So what are you going to do?
I knew the answer almost before the question finished resolving. Right there, in the car halfway to the shopping mall, I made the decision: whatever it was Robin would ask of me, whatever demands he placed on me, I would accept, willingly, without reservation. I would belong to him, I would be his partner and his whore and whatever else he wanted.
But first things first. Right now, that meant choosing a new outfit for the evening. Something sexy, he'd said; something that would knock his socks off.
That proved to be more difficult than I'd thought it would be. I spent far longer than I'd intended shopping. I found quite a large number of different possibilities, but nothing that seemed quite right. I tried on a tight-fitting, V-necked shirt with a skirt slit up the side-sexy, to be sure, but not anything particularly special. A slinky tube top and leather miniskirt...not me. A zip-up corset-style top and tight black shorts... definitely not me. A button-up men's shirt over tight black jeans...it had potential, I'd always thought there was something very sexy about a woman in a man's shirt, especially with a tie loosely around the neck and the top buttons undone, but...no.
I had walked back and forth in front of the shop several times, each time growing more frustrated. I noticed the dress in the window, but dismissed it-too formal, too long. Each time past, I looked at it a little longer before moving on.
After a particularly disastrous experiment with a pair of white Capri pants and a midriff-baring halter top, I came back to the store and looked at it for a long while. What the hell, might as well give it a try...
One look at the mirror in the dressing room and I knew I'd hit the jackpot. It was slinky and black, completely backless, plunging in the front in a way that perfectly accented the curves of my breasts, ending in a knee-length pleated skirt. It looked like the sort of dress one might wear either to a formal cocktail party or to a by-the-hour motel, and it fit my body as if it had been custom-tailored for me. I smiled, turning this way and that before the mirror, appreciating how it revealed just a suggestion of the sides of my breasts, how it came up around my neck and left my shoulders bare...sensual and sexy at once.
And I had nothing to wear with it.
I paid for the dress and carried it with me. Some additional searching eventually yielded up a dark burgundy strapless half-cup bra, ending just below my nipples, with a matching burgundy thong, the front a triangular panel of sheer mesh, translucent...blatant sexuality, a perfect counterpart to the subdued sensuality of the dress. I bought them both, put them on in the dressing room under the black dress, decided that I didn't like the bra with the backless dress...it really looked best, I thought, with nothing beneath it. I kept the panties on; the bra went back into my bag, with the rolled-up clothing I'd worn to the mall.
A tight black velvet choker to accent my neck, and, on impulse, a black and blue glittery beret to hold my hair back, creating a cascade that tumbled over my shoulders. Just the thing, I thought impishly, to hold my hair out of my face when I'm sucking cock... I blushed and looked away from the mirror. Assembled, the outfit was perfect...no matter what devious plan he had lined up, it would be appropriate.
I smiled. How fitting, I thought, now that I have made this decision to give myself to Robin more completely, that I should wrap this gift up in such a lovely package...
Heads turned as I left the mall and walked back out to the parking lot. I flushed at the attention, slightly embarrassed but also pleased. Oh, yes, I thought in silent answer to the tacit questions implied by the looks. Yes, I do. You have no idea.
As I neared home, my heart started beating faster, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach again. I didn't expect Robin to be home, but I had no idea when he would return, nor what would happen when he did. The butterflies fluttered stronger as I pulled into the driveway. Robin's car wasn't there, so I would probably have some time before whatever it was that would be happening tonight; I didn't know whether to feel relieved or nervous about that.
Nervous was, as it turned out, the correct response.
I walked into the living room and instantly stopped dead in my tracks. Robin, ever the sneaky trickster, had apparently fooled me by leaving when I did; it seemed he must have come back immediately after I had driven off. The living room had been completely rearranged in my absence. The wide-screen TV had been relocated to the far end of the living room, just below the camera mounted near the ceiling, and the couch had been moved off into some other room, leaving a wide expanse of open space. A wooden chair I didn't recognize sat in the center of the room, facing the television. Two wide leather straps with small buckles on the end hung gracefully from the arms of the chair.
