Putting the Sub back in Suburb

Apologies if this story stops before the juiciest bits, but for me the fall is the thing that always got me. Where you land was never what hooked me, and I always filled in the blanks post fall with whatever my body craved at that moment, but the HUNGER came from being captured by the seduction I got caught up in.

The days before the Covid 19 lockdown had a few things that most people got excited about. Restaurants, bars, dance clubs. Those were never my thing. I was the suburban soccer mom when I wasn't teaching, only my girls did dance not soccer. My social world was fund raisers and supporting competition trips. The dance moms were a diverse group, but the serious ones were eventually convinced to form our own dance group and one of the instructors, Enna, decided the way to get around our mix of backgrounds was to avoid any of the usual styles of ballet, jazz, tap, and go with what she described as musical theater. Well she was half right. Turns out as a dance teacher who is careful about not sexualizing her students there are a bunch of creative urges that get sidelined with her girls. Given their mothers instead, the urge to let her own hair down (as she joined and led us onstage) was a bit too strong to resist.

Musical theater in her terms looked a lot like Burlesque.

Enna stood about five seven, long auburn hair darker than my own red. Her breasts were a surprisingly firm B cup, probably from all the dance keeping her core so damned toned. She didn't run scared from the baked goods counter so her stomach was not washboard flat, but added just another damned curve. She habitually wore dance tights like her students, but her ass filling out a little bit just screamed WOMAN while those long legs of hers were an invitation to sin. I hated her most for her ankles. I am about her height, but my ankles look like I should power lift, hers look like someone should be out looking for her glass slipper and lost prince.

We danced a number that one of the mothers came from Showgirls. I had the most background in dance, and because of a combination of years wearing the wrong bra and my breasts not going down after breast feeding, my 48G had left me with the choices of keeping fanatical about my own core strength or live in constant back spasm (so yes girls, pay for the right bra. Just because you can make it close, did not make it fit). In the middle of the number we come together and as Enna puts it, throw a little heat. I am no where near in enough practice to spin or go into lunges like that without running a really good chance of face planting on the stage. Enna got me to risk a lot going beyond my limits because she would be there. She really was "all that" as a dance teacher. Her hands were there to direct me, control me, keep me from face planting and making it look like I knew what I was doing.

She told me not to think, to just give her my body and she would make me perform.

I was THE most conservative of the dance moms, everyone else was totally willing to camp out to the max, where I had to be dragged kicking and if not screaming, then at least whimpering, but every single practice I would come away glowing. I felt SEXY. I felt pretty. On another level I felt really disturbed because when Enna was dancing with me, when she looked at me, into me, I could deny her nothing. She knew it, revelled in it. I revelled in that. When we stopped, her eyes would turn to the perky twinkling normal that let me free. I don't know if I was thankful, or disappointed to be freed from that gaze.

Fund raising, volunteering, networking is one of those things that spills over into everything. In my case, I like to cook, I like scented candles, so in order to afford the neat stuff I wanted, I got into the "party circuit". Stoneware, Tupperware, party-lite candles, that sort of thing. Most of the women were good sports about it, and I was enthusiastic about the stuff I used, so my parties went well as a rule. We drank a lot of wine, spent a lot of our discretionary money and I got what I needed for all the bake sales I would be doing anyway, and enough scented candles to keep me from being depressed through the long months of winter where outside meant shovelling at least an hour a day to keep the various vehicles able to make it to the plowed road.

I had got Enna to come to my candle party, and she had dropped enough money that I got to the third tier of hostess gifts (yes multi level marketing sucks you in for trinkets, but it was the trinket I really wanted so no regrets). She had one odd request, she needed an assistant for demonstration at a party for her own stuff, "sort of like Tupperware, but more exciting", and would come to my party if I would volunteer for hers.

Always a sucker for other cool things. Suburban sucker-mom! Besides, she turned "those" eyes on me, and I got all tingly and found myself agreeing.

She picked me up in her Barbie Jeep. I mean it's a no shit pink Jeep with a Barbie sticker on the spare tire holder. Enna has the confidence to carry that off, even if I am the one with the Barbie Boobs that draws the jokes. As we got in to go the party, I finally asked her the question she promised she would answer fully on the way to the party. Every time I asked what kind of party it was she would either say "its complicated" or "like Tupperwear, only better".

I bucked up and gushed "So tell me Enna, what IS the party?"

Enna turned the rear view mirror so she could watch my face as she answered. Her voice was matter of fact, with a sort of languid almost bored quality that made her sound so sophisticated and me feel every inch the sheltered suburbanite (although calling us a suburb was really just claiming to be less hicks than the surrounding farms).

"It's a Fetishwear party. Not Tupperwear, schtupperwear."

I blushed. Enna's hair may or may not be naturally that deep auburn, but my rust/copper top is natural and I am easy for her and some of the more sophisticated dance moms to light up like a pink glow bulb with an off colour remark. I was brighter than the dash lights.

"Umm, what kind of fetish wear? Like lingerie?" I felt that tingle starting again, but I could manage to hide most of it I think. I just needed to brace myself to keep it together and pretend she didn't get to me.

"No pet, not lingerie. There are some corsets, some of those would look fabulous on you. There are lots of collars," She paused, having caught my gasp at that word, and the smirk across her face told me she knew that one got me. She continued with a casual tone that made the conversation seem utterly normal, and a wicked smile that said she was getting her full measure of jollies off my white bread reactions to her list of products.

