A Lesson in Confidence

"Him," I hear you say. I can barely hear you over the thump of the bass and the buzz of the crowd, but I see you nod your head towards the end of the bar. Leaning against it, surveying the club, is a man in jeans and a black button-up shirt. He's on the shorter side, but very wide in the chest, and his muscular arms are sleeved in intricate tattoos.

"The man at the end of the bar?" I say, pressing my lips against your ear so that I can be sure that you hear me.

You nod. "Your hour starts now," you say. Then you smile. "I doubt it will take you that long."

I take several deep breaths, trying to slow the rapid beating of my heart. My insides squirm with tension as I make my way towards the man at the end of the bar.

I think of how the night began.

When I get home from work you tell me to put on my sluttiest outfit. No panties allowed, a short, tight skirt, low-cut top, towering high heels. You tell me that you're going to take me to the club and that I am going to suck a stranger's cock. You'll choose someone for me, and I will have one hour to return to you with my face covered in come.

The matter of fact way you tell me what to do sends shivers through me and makes my cheeks sting. You've never told me to do anything like this before. This is so far outside my comfort zone that the idea of it seems ludicrous. I doubt that I will be able to say even two words to a stranger in these circumstances, let alone get him to pull out his dick. Yours is the only cock with which I've had much acquaintance, and the idea of someone else putting theirs in my mouth makes me very nervous. "Why?" I ask.

"Because I tell you to," you say, and that's that. I belong to you. It's up to me perform my task with as much grace as I can manage. When we leave for the club, nervous tension beings to twine itself around me. In the car, you sense my anxiety and clasp my hand tightly. You hold it all the way to the club, and by the time we arrive there, I'm feeling a little calmer.

Now, however, making my way across the dance floor to the man leaning against the end of the bar, my insides feel as if they have all been tied into knots. I hate the idea of failing you, but the temptation to veer off and hide myself in the ladies room is almost too strong to overcome. I force myself to keep walking in the man's direction. As I draw closer, I see him turn his head to look at me. His eyes travel from one end of my body to the other, and he smiles at me when he sees that I'm approaching him.

When I get close, I can hardly bring myself to look at him. My skin feels hot all over, and I know that my face must be bright red. I manage to get close to him and introduce myself. He reciprocates. I try my best to make casual conversation, but my efforts are mediocre at best. I glance at the clock over the bar and see that fifteen minutes have already gone by. The man, he told me his name is Martin, is giving me the eye and not bothering to conceal it. I'd have to be stupid not to notice his interest in me. I just can't seem to bring myself to steer the conversation anywhere but to the most innocuous subjects.

When half an hour has gone by without any progress I begin to feel a little panicked. The idea of failing in a task you set me makes me feel truly miserable, and I decide that it's time for me to put away my embarrassment. It's time for me to find my inner slut and to force her into action. I take a deep breath.

"Can I suck your cock?" I say, and the minute that the words are out of my mouth, I wish that I could take them back. I've been way too forward, too brusque. How could he say yes to such a fumbling question from a complete stranger? If he laughs at me, I'm going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

"What?" he asks. He looks taken aback, but not affronted.

All I want to do is run away, but I force my voice to operate, and I repeat myself, leaning close to Martin so that I can speak into his ear. "Can I please suck your cock?" I say, not able to stop my voice from trembling.

He pulls back from me a little and looks into my face. I don't know what it is that he sees there, but he turns his head and presses his lips against my ear. "Yes," he says. A shiver goes through me at the implications of that single syllable. Martin steps away from the bar and takes my hand. "Where do you want to go?" he says.

I've already given this some thought, and I point to a secluded spot at the edge of the dance floor. "This way," I say, leading him towards an alcove behind a huge speaker which is almost completely obscured by a huge art deco statue of a frolicking nymph. As we walk, I look around and see you close by, keeping pace with us as best you can through the crowd. I only glimpse you for a second, but I know that you'll be there, watching as I pleasure this stranger, waiting for me to return to you with his come on my face.

