by ANTHRO
(C) 1999
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION.
It's rare to actually experience an actual event that leads to writing a work reflecting the actual course of events as they occurred rather than creating something which you hope will be both believable and erotic - and yet such an unusual event did actually occur twice in my life, one of which I'd like to share with you.
About four years ago I was visiting friends in Paris and one night I ended up in some ridiculous suburb with a lot of people I was fairly sure I didn't know. We were in some fashionable little restaurant as popular with the well - heeled locals of this Noveau Riche and picturesque district as it was with discerning tourists. The evening progressed convivially and we ended dinner with drinks and a table which had expanded geometrically to fill the atmospherically lit and chic Bistro, a homogenous mass swollen by the ranks of trendy young French locals who, being of the gregarious wine consuming nation that they are, were easily drawn to the colourful collection of bizarre people around me. (A well know actor who got his 'Green Card' to Hollywood was also there, living locally, and none of his stories sounded remotely true - but they were funny!)
As the alcohol and the night wore on I fell into conversation with a girl, a model from New York, and she told me an incredible story which she swore was true. So while all the yapping strangers around me ate, drank and argued politics - I wisely armed myself with a blitzkrieg of potent cocktails, too many cigarettes and a position of suavely relaxed sophistication which let me watch her crazy eyes, mind boggling body and still made me look cool.
As you'll read later and probably understand, I was drawn rather quickly into this story in which she was a player. So I sat listening to this beautiful young woman tell me the strange story of her best friend, 'Olivia' in my version of the story, and how she found the definitive way to restore a zest to a marriage that was lacking in something. For reasons of discretion, legal action and to protect the guilty in the tale that follows we shall call this New York model - Donna ( But her name was really Amber! )
What follows is an approximation of the story she told me!
Anthro.
AN OBSCURE BEGINNING
The tall woman sat quietly in the silent room. Here and there in the white room her own image gazed down at her from behind the glass mounted frames locked onto the abstract, crazed pattern on the walls. There was a stainless steel vibrator and an almost empty glass of clear liquid before her on the marble table. The muted widescreen television spewed forth a host of cascading and meaningless images which she had little difficulty in ignoring. On her naked knees sat a black leather photo album which she turned, page after page, with a mannered and silent discretion. In her eyes tears began to well up, glossy, cloudy pools of salty fluid which threatened to over-run and smear the immaculate eye make-up.
The well conditioned dark locks of her symmetrical haircut flowed forward gently as she clutched the crystal tumbler and drained the glass of its contents to prevent the tiny discontented sob escaping into the silence of the well ordered room.
In the heart of the Merchant City there stood a sleek and contemporarily crafted building which housed the corporate offices of 'Outerbridge Media Consultancy Inc.' Within this gleaming temple the middle section was composed of Accountancy & Analysis and inside the Chief Accountant's office a blonde man was raging at three sheepish, middle aged men.
They stared back without malice or antagonism as the man behind the large desk made serious question of their competency, despite their long serving status with the company - how else could they explain this hideous error he had found? As the men raised half hearted effort to explain such stupidity their interrogator laughed quietly within, almost amused by the functional roles they were all expected to play out. It was nothing more than social actors conflicting in their social interaction and doing what was expected of them - none the less he was glad he was the one with the power and not them!
A CINEMATIC OPPORTUNITY
The thin man watched the girl under the lights, seeing the body he knew well to be clearly defined and revealed irrespective of the rubber dress she was wrapped in. The heat from the lights was intense and it was no surprise that most of the viewers on the periphery of the studio stage were in loose shirts or blouses. Fill-in flash clicked off from high power strobes at some half dozen locations making the posing girl become momentarily ethereal which made the man smile a little every time it occurred.
Later, at the model's dressing room
"Knock-Knock!" he said.
"Jack,...darling!"
The couple embraced and kissed in a deep and long grind that drew their bodies in. The man felt the rubber moving beneath his hands as she kicked the door shut as she leaned against it.
"I'm sorry Donna, but I can't wait long - I thought you'd be nearly done by now"
"Sorry baby - Ciavelli is a real 'artist'!" she sneered.
Jack's hands were helpless but to caress her buttocks and naked thighs before slipping to touch the downy fleece of blonde hair between her legs. Donna felt his long, hard organ against her leg.