"There are lots of restraints of course. A basic selection of floggers and crops, some nice clamps," She

She lost me there, and I couldn't stop my question. I blurted out "What do you use clamps for? You mean like pipe clamps, or frame clamps?" I do a lot of crafting with Girl Guides, so I used a whole lot of clamps to hold things on frames for gluing, stitching, painting and whatnot. I didn't see the application to fetish.

Enna took her right hand off the wheel and casually reached over to pinch my left nipple where it was betraying my distraction by being prominent enough through the bra and shirt to just grab. She pinched my nipple and I grabbed the seat on both sides so hard I almost broke a nail. I squeezed my eyes shut and my legs clamped together like I was trying to hug my privates as she pinched my nipple so hard it became the focal point for my whole body. She continued as if this was the most normal conversation in the world. Just a simple explanation of a product.

"Nipple clamps pet. Big nipples like yours were made for nipple clamps. Some with chains, some with weights, and for the true cows out there, some with bells!"

Oh god, I just about had a heart attack, or orgasm. Or both.

We were in the driveway, and I didn't even notice we had turned and stopped.

Enna turned to me and her voice was suddenly all business.

"OK, so you know how with any of these shows the big determination between wasting your time and getting record breaking sales is mood. Get the girls into the mood and into the wine and people are going to be throwing credit cards at us and budgets out the window. If the ladies don't get excited, they will spend the whole night thinking 'but do I really need it?' and remember a thousand other things they are trying to save for. Are you ready to rock this party, to get them so fired up they stop thinking about what other people think of them, and entirely focused on how awesome our stuff will make them feel?"

Enna grabbed my hands, eyes full of eagerness and looking at me like her favorite co-conspirator. It was headier than a shot of tequila. Enna knew me. I was a sucker for these parties, but I was good at them. I could get women excited to buy school coupon books for stores you had to drive two hours to get to. It's the inner cheerleader, given the chance it just begs to come out and play.

"Yes!" I gushed.

She smiled and stroked my hair from crown to behind my ear. My eyes went wide and my mind went away. She trailed her fingers down the line of my jaw and turned my chin up to look me in the eyes.

"It's all about the entrance. Now open your door and stay right there. I am going to have you model something on the way in that will get everyone's juices flowing and guarantee us success!"

She went to the back and took a package out. Placing in on the roof she drew something out. It was a 40mm bronze metal collar with a heavy ring on the front. She had me kneel down and throw my hair forward. It screwed shut with a pin in the back, so it felt like a solid band of bronze around my neck. I was panting slightly as I felt it close. She raised my head so I was looking up at her and my nipples were getting more and more uncomfortable in my bra. My blush was in full force and my mind was having trouble processing. It sounded like she was speaking under water. Her words came through muffled and distorted as all I could hear was my pulse and the rushing of blood in my ears.

"Now pet, a collar like that is not enough. We have leash laws here, and responsible owners can't let their pets off leash, can they?" Enna said this in a joking tone, but each word pulsed out from the collar down every nerve in my body like pins and needles. I whimpered.

She took a pink leather strapped leash with heavy metal links, rose gold finished bronze like the collar, and snapped it on the heavy ring in front.

She snapped her fingers and gave the command "Up!" and I rose instantly.

She unbuttoned my blouse to my bra, folding the blouse back to show all of my cleavage, then let the leash hang so I could feel the heavy bronze links graze the inner curves where my bra pressed my breasts together.

"There now, we will get you Best in Show no problem pet!" Enna said. There was that word again, running right through me. I was terrified, excited, embarrassed; and collared.

Enna looked at me, showed me the leash in her hand and looked me in the eye.

"Your safe word is 'Spoilsport'. Say that once, and this stops. Do you trust me Jan? Do you trust me enough to be my model, my product testing doll?" Enna was dead serious.

I remembered each and every dance where her eyes commanded me, her hands guided me. Did I trust her?

"Yes ma'am." I said, then boldly "You will not hear spoilsport from me tonight!"

As she lead me into the room where a dozen women I knew very well were waiting around the table filled with little deserts and wine bottles I knew if I thought like a wife, a mother, a teacher, I would scream spoil sport and run from the room and back to my life.

Enna was speaking to the room full of women as the cases I was carrying were laid out around the couches.

"Ladies, my pet and I are here to show you a comprehensive line of high quality fetish wear and supplies. Restraints, floggers, plugs, vibrators, clamps, gags. Anything you have ever wanted to try out but wouldn't dare, my pet is here for you to try them on, aren't you pet?"

I looked up at my fellow dance moms, at the mothers of half my Girl Guides and students and realized that tonight none of that mattered. I was Enna's pet. As long as she held my leash, that is all I needed to be.

"Please ma'am! May I?"

I am told the party went well. For my part, Mistress Enna gave me the collar that she felt I was born for, and a tail one of the women thought matched my hair. It looks like a horse tail and mounts to a plug that goes surprisingly deep in my ass and tugs when I am forced to wag it. Coupled with the chain of bells running between the screw type nipple clamps the women voted on (alligator clips came off too easily when my breasts bounced hard or the chain got tugged), this constituted my pay for working as a demonstrator.

I should be terrified that all those women now know that I am bisexual, that I am so submissive that I was made to cum from toys that I had never heard of in the hands of women I fund raised for school trips with. I am not. I am Enna's pet.

While she holds my leash, I fear nothing.