2 comments/ 26738 views/ 1 favorites She Learns Her Place By: MJStories Prologue "I have a great idea," I told you on the phone. "There's this sort of club where I'm a member, and it turns out they're having a meeting next week. It's always a lot of fun, and since the meetings are open to anyone, it's the perfect opportunity for us to meet for the first time." "That's great, Mark," you quickly agreed. "Just give me the details and I'll be there." You were so excited that you never stopped to think that I had never mentioned this "club" before, and you had no idea what the meeting was. But you didn't worry. Why should you, if I was going to be there? Two evenings later, the big moment had arrived. The meeting was being held in a small ballroom in one of downtown's largest, fanciest hotels. I had told you that the dress would be "nice casual," so you arrived at the hotel wearing a dress you'd purchased for the occasion. It was basic black (the old reliable), not too short and not too snug, but it fit nicely and, as you were feeling adventurous at the store, it had a low cut front and back, to show off the toned body you had earned at the gym. Of course, underneath you were wearing a demi-cup and thong -- black, lacy and also purchased for this special occasion. Your stay-up hose and low heels completed the picture. You took a deep breath as you walked up to the meeting room I had named for you. There was no sign outside, but this seemed to be the place. The rest of the rooms were empty on this weeknight, and there were about 20 people already inside. As you walked in, you wondered if you had to register or anything, but the man at the bar gave you a friendly smile as if to say that "walk-ins" were expected. His glance relaxed you, but you still felt nervous, given that we had waited so long and this meant so much . . . For the next 20 minutes or so, you just mingled around as more people gradually arrived. All in all, it was difficult to describe the crowd. They seemed to range from about 25 to 35 years old, so you were at the younger end of the range, even though you saw a few people who seemed just over 20. There was an even mix of men and women, and of all races. Some looked like couples, a few in larger groups, and some seemed alone. They seemed to belong to no particular group, that is, not white-collar or sports fans or investors or travelers, and you wondered what the point of this "club" was. Some of the people seemed to see each other every day, some were catching up on long-past old times, and others seemed to be new arrivals. You thought you heard mention of branches of the club in other cities, and a few people seemed entirely fresh, like you. The only thing they had in common is that everyone seemed relatively fit and happy, and they all seemed definitely happy to be there, as if this were really a special occasion. As time passed, however, you began to feel as if something were a bit strange. Well, not strange, but certainly slightly off, not what you expected. You didn't see anyone even vaguely resembling me, so you started to wonder if you had the right time, the right room. You did make small talk with a few people, but you didn't feel comfortable doing so until you knew that you were in the right place. But there was something else too, something in the way a few people acted. You got the feeling, every once in a while, that as you neared a group they would suddenly stop talking, as if they didn't want you to hear what they were discussing. You even thought you saw someone pointing you out to his friends, and smiling in your direction. But you had to attribute this to your nervousness. It was obviously a difficult situation. Then it was really odd. You walked behind a man and a woman talking, and you could have sworn you heard the woman say "I hear she's really something, and doesn't suspect anything. We should have a lot of fun tonight." When she saw that you were there, she looked surprised, a little angry, and embarrassed. You quickly walked away as you felt her and her companion's eyes following you. If you weren't so confident in me, you would have really felt yourself getting the creeps. A few minutes later, you were just about ready to go when there was a stir in the room. The doors were closed and the lights were dimmed to highlight a small stage against one wall. You saw that the stage was empty, aside from what looked like a few musical instruments covered with a cloth. "Maybe for another evening," you thought. The group came to attention and turned to face the stage, with anticipation and a few giggles. You noticed that the bartender and the waitress who had been serving hors d'ouevres had left. Then, a young woman took the stage and addressed the crowd. The room was small enough that she didn't need a microphone, and everyone had moved to that side anyway. You found yourself in about the middle of the group, and you couldn't help but feel caught up in the general anticipation and good feeling. "What kind of show is this?" you wondered. But in a few minutes, you found yourself becoming disappointed, and really wishing that I would arrive, right now, and take you out of this situation. The woman was definitely annoying you. She was drop-dead gorgeous with a perfect body, long and lean, which was not at all hidden by the very short skirt, trim jacket and half-open blouse she wore. But, she had the attitude of someone who knew how attractive she was, making cute comments and pandering to the audience. Moreover, she also acted like she were so privileged to be up there, like she was in on some special joke. Oddly enough, though, most of the audience seemed to like her, and they laughed heartily at her silly jokes. They seemed to empathize with her, as if they longed to be her, with her ability to be up there on the stage. They weren't turned off by her over confidence. You couldn't see why, though, as most of what she was talking about seemed to be some sort of club business -- announcements about other members and upcoming events -- that was so vaguely described you couldn't make sense of it. But as you were surrounded by the others and the room was so small, you didn't really want to just walk out. (Though you definitely felt that no one would mind at all if you did -- at least that assured you.) Finally, it seemed like the evening would get underway. "Let's get started, shall we?" she said smoothly. "Who'd like to go first? Any volunteers." She looked out across the eager faces. Everyone seemed ready to go, but they didn't want to be first. Finally, she settled on a young Asian girl about your age. "How 'bout you? Don't be shy, come on up." As she scampered up to the stage, you wondered if she'd start out, "My name's Julie, and I'm a ...." This little joke brought a grin to your face. But it was nothing so dramatic. The woman got on stage, gave her name as Linda, and proceeded to banter with the hostess. Just little jokes, funny things she'd done over the past few weeks. The hostess gently teased her, prodding her with little innuendoes, but you couldn't see the point. The rest of the audience seemed to enjoy it, they were getting warmed up. Next was Steve, who sang a silly little version of The Twist. Many of the women in the audience seemed to think he was cute. "Maybe they know who he is," you thought to yourself. Then Claire came up, and told a story about how her cat had run up a tree and she