"No...I can't. I want to but I can't. You don't have time and I can't get mess...stop it,you know that makes me want to...STOP!" she giggled as she pulled his zip down and slipped her perfectly manicured hand into his jeans. "Look at the size of this...I told you I can't get messed up, the shoot isn't over. I don't want to be standing out there half an hour from now posing for 5 frames a second when suddenly 4 or 5 Million of your potential offspring come falling out of me to be preserved on film for posterity. Right? So I'm going to suck your cock off in the hope that I won't end up with a vaginal monsoon. Lean against the damn door pull those jeans down a little - I like to see what I'm eating!"
Jack complied and he watched the bossy model nibble the end of his long, thick erection before she suddenly gobbled the head in at the speed of lightning. The man gasped aloud as he watched her smile up with her eyes as she held a single finger up and pointing to the clock...there was only one minute to come!
The beautiful model in the black and white rubber dress worked with a precision like skill on his familiar and favoured penis. The heavily painted lips avoided smearing his skin with supreme expertise.
The probing, slippy tongue pushed and rolled his foreskin back and tasted the wet glans in a stimulatory tingle that made her pull him further into her orifice.
There was a sudden knocking at the door.
"Donna, Donna...as soon as you're ready! Donna?" a vaguely Italian accent called.
The blonde haired girl pointed to the clock indicating that the clock was still ticking as she suddenly sealed around him and breathed in deeply making his erection bloat. Jack grunted aloud and banged against the door, listening to the sounds of his girl-friend wetly slopping and teasing his penis.
"Donna...?" the voice inquired again, this time turning the door handle.
The model kept working on Jack, replying to the man outside with a muffled "Umm-Humm!".
With only 20 seconds to go she started to take him to the rear of her mouth and continue against the gullet tissue as she took the head past the epiglotis and down her throat. Her blue eyes watched his pleasure as she continued to take him further and further in...until there was no more to consume and she closed her painted lips about the flesh which opened her jaw and spread her mouth into a wide, erotic smile. She evacuated his hardness, letting him see the red lipstick kiss surrounding the very base of his organ and then swallowed him again. With ten seconds to go the man outside chapped the door forcefully as Jack stuck up a single finger salute, closed his eyes to concentrate on achieving his task in the allotted time as he felt Donna bobbing the head of his thick penis in and out of her throat.
Donna moaned as she felt the big head in her throat swell and shoot a slippery hot fluid down her gullet, a long tasteless release.
She let him out of the throat and felt a huge release filling her bulging mouth making her suddenly swallow with a mis-timed gulp.
Jack gave a soft sigh as his organ continued its rapturous ejaculation into her mouth and down her throat. After 7 or 8 ejaculatory spasms he saw the kneeling woman pulling back to attend to the intruder when Jack Shot a last, heavy flood of wet and thick come that she couldn't swallow in time as he pulled himself out of her and noisily slipped his throbbing erection back within the confines of the loud zipping jeans.
Donna was heading to the basin when he grabbed her and pressed his mouth to hers. The door opened simultaneously and a short, red faced man with a sparse blessing of dyed blonde hair popped his wide head into the dressing room.
Jack tickled Donna's waist to keep her mouth full by making it impossible to swallow...so she shot a little of his own hot come into his mouth before he pulled away. It slipped down easily.
"Bye Darling - catch you later! Enjoy the shoot!" he smirked with his wide mouthed grin.
Donna was as amused as she was embarrassed. Jack was already brushing past the renowned Italian photographer with a cheery grin and muttering "Wotcher Benito!"
Before she could swallow Jack's come, the enraged man was in front of her and she simply stood motionless in case she burst out laughing. His erection was apparent.
"So...Donna! You prefer to play 'hanky-panky' with your man while you keep me outside. You could at least let me watch you or maybe photograph you...maybe you could do the very private film like ------- -------- and ----- ----------- * did with me. Maybe you might like to find out what sex with a real man is about, not humpimg some scrawny girlish boy but a real, hot-blooded love : an Italian.
There was no answer to this sudden and ridiculous suggestion. So she simply spat what she had left of Jack over him.
"No chance, Fat-boy! I choose my own prey!"
The man was ballistic in his outrage as he felt the sopping and clinging fluid slither down him open-neck shirt.
"You're fired, get out! You'll never work again you fucking slut!"
Donna had already moved away from the human blimp and was gathering her bag as she tossed a couple of pieces into it.
