My name is Jan, you don't get the rest because I do have a life, at least for now. I am a middle aged, somewhat over muscled but still curvy redhead with Jessica Rabbit like curves. Yes, gravity is a thing, and my boobs no longer ignore it, but that just means when they bounce they get even more attention.
I can tell you my mistake. I agreed to meet up in person, in public, so I'm not a total idiot, with a man I had been corresponding with about erotic writing. We have similar kinks, or opposite I guess. I am that proper woman your mother always wanted you to bring home, or at least I was. I was a virgin until university, had one relationship prior to my husband, and that was my total score card. Two men.
I am a happily married professional woman, a wife, mother, teacher, community volunteer, the whole nine yards. I am also secretly very sexually submissive, but forced at home, at work and in volunteer work to always be in the dominant leadership roles. It is required because no one else wants to do the heavy lifting and make the hard calls, so I get things done.
That success drives the hunger for my sexually submissive nature farther and farther out of my control, and I turned to erotic writing as a safe outlet. I found Glass (not his real name) on one of the sites I publish on. I commented on a story, but the moderators hid the comment, and he wondered what it was.
That started a correspondence that broke my rules. Personal email to personal email, not only through the site, no direct contact. Keep my private life from ever splashing into my public one. It was a hard and fast rule, but my hard and fast rules, my iron hard will and self discipline get a little weak around other hard things, especially when I arm them with all my secret "buttons" or fantasies.
I met Glass in a local Denny's. Don't laugh, its public, I never go there so no one will know me, and its two minutes from the police station should I have to call for help. We both brought tablets and we worked for about an hour and a half on various writing projects. His, mine, and some other woman he wrote with. We worked well together. I dropped my guard and laughed a lot. The conversation just flowed, no topic was taboo, well many of them were taboo, but I shared anyway. So did he. I thought that made it equal.
Sharing all the things that make you want to surrender, all the things you deny you want, but masturbate to in secret, all the terrible shameful things you know you should fear, but secretly hunger for is not balanced by a dominant sharing all the ways he wants to strip a woman of her pride, of her dignity, and train her like an animal to be nothing more than a sexual object whose only pleasure, only pride, only burning need and purpose is to please her master.
At heart, he said, women want to be objects, to be playthings, but none of the men they meet are worthy or capable of making them into what they need to be. This is why feminism was inevitable. Weak men, and angry misogynist boy-men, make women who fail to see why they should not be equal. Only strong men make women burn to be collared and owned.
Had he been a creep, I would have been fine. He was a gentleman. We talked about the importance of aftercare, about how trust was essential, and that if you were not 100% focused on the needs of your submissive, on the safety and sanity of your submissive you were not a master, but an abuser. Masters deserve worship, deserve to own women, but abusers deserve a bullet in the back of the head and a kick into the nearest ditch.
I didn't think about it. I told him my buttons, my hungers. He told me his. He proved he was a worthy master, while I admitted I needed to be owned. In retrospect, the pieces were all there, but I didn't notice this had become more than a writing discussion until Glass leaned over to me.
"Jan," Glass said. "I think it would be a real gesture of respect if you were to go into the bathroom now and take off your bra and panties. I think that would show how grateful you are for the chance to finally open up about your needs."
He didn't say it as a demand, he didn't even say it as a threat. He said it casually, almost as if the thought was simply something I had overlooked and he was gently pointing out to prevent me from embarrassing myself.
I was in a sun dress, so while no one would know about the panties, in my bra size, going braless and walking is a public event, and with my nipples so responsive to shame/humiliation related arousal, I would be high beam headlights on from the second I freed the twins from their armoured and tightly lashed cages.
He smiled and ate a French fry. Then cocked an eyebrow as if to say, "Are you still here?"
I can't believe what I did next. I slid from the booth and went to the lady's room. I had to walk through the whole restaurant to get there. That was fine. I bundled them together and did my best not to show what they were, but big bras don't compress, and I didn't have a purse (just the laptop case I left at the table).
People could see the bra and panties in my hands, my erect nipples, and my big tits bouncing as I walked slowly back to the table. I am a redhead, so I blush not just with my face, but ears and upper chest as well. You could have cooked off the heat from my blush, or, honestly, from my bush at that point.
I went to hand Glass my bra and panties under the table. He grinned and knocked the center of the table edge facing the aisle instead. He wanted me to put them in plane sight.
I was humiliated, I was turned on. I was having trouble thinking. My mind was racing in fifty different directions. My chest was heaving like I was running a race, and my hands were gripping the sides of my skirt because they didn't know where to be or what to do.
"I am going to order dessert. To help me enjoy it, you are going to play with yourself. I want you to play with those luscious breasts, and that needy and neglected little pussy. You will taste yourself, I want you to taste every stage of your arousal from beginning, to orgasm, and tell me what they are like. That will help me enjoy my pie."
Glass said this as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. Just masturbate in public, in a booth in Denny's in my own damned town!!
He summoned the waitress, a nose pierced very goth looking girl who either was once a student of mine, or her sister was. She was a little older and with the makeup it was hard to tell if she was the one I had or the sister.
"Begin now." Glass ordered.
My hands were doing it. I was biting my lip and massaging my breast, my hand pulling my skirt up inch by inch until my pussy was bare to anyone looking down. The waitress came over, and Glass began to discuss pie options.
She was looking at me, openly smirking as she watched me try to ignore her and Glass's eyes as I played with myself as Glass talked about the merits of every kind of pie they offered.
"How do you taste now?" Glass asked me, directly, right in front of the waitress.
I had no choice. I took the fingers I had been working into myself and put them in my mouth. I whispered.
"Like wildflower honey, sweet, with a hint of musk and sharpness like citrus under a heavy sweetness." I said in a whisper, and just about came as the humiliation washed over me.
"Holy shit, what a total slut. I had no idea Mrs T." The waitress laughed, which let me know she did know me, and was enjoying my display to no end. Would she talk? How widely would it be known? I felt fear, I felt humiliation, and I felt more aroused than I had been on my wedding night.
Glass clapped his hands. "That settles it, the sweetness needs something savory to balance it. I will have the pumpkin pie. No whipped crème. My slut will be creaming shortly for me." Glass said as if the important thing here was his pie choice, and that was now completed.
The waitress and the manager had a talk at the counter as she picked up a slice of pumpkin pie and walked it over to me. The manager was a thin guy in his early twenties, looking like a kid pretending to adult and not doing a good job, probably in his first promoted position of his life. I guess Denny's management training didn't cover masturbating schoolteachers in a both, so he was fuming at the counter, glaring at us.
"Do not cum until I have enough tase of pie in my mouth to appreciate your crème." Glass commanded.
