Karen

I had dinner with the two women students in their 50s, one of whom had already graduated..  Advanced degrees in the humanities.  Both were blondes and one as pretty as the next.  Slim, nice faces, smallish tits, but good figures. (I’m 63, attractively bald, grey eyes, good features.) The first left, and in the thrall of strong drink, the second, Karen, with whom I’d never had a private moment before this,  began to open up to me.   In the most amazing way. Of course, she had the student’s admiration and affection for her somewhat older professor.  She was thrilled by our discussion and, without prompting, began to come over to my side of the table, put her hands on my cheeks and kiss me on the head or cheek.  After an hour, progressively getting drunker, her lips moved from hitting my cheeks to a kiss firmly on my mouth.  In the most private realms of my privacy I am a D/s Master, very experienced.    And I usually can sniff out a female submissive a mile away.  But Karen had been a very high level executive and entrepreneur before she returned to school and carried herself with a certain air that, I admit now, had completely fooled me.   Her escalating attack of passionate kisses, and the way of her approach, made me understand.  Before my eyes all along was a submissive who yearned, to be exact, to very strictly controlled.

I was less drunk, certainly.  About the fourth time she brought her passionate attention to my lips, I reached up under her jacket and took her tit nipples in my thumb and forefinger and pinched and twisted them wickedly.  I wanted  her to feel a good, solid dose of pain and a taste of Mastery.  (I KNEW she would respond and had no fear at all that I was taking an interpersonal risk.) She took the pain as though it were expected and when she sat down I could see in her pretty blue eyes underneath that luminous blonde hair of hers that she was a  woman who had truly opened up, her cunt probably dripping.  Abruptly, I started giving her direction about how to sit and how to put her hands on the table, palms down.  I made clear to her that I thought her earrings were much too small and invisible and told her how I didn’t appreciate her fucking chipped fingernail paint.  In the midst of my assuming a very directive role toward her she got up again to stand over me to kiss me and this time, while I kept one hand in a vicious pinch of a tit nipple, the other I back-handed directly into her blue-jean covered crotch, with no doubt of its purpose.

She ordered another drink when we she sat down.  And I began talking to her about my antediluvian views, as Master, about male supremacy.  She clearly was in a trance of sorts and this type of talk, which she, in ordinary consciousness, would have sneered at as lunacy, clearly was resonating with her.  At a certain point I asked her, “Don’t you believe that men are superior to women?”  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and then, looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights she said softy, “I do believe that men are superior to women.” 

Now I approach male Mastery from a male-supremacist viewpoint.  Even among most female submissives, even those who are very submissive, such views are simply not popular.  But that doesn’t mean that in their heart’s heart women don’t believe it.  I have made a practice, as my experience in Mastery has matured, to surface the “latent image,” the unspoken assumptions, that work so powerfully in male dominant/female submissive relationships.  And I have gotten, through skillful training and the Master’s touch, several of the most unlikely women to cough up their truest assumption: the male is and should be regarded as superior.  As Master, it very much pleases me to hear them speak in the sweetest tones this truth. Ah yes!  Not the cup of tea for so many, but the deep truth in many, many women’s hearts.

As it was for my submissive Karen.

We had further conversation, in which Karen got even drunker, and the conversation was interrupted several times by her effusively leaping up to passionately kiss me and have her tits hurt and her cunt fondled (to the protest of the restaurant manager who came over twice to ask us to cool it—though it was late and very few people lingered here).  In the conversation I asked her about her very beautiful co-student, Rita, who I knew had a real crush on me. I knew that she had had a kind of rough type of boyfriend a few years back that she was very much in love with.  There relationship ended when he started becoming physically abusive with her. She had, strangely, once told me that he wanted to tie her up.  I asked Karen if Rita might also be submissive like her.  Karen looked at me with strange pride and said of Rita, “She could never measure up!”  I loved her incredible bitchiness.  It was if to say, “I’m the one you want, not that cunt.”

The restaurant was closing and I went to the bathroom.  I had Karen call a taxi for me.  She lived only a few blocks away, but I had to return home quite a distance away.  I am married and was going home.  But Karen had a regular boyfriend, too, and we both acknowledged that we were headed for an affair… but we probably were not going to dissolve our existing relationships.

