We met online and after a few weeks of back and forth banter the
metaphorical feeling out gave way to exchanging phone numbers. Our
nightly chats on the net then became more intimate affairs, real
voices over the phone line. Eventually we agreed to meet face to face
for coffee at a little sea side café. The sun was warm, the sky
cloudless, the birds were chirping and he was the perfect gentleman.
He paid for my coffee and the scone I had with it, walked on the road
side of the footpath when we ventured away from the café to protect
me from cars splashing through the few puddles that remained from the
unseasonal overnight rain. All too quickly however our time together came to
an end, he had to get back to work and I had to get back home for my
kids. As we headed back toward my car, he took my hand, instantly
making me feel special.
When we reached my car he guided my hand behind my back and held it
fast at the top of my jeans as he stepped in front of me, then took
my other hand and guided it behind my back also. He held them in
place with one hand while his other one slid up my back and into my
tousled hair, gripped firmly and pulled my head back. Instantly a
shudder ran through me and I went weak at the knees as he exploited
the secret I'd confided to him the night before on the phone. His
lips met mine, plied them with soft tender kisses before his mouth
hungrily devoured mine in full view of anyone caring to look. As
urgently and passionately as he kissed me, I kissed him back.
When the kiss finally broke his hand slipped from my hair and gently
he brushed the backs of his fingers along my cheeks.
“I'll see you Saturday night,” he said softly as he cupped my
chin and looked deeply into my eyes. “Until then your fingers are
to stay out of my pussy,” he then commanded, “Understand?”
His pussy.
Again I went weak at the knees as he laid claim to the now tingling
needy slit between my legs with words spoken barely loud enough to
hear. My teeth caught my lower lip and I nodded.
“Tell me you understand, my slut,”
he commanded, again getting into my head with his choice of words
capitalising once more on an admission from the night before.
“I understand, sir,” I replied,
the honorific sounding as natural as if I'd been saying it for a
lifetime as it tumbled from my lips.
“Good girl,” he smiled warmly
then gently kissed me again as he released my wrists.
Free again, I kept my wrists were
they were, trapped between my lower back and the body of my car,
while my heart raced and my bosom heaved as for a third time he took
advantage of a divulged confidence, and referred to me as girl.
Unresisting I felt his hands
slide into my jeans and remove my car keys, only daring to move once
he unlocked the car and drew open the door. As I took up residence
behind the steering wheel, he leaned in and draped the seat belt over
me, buckled it, then casually stroked his hand across my breasts.
“Remember,” he said softly as
his hand slid down to my lap then worked between my denim sheathed
thighs, “My pussy is
off limits.”
I blushed openly, then looked at him
with adoring eyes. “Your slut
understands, sir,” I declared, my heart proudly pounding inside my
heaving bosom.
“Journey safely,” he said
affectionately, then kissed me and closed the door.
I pulled into a parking area a few miles from where we'd met, shut
the car down, leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, then cast my
mind back to what had transpired in our all too brief but decidedly
heady lunchtime meeting. A smile came to my face as I recalled how
effortlessly he'd assumed control and used what I'd confided to him
to mould me to his whims. Remaining pure for more than two days would
be a challenge, but one I was determined to rise to.
For the next two days I'd be His
obedient slut.
On Saturday night
I'd be His shameless slut.
In between, I'd walk with my head
held high, proud and privileged simply to be His slut.