Sub on a Bus

As she got off the bus and headed back towards her street, the man followed in the same direction. Rhonda was momentarily shaken. Had she taken things too far? Was he now following her? There was still traffic and people on this busy street, but once they got onto the backstreets there'd be sections between houses that an assailant could take advantage of. She stopped for a moment, pretending to look at some house details in the window of an estate agent. The man passed without stopping. A minute later, she resumed walking, keeping the man at a fair distance ahead.

He turned into Trawler Street. That was her way home. She could have kept going, gone up Reed Lane and doubled back instead. That would have been safer. She didn't. She made the same turn, but maintained her distance. She kept watching to see if he'd look behind and see her. He didn't.

About five hundred meters up the street the man opened a gate into a terraced house and walked up the narrow garden. At the door he put his shopping bags down and started to pat his pockets for his keys. Rhonda unconsciously slowed as she passed the low garden wall. As she did so, the man finally looked back. He found his keys and went inside, leaving one shopping bag at by the step and leaving both porch and main door open. As he passed into the porch he looked back again and, for just a moment too long, their eyes met again.

As she reached the boundary between his house and the neighbours, Rhonda stopped walking completely. She stood there for thirty seconds and then confidently and purposely went inside the house.

3. The House

The house was small. A cramped corridor ran parallel to a cramped staircase. There was an old wooden umbrella stand near the door and a jacket hanging over the bottom of the banister. A couple of sliding doors separated the corridor from first a dining room and then a living room and at the end was the kitchen. Rhonda caught up to him loading the first bag of shopping into the fridge.

"Don't turn around," she said matter-of-factly.

He didn't. He just nodded. She reached into her bag for the whip. She wrapped the middle round his neck with just enough tension to keep it in place.

"You know what I want?" she asked, her tone completely neutral.

He shook his head.

"Good, but whatever it turns out to be, you're going to give it to me, aren't you?"

He nodded again, this time more vigorously.

"I must say, I'm disappointed. I thought I felt a connection in the shop. Was I wrong?"

"N...No," he replied.

"And yet, there was me on the bus working so hard to get your attention. Me! Your dream woman. You just walked away without even asking for my number. Really, expecting the lady to make the first move, and then the second, and then the third. I must say I'm a little hurt."

"I'm...sorry."

"No, not yet, you're not. Not fully. But we're going to work on that. Still, I guess I learned that it's a mistake expecting you to act like a man. Valuable lesson for me that. They're good, sex shops, aren't they? You get such wonderful little insights into people's desires, don't you? Why a couple could be married years before the husband is brave enough to ask for his wife to sodomize him, but five minutes in a sex shop and you and I are way ahead of the curve, aren't we? Really helps to establish the dynamics of the relationship early on."

The man remained silent and stationary.

"Now, I'm wondering what you learnt about me during our little shopping spree. You were certainly paying close attention."

The man hesitated. "You like whipping people?"

"Never tried it. What else?"

"You want to have a slave?"

"Not particularly. That sounds like a lot of commitment and emotional effort. Oh dear, I can tell this evening is going to be full of disappointments for me. Well, if you work anything out, please do let me know. Now, where shall we begin? Right, rules -- we'd better have some, I suppose. I'm going to work on making all your sick and twisted fantasies come true, but if any point you decide that your fantasies were a bit too sick or a bit too twisted, feel free to click your heels together three times and say 'There's no place like home.' Now, my second rule, and I want you to listen very carefully, is that I touch you, you never touch me. For any reason. Failure to follow this simple rule will be an instant Game Over. Clear?"

She waited for a second for her new sub to nod in agreement. "My third and final rule is that this is a one-time event, so there's no need to get on a first name basis, or even a surname basis for that matter. You can call me mistress and I can call you...well, whatever the hell I like, to be absolutely frank. Okay, so do you have any rules for me?"

The sub shook his head.

