"Humbling"
by GrandMoff
This is a fictional story, intended purely for the entertainment of readers. It involves sexual situations between women, i.e. (F/F...) There's also a bit of domination in this story-though it will take a form you probably aren't used to seeing. If this offends you, or you can't legally view this, please don't read the story. Any resemblance between these characters and any person is coincidental.
I saw the brunette in a corner near the back, pretending to read a score for an obscure musical. She'd been looking at me when she thought I didn't notice since she'd started coming to this new-and-used music store a few weeks ago. She didn't have the gumption to say anything to me; in fact, she had turned away, pink- faced, on every one of the few occasions I'd made eye contact with her. She looked late 20s, maybe 30, definitely of Eastern European extraction. She never wore a ring; she always looked around the store alone. I was willing-after evaluating her and asking around discreetly--to test her.
It was about 1815; this was normally a very slack time for business. I strode confidently toward this woman. When I got close, she took a step to the right, thinking I wanted to look at the scores on the racks behind her. I put my hand right next to her head. I looked at her, and she could see me from the corner of her eye. She swallowed hard, and moved another half-step to right. Her face was flushed. I could have real fun with this one.
I squatted on my haunches, pretending to examine the lower racks. I reached for a score and brushed her denim-covered leg, just below the knee. She was panting slightly and she moved just a few inches further to the right.
Now that I'd made physical contact, I moved extremely quickly. I stood and pulled her into me, one arm just below her waist, the other on her ribs, positioning my body more-or-less behind hers. She let out a squeak. I was already in her ear. "Stay quiet," I whispered, "and no one will notice." My fingers were already very busy, smoothly opening her fly and snaking into her loose-fitting jeans. I encountered her panties and slid under them, feeling her trimmed hair, stopping a mm or two above her entrance, tapping lightly. Meanwhile, my other hand had infiltrated her shapeless white blouse and begun tracing her ribs and the undersides of her breasts, using almost no pressure. I could feel her heart jack-hammering in her chest.
While my hands were working, my mind was assessing. This gal was just as responsive as I'd thought she would be, and she was looking around nervously while I was playing with her. I could already smell her arousal. I hadn't looked closely at the thickness of her shoe soles, but I guessed she was around 161 to 166 cm (5' 4" to 5' 6") and she had a nice pair of wider-than-average hips. Her face was even more gorgeous close up than it had looked from half a room away. She had a long, straight, narrow nose; thin, dark, exotically curved eyebrows; green-flecked light brown eyes; a small mole on her left cheek (wonderful, fine-boned cheeks;) and her mouth-wow! Her upper lip was full, exquisitely curved, and delicate; her lower lip was even fuller, elegantly shaped, screaming for attention, as if to make up for her slight overbite. This woman would have one of the most adorable pouts in the history of the universe. She could be...worthy.
As for me, I'm a viola player in the Philharmonic Orchestra in a city on the East coast. (I'm not going to say which, because I like my incognito.) I have long, strong, slender, nimble fingers, thanks to heredity and to my musical performance. I'm just 24, but people love the music I play. In the looks department, I'd call myself amazingly average. I stand 157 cm (5' 2") and have the usual Korean features: button nose; dark brown eyes; hips that are on the narrow side; smallish, firm breasts; trim, tight backside. I do love my neck; I think it's slender and elegant. I'm not as happy about my legs; I wish they were longer.
At any rate, this girl in the music store was getting more turned on by the second; her breathing was heavy and irregular. I popped open her bra and returned to tracing her ribs-not what she'd anticipated, I'm sure. My other hand explored her pelvis, occasionally touching her outer lips (which had grown slick) but never getting any closer to her front entrance than that. I let my thigh do a bit of playful bumping of her butt, too, and she moved her hips back as inconspicuously as she could to meet the contact every time. She still hadn't said a word. Good, she could follow instructions.
At least, she could so far. I'd doubtless have to work with her to get her to obey some of the more...creative things I was going to demand. To that end, I got serious with the hand on her chest. As I can do so well, I began to squeeze and fondle her breasts, using the perfect amount of force. I gradually focused on her nipples. My fingers can move so fast that my five can do the job of most people's ten; I skillfully milked both her tits with only one hand. Her breathing caught. I added ear-nipping, just hard enough to get her attention. She gasped loudly.