When the taxi came, Karen, still in a passionate trance, asked, “Do you want me to come with you?” I gestured her into the back seat of the taxi.  There, she slid down beside me, so her head was on my shoulder.  Her position gave me full access to her tits which I latched onto very cruelly with both hands, pinching her tit nipples very hard, while I began to gently kiss her.  She made no gesture of trying to push my hands away from her tits.  And she had the pride not to wince when I hurt her.  She just looked at me quietly as though I fully deserved this privilege of abusing her.  I began to quietly tell her that I was a woman-trainer and Master.  I told her that I was used to having women lick my shiny black black Master’s boots in fealty.  She thought for a moment and said to me very submissively, “I’ll lick your boots.” We talked a bit more and she said, “I really want you to fuck me!”  My reply was, “I might have some use for you.”

At the end of the taxi ride, she went with me up the steps, embracing me almost fanatically.   I had to scold her to get her attention and get her to go back into the taxi for a rather long ride back to the city and her home.  She said as she went down the stairs, “What now?”  I told her to send me an e-mail the next day asking, “What instructions do you have for me today?”  I actually did not expect her to send such a note.  I thought that once the alcohol wore off, she’d rethink all of it—or she might not even remember it all.  She was very drunk.

I was surprised and delighted to find in my e-mailbox the next day around 4 pm a note from Karen worded as required.  Now, Karen is essentially retired, but busies

herself with volunteer work and political work.  (A lot of it is women-centered and feminist oriented.) My instructions were for her to make sure every bitch hair on her body (except head and eyebrows) was shaved or otherwise depilated cleanly starting the next day—and then everyday.  I was pleased to find uploaded photos of Karen the next day showing cunt cleanly shaven for the first time, and legs and armpits slickly done.  She showed her razor and shaving liquid on the edge of her sink.  Her comment was: “Thank you Sir for this direction.”  And—to my surprised she said, “But I so want to please you.  I could do much more.”  This was the beginning of a deeper relationship.

Karen had told me that she had never had a notion that she had these deep submissive desires.  But, like other women I have trained, guided and Mastered, once I had broke through to her, her passion for contact and deeper commitment was very intense.  She knew from the get-go that I was going to fuck and use her, as pleased me, but we both could see it was best that she not break off her ongoing, budding relationship with a lawyer whom she’d been dating for at least 6 months.

But I was going have deep influence on her and I was going to shape that relationship in ways that accorded with my sense of things.

My instruction for their date the next night was the following: “He will want to have sex with you as usual.  When he is naked and prepared I want you on your fucking knees with pretty lipstick on.  And I want you to say to him the following, “Fuck my face! My hands will stay at my sides and I want you to take your pleasure with me.  Just fuck me in the mouth. Don’t be shy about this.  It’s what I need. I’m very hot and very ready.”

Now I had instructed Karen to get a little tipsy during her date, to loosen her inhibitions.  Her somewhat bold and obscene approach was not so out of character for her.  She was a businesswoman with personal force and had an “aggressive” side.

Here, she’d just be aggressive in submission to her boyfriend and to me.  I instructed her to text me in the bathroom immediately after her encounter.

Her text to me that night read this way: “Thank you Sir.  He got very hot and dumped a good load down my throat.  I nearly came.” (I had not prompted her to give me such an obscene account; I surmised that she knew that it would please me.)

Don, her 65 year old boyfriend, a lawyer for a rising “green energy” firm, clearly had no D/s inclinations and, at this age, was unlikely to develop any.  But like many men, he could appreciate sleazy sex with some real, implied female submission in it.  He’d take it, that is, as long as he wasn’t made to prompt or manage it.

It would be 10 days before I would meet with Karen again.  In between I had her “submissivize” her sex and behavior toward Don in several additional ways, more subtle than this additional bolder instruction.  In those 10 days she did fall to her knees, again,with pretty painted lips to take his hard cock in the face with using her hands, as I had ordered.  The lipstick was new for her.  She very rarely wore make-up before I got my hands on her.

Karen had some shopping to do to prepare to meet me and she had also to go to a beauty shop at short notice.  I am very, very particular about how a woman presents herself for me.  For her next meeting wit me Karen was required to have long false, nicely painted fingernails (she’d never worn false nails.)  She was to be very meticulously made up with make-up that pleased me.  She was to be wearing 4” high heels that suited my taste, traditional black leather pumps with closed, pointed toes. (Karen’s style of dress was always understated, even when she was an executive.  She owned no 4” heels before she met me.)  She wore a garter belt and hose with no panties. And I wanted long, showy earrings, bracelets and rings on her--- she could and did afford gold and jewels. 