By the time we slip into the alcove, I am trembling all over. I know that Martin must be able to feel it in my hand, still clamped down on his. Before I can figure out something to say to get things rolling, he says "Why are you shaking so much?" Behind the speaker, the din of the music is muffled, and I can hear him clearly.

"I'm nervous," I say. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Why do you want to suck my cock?" Martin asks. He is studying me, his eyes going from one end of me to the other and then fixing on my face.

I wonder if I should try to fabricate some kind of story, a story where I'm here all alone cruising for dick. Then I recognize that at this point, my thoughts are just not coherent enough to put together a convincing lie. I tell him the truth. "My Master told me to suck your cock."

Martin smiles. "Alright then," he says. "Get to it."

I sigh, my body relaxing. Now that I've been given permission to perform my task, I feel my nervousness beginning to evaporate. I glance to the side and catch sight of you standing near the statue behind which Martin and I are concealed. You're close enough to watch, but far enough away not to rob us of the illusion of privacy.

Martin follows the direction of my gaze. Then he cups my chin in his hand and turns my head so that I'm looking into his eyes. "You're doing this for him," he says, "But right now you're going to focus on me."

"Yes Sir," I say. I can feel myself sinking deep into subspace, and it seems natural to call him that. He tangles his fingers in my hair and tilts my head up towards his. When he kisses me, my lips part for him at once, and his tongue slips into my mouth. He kisses me hard, and thoroughly. When he pulls away from me, I'm short of breath, and I can feel myself getting wetter, my pussy throbbing in time with my rapidly beating heart.

"Now show me how good a cocksucker you are," Martin says. By this point, I am more than happy to oblige him. I get down on my knees and raise my hands to his belt, undoing it and his jeans in a few quick movements. I work his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and can't repress a little gasp when his cock springs free of the cloth. It's large, and although it is not quite as long as yours, it is very thick. When I grip the base of his cock, I can't close my hand around the girth of it. I add another hand, and squeeze gently before beginning to move both hands up and down, slowly, getting a feel for his flesh.

I lower my head and kiss the very tip of his cock, sucking gently at the opening. I have serious doubts about my ability to take the entire thickness of him into me, but I'm going to try my best. I open my mouth as wide as I can and take the head of his cock inside of my mouth. Martin gives a soft moan and grabs two handfuls of my hair as I begin to suck. I concentrate my attention on his cockhead, sucking hard at first, and then pulling back to lick my way around the corona, circling it over and over again with the very tip of my tongue. I lap my way down his shaft and lick back up again and then I fasten my lips around the head of his cock once more.

Now that I'm warmed up, I try to take more of him into my mouth and down my throat. I wrap my arms around Martin's waist and use the leverage to help force his cock deeper inside of me. He uses his hands in my hair to help me, pushing my head down and then pulling me back up again in a steady rhythm. I gag and choke, every now and again having to come up for a few gasps of air before returning to work. Saliva is dripping from my mouth, slicking my face, darkening the fabric of my top, and forming a puddle on the floor beneath me.

Despite my efforts, I can't seem to get much more than half of his length down my throat, but Martin seems more than satisfied. He is moaning and the hands clenched in my hair are shaking a little. I can tell that he's getting close. Before things go any further, I pull away from him for a moment. "Will you please come on my face?" I say.

"I think I can manage that," Martin replies, his voice hoarse, and then he pushes my lips back down on him. I begin to suck faster, using my hands to stroke his shaft as my lips and tongue service his cockhead. Martin begins to push my head up and down, speeding up the rhythm of my strokes, until with a grunt he pulls himself out of my mouth. His hand goes to his cock, and begins to pump. In a few quick strokes, he starts to come.

I kneel in front of him, watching it happen. Martin's entire body stiffens and as the come begins to erupt from the end of cock, his hips thrust as if jolted by an electrical current. He gives a series of deep moans that make me shiver with pleasure. A shower of his hot come falls on my face. Scalding droplets hit my lips, my cheeks, my forehead. A warm glow begins to fill me. I have accomplished my task, and brought pleasure to the man who helped me complete it.

