Sweet Surrender

To: Sienna

Date: Fri Aug 28, 10:31 PM

Subject: A Lesson In Expectations - Part One

Brace yourself. And think carefully about how you ask for Part Two.

***

It was late afternoon on a Friday when I opened the door to my penthouse loft and stepped through into the cool interior. I took only passing note of the fact that you were in the expected spot, kneeling by my chair, dressed appropriately. If not for the curious pose, anyone else might have assumed you were my executive assistant, or perhaps an interior designer dropping by for a consultation. Mmmm. The ass of my last designer was a fond memory -- I enjoyed using her to move the furniture around. As for you, your ass was hidden away in a knee length knit pencil skirt; the sleeveless cream blouse was tucked in neatly; and your long hair was pulled back in a few loose loops. I had let you pick out the black seamed stockings this morning, but the Louboutins were mandatory -- which of course you were still wearing while kneeling. Everything seemed to be in its proper place.

I dropped my keys, wallet and phone on a table, swung past the chair to pick up the glass you had already poured me, and proceeded into the bedroom without a single word being spoken. I glanced briefly in the full-length mirror at my casual Friday attire: dark jeans with a collared shirt and jacket, expensive watch, leather shoes. Nothing out of place there, either. I undid the top button of the shirt, took a heavy gulp of my whiskey, and tossed the jacket onto the bed. That was part of your daily chores to deal with later.

The classic office uniform always suited me well. For you, feminine business attire was like wearing an uncomfortable disguise, or even like being physically restrained. You were also too rash and foolish to keep that kind of helpful information to yourself, so of course it became precisely what I expected you to wear when I wasn't there. Why would I even consider allowing you to mince around the apartment all day in a latex maid outfit, or a tightly cinched leather corset? Those things for you represented freedom! You, and any other accessories, were solely for the enjoyment of my eyes, or for whomever I decided to invite. Not to mention that those outfits would keep you so constantly horny that you'd have your entire right hand shoved up your own cunt all day. Did they still hospitalize people for extreme sex addiction? Or flag patient records with 'risk of self-harm' to ensure they were kept in a straight-jacket all day? No, probably not. I thought my treatment plan was better anyways. Under my guidance you were actually making a little bit of progress; a straight-jacket was sometimes not necessary now.

I returned to the chair and sat down in it, then took another long draw from my glass while I gazed out at the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was thinking about my plans to kick off this weekend, all of which had been laid out already in my head.

"Is the house ready for when Sean and his little Latina slut show up later tonight?" The question was nonchalant, the answer already assumed.

"Yes, Benjamin. Everything is laid out in the second bedroom exactly as you requested. And thank you for my new outfit. It is..." Your voice trailed off with clear anticipation.

"It is what, exactly?" I responded, with a raised eyebrow.

"Um, incredible! I can't wait to wiggle myself into it for you, Benjamin. When you or Sean are ready to throw me over your lap tonight, my ass will be very nicely exposed for you. I promise to try to be good!"

"And tell me, how did you know that one specific outfit was yours?" There was an edge to my words now, and I made sure that final word was razor sharp.

"Well, um, because Carmen is so petite... so it can't possibly be for her..." Your voice hesitated, sensing a trap, but still not seeing it. You are so delightfully dense sometimes.

"Name one thing in this household that is yours," I asked. The steel jaws closed around her.

"Um, uh, well... oh, fuck me. Sorry! Benjamin! I'm sorry!!"

Well, that was simply not good enough. I splashed the dregs of my drink across your face and chest, savoring the look of shock. "I said, name one fucking thing in this household that is yours!"

"I can't. I can't. You own it all. Everything. Every last thing." Now your forehead was pressing itself to the floor in desperation. Much better. I could look down on you and even smirk a bit without you seeing it.

"Including?"

"Me, Benjamin."

"So then who decides what you will be wearing tonight?"

"You, Benjamin."

"And who decides what will happen to you tonight?"

"You, Benjamin."

"And should *I* be concerned with living up to *YOUR* expectations for tonight?"

"No, Benjamin."

"That's right. Because you are...?"

"A very, very stupid girl, Benjamin."

"That hardly covers it. What else? I've called you many things. Now would be a very good time to remember some of them."

"Um, I'm your dirty little cock holster, Benjamin."

"That would be my dirty little three-slot cock holster. Go on."

"A brainless piece of cum-stained fuck meat, Benjamin."

"Right! You came up with that yourself back when we were 'dating'." I said the word 'dating' like I might say it to a hooker. "And I totally agreed with you and still use it as inspiration. Give me another."

