Giving Myself Away: The Beginning

While it was happening, I kept asking myself if there was something that gave me away. Was it something that I said? Or had he somehow interpreted or misinterpreted a look I had given him? Was it just a lucky guess on his part? How else could he have known? How else could anybody have known the private desires and fantasies I have kept locked inside of me for so long? What gave me away?

Let's back up a little and start with me. My name is Sylvia. I'm a 36 year-old housewife and mother of a nineteen year-old daughter. My husband, Jack, is an investment consultant. The same be said of the money he makes, and the time he spends away from home. There's lots of it. Am I happy with the money he provides for me? Certainly, but it doesn't make life any less lonely. Our daughter Shannon is away at college most of the year and the house seems so empty most of the time. I know, I know, you can spot the cliche a mile away: bored housewife not getting enough attention turns to someone else to fulfill her needs. But it wasn't supposed to be that way. I was perfectly content with my life, dull as it was. I never meant for anything like this to happen.

It started when Shannon came home for the summer. She wanted to throw a barbeque for some of her friends, and I readily agreed, excited for the opportunity to breath a little life into our home for at least one night. Her friends, a balanced mix of males and females began arriving around six that evening. About that time, Jack called from work to say he would be tied up for another few hours. I would say I was disappointed, but that would be a lie. This has happened so many times in our marriage that I've become numb to it. Besides it would give me the chance to be a little extra flirty with the cute college-aged boys. Nothing bad, mind you, just playful. I've always enjoyed being the "hot mom". Shannon has told me this is how some of her male friends have always thought of me. Sometimes, it's nice to know you're still thought of in that way. After Jack's call, I thought about changing into something more provocative, but I didn't want to go overboard. I already had on a short button-down blouse that exposed my belly and a kneelength skirt. I did, however, duck into the bathroom to remove my bra. I told you, I was just being playful.

And then Dean arrived. Dean lived down the street and had been friends with Shannon for as long as I can remember. Now they went to the same college, but I hadn't seen him since last summer. He had certainly made the transformation from skinny beanpole to handsome muscular hunk since I'd last seen him. The past year had been good to this now-sexy twenty year old man. It was strange to think of Dean as a man now, but that's what he was. All man. It was difficult to avoid staring at this scrumptious piece of meat. I wondered if Shannon had any romantic feelings for him. Good for her if she did.

I mingled with my daughter's friends and helped Shannon with the food. During the evening my eyes kept being drawn back to Dean and the sexy figure he cut. When he first saw me, he said "Hey, looking good, Mrs. Greene." I thanked him, and tried to play it casually, pretending to be busy doing something else. The evening continued, and nothing much of consequence occurred at the barbeque. So, having had my fill of cavorting with the youngsters and flirting with young men half my age, I decided to turn in. I told Shannon I was going upstairs, and said goodnight to everyone. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't get one last look at Dean. I figured he must have left early as well.

I had entered my bedroom upstairs and shut the door behind me before I realized that Dean was sitting on my bed. Needless to say, I was startled.

"Dean," I said, stating the obvious. "What are you doing up here?"

I tried for a casual tone, not wanting to sound too parental, but I wanted to know what the hell he was doing in my bedroom.

"Waiting for you," he answered, and appended a confident smile.

"Oh? And what are you waiting for?" I decided to play along with his flirtatiousness for a few seconds longer.

"Mrs. Baxter, I'm very attracted to you."

I smiled warmly at him. I didn't want to hurt the poor boy.

"Dean, that is so sweet, really. But maybe you've had a little too much to drink tonight. You should probably go back and join your friends."

"I'm not going to do that right now, Mrs. Baxter, because I know something about you."

"Is that right? And what is it that you know about me, Dean?"

He flashed me that confident, slightly cocky smile again.

"I know that you will do anything I tell you to do."

I didn't respond immediately to his statement, because something inside of me clicked, or turned on. I'm not sure how to describe it. On some subconscious level I knew what he said to be the absolute truth. Over the years I had played out fantasies in my head of being completely dominated by a man. Fantasies of being told exactly what to do. Fantasies of being used, my body and mind being controlled, while I am reluctantly transformed into an instrument of pleasure. These long-held desires popped into my head now for just a second, but it may have been this hesitation that encouraged Dean.

"What do you mean?" I finally asked.

"You've thought about this for a long time haven't you?"

"Thought about what?"

"About giving in to your secret fantasies. About letting go and becoming what you've always wanted to be."

"And what is that?" I asked

"A slut."

Something else clicked in my head when he said that word, but I tried to turn it off and regain control of the situation.

"Okay, Dean, I think that's enough. I'm very flattered by your attention, but I'm a married woman and you need to be getting back downstairs."

"Lock the door." His voice had become stern, more mature.

"What?" I asked, but could already sense the reign his voice was beginning to exert over me.

He repeated his command slowly, speaking each word softer than before, but somehow with a greater firmness. "Lock. The. Door."

I'm not sure why, for there was no logical reason, but I turned back to the door and pressed the button on the doorknob to lock it. It must have been at that point that we both knew one thing. I was his to do with as he pleased.

I just stood there with my back to him for I don't know how long, afraid to face him.

