Opening Night

Chapter 2 -- Truth Revealed

It is Friday afternoon and I'm sitting at work daydreaming. The month has closed, the entire team is off celebrating the successful shipment of our new system to its first user, and I'm tidying up some loose ends before taking off for the weekend.

Two weeks have passed since what I now call "Opening Night" - the first time you plunged your fists into my ass.

Just thinking about it makes my cock harden and my breaths shorten. I also feel my cheeks flush a bit. It was an incredible evening for me and I want very much to do it again.

I suspect that the event did not have the same impact on you, however. Even with the incredible intensity of the experience, the trouble you went to in setting the scene and the passion you brought to your role, since that night you have not even given me the most basic acknowledgement of what happened. Nor have you been willing to talk about the path that we each have begun to walk. You, in growing a FemDomme persona, and me, digging more deeply into my submissive and masochistic inner nature.

I can't stop thinking about it. Even though it was our first time, you took charge and forced me to do things I had only dreamed about being forced to do. The entire scene was even better than I had hoped, and stimulated me in ways that I still cannot adequately describe. Even your basic requirement to call you Ma'am deeply thrilled me and cemented my role as her submissive.

I miss it.

Hoping to get things started again, one night last week I tried again addressing you as Ma'am. Your response both confused and disappointed me. When you wore your Domme outfit your instructions were quite clear -- either refer to you only as "Ma'am," or you would whip my balls and ass with a riding crop.

"How much clearer can it get than that?" I snicker to myself

This time was different though, and the scowl on your face told me that there would be no more conversation on the subject.

With a sigh and a shrug I abandoned my attempt and relegated the memory of that wonderful evening to my mental scrap book.

Recalling the memory today makes me happy. I bow my head and chuckle as I think about you sitting, bathed in candlelight, wearing your Domme outfit, gently tapping the palm of your hand with your crop.

I hope we can do it again.

I am awakened from my daydream by the insistent ringing of my office phone. As the mental haze clears, I recognize the caller ID as our home phone.

I pick up the line and say, "Hi Honey!"

You reply quickly, "Do you have any plans for this evening, dear? The kids are going away for a long weekend with your folks. I thought we could have a nice dinner at home, just the two of us."

My heart starts to race a little, thinking of the possibilities, then quickly returns to normal when I think of the scowl on your face last week when I called you Ma'am.

"Sure Honey," I reply. "Is there anything I can pick up on the way home?"

You reply, "Now that you mention it, we could use some bubbly. And, while you're out, will you also swing by the market and get some Crisco? I need to make some pie crust."

I get a lump in my throat thinking about the long list of possible alternate uses for the Crisco, but again dismiss the thought. Sometimes, Crisco for a pie crust is only Crisco for a pie crust.

"Sure Dear," I reply.

Promptly at 5, I pack up my things, drop a few signed papers at the desk of my assistant for processing, and leave for the day.

The drive home is pleasantly uneventful. Neither the grocery nor the wine store has been crowded and I have been able to procure two chilled bottles of Chandon Blanc de Noir (and a tub of Crisco). My hopes are high, but reality is what it is. I will have to wait and see what special treats, if any, you have in store for me this weekend.

I park the car in the garage; and then grab the bags containing the bubbly and the Crisco from the trunk of my car and walk toward garage entry of our house. I pause for a moment, push the button to close the garage door, and enter the house.

I holler from the garage entry into the house, "Hi Honey! I've got the goodies! Can I help you with anything?"

You reply, "Not right now, Dear. Come on in and put the wine away, I need your help with the meal!"

I kick off my shoes and walk up the short hall connecting the kitchen to the dining room. As I round the corner, I see our dining room table beautifully set with champagne flutes, lit candles in crystal candlesticks, our best china and silver dinner service, and nicely ironed linen napkins. Each napkin is neatly rolled and held in form by some form of band. One is held by what looks like a small black leather dog collar and the other by a metal ring of some sort.