had to call the fire department. Silly. Then Bill came up, and the hostess had a field day with him. He started to tell, very shyly, a story about how a woman at his office was always flirting with him. The hostess really pressed him to tell more, didn't believe he hadn't done anything, almost seemed to be teasing him. You almost felt sorry for him -- he looked really embarrassed. But he was smiling when he left the stage. This went on for about 15 minutes, and you could only wonder "why?" The people had no connection to each other, I wasn't there, it just didn't make sense. Again, you were about to turn and go when the hostess said, "Well, that finishes our opening, why don't we get the show on the road!" She said that last phrase with a really silly over-emphasis, but the audience seemed so excited by it that they gave a little cheer and pressed further to the stage. You just couldn't leave now. "Well, as you know, we'll need a volunteer." This line got a bit of a laugh from a few members of the audience, and you noticed that she did say it rather sarcastically -- almost as if she meant the opposite. "Let's see, who's out there," she said, putting her hand above her eyes and pretending to scan the audience. The anticipation was thick in the air -- everyone wanted to see who it would be. "You there, you look ready." You froze. She was looking at you, wasn't she? Almost reflexively, you quickly glanced behind you, making her and most of the audience laugh. You shuffled from side to side, at first you didn't know what to say. "Yes, you," she said, "come on up here!" She sounded almost like a game show host, but there was this very odd quality. You weren't sure she was kidding. "Oh, that's ok," you said meekly. The room was quiet. "I mean, not me. Someone else can go." No reaction. You looked around the room to see if there were any other suitable candidates, but everyone was looking at you. "I just got here. Actually I'm just looking for someone." A pause. Silence. "You don't seem to understand, Jennifer," the hostess said, "I'm not asking you to volunteer." Her words caught you off guard. You were sure you hadn't given your name to anyone. Reflexively, you took a step back and looked at the door. No one was blocking your way. "Now you be a good little girl and come on up on this stage," she said. Those words caught your attention. Her tone had changed too, and you recognized it. You knew it was a command, a command you were too curious to refuse, a command you wanted to obey. As you turned and walked to the stage, you felt your heart beating right out of your chest. Everyone was looking at you and smiling. At first you thought that maybe this was a surprise party, but you knew that was a stupid idea. You were grasping at straws, something to make you avoid thinking that you knew what was going to happen, that you had known all along. And that's why you had stayed. At the foot of the stage, you paused. You didn't know if you could go through with it. "Get on up here, Jennifer, and make it quick." A command, again. You lowered your head, took a deep breath, and mounted the stage. Walking slowly to the center, trying desperately to keep your eyes level and your back straight, as you'd been taught. When you arrived and turned to face the audience. The hostess seemed to relax and you felt all the pairs of eyes examining you. Waiting to see what you would do for them. She reached over to brush your hair back, and in that one gesture seemed to assert something over you, as if you were on display, almost. You didn't flinch. She asked you a few quick, innocuous questions. Where abouts you lived, where you went to school. You answered smoothly as you both relaxed and tensed yourself at the same time. Glad that it started ok, knowing that something more was on its way. At this point, the hostess turned from you and walked slowly away, supreme in her confidence that you would stay put and answer her questions. "Now let's see if you're everything we've been promised." "That's odd," you thought in a millisecond. "On your knees, Jennifer." She said calmly, as if she were telling the time, still facing out to the audience. Just looking at the side of her face you could see that she had a smug expression on her face, as if you would never do this and she was sharing some stupid joke with the audience. "What's the matter, Jennifer," she said sarcastically, turning to face you. "Aren't you as obedient as we've been told?" That last sentence drilled right into your mind and raced so quickly your head spun. Yes, your head spun -- as you felt your knees bending and you lowered yourself to the floor. You saw her face light up in a huge smile. As if she couldn't believe her good fortune. "Amazing," she said, as the audience began to applaud, even cheer. You only kept your level expression, knowing that you had proved it to them, and thereby proved it to yourself. It became very hard to keep your composure though, as you heard her say, "I think it's about time we bring him out, don't you folks?" You had to fight very hard to keep your head from jerking around when you heard someone approach the stage from the back. You knew I would have been very displeased if you had done so, although I knew how eager you were to have your first look at me. In the flesh, as it were. I quickly granted your desire. I walked around to face you, and you saw I was wearing brown leather pants, rather snug but stylish, with low boots, a green silk shirt and a soft-shouldered linen jacket. Very relaxed, very authoritative. A man you really wouldn't want to argue with. Then, I bent over slightly so that you could get a good look at me. Right into my eyes. In that one glance, you knew that you had done well and all was just fine again. You were thrilled, but you knew that the way to show it was to remain composed. My look assured you that you understood the situation correctly. "Isn't she wonderful," I said to the group, and they laughed as they saw how proud I was. I put my hand gently around your neck and gave you a little caress, almost as if you were a pet -- no, not "as if," and not a "pet." I stroked you like that because you are my Slave. "She's really going to be wonderfully entertaining!" I said, and your heart raced, wondering what you would have to do -- that is, have the chance to do. "So let's get started right away," I said, as you heard the cloth being removed and some movement behind you. "Music??" you thought, incredulously. "Go ahead and take your position, Jennifer," I said as I nudged you to turn around. Your heart jumped when you saw what was there -- a large dentist's chair, a few scientific instruments, and a middle-aged man in a white coat. A very large screen TV was evident right behind the chair. "Ever seen 'The Marathon Man'?" I said, and the audience laughed. You had to admit, you were reluctant. We had just met. "I mean, come on," you thought. I went and stood next to the chair. "Don't make me force you, Jennifer. You know I don't have to." My smile had disappeared. "It's not going to hurt. Don't be silly. Get your cute little buns over here so we can begin." You knew that, after all this, you just had to do it. Besides, you were so curious. You moved over and settled in the chair. The man in the white coat came and adjusted a sort of headpiece over your temples. It was attached by wires to the equipment, which he started to fiddle with as