He is Your Master Now Pt. 12

As for the S&M aspect, it wasn't over the top. The staff wasn't completely decked out in leather and chains, but there were tastefully understated clues in their attire, such as bangles with rings to run ropes through and a variety of slave collars for some. Others had subtle dominance signaling attire. There were a lot of piercings among them. One of staff had enormous breast. Her tight t-shirt made it obvious that her nipples were pierced.

Where a place like Friday's might have displayed vintage advertising and beer signs, old license plates, old timey sports stuff and even the occasional vintage canoe, Juliette Justine's walls were completely covered in riding crops and whips. Where there was no room to fit an entire whip or crop, pieces of one were affixed instead. The effect was like a sort of 3D wallpaper. Ornamentation came in the form of wrists and ankle restraints, leg spreaders, corsets, lots of rope, Betty Page pictures, images from John Willie's Bizarre, etc.

There was nothing overtly sexual like cock cages and dildoes and even the artwork contained no real nudity. "Probably a concession to the town," Ambrose thought.

Cassilda had helped him refined his taste beyond themed and chain restaurants; he was wary of the food. In the absence of any quality restaurants, Cassilda would rather eat m at a diner, pizzeria, Chinese spot, a deli or even a mom-and-pop greasy spoon before she'd set foot in a novelty or chain restaurant. It was a weird combination of everything from snootiness to trashiness and one of her more human characteristics.

He was relieved when he saw that the menu contained no cutesy S&M names for the dishes such as "bondage burger" or some other nonsense. Nor were there any similarly worded descriptions. On this menu, S&M words like "whipped" were merely used as descriptions, as in the case of "whipped cream."

He decided to order Eggs Benedict partly because he liked it and partly to see if it compared with Governess Goode's.

While he waited for his meal, he looked up "Justine Juliette" on his phone. To his surprise, the first result was a movie called Justine and Juliette. The synopsis indicated that the film, while erotic in nature, didn't exactly jive with the restaurant's theme.

Looking further down on the results page, he pieced together that both Justine and Juliette, were books by the Marquis de Sade. The name suddenly made sense.

The eggs were served with roasted potatoes and a mimosa. The food was every bit as good as Governess Goode's.

As he slowly ate his meal, he noticed a single, fortyish man at the table beside him. He sat on the opposing side of his table which allowed them face to face contact. All the time Ambrose looked up, the man was either already looking at him, or quickly darted his eyes toward him when he sensed Ambrose's gaze. He was deliberately keeping an eye on Ambrose from his periphery. Ambrose had done nothing but simply exist and be at the restaurant at the same time as this man, and yet he was living in the man's head. it sent a thrill through him.

The man's nervousness was evident in his voice when he worked up the courage to speak to Ambrose. "I notice you--- uh--- hardly touched your--- uh drink."

He was already fantasizing about getting Ambrose drunk or, dulling his senses at least.

"Yeah, well, I'm driving and I'm a bit of a flyweight," Ambrose said politely. He didn't scowl, but neither did he smile.

"Ahhh, a flyweight. That's very good to know." He chuckled at his remark.

It was a line that Ambrose himself would've used in his old life, but which now seemed clumsy and inept.

"You're cute, but I have a boyfriend," out of nowhere, an image of Manuel invaded his head and never fully dissolved.

"I'm surprised he would let you out of his sight. I sure wouldn't. I'd be afraid some guy would steal you away from me."

Ambrose enjoyed the attention, but he wasn't all that interested in this man. He was surprised at how easily he could see through his sham boldness.

"He's not the worrying type. And he has to work today. He works very hard because I'm worth it."

The man was still not put off, but Ambrose could tell that his confidence was waning fast, though the signs were very slight.

"You definitely look worth the effort. Of course, some guys no longer need to work to be able to maintain a discerning young lady like you."

That's great, thought Ambrose. The man was desperately trying not to be rejected and on top of that, he was wary, and possibly scared of a hypothetical boyfriend, and yet he let it be known that he was financially secure enough to spend all day, every day with Ambrose. As if.

