Shelley's Girl

"Sit still!"

Shelley's voice is soft but commanding. Seated on the bedroom chair, I squeeze my thighs together, fighting the urge to squirm, anticipating terrors and pleasures alike.

Through the ensuing silence– a few seconds, a minute, maybe longer - I stare unblinkingly at the wall of the hotel room, sensing her presence behind me. I tune in to the sound of her breathing and try to synchronise.

Shelley steps from the deep shadows to stand by my left shoulder. I sigh with pleasure at the sight of her pale and slender form.

Her hand approaches my cheek. It holds something pointed. I gasp and stifle a cry of panic as I screw my eyes shut. Fear grips my body, battling for control over my mind. I tremble like a hound in the veterinarian's surgery. I try to cringe against her. She is my sole source of potential comfort, and yet also the one who has brought me here to this experience I dread.

Only when I regain a degree of physical control, my pulse rate nearer to normal, dare I open my eyes. Her hand has not moved. She holds the instrument, whatever I fear it to be - needle, knife or sword - within a centimetre of my eyeball. But now I am able to sit motionless. Now I have accepted her control of me. I have resigned my right to protest. My body is entrusted to her will.

Shelley murmurs her approval.

"Relax. Eyes wide open."

I will not disobey. For her, I suppress my terror. The point moves. I hold my breath as it brushes along my eyelid with a swift, smooth, liquid stroke. My chest sags as I exhale. My crisis is past. My makeup is complete.

Shelley revels in her power over me. She plays on my deepest fear: the endless blackness of losing my sight. She knows how to reward me too: a crumb of praise is satisfaction enough, and I gratefully respond to her briefest kindly expression. Truly, I am her pet, her bitch.

I submit without demur to her adjustments of my attire. She tightens the laces of the black corset and the straps of my bra. She selects the high-neck vermilion chemise with balloon sleeves; a shiny black leather miniskirt and fishnet holdups to set off my long legs; red high heels like hers. I love the way she coordinates our clothes. I feel my arousal growing.

Tonight she chooses the black wig, long, straight and glossy. She teases it until it meets her high standards then carefully fits it onto me and stands back to appraise her work.

"Walk."

I stand, much taller than her, and sashay round the room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. I would love to stop, strike a pose and admire my appearance, but I'm under orders. I continue strutting over the thick carpet as she moves to the door of the room and opens it, nodding me through into the corridor.

"We'll go to the bar," she says.

***

Shelley leads the way, hips swaying, head held high. I am almost hypnotised by her fluid gait. We walk along a glass-sided corridor that traverses the ancient cloister between our modern accommodation wing and the public areas. A cold draught from an open door chills the naked flesh beneath my miniskirt, and I shiver with pleasure.

The throng of pre-dinner drinkers seems to part before her diminutive figure like the bow wave of a sleek yacht. She waves me to a sofa in the high-ceilinged room and engages a waitress in conversation.

I sit carefully, my modesty compromised by the shortness of my skirt, the stiffness of its leather, and the low seating. I feel sexually aroused and vulnerably alone on my sofa, watching anxiously as Shelley speaks and laughs with two couples. I wriggle and shuffle, but my efforts to avoid exposing myself seem only to attract attention. A bald man sitting opposite stares hard through his spectacles. He looks long at my exposed thighs. I know he can see my stocking tops and beyond. He picks up his glass and moves towards the door.

"You slut! You enjoyed embarrassing that man!"

Shelley has returned, a glint in her eyes and a knowing smile on her elfin face. I shake my head, and my face turns red. Tonight I am indeed a scarlet woman.

The waitress serves our spritzers on a low table. As she bends over she glances at my legs long enough to imply interest, which adds to my discomfiture and also my state of sexual excitement. She's young-thirties and slim, black hair in ringlets, efficient and friendly, bright eyes, red lips, nice smile. She eyeballs me with a quizzical expression and then returns to her duties.

I try to look demure, which is far from how I'm feeling. I gulp at the spritzer.

"Sip it!" Shelley hisses.

With trembling hand I return the glass to the table.

"You'd like to fuck that waitress, wouldn't you, slut?"

The bald man returns with two men in tow. He walks slowly towards the seat he recently vacated, now occupied by a young couple who, luckily for me, appear besotted with each other. As he approaches our sofa he mutters to his companions. They slow down and look straight at us as they stroll by. I feel my face flushing, a renewed ache in my groin. This is a tasty torture.

I sip my drink while Shelley texts continuously. I sit as instructed: upright, eyes focussed on an imaginary star, light years away and low in the sky, yet I'm always aware of the people in the room. A steady flow of men and women ambles by, happily drinking their way though Saturday night. They all walk more slowly as they glance at me. Some stare blatantly, as if I were on a plinth in a glass cabinet. Reactions vary through giggles, gasps, unconcealed interest to cool indifference. Never have I experienced such attention or felt so exposed, despite appearing, to a more casual observer, to be fully dressed. My mental state is one of growing anguish, my physical response is rising horniness.

Shelley, of course, is enjoying this enormously. When she has had enough of the fun and the drink and the texting, she stands up and signals me to follow her. The waitress gives me a little wave. Heads turn as our heels click on the ancient stone slabs of the glass corridor leading to the lift. I'm grateful for the physical protection of the leather miniskirt, even though I could hardly feel more vulnerable if I were completely naked.