"Fired? You've got it, hand-job! I'm gone, see you in the 'Inquirer' Mr.Ciavelli" she said as she strode past him in the squeaking rubber dress. It was too hard to resist wiggling and being as arrogantly sexy as he deserved. His eyes burned into her but he was now speechless with horror.
The door slammed shut and she was gone.
( * The names of the stated models have been deleted - due to the gigantically powerful lawyers people who are paid as much as they are and who can easily afford to sue minor publishing companies! But I suggest you count the number of spaces and see who fits the bill...I was shocked! )
***********************************
OLD FRIENDS
A jangle of music played in the background of the pure white, crazed room. Olivia's nose wrinkled up as giggled, her long fingers covering her mouth girlishly.
Donna grinned back widely as she refilled their glasses, her heavy make-up seriously contrasting against her platinum blonde hair. Her long, black nails clasped her chest in emphasis as she resisted bursting out with laughter.
"Honest to God, Olivia, I was never and I mean never so happy to get away from a drooling photographer, his eyes were still stripping you even for the nearly nude shots! Anyway after the 'Big Scene' with Jack and 'Spunky' Ciavelli I grabbed my stuff and just ran out in the last outfit I'd been modelling. So much for highly reputed Italian photographers. Of course, having said that - I'd love to see some of those films he tried to get me to do. I'd never have thought that ------- -------- * would do stuff like that, it must be the 'Grace Kelly Syndrome' - it's in the hormones!"
( * As before, big lawyers - really big. )
"It's odd that you mention her but when she started at Elite-One a lot of the other girls used to call her '7-Up'...you can guess why!"
The two women collapsed in hysterical laughter, quite at home in the expensive elegance around them. The discrete lighting enhanced the dull sunlight of dusk outside, making the sculptures and glasswork within the white room adopt new and interesting shapes. The laughter became so helplessly raucous that they both had to put their glasses down until they calmed down.
Olivia sipped at her glass, matt pink lips parting only slightly.
"So what did the taxi driver think of someone hailing a cab painted to the nines, hair plastered into a dominating pony tail and wearing a tiny, zebra stripe, rubber dress? No reaction, I suppose, just an average Wednesday afternoon fare to him?"
"No but he watched me very carefully in his mirror almost all the way here, he almost crashed twice! Now, at first, I thought he was entranced or seriously wary of someone who was dressed like me-well I could understand that, but it wasn't the answer. I was almost here before I twigged, he'd been staring up my skirt all the way over in the mirror. I'd been wearing these things all day, going from one rubber garment to another without thought - completely forgetting that I was totally knickerless! What an idiot.."
Olivia suddenly stared across between her friend's thighs and caught a reprise of 'What the Taxi Driver Saw' as she tried to feebly point at the sight while they both collapsed into their wild laughing jag again. Like Laurel and Hardy in 'Blotto' their own laughter kept them in a state of humorous incapacity.
As control returned to them Olivia's perfectly made up face revealed a look of melancholy which was quite out of place. For a second her face reflected the darkness of her hair. When she spoke there was a sudden sadness in her voice.
"God, Donna, you are so lucky! At least things are still happening to you - you have some idea of being alive. Shit, all I do is wander about this elegant mausoleum and try to imagine what I can do to fill in the meaningless hours."
"Olivia," her friend smiled as she eased herself back into a pastel blue armchair with a luscious friction squeak, "sometimes I think that I'd like to swap lives with you. I can't imagine why you pine for returning to the crappy go-sees and photo calls and disappointments. I'm sure that you've forgotten most of the hideous, shitty times you were desperate to get out of rotten modelling jobs, cramps, lack of sleep, travelling, fussy photographers, mind-numbingly dull catalogue work, DIETS, agents, bitchy models on a shoot with you, not getting the front cover, irritating and oppressive art directors...Gaffa taped boobs!"
Olivia shook her head, her dark hair shaking for a moment, out of synch with the cranial movement, and a brief flash of sadness played across her angular face.
"No, I can still remember. It's only been three years since I got married, it just feels like thirty! Let me tell you, there isn't much reason to want to swap lives with me-unless you want to end up falling in love with your vibrator."
The platinum blonde girl shifted in her black and white rubber dress, vainly trying to slip the hem down to a tolerable level of modesty again before giving up on it as a hopeless cause.
"I assume that everything isn't rosy on the domestic front? Dylan isn't having an affair already, surely?"
Olivia laughed contemptuously and finished her wine.
