legs over the sides, presenting her pussy.

He picked up his phone. "Hey, Paul. What's up, man, you around? Yeah. Yeah listen, I have a new toy and she wants to play. Nice little pussy, big tits, beautiful face. Come over, man, bring some beer. Alright, man." He laughed, "I know, right? See you soon."

"Ok, slut, sit on your knees on the floor, spread your legs, hands behind your head. This is called first position. I know I'm throwing you right into the deep end before we've even properly started your training. But you're so smart and so eager for it, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll learn as quickly as I can, sir."

"About 'sir'... when Paul gets here, you'll address him as sir, but you're to begin addressing me as 'master,' do you understand?"

"Yes... master." It felt strange on her lips but somehow correct. God help her. He was her master.

Someone knocked on the door. Victoria went cold. She could feel goosebumps erupting all over her body. Was she ready for this? She opened her mouth, almost ready to say, "Stop, Mark," but the words didn't come. She wanted it. She wanted another man to ogle her, inspect her, have his way with her like she was nothing more than a sex slave, made to be used and displayed for the pleasure of others. Mark bent down and put a hand on her cheek, looking her in the eye. "Are you ready?" She looked into his gorgeous face. Did she see some apprehension there? Maybe even some fear? She tried to communicate all of the trust, exhilaration, and consent she felt at that moment into two words: "Yes, master."