The Word Ch. 03

Chapter 3: A Favor for My Pet

"Baby," Marketa said, "Remember that little thing we did in Paris? My friend is intrigued, she wants to try it...." The words hung in the air.

"And?" I replied.

"Will you do her the favor?"

"Does she know who I am, that it was me?" I asked.

"No. All I told her was that it was an 'old friend' who indulged my curiosity. I think what got her attention was how liberating I told her it felt. I may have mentioned you to her once but I do not think I ever told you about her," she explained.

"Then please do," I said. Marketa went on to tell me all about Carol.

"Ok," I agreed, "but you realize anything goes?"

"Of course," Marketa replied with a smirk, "besides, its not like we are exclusive...."

I continued, "... and only under certain conditions- I dictate the terms, the when, where and how. She is to never know who I am and will never ask. Tell her I'll send a note through you two days in advance with the details."

"Thanks Baby, she really wants to try this," Marketa said a glean of appreciation in her eye, "and I appreciate you doing this too..."

"How much?" I had to ask.

Without a word, my pet sank to her knees before me.....

I waited a few weeks before selecting the date. Then I sent the note. I was sure Carol had been nervously waiting for my signal- Marketa had been religiously prodding me, hinting around, asking if I knew when. It was as if Carol was anxious and Marketa was her agent provocateur. I was regretting my decision. Silent patience is what I wanted. It was not what I was experiencing.

At the appointed time I arrived at the urban colonial style brick house I had rented for the weekend. Marketa let me in the front door and without a word pointed to the back door. I passed down the long hall way and existed into a brick walled courtyard. It was early autumn and the sun was setting, casting shadows while it's rays highlighted the last remnants of eye popping flowers surrounding the base of a three tiered water fountain in the center of the court. Small pebbles covering the yard crunched beneath my feet and announced my solitary presence.

I came to the side door of the detached garage and put the key into the old lock. I turned the knob and as I pushed it open, the hinges creaked, announcing my entrance. I stood at the base of a wooden staircase leading to an artist's loft. I closed and locked the door, slowly ascended the steps, each one issuing a dull thud as my feet came down.

Arriving at the top landing, I stood and looked around. In the center of the room Carol sat in a chair as instructed- blindfolded, hands in her lap, knees and ankles together as she compliantly waited for me. She had perfectly followed my directions- silk blouse, skirt, very light stockings and red high heels. I could immediately tell she was from Marketa's social circle- high end fashion which revealed membership in a conservative, upper crust echelon of society. Why she was here was beyond me but I was going to find out.

The chair was positioned on a rug in the middle of the rectangular room. The ceiling was slanted on both sides giving the room a sense of cozy seclusion. The loft was sparsely decorated. At one end was a desk against the wall under a window overlooking some woods and a distant pond. On the other end was a couch below another window, a coffee table, a couple of chairs, a book shelf and a glass case containing vintage liquors. I had prepared the room earlier in the day, intentionally leaving a bottle of scented oil and a crop on the chair. Now they were placed on the floor next to Carol.

I walked around her without stating a word, each step on the oak floor being the only sound in the dimly sunlit room. She felt my gaze. I sensed her nervous tension. I stood next to her looking down in contemplation, testing her patience. She fidgeted her fingers waiting for me to speak.

"Are you nervous?" I began.

"Yes," she softly admitted.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Carol," she replied.

"You have a last name?"

"Carol Broussard," she nervously answered.

I did not intend to assuage her concerns, "I am the one you asked Marketa to send. You come here of your own choosing, yes?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"The blindfold shall remain on at all times. You are to never know what I look like, who I am, even after we are done today. What you want me to do is totally consensual. That means if you want me to stop at any time, you need to tell me the safe word. Marketa did tell you to pick one?"

"Paris," Carol stated.

"Paris' it is. If you say it, I will immediately halt what I am doing. If you protest by stating 'no' or 'stop' I will not oblige you and will consider it a form of false protest designed to heighten the experience. If I ask you for consent to do something, you may conditionally or unconditionally give or deny it. Tonight you are completely submissive to me. That means I have your absolute trust. Do not be embarrassed to use the safe word, I assure you, I will not be disappointed.... Oh yes, one last item. You must be completely open and honest with me. Everything that happens or is said tonight, I will keep completely confidential. I anticipate Marketa will ask me about what transpired. I will tell her nothing. If you choose, you may disclose to her. Stand up," I commanded.

