No Turning Back

"Nonsense, of course you know," he interrupted. He stopped me before I made a bigger fool of myself. "I see that you're excited. Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing's quickened. Your face is flush." All of that was true. Then he added for good measure, adding to my public humiliation, "your pussy is wet ... very wet." With his accent, those words triggered another stream of honey down the inside of my thigh.

How had things spun out of control? In a matter of a minute he had basically called me a horny slut in front of a roomful of people. And the truth of the matter is that I was.

"So just admit it. You want to be here ... with me."

The room was silent. I could hear the faint hum of the ventilation fan. It didn't make sense to resist any more.

"Yes," I said reluctantly.

"And your pussy is wet."

"Yes," I said more quickly. I was overcoming my shame.

He reached to me again to help me up on the stage, and this time I accepted his offer and clasped his broad, muscular hand. I climbed up, still unsteady on my slutty new shoes, and when I looked back at Ally, everything off the stage, including her, had faded to black. As far as I could see, it was just me, the man, and his submissive. As I studied the woman, kneeling no more than a few feet from me, she seemed oddly familiar. The man spoke, distracting my thoughts.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Carlo."

I placed him with an Italian accent, but very light, as if he came over to the States when he was a small child. Ally had mentioned a Carlo. That wasn't a common name. Then I remembered the burger place. Her name was Mirabelle. Long red hair. She was the submissive! Of course, that's why Ally wanted to be here.

Then on cue, as the tumblers clicked into place in my addled mind, he added, pointing to the kneeling woman, "And allow me to introduce you to my wife Mirabelle."

It was a bit awkward with her kneeling and still masked. I gave her a wave even though she wasn't looking at me.

He pulled up the chair and pointed to the seat. "Please, sit."

I did, maybe a bit warily, wondering what he had in mind. It felt good to get off my feet. They were still killing me, and there was a blister in the area of the Achilles on my right foot.

He spoke in the direction of his wife. "My pet, show our friend ...". He paused to let me fill in my name.

"Karen."

" ... Karen ... how much you love her shoes."

She stayed on her hands and knees and moved as a feline, slinking over, exaggerating the movement of her hips, her hanging breasts, dotted with small freckles, swaying beneath her. She sat on her haunches when she was in front of me and lifted up my right foot, cradling it in the palm of her hand, my heel pointing directly at her. My leg was quivering.

"It's OK. I'm not going to hurt you," she said, sotto voce.

She lifted my foot to the level of her mouth. Her eyes met mine, hers radiating animal lust, and without breaking eye contact she slid the heel in her mouth as if it was a penis, then when it was fully inside her mouth, she pursed her lips around it and drew it out, now slick with her spittle.

She licked the sole, then the upper, catching my bare skin as well as the shoe. It tickled but it also gave me goosebumps watching her make love to my new shoes.

When she finished with my right foot, she went to the left, repeating her movements with equal vigor, the smell of fresh leather and act of submission served as a powerful aphrodisiac for me.

"Now the feet," I heard his disembodied voice say. My feeling of need was off the charts.

She slipped off my right shoe, reverently placing it on the floor, then addressed each toe, sucking and licking, separately and together, making sure to pay attention to the webbing of skin between them. I could feel her fingers dancing on the inside of my thighs, and at that point I would have let her do whatever she wanted. I just didn't want her to stop the worshipping of my feet.

Her fingers reached the crease where my leg and pelvis join, and she pressed lightly, making me want to open my legs a bit more, exposing my sex to her curious fingers.

She carefully avoided my clit, but started sliding her finger across my wet pussy lips. My eyes opened, and I suddenly became aware that others were watching. But the jolt of pleasure dissolved that concern into a stream of sighs and moans as her tongue laved the arch of my foot and her fingers pushed inside my flooded channel. This was so new, the sensations so raw, that something primal rose up inside me and was freed by her fingers and her tongue.

I reached for her hooded head, pushing it between my legs. There was nothing else that would have satisfied my need. She gave no resistance. And she knew exactly what I needed, even if I didn't. She needed little coaxing to let her tongue leave a trail of kisses on my inner thighs, making them shake with anticipation. I pushed my hips forward and she caught my ripe plump lips with hers. My hand was clasping the back of her slick leather mask, finding her flaming red braided pony tail and holding onto it like a rope. Her mouth found my hot center and went to work, lips and tongue kissing, sucking and lashing me until I cried out to the heavens to acknowledge her handiwork. I thrashed on the chair, losing control as if I was cast into a stormy sea of passion and lust. Finally, exhausted and thoroughly satiated, I let go of her ponytail and slumped in the chair.