"Maybe I will have a little bit more to drink." He knew that would send the wrong signal, but he needed something to help him endure the man's banality. He took a hearty sip and avoided eye contact.

"Good for you. But It's a shame that you have worry about your drinking though. You know--- if you drink a little bit too much, I can always drive you home safely."

"Let me guess, by 'home', you mean your home."

"Welllll, it'd all be innocent of course. I have a spare bedroom."

"If I went to your home, something tells me you'd steer me past the guest room."

"Or maybe you'd decide all on your own to skip that room."

"You're moving pretty quick here pal." Why am I playing with this guy? he thought.

"I get where you're coming from, but good things come to those who wait. And I have to tell you, you look worth waiting for. Why don't I move on over and sit with you?"

That was it for Ambrose.

"Oooh. I'll have to deduct a point for that."

"Why? Too soon?"

"Because men who want me should be bold enough to call me to them, not ask to come crawling to me."

"Ohhh. So uh--- you like a firm hand," he perked up. "OK, I have a firm hand."

"well It doesn't count now. I saw your true self."

"Maybe that's not my true self. Maybe these days, an assertive man has to tread lightly or maybe wind up in some trouble."

The man was speaking about "maybes" rather than just outright telling Ambrose what's up.

Ambrose tested him. "Touché." 'Maybe'" said Ambrose with emphasis, " you can join me after all."

"Is that a yes?"

"Oops. Wrong again. That's a no. You see, coming to me should not have been an option for you. We just went over that. You should have just told me to come to you."

"I get it, you like to play hard to get." He was floundering so bad that a bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip.

"Girls who play hard to get are just wasting your time and theirs. I don't play hard to get. I study, I test, I weed out men who I think can't handle me." What's coming over me? he thought.

"I can handle you. Like I said, the times call for caution." He was slipping into state of disappointment accompanied by feelings of inadequacy. Ambrose was amazed that he could read him so clearly.

"You have kind eyes," he told the man.

"Thanks," he began to relax, believing that he was caught up in particularly aggressive seduction game with a partner who may have in fact been willing after all.

He was wrong. "You really don't get me. When I meet a man, I prefer dark, smoldering eyes; the kind of eyes a man shows me after sex, but before they've even taken me there, as if the sex is inevitable. Those are the eyes that catch my attention."

He looked positively dejected.

On a lark, Ambrose pulled out his phone and searched the image folder. Sure enough, the last image he found was the one snapped by Pippi where he was dressed in skimpy lingerie holding onto Manuel in the dining room. He assumed that Pippi would want to load it onto his phone as a playful tease, since she seemed to be pushing him to Manuel.

"I like eyes like the of my big black boyfriend," he held the image up to the man. "Now there's a man who knows how to handle me. And oof! Talk about sweet, sweet pain."

The man's eyes were suddenly unkind. He bristled and struggled to contain himself. "Fucking bitch."

He was genuinely angry, but Ambrose couldn't resist a dig.

"I'm a bitch you can't leash, and you definitely can't fuck."

"I take it back, you're a fucking cunt."

"You forgot to put 'ball busting' before 'cunt'. But that I am. Is there anything else I can help you understand?"

He angrily stood up, pulled out his wallet and slammed three twenties on the table, which was more than enough for the bill and a tip.

"Hey," Ambrose called to him as he was leaving.

The man turned warily. He didn't know if Ambrose was going to say something nasty, or if his anger painted him more favorably.

"You're a good tipper, so at least you have that going for you. You can leave now."

He expected the man to become louder and cause a scene, but he relaxed a little, and a knowing look showed on his face. But he was still angry.

"You know, you could have just told me up front that you're into femdom shit. I wouldn't have wasted my fucking time." He left in a huff.

That last remark puzzled Ambrose because he had made it clear that he preferred take charge men. In the picture with Manuel, his partially wary and partially confused expression should have read as lustful deference to the large black man. Meanwhile, Manuel looked happy, and he was fully clothed. If one knew nothing about the two, the picture would plainly show that Ambrose was subservient to Manuel. But the man was so flustered that he couldn't even get that straight.