Two folding tables had been set up on each side of the chair. Arranged neatly on the tables were all the toys from the toy bag-dildos, vibrators, plugs and clips and clamps of various descriptions.
No, not all the toys, I realized-all but one of the toys. One toy, a long, thick dildo with a suction-cup base, had been affixed to the hardwood floor about midway between the chair and the television, where it jutted up obscenely.
The television was turned on, connected to Robin's laptop, which was resting on the floor next to the TV stand. The screen was divided into two panels: one displaying the chair, which was carefully located exactly in the center of the view from the camera near the ceiling; the other showing the room from the vantage point of the camera built into the laptop, a worm's eye view of the length of the living room, the dildo affixed to the floor prominent in the foreground. Below the two camera feeds, a cursor blinked in a chat window.
My heart thudded. The butterflies became "Robin," I said aloud to myself, "you are a bastard. What are you up to?"
I stepped further into the room, in the range of the cameras. The cursor blinked steadily at me. I looked at myself, two different views of radiant sexuality in the brand-new dress, and felt the butterflies flutter.
There you are! A sudden line of text blipped into existence on the bottom of the screen, black letters pixilated on the large display. I jumped slightly.
I expected you home sooner.
We're just getting ready to put the steaks on the grill.
Perhaps you can solve a debate for us.
I looked suspiciously at the camera. "What kind of debate?"
Ranbir and I were just explaining to his guests that you will do any kinky, dirty thing you are told to do, no matter what it is.
A few of them don't believe it.
"What??!" I exclaimed. "Who's over there? Who are you talking to about me?"
Just some friends of Ranbir's. He's having a cookout. Hooked up his computer to his TV so everyone can watch. Say hi to everyone!
I felt myself turn red. "Oh, no, Robin," I stammered, "you're not going to...you can't be serious...no, that's way too..."
I am. I can be.
You didn't answer my question, though.
The debate we're having.
The guys won't believe it unless they hear it from you.
Tell them.
"Tell them what?"
You know what.
You like being told to do kinky, dirty things.
You will do whatever you're told.
I flushed again and looked around the living room. I had a pretty good idea about where this was going, and the resolve I'd felt in the car on the way to the mall started to evaporate. This constant pushing, this placing me in front of wider and wider audiences...the rational part of me rebelled against it. This hadn't exactly been what I had thought, back when we first began exploring this kind of relationship, and now, wrapped up amidst the arousal and the longing and the erotic thrill of being his sexual property, something else, a part of me that was slightly horrified at the way he exposed me to the world, and even more horrified at the parts of me that liked it. I shook my head, tongue-tied.
Tell them.
"I...no, I can't!"
Is it true?
I nodded meekly.
Is it true that you like being told what to do?
Is it true you like being made to do dirty things with your body?
"I...yes. Yes, it is."
A moment passed. No response. I set the bags and my purse down on the floor. My hands shook very slightly.
Is that your new outfit?
Come closer to the camera and let us see.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and walked farther into the living room.
Stand in front of the chair.
I walked around the tables, a strange feeling crawling up my back as my eyes fell on the array of sex toys laid out on them. Just having other people see them, and by seeing them gain insight into my kinks and tastes, made me feel vulnerable and embarrassed.
Good.
Turn around.
I stood in front of the camera and turned, arms out.
Wow.
That is really beautiful.
You outdid yourself.
Very sexy.
I blushed and smiled, pleased.
We do still have a problem.
Some of the guys still don't believe that you will do anything you're told.
I looked down, silent, waiting for the inevitable. I had a feeling that there was only one way this could go, and I warred internally about whether or not I wanted it to go there. You don't have to do this, a part of me said. You can still choose to say no.
The other voice, the wild voice, answered. You want this. You want to do this. You want to give yourself to him completely.
To him, yes, but not to everyone, the rational part shot back. This isn't the same thing!
SHOW US UR TITS!!1
"What?"
Sorry. I was getting a burger.
A few of the guys would like to see your breasts.
I shuddered and wrapped my arms tightly around myself. "What? Now?" Don't do it! the rational part of my brain screamed. Don't even think about it!
