*A Night in Submission *
I promised Paul I'd stop off at his place and stay as long as he'd have me. It was a long time since I'd seen him, and I was aching to. What you've got to know about Paul is that he's twenty-four, he's gorgeous, he's an intellectual, he has enough money that he doesn't have to work but holds a steady job – as a university lecturer -- anyhow, and is the kind of friend that makes everyone want to be his friend, generous, open-hearted, caring. I adored him, always felt shy around him – not because of anything he did to create that feeling -- and could not understand how he could even look at me twice, no less include me in his roster of friends. But he did.
What you probably don't imagine is that sometimes he is a girl. Not only does he dress up like a girl but he is a girl. At least, he is to me.
Anyhow I was looking forward to going to his flat, which is a good distance from my digs, but I was prevented when the car on the underground had electric problems. So I texted him to say I was sorry but if I hoofed it, it would be quite late when I arrived.
He wrote me back in an instant. "Be here! No excuses."
I got there an hour late. It was not my fault. What could I do? He really should not have been mad at me. But I am not in charge of his moods, and I don't really have the right to adjudicate them. I apologized for the delay, but he looked away, and said, "Well, as long as you are here, take me somewhere for dinner. You kept me waiting all this time. I hope we can find a place that will serve us at this hour."
I know that women don't like it when you say they look beautiful when they are angry, but the truth is Paul did, frightening, too, but beautiful.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked, nervously, eyes averted. Would he fly off the handle? The situation could be explosive.
"You figure that out," he said with contempt. "Take me someplace where I'd like to go. You ought to know my taste. Can't you make the effort to please me once in a while?"
We got a cab to go to Henry's. Paul pouted when were in the street and I suggested Henry's. I thought he liked Henry's. "You're gonna make me walk all that way, in heels?"
I didn't mention Paul was wearing heels, black mesh stockings and a slim-fitting, brightly-colored, sleeveless floral mini-dress with a scoop neck. He made heads turn. It was a warm evening. It wouldn't get dark till almost eleven. It was nearing ten now, and Paul wanted to eat on the terrace and see the moon come up. So I signaled a cab, and we got there in time.
Thank god, the meal was good. The steak was perfect. The champagne was cold and had the right effect. On the way out, after I paid the bill, Paul smiled and told me to call him Paulette. We walked back to Paul's place through the gardens in the moon-drenched dark, Paulette leaning on me as we walked, stopping now and then to kiss and fondle me.
"I think I could forgive you for your rude behavior earlier if you ask me to," Paulette said, sitting on my lap. We were back at her place.
"Forgive me," I said.
"Please?" she corrected me.
"Please," I corrected myself. "Please forgive me."
Paulette stood.
"Stay here. You need some discipline."
When she came back, she had changed and was wearing a short, really short, frilly black skirt above diaphanous black holdups circled at the top by black lacy bands. Her maddening thighs showed between the stocking tops and the hem of her skirt. The beginning of the upslope of her bubbly derrière just started to be visible too. She wore black stiletto heels and a torso revealing black tank top.
"Beg," she commanded.
I did not need to be told twice. I was completely in her power and totally dependent on her largesse. I fell to my knees in front of her.
"With your clothes on?" she chided. I kept doing the wrong thing. Without really standing up, in a crouch, I stripped out of all my clothes.
"Do you think I really want to see you expose yourself like that to me, like a dirty street corner exhibitionist?" she scolded.
"I'm sorry," I said, beginning to pull my briefs back on.
"Or dressed as male? Where are your panties?"
"I haven't any, Mistress."
"Here," she said, gracefully removing hers, holding them out to me at arm's length, and dropping them. She was standing before me only in skirt, heels, and stocking, her cock stiff and upright under the drapery of her skirt.
I put her panties on and bowed, and moved to take her cock into my mouth and begin to worship her as I burned to do. But she stopped me, pushing me away by my forehead.
"You must beg for it. It is not your right, Julia."
"Please, Mistress. I worship you. You are my Goddess. I adore you. Allow me to. Please Mistress. Please."
She stood haughty in her heels. I pleaded. "Please Mistress. I know I am a worm, infinitely beneath you, rewarded by you even if you only choose to punish me. I long for you. I desire you. I want to feel your cock throbbing in my mouth. Please Mistress, permit me to be your cock-slut, your pussy-slave. Please Mistress!"
She brought my head to her crotch. Her cock was hard. I cast my eyes upward to hers pleading. She looked down at me, as if from a distance, and nodded. I took her cock in my salivating mouth and lathered her with my devotion, taking her all the way to the back of my throat. I gagged but did not let go, but only felt my devotion strengthen and my cock get harder. She pulled my hair and danced with me until she exploded throbbing in me and I exploded on my knees at her feet.
Her cock softened in my mouth, but I could not let it go until she pulled my head away and smiled at me.
"Good girl, Julia," she said. "Beautiful cock slave," she said and caressed my tender nipples.
"Thank you Mistress," I whispered a slave to her in obedient, ecstatic submission.