Sex and Submission Story – Meeting Lindaslut
by Sybian
As he waited for the elevator on the fourteenth floor of the St.Louis Hyatt he let his thoughts drift back to the first time she had endeared herself to him.
Very early on she had written him, begging to know more about who he was. He allowed her to pose three questions. He fully expected them to be of the usual mundane type: “How old are you?” “What do you look like?” “How do you earn your living?” or maybe “Where do you live?” But she asked none of these. She wanted to know about his likes and dislikes. And his views on punishment. And what he looked for in a slave. Slave. He disliked that word. It harkened back to the world of games, of D/s, of B&D, that he had grown weary of and had left behind. He recalled her first letters explaining how his story, “Mastering nikki” had touched her. And how he had decided to reenter that world one last time, just for her, for lindaslut.
Punishment. He had left the times of whips and such far behind. They were the implements of his youth, before he came to the special knowledge of women’s desires that he now held. Steven thought back to one of the times that made him realize that punishment for transgressions, real and imagined, didn’t have to be always corporal in nature, didn’t always have to involve the lash and the cat, the slap and the clamps.
Her name was cindy and he had found her in a shopping mall while he was shopping for a pair of black leather trousers. They got to talking and she talked and talked, revealing the intimate details of her life as if they had known one another for years. Soon they were meeting for coffee weekly. She spoke of her fascination with the world of Domination and submission and her boredom in her marital bedroom. Cindy told him that she had just recently read Ann Rice’s “Sleeping Beauty” trilogy and it had opened her eyes to her true feelings. She felt that she wanted to be treated like a “slave,” to get in touch with her submissive side. She wondered if he ever thought of such things. He coyly revealed that he “had some knowledge of these matters.” She asked him if he would be willing to “play” with her, if he would consider it.
He told her that he didn’t care to partake in “games,” that what he did was very serious business and would agree to a session with her only when he had outlined to her what might be expected. She had enthusiastically accepted his conditions and during one of her husband’s business trips, found herself being “trained.” During their “session” she had brazenly talked back to him for she was full of spirit, which he loved in his subs, but she was constantly testing him and now needed to be corrected. To this end, he had her fully restrained and blindfolded on a bed, on a rubber sheet. Steven spent two hours working her holes with an assortment of dildos and vibrators, bringing her time and again to the brink of orgasm but never allowing her to climax. He spent much of this time working on her clit until it was incredibly swollen with lust and pulsed like a small penis, begging for release.
He played her like a piano, or better, like his black Les Paul guitar, thrusting into her with either his fist or a giant rubber phallus until she started to spasm and then he would stop and let her settle. She was crying hysterically and begging him to end this erotic torture. At one point her nose started to bleed from the tension within her.
At the end of the two hours, he unshackled her hands and placed the biggest dildo in them. “Go ahead, bitch, make yourself cum,” he hissed at her, his contempt evident. Through sobs she choked the words, “Thank you, Master, thank you, I’ll never talk back to you again, thank you, you’re too good to this worthless whore,” as she started to fuck herself with the massive toy. Its full length disappeared into her yawning fuck-hole time and again as she furiously worked herself. “Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God…”she screamed. It only took a minute, so close to the edge was she. As she started to spasm, Steven stood by her head and ordered, in a dark whisper, “Open your mouth, cindy, open your mouth and drink of me, your Master.” He took his semi-rigid cockmeat and aimed it at her beckoning mouth. As her climax tore through her small body, he unleashed his golden stream directly into her head. As she pulsed with orgasm, his strong stream of urine overflowed her mouth. She gulped greedily and as she came and came, the words “Thank you, thank you,” could be heard through her gurgling.
He returned cindy after her training to her husband and her suburban life. But she writes to him now and again, and to this day, she reports, cannot have a satisfying orgasm unless a man is urinating into her mouth. The sting of the whip soon fades, the welts heal, but the punishment of that long ago night is now a tattoo on her soul and will be with her forever. Though she would never ask her husband for such a thing as he climbs on top of her for his weekly fuck, she has found a series of erstwhile “Masters” who are more than willing to cater to her needs. Steven grinned his wicked grin as he thought of the poor unsuspecting husband whose wife is sneaking away, gartered and corseted like a whore, to be tied up and pissed on in hotels, motels, and basement “dungeons” throughout the city.
Steven was brought back from his reverie by the sound of the elevator. In a minute he would finally meet his lindaslut, who he had come to know only through a year of e-mails and phone calls. She had stolen his dark heart and in just moments he would hold her, inhaling the scent of her arousal deeply, gaining strength from the depth of her submission.
As the elevator carried him to the lobby of the Hyatt, Steven reflected on all that had brought him here. She had reached out to him after reading his story, “Mastering nikki.” An ever more provocative exchange of e-mail followed and soon he found himself seduced by her, enslaved by his slave. Oh, how he had yearned for this night that was finally upon him.
He reviewed the instructions he had sent her. She would be in the lobby promptly at six, dressed as instructed. She was to wear a black wool pleated skirt that ended exactly four inches above her knees. Underneath he ordered her to wear taupe thigh high stockings and have on her feet a pair of black patent leather shoes with 5-inch heels. On her ankle, over the stockings, she would wear the ankle bracelet he had sent. It was 18kt gold and spelled out his name for her, “lindaslut,” in script. The only other gold she was to wear were overly large hoop earrings. She was to have on a white silk shirt and a black velvet collar around her smooth neck. Underneath she would have a black satin corset, laced tightly, so her waist was 20 inches. He had instructed her to have her legs crossed in such a way that a small amount of flesh above one of her stocking tops would be visible to all who cared to notice. Finally, he had ordered her to buy the book, “Topping from Below,” by Laura Reiss, and be reading it, never looking up from it.