Carol complied and waited for further direction. Without warning, I began unbuttoning her blouse. I saw goosebumps rise on her skin as the reality of the moment struck. Beneath she wore no bra. I removed the shirt revealing her bosoms and rosettes. I stepped behind her and unfastened her skirt, letting it drop to the floor around her ankles. I helped her step out of it and lightly tossed it across the room out of reach. Adorned as instructed she stood attentive and silent.

I let her stand for a while in silence, wondering what I was going to do next. I walked around her in observation- she stood about five foot six in heels, her hair was light sandy brown, tightly curled and reaching to her shoulders. Her midsection was narrow and her hips flared out a bit more than proportion would have dictated. Her ass was slightly bubbled and properly accentuated by the tight white garters running across her rounds. Her thighs were slightly more than average size and her calves were muscular and well shaped.

I stepped forward and without warning pulled her panties down between her thighs to reveal her privates. She swallowed hard realizing her exposure. Below she was covered with matching sandy brown hair, giving her a soft, delicate appearance.

"Bend over, feet and knees together," I instructed, placing the chair before her and guiding her hands to the seat for support. I picked up the crop and struck the seat of the chair by her hands, making a sudden loud sound which caused her to jump. I figured that like Marketa, she was in her late forties.

"You are more beautiful than described. I need to know why a well to do attractive woman like you is here. Is it role play? To be a dirty little whore? A tart in need of punishment? The vindictive mistress who told his wife? Wayward whore house wife?" I asked.

"No," she stated, "I just want to know what it is like to be submissive and controlled, to know absolute trust," she explained.

"In the short time we have tonight, I cannot give you the full experience. Marketa only had a small taste of it in a two day period. Did you see Marketa when she was last in Paris?" I queried.

"Yes, and that is when she told me of her experience, with you... that was when I knew I wanted to try it. Up until then I was hesitant. Marketa told me how erotic it was- the total submission of her body and soul to another. I was jealous, for my own reasons, but curious too."

"Tell me, your husband will not oblige you?" I asked.

She stammered upset with at the revelation of my knowledge, "...Marketa was not supposed to tell you.... How do you know?"

"When I came in you were fidgeting your fingers. I noticed the tan line, where the ring was before you removed it. Some things you cannot hide... now answer the question."

"He does not, would not if I asked. He is too conservative, it.. it would shock him..." Carol said.

"What did you mean to say when you said 'he does not'?" I asked.

She paused and then reluctantly confessed, "... he does not have an interest in me... he has others.... and this is something he would never do."

I stood behind Carol and observed her ass. Pulling the garters to the side, I removed the last vestige of clothing from her rounds. I took the tongue of the crop and playfully tapped her ass.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"A little," she replied. I took my hand and ran it across her ass, savoring her warm smooth well cared for skin, inspecting the soft texture with my fingers. Then I tapped her with the crop a bit harder than before, stinging her tenderness. This time she winced. I wanted to make her aware of who was in control and leave her on edge waiting and wondering when and if the next one would be laid. It was not my intention to welt her or draw blood- that was something well beyond me, I had my limits. I took a seat across the room, poured myself a drink and watched her submissively bent in silence waiting for me to act. I pondered her physique wanting to know more about her motivations.

"If he does not touch you anymore, how do you gain satisfaction?" Silent hesitation on her part.

"Answer me," I said.

"... I have someone, a friend... it is very discrete," she replied.

"A man?" I asked.

"...and it is not often," she added deferring the answer, "and it is just when we arrange to meet abroad, when we each travel alone."

"How long has this been going on?"

"About a year."

"Where?" I asked.

"London, Rome, Paris, Venice, places like that, far from home, where others do not know us...."