you heard the faint buzz of the TV screen come on behind you. All of the audience looked up eagerly. I did too, and I had to smile when I saw my face on the screen. "This equipment, of course, allows us to share your fantasies, Jennifer. It also allows me to control ... well, let's say guide, what you fantasize about." You felt your heart beating harder. You probably would have enjoyed the whirl of colors that appeared on the screen. "This is your opportunity, Jennifer. This is a voyage we'll take together ..." ----- This requires that we go back a few years, to your last semester of college, when you had just turned 21. It's April, and spring is in the air. Most of your requirements have been completed, so you're just finishing out your time, as it were. You're living, alone, in a small studio apartment near campus. So, you are independent, but in a way, you are also a bit lost. You have no particular plans for after graduation, and no obligations either. Looking down the road, you can't really say where you are heading. One day, your friend Susan calls. She says that she has heard from a friend of hers (a friend of a friend, really), about 26 years old, who is coming to town for a job interview, and he needs a place to stay for a few days. For whatever reason, Susan can't do it, "would you mind if he stays with you?" she asks. "Sure, it's no problem," you answer. "But won't it be a bit strange, this guy staying in my apartment. I mean, I only have one bathroom." "Oh, don't worry," Susan says. "I know that he's a perfect gentleman. He's really nice; you'll have a great time." As she said that, Susan had to wonder in the back of her mind what you were worried about. "A man is probably what she really needs," Susan thought. "Ok, great. I'll be here," you said. A few days later, a Wednesday evening, I knocked at your door. The plan was that I would run a few errands on Thursday, my interview is on Friday, and I would leave Saturday morning. ----- The first moments after I came into your apartment were bound to be a bit awkward, as we didn't know each other at all. I put my things down next to the couch where I would be sleeping (there was also a small bedroom, with the bathroom attached), and we just started to chat. A first small talk, but there's nothing wrong with that -- what you were studying, the job I was looking for -- the details don't matter. Then, we started to talk about music, movies, TV, just sharing our opinions. As I was a bit older (a bit! :) and you were still a student, you were maybe a bit intimidated, wondering if I would think that you were just a silly kid. But those feelings soon passed. The thing you noticed about me was that I was absolutely straight forward. I offered my ideas directly to you without worrying that you would criticize them, and I would listen to you directly -- what you had to say. There was no artificiality, no reason to put on airs. About halfway through the conversation, you found yourself just looking at me. At my eyes. Forcing yourself to be objective, you would have said that I looked nondescript. Not particularly handsome, with a fit body but not a stunning physique. But looking at my friendly eyes, hearing me speak and watching me listen to you, you had the feeling that you saw something else, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, but it was a feeling you wanted to feel more. At that moment, you got just a little bit scared, because you wondered what you would be willing to do just to feel that feeling, to feel it more, to feel it stronger. But you shook that off when it was time to ... make dinner! You apologized to me that your kitchen was rather small, but I said that was no problem. "After all, the size doesn't matter, it's what you do with the equipment." After that comment, I had to dodge a playful swipe from your spatula and, if you had been honest with yourself, you would have realized that something physical had started between us. A physical feeling which only increased as we moved around the small kitchen. I wasn't an especially good cook, but you liked watching as my body moved around the kitchen, with a sort of confidence and ease that was not diminished by my general klutziness. And when you turned your back to me, you wondered if I noticed the same thing about you, if I liked what I saw. Of course, I did. Needless to say, in the course of preparing the meal, we had numerous opportunities to brush against each other, ("excuse me while I get the pepper" ... "oops, I dropped a tomato") but I was always the perfect gentleman -- which only drove you crazier. As you stirred the pasta sauce, you toyed with the idea of offering a bit to me to taste, maybe even on your finger, but you weren't quite ready for that. "I'm being silly," you thought to yourself, "maybe it's the wine going to my head." We finished half a bottle before we sat down to dinner. She Learns Her Place As we sat down to eat, I would have had to admit I was feeling pretty good. Here I was, with this delightful, beautiful young woman. She's laughing at my jokes. And what's more, we've just taken the necessary first step, we've completed a little project together. We've managed to put food on the table, and to share it, the most basic social function. Looking at you, I had to let my mind wander, to think where someone with my experience could take someone with your potential. Our comfortable discussion continued. You mentioned that you had just performed in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Raincoat." I mentioned that I had just listened to the entire soundtrack on tape! (A coincidence?) I told you that I thought the album was a lot of fun because it includes practically every popular musical style. That must be why it's such a popular play to perform, and also maybe why it's not usually noted as one of ALW's best. I also teased you by asking if you liked singing the chorus that consists of the words "grovel, grovel." You giggled, and wondered why I picked that line. All in all, one of the best meals we had in a good long time, and we probably didn't notice the food. You offer ice cream for dessert, and neither of us rushed away from the table. But then, another awkward moment. It's time to get some sleep. I arrived late, and our meal lasted a while. You being the polite host, you allowed me to use the bathroom first, and you had to suppress a smile when you saw me emerge in my sweats and a t-shirt. You couldn't have said exactly why you were smiling, but ... I settled into the couch with the blanket and pillow you provided. "Good night," and you turned to walk to your bedroom. You entered your bedroom, but you didn't want to turn on the light. You looked at your small bed. Empty. You looked around your room. It looked so feminine, your things scattered about. Was something missing? You turned around to close the door, slowly, not wanting to disturb the person in the next room, the person who had just arrived that evening, but . . . you paused right before closing the door. You hesitated. Then you closed the door softly. You remember standing at that door, not moving, for some moments -- long forgotten thoughts running through your mind. ----- The next morning, you awoke groggily. Thursday mornings were usually slow for you, because you had no classes. What's more, this morning you were off work, so you weren't in a hurry to get out of bed. However, after a few moments