"Nothing. Well, I have put you on the spot a bit, I admit. Still, rules for thee and not for me sounds about right. Okay, now let me see, where are we going to do this? Not the bedroom certainly. Too relationshippy. Don't want you getting attached. No, here will do. Kitchen always feel like the most subservient room in the house, don't they? Okay, now drop your trousers. No need to turn around. I'm really not interested in anything actual inside them, it just puts you at a further disadvantage."

The sub undid his belt and let his trousers fall. He was about to kick them off completely when his mistress said, "No, I said drop, not remove. Leave them round your ankles. Okay, so now I'd like you to stay there. I just need to make a few preparations. Just like that. Don't move."

Rhonda went back into the hall and brought the shopping in from outside. As she shut the door, she glanced up and down the street in case anyone who cared had noted her presence. She wondered what kind of relationship this guy had with his neighbours. If she was seen, would tongues wag at all? She started to rummage through it as she headed back inside the house. It was a fairly standard daily shop, but there were some things she could press into service.

Leaving the bag on the kitchen worktop she picked up the kettle, filled it with fresh water and left it boiling. Then she ordered her sub out of the way and started to check the fridge. "Tut, tut, no milk, really!" she exclaimed. Despite this the fridge did offer certain possibilities, not least of all a nicely chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. She found a corkscrew in the draw, opened the bottle up and poured herself a glass. Returning to the fridge, she pulled out a large tub of apricot yoghurt. She put it on the kitchen's linoleum.

"Okay, down on your knees and open it up."

It took him a couple of seconds to wrestle with the tinfoil top before it came off completely. She kicked off her shoes, and gently dipped a toe into the yoghurt. She offered it to her new slave. As he reached up to take her foot in her hand, she reminded him, "Careful, mouth only. No touching without permission." He took the toe in his mouth. She removed it and dipped her foot in again, this time covering her three largest toes. The faint yellow of the yoghurt contrasted not only with her skin but also her red nail varnish. He lapped at them hungrily.

"Okay, now kneel before me, close your eyes and open your mouth," she commanded.

She took a banana from his shopping bag and peeled it. "Now, no biting, but close your mouth."

He sealed his lips around it, with his face betraying a moment of perhaps relieved recognition as he tasted it. She pushed it into and then out of his mouth several times before finally pushing the whole thing in hard. He started to choke a little as he tried to swallow it all.

"Good boy," she said. "You've done that before."

His throat was still too full of the fruit to protest.

Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She pointed to the garden through the window. "Be a dear and get me those clothes pegs from the line would you."

He got to his feet and started to pull his trousers and pants back up.

"No, I didn't say you could put them back on. Just get the pegs."

For a moment, Rhonda wondered if she'd gone too far. She could see his eyes darting around at the kitchen door trying to work out if he could risk it or not. The clothesline was towards the back of the garden. While a neighbour couldn't see directly over the fence when standing next to it, it was less clear what they could and could not see from their kitchen windows. And if anyone was in their bedroom they would definitely be able to see a lot. But the order had been issued, she could hardly rescind it now. Still, if he started saying 'no' to things, if he even started to say 'maybe', that would be it and her spell would be broken. "I'm waiting," she said, hands on her hips and yoghurty toes tapping the floor.

He ran out as quickly as his betrousered ankles would allow, grabbed a handful of pegs and ran back, practically slamming the door on his return. Rhonda briefly considered berating him for having got so few, but she'd decided to let it slide. He'd already been a very good boy. Having gotten the pegs she now had to plan what to do with them without trying to appear like she was stuck for ideas. She didn't want to go near his groin area and she also liked the fact that he still had his shirt on. Somehow a man with just his trousers down was more vulnerable than a man who was fully naked. She settled on earlobes and one on each side of his mouth. He winced as each one went on.

The kettle had now finished boiling. She checked under the sink and pulled out a round plastic basin. She filled it partially with the hot water and partially with water from the tap, testing the temperature as she went. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat herself down, leaning back. With her tights and panties off, her pussy would be clearly visible from her sub's position. Regardless, he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor. She reached over the counter and pulled out a new bar of soap from the bag.

"Wash my feet," she commanded.