I thought about her response, walked across the room and stood beside her, "Marketa did this because she wanted to know what it was like to give herself for my complete pleasure, for me to use her as I wished. She wanted to know how submission, control and trust felt- the pleasure of being used by another. Her sacrifice did not go without reward. You do not know me that you would want to please me..."

She stood in silence without responding. In that moment I wondered what it was like for people who engaging in this behavior in the 1920's, 30's, 40's and 50's, a time when it was strictly taboo, how those on the fringe of society secretly practiced the acts behind closed doors. Compared to today, I wondered how they found each other, confessed their mutual interests and kept their secrets.

"When you are lonely, do you touch yourself?" I asked.

"Sometimes," she answered.

"Where do you like to touch?" I asked.

She paused, perhaps embarrassed, "... my bud," she confessed in a quiet voice.

"... and want to touch it right now?"

"Yes," she said.

I knelt down, leaned to her ear and whispered, "How long has it been since a man touched you? tasted you? took you? Made you scream in passion as he thrust deep and hard? Made you whimper and quip as he teased you? Gave you a 'proper' fucking? The kind of fucking that leaves you feeling savaged, used and exhausted? Left you with your lips burning and inner thighs searing, with pure desire?.... Has the anticipation of tonight been building? Tell me, did you touch yourself in the days leading up to tonight?"

"Yes," she confessed.

I grazed her sex with the very tip of my finger. She gasped, not expecting it and then pushed back seeking its entry, "Don't move, I'll have none of that," I commanded as I slapped her ass with the crop, "I want you motionless unless told otherwise."

I inserted a fingers and began playing with her lips. As she writhed to control herself, without warning I leveled the crop on her ass, smacking her firmly. She yelped, whimpering in response to the punishment.

Her thighs began to shake, "you will hold your release until told otherwise," I commanded, "Do not disappoint me....," I said leaving the consequences for her to ponder.

"Shall I touch your bud?"

"Please," she begged, with a quiver in her voice. I darted my finger in and out, shallowly penetrating and occasionally plunging deep. Her thighs trembled and breath heightened as she ascended to climax. Unexpectedly I removed my finger. She bit her lower lip and sighed in disappointment.

The day light was fading and the room growing dark. I opened the windows to receive the fresh autumn air. Then I lit some candles, which were placed in the corners of the room. I preferred the ambiance, their light casting shadows on the walls as night fell. I was partial to the shadow of Carol bent over in submission, submission to me.

"Reach behind with both hands and spread yourself," I directed. Compliantly she did. I dripped eucalyptus scented oil on her tight aperture. With a finger tip, I gently teased and rimmed it.

"Have you ever?" I asked.

"No," she replied between gnashed teeth as she fought the mounting pleasure.

"Shall I?" I asked.

"Please, not that, please" she begged as she closed her eyes and braced herself. I continued rimming her ass and gently nudged the digit against her tight aperture to see if she would relax and open. As I teased, I occasionally dripped more oil, which began to run down her ass and across her lips. Her fingers were covered in her juices and the smell of her sex permeated the dry crisp air.

"Spread your legs, let me see it," I instructed. "Open them more, pick up your head, push out your ass," I directed as I placed my hand on her back and showed her to arch it down. I softly tapped her upper inner thigh with the crop, close enough to her sex to heighten the fear that the crop would touch it. I observed her rose, its petals spread wide and swollen like a flower reaching to the sky begging for the impending droplets of a nearing rain shower.

"You need to calm down. Get on your knees", I directed and she complied. I removed the chair and stood before her in it's place, "Unfasten and remove my pants." Carol blindly fumbled to find my belt buckle, buttons and zipper, trying to work though the mechanics of the task. Her hands nervously shook as she worked in an attempted rapid manner, groping to comply. When the pants were off she pulled down my boxers and sat waiting for direction.

"Take it in your hand, stroke it and feel it's length." Her hand wrapped around the shaft, her well manicured slender pale fingers were barely able to get around it. Gently she stroked me. It did not take much effort to get me stiffen.

"Taste it, put it in your mouth," I directed.

"Oh no, not that, please not my mouth..." she politely protested, "I'll do anything but please not that...."