you heard a stirring in the kitchen. You almost thought it was a prowler until you remembered your houseguest. You smiled. After getting out of bed, you reached to put on your champagne robe, but you hesitated. For some reason, you just didn't feel comfortable wearing it, although you didn't permit yourself to realize that the reason you wouldn't wear it was that you were afraid it was too racy. Pulling on your thick, terry robe, you checked your hair in the mirror before stepping out to the living room. I was there, sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. "Good morning," I said, "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself." "Not at all," you replied, thinking, way in the back of your mind, "he could have helped himself to more than that." Otherwise, the morning was quiet. We looked at the paper. I prefer a quiet morning, and I wouldn't want to intrude on your routine. I also was in no hurry, as my first appointment was not until 11am. Eventually, I asked if you would mind if I showered first. "No problem," you said. You watched, seemingly impassive, as I rose from the table, put my dishes in the kitchen, and went to my garment bag. I withdrew a few items you couldn't quite see and headed to the bathroom. "There's a towel in there you can use," were your only words. You sat at the table, no particular thoughts in your head. Were you listening? You heard movement in the bathroom for a few moments, then the sound of the shower. You imagined the water flowing out of the shower-head. You remembered how often you had stood there, and felt the water flowing over your body. Vaguely, you thought about me in the same situation, though your thoughts were not yet what we could call "explicit." Remaining at the table, your eyes moved from the wall which separated you from the shower, to my bags, sitting next to the couch. All that I had was a garment bag that looked half-full and a small knapsack. You had to wonder what was in those bags. Sitting there at the table, listening to the shower run, you were almost ready to get up, to walk in that direction, when you heard the shower stop. It occurred to you that I must be getting out of the shower. A seemingly obvious thought, but it lingered in your mind. For only a moment that seemed much longer to you, you looked at the wall where you heard me shuffling around the bathroom. You felt something inside of you, a growing curiosity that you couldn't resist. Without thinking why you were doing so, you rose and went into the bedroom. The door to the bathroom was cracked open, but you wouldn't, of course, even look in that direction. Instead, you moved to the other side of the room, looking for something in your dresser. On top of your dresser is a small mirror on a stand. As you looked up, you noticed you could see in the mirror through the cracked-open door of the bathroom. You didn't move. After a moment, you saw me step into view, wearing a towel perched low, down around my hips. I had the body that I wish I had -- lean and toned, with lightly defined muscles covering my shoulders and chest, and a flat firm stomach leading down to muscular hips. You imagined, in a flash, putting your arms around that body as I leaned over yours, pulling those hips between your thighs, feeling me move -- so smooth, confident and graceful. You still didn't move. Apparently, I hadn't noticed you as I spread the shaving cream on my face. You smiled a bit as you noticed how this practice played to a man's vanity, giving him an excuse to look at and caress his own face. Still remaining motionless, you watched as the muscles in my arms, shoulders and back moved gently back and forth as I reached up to shave. The pressure from your crotch as your thighs pressed together was the only betrayal of your inner feelings. After a seeming eternity, I finished shaving. I stood before the mirror for a moment, my eyes dropping to look at my chest, my stomach. You looked too. My right hand moved from my face to my left shoulder, then fell casually across my chest and the muscles of my abdomen, over my belly button, until it lingered at the towel ... "Do it," you thought to yourself. We were both frozen in our reverie for just a moment, until I turned away from the mirror. Suddenly, without thinking, you panicked and scampered from the room. Ten minutes later, you were sitting again at the table, and I emerged from your bedroom, looking refreshed and sleek in my slacks and dress shirt. Without a word to you, I went back to my bag to shuffle around for a tie. As I stood before the mirror to do my tie, you of course noticed the line of my slacks. A few moments later, with just a casual goodbye, I was out the door. Finally, you could breathe normally again, as you felt your body relax. You'd heard of a "zipperless fuck," but this time you hadn't even got your clothes off. ----- You were left sitting at your dining table after I walked out. To coin a phrase, you were floored. Left wondering only how this man had insinuated himself so quickly and so perfectly into your life ... why I had such a powerful effect on you. And also wondering whether I was feeling the same thing. But, eventually you had to get up and go about your normal life. You went to your class and, although thoughts of me remained in the back of your head, you gradually tried to work yourself out of the tizzy you'd been thrown into that morning. You tried to force yourself to realize that maybe you were just imagining things ... maybe you had been feeling a bit low recently, and you had latched onto this fantasy to pick yourself up. On the other hand, there was nothing wrong in feeling good about yourself, and I certainly seemed to help you do that. With these thoughts running back and forth in your mind, you came home that afternoon to find me sitting in your living room. And for some odd reason, you found yourself completely surprised. You had given me a key, so the mere fact I was there wasn't what bothered you, and it wasn't that you'd worried that I had stolen something, or anything like that, it just seemed odd because I had said I wouldn't be back 'til much later. You wondered how long I had been there, and what I had been thinking. If you had looked further into your mind, you would have realized that you were wondering if I had been thinking of you. Anyway, the first moments that we were back together seemed a bit awkward. Maybe we were both a bit embarrassed, after our first moments of tentative "intimacy" the night before, and the next morning, we were now thrown off by the contrast with our routine lives. After awhile, though, things eased back to normal and we resumed our friendly chatting, with just the slightest hint of electricity between us. Every once in a while, when our eyes met .... well, it just seemed we didn't want to look away. I had to go, though. I was having dinner that evening with people who worked where I would be interviewing. I was therefore just a bit nervous, and you were very kind to give me some space. That evening, you went through the same contrary emotions ... alternately thinking of me and then forcing yourself to be "realistic." You never thought to ask yourself, though, what was so great about reality. Eleven pm rolled around, and I still wasn't back. No real surprise, but you hesitated about getting ready for bed. You just didn't know what would happen when I came back. Finally, you picked