0 comments/ 50471 views/ 30 favorites Jennifer Takes A Dare By: kalkstein1970 "Truth or dare?" said Leanne. Jennifer thought about it. Or tried to – after three glasses of wine she was more than a little buzzed. "Truth," she said at last. "Ok," said Leanne eagerly. "Have you ever let a guy tie you up?" Jennifer's eyes widened. "No!" she exclaimed, her face reddening. It might have been the wine, but she didn't really think so. "I'm not into that stuff." "I'm not surprised," said Francesca. "You've always been such a little prude, Jen." Jen stuck her tongue out at Francesca, who responded by sticking out her own, and wiggling the tip suggestively. This made Jennifer blush even more. "What's wrong, Jen?" said Francesca, sliding closer to her on the sofa where they were both seated. Leanne sat across from them on a metal folding chair, watching with amusement. They were at Leanne's apartment near the University of Michigan campus, where they were all seniors. "I know you want me to eat that hot little pussy of yours. Mmmmm, yummy!" She made lip-smacking noises. "Cut it out!" said Jennifer, elbowing Fran in the side. Her arm met the soft firmness of one of Leanne's breasts. "Ooohhh, you felt me up, you dirty girl!" Fran exclaimed, her dark Italian eyes gleaming with mischief. "You like these titties! Come on, admit it, you want these big double D's." She cupped a boob in each hand and lifted them toward Jennifer's face. Leanne was laughing like a loon, tears running down her face. "It was an accident," Jennifer protested. "Can we please play?" "We can play any old time you want, Jenny baby," teased Fran, licking her lips sensuously. Finally Jennifer smiled. "Ok, ok, fine. I've had a lesbian crush on you since ninth grade. You finally figured it out, Frannie." That broke all of them up, and it was several minutes before Jennifer had regained her composure enough to ask the next question. "Truth or dare," she said, turning to Fran. Without hesitating, Fran answered "Dare." Jennifer tapped her nails against her wineglass thoughtfully. "Okay, here's one. Kiss Leanne on the lips." Fran rolled her eyes. "Puh-leeez!" she said with exaggerated indignation. "Is that all?" Looking across the table at Leanne, who was smiling at her naughtily, she said, "Pucker up, baby." Leanne did, and the two of them leaned across the table and locked lips for ten full seconds, by Jennifer's watch. "Mmmmm, niiiiiiice..." cooed Leanne playfully, batting her lashes at Fran. "You know it," Fran said. "Best you ever had." She looked at Jennifer. "Satisfied?" Jennifer said, "Yeah, all right, I guess it'll do." Then it was Fran's turn to ask Leanne, "Truth, or dare?" "Truth," said Leanne, taking a sip of her wine. "Hmmmmm..." Fran looked at Leanne as if sizing her up. "Have you ever given a rimjob?" She grinned wickedly. "Ewwwww!" said Leanne. The wine seemed to have made her revert to middle school slang. "Come on!" said Fran. "Oh, what the hell," said Leanne. "Yeah, once. Senior year." Fran's eyes went wide and she giggled. "You bad, bad girl! Who?" Leanne shook her head vehemently. "Uh-uh. Nope. I answered the question. That's it." "Oh, fine, then," said Fran. "Jen's turn." "You take my turn, Fran, I have to pee." She got up hurriedly and went off to the bathroom. "My, what a small bladder you have!" Fran called after her. Leanne flipped her a middle finger without looking back. Fran and Jennifer both laughed. "Okay," said Fran, turning to face Jennifer squarely. "Truth, or dare?" Against her better judgment (the wine talking, she supposed), Jennifer said, "Truth." "Oooh, goody," said Fran eagerly. "I already know what I want to ask you. What is the kinkiest sex fantasy you've ever had?" Oh, fuck, thought Jennifer. Not that. She should have known Fran would come up with something like that. There was no way in hell Jennifer was going to reveal that particular secret. She herself didn't like to think about it, but the alcohol combined with Fran's question made it spring up in her mind like an evil little jack-in-the-box. She thrust it back into her subconscious, but not before the old, familiar images showed themselves on her mental movie screen: her high school science teacher, Mr. Spellman, and his office, and his desk, and her bent over that desk with the side of her face pressed against the wood and her bare ass receiving a hard spanking by Mr. Spellman himself. Tom Spellman had been the crush object of several girls, Jennifer knew, with his runner's physique and thick black hair streaked with gray. Hers had begun on the first day of her biology class with him her senior year. The spanking fantasy had begun a little later, when he had kept her after class to talk to her about her grade, which had been slipping thanks to the distracting sight of Mr. Spellman's gray-streaked black hair, which Jennifer discovered she liked. A lot. It didn't hurt that he had the tightest butt she'd ever seen on anyone over thirty. But his hair...it had been hard for her not to think about running her fingers through it, stroking it, twisting her fingers in it. Her guilty fantasy had just popped into her mind as he talked to her that day, right then and there, fully formed, almost making her gasp aloud with its clarity and erotic force. It had returned frequently in the following months, but she had managed to refrain from masturbating to it, which would somehow legitimize it, she felt, and she didn't want that. Crushing on a teacher was one thing; fantasizing about getting spanked by him was another thing altogether. Now, with an effort, Jennifer cleared the images from her mind and said, "Dare." Fran raised her eyebrows suggestively. "She chooses dare! You must have some bad thoughts in that head of yours, Jen." "Just give me the dare," said Jennifer, more curtly than she had intended. She was trying not to blush again. "Okay, okay." Fran picked up her purse from the floor and rummaged around in it. She produced a small piece of paper and held it out to Jennifer. She saw that it was a bar napkin. There was a phone number written on it. Jennifer took it and stared at Fran. "What the hell is this?" "That, girl, is a phone number I picked up last weekend at that club downtown. You know, Flash? Anyway, I got talking to this hot guy there and after a while, he slipped me this. Turned out not to be my type." Jennifer turned the napkin over in her hands. "What, and you think he's mine?" she said with disbelief. "It's not what you think, hon. He's a professional dominant. He's looking for a new submissive." At that moment Leanne returned and sat down. "So? Was it truth or dare?" "Dare," said Fran. "Jen has to call a professional male dom and tell him she'll be his sub." Jennifer didn't know how to react. A big part of her (the prudish part, she supposed) was shocked at the idea. But some other part, some deeper part, was excited at the thought. She stared down at the phone number, and images of spankings drifted through her mind. Hell, she thought, it's just a phone call. It's not like I would really do anything. ---------- A