This is a work of fiction, about consenting adults. - Gonzo
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I met my Dame in the most vanilla of places, work. She prefers the term Dame over Mistress. We were working the graveyard shift in a Tech-Support call center. Most of our customers got lost in the phone system. Someone had to be there 24-7, just in case a rat made it through the maze. We were paired up to work the weekends; giving us hours of reading, searching the net, countless games of solitaire and talking.
At the time I was in a short lived polyamorous relationship on a downward spiral. She is significantly older than me, short and curvy, very hot in a MILF sort of way, with short blonde hair and eyes that make you hate the ringing of the phone.
One night a thunderstorm knocked out our electricity, but not the phones. We answered the phones by candlelight. I picked up dinner from the Italian place down the street. I knew the bartender, he gave me a bottle of wine that another customer had bought then not opened when the sudden storm had driven them off the patio.
The wine and storm were a blessing. Our mundane night of phones and customers became a romantic evening of good food, great wine and better conversations. I told her I had finally given up on Betty and Veronica (not their names but close to their personalities). She told me of her own failed relationships. The topic veered toward sex and what we liked. I told her the truth, I am a submissive (beat me, whips me, call me Susie). She told me of her fantasies of being the one in command during sex.
Some time later the conversation ended and the kissing began. Unfortunately the phones saved us from being caught in a compromising position. Within a month of the storm, I had moved out of B&V's and into my Dame's spare room. We took it slow, two months as roommates without anything more sexual than two adults sharing a single bathroom in a small old house. Most nights we even took separate cars to work.
Then another storm, we were at home this time. I bought the bottle of wine, she made lasagna, the storm took care of the power. We were sitting on the couch surrounded by candles. Our conversation circled back to sex. She had seen my small collection of toys and read some of the erotica I collected. She surprised me with a small box. Inside was a simple black collar with a silver buckle. She had know what it cost me to give up B&V's collar, and worse when I had found it discarded in the trash.
I knelt as she wrapped the tight leather around my neck. Her deft fingers binding me to her far more than the simple leather could denote, handing me a lace bag, "Strip and redress."
In the bag was a pair of black lace boy short panties and a matching lace tank top. My penis throbbed as the lace slid over my skin, the boy shorts tightly held me.
"What may I do for you Mistress?"
"Don't use that word, I am your Dame."
"Yes Dame, what may this one do for you?"
"Clean the kitchen, but first you need one other thing." She produced a small butt plug and a bottle of lube.
She lubed up her finger and slowly probed my anus. I had done this to myself from time to time but she was the first person to touch me there. Probing gently she worked on me till I could accept the lubed plug. Oh, the delicious fullness of the toy almost made me come right there. She pulled my panties back up and slapped my presented ass, "Now clean the kitchen."
As I cleaned the plug inside me, panties tightening the lace against my hard penis and swollen scrotum. Once the dishes were put away, the counter and sink were clean and dried. I knelt before her, the splashes of water from the sink had not quelled my erection nor had time. The entire time I had been cleaning I could feel her eyes on me. All I could see from this position was her sheer black stocking covered legs that ended in shining black heals that I didn't remember being on her feet earlier.
"Look up," Her voice was a husky whisper.
While I had been cleaning she had changed; her stockinged legs disappeared under a pleated leather skirt, the clasps of her garters were just visible underneath. A lacey bra cupped her breasts, my ridding crop was held in delicately lace gloved fingers.
"Take off your shirt." I removed it, folding the lace T-shirt with more care then a Priest with his vestments.
"Stand." She used the crop to tease my nipples, she circled me her laced fingers tracing across my back. A quick tug on the lace revealed my ass cheeks, pushing on the base of the plug. Her other hand caressed down my chest and came to rest on my painfully hard member.
"I have done all this for you, and it has not pleased you."
"No Dame I am..." (snap) A smack from the crop on my butt cheek closed my mouth.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