yourself up and went to your bedroom to change, because you would have to have an early start the next day. You went through your routine, enjoying the sensuality of brushing your hair, cleaning your face, etc. Gradually, as you moved about your bedroom and bathroom, you removed all of your clothes ... down to only the little lace panties you wore that day. Normally, you would have slipped into your PJs and gone to bed, but this night you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror, and you didn't turn away. You also didn't rush to get dressed. A little shiver went through your body as you wondered what would happen if I opened the door at that moment. But I didn't. Instead, you were alone in you apartment, finding yourself looking at yourself in the mirror ... looking at yourself with new eyes. Before I had arrived the day before, you had been critical of yourself. You had wondered what man would ever be interested in you. But now, there was a man who was interested in you (at least, I seemed to like you) without really looking at your body. I had seen you, of course, but somehow it seemed that in our conversations, I was more intrigued by what you had to say, by what was within your mind, than by your body. Oddly, you found that this only increased, in a positive way, your desire to improve yourself. It was as if I was challenging you to be better. By neither rejecting you, nor immediately accepting you entirely ... you felt a bit like a racehorse, forced to run laps faster and faster for a trainer who, though always encouraging, was never completely satisfied. Thus, you found yourself attempting to look at your own body the way I would examine it. Wondering whether I would be pleased by your soft hair, your full breasts, your tan tummy and your taut buns and thighs ... lost in this reverie, you turned back and forth before the mirror, wondering if you were up to the challenge I presented to you ... hoping that you were. Eventually, it came time to choose what to wear to bed. By habit, you reached for the same silk outfit you'd worn the night before, but your hand stopped right before picking it up. Though you thought you were being silly, you thought that I wouldn't approve. Already, if you had been honest with yourself, you would have realized that you were dressing for me. Almost compulsively, you dug around through your lingerie drawer -- way to the back, to items you hadn't worn in ages -- until your hand stopped, and withdrew a pair of silky bikinis that were so tiny, you wondered if you could still slip into them. With your heart beating, you slipped off the panties you were wearing and pulled the new pair up over your thighs, having to pull your legs tight together ("doesn't feel so bad") to slip them on. Slowly, you pulled the side straps over your hips as you saw yourself watching in the mirror, approvingly. They felt good. Letting your hand linger on one strap, you felt the pressure between your legs, and the tickle of the back up over your butt. They were so small, they soon rode up and slipped in between your buns. Feeling slightly naughty, you didn't move them back. You let yourself fall back onto the bed and raised your legs in the air. You felt so alive! Then, you rolled over onto your stomach and, almost losing yourself, began to press into the bed. But you stopped suddenly when you realized there was only one image in your mind -- my face, smiling at you. For some reason, you didn't want to go too far... Getting up, you were about to put on the terry cloth robe, when instead you took your silk champagne robe. Forcing yourself not to think about what you were doing, you pulled it tight around your waist, so that your naked breasts were evident beneath the thin material. ... You liked what you saw. Even though I still hadn't returned, you checked your hair in the mirror before walking out into the living room. But once you sat down, you instantly felt nervous. What would you do if I walked through the door at that moment. You tried to strike a casual pose and read a book, but you found yourself re-reading each sentence four times. You got up, and moved around your small living room, looking out the window to the night sky. Eventually, you felt you just had to lay down ... but you wouldn't get under the covers ... I might be back any moment. ... You woke with a start when your alarm went off at 6 am. You groggily looked over to the clock and for a second you couldn't think where you were. Then, the night before came back to you, and you looked down to see that you were still in your robe, with no cover. It had been such a warm night ... that must account for the slight bit of sweat that covered your body. Rising, as if still in a dream, you moved slowly to the door and peaked out. There I was, curled up on the couch in my sweats, dead to the world. It struck you that you had no idea when I returned, or what I had done then. You couldn't remember whether you had closed the bedroom door ... Then, you remembered with alarm that it was Friday... not Friday! You had a workshop that met at 7am! You found yourself shaking your head as you walked to the shower. When you came out, you moved to get dressed as quickly as possible. Just jeans and a light sweater, you told yourself. But you stopped when you saw those delicate panties where you had thrown them on the bed. Smiling slightly to yourself, you put them on again ... you didn't want that to change, even though you didn't know what "that" was. Leaving a quick note for me, you were out the door at 6:45. Again, the same experience, the same contradictory feelings in your head, all the while encouraged by those panties that just wouldn't stop tickling your butt! When you came home that afternoon, I was there again, and it was as if the whole scene had changed again. My interview had gone great. I was on top of the world and, quite frankly, my enthusiasm was turning you on incredibly. For a moment, it seemed that I was just about to grab you and kiss you ... and you wouldn't have minded at all. "This is my last night in town. We've got to go out and celebrate," I exclaimed, and you couldn't help but agree. Nevertheless, my choice of words struck you. "Last night?" you thought to yourself, "Already?" But also, "Go out? ... Is this a date?" As my happy babble continued, you found yourself becoming completely carried away. All you could do is happily agree ... perfectly willing to let me have my way tonight ... in every sense of the word ... until ... "Hey," I said, "There's a neat place that some people suggested to me today. They said it was the best place in town ... it's called Candy's. Let's go there." You were dumbstruck. You couldn't help but look at me and wonder if I had done this on purpose, or had I only been misled. Candy's was the most infamous singles' bar in town. The only reason someone would go there would be to pick up someone else. You'd never bring a date there! What did I think of you? Was I planning to just toss you aside. But I kept on talking about how this was such a great place, how I'd like to meet some of the people in this new town ... you just didn't know what to say. You were very tempted to just back down, to let me go on my own ... but you couldn't do that either. As it was only late afternoon, we still had a while to get ready. I had to make a few phone calls, etc. You piddled about the house, reluctant to get ready. When