A Slave Obeys

I sit on the bus like a frighten animal. Outside the cold air licks the windows and condenses my breath into fog against them. The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so fast that they must be trying to kill one another. Surely I'm stupid, nothing about my plan bears any intelligence, yet I can't get myself to pull the cord and hop off the bus to go home. So the bus treks along closer to where I so desperately want to be and where I so desperately want to run from.

I know he's waiting for me, sitting in a back booth waving away the waiters. Maybe he's displeased that I am late, he must be. I shift in my seat. What if he's left? How should I apologize? I'm reminded now that what I'm doing is stupid. I'm disappearing deep into a part of the city I don't know, to meet a man I've never seen, and I know he wants to hurt me. I know he wants to hurt me bad.

The bus rolls to a stop in front of the restaurant and I hurry down the stairs without thought. My nipples perk up as the wind slides inside my coat and through the sheer shirt he asked me to wear. I shiver and my legs goose bump, a miniskirt and leather boots leave too much skin exposed. Darting into the restaurant's door I breathe slowly out of anticipation and fear. I told him I'm new to this, that I've never done this before. But that just made the hungry wolf smile wider.

I hug my coat around my revealing outfit while I ask the waitress where he's sitting. I'm so nervous I almost call him "Master" when referring to him. Everything feels exposed, every cell aware of its openness. I take a deep breath as she leads me to his table. He's dressed in a nice black suit and looks up smiling at the sight of me, an unmasked wickedness in his grin. The waitress sees it also and hurries away after handing me a menu. I guess he scares her too.

He takes my coat without a word and immediately I panic. Does he want me to quietly read the menu and wait to be spoken to? Or should I rush into an apology for being late? The only thing I'm sure of is that I can't afford to be wrong. I fiddle with the hem of my skirt, trying to formulate words in my mouth. It doesn't work in time.

"You're late," there's obvious displeasure in his voice.

"I'm very sorry, I got out of the house late and the bus was-" he cuts off my excuses.

"Master," he says, "It's 'Master' to you. And I don't want any excuses. I realize you are untrained, but the in no ways voids punishment."

I gulp, "Yes Master."

"Since you wasted my valuable time --took it per say- I'm going to have to take something of yours," he looks me in the eyes and finishes in a stern voice, "take off your panties and give them to me."

"What!?" I exclaim without thinking, then realize my mistake. He stares down at me with a glower. "I mean, are you sure Master? In public?"

"Do not question me," he orders, "now."

I hesitate, the idea thrills but also terrifies me. My lips feel dry and I try in vain to wet them with my tongue. Suddenly I wonder if anyone else has overheard the conversation. My heart races and I look up, scanning every restaurant patron for a sign that they're listening in. No one looks suspicious, but that does little to calm my pounding heart. I start to slide out of the seat, neck craning to find the little girl's room. He stops me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, stern command in his voice.

"The bathroom," I whisper back, all too aware that someone could overhear us.

"No you're not; you're taken them off right here."

"In front of everyone!?" I exclaim.

"Either you take them off or I'll take them off for you," he smirks. Something tells me he'd like nothing better than to do just that. I gulp and sit back down next to him. I have no clue how to do this, how to make sure no one notices. My fingers feel shaky and numb as they lift on up edge of my skirt. I can't believe I'm doing this; my heart beat drowns out all the sound. I slowly work down the side of my thong facing the wall, getting it to where it's barely still hidden under my skirt edge. I gulp as I try to think of how to do the other side without someone noticing. I take a glance up at my Master and see that he's watching me intently. I wet my lips again and begin to work the next side now. It's a slow agonizing process. My pussy feels cold and alive with sensations. I've almost got it out from under my skirt when I hear Master speak in a low voice to me.

"Keep going," he tells me, then he raises his arm and waves "Waitress!"

My breath freezes in my chest as the waitress trots over to our table and begins to take his order. Somehow my fingers keep working in the slowest of secrecy; my very breath is as quiet as possible. Maybe I can disappear into the seat. When he finishes giving our order he dismisses the waitress and looks back at me with a grin.

"What'd you do that for?" I hiss at him, watching him smile devilishly.