Apparently Carlo knew my mental state better than I did. He had sensed my submissive tendencies, even as an audience member, and confirmed them on the stage. It was his turn to assert his authority, and will, over me.

In a slow and steady voice, he said, "I want you to get on your knees and lick my cock clean." His voice was clear and confident, melting away any remaining reservations I may have had.

I wanted to lick his cock ... even worship it. But it was so depraved. I had never had an affair, let alone public sex with a complete stranger. Would I give in to my carnal desires? I shouldn't have. I was never a risk taker and complying with his command would take me down a dark path to unlock desires that disgusted and excited me.

But he read me correctly and said it with conviction. He knew what I wanted.

I was in the company of strangers, but they didn't come to this room to sit in judgment of my morality. They were there for more carnal purposes, and what was better than to see a naïve woman under the boot of an experienced Dom? I could now hear rustling, the grinding of bodies, and sighs of contentment. Why couldn't I be myself here?

I answered by falling to my knees in front of him and looking up with pleading eyes.

"I can see it clearly in your eyes ... Karen. You are a submissive." His hand brushed across the top of my head, his fingertips skimming through my hair.

"You may lick my cock ... ".

I started to move my head forward. I was wondering if this was really me doing this. I was.

"Wait ...".

I stopped.

"I didn't finish. After you ask me nicely."

I felt so self-conscious. Did I need to say it?

I summoned the courage. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Please, may I lick your cock."

It felt so dirty ... so nasty ... so wonderful, to say it out loud.

"Please ... Sir," he corrected me.

"Please Sir, may I lick your cock?" I was playing submissive. I was hooked.

"You may."

Somehow I felt I had won a small victory. Maybe I did. For myself. I admitted out loud my innermost thoughts and desires. A part of my sexual being was being explored for the first time ... on stage.

I stuck my tongue out and licked the top of his cock. It was sticky sweet. The skin of his cock was so soft. His cock twitched when my tongue touched it. I didn't care that people were watching. I didn't care that Ally was in the room. I only cared about his approval of what I was doing.

I opened my lips and gathered the head of his flaccid cock in my mouth, bringing my head upward to take in as much of his length as I could. I coughed when the head hit the back of my throat. Undeterred by his size, I pushed my head forward, letting the head pass into my throat and fighting my reaction to gag.

I could taste him. The bitter tinge to his cum. And I could taste her. A musky sweetness. His cock started to swell. I pulled off before I gagged. I coughed, and then a long thread of saliva breached my lower lip and ran down my chin.

He ran both his hands through my hair, his eyes cast down to meet mine. "Good girl."

It was a glorious feeling, amplified by his praise.

His praise was sincere. "But don't try too hard this first time. Do what you feel is comfortable. I won't enjoy this if you don't."

I shifted the weight on my knees. The surface of the stage was wood, and my knees were getting sore.

"But you want to suck my cock. You want to make it hard. You want to please me, don't you?"

At this point, I had no defenses ... only the truth. "Yes Sir," I answered.

"Continue."

I worked at it, getting his stiffening cock down my throat, gagging and drooling, but getting almost all it down my throat. I didn't stop until he made me. The veins in his hard cock were throbbing, and so were the muscles in my neck. He gently pushed me back until we were apart. My throat was burning.

"You haven't earned the right to have my cum." I couldn't believe it, but I l must have looked disappointed. I wanted his cum. I'd earned it, the same as his wife.

"You're a beautiful woman ... Karen. Did you want to show yourself to me?"

At this point, having already sucked his cock, with spittle still dripping off my chin, and having been ravished by his wife, I really didn't have any sense of modesty left. I don't remember taking off my clothes but I did. His hands ran over my body, appraising me, cupping my breasts, tracing the curve of my ass, and even squeezing the little extra padding on my tummy (that I'd tried unsuccessfully to get rid of for the past year). He looked at me and smiled.