We met in a hotel bar in a town about 20 miles distant so that there was much less chance for her to be discovered.  It was dark at 4 in the afternoon and I chose a booth at the far corner of the room, where we could sit very privately.  I got there early and was very pleased to see the proper changes in Karen’s wardrobe and presentation, as she somewhat unsteadily approached me in her new high heels  across the carpeting.  In her beautiful black dress (not low-cut, because her tits were smallish) she looked like a completely new woman.  She had gotten used to jeans and comfortable shoes and I don’t think she looked anything like she looked any time in her life as she came to me for my Mastery.  And that was the fucking point.

There was a softness, true femininity in her carriage and demeanor that really made me see that I had touched a deep part of her.   I got up quietly and let her sit in the far corner of the larger table.  The perfume brand I insisted upon wafted pleasantly in her wake.  When she was seated, she grasped my hand and said very sweetly, with real emotion, “Sir, let me call you ‘Master.’  A few weeks ago I didn’t even know what that was, but I want to say it so much.”  “You may do so,” I said as I leaned forward and kissed her firmly, putting my harsh fingers on her tit nipples to certify my claim over and control of her.  She began to tremble slightly and let herself breath the excitement that she felt. With a little struggle, because I was really twisting her delicate tit nipples viciously, she said, “Thank you for hurting me, Sir.”

Here, again, was the sort of startling and surprising expression from a total neophyte that bespoke a maturity of understanding and intention, somehow very hidden for the longest time.

With one hand still holding a vise grip on her tit nipple, with the other hand I made my way up her dress into her dripping, bare and newly shaven cunt and worked her into a passionate frenzy.  She was near orgasm when I abruptly ceased my attentions, told her to redo her fucking lipstick and got up to go around the corner to get the bartender to serve us.  It was a beautiful thing to see a woman fall into submissive entrancement so easily and naturally.  This business woman, unbeknownst to her, was born to be slave and servant to Cock and Man-Power—just as naturally as she breathed. 

When I sat back down I put one of Karen’s prettily manicured hands onto my hard prick to let her feel my own passion.  We had exchanged by e-mail and telephone enough, over the last couple weeks, to fill a life time.   I was a harsh, experienced Master and woman trainer with a very sexist edge.  It turns out that only such a bold, harsh Master could have broken her carapace and stupor and exposed her essential truth as slave.

“So this tough, business lady act is all bullshit?” I said.

“I know that now, Sir.  I’m strong in so many ways.  I intimidate men without even thinking.  But…really, I’d only had the vaguest idea of this before, I just so deeply respond to your strength.  I may never have… I’m just so glad I got so drunk that night.”  I loved her hesitant, nearly stammering, girlish softness and hestitancy.  It was a place deep inside her that she had never been lead to go to.  Until she met a  Master.  No one but no one would have guessed that Karen in her heart was slave material.

“So you understand then that I don’t give a fuck about how you’re used to doing anything.  That, with me, things are my way and only my way?”

She was so bold as to put one of her pretty hands on my cheek and bring her pretty painted lips up to mine in the most sweet, submissive kiss I’d every gotten.  Sometimes a man can feel the full, complete surrender of a woman in her soft, pliant, nearly worshipful lips.  So was it that moment for me.

“Master.  You made me your cunt that night. How did you know I NEEDED control?

How did you know I need a firm, harsh hand?  I’ll NEVER be the same and (my heart is pounding now) I wait with real expectation the day when I can bow down to your Master’s boots and kiss them the way a woman should.” 

This deeply submissive declaration made my stiff prick ache and brought me out more truthfully.  That moment I took out of my suit jacket pocket a pair of metal nipple clamps and there, in the dark, secluded quiet of this fancy hotel bar, I secured one on each of Karen’s tit nipples, over her expensive black dress and bra, and I turned the clamps nearly as tightly as I could.  I was pleased to see her tears that came from her pain, though it angered me that she had ruined her perfect make-up.   But I heard no objection or protest from her. No waiter or customer saw what happened.  It only lasted five minutes.  But it began to secure and anchor a proper relationship that was budding and would develop beautifully.

After her tears were dried and she had made-up her face again to please me, Karen thanked me, unreservedly, for the pain I’d given her.