"No hope, that would at least indicate some kind of life beyond the waist."
"Oh dear, bedroom troubles. He isn't going a bit strange is he, you know like Tony did after he met that Bulgarian weight lifter? No, I suppose not, but there has to be something to account for it Olivia, I mean, you're not exactly Mrs Average are you? For a man to get tired of one of the most notably beautiful fashion models in the business is...well at the very least, a little odd."
The two girls laughed aloud as they simultaneously thought of Dylan and the Bulgarian weight lifter, spilling wine in their falling about enthusiasm.
"Okay Donna, you told me your dark secrets so I might as well tell you mine! When Dylan and I were married at first it was... great, of course. But in the past year or so his libido seems to have gone into long term hibernation or something. After a while we started to discuss it, and then discuss it again and again until it became nothing more than making all the same empty promises and resolutions to try harder. But nothing has changed, it's still as dull as dishwater. I mean, we're still having sex, but it is ssoooo dull, it's like doing the same thing every time...God I'd prefer to do some knitting than get down to fucking with him...it stinks! No matter what I do or think up we'll do it only once and then it's banished from the tedious repertoire never to thrill us again. Eventually I just gave up trying and it's doing my little head right in! The same thing week in week out and anything over twenty minutes is an absolute bloody marathon."
"I knew there'd been something wrong, but I didn't suspect that this was what it was all about. I mean you must be feeling it quite seriously not to have told me before this-we share nearly everything, Olivia. I mean...you aren't blowing this all out of proportion are you?"
"Far from it. I can't even begin to describe the fury I feel. I can live with not having a life, but being dictated to and controlled by someone else's silence and unwillingness to cooperate is fucking intolerable. In fact recently I've been thinking about having an affair...being with someone else, but I'm mad about Dylan and I know he cares for me...he is so sweet and considerate about everything except sex."
"I assume you've gone through all the sexy dressing and intimate situations...so, could it be physical, a medical condition or even psychological...stress perhaps?"
"No, nothing like that. The only thing the Doctor suggested that it was simply quite natural, essentially the honeymoon was over!" Olivia sighed.
"After three years? The demented 'scrote' must have been older than Methuselah to suggest that. It could be some kind of weird power trip or maybe Dylan is just getting enough to keep him happy and he's beginning to forget that he's got someone with him in bed. Do you remember Keith? The grainy pop video director? Well that happened with him and I had to make it clear who was boss!"
"Just what do you mean by 'Boss'...as in BOSS!"
"As in 'May I Boss?'!"
"Really, Donna? Did it work?"
"Actually, yes, the whole thing became really racy for quite a while...it was heaven right up until I found out he was married, but that's another story. It certainly worked for me and he didn't look very unhappy about it - apart from when I made him clean all the drains in the hideous night-gown he bought for me. He didn't ever buy me tacky crap again, I can tell you!"
"Well, come on, do tell, I'm dying to hear the gory details of how you boosted his flagging libido. You never told me Keith had to be put in his place, he was always so bloody bossy at work and off. Satisfy my curiosity, come on!"
"You might have hit the nail on the head. Bossy! In control. Responsible...it's all symptomatic-I think!"
Donna stood up, automatically tugging the resistant sticky rubber hem down to hide the bright blonde halo which she'd forgotten to dress as she left the photo shoot earlier that day. The rubber squeaked as she unfolded and dragged it down to a presentable state. She noticed that Olivia was staring at her a little strangely as if she was a little smashed as well as scrutinous. Swaying a little, Donna realised they'd both consumed a fair amount of alcohol and it was now properly dark outside.She looked down at Olivia, the same Olivia she had always envied for her elegant beauty and impeccable shape that seemed to take much less looking after than the hideous regime she herself had to follow to stay competitive and in the business. How could someone not treat her best friend properly? Her oldest and most intimate friend. The conscious sensation of the drinks having taken the edge off their social inhibitions suddenly amused her as she realised that lessons had to be taught. Sometimes you could be too well brought up to be practical about problems. They gazed at each other intimately and in silence until the girl in the zebra dress spoke again.
"I'll do better than that Olivia, I'll show you. Follow me. This will change your life, come on!" said Donna leading her elegant friend from the white room.