"You're lovely, Karen."

"Thank you Sir."

"You did well. I must say ... Karen ... you seem to be a natural at this." His voice inflection changed. Gone was the authority in it. He was speaking to me as if we were talking at a cocktail party.

His wife rose up off the floor and padded over on bare feet to her husband, kissing him on the cheek. There was light applause. The crowd started filing out and the room lights were raised and the stage light extinguished.

I walked to the edge of the stage, wiping my face off with the towel that Doris handed me. So she was watching as well. I was so amped up that even Doris's saggy tits looked good to me.

Ally put both of her hands on the stage, looking up at me, and gushed, "Holy shit Karen. I've been doing this club scene for three years and that's the hottest thing I've ever seen. I thought you were going to watch." Her blouse was still unbuttoned and one of her breasts was hanging over the cup. God she was beautiful. Why did I want to have sex with her too?

I took a deep breath and stilled my emotions. "I know," I admitted, "But it seems like my inner demons got the best of me."

"I'll say. I told you that I knew you. Wasn't I right?" She was smiling the "I knew I was right" look.

"You were. Apparently you knew me better than I knew myself." Credit given when credit earned. I would always remember Ally as the one who knew me best.

I suddenly felt remiss, having left Carlo and Mirabelle before we finished our conversation. I was crouching to talk to Ally and stood up. "Just a sec, Ally, I have to finish talking to them." I pointed to Carlo and Mirabelle, who were now talking to Doris on the other end of the stage. Ally nodded.

I tried to smooth my hair down as I walked over to them. I must have looked like a garbage truck drove over me. Mirabelle had taken off her hood. The top of her hair was damp. She was all soft skin with pleasing rounded contours. She was glowing. It was a good night for her.

I took Mirabelle's petite hand in mine. "Thank you. I'm speechless." I really was at a loss for words. The slight nod of her head and the glint in her eye told me that she understood how I felt.

"I know you're feeling a bit overwhelmed, but are you still feeling euphoria?"

I was. I was euphoric. There was a background buzz going on and my legs were tingling. I wanted to make love with her again.

She knew the look. Without waiting for my answer, she said, "Yes, I know. I had that feeling as well. You want me, don't you?"

It was clear she was in my (expensive) shoes at one time. Probably the first time her husband dominated her.

"Yes," I said, unashamed. I did want her. Even more than Ally.

"You've found a new gear ... a faster gear ... and you want to see how fast you can go. I've been there. To feel something that's genuine, and not that dull unsatisfying ache from vanilla sex. It was good, wasn't it?"

"It was the best," I admitted, wanting to be truthful. "I didn't know I could feel like this."

Her husband inserted himself into the conversation, putting his arm around his wife as he spoke.

"We'd like to get together with you again." I was staring into his deep blue eyes when he said it.

"I've never made love with a woman ... until now." Then I put my hand on Mirabelle's shoulder, as if to claim her as mine. "And I may never want anyone else."

Carlo chuckled, revealing a cute dimple on his chin. "I take it that's a yes?"

I couldn't believe I was saying it, but I wanted to. "It's a yes," I confirmed.

"We'll see you later at the bar. We can exchange numbers."

"OK."

The moment they stepped away Ally jumped on the stage and pulled my arm. "What were you talking about?"

"They were asking me if I wanted to get together with them again."

"Noooo," Ally said reflexively.

"Yes," I said. "I told them yes."

"No fucking way."

"Way," I said. Then I wiggled the tip of my tongue between the junction of my index and middle fingers.

Ally screwed up her face. "What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"I don't know," I said in a merry cadence. "But I like it."

* * *

Mirabelle handled the arrangements for my visit. She was quite engaging on the phone. We ended up talking for an hour, and none of it was about sex. She told me that they have two kids who were still living at home (eight and ten). I was doing the rough math in my head and I figured Mirabelle and Carlo were in their 30's. She invited me over for the weekend, telling me that her kids were going to be away for the weekend at her mother's house. These were the weekends that Carlo and Mirabelle reserved for their unusual kink. Carlo would bring in his equipment from an off-site storage locker and they'd reconfigure the basement for their playtime. Sometimes others would be invited. I was one of the lucky ones. She told me that it was unusual for them to invite someone over that they'd just met. That made me feel good, even though I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

"So tell me about yourself," Mirabelle offered up, after inviting me over on Friday night.