I don't give this apparent incongruity a second thought though, and putting the wine away in the fridge, turn toward our kitchen's work area. Laid out there are the ingredients of a home made apple pie; apples, spices, flour, water and a large mixing bowl. I place the Crisco on the counter and sit down at the kitchen table.

You sit down with me and continue, "Before we get started, I want to talk with you about something."

"Yes?" I reply, the hopefulness in my voice betraying my exterior calm.

You take a breath and begin "You realize the other night was just a big mind fuck, don't you? After all, no one takes a fist up their ass on the first try!"

I look up in disbelief; "Huh?" is all I can utter.

"C'mon," you continue, "you didn't actually think that I had my whole ARM up your ass, much less two of them did you? I barely had three fingers inside you. You were so lost in the moment... It was quite intense, but, A FIST? You're not even close to loose enough to handle that."

You pause, "I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes. Of course we can continue our play - starting with tonight, but don't kid yourself into thinking that it will all be either easy or all fun and games. I've been doing quite a bit of research on this, and believe adding this new dimension to our relationship will be good for both of us."

I gulp (as I usually do when surprised and uncomfortable at the same time)

"Uh, ok Dear." is all I can say.

You say, "But, let's not get too heavy now - why don't you open the Crisco for me, and put it on the counter next to the pie stuff."

You walk out of the room. I hear some shuffling of boxes and the like from the pantry.

You call in from the other room "I'll need a few minutes to finish what I'm up to here, Dear. Would you please put on some music and change into something more comfortable?" You continue, "I'll be done in a sec, I'm just putting away some things I got today."

I reply, "Ok, Honey!"

As I move to leave the kitchen I feel a familiar tingle in my crotch and I grin, thinking about what could happen later. I go into our bedroom to get changed. A faint smell of perfume is present in the air, but noting nothing else out of the ordinary, I peel off my office clothes, wash my face, and deciding not to wear underwear, put on a nice pair of jeans, a short sleeved casual shirt, and a black leather belt. I decide to remain barefoot for no reason other than I find it pleasant.

I return to the kitchen. You are standing at the cutting board preparing dinner wearing a casual but very pretty black dress. I walk up to you from behind and put my hands on your shoulders, not wishing to break the rhythm of your work, but wanting you to know that I am there. I begin to gently massage your neck and shoulders and take note of the fact that you are not wearing a bra. Moving close to you, I nuzzle your neck and inhale deeply, taking in your lovely scent.

You moan lightly, put down your kitchen knife and turn to face me. Putting your hands around my neck, you give me a soft kiss on the lips, withdraw slightly and say "Would you please help me finish making dinner? I got a bit of a late start and could use the help."

I say, "Sure, what would you like me to do first?"

A slight grin appears on your lips, but quickly abates. You nod your head in the direction of the fridge and say, "You could start by opening one of the bottles of bubbly and pour us each a glass."

With a pleasant pace and an occasional time out for a quick hug or kiss, dinner preparation proceeds quickly. We've always worked well together in the kitchen, and tonight is no exception. Grilled salmon with dill and lemon, peeled asparagus steamed then sautéed in butter, red bliss potatoes tossed in olive oil with a little garlic and rosemary, and a lovely tossed salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. Simply delightful!

As each dish is completed, it is quickly moved into place at the table, ready for our dining pleasure.

The dinner table is set for two, but neither of the place settings is in the location either of us usually sits for family dinner, so I ask, "Where would you like to sit, dear?"

You reply, "You choose, Hon, it does not matter to me."

I look at the table briefly, and choose the seat with the black leather collar napkin ring. You sit as well and slide the steel ring off your napkin and idly place it on the table and ask, "Would you please pass the Salmon? I'm starved."

Dinner is consumed and the bubbly flows. You are starting to get a little giggly and I'm feeling very relaxed, enjoying our evening alone.

As we're finishing up, in a slightly flirtatious tone, you say, "I figured you'd choose that seat."

I ask, "Why's that dear?"

You look directly into my eyes. A serious look comes over your face.

