SUZANNA

Robert Newman

I’d always been a dominant man. Chairman of the PTA at a local school, captain of sports teams, various responsible positions of leadership in industry . . . you name it. Nothing to suggest anyone would particularly get the better of me. That spilled over into my sex life, too, and I knew it. With a certain type of woman I could feel masculine, tall, powerful . . . and she would know it too. I’d developed a taste for bondage from a very early age, so young it’s always surprised anyone I’ve ever told, and many just simply discounted it as some kind of flight of fancy. That’s OK; let them. I can remember it well, using skipping ropes on girls in chase games in my first year at infant school, and I know that the thrill I got was decidedly sexual.

Later in life I put my penchant for rendering women helpless into frequent practice. There haven’t been many, and I don’t intend to go into details, for that’s not the purpose of me writing this story. The purpose is, as you’ll find out if you read on, that I have been commanded to do it. My introduction above is purely to illustrate that I was, and still am, a masculine, focused, purposeful and powerful man. A man who has been bowled over and tamed by a very feminine woman.

I’d fancied her for years, but had no idea whether she’d realized that. She dresses with the perfect mix of elegant and sexual, and it was impossible, for me at least, not to want her. But she’s a family friend, much younger than I am, married. Unreachable. Untouchable. Unapproachable. Yeah, yeah.

At the party I felt at my self-confident, arrogant best. We were at the bar, having already had plenty to drink, and the numerous other party guests were . . . somewhere else. She’d taken off her customary high heels, giving my height advantage even more prominence. I looked down into her eyes as we started to play a dangerous game of dare. I can remember thinking, maybe there’s a chance here, maybe she’s not as untouchable as I thought. That was backed up by the clear knowledge that I definitely did want her, and a distinct undercurrent that maybe, just maybe, at some future date she would occupy my ropes and my lascivious mind. I was in control of the conversation; I knew it. She was being drawn in, I knew that too.

Such arrogance. Such inaccuracy. Such folly.

The following day I had that “did I imagine it all?” feeling.

Well, it wasn’t imagined. It was real. In some ways at least. We did speak our dangerous talk. I did spend some time fondling her delicious derrière and feeling the outline of a very brief thong. I did sink my piercing eyes into her mind. Kind of.

But I wasn’t the leader, I was the fish on her line, and she has reeled me in. She’s taken over. She’s my Mistress. I kneel at her feet and kiss them. I obey her commands without question.

We’ve come a long way since that day, and it’s another story I have no intention of going into here. The story I am about to relate concerns an incident that she contrived to drive me to delicious distraction.

She likes to tease me – with words, actions, eyes, typing . . . I pledged her honesty and she gets it. She knows all my fantasies, every last one, including things nobody else ever knew. With her I can be the real me, the one inside, the man who has doubts and fears. With perfect irony, her captivity has freed my whole self.

One fantasy always fascinated me – some kind of sexual encounter with more than one woman. I imagined mutual undressing, oral sex, probing fingers, mashed-together breasts, sweaty, out-of-control women whose sexuality had no base level . . . And kissing, they had to kiss, deeply and passionately, losing themselves in each other.

My fantasies went on to include bondage, with one or both women secured for my pleasure, allowing me to fuck one and torture the other because she was not being fucked.

How different fantasy can be from reality.

But she was taking mental notes in the background as I rambled out my lecherous thoughts at her behest. And she was planning . . .

I had no idea it was being set up. She just told me to be at an address at a particular time, and by then I knew better than to question instructions. The door opened and there she stood, resplendent in a shimmering black dress, split at the front to show black fishnet stockings and ankle-strapped shoes. Her neckline plunged to the very depths of her cleavage, revealing the tiny strap of a black bra whose contents I needed to hold, and soon.

“Come in,” she told me, standing aside to permit it. She closed the door, walked past me and bade me follow.

To say I was shocked when I walked in was an understatement. There were two other women in the room, both of whom I recognized from her workplace. Blonde Lauren, dressed in a simple short white dress, sat in an armchair, a glass of champagne paused inches from her lips. Gorgeous brunette Nicola’s head turned to face me, an amused smile playing on her lips. She also wore a dress, but it was almost black, down to her knees, but with a tantalizing split showing most of her suntanned left thigh. There was an ethereal sense of expectancy in the atmosphere, something I couldn’t identify. Normally I’d have been disappointed that other people were present when I was hoping for time with Suzanna, but the electricity in the room left me wondering exactly what she’d arranged.

“You know Nicola and Lauren?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Come here,” she said, and when I was in front of her, she followed with, “On your knees, kiss my feet.”

Weeks before there was no way I would demean myself in front of other people. But the freedom I spoke of earlier doesn’t make me feel demeaned. She commands; I obey. It’s a simple formula, uncluttered by previous complications of false pride and blushing modesty. Moments later I was where she’d told me to be, on the floor, kissing her right foot.

“See, I told you he’s obedient”.

“And he does anything?” Nicola asked, almost as if I was incapable of hearing. “Would he kiss mine?” she continued.