week later, Jennifer found herself sitting at a corner table, alone, at one of the best restaurants in Ann Arbor. It was Saturday night, and the place was crowded. She sipped a glass of Chardonnay (which was damned good) and watched people coming and going through the ornate cut-glass front entrance. She was watching for...well, she didn't know his name. She had been told to address him as Sir when they met, and nothing else. Jennifer had turned heads when she had entered the restaurant twenty minutes earlier. On his orders, she had dressed much more provocatively than she was accustomed to, and it had embarrassed her a little to have so many eyes fixed on her, which she supposed was the point. She wore a sheer, extremely tight black dress that ended just a few inches below her ass, black fishnet stockings, and shiny black stiletto heels. She had dolled up her face with black mascara, deep red lip gloss, and very light rouge that accentuated her cheekbones. Her hair was styled in waves that tumbled down her back and framed her face. Underneath it all she wore a tiny G-string that was currently rubbing against her pussy in a not entirely unpleasant way, and a sheer push-up bra that exposed her cleavage above the top of the minidress. On the whole, Jennifer reflected as she sat, butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart racing, she felt like a high-class hooker. Which she was sure was also the point. It had been his voice that did it. After screwing up her nerve at Leanne's place to make the call, it had rung on the other end of the line at least fifteen times before being answered. "Yes," a man's voice had said, and not as a question. The voice was deep, sonorous, calm, assured. Jennifer's breath had caught in her throat at that one word. Small electric tingles had raced through her, radiating from her pussy. She had tried to speak, but found her mouth had gone dry. Everything around her – Leanne and Francesca, the sofa, the apartment – had faded into the background in seconds. She had held her cell phone pressed to her ear, wanting to speak, but utterly unable to do so. "You may speak," the man on the other end of the line had said. "What is your name?" "Jennifer," she had managed to whisper, becoming aware that her pussy was damp now. Leanne and Frannie had watched with amusement, but Jennifer had only heard that voice, that beautiful deep voice that seemed to penetrate her body like a seismic vibration. "Jennifer," the voice had repeated. "Do you want to meet me, Jennifer?" Without pausing to think, she had whispered, "Yes." "Louder." Some part of her mind had protested that she was being ordered around by a complete stranger, but that part was distant and faint. "Yes," she had repeated, not whispering this time. There had been a long silence, and then the voice had said, "Yes, you may meet me, Jennifer." This had been followed rapidly with a date, time, and location, along with a description of how she was to be dressed for the occasion. The voice had made her repeat all of the instructions, then the call had been abruptly disconnected, leaving Jennifer holding her cell phone in a daze, looking at Leanne and Frannie as if surprised they were there. "Well?" Fran had asked impatiently. Jennifer had hardly believed her own words. "I'm going to meet him." Now, sitting and waiting, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, she realized that underneath the case of nerves that had hit her when she'd walked into the restaurant, she was excited. She had never been adventurous, hadn't slept with many guys (certainly not as many as Frannie and Leanne), wasn't a partier, and she kept telling herself that her excitement came from the adventure of it, from the newness of the experience. And no doubt that was part of it. But she couldn't deny the warm glow in her crotch, and the stiffness of her nipples under the minidress and bra, and the half-formed images that kept floating through her mind like lazy clouds: spankings administered by a big, strong hand; crawling naked on all fours around a man's feet, his hard dick bobbing over her head; commands given to her in that deep, sonorous voice she had heard on the phone, commands she was powerless to resist. Jennifer squirmed in her seat. She felt glaringly out of place, dressed like a whore in such a high-end public place, and she felt like everyone was watching her out of the corners of their eyes, marking her as a hooker waiting for a "client." She checked her watch, and noticed that he was fifteen minutes late. It occurred to her that this, also, was probably intentional. After another glass of wine she had become uncomfortable enough, in spite of the alcohol, that she decided it was time to leave. Disappointment and relief washed through her in equal measures as she collected her purse and began to get up. That was when she saw him. She happened to glance across the restaurant to the main doors, and a man was standing there, watching her. He was tall, over six feet, with heavy facial features that were at once rough and handsome. His hair was very dark, and well-groomed. He wore a well-tailored suit. Her overall impression at her first sight of him was one of calm authority – he radiated it even from across the crowded room as he stood regarding her with deep-set eyes, leaning casually with one elbow on the maître-d's stand. Jennifer's breath stopped and her eyes widened. Slowly, without even fully being aware of it, she sat slowly back down, never taking her eyes off his. Her breath began to come a little faster. She had no idea how long he had been there, watching her; she hadn't seen him come in, although she'd thought she had been keeping a close eye on the door. She waited, unable to move, waiting for him to give some sort of cue about what would happen next. She didn't have to wait long. Less than a minute after noticing him, Jennifer saw him raise one hand and beckon for her to come to him. She stood, and slowly made her way between the tables and around the waiters with trays piled with food. Her tight dress and high heels made it impossible to move quickly even if she'd wanted to, which she didn't. He didn't move as she approached, keeping the same relaxed pose against the maître-d stand, and as she got closer she began to notice fine lines around his eyes, nose, and mouth. She thought he might be around fifty, maybe older, maybe a little younger. It was hard to tell. There was a small, enigmatic smile on his lips. He was clean-shaven, but Jennifer saw a fine black stubble on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. There were flecks of gray in the stubble, and she noticed also that there were small dashes of the same gray through his hair. Finally, she reached him, and stood in front of him, her eyes fixed on his face. She felt very small, not only because of the difference in their heights (she saw now that he was at least six inches taller than her), but because of his...presence. That was the best word for it, she thought vaguely as her mind whirled with conflicting