The Shape of Surrender

The Shape of Surrender (Ch. 02)

soppingwetpanties

This is Scott's unrequited fantasy of female domination. This chapter will stand on its own though reading Chapter One will provide more context.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Chapter Two

A Chance to Worship Vivian

My life was divided into two discrete pieces - - BV and AV (before Vivian and after Vivian).

Vivian Stroud was the founder and owner of

Le Cygne Noir

, a Michelin starred fine dining establishment in Northampton, Massachusetts. Vivian was not only a shrewd business owner but more relevant to me, an accomplished Domme. She changed my life - - for the better.

I hit a flat spot in my life during my marriage to Rose, if you can call ten years of a humdrum sexless existence a flat spot. The spark was gone (if it ever existed) and we basically lived parallel lives, me as a tenured English professor at Smith College and Rose, an accomplished writer of short stories. It was telling that after Rose and I divorced she moved in with another woman in a lesbian relationship. She was never that interested in sex with me, and heaven forbid that I'd ever shared with her my true desire to be dominated by a woman.

That all changed after the divorce, with false starts using the usual dating sites and the unavoidable "fix ups" done by close friends, then finally stumbling upon Vivian on one of the more popular fetish websites. It was kismet that Vivian lived in the same town as me.

If you read the first chapter of my story you'd know how we first met - where two salacious sex acts occurred in the back of her restaurant. Define "salacious?" How about cumming into a napkin and then watching Chantal, the restaurant's manager and Vivian's lover, lick it off and swallow it? Or crawling under the table to eat Vivian's pussy? I think those would both count, wouldn't you?

Suffice it to say Vivian became the center of my universe, her irresistible gravitational pull making me spiral into a black hole of uninhibited sex - the kind of sex I had fantasies about during all those years of erotic deprivation. Just thinking about submitting to Vivian kept my motor running.

Being a submissive wasn't all about dungeons, whips and chains and all of the tropes associated with BDSM. It was a lifestyle choice and a relationship with a Domme. And by relationship I didn't mean 9 to 5. It was 24/7. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Although Vivian and I lived separate lives (I wasn't her live-in lover, that was Chantal), our paths were intertwined. I was always on pins and needles waiting for her to summon me.

So no more leaving the phone off. I had my phone on and next to me at all times. My guess was that one missed call from Vivian and that would be the end of it. I couldn't imagine my life without her. So my phone was my master as well as her.

Ever since my first meeting with Vivian I wanted to spend every second of every day with her. I knew I was being unrealistic. In addition to Chantal, she probably had other lovers and submissives. I saw Vivian on only two occasions in the two months that followed our first meeting. The first was by chance at Drake's Market, a local specialty grocery store I frequent. It was awkward for me to see her in that situation as it'd been two weeks since we met and I hadn't heard a peep from her. We passed each other going in opposite directions down an aisle. She didn't pause or look at me though I was certain she saw me and recognized me. That told me that our relationship was between the two of us (and Chantal) and no one else.

The second time I met her for drinks, with her telling me she wanted to get to know me better. As I said, this wasn't just about sex, it was a relationship. Having some fun in the restaurant was one thing, but once I'd passed Vivian's test of my submissiveness it was all about our compatibility. I was sure we were compatible but it was clear she wasn't. I had to prove myself worthy of her affection.

So we went to The Violet Room, a plush bar where locals could have an illicit rendezvous. It had deep booths upholstered with rich brown leather and jazz humming in the background, low-lit with bartenders who knew how to pour and would listen to your tale of woe without interruption. Rose was never a bar person so I'd never been there but heard about it. Sex oozed from the pores of that place. That being said, Vivian explained to me beforehand that we wouldn't be having sex on this "date."

Vivian showed up in a black sequined cocktail dress with ridiculously high heels. She looked spectacular and she knew it. Her dark hair fell forward as she leaned forward to kiss me. I'd gotten there early of course. That last thing I wanted to do was to be late. I had a bourbon in front of me, my second, of whatever the bartender recommended. It was rich, smooth and seductive, much like Vivian. I tried not to look down her dress but couldn't resist. The view was as good as I expected. I hadn't seen Vivian completely naked yet but she certainly had generous curves at her neckline.

Vivian of course missed nothing.

"Naughty boy," she said, slapping my wrist.

"I'm sorry Mistress Vivian," I said immediately, realizing my error. Eyes down moron.

"What are you drinking?" she asked me.

"Some bourbon the bartender recommended."

"Give it here," she said.

She took a sip and left a perfect impression of her red lips on my glass. I was wondering if I could somehow sneak it into my sport coat when I was ready to leave.

"It's good. Who poured it?"

I pointed to the man closest to us behind the bar.

"Ah... Ted... yeah, probably some high end Wild Turkey. Get me one."

I jumped up, banging my knee on the table.

"Fuck!" I said loud enough to attract the stares of the other nearby bar patrons.

I looked at Vivian. Her face was impassive.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, resisting the impulse to rub where I hit my knee. It was smarting like a motherfucker.

