It was on our way home from a dinner party where we had seen Sharon and her husband that I first thought of asking Sharon to dominate me.
We had worked together years before, sharing a small office when both of us were single. I was dating around but she was engaged, so we never got together after work -- but in the close quarters we shared, she and I would talk about our relationships. Her fiancee was a bit timid sexually, she told me. For her part, Sharon was much more adventurous -- she had been a dancer once; she had had encounters with other women.
Driving home from dinner, I was aching for sex and lamenting that my wife didn't feel comfortable in helping me live out my fantasy of being dominated. When I thought of asking Sharon, I immediately felt it in the pit of my stomach -- a longing for her, images flashing through my imagination. I decided to call her that week.
We got together for lunch, as we had many times before. I was nervous, never having asked anyone but my wife to fulfil my fantasy. I'd written her a note to ask her; when we finished eating, I took it from my pocket.
"Sharon," I said, "I have something that I wrote for you to read, asking you a question. Please read it, and when you're done, just slide it back across the table to me; you can answer my question later if you'd like."
I handed her my note, which read: "Sharon -- I don't know how to speak these words to you, so I'm writing them down. I have a fantasy of being dominated by a sexually powerful woman, and my wife won't go there with me. Would you?"
Sharon read the note quickly with her eyebrows raised. I thought about her timid husband and wondered if she ever got a chance to live as sexually as she wanted to with him.
She folded my note in half, looked me in the eye and said "Well, Mr. Martin! Who knew? I'll be keeping your note, of course -- I've never received one quite like it! And no, I won't answer your question right now. Sure have enjoyed lunch, though! I'm sure you won't mind paying today. Time for me to head back to work. Bye!"
And with that she stood up and walked out of the restaurant.
My throat was dry; my cock was hard. A fear gripped my heart -- could she be trusted not to tell anyone who knew me? She wouldn't call my wife, I felt pretty sure, but what about the other women with whom we had worked?
The next couple of days took forever. Every time my phone rang, I checked the number to see if it was Sharon's. No calls, no emails.
Nearly a week later she finally called. "David," she said, "come by my office in 15 minutes. OK?" I muttered OK, and she hung up.
I frantically looked up her office address and jumped in my car, worried; her office was 15 minutes away, and I was running behind. By the time I got there, 20 minutes had gone by. I parked and walked up to her building, guessing that her answer was going to be YES.
She was waiting inside the lobby, standing by the elevators with her arms crossed. As I crossed the lobby towards her, she looked at her watch, then scowled at me. She was holding a piece of paper.
Without a word, she handed it to me and walked away.
I could hardly wait to get to my car to read it. It said: "You are my bitch. If I see you in public, I will give you no indication; to the outside world, nothing will be different or unusual -- but you and I will both know that you are my bitch. You are not allowed to show anything unusual in your behavior. I choose when to allow you to serve me, and you will do anything and everything that I ask. If you ever feel uncomfortable about being my bitch, you can tell me and it will be over forever -- all aspects of our relationship. You will never call me again after that.
"Tonight you will come to my house at 5:30, bringing a bottle of chilled white wine. You will be wearing a pair of your wife's panties -- the ones that turn you on the most when she wears them. Just panties; nothing else. After ringing my doorbell you will blindfold yourself before I answer the door."
"You will be on time."
I was on time. I had driven over in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt; pulling up to her house, I saw that there was no room in her driveway -- there were two cars other than hers in the driveway -- so I parked on the street.
Nervously watching for cars driving by, I took off my shorts and t-shirt, leaving me in nothing but my wife's white lace thong panties. I adjusted them, trying to keep my cock and balls in them.
I glanced at the clock; it was 5:29. A car drifted slowly by; I looked away as it passed. When it had turned the corner, I grabbed the wine and blindfold, hurried up to the front door and rang the bell. Quickly I put the blindfold on, feeling exposed, and I listened -- listened for the sound of footsteps within and for approaching cars on the street.
The door opened and Sharon spoke. "Nice panties, bitch. Come inside."
She grabbed my hand and I stumbled in, reaching to close the door behind me.
"Go on up to the kitchen," she said. "There's a bottle opener on the counter, along with three glasses. Oh yes -- I forgot to tell you -- I've invited Kelli and Gretchen from the old office; we're here together in the living room. Pour each of us a glass of wine."
My heart stopped. Kelli had been like a sister to me; we had kissed once, after a few beers -- she had a great body and beautiful eyes. Gretchen was heavier.
Kelli spoke first. "Nice to see you again, David. Such a shame you haven't kept up at the gym lately. I like your panties, by the way." Gretchen agreed, "your thong really shows off your ass nicely."
Holy shit, I thought. I can't believe this. I nervously poured the wine and slowly walked toward their voices, hoping not to spill a drop.
Sharon spoke. "Nice job, bitch. Turn around in a circle so that we can all take a good look at you. I see what Kelli means; you've gotten a bit soft since we worked together. Except for this, of course." I felt a hard squeeze on my cock, bulging within my wife's panties. It felt so good, even if it was a bit painful.