I had first mentioned going out, your mind had instantly raced through your outfits, rejecting them all. You were almost ready to run out and buy something new ... you still had time. But when I mentioned Candy's, well, you just didn't care. What did it matter? Would I even be looking at you? ----- You were left off feeling more than a little frustrated and disappointed by my choice of location to celebrate on Friday night ... you know, "Candy's". This was not at all what you had been expecting over the past two days, as I shared your apartment -- but then again, you asked yourself "why had I been expecting anything." With these gloomy thoughts in mind, you picked out a rather conservative outfit to wear that evening -- a sort of light brown pantsuit -- but it was not without its attractions. The slacks were just a bit tight and clingy to your firm little bottom, and the cropped jacket was tucked in at the waist to emphasize your bosom -- which was apparent beneath the white blouse you wore (three buttons open!). When you gave a final check in the mirror, you noticed just one problem: given the clinginess and light color of your slacks, you had a definite VPL. At first you thought, "the hell with it, who'll notice." But then, something slightly changed inside of you, and you thought about that evening's possibilities. Almost unconsciously, you opened your lingerie drawer and rooted around for something you had bought ages ago, tried on once, but never dared to try again. Finally, you found what you knew would be perfect this evening -- your only thong underwear. You slipped off your slacks and the prudish undies you had been wearing, and slipped on your thong -- taking just a moment to sneak a peak at your buns before covering them with your slacks, which now lay smoothly, and invitingly, over your cheeks. If you had allowed yourself to think about it, you would have noticed that at that moment, something changed. You had switched from being disappointed to seeing the opportunities that were before you this evening. As you settled onto your dressing chair and began the final preparation of your hair, you felt the thong gently caressing you, giving you just the slightest stimulation that would continue throughout the evening. A few moments later, another turning point occurred. I gave a discrete tap at the door and, at your invitation, peeked in at you. As you turned to look up at my face, two emotions struck you. She Learns Her Place First, you normally would have been disturbed by this intrusion on your quiet time, but with me, it seemed somehow different, somehow natural that I would be there at this moment. My presence in this intimate setting didn't bother you in the least ... in fact, you enjoyed it. Second, you noticed the glowing smile that creeped across my eyes when I looked at you. From that smile, you knew that all had not been lost, there was still a spark that could not be denied. After a second, during which we both enjoyed this feeling, I said "we still have some time before there will be many people there, why don't we go get some dinner first." "That would be nice," you said, not feeling the need to say anything more. I let you continue, and you now had a slightly different feeling ... just the slightest hint that you were preparing yourself ... Where would we have gone but to Houlihan's. We didn't get one of the private tables in the back, but a quiet table in a corner nonetheless. As we ate a simple meal, we chatted, and you felt those same feelings returning. Those feelings that you were melting into me ... it was not so much sexy this time as happy and fun, as our bodies occasionally, seemingly involuntarily, brushed up against each other. You just barely noticed an idea growing in the back of your mind, a question you couldn't quite define ... you were curious about what was going to happen that night. By the time we arrived at Candy's, your attitude about the evening had definitely changed: you were ready, and, by the looks of them, the people at Candy's were too! The place was nearly full of men and women between about 21 and 30. Each and every one of them visibly on the prowl. You couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement as we walked into and across the main room. Not only did you feel the looks of the men who were aggressively examining you (to this, you had grown to accept), but you also felt, and this was new, the searching glances of the women who, with only just a little bit more subtlety, were examining me ... deciding if they were going to make their move, or wait for me to do so. As you found yourself focusing intently on these women who surrounded us, you felt two emotions growing inside of you. Of course you were jealous and defensive, hoping to both ward them off and prove yourself to me, but you were also ... and this was a deeper emotion ... excited by the concept that it would be up to me to pick one of these women tonight. To see the looks in their eyes, to see them preparing to offer themselves to me, something inside of you was sparked. You didn't realize it then, but it was your desire to do the same. Glancing back at me, at my eyes searching over the room, you felt a surge of energy, a momentary surge of the masculinity, the aggressiveness, that I represented in this context. For a moment, you were both the searcher, and the chosen one. We arrived at a high table near the bar with two free stools. Only a moment after we settled down, and before we had even said anything, a young, attractive, sexy blonde, about your age, walked (or better yet, given her high heels, sauntered) by our table. Of course, my eye moved over her body, clad only in a short, tight, red cocktail dress (except for it being red, it was just about the dress you had wished you could bring yourself to wear that evening). When she passed our table, you were not surprised that she dropped her purse, and had to kneel down to get it. As you watched this scene across the table, you saw that she was now kneeling before me, and I was looking down at her with the same mixture of power and desire that you now realized you had been fantasizing about. She looked up and, as her gaze locked with mine, she paused for just an instant before making some silly excuse about how clumsy she was. "Not at all, you have to be careful in a crowded room like this," I said as I reached out to take her hand and help her to her feet. As we sat there for a moment, not two feet in front of you, you felt as if you were being torn in half. A part of you wanted only to leave at that very instant, to not be a part of this at all ... only to be entirely ashamed by what you had agreed to be a part of by coming here. But the other part of you was fascinated by what you saw, forced you to keep your eyes locked on the scene in front of you. This part of you fed on the sexual energy that was building between me and this blonde, this part of you was whispering in the back of your head, "ask her to dance." "Would you like to dance?" I asked. Before she could say "Sure," before we could even look at you, we were moving to join the bodies pulsating together on the dance floor. ----- As you watched me out on the dance floor with the blonde in the tight red mini-dress, you couldn't help but notice ... how good we both looked! When you had seen me earlier in your apartment, it's true that you were attracted to me, but not exactly in the