He didn't move, and it took her a moment to remember her previous command. "You have my permission to touch my feet. Only my feet, mind. And keep your eyes on them."

He gently lifted each leg up and put them in the bowl. He also put the soap in and started to lather it. After a few seconds he took her left foot out and started gently to rub the bar over it. Rhonda squirmed with pleasure. It was weird that in their nine years of marriage, she'd never asked Gavin to do this.

She reached over to her bag and pulled out the new vibrator out of its box. She turned it on and, gently rolling up her skirt for access, applied it to the top of her pussy.

"Eyes down," she commanded as her sub found his attention wandering. He redoubled his efforts on her feet, washing carefully between each toe. Rhonda lay back in the chair and started to enjoy the sensations. The fun and games on the bus had put her in a better mood, but now the tension deeper in her bones started to fade.

Still, before she was too comfortable there was something she needed to do. "Wait," she ordered. The sub stopped the massage and risked a glance upwards.

"Turn around. On your hands and knees." He naturally obeyed. She was presented with his rear. She reached into the shopping bag again and took out a new tea towel, ripping the label off at the little plastic ring. She dipped the towel into the water then wrung most of the water from it. She then applied the towel between her sub's crack moving it up and down a couple of times until she was satisfied. Now she got out the lube from the black bag. It was hard to get the damn thing out of the wrapping and she spent several seconds in a manner most unbecoming any dominatrix, powerless against consumer goods packaging.

Eventually, with the top now off, she managed to squeeze a few drops of lube onto her willing sub's back. Unfortunately, it did not roll down quite as much as she had hoped -- it remained a motionless viscous blob. Rhonda didn't fancy making skin to skin contact there, not just yet, so she looked into the bag again for inspiration. She pulled out a pair of yellow washing-up gloves. They would be useful later. Then she pulled out a cucumber, still wrapped, out of the bag, an appropriate applicator.

As she lubed it up, it occurred to her that the edge of the butt-plug itself would had served just as well and that reminded her. Balancing the cucumber against her thigh, lubed-side up, she fetched the sex toy from the bag. She examined the packaging -- if the bottle of lube had been hard this was clearly military grade plastic. She'd been caught out once already, so she did the smart thing. She slid it down the lino to her sub.

"Open," she commanded. The subs head turned to a pair of scissors standing in the washing up bowl. "With your teeth," she added. He ripped into it like a dog with a chew toy. That would keep him busy while she completed the necessary preparations.

She took the cucumber and began to probe his nether regions, getting the whole area nice and slippery. Every few seconds she'd stop and bring the cucumber back for another squeeze of the lubricant. After a couple of passes around the outer area, she started to focus on his hole, both applying the lube and testing for its tightness. As she pushed gently, it started to yield. She held back. It wasn't time yet.

"How's that package coming along?" she barked. Clearly not very well. He'd managed to make some tooth marks and small rips in the outer shell and there were several sections that had been turned white with twisting damage, but the plug was still firmly shielded.

She tutted, stood up, pulled it out of his mouth and grabbed the same pair of scissors he'd just been eying. She applied them to the section that looked as though it had been weakened the most. She mentally sighed with relief as she was able to cut across it in one go, the vacuum sealing popping and the toy being set free.

With no further hesitation, she returned to her chair, got the toy ready and started to insert it. Her earlier preparation had clearly not been in vain because it went in almost at once, his hungry ass swallowing the whole thing up to the base. She wondered to herself if this was his first butt-plug or if it was a replacement for one that had been worn out through overuse. It was looking like the second option was the more likely.

It was also very clear even with him in the doggy position, that he was fully hard. She'd have to do something about that. She unwrapped the washing-up cloves and put them on each hand. Then she gave his cock a slap.

"What's the fuck is this?" she asked, like Gordon Ramsey finding a worm in an otherwise perfectly presented aubergine timbale. Her sub was wordless. Was the swearing too much? A good domme didn't swear she decided. What was the expression? Speak softly and carry a big whip. She'd have to dial it back a bit..