"Hand them to me," he tells me, reaching over to me with an open palm and ignoring my question. I hesitate, then slipped them off my ankles and handed them to him in a rush. He smiled and tucked them into his pocket. He looks very satisfied. I've decided I'm never going to be late again.

He starts a casual conversation, asking about my day and did I have trouble finding this place. He's gloating, just trying to act like everything's normal when my exposed womanhood is telling me quite the opposite. The food can't come quick enough, likely the only distraction I'll have all night. And he knows it.

I keep trying to press my thighs together and convince my pussy it's not exposed. It doesn't work. When the waitress finally comes with the food I'm careful to not draw attention to myself. I'm not even sure if I'm hungry anymore. I feel overwhelmed already by this whole scenario.

"You should eat my dear," he says to me, his voice brushing over my skin like a slithering snake, "you're going to need your strength." I don't doubt it in the least, but I'm not sure how much I can stomach. I pick up my fork and begin messing with my food, moving it around on my plate as if I can make it disappear that way. The nervous butterflies in my stomach haven't finished killing each other off yet. He looks at me with a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the power of intimidation he has over me. Then he places his hand on my thigh, just below the edge of my skirt.

"Eat," he commands me. I'd be a fool to think I could disobey. The food tastes better than I thought it would, which I guess is a plus. He doesn't take his hand off my thigh; in fact I can swear it's inching upwards. The tingling in my nether lips doesn't lie. I wonder if anyone can see this, I feel so out in the open like a frightened animal. I know he's getting off on my obvious discomfort; he hasn't quit smirking this whole time.

He keeps talking as the meal progressing, mostly likely to keep up appearances but maybe he just likes to hear himself talk. I don't say anything and he doesn't seem to expect me too, I'm not even really trying to listen. I probably should I realize but my head has become a cacophony of half formed thoughts. What am I doing? I keep asking myself, what am I doing?

His hand feels warm and enticing, it's hard to eat with such distractions but I probably can't afford to disobey again. Scratch that, I know I can't afford to disobey again. This is going to be a long night. I'd probably be questioning my sanity right about now if I wasn't admiring the texture of his hand against my thigh. A little rough, but that's the idea isn't it? They feel strong and steady; my own hands are trying not to shake by comparison. This fear is strangely arousing, trapped in the wolf's den with no escape. Even if I wanted to.

"You're not shaking," he suddenly whispers right in my ear. I jump involuntarily and almost drop my fork; my head whips around to meet his gaze. He's grinning maliciously like the devil himself. I can feel my snatch slicken at the sight. I'm not religious, but the thought to cross myself comes to mind. My mouth dries while trying to respond to him and nothing comes out, words haven't been my forte so far this evening.

Apparently he's noticed and put my poor mouth of its misery with a kiss. He pulls me in with his free hand, forcing me to his lips. He feels hungry and primal, like he's running down the straightaway toward exactly what he wants and nothing can stop him. Excitement wells up in me along with fear. Tonight I am his prey, ready and willing though nervous and scared. Somehow I like it, the feeling of helplessness under his control. It's invigorating and arousing, like nothing I've ever felt before.

His teeth nip at my soft lips once and then release me. I drop back into my seat, feeling that same hunger he showed me. He can see that, it's clear, and he calls for the bill at the next opportunity. When the waitress walks away to run his card he smiles at me, a dangerous lust overflowing from his eyes. For the first time all night I'm able to meet his gaze and smile back.

"I wonder how long that bravery will last," he grins at me like he's daring me to challenge him. I'm not that stupid.

The waitress hurries back with his credit card and receipt. As we get up he grabs my coat but doesn't hand it to me. Fine, if he insists on parading me about exposed in this outfit then I'll have fun at it. I stalk off toward the door as if I expect him to follow, swaying my hips and letting my heels click with the full intent of attracting the eyes of every man in the restaurant. It's funny how daring one can feel after just having their panties removed.

In the corners of my eyes I can see heads turning and I grin. How's he like that, other men enjoying what he thinks is his? I give my hair a little toss for effect, maybe this is what supermodels feel like. I don't bother to look back to see if he's following me, I know he wants me so he won't disappoint.