She couldn't see my satisfied smile as I pushed her to the edge. With almost no touching of her vagina, I had her right on the edge of orgasm.
I made my hands, mouth-indeed my whole body-absent in an instant. With my peripheral vision, I watched her as I casually walked toward the front of the store. It took her a second to realize that I was gone and another second or two to realize I was not coming back. Then it took her about five seconds to follow me. (It may not sound like much, but a lot of soul-searching can be done in five seconds.)
I walked to the small parking lot behind the row of stores-it was basically just a glorified alley. She caught up to me as I reached my car.
"I-" she tried, her voice hesitant and weak.
"-shush, I will let you know when it's time to talk," I said softly and firmly. She closed her mouth right away, but stared at me meaningfully with those gorgeous brown eyes. I pretended not to be affected by her gaze. I put my hand around her wrist and drew her gently closer, until we were only a few cm from touching. "I know you. You don't know yourself as well as I know you. You've never been interested in men: they're so simple they have no choice but to be boring-besides, you've always thought the female body was beautiful. You haven't had sex in so long because soon it also bores you, even though you always try to find exciting, rebellious partners. In the store just now, you were as far as you've ever been from bored. You feel cheated because I didn't finish you. You're also fascinated; you can tell that I left you hanging on purpose and you don't know why I did.
"The purpose was to give you a sex life, beyond what you've ever imagined. But I have a few rules. Listen closely, because you will please me more if you do things right the first time. I'm not going to say 'I never repeat myself,' the way so many wannabe tough-gals do. I will also not raise my voice at you and I will not physically punish you-unless you consider the odd spanking physical punishment." Her eyes widened. I could see she was hanging on every word. "You will address me as 'Mistress' whenever you talk to me. If you refer to yourself, you will say 'a slave.' 'A slave,' you understand; not just plain 'slave' or 'the slave.' You don't deserve a name; you haven't even earned a title or a number or anything definite yet. I will call you slave, slut, bitch, or whatever I feel like calling you. You will not use pronouns for either of us or for any of my friends or anyone I tell you must not be named with a pronoun.
"And now you want to cum, I suppose."
Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Yes, Mistress," she said, turning her eyes from me.
"Show me your pussy."
"N-now?" she gasped, her face turning a very sexy shade of pink.
"I would have preferred two seconds ago-when I told you to do it-but now will do," I said sarcastically. "I would also have preferred to hear 'Mistress' from that beautiful slut mouth of yours."
"Mistress, I-"
"-This is a time for doing, not talking," I said. "I have a busy schedule."
She looked all around, on the edge of panic, while she fumbled with her button and fly. She lowered her pants and panties to the tops of her thighs for an instant and pulled them back up immediately.
"Don't waste my time, slave," I commanded her in a calm, quiet voice.
She was shaking, her head whipping around frantically as she bared her pussy again and kept it bare. "Please hurry, Mistress!" she pleaded.
"Why?"
She looked me in the face for the first time since I'd given her the original command. She was shocked. There was horror, extreme embarrassment, and deep down, a spark of sheer exhilaration on her face.
"Your pussy looks so wet; just what I expected from a slut who wants to be fucked in public," I cruelly teased. "Okay." I casually put my fingers on her slit. I drummed over her clit with my index finger while I penetrated slowly with my middle.
I'm not easily surprised, but even I was a bit taken aback. She came before my finger had made three strokes. "Mistress! Oh fuck! Mistress..." she mumbled while she rode her peak. I knew something she didn't: my body and the cars we were between would have shielded her partial nudity and my activities from the eyes of anyone who had happened upon the scene. (No one did happen by, so the point was moot.) Her eyes were closed, so I permitted myself an ear-to-ear grin. This responsive, hot bitch was perfect. She was exactly the humiliation-seeker I'd been trying to find since I first realized how much I love watching my partner squirm.
I made myself look uninterested again. Her eyes opened. She quickly pulled up her jeans. "If we're done here, so long," I said, knowing what she'd do.