Shelley now has the devil in her: alcohol always hits her with a sudden short-term high. As we enter the lift she begins flirting and pouting with me. The other passenger looks gob-smacked, coughs behind his hand as if to remind us he's there, and stares up at the ceiling until we reach his floor, where he escapes her raunchy, confident, intimidating presence.

She smirks at me.

"He'd have liked to fuck you," she says. "And if he'd asked, I'd have let him! Now he'll just have to go and wank. Or fuck his wife. Poor bastard!"

She laughs until her knees buckle, and I have to help her from the lift and take the key to open the room.

***

As the door closes she comes straight into my arms and kisses me hard on the mouth, her hands holding my face. Hers is a passionate, controlling kiss, and she pushes her hips into me. I bend my knees to bring us into closer sexual contact, and we grind frantically together as our tongues meet and we suck the saliva from each other's mouth.

"Lie on the bed. I want some pictures."

I arrange myself as instructed.

"Smoulder, for God's sake!"

I don't do smouldering very well, and she gets the giggles.

"All right, slut! On your back, where you do your best work!

She kicks off her shoes and stands over me on the bed, camera in hand, legs apart, her skirt pulled up to show her almost hairless vulva. I marvel at how totally comfortable she always seems in her sexuality. Her beauty is far removed from classical lines, but her independence and individualism make me worship her. To me she is inexpressibly beautiful, far beyond any Page Three girl or film star.

As she sways her dancer's hips I watch mesmerised, desperately wanting to raise my head high enough to taste her salty juices, to part her lower lips with my tongue and swallow her flow and feel her soaking my face as she shudders to a climax. She laughs at my efforts, clicking continuously on the camera, straightening her legs to escape my tongue, swivelling her hips to the side as I come near, tantalising me, drawing me on until my muscles support me no longer and I collapse to the mattress with a groan of disappointment.

Having eluded my probing tongue she lowers her hips over mine. She grinds down onto me, taking my outstretched hands in hers and forcing me into a submissive cruciform, her slight body and the force of gravity overcoming my superior strength.

Smiling again, she reaches behind and pulls my skirt up around my waist, releasing my pulsing cock from its leathery confinement. She eases herself down, rubbing her slit along the shaft, riding the slide but deferring for both of us the hot moist pleasure of penetration until the moment she decides she is ready to take me, and I slip deep inside her. She pulls off her top, exposing her small white breasts. She bends down and kisses me long and slowly and searchingly, as if she is trying to liquefy my body so I can enter her also through her mouth, to possess and be possessed completely.

Her movements on my cock grow languid. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing sounds deeper. I savour this change of rhythm, and we cruise a gentle swell of love-making. Her movements slow further, becoming trancelike, and with fingertips and palms I stroke her body from head to knee, spreading the cooling sheen of sweat and sharing the sensations of nerve endings communicating through a few microns of skin. This is the union towards which we have been working, in unspoken agreement, through the days of planning, the hours of anticipation, the slow process of preparation, and the teasing torment in front of our public. This is the magical conclusion to Act One.

***

I seize my moment. I grab her by the shoulders, throw her off balance and swing my hips over and on top of her. She offers no resistance, rather a hint of complicity.

I plunge inside her again, pushing her knees up to her chest and her ankles over my shoulders.

"Ugh! That's as deep as it can go, that," she grunts, her eyes still closed and her lips parted.

I am in charge. The sub is in command. I pull out and roll her onto her front. She lies prone and passive. I come behind her and ease my cock into her cunt, but that doesn't give me what I want, so I lift her hips and have her kneel, doggy style. She has become the bitch. I give her my cock, hard and deep, but I'm not ready to come, no matter how fast and furiously I might go at her. First I will have her arse.

I reach forward to press my hand on her pelvis, but she has already lowered herself to bring her pursed hole in line with my cock.

I spit on my fingers and spread the saliva on my knob. I spit on her arse and work it in with my finger. She holds her position, compliant and ready. I push my cock against her arsehole, her willing arsehole that I have fucked so many times, and with little resistance I am inside. She begins groaning with every steady thrust, deep long sounds that rise from the core of her being, an expression of fulfilment, the signal that she is moving towards her orgasm. I spit again on the cleft of her arse and lubricate my shaft as I raise the pace and the pressure. A booming noise of bass drums in my head accompanies the rising volume of her vocals, and a growing fullness in my balls and cock signals the inevitability of my own impending climax. I feel the clenching and dragging of her internal muscles on my shaft, giving me the finest anal fuck of my life. The mantra "I am the master, I am the master" sounds in my brain, and as I reach the crest I utter my first words of the night:

"Now I cum!"

"Oh fuck, yes! Cum!"

I shoot my spunk against the resistance inside her arse, the tightness of her beautiful insides, and in that second I experience simultaneously all the preceding pleasures of the evening in a multi-sensual melange of flavours, scents, tastes, sights, sounds and touches.

As our breathing slows and we disengage from our positions, physical sensations transmute into an emotional glow, a perfect finish for the perfect pair we know ourselves to be on this glorious plane.

***

She sucks my cock and I lick her arse and her cunt. We kiss our mingled juices and lie in each others arms. We gently caress each other and say how wonderful it is, how unimaginably wonderful.

"You turned me on big," she whispers, "as a man and a woman equally."

Basking in her praise, I respond, "Mistress, whichever I am, it is you who has made me."

***

The End