No need to be hasty.
I knew the answer almost before the question finished resolving. Right there, in the car halfway to the shopping mall, I made the decision: whatever it was Robin would ask of me, whatever demands he placed on me, I would accept, willingly, without reservation. I would belong to him, I would be his partner and his whore and whatever else he wanted.
But first things first. Right now, that meant choosing a new outfit for the evening. Something sexy, he'd said; something that would knock his socks off.
That proved to be more difficult than I'd thought it would be. I spent far longer than I'd intended shopping. I found quite a large number of different possibilities, but nothing that seemed quite right. I tried on a tight-fitting, V-necked shirt with a skirt slit up the side-sexy, to be sure, but not anything particularly special. A slinky tube top and leather miniskirt...not me. A zip-up corset-style top and tight black shorts... definitely not me. A button-up men's shirt over tight black jeans...it had potential, I'd always thought there was something very sexy about a woman in a man's shirt, especially with a tie loosely around the neck and the top buttons undone, but...no.
I had walked back and forth in front of the shop several times, each time growing more frustrated. I noticed the dress in the window, but dismissed it-too formal, too long. Each time past, I looked at it a little longer before moving on.
After a particularly disastrous experiment with a pair of white Capri pants and a midriff-baring halter top, I came back to the store and looked at it for a long while. What the hell, might as well give it a try...
One look at the mirror in the dressing room and I knew I'd hit the jackpot. It was slinky and black, completely backless, plunging in the front in a way that perfectly accented the curves of my breasts, ending in a knee-length pleated skirt. It looked like the sort of dress one might wear either to a formal cocktail party or to a by-the-hour motel, and it fit my body as if it had been custom-tailored for me. I smiled, turning this way and that before the mirror, appreciating how it revealed just a suggestion of the sides of my breasts, how it came up around my neck and left my shoulders bare...sensual and sexy at once.
And I had nothing to wear with it.
I paid for the dress and carried it with me. Some additional searching eventually yielded up a dark burgundy strapless half-cup bra, ending just below my nipples, with a matching burgundy thong, the front a triangular panel of sheer mesh, translucent...blatant sexuality, a perfect counterpart to the subdued sensuality of the dress. I bought them both, put them on in the dressing room under the black dress, decided that I didn't like the bra with the backless dress...it really looked best, I thought, with nothing beneath it. I kept the panties on; the bra went back into my bag, with the rolled-up clothing I'd worn to the mall.
A tight black velvet choker to accent my neck, and, on impulse, a black and blue glittery beret to hold my hair back, creating a cascade that tumbled over my shoulders. Just the thing, I thought impishly, to hold my hair out of my face when I'm sucking cock... I blushed and looked away from the mirror. Assembled, the outfit was perfect...no matter what devious plan he had lined up, it would be appropriate.
I smiled. How fitting, I thought, now that I have made this decision to give myself to Robin more completely, that I should wrap this gift up in such a lovely package...
Heads turned as I left the mall and walked back out to the parking lot. I flushed at the attention, slightly embarrassed but also pleased. Oh, yes, I thought in silent answer to the tacit questions implied by the looks. Yes, I do. You have no idea.
As I neared home, my heart started beating faster, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach again. I didn't expect Robin to be home, but I had no idea when he would return, nor what would happen when he did. The butterflies fluttered stronger as I pulled into the driveway. Robin's car wasn't there, so I would probably have some time before whatever it was that would be happening tonight; I didn't know whether to feel relieved or nervous about that.
Nervous was, as it turned out, the correct response.
I walked into the living room and instantly stopped dead in my tracks. Robin, ever the sneaky trickster, had apparently fooled me by leaving when I did; it seemed he must have come back immediately after I had driven off. The living room had been completely rearranged in my absence. The wide-screen TV had been relocated to the far end of the living room, just below the camera mounted near the ceiling, and the couch had been moved off into some other room, leaving a wide expanse of open space. A wooden chair I didn't recognize sat in the center of the room, facing the television. Two wide leather straps with small buckles on the end hung gracefully from the arms of the chair.