REVOLUTIONS
Two evenings later Olivia stood patiently waiting in the hallway of her house occasionally staring at the large, mechanical clicking clock. She felt edgy and time seemed to drag down to hours for minutes and minutes for seconds. In the background the high powered audio system flooded the strains of Debussy's 'Sonata for Violin and Piano' throughout every room in the house. Everything was arranged and laid out exactly as it should be. In the past two days there had been no problem filling in the hours, not when she was doing something she enjoyed and gave her something back. That was something else she was going to change...but that was for later. She looked at the clock again and it did not seem to have moved in the past half hour. Walking down the shiny wooden floor of the hall she smiled a little as she heard the harsh clicking-clump of her booted feet as a shimmering reflection gazed back at herself from ground zero. It was like waiting to go on the 'catwalk', the tension, the tiny trickles of unwanted perspiration, the sense of anticipation, all passing unseen and consumed within. With an eye on the clocks which littered their house Olivia walked past the large, atmospherically lit rooms - fruitlessly checking that all her earlier work was still there and still right. All the beauty and splendour of their more than modest abode suddenly thrilled her again. Somehow Donna's secret had re-awakened things within herself which she thought had long gone. And all the time she never really suspected that Donna really was the way she had shown herself to be. It was surprising really, after all those years of thinking one thing or at least seeing it as a light-hearted joke, when all the time is was something else entirely. Discrete but always present. Now the clocks seemed to be moving quickly and she heard the faint sound of the grinding pebbles as his car entered the long driveway. It was time and she moved quickly to wait at the door for her darling husband.
Dylan's Black Futura stopped gently in the pebbled drive. The sun was already dead in the sky by the time he arrived home, a hideous attache case full of impending matters that constantly demanded his attention and supervisory responsibility. There were times when he just wanted to toss all this shit in the river and run away to do and be something else. But that was ridiculous, how could he leave all the trappings behind, this house, the money, and the power of his well established position. It might cause problems but they could always be overcome - one way or another. Even to him it was now sounding hollow, he was on the grinding merry-go-round and he'd probably be jammed in it forever. Why hadn't he stuck to acting instead of studying a sensible and noble profession? By the time he got to the doorsteps of the elegant old detached house he was quite lost in his own thoughts and didn't notice that Olivia already had the front door open and was standing before it, waiting. When he saw her he thought he was at the wrong house. Who the hell was that at the door? He gazed in open mouthed amazement.
HI, HONEY, I'M HOME
Olivia stood there arrogantly staring out, her body covered in a long, thick, black rubber coat, her slim hands hidden by the shiny confines of clinging, matching, gloves that disappeared within the flapping arms. Her black boots looked precariously high as she gazed down at him. Dylan stared at her, looking at the perfect skin, pale and smooth, the savage red lips, the short crop of black hair smoothed back with heavy gel, highlighting the delightful shape of her face, and finally to see her piercing eyes so beautifully painted behind a harsh black cat-mask that made her look removed and mysterious.
"Strip naked before you enter my house." she said quietly but with an underlying hint of aggression.
His handsome, square set face burst into an incredulous, almost embarrassed, grin. Suddenly he was uncertain of what to do or say as he stood facing his own wife. The disorientation he usually experienced in situations where the proper order of decorum is unbalanced was many times more magnified here and now as he became uncertain how to deal with the complexity of his own reaction. Olivia always looked beautiful, it was one of the reasons he was attracted to her in the first place. When he found how witty intelligent and well brought up she was it made her irresistible. And yet here she not only looked beautiful, if anything more beautiful than ever, but she looked new and a little dangerous.
His mouth was dry and he simply started to slowly move forward with a vague grin on his face.
"I won't tell you twice!" she breathed threateningly, picking up the riding crop from the table just by her side within the doorway she guarded.
"Olivia..darling, what's going o.."
"Did you hear what I said Dylan?"
Dylan eyes glinted as he scrutinised the women wearing his wife's body and he realised that there was no ridiculous humour involved, she was quite serious.
It was difficult to tell which of them was more amazed as Dylan tossed his case on the hard stone and began to undress on the steps of his own front door, almost secure in the fervent hope that no-one would see this strange display through the trees and abundant garden shrubs. As he stripped he realised that he didn't know why he was complying with her demands, but he none the less followed them.