"Control Scott. You as well as me," she said in a scolding tone.

"Right Mistress Vivian."

I went to the bar and signaled to the bartender for another. I waited while he poured my drink. I looked over at Vivian, who was engrossed in her phone. I lost track of time mooning over her and wondering how I got to be the lucky guy to be with that beautiful woman. I finally realized the bartender had finished, grabbed the drink, and went over to our booth and slid into my seat.

"Took you a while," she said, looking annoyed as she put her phone face down.

"I didn't know you were watching," I said.

She looked at me eye to eye. "I'm always watching Scott. Even when you think I'm not."

She took a sip of the bourbon and nodded her head with approval.

"So what is it?"

"I'm sorry, Mistress Vivian. I forgot to ask."

She rolled her eyes. "Silly boy."

I was forty-seven years old and felt like my bare ass had been spanked with a wooden ruler. She watched to see my reaction to her reprimand. She smiled when she saw I had the hurt puppy look. She took another sip of her drink and used the tip of her tongue to slowly lick all the way around her lips. She was teasing me to make me want her even more. It worked.

Then she asked me to bare my soul.

"So tell me Scott. Tell me about Rose. Tell me what went wrong."

It took me the rest of my second drink and a third before I finished telling her about our long sexless marriage. She listened patiently, matching me drink for drink as I droned on about Rose and her career and her literary success and how that made me feel as a failed writer.

"So how would you feel if you felt jealous of your wife's success and also resentful that she'd rejected you physically and emotionally? There's not much left," I said, summing up twenty years of frustration.

Vivian drew a deep breath and looked at me over her raised glass.

"Scott, that makes me feel for you," she said with sincerity. Her compassion made me love her even more. I imagined she could see it in my eyes when I looked at her. She acknowledged as much when she continued.

"I know how you feel about me and I'm flattered, honestly. It's nice to be loved, and I understand why you do love me. I don't feel the same way about you... at least not yet... and I can't promise you I ever will."

"I understand," I said, and I did. She didn't know me that well but I already knew I was in love with her. I knew from the time I met her in the restaurant. She lit my hair on fire. She touched every nerve ending that begged to be touched. She gave me everything I wanted. Why wouldn't I love such a person? But her? I'd responded to a posting she'd made on a fetish website. She had a girlfriend, Chantal, and God knows how many other lovers. I had to accept my role in her constellation.

"Scott. I just want to be upfront with you. I have no idea where this is heading. I've done some pretty outrageous things in my life and you eating my pussy in my restaurant didn't even make the top ten. But you did it, and you did it well. I was impressed with your enthusiasm. I'm sure it was the first time you'd done anything like that..."

"True," I confirmed.

"So just having the guts to masturbate in a crowded restaurant and then go under the table to eat me out... that took courage," she acknowledged.

Then her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.

"Scott, we're going to have a lot of fun. I know the way your twisted little mind works. You live for this, don't you?"

"You know I do," I said.

Then I gave her another dose of puppy dog eyes asking the question foremost on my mind.

"When will I see you again?"

She gave me a sympathetic smile.

"I'll see you when I can. I have a busy restaurant and a demanding girlfriend. She's as crazy as you. I never told her I was going to ask her to eat your cum off your napkin. She just knew that's what I wanted her to do. I think she's just a bit jealous now so I probably won't have you come by my house unless she wants you to. We've had playtime together with other women so we'll have to see if she wants to be with a man."

"I don't want to get between you and Chantal..."

"It's not that Scott. She knew I'd have other submissives. She's always known that. But it's hard for her not to feel jealous."

"Of course you decide Mistress Vivian..."

"Chantal will be fine. She's just a bit prickly right now. We'll get together soon enough."

She got up, leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "I've got to get back to the restaurant. Hoping for a visit from the Michelin folks. Thanks for the drink."

I watched her leave the bar, admiring the long lines of her legs and the sway of her hips until she was gone. I felt a pit in my stomach. I already missed her.

I finished my drink in silence and sought out the bartender to settle up the bar tab and find out the name of the bourbon.

It was Wild Turkey -- Rare Breed.

Lesson learned.

* * *

After the bar meeting I waited weeks without hearing from her. Despite her assurance, I was afraid she'd already moved on without telling me. But as it turns out she was telling me the truth. She did get her hoped for visit from the Michelin guide and received her second star. I was busy at school teaching both an English intro course to freshmen and an advanced seminar to seniors on "Voice and Vantage: Narratives of Power and Intimacy." Think Virginia Woolf. It was an outlet for my repressed libido while I awaited her call.

My daughter Clara was living with me in my home, working as an unpaid intern for a local publishing house, and was working late that day on a book that was about to be published. It was late afternoon and I was sitting in the kitchen in my underwear drinking a local craft beer and scanning the news on my phone when I heard the doorbell chime.