Two folding tables had been set up on each side of the chair. Arranged neatly on the tables were all the toys from the toy bag-dildos, vibrators, plugs and clips and clamps of various descriptions.
No, not all the toys, I realized-all but one of the toys. One toy, a long, thick dildo with a suction-cup base, had been affixed to the hardwood floor about midway between the chair and the television, where it jutted up obscenely.
The television was turned on, connected to Robin's laptop, which was resting on the floor next to the TV stand. The screen was divided into two panels: one displaying the chair, which was carefully located exactly in the center of the view from the camera near the ceiling; the other showing the room from the vantage point of the camera built into the laptop, a worm's eye view of the length of the living room, the dildo affixed to the floor prominent in the foreground. Below the two camera feeds, a cursor blinked in a chat window.
My heart thudded. The butterflies became "Robin," I said aloud to myself, "you are a bastard. What are you up to?"
I stepped further into the room, in the range of the cameras. The cursor blinked steadily at me. I looked at myself, two different views of radiant sexuality in the brand-new dress, and felt the butterflies flutter.
There you are! A sudden line of text blipped into existence on the bottom of the screen, black letters pixilated on the large display. I jumped slightly.
I expected you home sooner.
We're just getting ready to put the steaks on the grill.
Perhaps you can solve a debate for us.
I looked suspiciously at the camera. "What kind of debate?"
Ranbir and I were just explaining to his guests that you will do any kinky, dirty thing you are told to do, no matter what it is.
A few of them don't believe it.
"What??!" I exclaimed. "Who's over there? Who are you talking to about me?"
Just some friends of Ranbir's. He's having a cookout. Hooked up his computer to his TV so everyone can watch. Say hi to everyone!
I felt myself turn red. "Oh, no, Robin," I stammered, "you're not going to...you can't be serious...no, that's way too..."
I am. I can be.
You didn't answer my question, though.
The debate we're having.
The guys won't believe it unless they hear it from you.
Tell them.
"Tell them what?"
You know what.
You like being told to do kinky, dirty things.
You will do whatever you're told.
I flushed again and looked around the living room. I had a pretty good idea about where this was going, and the resolve I'd felt in the car on the way to the mall started to evaporate. This constant pushing, this placing me in front of wider and wider audiences...the rational part of me rebelled against it. This hadn't exactly been what I had thought, back when we first began exploring this kind of relationship, and now, wrapped up amidst the arousal and the longing and the erotic thrill of being his sexual property, something else, a part of me that was slightly horrified at the way he exposed me to the world, and even more horrified at the parts of me that liked it. I shook my head, tongue-tied.
Tell them.
"I...no, I can't!"
Is it true?
I nodded meekly.
Is it true that you like being told what to do?
Is it true you like being made to do dirty things with your body?
"I...yes. Yes, it is."
A moment passed. No response. I set the bags and my purse down on the floor. My hands shook very slightly.
Is that your new outfit?
Come closer to the camera and let us see.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and walked farther into the living room.
Stand in front of the chair.
I walked around the tables, a strange feeling crawling up my back as my eyes fell on the array of sex toys laid out on them. Just having other people see them, and by seeing them gain insight into my kinks and tastes, made me feel vulnerable and embarrassed.
Good.
Turn around.
I stood in front of the camera and turned, arms out.
Wow.
That is really beautiful.
You outdid yourself.
Very sexy.
I blushed and smiled, pleased.
We do still have a problem.
Some of the guys still don't believe that you will do anything you're told.
I looked down, silent, waiting for the inevitable. I had a feeling that there was only one way this could go, and I warred internally about whether or not I wanted it to go there. You don't have to do this, a part of me said. You can still choose to say no.
The other voice, the wild voice, answered. You want this. You want to do this. You want to give yourself to him completely.
To him, yes, but not to everyone, the rational part shot back. This isn't the same thing!
SHOW US UR TITS!!1
"What?"
Sorry. I was getting a burger.
A few of the guys would like to see your breasts.
I shuddered and wrapped my arms tightly around myself. "What? Now?" Don't do it! the rational part of my brain screamed. Don't even think about it!
No need to be hasty.