Olivia watched as his dark Paul Smith jacket was carefully tossed on the case followed by his shoes and socks after which he hesitated before unhitching his trousers to fall from his waist. The way she watched him was doing odd things to his sensory system, she had a very peculiar and different look to her...in fact it was a little like that for the past couple of days. As he stood in nothing but his shirt and shorts he had little option to play this hand to its logical conclusion, the other disrobed garments were followed by the dark tie and pale blue shirt which revealed his muscular chest and powerful shoulders. At last, and with a final hint of hesitation, Olivia watched her husband remove his Klein shorts in a swift movement.
He was in good shape for a man in his late thirties, lean tanned and well built. There was only a brief white section to his subtle, golden tan and it was there that both of them found their attention lay. Dylan was rather surprised at the state of his own anatomy which had seemingly developed a sudden uncontrollable life-force of its own. Her dark eyes looked straight at his crotch, at the thick half-swollen circumcised member which seemed to be anticipating excitement, mystery, pleasure and perhaps discipline. Olivia wielded her riding crop and jabbed at his organ, inspecting and teasing his chilled, naked vulnerability.
As Dylan started to edge forward to enter their house she threw something down in front of him.
"Put these on, Dylan!"
He bent down, retrieved the discarded objects and held them in his hands. If it all wasn't so believable he'd have said it was ridiculous, this was the kind of thing which the M.D. and the Board Members reputedly paid serious sums of money to experience at the hands of wealthy, well bred, kinky prostitutes - women who were indulging their nature and dislike for the neatness of convention and social order as much as for the exorbitant sums of money they charged their hungry clients, most of whom they didn't even have to screw.
"You expect me to wear these?" he asked her.
His wife said nothing and simply kicked his discarded belongings into an untidy heap on the shiny polished wooden floor on the entrance vestibule, behind her.
"Put them on Dylan and keep your mouth shut!"
At this point he felt a little anger and aggression as his male hackles rose. Dylan considered that she seemed to slip into this detached unpleasantness without difficulty. His horizontally hanging penis opined nothing as intellectually sophisticated, it was only too willing to make its initial interest quite apparent. With some embarrassment Dylan bent forward and fitted two of the leather straps to his ankles, noting the hanging steel rings on them. Then he fitted the other pair of matching leather bracelets to each of his thick wrists. Now he had done what he was told,God alone knew why - he certainly didn't, perhaps they could get on with whatever was going on. But still he had to wait, becoming cold and frightened that his strange naked state may be spotted by a passer by or much worse by a neighbour.
"Olivia, " he began pleading.
"Shut your mouth! Now kneel down, I said kneel! Or would you like me to leave you out here, without your clothes or keys? I didn't think so. That's a good boy, get down onto your knees. Now!"
With a little difficulty she leaned over and managed to close a tight, leather collar and lead firmly around his taut neckline. Dylan caught a seductive whiff of the heavy rubber as it mixed with the pure scent of Olivia's own skin in an strange, aroma-therapeutic hybrid of subtly unusual stimulation. His flesh rippled where her heavy rubber coat brushed against him and the sight of her towering, gleaming boots was extraordinarily pleasant.
"That's a very good boy," she patronised as she tugged on the leash and led him into the security of the little entrance vestibule and on to the house from his all fours position, making him kick the doors shut with his hind leg.
"I've made a drink for you Dylan dear, you must have had such a terribly hard day at the tediously dull office. I know it must drain you telling everyone what to do and working to such high pressure deadlines - that's why I think you need a drink to help you unwind and remember who you really are...and most importantly where your real responsibilities lie!"
WELCOME TO MY PLEASUREDOME
Olivia was internally excited by the sight of her new, powerful looking, pet with its well toned, tanned, body shifting along at her heels beside her. It reminded her of some European film, set in a French Bordello where everyone had some special kink or service they required. The sensation of dominating another human had some very positive and thrilling aspects to it for her at any rate. She watched the way his stiffened organ swung like an uncertain, directional pointer as it swayed with his every move forward within the interior of the house. Olivia smiled and noted that there didn't seem to be any problem getting him excited enough at the moment, but the real test was still to come.
Entering the white room she stood watching him as he crawled ahead across the deep, warm, beige carpet, his bottom looking strong boned and luscious in the subdued light. Olivia pointed down to the white bowl containing a double vodka and orange, strategically placed by the fireside and in front of the lush sofa where she could sit down and watch her husband licking booze from a plate like a dog.
"Drink up your double Dylan and be quick about it. We don't have time to waste and I have plans for you tonight!"