I open up the door to go outside and the first thing I'm greeted with is icy wind slipping right through my clothes and blowing up my skirt. I would've screamed if the cold hadn't stolen my breath. I quickly grab my skirt and pull it down, feeling my face flush red as a beet. Then suddenly Master's behind me, pressing his body up against my back so no one in the restaurant can see my situation.

"A good slave should never run off without her master," I hear him murmur in my ear. He slaps my ass to coax me forward. I jump and stumble a little, then hurry after him as he heads off in long strides to the parking lot behind the restaurant. I feel thoroughly humiliated, back to running after him in hopes of being pardoned. His silhouette is rather imposing in the streetlights' glow. It's dark out already, I hadn't realized it was so late.

I reach him at the car and find that he's laying my long coat out on the hood. I'm perplexed, is something wrong with the car? I take a step closer, wondering at his bizarre behavior. He doesn't give me long to muse.

He grabs me and pushes me over the hood of the car, making my ass fly up in the air. I realize now that he put my coat down as a courtesy, the car is freezing when though the thick fabric. The cold wind blows under my skirt as I feel him lift it up.

"Hey!" I shout, "What do you think you're doing?" He gives my ass check a hard smack.

"Quiet," he orders, roughly grabbing my thighs and spreading them apart. I know my slick pussy is just waiting to greet him. I wonder how he likes it, if it pleases him. He's holding me down too firmly for me to twist around and see his expression.

I wait in agony as he inspects me. My nipples are so hard from the cold they've begun to hurt. But between my legs I'm on fire, the cold breeze feels tantalizing there. I can feel his warm breath again me too, I wonder how close he is. I ache for him; suddenly an overwhelming desire to feel him inside me overcomes me. Even if it's just his fingers, I want my exposed folds to be filled with him. They're so hungry, flush with their need for him.

Suddenly I feel his warm tongue press into my nether lips. I moan immediately, my hips instinctually pressing back into him. Oh god yes, I want him more. I don't care how cold it is, right here right now. But he suddenly pushes away from me forcefully, sending a stinging slap across my ass that's made even more painful by the cold. I cry out and whimper. No! I want him back to answer the call of my readiness.

"Get in the car," I hear him order me. He's angry, almost furious. It's his fault I made noise, if he hadn't started to --but it's a very bad idea to argue. I scramble to grab my coat and get around to the other side of the car. He's so mad I'm afraid he'll leave me behind. He starts the car without looking at me, his face clearly displeased. I find myself holding on to my safety belt with both hands, as if it could actually keep me safe from his wrath.

"This is the second time you've disobeyed me tonight," he says in a harsh voice, "do not expect to get off so easily this time." I nod quickly. The fear is back, tearing through me like a mole with razorblades. Once again I find myself thinking I'm stupid, I've jumped in the car with a man I barely know who's furious at me, no clue where I'm going and no way to get home unless he allows it. I suddenly feel vulnerable and small. A meek creature easily crushed beneath his thumb. But at the same time there's a tiny part of me that's aroused by the thrill of it all, and that part is pounding between my thighs.

When we reach our destination he climbs out first and slams his door behind him. I jump in my seat, too frightened to attempt to climb out myself. He's walking around the car to come get me anyway so I don't have much choice in that matter. His steps are brisk and in no time at all he's at my door, yanking it open hard enough to shake the car. I really pissed him off and something tells me I'm not going to like the results. And by 'not like' I mean 'love'.

I flinch and turn away as he reaches into the seat toward me. He grabs a mess of my hair and pulls, wrenching me back toward him. It hurts and my seatbelt catching me hurts too as it digs into my neck. I cry out, my hands instinctually going up to my hair to try to free myself. He leans down and forces my head up against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat pounding in my ear. He whispers something to me so quietly I almost don't catch it.

"Can I keep going?"

His voice sounds protective and gentle, seemly so out of character for him. I'm confused at first, trying to figure out what he means. He holds me there against his heartbeat, waiting for my answer. It takes me a few moments to figure out that he's making sure I'm okay with all this. We never did set up a safety word or anything so he must be trying to make sure he's still inbounds. I wonder if he was purposely quiet in the car to give me time to think.