"Turn around," he said.

I did, but I kept my eyes on the floor, frightened of what I might see in his eyes, frightened of what I might be made to do once I saw them.

"Look at me."

I raised my eyes to meet his. I could see a sense of victory there, and something else. Maybe I only imagined it, but I thought I could read a feeling of anticipation, almost as if I could read in his eyes all the things he was going to make me do, and in turn, do to me.

"That's better, Mrs. Baxter, or maybe I'll just call you Sylvia. Would you like that, Sylvia?"

I nodded.

"This is going to be very good, Sylvia, I can already tell. You are going to make me very happy, aren't you, Sylvia?"

"Yes," I answered softly.

"Yes, what?"

Another tumbler falling into place inside my mind. I knew what he wanted me to say. He was pushing me down the road to complete submission. I wanted to fight it, but couldn't with any real conviction.

"Yes, sir." It was slightly humiliating to call this boy sir and to have him addressing me by my first name rather than as Mrs. Baxter. At the same time I liked it.

"Good, very good, Sylvia. You have been thinking about something like this for a long time, haven't you?"

I didn't answer.

"Haven't you?" he repeated.

"No, I... not for real"

"Not for real? Well then, what's the point if it can't be for real? This will be so much more than you ever dreamed. So much more intense."

I had no reply. I was still trying to come to terms with why I had let this continue so long. Maybe I could still put a stop to it.

"Unbutton your blouse," he ordered.

"Please, Dean, don't make me do this."

"I'm not making you do anything. You want this. You want it more than you know. You're free to leave right now. So make your choice. Ask me to leave, or unbutton your blouse."

I just stood there, unsure, a deer in the headlights. We both knew I wouldn't leave. Then Dean chose for me.

"Unbutton it now, slut."

That command pushed me over the edge. I couldn't turn back now. I wouldn't. I don't know why. I brought my hands up to the center of my blouse and undid the top button. And the next. And the next. Staring at him the entire time, watching his casual smile which said that he knew what he was doing to me, how this entire scene was affecting me, but he didn't care. It was all for his pleasure now. I was becoming his instrument. I undid the final button, and the blouse fell open, baring my midsection and the center of my chest, but not my breasts yet. It was still exhilarating though, to be unbuttoned like this in front of him.

"You have such a great body, Sylvia."

"Thank you," I replied, and then added, without his prompting, "sir".

"Now take off your skirt."

"Please," I whimpered, not knowing what I was pleading for.

"Take it off, or I'll take it off for you."

Oh god, did he know how to push my buttons. I couldn't stop myself from obeying him. I quickly unfastened my skirt at the waist and let it fall in a heap of cloth to the floor. So there I was standing on display for him, my blouse unbuttoned, no bra on, my skirt removed, wearing a tiny pair of pink lace panties. Candy for his eyes. I could only wait while he molested me with his eyes.

"Get down on your knees, Sylvia, and don't make me tell you twice."

I complied instantly this time, letting a little moan escape my lips. Pretty much every one of my sexual fantasies over the years has included somebody telling me to get on my knees, and here it was actually happening. Now I was kneeling on the floor, but still across the room from where he sat on the bed.

"Crawl to me."

I shifted forward so that my weight was on my hands and knees. Then I began to slowly crawl forward, bringing me closer and closer to this person who had been a child to me for so long, but was now all grown up and manipulating me both physically and mentally. I stopped when I reached him and sat up, kneeling at his feet. He stood up in front of me, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what he would want next. At that point he already had me. I wouldn't be able to refuse him anything.

"Do you like being in this position, Sylvia?"

"Yes, Dean. Yes, sir."

"You like being on your knees for me?"

"Yes."

"You know what to do in that position, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you're going to do."

He was going to make me say it. Before he made me do these things he was going to make me describe them.

"I'm going to... to take you in my mouth." I was nearly whispering.

"You're going to suck me."

"Yes."

"You're going to suck my cock."

"Yes."

"You're going to give me a blowjob, Sylvia. Mrs. Sylvia Baxter is going to give me a blowjob."

"Yes."

He ran his fingers through my hair like I was his pet. He caressed my cheek, ran a finger under my chin, and tilted my head back to make sure I was looking up at him.

"You're going to let me fuck your mouth until I come, and then you're going to swallow it."

"If that's what you want."

"It's what you want, Sylvia. Tell me it isn't, and I'll leave."

I felt the words, somewhere deep inside me struggling to escape, but the seconds dragged on, and I remained silent.

"Good," he said, as if the matter were now settled. "Now beg me for what you want."

I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say.

"Please," I tried.

"Please, what?"

"Please... fuck my mouth?" It was more a question than a plea.

"And?"

"Please fuck my mouth and... let me swallow your come."

He smiled down at me, pleased.

"I will my little slut. But not right now. I will be back later tonight, and you will signal me by coming out on the back porch when your husband and daughter are asleep. You will then lead me back inside to the living room, where you will resume this position and service me with your mouth."

"No, I can't. I shouldn't even be doing this."

"You will, because you're a whore," he stated plainly. "Now get dressed. I think I just heard your husband pull in."

With that he walked out of the room, leaving me half-dressed on my knees.