As the elevator neared the lobby, Steven appraised himself in the mirror. The black Armani suit and Italian black silk t-shirt looked well on him. His 50-inch chest and 19-inch arms, from years of weight training, strained the fabric just enough to give him the air of tension under control he liked to affect. The 45 years of his life had been kind to him, he mused. The dark, short, slick backed hair, the piercing brown eyes and cavalier mustache made many mistake him for a younger man, and in so many ways he was youthful, but in his wisdom, very old at times.
The doors slid open and he strode into the bustling lobby and immediately spotted her. His heart jumped in his chest, for he was able to detect her hunger for submission, her craving for punishment from across the room. It was so powerful he wondered if the others in the lobby felt it too, but he knew that only people like him and his lindaslut had the extra senses to detect things of that sort. They were two of a kind, different sides of the same coin, the punisher and the punished, and somehow kismet had brought them together this night.
He walked across the room and knew immediately she detected his presence as her mouth opened in a slight gasp. He watched her struggle with the urge to look up but knew she wouldn’t, though he knew that later she would certainly do something to provoke him, the need to be disciplined so great in her. He stood over her now and surveyed his prize, enjoying the sheen of her pale flesh through the spikes of the platinum dyed crew cut he had ordered her to get. She had carried out his mandate to her with perfection. As his eyes examined her form, he had trouble moving them off her perfect nylon sheathed legs. Marvelous. He watched her trying to make believe she was reading, and soon he began to detect her womanly aroma, as she grew wet with desire.
“Linda, look at me,” he commanded softly. She looked up from the book slowly until her eyes locked on his. At that moment the crackle of lightning filled the hotel lobby, but was only audible to them, the teacher and the supplicant. He lifted his right hand and placed his thumb on her painted lower lip as his nose drank in her musky scent. He pushed his thumb into her mouth, and like the good slave she was, linda began to suck.
The bustle of the busy hotel lobby froze like a surprise winter’s rain. Furtive glances were cast their way. The women onlookers feigned shock and disgust, while secretly wishing they were in that woman’s place. The men looked on with envy and lust.
Linda grasped her Master’s hand with both of hers and started to stroke his thumb in and out of her mouth, her slurping quite audible. “Stop!” Steven commanded in a half whisper and she did, in mid-suck. He removed his hand from her grasp and wiped his wet thumb on her rouged cheek. Linda returned her hands to her lap and cast her eyes downward, as she had been taught. Steven took her right hand and told her to stand. As she did, her short skirt caught, revealing the dark elastic bands of her stocking tops. She stood there exposed, trying to gain her balance in her “fuck-me” shoes. “Fix yourself,” he ordered. “Thank you, Master,” she replied as she smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. Steven then took both her hands in his and gently kissed her cheek. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered and Linda smiled.
Taking her by the hand he led her from the hotel to his car, a black Lexus SC400 coupe. He opened the door for her and enjoyed the sight of her skirt once again riding up on her perfect legs as she climbed into the seat. As he climbed behind the wheel he noticed that she had left her skirt above her stocking tops, knowing that he loved her exposed like that. He drove the car through the darkening streets in silence as his slave sat beside him, hands once again clasped in her lap, eyes cast downward. Soon they pulled up to a restaurant, “The Gilded Orchid.” Steven enjoyed the stares of the young valets poised at the entrance, as he helped Linda from the car, her shaved pussy, for a brief moment, quite visible to the boys.
It seemed that all eyes in the eatery looked up as the striking couple entered. The willowy, heavily made-up woman in the oh-so-high heels, short skirt, and platinum crew cut, and the powerful looking man all garbed in black. Soon they were seated and Steven spoke, “Sit on your hands.” Linda obeyed her Master, placing her hands beneath her ass. In a moment the waiter appeared and Steven ordered an Absolut and tonic for her and a Pelligrino spring water for himself. When the drinks appeared Steven sipped at his, watching Linda, arms straight at her side, hands beneath her, eyes looking down. He picked up her drink and brought it to her lips. “Drink,” he whispered. He tilted the glass as she parted her bee-stung lips and inhaled the alcohol, the warmth of it immediately coursing through her body. “Finish it,” and she did, gulping it down as he tilted the glass further and further, but just enough so that she was able to complete the task without spilling a drop. He was so considerate, her Master, she thought as she drank.
“Look at me,” he said as he placed the now empty glass down, the ice cubes gently tinkling. “I will order for you. When your food comes, I will cut it up for you and feed it to you. When you want more you will say, ‘Bite, please,’ and I will put the food on the fork and place it in your mouth. If you are thirsty, you will say, ‘Drink, please,’ and I will hold the glass to your lips. All during the meal I want the middle finger of your left hand to be working your clit. If you find yourself approaching climax you will ask my permission to cum. Understand, slut”?
The seat underneath her was already soaked with her arousal as she moved her hand beneath her skirt and whispered, “Yes, Master.”
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