Neither of them meant for their friendship to evolve into one of a Master and her slave―but it did.
Their friendship began innocently in financial necessity as roommates. He thought she was hot and she thought him an ideal mate. But, although they had many opportunities to hook up sexually, it never came to fruition. Sometimes it was because one or the other was involved with someone else, sometimes it was for private reasons that neither can express to this day, but sometimes it was strictly because one or the other was too drunk and their sense of fair play prohibited them for taking advantage of a someone at their mercy.
It turns out it was their sense of fair play that led them directly into a lopsided love involving bondage, discipline, and ultimately collaring.
Her name, or what she became to be called, was simply "Master D." She was a petite lady with a mousy sense of fashion, her ash blonde her was never longer than shoulder length, she wore nerdy glasses and clothes that hid her stunning hour-glass figure and lovely, shapely legs.
His name, or what his Master named him, was her "dirty hooker". He was a bull of a man, an alpha male in every setting. Over the years gray had crept into his hair, making him more distinguished with a dignified aura. His shoulders were broad enough so that even now, with his waist gone soft with a bit of fat, his body still had the physique of a wrestler or linebacker.
Her mousy looks belied a rough and ready sense of humor and a level of street smarts, savvy, and a fighter's spirit. In private, at times she was crude and would belch loudly. When she was drunk she would bellow order's, bossing people around, teasing them with a cutting sense of humor, luring them to disclose their fantasies and then mocking them. But in the end, at her core, she was a lady and always returned to her meek ways.
His bull-like body and distinguished looks belied a certain emotional naiveté. He was a good listener, empathetic, often sympathetic, always willing to lend one of his broad shoulders to cry on. But he could be easily conned emotionally, and more than once he fell for her emotional pranks. Perhaps to compensate, he adopted a rough, dismissive mannerism when dealing with people―he often ran roughshod over them.
They both loved their dogs.
Though they were roommates for years and often saw into these hidden sides of their characters, they always returned to their moorings in their core personalities: she a dainty lady and he a macho man.
Over time they moved apart. She fell in love with another man and gave herself to him as a sub might to her Dom. He found himself entangled in an awkward divorce.
So it was with some surprise that they found themselves on a road trip one late night in July, bound for Las Vegas.
She had caught him cheating on her, a devastating blow to her frail ego, already twice shattered by faithless men, an ex-husband and a former fiancé.
His divorce had finally wound down and dissolved, leaving his vulnerable and unsure of himself.
The first night they picked a random hotel, got drunk in the hotel's bar, and found themselves making out while sipping champagne on a nearby beach. When a squad car announced, rather anonymously with the loudspeaker, that the beach was closed, they went went back to the hotel and had hot, vanilla sex.
They unleashed their passions that they had kept bottled up for years and, in the beginning their lovemaking followed true to this form. They were both experienced and ran through the standard missionary fare into mutual oral gratification, hard doggy-style pounding and some more athletic positions.
She was petit enough to qualify as a spinner, and he hoisted her off the ground and she straddled him, airborne in his embrace, while he drove himself deep until they both shuddered in climax.
The next day the drive to Vegas was long but pleasant.
As he was driving he was reflecting silently on their passionate lovemaking the night before. Unaware a smile crept upon his face.
"Don't think you're all that." She chided.
"What?" he said innocently.
"Don't give me that. I know what you're thinking and you weren't
that
good."
"That's not what you were screaming."
"Oh you wish."
"I had you screaming "Stop!" after the second time. If I had gone for a fourth time you'd be bowlegged right now."
"Uh huh, keep talking, you'll get yours."
She didn't realize it, but inside of her a hard kernel of hate was hardening at his cocky attitude some nameless desire began to take hold. A desire to punish him for his insouciance, a desire to hurt him, to make him feel the hurt and torment she was feeling.
He didn't realize it either, but inside of his his hard kernel of macho and confidence was becoming brittle and he began to feel emotionally lost. He began to form a desire to find a new rock of emotional stability, a new way to bond to another person that would not leave him the emotional wreckage as did his divorce.
Tentatively he said "Well, you did leave me a little sore too."
"Yeah right." she snapped.
"No really, a guy's dick gets sensitive too."
No response.
"Especially the head."
She turned to look out the window.
"Especially after the third time." he laughed.
She tucked this bit of information away into a dark corner of her mind, stewing over his arrogance.
That night, after they had checked into their hotel in Vegas, they went over a list of things they wanted to do. But feeling a bit hungover and sore from the previous night, they opted to take a walk out on the Strip. After hitting a few clubs and a few cab rides they loosed up and found themselves in a club with a decidedly kinky edge to it.
She was drunk out of her mind and out of control when she decided to grab a whip from a passing waitresses costume. He was across the room and was walking over to intercede, to keep her out of trouble when he saw that she was now talking to the waitress. As he arrived she said
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
A cab dropped them off at a strip mall with a fetish shop.
"Come on." She grabbed his hand and led him into the store.
He picked up a leather cat suit and looked at her as if sizing her up for a fit.
She smiled and strolled over to a shelf and picked up a whip, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
He shook his head, sauntered over to a clothing rack picked up a lace up corset and a pair of thigh-high boots―"Not unless you're wearing this." he teased.
"Dream on." she said as she set down the whip and walked away, but she had an odd expression on her face as though she was considering it.
He became engrossed in with the toys and didn't notice she was no longer beside him. As he looked about he saw her at the counter, the woman cashier was stuffing something into a bag― were those handcuffs?
He approached, asked her what she bought.
"Mind your own business." was her only reply as she stuck her nose into the air.
The cab ride back to the hotel was filled with tense energy and excitement as he prodded her continually, asking what was in the bag.
She pulled it away from him saying "Not until you beg."
"Never." he said sharply.
"We'll see about that." she smirked.
"You talk a big game." He replied, teasing her, "But when it comes down to it you were screaming for me to stop."
"Yup. Keep talking." she said "we'll see."
"See what?" he teased, "Me begging? You'll beg for me to stop before I'll ever beg you anything."
She froze, silent.
He feared he had gone too far, ruined the mood.
"In fact," he continued, "I'll bet you you'll beg first."
Almost before he could finish she had her hand out to shake and looked him right in the eye.
"You're so on."
They shook, the first step in changing their friendship into something different, a silent challenge, the first moment of struggle between them where she would conquer and he become her vassal.