feelings of apprehension and excitement. He had presence. He would dominate any room he entered, and would lead any conversation in which he participated. She knew that for a certainty, even though he had yet to say a word. And the effect of being so close to him now was undeniable – Jennifer's pussy was damp and she had to fight the urge to kneel before him, unzip his expensive suit trousers, slip her hand in, and... "Hello, Jennifer." His voice snapped her out of her fantasy like a whiplash. In person, his voice was so much more penetrating than it had been on the phone, and it held her attention completely. "H-hello," she said softly. She felt awkward and stupid, not knowing what else to say. "Relax. I'm glad you are here." His words almost felt like physical objects sliding warmly into her, the deep resonance of his voice producing a sympathetic vibration in her head, in her chest, and between her legs. At once, she felt less nervous...and much more aroused. In fact, some part of her thought, I'm fucking horny as hell. She screwed up her courage and asked, "What's your name?" He answered her with his own question. "Jennifer, do you want to be my submissive?" The bluntness of it made her blush. It didn't help that the area where they stood was crowded with well-dressed patrons and restaurant staff. He hadn't spoken loudly, but it still embarrassed her that somebody might have heard him. "I...I don't know. I think I want to try it." He nodded, as if expecting this answer. "Yes. I will give you five hours to decide whether to make your submission a long-term affair. Your trial period begins now." He looked at his watch; it was dull silver in color, and looked expensive. "It's now seven PM. At midnight tonight, I will expect you to have made your decision. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Good. Now repeat the words 'I am a dirty cocksucking slut' as loudly as you can." Jennifer blinked. "What?" she said through suddenly numb lips, feeling sure she hadn't heard him correctly. But a small voice inside her said otherwise. That voice knew exactly what he had said, and why he had said it. "You heard me." His face darkened with displeasure, and Jennifer realized her hands were shaking. "You will be punished later, in private, for questioning my command. The next words you speak will be 'I am a dirty cocksucking slut,' spoken loudly." Oh my God, what the hell am I getting into, she thought, but she couldn't deny that hearing this man say the word "punishment" excited her. Thoughts of her little spanking fantasy surfaced briefly. As loudly as her dry throat would allow, she said "I'm a dirty cocksucking slut!" There was a sudden silence in the restaurant, and every face turned to stare at her. Forks stopped halfway to mouths, conversations were cut off as if with a knife, waiters froze with trays of wine glasses held aloft. She could see shocked looks everywhere; one elderly couple just coming in through the front doors stopped in their tracks, and Jennifer saw identical expressions of horror on their staring faces. In another moment, the maître-d, a small bald man with gold-rimmed glasses wearing a tuxedo, bustled over to them with an expression like he'd just bit into a lemon. "Ma'am," he said archly, looking at Jennifer's reddening face over his glasses. "That language is entirely inappropriate for this establishment. I must insist that you leave immediately." To Jennifer's horror, there were claps of approval from several patrons. She felt so humiliated she could scarcely breathe. She looked at the man she had come here to meet, and saw that the enigmatic smile hadn't left his lips. He was regarding her with a measuring, disinterested gaze, as if sizing up her reaction to what was happening. Of their own accord, tears spilled onto Jennifer's burning cheeks. She stared at the floor, and somehow forced her legs to move. Unsteadily, suddenly feeling lightheaded, she managed to make her way out through the main door, past the elderly couple (who backed away from her as if she had some contagious disease) and into the night. But as she went, she realized that underneath her embarrassment, she was hornier than ever. ------- The man whose name Jennifer still did not know followed her out. He took one of her wrists in his, not gently, and directed her toward a BMW parked near the entrance. "You will spend tonight with me, Jennifer," he said as they walked. Jennifer tried to focus on his words but the combination of her shame at being kicked out of the restaurant and the feel of his strong hand on her wrist made it difficult. Her throbbing pussy didn't help matters, either. "Don't worry. I won't require you to come to my home. Not until you have decided you can trust me. We will spend tonight at a hotel." The hotel turned out to be the Ann Arbor Towers, one of the best in the city. Jennifer wasn't surprised. They checked in under the names "Mr. and Mrs. John Smith," and were given a key card to a penthouse on the top floor. During the elevator ride up to their suite, he said, "You asked earlier about my name. You haven't earned the privilege of knowing my name, or calling me by it. You will address me as sir. Nothing else. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir," said Jennifer, the second word sounding strange in her ears. Her heart was racing as she stood in the oak-paneled elevator car, wondering what the night would bring. "Good." The rest of the ride was silent, and at last they arrived at their floor. The hallway was sumptuously appointed in dark carpeting, wood panels, and hidden lighting. Their penthouse was at the far end of the hall. They walked to the door, and he opened it with the key card. He entered first, then beckoned for Jennifer to follow. Jennifer Takes A Dare She entered, and her breath was taken away. It was palatial. Jesus, she thought, it must fill up half the floor. Beautiful marble, brilliant crystal, rich hardwood flooring, luxurious furniture – she could scarcely take it all in at once. She merely stood, eyes wide, looking around the suite in dumb wonder. He quickly grew impatient. "Jennifer. Come." He was waiting by the open doorway to what looked like a bedroom; from what she could see, it looked as big as her entire apartment. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." She walked quickly to him, her heels clicking loudly on the wood floor. Once inside the bedroom, which proved to be even bigger than her apartment, Jennifer stood and waited for his next command. She didn't have to wait long. "Strip." Oh fuck, she thought, he's going to see just how fucking horny I am. Her pussy was sopping now. But she didn't want to disobey that voice. She took off the shoes, and slowly peeled off the minidress, until she wore nothing but the little G-string and sheer bra. It was cool in the room, and her flesh broke out in goosebumps. Her nipples stiffened and pressed against the bra's smooth fabric. "Keep going," he ordered. He was behind her, but she was too nervous to turn and face him. "Yes, sir." Her hands trembling slightly, Jennifer slipped the G-string down her legs, and reached around to unhook the bra. Despite having done the same thing thousands of times, her fingers wouldn't work now – she fumbled the snaps and felt her face reddening. "Faster." He sounded angry. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I'm so nervous..." She continued to pull futilely at the snaps. Goddammit, she cursed to herself. Why can't I do this? Suddenly she felt one of his hands grab the bra strap and the other bat her fingers away impatiently. She gasped as he took hold of the strap in both hands and pulled it apart, hard. The snaps gave way almost immediately, with a sound that was as loud as a firecracker in the quiet room. The bra dropped to her feet, the broken ends of the strap trailing tufts of elastic. I'm bare-ass naked in front of this man, she thought. It made her want to squirm and cover herself with her hands, but she didn't dare. Besides, she thought, I think I'm actually getting off on this. Am I? Jesus, yes, I am. She felt a small tickle on the inside of her left thigh. It was cunt juices. God, but she was horny now. So goddamned horny. What she felt now made her arousal in the restaurant seem like nothing. "When I tell you to strip, you do it immediately," he said, his voice low. "I'm sorry, sir," Jennifer whispered, staring at the floor. "Louder!" The sharp tone in his voice made her gasp. "I'm sorry, sir!" "Better. When I tell you to speak, you do not whisper. Is that clear, slut?" "Yes, sir!" The word "slut" echoed in Jennifer's whirling mind like a shout in a cavern. He called me a slut, she thought over and over. He called me a slut! "Raise your arms over your head and clasp your hands together." "Yes, sir!" Jennifer did so, increasing her feeling of exposure. Lifting her arms up not only took her hands away from her body, but it lifted her breasts and made her stiff nipples point straight ahead in a decidedly pert manner. She heard his footsteps, and a moment later he came into view in front of her. He was looking her over intently, measuring and taking stock with his eyes, every curve and fold and private space on her entire body seeming to be open to his inspection. It was the most intensely vulnerable feeling Jennifer had ever had. Juices continued to trickle down her left thigh. "Go to the bed and put both hands on the footboard. Now, slut." Jennifer moved to obey. The bed was a king-size with heavy dark wooden headboard and footboard; the footboard was about three feet high. She had to bend over to grasp it with both hands. It forced her to stick her ass out. Without warning, something smacked her right ass cheek hard. Her left cheek received a smack a moment later. Jennifer shrieked, as much with shock and surprise as with pain, and a stinging burn bloomed where the blows had landed. It hadn't been his hand; it had been something smaller and harder. Without thinking, she glanced over her shoulder in time to see him standing a couple of feet behind her holding a short, thin, flexible paddle that looked like it was made from black leather. It was about two feet long and perhaps three inches wide with a handle on one end. She had no idea where it had come from; he certainly hadn't brought anything into the room. "Keep your eyes front," he barked. "I'm sorry, sir!" Jennifer whipped her head back around immediately. "This is your punishment for questioning me in the restaurant, slut. Take it. Keep your eyes straight ahead and your filthy little mouth shut." "Y-yes, sir..." Jennifer said shakily. "Louder." "Yes, sir!" she cried. THWACK! Jennifer shrieked as his first real blow landed on her ass. The first two had been love taps compared to this. "Quiet, whore." THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! He spanked her three times in rapid succession with the wicked leather paddle. It took all her willpower not to cry out again. She felt tears begin to fill her eyes again. She blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of them before they could spill down her cheeks. Fuck, but her ass hurt! "Do you like getting spanked by your new master, little slut? Do you like discipline? Do you enjoy being punished?" THWACK! "Oh, God, yes, sir, oh, Jesus, I love it, sir!" Jennifer was helpless to stop the flood of words. "Please, sir, please, don't stop!" It was true, she realized, as her master continued to spank her – she was loving every second of this. It was her fantasy fulfilled, and it was even better than she'd imagined. -------- When the spanking session was finally over, he allowed Jennifer to lie on the bed on her stomach, her burning ass upturned. The bed was deep and soft and comfortable, though, and the pain subsided after a few minutes, leaving her butt with a warm glowing sensation that was actually very pleasant. And her pussy – oh, God, her poor aching pussy! Jennifer couldn't remember ever having felt the desire for sex so deeply before in her life, the need to be penetrated by a man over and over again, to be fucked hard and fast. Now, as she lay on the bed, resting, he sat across the room in an overstuffed leather armchair, lounging comfortably, doing something with his smartphone. She studied him as she lay there – what struck her most about him was the thick shock of black hair with its flecks of gray. It made her think of Mr. Spellman, and she suddenly wanted to get up, walk over to him, and plunge her fingers into that hair. She would luxuriate in it, bury her hands in it, curl her fingers through it. She moaned inwardly. These thoughts were making her even hornier, and he had given her strict instructions not to masturbate while she was resting. She hadn't been surprised that he had known just how much the spanking had excited her – her pussy juices had been streaming freely down both legs by the time he had finished with her. "Come here." His voice interrupted her thoughts, cut through them like a sharp blade. There was no question of not obeying that voice, she realized, as she rose from the bed and crossed the room to stand before him. She was still fully nude, and again she had to fight the urge to cover herself with her hands. "Did you enjoy being spanked, whore?" "Yes, sir, I loved it, sir," Jennifer said eagerly. "What is the proper response to someone who has given you something you like?" "Thank you, sir, thank you for my spanking, sir." "Louder." "Thank you, sir, thank you so much for my spanking, sir!" He nodded curtly. "Better. Kneel." Jennifer dropped to her knees in front of him. She was now staring at his abdomen, clad in a white Oxford shirt. He had removed his suit jacket and tie earlier. He crossed one leg over the other and presented one of his shoes, a black wingtip polished to a high shine, to her face. "Worship my foot." "Oh, yes, sir!" Jennifer surprised herself with the eagerness with which she began this task. Bending forward, she began to kiss the polished leather, inhaling the fragrance of rich leather and shoe polish. She kissed and licked his shoe carefully, all the way across the top, over