Martin's hand gives a few more slow strokes, squeezing, milking every last drop of come out of his cock and onto my upturned face. I restrain myself from licking my lips to catch some of his fluid. You didn't tell me that I should swallow. I turn my head, searching for you outside the alcove, and I see you there, standing just beside the opening. Our eyes meet, and the warmth of accomplishment that fills me increases. I see that you are smiling, and I know that I've pleased you.

Martin sighs and then pulls up his boxers and jeans. He looks down at me and smiles. "You look good covered in come," he says, holding a hand out to me. I clasp it in my own, and he helps me to my feet. It takes me a moment to find my balance, and Martin slips an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Thank you," I say.

He laughs. "Anytime," he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an elegant business card. He rummages, comes up with a pen, and then jots a phone number on the back of the card. "This is my cell," he says. "I'd love to hear from you some time." He pauses. "Maybe from you and your Master."

I take the card from him. I catch his drift, and the idea gives me a thrill. I decide that I am going to ask you how you feel about threesomes some time in the near future. For now though, all I want is to return to you, to present my success to you. I tuck Martin's card into my bra, and take a step back, disengaging myself from him.

"I guess it's time for me to get going," he says, nodding in your direction.

I give him a shy smile. "Yes please," I say. "It's time for me to make my report." Martin reaches out, gives my hand a final squeeze, and slips out of the far end of the alcove. I go towards the other end, making my way to your side, but you are already coming towards me. You push me deeper into the alcove, and grab a handful of my hair. You pull my head back so that you can study my face.

"You have been a very good girl," you say, and I blush, my body tingling with pleasure as it always does when you praise me.

"Thank you Master," I say.

You reach into your pocket and come out with a handkerchief. You use it to gently wipe Martin's come from my cheeks, and lips, and forehead. Then you turn me, push me so that I'm pressed against the sheltering statue, and lift the hem of my skirt to my waist. I brace myself against the cool marble and listen to the rustle of your clothes as you undo your pants.

Then I feel the tip of your cock sliding up and down my dripping slit, searching for entry. You find what you're looking for and give a hard thrust of your hips. I cry out, clutching at the statue as you begin to move inside of me. One of your hands finds my clit and begins to stroke it up and down in the way you know I like the best. I groan, bite my lip, push myself back against you, struggling to open myself to you completely, to take everything you want to give me. You begin to pound me hard, and I feel the tension growing in my body, feel my orgasm coiling.

"May I please come Sir?" I say, my voice a low groan.

You don't answer me right away, only increase the pace of your thrusts so that it's all I can do to contain myself. Then you say "Come for me."

Your words ignite me. The orgasm breaks over me in waves, spasms of pleasure surging from my pussy into every one of my nerve-endings. I scream, and you put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound as I buck my hips and clutch at the statue to keep from falling. The orgasm goes on and on as you continue to fuck me. When the pleasure finally diminishes, I feel like I am floating several feet above the ground.

A few moments later I feel you freeze, your body quivering, and then you pull out of me. You grab me, turn me around, and force me to my knees. "Open your mouth," you say, and I obey at once. You stroke your cock hard for a few moments and then your hips thrust forward and you groan. Your come spurts into my open mouth, and I swallow it down. I am careful to capture every last drop, licking my lips to make sure I get it all. When you finish, you reach down to me and stroke my cheek. "Good girl," you say, and a glowing feeling of pride mixes with my languid contentment.

You rearrange your clothing and then help me back to my feet, pulling me in close to you and giving me a long, hard kiss. I think about how lucky I am to be your slave. I think about the things I learned about myself tonight, and the things that you might still want to teach me. As you hold me, your hands stroking my back, I feel the outline of Martin's card against my breast and smile. I don't think I'm going to have to work very hard to convince you that a menage trois would be an excellent learning experience.