"How can you give a proper foot massage in that state?" She gave his dick a long squeeze then removed her hand. "You'll have to sort yourself out."

He started to masturbate himself furiously.

"With dignity please. Remember, your mistress is present."

His motions slowed to a more allegretto tempo.

"That's better." She leaned back on her chair and reached out with a foot. She touched the base of the butt-plug with her big toe, just pushing it in slightly further and then relaxing the pressure. Her sub squealed with the added sensation. A second later and her heel was on it, pushing down much harder.

She adopted the faux-posh accent of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. "I say, I hope you are not going to be too long. It really is the most crushing bore."

The sub was now caught between trying to finish faster and not breaking the legal speed limit. He seemed to put slightly more pressure on, but otherwise there was little he could do. Rhonda gave him a little more anal encouragement with her foot.

"I suppose you need some visual help. Certainly I don't want you looking at me while engaging in such behaviour. Here, I guess you need these."

She sent the magazines she'd bought earlier his way, tossing them as a bound set over his head. He opened them up and let the first one fall open. Rhonda stood and craned over his neck to see the image. It was one of the more vanilla ones she'd picked up in a rush at the counter.

"I say, they look like they're having fun. Imagine actually fucking a woman. And then it must have been a while for you, I'd guess. Do you, though? I wonder. I mean actually imagine being the man. Or do you imagine being the girl and getting proper cock inside you? No, don't answer. I don't actually want to know what's going on in either of your little heads."

The sub's breath and strokes now became more intense. "Finally," Rhonda said with some impatience. "I'll take it from here."

She pulled the apricot yoghurt directly under him. With her yellow-gloved hand she took his penis and continued to stroke it in the same manner as he had been doing. As he finally erupted, she pointed his dick at the tub. The first biggest spurt hit the side, but the others were on target. She picked up the plastic spoon that had been tucked in the lid and, while strenuously avoiding getting any on her hand, ladled as much of the missed spunk as possible back into the container.

She proudly presented him with both tub and spoon, a layer of cum now sitting on the surface of the yoghurt.

"Eat up," she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He took it off her. There was doubt in his eyes, but not disobedience. She returned to her chair. A few mouthfuls later, she announced "Okay, that's better. I'm glad we got it out of the way. You may return to washing my feet."

That interlude had broken her flow somewhat, but she supposed it was only fair that he got something out of this encounter -- something more than just serving her at least. She probably should have found a way to work it into the session earlier in a more natural way. No, being a domme clearly required a significant amount of planning and creativity, she realized. It could just be all commands and foot-rubs. Still, the focus could now be back on her for a while. Speaking of which, she turned her vibrator back on and applied it again.

The next few minutes were absolute heaven. After a week of having to hustle for a living, she could finally kick back and have some of her own time - no boss shouting at her about unmeetable deadlines, no children demanding lunch, dinner, or snacks and definitely no deadbeat husband demanding a level of sexual performance he himself could come close to meeting. Just a bottle of wine, a sex toy and a total stranger rubbing her feet. She should make a habit of this.

Still, as she came close, she began to wonder how a dominatrix was supposed to orgasm. Being too loud and too euphoric might erode some of her mystique. Even if her sub was not the one bringing her to climax, she should remain in control. Effing and blinding during the climax, which was frequently her style on the occasions when her ex-husband had been able to get her there, seemed undignified. Was it possible to remain regal during such moments?

Whether or not there was consensus on such matter in the worldwide BDSM community or not, most dominatrices would probably agree that it is better, where possible, not to kick your sub in the face during orgasm, which unfortunately is exactly what Rhonda did. The kick was hard enough, in fact, that from the squatting position he'd been in, her sub fell straight back onto his arse, pushing his butt-plug further up inside. He yelped and immediately sprang back to his feet, upsetting the bowl of soapy water as he did so, spilling it all over Rhonda's legs even before her second wave ended.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said and scrambled to her feet. A minute later she was applying ice to his forehead. He was protesting that it was okay, but there were already the signs of a large bruise forming above his right eye.