the laces, as far back around to the heel as she could get, until the entire upper part of the shoe had been bathed in her saliva. Then her master turned up his shoe so she could reach the sole as well. The sole was dirty, with bits of sidewalk grit and grime stuck to it. Jennifer saw what looked like a small wad of chewing gum clinging to the heel. She hesitated, not wanting to lick the filthy surface. Suddenly, his hand was in her hair, pulling hard on it. "Owww!" Jennifer shrieked. "I told you to worship my shoe, whore. Lick the bottom clean. Do a good job, or you'll be punished." "Yes, sir!" Jennifer cried through tears of humiliation. She bent forward again, steeling herself for the taste of his dirty shoe bottom. And it was every bit as disgusting as she'd thought it would be; several times she had to will herself not to gag as she licked and kissed it. The piece of gum was the worst, but she knew if she left it there her master would punish her severely. She was learning that he was very strict and expected his every command to be obeyed immediately and without question. She peeled the gum loose with her tongue and spit it onto the floor, then licked the spot where it had been until it was clean. Finally, her tongue aching and tasting like stale turds, she leaned back on her knees. Without a word, he carefully removed his shoe and inspected her work. Jennifer felt apprehension growing with every second that passed in which he didn't speak. Would he be upset? Would she be punished for missing a spot? She was certain she had cleaned every square inch...wasn't she? "You've done well, slut," he said after a couple of minutes. Relief washed through Jennifer in a warm wave. Relief, and pleasure at having pleased him. "Now, clean the other shoe." She bent to the task immediately. When this shoe was also cleaned to his satisfaction, he told her to lie down on the bed, face up. She padded across the room, her slick pussy lips rubbing together exquisitely. She lay down on the bed, on her back. It was very comfortable, with a rich brocade coverlet and what felt like down pillows. But Jennifer hardly noticed; all of her attention was on her master as he crossed the room to the bed and sat on the edge of it, close to her head. Then, he began to stroke her cheek gently with the fingertip of one hand. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the throbbing tingle his touch produced. Her legs shifted, and she moaned almost inaudibly. "You are doing very well so far, little whore," he said softly. "Do you want more?" Jennifer didn't need to think about it. "Yes, sir, please, I want more, sir," she whispered. He slapped her very lightly on the cheek. "Louder, slut." "Yes, sir, I want more, please, sir!" Her eyes were still closed, and suddenly she felt one of his fingers, long and limber, slide between her legs and probe into her wet sex. She gasped loudly and her eyes flew open as a shock of pleasure sizzled through her body. Her skin tingled and her nipples stiffened. God, it felt so fucking good! He slipped another finger between her thighs. He slowly massaged her labia and rubbed gently across her engorged little clit, making her buck her hips upward, her body greedily trying to get even more pleasure from the touch. His hand moved with her, massaging and rubbing and squeezing. Oh, fuck, Jennifer thought through the fog of pure sensation that had wrapped her brain in a gauzy film. Oh, it feels so damned good... An orgasm began to build deep inside her, like a spark growing into a flame that threatens in turn to burst into a fireball. She realized dimly, as if it were coming from far away, like a faint radio transmission, that she was begging and pleading with him not to stop, to let her cum, to please let her cum. His fingers rubbed with greater urgency, pushing her to the brink, and she held her breath in anticipation of the ecstasy. Suddenly, his hand was gone. A loud whine escaped from Jennifer's throat, and she thrashed her hips and legs instinctively trying to bring the pleasure back, her brain shrieking with frustration. She opened her eyes and saw him walking away from the bed. "Sir, please, please," she begged in a hoarse whisper. Her poor cunt was aching with need. "Please, sir, I was about to cum." "I know that, whore. That's why I stopped. Get up." Trying to clear her head, Jennifer stood up from the bed. "Come here." He was standing by the door to the suite, putting on his tie, which he had left hanging on the doorknob before her spanking. She went to him, heart fluttering. He extended one hand to her mouth. "Clean your slut juices off my fingers." "Yes, sir," said Jennifer, and took his fingers into her mouth. "Gently," he warned. She took care not to let her teeth scrape across his skin. His fingers tasted of cologne and...her. She sucked at them eagerly, enjoying his taste mingled with hers, enjoying the intimacy of having her master's fingers deep in her mouth. As she sucked and licked, she looked at his hair. This close, it looked sexier than ever. The black with gray flecks...again she found herself wanting to stroke it, wrap her fingers in it. She wondered if she would ever get that chance. God, she hoped so! He took his fingers out. "Very good. Now, get dressed. We're going out." Jennifer went to her clothes, which were still on the floor by the bed, and picked up the G-string. She stepped into it and wriggled it up onto her hips, feeling the thin cord between her legs dig into her swollen pussy. She stifled a groan. The bra was useless. She picked it up and turned to him. "Leave it," he said. "You won't wear one tonight." "Yes, sir." Jennifer pulled on the fishnet stockings, sitting on the edge of the bed to roll them up her legs. Then she slipped the minidress over her head and snugged it down over her body, adjusting the hem with a few tugs. The nipple erections she had were obvious to anyone who cared to look: the hard little buds poked the fabric of the dress into two small tents that projected straight ahead. The slight friction of the dress against them only made it worse. She didn't know how she would be able to go out in public, but she would have to bear it. She found her fuck-me heels and slipped them onto her feet. Then she stood and presented herself to her master. He looked her up and down for a moment, frowning, then reached out with both hands and pulled the hem of the minidress up a couple of inches. Jennifer could now feel cool air against the very lowest part of her ass cheeks, and she knew that part was now on full display. "Sir, please..." she whispered, her eyes lowered. "I can't...I don't think I can walk around like that." "Yes, you can, slut, and you will." The utter certainty in his voice somehow made her feel a little better. "I expect that dress to stay exactly where it is. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good. We are going to a small, very intimate bistro downtown. I expect it will be quite crowded. It's a very casual place, with a lot of college students. Your provocative outfit will make you the center of attention, I think." A hot flush began to creep up Jennifer's neck as she anticipated the embarrassment of walking into such a place dressed as she was. But, underneath it, she felt an undeniable rush of pleasure. It was the thought of following his commands and pleasing him, she knew, even if doing so made her suffer. ---------- They drove to the bistro in his BMW, and he found street parking a block away. The sidewalk was crowded with people. Before they got out, he retrieved a small red velvet bag closed with a black cord from the back seat. Jennifer wanted to ask what was in it, but decided she would probably find out soon enough, and she sensed that she wasn't allowed to ask. They got out of the car and wound their way between the other pedestrians toward the restaurant. As the walked, Jennifer felt eyes on her, front and back: a middle-aged man with a beer belly and two young kids in tow stared openly at her nipples as he passed them; a group of fraternity brothers hooted and catcalled from a sidewalk café, saying things like "Nice dress!" and "Damn, can that thing be any shorter!"; someone, Jennifer didn't see who, hissed "Slut!" in a stage whisper from somewhere just behind her. And she did feel like a slut, a hussy, a tramp. In a word, she felt cheap. And she had to admit to herself that she was actually enjoying it, at the same time as she felt the humiliation burn in her cheeks. They reached the bistro, a tiny place called Mark's, and as her master had predicted, it was packed. They had to wait twenty minutes for a table, during which time they stood, at his direction, in the middle of a small throng of older men in business suits. Their ties were loosened, and they had clearly been enjoying quite a few after-work drinks. They commented loudly on Jennifer's ass, tits, nipples, and legs; three of them managed to cop feels on her ass, and a fourth "accidentally" brushed hard against her breasts, almost making one nipple slip out. During all of this, her master watched her carefully. She knew he was gauging her reactions, and she felt a strong need to please him, so she tried to focus on the arousal she was feeling instead of the embarrassment. She even managed to smile once or twice at men who made comments about her, trying to make the smile look wicked and sassy. She had no idea how successful this was, but it encouraged the oglers to make even louder and more obscene comments. Finally, a waiter came to tell them their table was ready. With her master leading her firmly by the hand, they entered the bistro. A loud hum of conversation filled the room, punctuated by an occasional burst of laughter. Jennifer saw several people turn to stare at her; one woman, dressed in a smart, business-casual outfit and sitting with another woman dressed similarly, stared at Jennifer with her eyebrows raised, then leaned close to her friend and whispered, pointing at Jennifer. Both women giggled like schoolgirls. Bitches, Jennifer thought. Their table was in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by other tables, all of which were full. But they didn't sit. Instead, her master led her past the table and on to the back of the room, where the bathrooms were. Without pausing, he pushed open the door to the men's room and pulled her in. She almost protested, then realized he would certainly punish her for it, and kept her mouth shut. The bathroom was the one-occupant kind anyway, so she need not have worried, unless someone had seen her go in and complained to the management. He locked the door behind them. Her master set the velvet bag down on the closed toilet and opened its drawstring. He reached into the bag and produced something that at first glance looked like some kind of harness, and her heart leapt into her mouth. Was he going to restrain her here, in public, in this crowded restaurant? Fuck, she hoped not. That would be more than she could handle. He must have seen the look of fear on her face, because he said, "Don't worry, slut, you'll enjoy this, I think." "Are you going to...tie me up, sir?" she asked quietly. He looked at her with mild surprise. "No, of course not. You don't know me well enough yet for that." Relief washed through Jennifer. Thank God, she thought. But then, what is that thing? She saw now that, although it had straps and buckles, it wasn't a restraint. At the center of the straps was a pink plastic object. It was a...butterfly? Yes, a butterfly, Jennifer thought with a sense of the surreal. Jennifer Takes A Dare In one swift motion, he went down to one knee and pushed her minidress up around her hips, exposing the G-string and its flimsy triangle of fabric that barely covered her mound. He hooked his fingers around the G-string and pulled, breaking it with a loud snap. He tossed it aside. "You won't be needing that anymore." "Yes, sir," said Jennifer, trying to refrain from plunging her hands into his hair. His head was right below her, at waist level, and it was so fucking tempting... "Spread your legs." She obeyed, walking her feet outward, no easy task in the fuck-me heels. Her master then took the straps of the harness and fastened them snugly around her upper thighs, and as he tightened them she felt the rough nylon webbing rubbing against the sensitive flesh. The plastic butterfly now lay pressed against her pussy. He adjusted it, making her gasp as his hands brushed her skin. She felt a small, hard nub on the underside of the butterfly slide into place over her erect clit, pressing against it deliciously. There also seemed to be some kind of ridge underneath the butterfly, and this was now pressed in between her pussy lips, spreading them apart slightly. He made a couple of final adjustments, and stood up, apparently satisfied. "Pull your dress back down." Jennifer did, but only as far as he had told her she was to wear it. She looked down, and thankfully the straps fastened around her thighs were not visible; the dress was pulled too low, but not by very much. The plastic butterfly, she discovered, was flexible and allowed her to walk normally, or as normally as she could with the sensation of constant pressure on her clit and pussy. "It feels good, sir." He nodded. "Yes, it does. And it's going to feel even better soon." He took another object out of the velvet bag and showed it to her. It was a small black rectangle with a small button and a dial on it. "This is a remote control. The butterfly between your legs is a vibrator." Jennifer's eyes widened. "A vibrator, sir?" "Yes. You will wear it throughout our meal here." Without warning, he pressed the button. Instantly, exquisite pleasure bloomed between her legs as the butterfly buzzed against her clit and aching pussy. A loud moan escaped Jennifer's lips, and her knees began to buckle. She caught herself on the edge of the sink. "Oh, God..." she whispered. "It feels wonderful, yes?" "Oh, God, yes, sir, so nice, so nice," Jennifer said, trying not to moan again, afraid the people out in the restaurant would hear her. Her legs were squeezed together awkwardly