Suzanna’s hand gripped the hair at the back of my head. “Well, slave? Would you kiss Nicola’s feet?”

“If you command it, yes,” was my easy answer.

“See?” she said to Nicola, evidently satisfied with my answer.

“Are you going to tell him to?” Nicola wanted to know.

Suzanna thought for a few moments. “I may do,” she said, moving to sit beside Nicola, leaving me on the carpet on my knees. As she sat, she put an arm round Nicola’s shoulder, her eyes locked on mine. The other woman didn’t flinch as she sat there, also watching my reaction. Lauren, meanwhile, sat looking at the floor, not exactly surprised at what was going on, or really a part of it.

“Hasn’t she got nice feet?”

“Yes, Mistress.” She wouldn’t tolerate me being disrespectful.

“As nice as mine?” She raised her eyebrows in that way she does when she knows she has me trapped. But I’ve learned along the way, honesty isn’t the best policy, it’s the only policy.

I looked at Nicola’s feet again. Yes, they looked as nice as Suzanna’s.

“Yes.” I waited.

“You’d better kiss them then.”

I crawled over and settled down on the carpet in front of Nicola and leaned forward to kiss her right foot. I knew doom was impending in some way, the only question was when.

“You like it?”

I glanced up. The question was to Nicola, not to me.

“It tickles,” she said.

Suzanna’s hand was at the back of my neck instantly, pulling my hair hard. I used my hands as quickly as I could to get to my knees before I lost a chunk of hair. When I was kneeling she stared down at me.

“Did I command you to tickle her?”

It didn’t need an answer, but I said no anyway. She drew her hand back slowly, quite deliberately, watching me tense, ready for her slap. But no slap came.

“Relax,” she told me.

I tried. I knew the second I did the slap would arrive, and it’s not easy to relax at a moment like that. Suzanna waited, a smile playing on her face. Maybe it took five minutes, maybe longer. My knees were beginning to ache. Then it came, a stinging slap across my cheek that sent me sprawling to the floor. I heard Lauren gasp somewhere to my left.

“Now, kiss Nicola’s feet, and no tickling.”

As I resumed my task I began to wonder about Nicola. She had the power right now to get me in trouble. Thankfully she chose to relax and enjoy. I was aware of a shifting about, and soft feminine moans of pleasure. I didn’t dare look up, but I somehow knew the women were kissing. After a few moments Nicola shifted her left foot to the side, parting her legs, and from the corner of my eye I noticed Suzanna’s hand go between them. Minutes later a moan from Nicola coincided with a wet noise as Suzanna’s fingers penetrated her friend. Still I kept kissing her foot, feeling Nicola’s leg start to tremble as Suzanna’s fingers brought her rapidly to a peak of excitement, stopping moments before she went over the edge.

“Suzanna!” I heard her complain. “Did you have to stop?”

“Would you like my slave to suck you? Or fuck you?”

I lurched with excitement. Could it be possible that I’d be permitted to have this gorgeous woman?

“Not really,” Nicola replied, almost as if the idea left her unmoved. “I’d rather you did.”

“How’d you like to whip him then?” Suzanna asked.

“OK.” The reply was chirpy, matter-of-fact. I didn’t matter. I was a possession for their amusement, nothing more. “You can whip Lauren if you want,” Nicola continued, confirming my suspicion that Lauren was submissive to her.

“I’ve got an idea,” Suzanna told her suddenly. “How about we tie the two of them together and we can use them for target practice?”

Moments later I was instructed to stand and undress. All three women watched. When I’d finished, Nicola told Lauren to do the same. They didn’t say I couldn’t watch, so I did. She shot me a disinterested glance as she stood, then reached behind her back to unzip the dress, letting it fall off her shoulders to expose her small, braless breasts, then down until it fell in a crumpled heap at her feet, leaving her in the tiniest of white thongs. She hesitated a moment before she glanced to Nicola, whose nod had her hooking her thumbs into the scrap of white and taking it off. My reaction was very obvious and very visible.

“Do you fancy Lauren, slave?” Suzanna wanted to know.

Time for honesty again, nothing less would do. “Yes.”

“More than me?”

“No way.” I meant it too. Sure, Lauren is a looker, but for the overall whole person there is no comparison.

“Would you like to fuck her?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Would you like him to fuck you?” Nicola asked Lauren.

“No, Mistress,” the blonde replied.

“Bad answer,” Nicola told her. She walked the two paces between them and slapped Lauren across her face, quite viciously. Unlike me, Lauren was not toppled over. Her head was knocked sideways by the force of the blow, but she quickly recovered her composure and faced us again. Nicola, however, wasn’t finished, quickly landing a backhand slap across Lauren’s other cheek and sending her head the other way.

“Now, Lauren, would you like him to fuck you?”

“I want whatever you want.”

“That’s better, Lauren,” Nicola told her, her face still harsh and angry. “Now on your knees and suck him.”

That got to me. I was already erect, and the idea of Lauren’s lips wrapped around my cock was an exciting thought. Lauren stepped toward me and dropped to her knees, opening her mouth and leaning forward.