"Please, Mistress! Don't leave, or at least give me-give a slave Mistress's number!" She actually had tears in her eyes.
"You remembered late, but you did remember. Convince me. You have 10 seconds."
"A slave needs her mistress. A slave hasn't ever come like that, ever! A slave...wants to...lick Mistress's pussy." She had to force herself to say the last bit, but I was glad she had; it proved she was serious about wanting more.
I had a couple of days until my next rehearsal with the orchestra. "Slave, I want a few answers from you. Have you got a flat?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Full-time job?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Significant other?"
"No, Mistress."
"Roommate?"
"No, Mistress."
"What is your job?"
"Clothing salesperson at Antonia's Bridal and Formal, Mistress."
"Are you working soon?"
"Not until Monday; a slave has the 1230 to 2100 shift, Mistress, every weekday."
"Did you come here in your car?"
"No, Mistress."
"How far is your flat?"
"About 20 min by bus, Mistress."
"I'm going to drive my car. My slave going to sit in the passenger seat and tell me how to get to her place. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress!" She was giddy from her success at "convincing" me to stay with her a little longer. She really was cute, and I had so much in store for her!
She and I got into my plush compact car. "Those clothes keep men from becoming too interested in you, right?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"That's good thinking. But when you're with me, you will dress like the slut you are. Show me your breasts."
Again, she looked terrified. I was loving this, and I knew she was too, although she couldn't admit it. "Mistress, please-"
I glared at her for an instant. "-Your mistress has given you an order, slut."
She blushed to her fingernails, but she un-tucked her blouse and pulled it up, dragging the cups of her still-open bra to just above her breasts. She did her best to shield herself from anyone's eyes on her side by keeping her right arm as low as she could and letting the loose blouse drape. I wasn't going to let her off that easily. "I want your breasts exposed and your arms at your sides," I said evenly.
She was aroused; her womanly scent was faint but unmistakable. She pinned her blouse and bra just above her breasts, by holding arms tightly to her sides.
"Quite a pair," I said dryly, loving her look of shame. "You can cover them again. With mammaries like those, support is necessary, so I will permit you a bra; it better be sexy, though. And you will never let me catch you wearing panties."
"Mistress, did a slave have to expose a slave's chest just so Mistress could see if a slave should wear a bra?" she asked.
"Yes. I could have waited, but you wanted an audience."
She was a natural! Her blush had faded but it came back with a vengeance. For a few minutes, there were no sounds but Respighi on my stereo. Then my new plaything meekly pointed out the turn that would lead to her place.
"We won't be here long, so don't get comfortable," I warned. "We'll come back later, but I'm going to see how prepared you are, and what you don't have in your slave quarters that you should." (I was also going to learn a bit more about her personality and background, but I saw no need to tell her that.)
There was an elevator ride to the third floor of the four-story building, and a hall leading to her flat. This was her turf; I needed to establish myself as the one in charge even here. I stopped her with a light touch on the shoulder as soon as we got out of the elevator. "Which one is the slave shack?" I asked.
"Third door on the left, Mistress," she replied.
"Give me the key and strip, except your bra. Those gorgeous tits of yours aren't going to start sagging on my watch."
"Mistress!"
"Bad acoustics, I guess," I remarked. "I could have sworn I gave my bitch an order."
With trembling fingers, she gave me her keys and started taking off her shoes, then her socks. I walked away and opened her apartment door. "Slave, you got any tea?" I asked, emerging from her doorway a moment later. She was really hurrying, trying to decrease her chances of being seen by a neighbor. She lost a blouse button in her haste and I couldn't help chuckling.
"Tea's next to the microwave, Mistress," she answered, trying to keep her voice low.
"Good, make me some when you drag your slave ass in here," I laughed. "Do it right away, too; your mistress's orders come before anything else."
I looked around her small living room and enjoyed the show when she dashed into the flat and shut the door a few seconds later. I winked at her and she looked at the floor, set down her clothing and shoes, and got out a tea pot.