way you now were. Despite my general clumsiness, you couldn't help but be excited by the way I had taken this woman directly out to the floor and was now moving my body, rhythmically and seductively, in front of her. You had never seen me so alive ... so virile ... you couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to ... The woman was obviously enjoying herself too, she enjoyed displaying her body, which was certainly worth displaying ... she moved herself unashamedly ... alternately thrusting her hips rhythmically and writhing seductively from side to side ... she left no doubt about the impression she wanted to convey, and you were struck ... turned on, in fact ... by her audacity. In fact, you were so enthralled by our performance, that when a rather nerdish guy asked you to dance, your simple "no thanks" was just a step above ignoring him. As the song wound down, you watched as the blonde and I parted company as simply and quickly as we had made our connection. We had finished ... we each got what we wanted ... and now it was over with no questions asked. I came back to join you and, as we sipped our drinks, we made some simple small talk. But what we said didn't matter. This first dance (even though we hadn't technically shared it) had energized us, had set the stage for that evening, so that your mind and body were filled with indefinite thoughts and feelings which words couldn't express. When I asked if you would like another drink, you only needed to let out a dreamy "hmm, hmm" and I knew what you wanted. You watched, hardly surprised, (expecting it, wanting it, in fact) when I met another woman, a brunette this time, clad in the least amount of clothing that she could get away with, at the bar. We talked for a minute or two and, as for you, I just had to set down your drink before heading out to the floor again, with the second one I had chosen. You only had to watch us for a moment, moving again to the seductive rhythm of the music, before you realized that you were fully in the mood. You turned your gaze to a group of three rather attractive men who had just arrived and were standing by the bar. You knew that, in this context, formalities were unnecessary, so you just strolled over to them and, reaching towards the cutest of the three, ran your hand along the lapel of his jacket. The expression of your face and body made everything clear to him, and his friends could only chuckle as took your hand and led you out to dance. This guy knew what he was doing on a dance floor, as well, and as you danced, you did not prevent yourself from focusing on his hips, on his shoulders, as you moved to match his rhythm, allowing him to direct your body, as you let yourself be carried away. What's more, to do so in this public context, among so many others doing exactly the same thing, only emboldened you, as you put even more emotion and passion in the twisting of your body. All the while, you never lost sight of me, dancing only 10 feet away. You hoped so much that I would look your way, but I never did, and you took this as silent permission to submit yourself to this new partner, to let him control your movements with his own. As this song wound down, leading directly into the next, there was a weird sort of reshuffle, as the various people on the dance floor simply moved on to another partner, without a word to the last or a greeting to the next. It's simply that, for a moment, everyone's eyes searched their surroundings hungrily, before locking onto their next partner. As you adapted your motions to the body of your next "mate," who moved with an energy and power that was ... impressive, to say the least ... you noticed that I had coupled again with the blonde, who had managed to work her way towards me again. You found yourself becoming incredibly turned on, as you had to move your body frantically ... but very pleasantly so ... to keep up with your partner, and as you wondered about this blonde, about what exactly she was after. By the time the second song was winding down to the third, your head was so lost in your fantasies that, for a moment, you didn't realize that you had spun around and were staring directly at me, barely a foot away from you. The third song began, a very rhythmic, pulsating, techno number, and you realized that, almost involuntarily, you had begun to move with me. Although you didn't notice at the time, you later thought that it was strange that, this being our first "encounter," it had begun so inevitably ... I was simply there, in front of you, and you knew that you were to move with me. But at the time, you were distracted by something else ... As we moved together, a very strange sensation, a sort of transformation, overwhelmed all of your senses. Gradually, the beat of the music, the beat of the song you knew so well, increased in importance until it dominated the rhythms of your body and your mind. Your vision began to shimmer as the others dancing around us slowly faded and then disappeared. Your sense of touch indicated to you only the powerful back-beat of the music, highlighted by occasional sparks when our bodies brushed, or even pressed, together. Your mind was also overwhelmed by images that you didn't so much "see" but rather sensed with some sort of intuition. Me moving in the kitchen with you, smiling at you over the meal we shared, standing in the bathroom and shaving before that mirror. You began to realize ... When the only things you sensed were your own body moving with the music and the vision of me moving to the same rhythm, another transformation, even more powerful, took hold. What was before you did not change, but what you saw began to morph, as I grew in your eyes from about your height to about 6'2". Moreover, my shoulders broadened, my chest expanded and the biceps and triceps of my arms bulged out of a shirt which now appeared about two sizes too small. Nonetheless, my hips and buns did not change, remaining as slim and tight as they are, as the muscles in my thighs grew until they were obviously straining against my slacks. Your own body seemed to undergo the same transformation -- with a tingling sensation, you felt your hips, thighs and buns become as lithe and lean, as taut and toned, as you had hoped so often when you worked out in the gym. Your stomach, too, became sinewy as you could almost feel the muscles slightly rippling around your midsection. Your breasts remained beautiful, perfect orbs, that were now held up prominently by muscles that stretched around, over your shoulders, and down slim arms and your smooth, inviting back. After this transformation, brought on by the power of the music, the delight of moving your body with mine, and the thoughts that filled your mind, you felt as if we had entered another world, a world all our own where everything we ever desired could be ours for the taking. All that we had to do was imagine, wish it to be true, and between ourselves it would become true ... and always be true. You wished this song could go on forever, and somehow, you suspected it would. Finally, as the music wound down and you heard the distant voice of the DJ say that she would take five, you remained in your reverie. Slowly rocking back and forth to the beat that still filled your body, you looked into my eyes as we shared a gentle, knowing smile. Already, if you had opened your mind to notice, you would have seen how easily we were