She pulled restlessly at the straps that bound her to the waist high table. Tossing her head, she once again tried to dislodge the blindfold, just enough to let in a hint of light, but to no avail. She stilled suddenly, holding her breath, trying to hear something, anything, so that she knew where he was. The pounding of her own heart in her ears was the only sound she heard.
She jumped when his fingers grazed along the inside of her left calf, a brief feather touch ... and then nothing. She stilled herself, willing her breathing to slow, her heart to stop it's rushing, to no avail. His fingers slid up the side of her ribs, on the right side this time, breaking away just before they came to the roundness of her large breast.
Her gasp was loud in her ears, a sharp sound that filled the silence of the room for a brief moment. His hand was gone before the sound died, leaving her stiff upon the table, fearful yet longing for his next touch. How had she gotten into the situation, why was she letting this man do this to her?
She'd never seen his face, never heard his voice. He was just letters on a screen, words that had dampened her panties countless times, an enigma, and a total stranger. Yet she had come here tonight, to an address he had provided, to discover if what she read on the screen excited her as much in real life.
She'd followed his instructions exactly, like she had a dozen times before. This was the first time she'd met him, but he'd been her online Master for a year. She'd lost count of the times she'd bowed to his will during that time.
He'd started slow, things that when she looked back were quite easy. Going to work without panties the first time had been a huge step for her, for she'd always been the prim and proper type. The switch from pantyhose to stockings and a garter made it even worse, as every stray puff of air seemed to stir the hair down there.
She'd been wet all day long, so wet she worried she'd leave a wet spot on the back of her knee length skirt, or a puddle on the floor when she stood to long in one spot. She made a dozen trips to the bathroom to pat herself dry with the cheap toilet paper in hopes no one would notice.
She worried the odor of her over excited sex would fill her office to the point that someone would notice, and yet the thought of just that happening made her even wetter. Now, she didn't even own any underwear, and her lips were smooth and hairless, just the way he said he liked them. She'd even emailed him pictures after she'd gotten her first wax job, to make sure she'd gotten the upside down triangle of hair just the way he wanted it.
She had, and his praise to her had made her flush with pleasure, as giddy as a young girl who'd pleased a parent she adored. She'd gotten angry at herself, vowed to never read his emails again, to tell him it was over, she wasn't going to do the next thing he told her to ... yet she hadn't.
She'd worn shorter and shorter skirts, never pants, never anything but dresses and skirts. And while her hemline had climbed higher, her neckline had plunged. Her breasts were to large to go without a bra, but those she'd worn went from straight utilitarian undergarments, to lacy contraptions designed to maximize and display her charms, not hide them.
She had to admit the changes he'd made in her wardrobe had changed her. She was no longer the prude who was avoided by all the others on her floor, but began getting invites to lunch with the other women, even compliments from them on her clothing. She'd taken advice from one of the ladies, and visited a hair saloon they'd recommend.
He'd been surprised, pleasantly so, at the change a new hairstyle made in her. He'd been even happier when she said she'd done it as a surprise for him. His praise for her had made her wet, made her blush ... made her cum.
That was something she'd never done before, not since she was a little girl and her mother caught her touching herself down there, exploring as little girls are wont to do. The spanking she'd gotten, and the lecture afterwards, had convinced her that part of her was evil, to be touched only when necessary, and as little as possible.
Yet now she took pictures of it at least once a week, even videos of herself reading his stories out loud while her fingers played with her hairless lips, parted them, found the little nubbin he'd told her of, and finally she'd make herself cum, her fluids drenching her hand. What had he done to her, what had she done coming here tonight?
Her thoughts jumped back to the present as his hands hefted her full breasts, lifting them gently before letting them sag back down. She'd always hated her large breasts, hated the way the drew men's stares, hated how they sagged instead of looking pert and firm like other women's did.
That was until he convinced her that hers were perfect, that he loved that tiny bit of droop that showed they were real, not silicone bags tucked beneath her skin. He loved the thick pencil eraser nipples she'd despaired of more than once when they showed through a top she liked, and had stuffed paper into her bra more than once to dull their outline.
Now she wore bras with cut outs for her nipples, specifically so they would show through her tops. God how he'd changed her whole outlook on life, how he'd made her into the woman she'd longed to be but couldn't. And when she'd begged for the chance to thank him in person, to give herself to him, he'd accepted, but on his terms.
She had followed his directions exactly, even written down his address on a note she left sealed in an envelope on her desk at work, with instructions that if she didn't come into work the next day, it was to be opened. Inside was a note explaining she was meeting a man she'd met on the internet, and gave the username and password to her email.
It wasn't necessary, she'd told him. She trusted him with her life she swore. He said it was, for her peace of mind, and she had to admit when she'd gotten scared on the cab ride over, and again when she'd tried the door to the apartment and found it unlocked, the thought of that note on her desk had quieted her fears.
On a small table just inside the door was an envelope with her name on it in a firm masculine hand. She'd opened it, finding a black silk blindfold and a note. Her hand trembled as she read it, this was it, was she willing to go through with it.
She smiled, a brief flitting thing, he'd told her what at safe word was, and the one he'd given her, a phrase really, from her favorite author was something she wouldn't forget, even in the throes of passion or the grip of mind numbing panic.
Stilling her quivering nerves she'd disrobed, letting her clothes fall to the floor in a puddle around her. Once she was naked, her nipples crinkling in the chill air, or was it due to lust, she walked the length of the hallway, the blindfold in her hand. Drawing one last deep breath, reassuring herself one last time that he wasn't going to hurt her, she slipped the blindfold on and knocked softly on the door before her.
He squeezed her breasts, not to hard nor too soft, just enough to make her back arch, the pressure bordering on pain, but bringing intense pleasure. It was the knowledge he could hurt her, and she could do nothing to stop him, that lay at the root of that pleasure. She moaned as his fingers slipped across her nipples, the hard nubs bending over and snapping back as each finger traveled across them. God, how was he doing that, each touch seemed to shoot directly to her ... down there.
Her cunt, she thought, that's what he called it. Her pussy, her twat, but his favorite word when he was aroused, or when she was performing for him was that four letter word that she used to loathe. Cunt, yes, that's what he wanted her to call it. Her cunt was throbbing, weeping, dripping down the crack of her ass.
She knew the leather she lay upon contained a puddle of it between her ass cheeks, and he had barely touched her. How did he know her so well, how could he drive her to heights of arousal she'd never reached with just a few touches.
It wasn't just the touches she knew, it was the whole night, how he'd made her surrender to his will, his way of doing things. Her she was, the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, surrendering her body to a man she'd never seen. God, what would her friends, her family, think of her now. If they could see her now...
.... There is more of this story ...