I smiled and went to her bedroom. She definitely had an underwear drawer, not a lingerie drawer. Only one bra-and-panty set was even a bit racy. I copied some information about her sizes. I looked at her diplomas and copied a bit more. I perused a small photo album; it seemed to have pictures of her mother, sister (older, I guessed) father, two brothers (both younger, I thought) and a best friend or an ex. The girl was pretty-not as fine as my slave, but prettier than I was. But, I thought with pride: who can rock my slave's world? I was confident that she'd been telling the truth; I was already the best lover she'd ever had.
"Mistress, it's ready," the brunette called to me.
I left her room and saw her hurriedly tugging on her pants. Did she really think I'd allow that? "Serve me my tea," I said. "Take a drink, then pass it to me for swallowing."
To her credit, she immediately did as commanded. She let her jeans fall and put the mug to her lips. She stepped out of the pants so as not to trip and pressed her mouth to mine, sharing the tea.
"You've done well," I told her. I took the mug from her hand. "I'll drink it myself for now. Sit at the table."
She glanced at her pants, but she hurried back to the kitchen and sat, grabbing the other mug and taking a long drink. She looked very nice, even though her bra was white and quite conservatively cut. I sat across from her. "You know, I only want the best for you, slave."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Have you ever run naked through your apartment building?"
"Not until today, Mistress."
"Why not? You obviously loved it."
Her face burned with shame. "Mistress, a slave has never been so...mortified-"
"-nice word. I'll let that go for now. To the point, you have no wardrobe. Nothing. We are going shopping. To make it fair, your mistress will pay 60% of the costs on our spree." Her face lit up. "Mistress alone has the final word on what is purchased-any slave she may have will be happy to offer no objections, only the occasional suggestion. My slave will put on these when I tell her to do so." I held up the borderline- sexy bra I'd found. (I had no use for the matching panties, so I'd left them in her dresser.) "Mistress will select a shopping outfit once she's done with her tea."
I drank my tea, happy to be controlling a young lady for the first time in months. The last one had been a disappointment, I confess-she whined too much. This one was quickly becoming the best I'd ever had. When I set my empty mug on the table, I shot my hostess a lascivious look and she blushed instantly. "I love that look on you," I told her. "You wear shame and humiliation so well."
"Thank you, Mistress," she whispered, still unable to look at me.
I looked through her junk drawer and found a pair of scissors. "You won't ever wear these again anyway," I said, and I snipped through the straps of her bra. "Stand and remove those scraps." She did. "Good. Throw them in the trash, then put on what I've chosen."
I watched with interest as my gorgeous slave, quite aware of my eyes on her, slowly wriggled into her black silk bra. She had another mole which I hadn't noticed earlier, near the top of her delightful ass, and I could probably mention that any time I felt like it and get a nice reaction. I tested my hypothesis right away. "Very pretty mole on your ass, slave." Sure enough, her ears grew red.
"Thank you, Mistress," she said. She finished adjusting and stood before me in her black bra, nude otherwise.
"True, you're only a slut who doesn't have a name, but you should still be proud, because you're my slave. So stand straight as you can: chest out, chin up. Look me in the eyes." She did. She was quite tempting, but I couldn't let myself show too much interest yet. "Promising," was all I said.
I went to her room and found her thin, cotton, pale blue mini-dress. I loved its poufy short sleeves; they would draw attention to her broad shoulders. She skirt wasn't as short and the neckline wasn't scooped as low as I'd hoped, but it would do for a start. She had rather cute silver pumps with 8-cm heels-not as good a match as I'd wanted-they'd also have to do for this evening.
I emerged from the bedroom. She was washing the teacups, obediently as unclad as I'd left her. "Slave, do you want to suck your mistress's pussy?"
"Yes, Mistress!" she cried. I had raised her hopes, as planned.
"Keep in mind that you're trying to earn that privilege," I told her with a smirk. "The better you behave, the sooner you will be rewarded. Here's your outfit."
She needed no urging; she'd been uncomfortable with her nudity while I was clothed. She looked quite pretty in her dress and high heels: her bare long legs looked particularly yummy.
"We're going shopping," I told her. I ushered her out of the flat and locked the door behind us. We went to my car and proceeded to a shopping center I favor because of its variety.
Part 2 will follow if/when I feel like writing it. Email encouragement never makes the process go any slower...