slipping into our respective roles, how natural it had become. "thank you" you said in a whisper that only I could hear. It wasn't necessary for me to respond, as I looked back at you with a smile indicating that I knew exactly what was filling your head. A moment later, I reached out and gently nudged you on the shoulder, leading you back to the table where we had been a few moments (or was it a few years?) ago. We sat at our table together for a few moments, wordlessly sipping the drinks we had left behind, looking at each other, each thinking, without saying, just how good the other was looking at that moment. Then, the brunette I had danced with a moment ago came back, with a friend who appeared to set a new standard in "undressing while dressing." She was wearing only a gauzy crop top, hot pants and heels -- better than naked, for a man like me. You and I turned to look at them, and listen as they began their little patter. Even though they never glanced at you, you fully enjoyed the little performance they put on for my benefit. They told me about how they both would like to dance with me together, while all the time making clear to me exactly what they had in mind ... what they would be willing to do ... if I only would give them an indication that I would permit them to do so, to be mine, for that evening. You didn't even want me to ask you, you only wanted me to take them ... right there, in front of you. So that when I took them each by the hand, and led them out to the floor as the next song began, without me even so much as saying a single word in reply to them, you could only squirm back and forth on your little bar stool. "Interesting performance." You spun around to face the blonde, who apparently had been watching as long and as closely as you had, and by the look on her face, she shared what you had been thinking. She moved closer to you, brushing her body against yours in a conspiratorial manner. You didn't back away. "He's really looking good," she said, nodding towards me. "Friend of yours?" When you said nothing, she continued. "You know, a lot of people come to a place like this just looking to pick someone up. They can't see any further than what's throbbing between their legs. But other people really see the possibilities of a situation like this. There's a lot more that's available out there," nodding towards the dance floor, "than some hard pricks and wet pussy." In your current state, what this blonde was saying to you was almost too much. She seemed to know what you were thinking, in the back of your head, but when you were confronted by it like this, the crudeness was almost shocking to you. She appeared to notice your reaction. "Don't worry, honey," she said. "It's just that I can see that you haven't got such a ... limited ... attitude. And he certainly doesn't ... not at all ... " she let her voice trail off, looking at me. "You know," she said, "you shouldn't be ashamed of what you're thinking ... a lot of people like to watch." When she saw your sharp glance, she softened her tone a bit. "Don't worry, baby," she said, "I didn't mean you would have to watch ... "I could watch ... "he could watch ..." Again, she let her voice trail off as she looked into your eyes. Despite the strangeness of what she was saying, you didn't look away. A moment later, you both turned to look again, and watch me moving on the dance floor with my two young prizes ... all the while, you felt her body pressed against yours ... When the song ended and I came back to the table with my new friends, you just had to snap out of your reverie. This was all very interesting ... to say the least, stimulating ... but it was just more than you could handle for one evening. You said that you just had to go ... you would have no problem getting a taxi ... and though I made a pretense of objecting, I knew that you didn't want me to. You left the room, forcing yourself not to turn around to watch ... whatever that blonde might say. Fifteen minutes later, you were back in your apartment. So quiet, so distant from that Singles' Bar. With your post-party buzz, you found yourself wondering just what exactly had happened. You strolled over to your bedroom, and slowly undressed, absent mindedly tossing your clothes aside, letting your mind move lazily over what had happened since you had gotten dressed, only a few hours before. You looked up, and saw your own body in the mirror, naked except for the thong you wore ... a thong which now felt so natural. A few moments passed, a few moments you couldn't describe, until you leisurely slipped into a cropped t-shirt (no bra) and loose cotton shorts. You moved into the living room, put on some quiet jazz, and flipped through a magazine ... were you waiting? ----- After coming back from Candy's that evening, you alternately sat on the couch and tried to relax, or paced around your apartment, looking out the large windows to the view of the city, wondering where I was and what I was doing. You also found yourself wondering about what you had seen, and said, and done, and thought, that evening. Looking back on it now, you found yourself unsure of what exactly had happened, how much was real and how much was your imagination. But most of all, you couldn't quite understand how you had come to have such unexpected thoughts, and why you had the nagging sensation in the back of your head that you wanted something, something that almost repulsed you, and yet you found so fascinating. Your head was so full of new impressions and new ideas that you couldn't sort out where these new desires had come from. But, much as they confused you, these new feelings also exhilarated you, liberated you from constraints which you could no longer justify. You found yourself almost in a sort of dialogue, in your own head, with another part of your personality. You heard a voice that was encouraging you, reminding you of what you had seen and thought at Candy's. While another part of you, maybe the more rational part, said that it was just your imagination, you had let the drinks and the moment run away with you, and that you had to be more realistic. You had just about settled down, and even found your eyelids drooping, when you heard keys fumbling at the door. You quickly scampered over to the couch, looked at the magazine and tried to strike a casual pose. Quietly, I opened the door, tiptoed in, and shut it behind me. As you were sitting next to the only light in the room, you couldn't quite see me in the darkness, as I took just a few steps forward to the edge of the light. You could see only my dress shoes and slacks clearly. "I didn't think you'd still be up," I said. "I'm here," you responded softly. "Am I disturbing you?" "Have a seat," you said to me, while the voice in your head said, "Why should he ask permission now? He knows what he's going to do." After I sat down, you took a moment just to look at me. You couldn't quite read my expression. On the one hand, I was clearly still "up" from earlier that evening -- that was clear from the glint in my eye. But the rest of my expression was as composed as usual and, though you couldn't quite put your finger on why, it seemed that I was waiting for something, expecting something. You let your eyes drop from mine. I had taken off my jacket at the door, so your eyes lingered on my disheveled tie and my dress shirt, now slightly rumpled over my shoulders and chest.