"Yes," I whisper back. I'm not too scared that I'm going to run off. On the contrary I'm probably just scared enough to want to keep going. There's something about this excitement that speaks to my own suppressed primal urges.

He doesn't respond verbally to me at all. Instead he reaches down and unbuckles me, pulling the seatbelt off in a rough fashion and dragging me from the car by my hair. I stumble out and fall to the driveway on my knees. The ground hurts. Looking around now I realize there's no one out here. The lights in all the neighboring houses are off. Even if I'd answered 'no' to him it wouldn't have mattered at all if he'd decided to keep going. I feel alone and helpless kneeling before him, but the mere thought of being at his mercy has me pulsing in rarely seen places. I look up at him, daring to meet his stare. Something in my brain is screaming 'Punish Me!' as if it thinks he can hear. Maybe he can.

"You disobeyed me," his voice is stern, "twice." He leaves his statement at that, not needing to add anymore. He jerks me to my feet and slams the car door behind me, dragging me to his front door. I have to bend over to keep from getting all my hair pulled out, nearly tripping twice on the steps. I don't know what he's going to do to me; I don't know what he has planned. Did his plot this all out before I even met him? The thought is chilling, thinking that without even meeting me he could know how I would react. But he is my master after all.

He unlocks the door without bothering to let go of me. Even here, exposed in the open air no one can see us. And once I'm inside this house no one will even know I was here. He opens the door to a dark interior and pulls me inside. The blackness envelops me as the door shuts behind us. I can't see anything, not even the size or shape of the room.

"Take off your boots," he orders me, not bothering to let go of his hold. I start to complain that I can't see, but he gives a decisive yank on my hair to tell me he's not listening to any excuses. My fingers fumble with the buckles, trying to bend over far enough to reach without tugging too hard against his grip. I work as quickly as I can; trying to make enough noise that he can tell that even if he can't see it himself. By the time I almost have the first boot off I realize he's beginning to squeeze. It's going to hurt more the longer I take; he must be impatient.

As soon as my boots are off I hear him hastily slide his own shoes off, his speed easily putting the time it had taken me to shame. Then he tugs me to my feet, full standing position. Without my boots, he feels a lot taller than me. As if I didn't feel timid enough around him already. He jerks me around and moves me in front of him, marching me off in some direction where I can't see. I wonder if he can see in this darkness or if he just knows where everything is by heart.

"Stairs," he warns me, pulling me to a stop and then slowly letting us descend beneath the earth's surface. The air seems to chill around me slightly, colder and stagnant. I almost yelp when my bare foot touches the concert floor. We must be in his basement, soundproof with one exit. My feet dance across the cold floor, maybe trying to avoid the cold floor or perhaps thinking of fleeing. I hear a heavy thud behind us then the click of a lock. They better of been dancing because of the cold, because escaping isn't an option anymore.

"Don't move," he instructions and releases my hair. I obey, wiggling my toes on the cold floor. My body is tense; I don't know what's in store for me. I can hear him move off into the darkness, there's rustling and then quiet. The whole dungeon falls silent. I guess that is what this is, a dungeon. I still can't see anything, not even vague shapes. There's not a speck of light down here. The chilly air brushes its way inside my sparse clothing, making me quite aware of its presence. I wait. It's really silent down here, secluded from the outside world.

I start to wonder where he went, is he waiting for me to do something? I peer through the darkness trying to find shapes. Maybe he's waiting for me to mess up, to disobey him again. Did my obedience not fit into his plan? Yet somehow at the thought I feel very determined to obey him perfectly. I've been earning myself punishment all night, perhaps a little reward is in order. I clasp my hands behind my back and wait as still as I can.

At first I start be counting seconds, an idle way to measure the passing of time. But soon my counting becomes slow and sloppy. I mix up, mess up, and give up in the end. My thoughts become silent like the room around me. I stare into the surrounding darkness, my body somewhat now used to the chill. Where is he? What is he waiting for? I try to imagine what he's up to. Maybe he's in another room fetching material for my punishment. Such tools are far beyond my experience, I can hardly fathom their effects. My ears prick up, trying to sense any sound. But the harder I listen for breathing or rustling the harder my heartbeat pounds and drowns out all sense of sound.