as she tried to extract as much stimulation from the vibrator as possible. "Right now it is on setting one, the slowest speed. The dial on the remote control goes up to ten." He paused, letting this sink it, then clicked the vibrator off. Jennifer made a disappointed sound in her throat. "Don't worry, slut, you'll get more. Plenty more. Come." He unlocked the bathroom door and held it open for her. At least a dozen heads turned to stare. -------------- They sat at their table and a waiter approached, giving Jennifer a strange look but saying nothing except, "Drinks for you tonight?" Her master ordered for them both, a glass of pinot noir for himself and a gin and tonic for her. She hated gin and tonic, but that didn't matter. She kept looking at the hand she knew held the remote control, praying he would turn it on. But he didn't. The minutes stretched out endlessly, the plastic pressing her clit and pussy, her juices trickling out from around it and dampening her minidress. The drinks came, and she sipped hers, trying not to grimace at the taste. "You don't like your drink, whore?" he said suddenly, his hypnotic eyes watching her face closely. "Tell me the truth." "Well...no, sir, I don't like gin and tonic very much." "Drink it all. You have three minutes. Starting now." "Wh-what sir?" He had spoken so rapidly Jennifer wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. He frowned, and her stomach dropped. "You heard what I said. Drink it all. Two and a half minutes left." Jennifer suddenly didn't want to know what would happen if she failed to carry out his instructions. Bracing herself, she raised her glass to her lips and took a large swallow. It burned down her throat, and the oily taste of the gin made her want to vomit. But she managed another good-sized swallow, and then there was only a little bit left in the glass. Steeling herself, willing herself not to throw up, she tossed back the last of it. Then she stifled a horrible-tasting belch with the back of her hand. "Good girl." Her master smiled. "You deserve a little reward." He turned on the butterfly, and she saw him move the dial. The exquisite buzzing began again, but more intense this time, and Jennifer groaned out loud and clutched the edge of the table. She was vaguely aware of people and the surrounding tables turning to stare at her. Oh, but fuck it felt so good on her horny little clit and her greedy pussy! Panting, squirming in her seat, she tried again to maximize the sensation as she had done in the bathroom. The unmistakable beginnings of an orgasm began to tingle deep inside her wet cunt. Then it stopped. The frustration was mind-bending. She was sure she would scream, barely managing to stop herself by shoving the knuckles of one hand into her mouth. Her pussy burned and throbbed mercilessly, crying out for sexual release. She looked pleadingly at her master, who only gazed back at her with his impenetrable small smile. Their waiter returned, eyeing Jennifer. Several other people around them were doing the same thing, including the two bitches in the smart outfits. The crowded little room was starting to feel stuffy, Jennifer realized, starting to feel too small. God, how her cunt ached... Her master placed their food orders, and Jennifer hardly heard him. She had noticed that a knot of people had formed on the sidewalk outside the bistro's big plate glass window, and they were staring in. They were all men, and they were all staring at her. In fact, she realized with dawning humiliation, it was the drunk men that had felt her up outside, while she and her master had been waiting for a table. They were all watching her now, a couple of them with their jaws literally dropped open, all of them with hungry, lewd expressions on their faces. She had no idea how long they'd been there, but from the way they were looing at her, Jennifer guessed they'd seen her reaction to the buzzing butterfly. Shame and embarrassment mixed with frustration and horniness in equal amounts, making her head spin. She didn't know now whether she wanted him to turn on the butterfly again, she was so confused, and so fucking horny... She heard a faint click then, and the intense buzzing pleasure that exploded through her drove out everything else. He had turned up the speed again, she knew that as surely as she knew her own name. She struggled against the urge to just shove her hand down there and start masturbating frantically. The buzzing felt so damned good...but it wasn't quite enough! Then, something happened that made Jennifer think she was going to lose her mind, right there at their table. Her master began to slowly twist the dial up and down, causing the vibrations to slow down, then speed up, then slow down again, over and over. The remote now sat on the table, and the forefinger of his right hand rested lightly on the dial, casually twisting it back and forth at random intervals. It was the most intensely erotic, most intensely frustrating thing Jennifer had ever felt in her life. Waves of pleasure washed through her, pushing her towards the climax she needed so badly, then receded, leaving her high and dry and aching. Then the waves would return, drenching her, and then recede again. Her mind reeled in confusion, her body quivered, tears of need rolled down her cheeks. "Please, sir, please, sir, please, sir," she said over and over again. "No." The vibrations stopped. Then she did cry out, a low scream that vented at least a little of her maddening frustration. The little thing pressed so intimately against her sex was just a piece of dead plastic again, immobile, giving her nothing. She ground her ass and pussy against the seat, but it was no use. She looked around, suddenly aware that the entire room had gone silent and every single person was staring at her. Some were frowning, some were laughing, most looked puzzled. Outside the window, the middle-aged perverts were all slack-jawed now, practically drooling at the sight of Jennifer in her slutty outfit, getting off in the middle of a crowd of people. "Please, sir, can we go?" she whispered, staring down at the table. "No." "Oh, God, sir, please! Everybody's staring!" "Quiet." Her mouth snapped shut. Their waiter returned with the food, and retreated quickly. Her master began to eat. Jennifer looked down at her own food, a seafood quiche with a Caesar salad, and realized she was ravenously hungry. The other patrons were mostly looking away now that the show appeared to be over. Jennifer knew it wasn't, but dug into her meal nonetheless. He turned it on again when she was about halfway through her salad, driving her to the brink of orgasm again. This time she managed to stay quiet, but sweat stood out on her forehead and her teeth were clenched as she fought the urge to scream again. Then the vibrations stopped, for the moment. Her master allowed her enough time to catch her breath and eat a few more bites before vibrating her pussy yet again. This time the shocks of pleasure racing up from her clit and pussy were more intense than ever, and she was sure she would have a screaming orgasm whether she wanted it or not. Which she did. Oh, fuck, did she ever want it. But her master seemed to know exactly when to cut off the vibrations so as to deny her the final push she needed. He turned off the butterfly again. "That was level eight," he said. "The next time I turn it on, it will be at level ten, the highest setting." Jennifer looked at him, sweat dripping down her forehead now, legs trembling, her breath coming in gasps. "You will cum, slut. You will cum very, very hard. Do you understand?" She nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir," she said. "As you climax, you will tell everyone in this restaurant that you are a slutty little whore who loves to be fucked by big cocks. You will scream it as loudly as you can. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir," Jennifer said, nodding again, almost frantically this time. "Yes, I understand sir. This little slut understands." She was so horny, she would do anything to be allowed to cum, she knew. Anything. "Good. Eat." She obeyed, hardly tasting her food now, bracing herself for what was going to happen. Please, please, she thought, please let him turn it back on, oh fuck, I need it so bad... Her master's finger twitched, and the buzzing, tormenting little butterfly switched on, and the vibrations made her suck her breath in with a small squeal and drop her fork. It clattered onto her plate. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, she thought incoherently. The overload of pleasure rushing to her brain from her pussy limited her thoughts to just that one word, over and over again. She ground her ass into the seat furiously, her head thrown back, her neck muscles straining, sweat rolling down her face. Distantly, she heard her master's deep voice, cutting through the orgasm that was shaking her body. "Say it," he commanded. Jennifer remembered. She knew he would turn off the vibrator before her climax was over if she didn't say the words he'd told her to say, and the thought of that was worse than any humiliation she might experience. She tried to focus through the ecstasy, and forced her mouth to make the words. "I'M A SLUTTY LITTLE WHORE..." she yelled hoarsely. Gasping for breath, she tried to finish the sentence. "...WHO LOVES TO BE FUCKED..." More gasping. "...BY BIG COCKS!" Then she gave herself over completely to the delicious pulsing ebb of her climax, and the warm afterglow that followed. She slumped down in her chair, breathing hard, eyes closed. She barely noticed now that the vibrations had stopped. It didn't matter. She had never felt so satisfied. "Open your eyes," her master ordered. "Yes, sir," she said, and obeyed. Shocked faces surrounded her. Everybody was staring. Some were agape, some were laughing at her, some were whispering to each other. The waiter was frozen halfway to their table, as if he were afraid to get any closer. The men outside the window were making obscene gestures at her; one of them stuck out his tongue and flicked the tip up and down rapidly, like he was eating pussy. She had degraded herself in front of a room full of strangers. She had called herself a cocksucking whore at the top of her lungs. She had orgasmed in public. The humiliation was intense. Tears came to her eyes and her face and neck felt hot. She stared down at the table, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Mercifully, her master didn't make her look up. But underneath the shock and embarrassment, she couldn't deny to herself that she was getting aroused again already. ------------- She hardly remembered walking out of the bistro and to his car. The humiliation had been utter and complete; the owner of the bistro had come to their table and threatened in a loud voice to call the police if they didn't leave at once. Stares had followed her all the way outside and down the street. Not once had Jennifer been able to raise her head more than was absolutely necessary to keep from running into things. But during the drive back to the hotel, her embarrassment had dissipated quickly, the now-familiar pulsing in her clit and pussy replacing it. She was definitely getting horny all over again, and Jennifer knew it was a result of her humiliation at the hands of her master. What's wrong with me, she had wondered silently as they drove. She didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe there wasn't anything wrong with her, and this was just what she got off on. All she knew for sure was that some part of her had liked it, and liked it a lot. They arrived back at the hotel and went up to the penthouse, where he immediately told her to strip. She obeyed quickly, with the butterfly being the last thing she took off. "You did well tonight," he said. "Thank you, sir," Jennifer replied demurely, looking down at her feet. "Let's see if you enjoyed yourself." He was standing close to her, and without warning he dropped to one knee and thrust his hand between her legs. Jennifer gasped, as much with excitement as with surprise. He massaged her pussy lips for a moment, making waves of pleasure course through her. Then he pulled his hand out and stood up. "It seems you did, slut." He held his fingers up in front of her face. They glistened with her own wetness. "Yes, sir," she said. "I guess I did, sir." "Tell me you loved it, whore." "I loved it, sir." "Louder." "I loved it, sir!" "Open your mouth." She obeyed, and he stuck his wet fingers in. "Clean them off." Jennifer did, tasting herself on him as she had earlier that night. He pulled his fingers out. "You have earned a reward. Lay down on the bed." "Face up or face down, sir?" "On your back. I'm going to eat your pussy." "Thank you, sir!" Jennifer squealed with delight. She lay down eagerly, with her knees up and her thighs spread. Her master knelt on the bed between her legs, and bent forward to give Jennifer her reward. What followed was an eternity of teasing pleasure, of being pushed toward orgasm, then pulled back, then pushed a little further. He used his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his hands and fingers; she clutched the bed sheets like a drowning woman, screamed and begged incoherently, thrust her hips against his face uncontrollably. When he finally forced her to cum, he pushed three fingers deep into her pussy and finger-fucked her roughly as the orgasm broke over her. The sudden feeling of being violated by his strong hand ratcheted her orgasm up to into the stratosphere, and it felt to Jennifer like she would keep cumming and cumming forever. Eventually, she came back down to reality, spent and satisfied for the second time that night. As she lay on the big comfortable bed, eyes half-closed, hair tangled, feeling relaxed, he asked her a question, and she had a ready answer. "It's midnight Jennifer," he said, watching her from a chair across the room. "Your trial period is over. Do you want to continue this little adventure?" She turned to look at him, and answered without hesitation. "Yes, sir. So much, sir. Thank you, sir."