And so, things changed. Though it was often subtle. We continued to function and converse, but there was always an understanding, now. I would have you. I would use you. Sometimes you understood and would fall to your knees to take me in your mouth, or bend over, making your pussy and ass available to me, according to my desire. Other times I would take you unawares. At the sink as you did the dishes. Or coming in from the garden, finding you napping. But whenever it was, you always felt completely fulfilled when I took you. Always feeling supremely giving, utterly relinquishing control, knowing it was always yours to take back. And knowing, never did.
But though you became mine to take, you were required to earn the taking. A limp rag was not what was expected of you. You were to satisfy me in all ways. In your appearance, your attitude, your response and your performance.
Last weekend, returning from the beach, I asked you to remove your clothes and sit naked in the car next to me. You demurred. A mistake! And you quickly understood that it was more than a request. Your heart raced as you hurried to squirm out of your clothes, hoping to deflect the cost of your hesitation. It took a minute or two in the cramped confines of the passenger seat, but soon you were sitting naked beside me. Only then did you become aware of the degree of your exposure. There, on the highway, in the slanted light of late afternoon, you were naked, exposed to every motorist that passed us! You could feel yourself blush. How you wanted to cover yourself!
I reached over and placed my hand on your thigh. You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the world outside. My fingers dug between your legs, roughly tugging your thighs apart. You can feel my impatience with you. You know what is expected but you are slow to respond. With your legs open and my fingers touching your pussy, you are painfully aware that your shoulders are slumped, trying to hide your breasts. Your pussy is dry. You know what I want from you, but the openness of the situation was too much for you, you could not meet my demands.
Soon I removed my hand from your body, returning it to the wheel. "Put your clothes back on, Jen." I said to you. "We will deal with this later."
The rest of the ride home was accomplished in silence. You could hardly sit still in your seat as you worried about how you would be "dealt" with.
We arrived home and the matter seemed to have been forgotten as we went about our business as usual. As you busied yourself in the back, I went into the garage to work. Eventually, you heard me calling to you from the living room. "Jen, come here, please."
You came out, feeling something was up, and you knew you were right as soon as you saw me. My face was stern, and I had a length of rope in my hand. Coming into the living room, you stopped in front of me, your eyes downcast, waiting for instructions.
"Jen, you are obligated to please me. You let me down this afternoon. If I choose to display you, I expect you to obey me and enjoy doing it. Do you understand?"
"Yes," you reply, feeling very low and ashamed.
"You will have to earn your forgiveness, Jen. Are you ready?"
"I am ready whenever you ask."
I smile, you are off to a good start. Backing up a step, I command you simply, "Strip!"
Without hesitation you obey me immediately this time. Your hands move directly to the button at the neck of your blouse. You unbutton it quickly and move rapidly down the front, unbuttoning as you go. Pulling the shirt free of your jeans you shrug your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Before it has settled you have already unbuttoned your jeans and are tugging the zipper downward. You wiggle your hips as you push them down, nearly stumbling in your haste to get them off. Next comes the bra. As always, you feel so free and wild as your breasts swing free of their confinement. You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties, but now you pause for a moment.... You know how much I enjoy starting with your panties on and you want to give me a chance to give you further instructions. It is a tightrope you are walking. Remove them too fast and you risk depriving me of the pleasure of removing them myself. Too slow and you appear reluctant. Your heart jumps a bit when just as you begin to lower them you hear me command you, "Leave them!"
Immediately, you stop. You leave them just as they are, lowered slightly on your hips. With your hands at your sides, you wait now.
"Hands back!" I command. And you put your hands behind your back, resting the back of your hands against your ass.