"It was a test." you say. "The places were set identically except for the napkin rings. I picked them up, along with some other items at a sex shop while shopping in the city today. In case you did not notice, the one you choose is leather cock ring designed specifically for adjustability -- ensuring a tight fit. The guy at the sex shop told me that it is good for many things, and that cockrings of this design are most appropriate for wear by submissive men, the steel ones are more neutral, but the collar style ones are definitely for submissives."

You pick it up and point at a securely attached metal ring and say "See, there's even a place for me to attach a leash or tie you to something when it pleases me."

I gulp and instinctively remain silent, bowing my head slightly. Apparently you have been thinking about "Opening Night" more than I had thought. You kept it to yourself well.

You continue, "Clearly our sex games the other week revealed several things to me. First, that you are a natural submissive and a total anal slut. Second, I felt something inside me awaken, something that excited me both sexually and emotionally. I'm discovering that I like being in control. Specifically, I truly enjoyed controlling and dominating you. If you submit, I intend to continue."

I raise my head and take a breath but before I can say anything in reply, you say, "keep your head bowed in my presence, and unless I ask you a specific question, or you wish to report some form of problem, you are to remain silent. Is this clear?"

I bow my head and instinctively reply, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good." You reply. "I was hoping that your lessons were not forgotten. It pleases me that you still wish to refer to me as Ma'am. For this, I may decide to reward you, but first I would like you to be naked, and to put on the cockring for your Ma'am. NOW!"

Silently and as quickly as possible, I stand and remove my clothes - folding them quickly and placing them on an unused chair. My cock begins to twitch as I reach for the black leather cockring and start to buckle it around my cock and balls. This is a new sensation for me, but it feels curiously comforting and highly erotic at the same time.

By the time I have clumsily buckled the miniature collar in place my cock is fully hard and twitching with my every heartbeat.

Not knowing what to do next, I stand beside the dinner table wearing nothing but the leather cockring, standing still and awaiting your next instruction.

You direct me, "Now slut, clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Make sure you keep your cock hard for me while you work."

Silently, I clear the table. Maintaining an erection is only a slight challenge, but a covert stroke or two during each trip back from the kitchen ensures that I comply with your wishes.

You watch me intently, apparently making sure I follow your instructions without question and without faltering in my resolve. I complete the clean-up in about 5 minutes, seemingly to your satisfaction.

Seeing that I have completed the task, you say, "Now, I would like you to kneel at my feet. I am about to describe something very important to you, so I want you to pay attention. Is this clear?"

I swallow dryly and say, "Yes, Ma'am."

You continue, "We will call what I am about to describe "Position 1", it is the position in which you will greet and show respect to your Ma'am, and the position you will assume if for any reason you are not sure what to do. Is this clear?"

I reply, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good, now pay attention. You will position yourself at my feet, kneeling, with your knees spread as widely as you are comfortably able -- then add at least 1" of distance between your knees. This is not about your comfort, slut. Your feet will be slightly crossed beneath you, but you are not to sit on your heels. You will be wearing a cockring, and your cock will be hard for me. Your head will be bowed and your hands will be behind your neck with your fingers interlaced."

You reach to the chair beside you and pick up an object, "Every time you greet your Ma'am in this position you are also to be holding this in your mouth, available for my use."

It is not until you lightly slap your palm with the object that I realize it is a riding crop, the same kind you used on me before.

My head bows farther.

Loudly at first, trailing off to a quiet icy tone, "NOW! Position 1."

I move quickly into position, avoiding eye contact. I assume the required position, straddling your feet, furtively stroking my cock to maximum hardness and finally proudly displaying my hard cock to you. Holding the crop in my mouth I close my eyes and lift my head, presenting the crop for your use.

You take the crop from me but remain silent for a few moments.

My cock is still rock hard, and my heart beats rapidly with excitement.

"One more thing." you say. "As we continue, I wish to give you a pet-name. A slut like you does not deserve to use his real name in this setting. There is more in store for you this evening, my little pet slut. Before this evening ends, I will have decided what to call you."

As you ponder, you reach out slightly with your bare foot out and caress the underside of my balls. After a few gentle rubs you pull your foot back slightly then kick me squarely in the balls with moderate force.