For a couple of minutes there was silence save for the sounds of Olivia's rubber squeaking and the dull thud of her stiletto boots as she walked about him, observing his total uncertainty. When she sighed and walked towards him at a faster pace, crop in hand, he started to lap experimentally at the yellow juice in the bowl. The beautiful, hard woman sat on the sofa and stared at her husband, listening to his tongue making involuntary lapping sounds as he strove to clear the strong mixture from the bowl. Under the heavy coat she felt hot and sexually aroused, but the psychological thrills of this far outweighed just having sex...this was something quite different.
The burning fire flickered a yellowy-red light on them and Dylan found the heat to be quite unpleasant in his naked state. The tanned flesh was glowing with a dull red as he tried to bring the bowl back from the intense heat zone, to allow him to complete his task back in a comparatively cooler area. Olivia hesitated for a second and then felt a mischievous tingle pass through her, commanding her what to do. With deliberation she pulled the riding crop back and thrashed it hard against his advancing buttocks. The sound of the collision and his angered shout thrilled her, it had been no little stinging smack - this had been a very hard and definite chastisement designed to illustrate who was in charge.
Dylan penis had suddenly become a thick, hard jutting pole that neatly nestled tightly into his belly, throbbing with excitement as he remained on all fours and continued his wild lapping at the bowl,keen to consume every drop from the bowl as quickly as he could to escape from the heat of the fire and her wrath. Even he no longer questioned what he was doing, he wasn't in charge of anything at the moment.
By the time he had finished the alcohol he already felt it hitting his system rather quickly and he began to suspect that his wife had deceived him about the quantity or its strength. The usual, ordered edge had been clipped from his attitude and he began to feel a little at home in the unusual role of suppressed subservience.
Remaining on all fours he heard Olivia rising and squeaking toward him, tugging on the long leash and pulling him round towards her. Dylan found himself facing the bottom of her coat and knees as he stared up the shiny coat and gazed in admiration at the swelling form of the underlying body of what he believed to be his wife. All the while a wicked smile was fixed on her face as she watched him try to surreptitiously shift his now burning bottom from the radiating heat of the glowing fire.
"If you move from where I've set you I'll have to bind you across the fireplace until you start to smoke - I'd like that. Go on, move away if you want...you know what'll happen."
He gritted his teeth and remained rigid. If only he was allowed to speak!
"Dylan, lick the toes of my boots and tell me if you like the feeling against your tongue." she said and smacked his back with the crop. "Don't hesitate. When I say something you will do it immediately. Is that clear? Is it?"
"Yes..." he said a little angrily.
"Yes...what?" she asked.
"Yes...Olivia!"
"No you stupid bloody man! Yes...Mistress, in fact it should be 'Yes my Mistress'. Can you handle that or should i give you a quick lesson on 'Learning via Negative conditioning'?"
This time there was no pause and Dylan answered immediately.
"No my Mistress."
Now his voice was a little more controlled and a little more humble. Dylan bowed his head and, feeling a little dizzy, began to push his tongue out and draw it across the glistening patent sheen of her lacing boots.
"Suck the tip as if it was the Chairman's cock Dylan, do it as if you like it!"
His face turned up with a hurt look and with a secret pleading that she sneered at as she raised her left toe for him to caress. Turning from her haughty gaze he opened his mouth wide and gulped the shining tip right into his mouth enthusiastically, his tongue stroking the rough underside of her sole.
"Shit, Dylan, I never knew you could give such good 'head'. I like it, I like this a lot. Now suck the heel, get it all in I want to see it disappear. If your mouth can't do it we'll have to find somewhere else which can!" She laughed and watched him lie prone until he could get his mouth over the awkwardly placed heel of shining chrome. All the while his penis was choked with a thick erection the like of which he hadn't felt since...he didn't know when, but it was far back in the past. There was also a tinge of shame that he was unaware that his wife had such a ruthless capability in amongst all her other talents and even the perversity of this well brought up woman playing or living a harder, rougher sexual role was highly appealing to him in a way that he thought he was incapable of responding to.
The train of thought he was following simultaneously to his foot ministrations was quickly broken as she gently kicked him away from her, wiping the saliva traces from her heels on his skin. Their eyes stared into one another as the rich lush sounds of Lucienne Boyer's 'Parlez-Moi D'Amour' poured out and filled the room with their eerily transformative influence. Neither of them said or did anything but a definite shift in their natural balance was being assertively established. The wall clock clicked on in a harsh, ongoing intrusion.