Ambrose realized just then that he had accidentally played the role of a dominatrix. Curiously, he realized that during most of the exchange, he felt the high of being sexually aroused in his mind without actually feeling it physically.

Was he capable of dominating men, denying them and enjoying it? The man only really lost it when he saw a younger, stronger and taller black man holding on to Ambrose as if he owned him. Did he fear being cuckolded? He had never heard of a threesome where a sissy cuckolded one man while simultaneously being dominated by another man. How strange must that be? Where sexuality was concerned, anything was possible, and it surprised him that scenario appealed to him.

Ambrose congratulated himself on the cruel/kind eyes thing. That was a nice touch, he told himself.

As for cruel eyes, Ambrose knew where he could find a man with cruel eyes. Before he could think of what to do next, he made a decision.

He paid the check, rushed to his car, jabbed at the GPS' microphone icon and said the inevitable it out loud.

"Benson Auto Repair on Duke Road off 9D."

His nipples hardened, he swallowed hard and began breathing deeply and excitedly.

He wanted the auto repair guy to roughly pull his jeans and panties down in one shot; his nails raking trails down Ambrose' creamy white skin. He wanted to be manhandled across his lap and punished. And when he cried from the pain, he wanted his cries stifled by a cock shoved down his throat. Then he wanted to be fucked mercilessly and finally, he wanted to be kicked out while the cum was still flowing out of his ass.

But it was a Sunday, he remembered, and he couldn't be sure that they were open or that the cruel man would even be there.

He found it hard to concentrate on his driving, his mind being so filled with all sorts of abuse he'd suffer at the hands of the sadistic mechanic. At one point, he had to swallow hard as there was too much saliva in his mouth. Luckily, it was a short trip.

He was glad to see that Benson Auto Repair was indeed open. He pulled into a convenient parking spart across the street. He had been expecting some greasy, hole in the wall, garage type place but instead saw that it was an independent shop modeled after national chains. It was clean and large with multiple bays and lots of staff.

To his surprise, he found it disappointing. He wanted it to be a dirty, dingy place just barely hanging on to business and reduced to hiring men no one else would. His lust diminished enough so that he started getting cold feet and just sat there for a long time.

But a candy pink Mini Cooper Convertible attracted a lot of attention. Especially when the top was down, and one could get a good view of the hot chick in the driver's seat looking in one's direction. And suddenly, there he was, shaking his head in laughter at the silly little sissy bitch he left such an impression on, that she tracked him down, not in spite of, but because of his viciousness.

Ambrose's heart started racing when he began walking over. Traffic was busy, however, and the man had to cross carefully.

This afforded Ambrose the time to make a very unexpected, but strong decision.

Manuel should be my first.

He trembled at the thought and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

What followed was only a whisper, but the fact that he actually said it flooded his body with a sense of well-being, tinged with trepidation: "I want Manuel to be my first."

When the auto repair guy nearly reached the car, Ambrose shifted the car into DRIVE and peeled out. He didn't even look in the rearview mirror.

There was no doubt he liked being dominated and treated roughly as if he was nothing. There was also no doubt that Manuel was a gentle, kind, and considerate man who didn't have a mean bone in his body, but he desired him, nonetheless. These two ideas battled in his head. But for the moment, the clear winner was his desire for Manuel.

When he arrived at the mansion, and began walking to the main entrance, he felt light in both body and mind. "I need it to be Manuel."

It was not a whisper this time.

Once he said it out loud, the hesitance he felt over letting a black man fuck him in the ass disintegrated. It was going to happen. He would make it happen. He hoped that Cassilda would let it happen.

A new idea popped into his deep subconscious and nested in the same place where his long held secret desires previously lay hidden until Cassilda delivered him unto himself. This new notion was also destined to crawl up to his conscious thinking and create complications.

He didn't just want to be fucked in the ass by Manuel---

---he wanted to see the yellow sign---

---while he was in the throes of passion enveloped in the big man's arms.