"Anything' is a generous offer," I pointed out knowing she knew the safe word, "and for me 'anything' includes more than you can imagine..."

"Please don't make me do this, I beg you, please" she continued.

"Do as I say" I told her as I smacked her ass with the crop. Compliantly she stuck out her tongue. With the tip, she dispassionately licked my swollen head.

"You can do better," I hinted in an annoyed tone. She opened her mouth and suckled my head, just the head and no more, slowly moving it in and out of her warm mouth.

"Deeper," I directed and she took me whole, my cock hitting the back of her throat. I balled her hair in my fist, "Touch my balls with the tips of those pretty little finger nails and gently massage them.... that is it, yes, keep going, oh yes...." I cooed to her.

"Shall I unload myself in your mouth?" She shook her head in the negative. I pulled her head closer and pushed myself as deep as I could penetrate and held myself there.

"Carol, I want your mouth, want it so bad.... Your lips and face are so beautiful... I can't resist much longer...." I told. To her relief, I slowly pulled out after a few more strokes.

"Lean forward, head and shoulders on the floor, knees apart, ass up in the air.... Shall I place myself between your swollen lips and penetrate you?"

"Oh yes, please," she begged. Playfully, I very gently tapped her hairy hood with the crop. She was keenly aware that I could tap her harder. As she contemplated what I was doing and what I could do, she slowly raised her hips to get away from the crop. I teased her more and in urn her hips kept rising. Then I unexpectedly laid a one across her ass. It shuddered on impact and she screamed.

"Stand up and lean forward," I said as I replaced the chair, keeping the crop on her hairy hood as she rose. As I pushed it into her sex, she stood with her heels raised, toes pointed inward, squirming from the tension of anticipation. I continued pressing the crop against her and reinserted my fingers as she stood perched.

"You have done well so far... I have an impression of you. You like to mount your partner, impale yourself and slowly ride him, not raising yourself up, but rather shifting your hips back and forth, rubbing your lips against his pelvis. He has his hands on your hips and holds you as you make love. You are slow and methodical and take your time building to climax, bringing him along with you, timing yourself for release with him so you may feel him climax within you, letting his warmth spread within, making you feel wanted... as you reach the moment, your thighs close tight, your hand presses in and your torso bends over, eyes closed you gasp as the release takes you..... my dear, if I were to let you ride me, I would have you attired in black knee high stiletto heeled boots, a black corset and a black choker- a radical divergence from the woman you are.... and I would not let you sit atop of me, no, you would squat over me, my head just barely within you. You would spread your legs and show me your puritan alabaster thighs. With one hand you would spread your hood and reveal your clit, and, with the other you would touch it, stroke it and rub it, teasing yourself. You would not be permitted to release. I would make you wait and beg and whimper as my head teased your lips and folds and your finger tips gently strummed your clit in a circular motion.... Only after I released would you, and it would be from the highest of heights of rapture that you would descend, screaming and seizing hard, harder than any one before, one that thunders across your body and leaves you gasping for breath, a rewarding release befitting a Pet. Could you do that for me?"

"I doubt I could hold myself," she honestly replied. I laid the crop to her ass and she winced as it landed.

"I will try," she said correcting herself. I laid another slap of the crop on her tender ass.

"I'm sorry, I will control myself," she said.

I wanted her very badly, had wanted her since I first laid my eyes on her beauty. I brought my engorged head to her wet lips, gently pressing and stroking it against them.

"Carol, may I?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Bend over, hands on the seat of the chair." Standing prostrate and available she bit her lower lip in anticipation. I gently pushed myself between her lips and found her path. She gasped as she received me. I held her hips and slowly pushed deep until her lips snugly held the base of my shaft. My head buried deep within her, I held her close and did not move.

"Put your feet together," I instructed, "My Pet, you hold me well and you have done good tonight.... How badly do you want to feel my release?"

"... please have me," the conservative woman offered. I pulled her hips back and held her, her ass resting hard against my pelvis. I began slightly rocking her forward and back, slowly building tension, my movements being calculated and methodical.

"Oh, yes," she quipped.

"That is it my Pet, let me know how it feels, let me know you want me."