"A dick-hungry jizz vacuum, Benjamin?"

"Hmm, yes, but also no. Improvisation is clearly not your strong suit. I've changed my mind, and my plans for tonight. You are being demoted, so that tonight I can bestow yet another new name on you."

"Yes... Benjamin?"

"You are going to be my Cheap-Ass Piece-Of-Shit Coffee Table."

To: Ben

Date: Mon Aug 31, 12:38 AM

Subject: Re: A Lesson In Expectations - Part One

Interesting take, my dear, but not quite what I was expecting. I'm far more interested in what led to this, the process of getting me to that place, of being broken down rather than already being broken. Does that make any sense? I'm a scrapper Ben, and our connection feels like it is about the fact that we are both alphas, testing each other. The chase is more fun than the end goal sometimes. I think of myself as submissive in some sense, but not in that master / slave way. Think Petruchio and Katherine in 'Taming of the Shrew', but rather more physical?

Am I being too specific, Ben? I just feel like the only way to get me to call anyone 'Sir' is when I can imagine you suddenly pulling me into a dark corner by a handful of my hair, pushing me painfully up against a rough brick wall, and harshly tearing my thong from my body.

My pussy drips writing about it... does your cock as well?

To: Sienna

Date: Mon Aug 31, 1:29 AM

Subject: Re: A Lesson In Expectations - Part One

Shockingly, the dominant side of me doesn't seem to want to let you top from the bottom. Instead, it insists that I utterly reject your expectations, and substitute my own.

Whatever shall we do? Continue to circle each other like two wolves engaged in a pack power struggle? Sure, why not? At least for now.

But you will soon find out what your 'expectations' have wrought!

To: Ben

Date: Mon Aug 31, 10:34 AM

Subject: Re: Re: A Lesson In Expectations - Part One

I was just bending down to pull a file out of a cabinet, and felt a rather delicious strain in my thighs. I'm wearing my heels again, and your scene flashed in my mind.

Just like that, my thong was soaked.

I guess that means I am forced to admit your story has left me feeling rather... tingly. Curious. Anxious. Aroused. You have a certain way with words that I have not encountered before.

Nervous kisses blown your way...

To: Sienna

Date: Mon Aug 31, 11:23 AM

Subject: A Lesson In Expectations - Part Two

Zero tolerance. No mistakes of any kind. Not a slip, not a peep, not a movement or I was going to be furniture (or worse) for the next event as well. Those were the cruel terms I was faced with. That is what I was being reduced to. Not just objectified, but made literally an object; and oh dear god, through obedience alone. No ropes, no straps, no clever devices, no actual furnishings. It was too much to cope with. The disgrace of being so stupid, and so presumptuous; the horrid embarrassment of failing you, and being entirely responsible for this change of plans; the disappointment that all the depraved sex I had been craving, and worked so hard all week to earn, was gone; the humiliation of being in the center of everything that was happening, and yet being nothing. My mind was flailing. My heart was fluttering. My pussy was quivering; a gaping, sloppy mess spewing juice down my thighs. I was broken down in every way, but I had to hold firm... somehow.

***

Before everything else, I still had to make you dinner. I don't know how I made it through that. I couldn't eat much of anything, and you didn't force me to, for which I am utterly grateful - I think I would have puked. You spent most of the meal on your cell phone talking to Sean, explaining the situation in the most horribly explicit detail while staring directly at me the whole time. My heart leapt briefly in desperate hope when I heard that Sean and Carmen were still going to be coming over, and then felt miserably stupid again because my reaction meant that I still hadn't learned my lesson. I clearly deserved whatever was coming.

After dinner, you took my clothes off. Well, actually some of them you ripped off. And also, some of them you left on. Ugh, I was utterly dazed and confused. The individual moments weren't staying with me. There was just a fog of shame and fear, and cutting through it was the vision of your burning hot, unforgiving gaze. Random thoughts started popping into my head: remember to buy a replacement for that blouse later this weekend. Yes, that was definitely torn right off me. Not repairable at all. Where did I buy that again? Oh, and I'd better get new stockings too. Oh shit, are you making a fucking shopping list for yourself right now? Focus, you stupid girl! Zero tolerance, remember?

Lacy bra, underwear, almost everything else you removed as well, save for two things: the seamed stockings (ruined by a large number of dramatic runs), and the heels. I was still trying to figure out why those two exactly, but my head did not seem up to the task. I knew that you always had a reason for every little thing that you did. You were always either fucking me, or fucking with me. And it seemed like I might have all evening to think about this one.