"Not much to tell. Four kids. Divorced. Husband turned out to be a douche bag."

"No. That's not what I was asking. Tell me about you. We're having you over to our home. I wanted to know more about you."

"I like chocolate." I started with an easy one.

She must have been smiling. "That's a good one. That's what I want to hear."

"I found out I like to be told what to do."

"You're aroused by that?" She knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it.

"Very. You saw that for yourself."

"What else made an impression on you at the club?"

"Your husband. I've never heard anyone use that tone of voice before. He's so ... assertive ... so certain."

"You're right. That's what drew me to him."

Right. And his ripped body and big, thick cock.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, interrupting my daydream about her husband's physical attributes.

"Huh?" I sounded like a goofus.

"You're thinking about Carlo, about his cock."

"You already know me too well," I accused her.

"I only know you because I've been there. Carlo is an exciting man."

"So are you ... I mean exciting," I replied, realizing I almost called her a man.

"That's nice of you to say, but he's the one that commands the stage."

"That's true."

"What else? What else is in store?" My curiosity was killing me ever since they asked me to get together with them.

There was a meaningful pause. "It's better when you don't know."

* * *

I was expecting their home to be some sort of medieval castle, maybe with a moat, and a dungeon underneath. Of course all my preconceived notions so far about their world were completely off the mark. Instead Carlo and Mirabelle lived in a suburban ranch, complete with a minivan in the driveway. The yard was well kept, with a bicycle leaning against the garage door and assorted toys scattered on the lawn. It was a standard issue brick faced 1960's vintage house, and in no way intimidating. I pushed the doorbell and heard an electronic chime. Moments later there were footsteps.

Mirabelle answered the door. I was wearing what she asked me to wear. A short, pleated plaid skirt, white cotton panties, white anklets with chunky heeled black Mary Janes and topped off with a tight white cotton blouse (but braless) with my tits almost hanging out of it. I felt silly, being a forty-two year old woman dressed like a Catholic school girl.

Mirabelle wasn't embarrassed at all. She was dressed like me. She clapped her hands.

"Ohhh. You look even better than I would have pictured. Come in. Carlo can't wait to see you."

So far nothing had gone like I expected. Their house was a modest ranch. Both Mirabelle and I weren't dressed like wanton sluts ... we were dressed like we were naughty school girls.

I followed her into the living room. Mid-century modern furniture. There were books and toys still scattered about. Carlo entered, and used his work boot to push some of the toys out of the way.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "The kids didn't leave until about an hour ago and I still have a bit more work to do downstairs. Why don't you and Mirabelle have a glass of wine while I finish?"

I had that glass of wine. Then a second, unusual for me, but hearing the banging in the basement put me on edge. I was a bit fuzzy when Carlo returned, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Sorry to be running late. I've got a few more things to finish up downstairs."

He turned away to go away, his curly hair bouncing as well as his ass. He was so sexy, and he wasn't even trying. The alcohol induced buzz and the sight of him gave me an immediate clench of my privates that made me hunch over.

Nothing got past Mirabelle. "Yeah, I saw it too," she reassured me. "He has that effect on everyone."

My nerves were on high alert. "What do we do now?"

"Wait. He'll let us know when he wants us. So let's drink."

She poured me my third glass of chardonnay. A full pour. There were only a handful of situations where I made it through this much wine without anything to eat. I guess Mirabelle was reading my mind.

"I need some food with this wine. Let's go in the kitchen." She got up from her chair and smoothed her skirt with her hand. My eyes followed her hand and the curve it followed. She went straight for the refrigerator and picked out some soft cheese, and a jar of olives. She rustled through a cabinet and found an unopened box of crackers. Triumphant, she made a small chees platter and put it in the middle of the kitchen table.

"Please." She pointed to the food to have me start.

"I'm sure you're wondering ... ".

"Yes," I answered before she could finish.

"It was in a chat room. I always had these strong feelings that I couldn't describe. I started conversing with Carlo and he instantly knew what I was going through. We met, and then as they say, the rest is history. Two kids later, here we are, trying to play the role of a happy suburban couple, but having this serious kink we have to exercise every once in a while."