“Whoa, wait!” Suzanna interjected. “Says who?”

“Ooops, sorry,” Nicola giggled. “Lauren, stay there while we discuss it.”

“Same for you,” Suzanna told me. “Don’t move.”

She whispered conspiratorially to Nicola, and the pair walked slowly, arm in arm, toward the door.

“We’ll be back later,” Suzanna told us over her shoulder. “You can both talk, but neither of you is to move.”

That left Lauren’s mouth maybe half an inch from the end of my erection, and, not surprisingly perhaps, it refused to wilt.

“I won’t move,” Lauren told me eventually.

“Nor will I,” I agreed.

She glanced down at my cock. “That doesn’t get any longer, does it?”

“No, that’s all there is.”

“Good. I hate sucking cocks.”

Nice conversation killer.

“Are you lesbian?”

“I’m whatever she tells me to be.”

“Regardless of your own views?”

“That’s right. Whatever Nicola wants, I do.”

“Even sucking me?”

“If she says so.” She paused, looking at it again. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes, very much.” What man wouldn’t?

“Then you’d better hope she agrees. I hope she doesn’t.”

“Have you ever been whipped?” I asked her.

“Yes, most days. Today will be no exception. They’ll whip us both. Hard. They’ll feed off each other, dare each other to do it harder. What about you?”

“She’s only done it once. And then it wasn’t all that hard.”

“It’ll hurt you more than me, then,” came her simple reply.

Further conversation was cut off by the reappearance of the two women. They were all smiles and laughter, but I didn’t feel much like joining in.

“Did she suck you?” Suzanna asked me.

“No, she said she doesn’t like it.”

“May I?” Suzanna asked Nicola.

Suzanna grabbed the hair at the back of Lauren’s head and pushed her roughly forward. Lauren opened her mouth just in time to accept me within.

“May I?” I heard Nicola ask.

“Be my guest,” Suzanna told her.

The whip across my buttocks made me lurch forward, deeper into Lauren’s mouth. She handed the whip to Suzanna.

“Do you want to come in her mouth, slave?” she growled.

“Yes, if you want that.”

“My mouth or hers, you can choose.”

“Yours, Mistress.”

“Sure?”

“Totally.” I was too. I’d never done that and I wanted to.

“Or Nicola’s?” Trust Suzanna to make me squirm.

“Yours, Mistress.”

“Very well,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Nicola can whip you while I suck you off.”

And that’s exactly what happened. My beautiful, sexy Suzanna pushed Lauren aside and took her place, those gorgeous sucking lips engulfing me and moving up and down while the whip took bites out of my back and buttocks. Nicola wanted to hurt me and I suspected the women had some kind of bet going: Suzanna that she could make me come and Nicola that she could distract me. No contest. Less than three minutes later Suzanna swallowed a molten stream that had my legs quaking with its power. She swallowed audibly and stood, carefully licking a white globule from the corner of her lips.

“Tired?” she wanted to know. “Want to come in Lauren’s mouth now?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Bad answer, slave,” she cautioned.

“I meant . . .”

“Too late. What you meant is irrelevant; the damage is done. Stand up.”

I straightened, feeling the glow of the skin behind me. Nicola pushed Lauren to face me again, standing, then pushed her so our bodies were in full contact. She parted Lauren’s legs with her hand and reached through to pull my half-hard cock between them, so that it rested in the wet warmth of her labia. Lauren’s hands were pulled round behind me and tied there, then mine were tied in a similar way behind Lauren’s back. More ropes encircled us, all around our upper bodies, our waists and the tops of our thighs, Lauren’s heels making our heights more compatible. When they were done we were like some grotesque four-legged creature. When we were secured the two women picked a whip each. They didn’t hold back, laying into both of us. Despite my height and weight advantage, Lauren was quite adept at moving to avoid it, swiveling me this way and that, so that I got the worst of the blows. And through it all, slowly but surely, my cock rose to full erection until it protruded from between Lauren’s buttocks, to be caught now and again by the whip.

When they’d had enough, the two women bent down behind Lauren, one of them – I’ve no idea which – bending my cock until she could slide it deep into Lauren. We were made to stay like that, burning from the whipping and having sex neither of us wanted. We were ornaments to amuse our respective Mistresses while they sipped their champagne. At one point they went upstairs for an hour for who knows what – I never did find out, but I like to believe they made love together.

All the while Lauren and I stood there, forbidden to move. My erection refused to dwindle, and when we were alone we went through the ridiculous farce of chatting about holidays and cars and the weather while still roped together with me deep inside her. She told me the message the Mistresses were giving. We didn’t matter. We were objects for their use and amusement.

When they reappeared they simply untied us and had us dress, and within half an hour I was shown the door and sent on my way. Just as I left they were discussing swapping slaves, so that I would be at the mercy of the rather cruel Nicola, and Lauren would suffer at the hands of Suzanna. They set a date, there and then . . .

But that’s another story.