You left me on my knees then for a time, as you got yourself ready for the night. I gladly bent down and touched my forehead to the carpet again, and the familiarity of this position seemed to help me focus and clear my head somewhat. I focused on my breathing, counted down from ten a few times, and let my mind go as blank as I could. This kept the fearanxietyconfusionanticipationluststupidbitchslut mostly at bay for a little while.

When you returned, I couldn't bear to take even a sneaky peek at you. I didn't want to get caught, and I didn't want to know what I would be missing, so I kept my head very low. I was motionless while you moved the glass coffee table out of the living room, sliding it into the back of the dining room, and then returned to stand behind me. Using my hair as a lead, you forced me up and forward, crawling to the spot on the floor where the marks from the bottom of the previous table still remained. I was placed precisely in the center, while also facing away from most of the furniture that was arranged about the room. With one finger from behind, you tilted my chin up so that I was looking straight out towards the windows. The blinds had already been closed, so there was nothing left of interest there for me to gaze at.

And that is when you explained to me YOUR expectations.

***

Sean and Carmen had been there for almost an hour already. The three of you stayed completely out of my line of sight, and made no mention of my presence in the room. A few drinks were poured, a little small talk shared, and a joint was passed around. I was certain that undeserving little dyke had even got a few drags of it, so I jealously tried to breathe in more deeply, then stopped for fear that even the movement of my chest might be noticed by you. My feet were also throbbing in the goddamn Louboutins, but I could do nothing about that either; I dared not even wiggle a toe.

Not long afterwards, the noises became softer, muted, and the conversation stopped. At first it was difficult to make out what was happening, and I strained to hear without moving my head. Eventually I recognized the sound of rope ends tapping on the carpeted floor, which I immediately linked to the low huffing and moaning sounds that Carmen was making. It had to be a rope harness, very strictly tied by the sounds of it. You always did the ties, and always tied your own property first. You would pin my arms to my sides, and my wrists to my back, while wrapping across and over and under my fucking beautiful breasts (a fine sight compared to Carmen's pre-teen size titties, that fucking cunt). The ropes would form a coil down the middle of my back that you would use as a handle to move me, control me, and toss me wherever you chose. It was truly delicious, except that none of it was actually happening to me. I had been discarded and replaced. You were wielding my expectations against me like a riding crop, expectations I hadn't even realized were there until just now. I desperately wanted to hang my head in misery. I did not do it, but oh how I suffered anyway.

The sounds of vigorous cock-sucking now filled my ears. Good heavens that was torment. I couldn't see Carmen as she was passed back and forth between the two men, but I didn't need to. I had been there with her many times before. I could still show her a thing or two in that department, and her fucking whore mouth and skull was much too small anyways. She couldn't take your cock more than halfway in! She was the one who should have been discarded. My arms started trembling with the unfairness of it all, and it took everything I had to steady myself again. I had to fight through this, and it was not just about the fear of consequences; it was time to face the music. I was the one who had brought this all on me. There was no one else to lay the blame on. I would have to find the strength to endure this. I tried thinking about what I would do the next time my teeth were anywhere near that bitch's cunt lips... that helped me a lot.

Until I heard Sean say: "So, my friend, have you decided how you want to fuck this little puta tonight?"

"Yeah, I think I'm going to throw her across that cheap-ass piece-of-shit coffee table over there and fuck her to within an inch or two of her life. I'm feeling extra pissed off, and I just can't quite put my finger on why that is..."

And you kept your word. Holding her up by the hips, her upper body resting across my back, you fucked her, and you fucked her, and you fucked her. Every muscle in my body was tensed, trying to keep stable. I winced at the pain from her arms tied behind her back digging into me. I both hated and envied her moaning and screaming, but it didn't take very long for me to surrender all hopes and expectations that perhaps it would at least end soon. The word 'expectations' had in fact lost its meaning entirely. I was simply your table, and somehow, I held her up for you the entire time.

Thank god she is such a petite little fucking bitch. I will thank her very nicely for that later.

When it was done, the living room lights were switched off as the three of you retired to the second bedroom, where Sean would eventually have his turn. And I was left alone with my thoughts in the dark.

My feet were screaming at me. It did not matter. My arms and legs were shaking. It did not matter. How long would I wait here? It did not matter. There was a very strong tickle in my bladder. It did not matter.

I simply waited, for you.