Reflexes take over. I double over slightly in response to your kick, and drawing my knees together instinctively, I allow my hands to part slightly behind my head. Fearing more torment, I quickly force myself back into a more erect posture, re-spreading my knees and again clasping my fingers behind my neck.

I think to myself, "this will not be all fun and games." But strangely, my cock gets even harder at the thought of what might come next.

You say, "Lest you be confused about who is in charge and how this will proceed, let me be completely clear that whenever we are in this situation, I completely own you. I will control and deliver your pain, your pleasure, your discipline, your punishment and your rewards. I also want to make it completely clear that these things will be decided and implemented as they please your Ma'am, and your Ma'am alone. Is this clear?"

Just as I am about to answer, you kick me in the balls again with your bare foot, causing me to hesitate slightly. Apparently this displeases you and you respond by saying, "I cannot hear you! Is this clear?"

I race this time to reply, with emphasis, "YES, Ma'am."

You gently slap the side of my cock with the crop and say, "That is better. Your Ma'am is glad that you understand your place and your situation." You notice something. "Why my little slut, I believe your cock actually got harder when I slapped it with this crop! Does my little slut like this?" you continue while idly tapping my cock and balls gently with the crop.

I take a deep breath and revel in an unexplained feeling I feel growing within. I reply, "Yes, Ma'am, I like it when you strike my cock with the crop. Thank you, Ma'am."

You draw back slightly and grin.

You continue, "The last time we did this, I called you "slut". "For some reason I feel that this name, while accurate, is not completely appropriate." Idly abusing my balls with your foot, you remain silent, apparently thinking about your name for me.

You then kick me again, more gently than the first time. I hold position this time, wincing slightly from the pain. My cock grows even harder, twitching with my every pulse. A drop of precum forms at its tip.

With the crop you again strike my cock gently from the sides as if testing the strength of my erection or my resolve to continue with this role reversal in our relationship. After about 10 strikes on each side and a few to my balls, you say, "Apparently you like this treatment my little slut. I think you will like what I have in store for you. And," you continue, "by the end of this night, I will have thought of an appropriate name for you."

With this, you turn and remove a medium sized box from the chair at the table next your position. You place the box on your lap. Apparently the box had been in place since we sat down for dinner but I had failed to notice it. I wonder how you had known at which position I would sit for dinner.

You stroke your hand across the box a few times and say, "In this box lays the start of our future, my little pet slut. Before I open it to show you what is inside, you must answer one question for me. Once we take the next step, there will be no turning back." "I will own your cock, balls, ass, nipples - all of you - to use for my pleasure, amusement, and torment - whenever and however I wish. I will also own your loyal service whenever our social situation allows."

The icy confident tone returns to your voice and you ask me, "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?"

I reply, "yes, Ma'am."

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY CERTAIN?"

Slightly more loudly, I reply, "YES, Ma'am!"

You take a deep breath, say "good." and lift the box off your lap, gently placing it on the table. I remain at your feet in position 1.

You remove the cover and place it beside the box on the table. The rim of the box is above the level of my eyes so even if I dared to raise my view, I would not be able to discern the contents of the box.

Giving my balls one last caress with your foot, you stand and peer down into the box, apparently taking a mental inventory of its contents. You replace the cover. "Stand up my little slut." you say. I obediently stand beside you, still afraid to lift my gaze.

You continue, "It is time to learn another position, my little pet. As you stand, you will maintain a position similar to when you kneel before me in Position 1, but you will be standing, legs spread, gaze lowered, hands behind your neck and your pelvis pressed forward. Your cock should always be made hard for me when you get into a new position. This won't be a problem for you, now will it?"

"No Ma'am" I reply.

"Now stand beside me in position and I will show you what is in the box."

"Yes, Ma'am" I reply.

You inspect me as a drill sergeant might, and say, "Why my little slut, you have forgotten to make your cock hard for me! Hold position, I need to teach you a lesson about following the rules. Close your eyes!"