I put on my robe and went to the front door, not expecting anyone, so I figured it was a package delivery. Imagine my surprise when I saw it was Vivian. She was, as usual, impeccably dressed, an unmistakable figure in my doorway - easily five foot ten, and maybe a bit taller in her riding boots. Her face was striking - - high cheekbones, porcelain skin and dark red lips. She was wearing a tailored black trench coat cinched at the waist, which emphasized her tall, lean frame. The coat's crisp lines accentuated her black hair, done in a sleek bob, which gleamed like polished obsidian. Underneath were glimpses of a cream colored riding blouse. Her tall black leather riding boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she entered, her steel gray eyes scanning the room and missing nothing.

"Hello Scott. Did you miss me?"

It took me a moment to pick myself up off the floor. Radio silence and then this.

"I did Mistress Vivian. To what do I owe this honor?" I asked her, still recovering from the shock of her unannounced house call.

"My horse came up a bit lame so I decided to pay you a visit."

My home was a modest one, an old Victorian that was in desperate need of a paint job. It had creaking floorboards and tall bookshelves crammed with novels, poetry collections and marked-up manuscripts. She went into the living room, a cozy space with a wood burning fireplace, two well-loved mismatched brown leather armchairs, and decorated with framed black and white photographs and vintage maps. There was a large bay window that let in the filtered sunlight on a partly cloudy day.

She removed her coat and handed it to me. Her blouse was neatly tucked into a pair of dark tan jodhpurs that showed faint signs of wear from a saddle. Her riding boots, slightly dusty from her earlier walk through a paddock, carried the scent of horses that mingled with her floral perfume.

"Do fetch me a drink. I'm parched," she said to me.

I knew that bourbon was her drink of choice, but hardly thirst quenching. I hung up her coat in the entryway closet and then went back to the kitchen to get her drink. I had a selection of bourbons (all for her) and chose Blanton's, given the horse figurine on the stopper, and accompanied it with a tall glass of Pelligrino with a twist of lime. I carried the bottle of Blanton's and the sparkling water into the living room, finding Vivian comfortably ensconced in one of the leather club chairs.

"Ah, so appropriate," she said, noting the horse on the stopper and smiling at me. She accepted the glass of sparkling water and drank that while I took a cut glass tumbler off the bookshelf and poured her two fingers of bourbon.

"You're becoming such a good boy Scott," she offered, taking the drink from me and making me smile back. "I usually like women but you scratch an itch they can't. Who knows, maybe someday I'll let you fuck me." She took a sip of the Blanton's and gave me an approving look.

She was already mind fucking me. Cunning was an understatement. Fucking Vivian? Would I ever get the chance?

"It's all about the anticipation, Scott. Thinking about it. I bet you think about sex all the time and that means me. Do you think about me when I'm not with you?"

"You may know me better than I know myself," I confessed.

She chuckled. It made my heart glow to make her laugh.

"I have no doubt of that Scott. You're going to do things you didn't think you were capable of. I think you're capable of a lot, and we're going to find out."

That was a promise. Should I be afraid? Afraid of the unknown?

She was watching me absorb the meaning of her offhand comment while she continued.

"So we know what gets you excited. Me? Do you know what excites me? I watch your eyes. All of your expressions are reflected in your eyes. I love the look of longing... see? You're doing it now..."

I was engrossed in her comments, not realizing I was looking at her with an air of quiet desperation. I did long for her. It made my body ache when I wasn't with her. I tried to keep my eyes down but they were attracted to her legs and those riding boots. Tall and made of the best leather, dyed black, fitting her shapely calves like a pair of custom gloves, the toes covered with a light dusting but otherwise glossy. I wanted to lick those boots, dirt and all. I wanted to show her how much I loved her.

Yes, in love. It had only been two months but I could have told you I felt that way from the moment I laid eyes on her in her restaurant, standing there so confident, a queen in a palace of her making. She was truly a Goddess and I constantly wondered if I was worthy of her affections.

"I'm sorry Mistress Vivian if I offended you..." I offered. I tried to wipe the puppy dog expression off my face.

"No Scott, not at all. I enjoy it. Come here."

I approached her, summoned by my Queen, standing next to her chair.

"Let me see your cheek," she said to me. I bent over and presented my right cheek. She anointed it a quick but firm kiss.

"That's for being a good boy. Now be a dear and help me off with these boots," she said to me, holding one up in the air.

It must have been the way I looked at her when she asked me, but she put her foot back down before I could touch it.

"You're upset Scott," she said, trying to read my eyes. "You want my boots, is that it?"

It was as if I had a window into my mind and she could see through it. I nodded my head.

"Splendid. Go ahead. Lick them. Make them shiny again."

She sat back enjoying her bourbon and watching me on my knees worshiping the fine Italian leather. The earthy tang of the stable did nothing to deter my enthusiastic licking. A true taste of submission. I managed to steal a glance up at her, and her curvaceous figure, while fawning over her footwear. Soon, the boots gleamed with a true spit shine. She raised a foot up to inspect it.

"That's good Scott. Be a good boy and help me off with them."

I put both hands on her boot and let her pull her leg back, slipping her foot out.

"I did see you sneaking a look at my breasts Scott. Eyes down unless you have my permission. Now the other one."

Another sharp correction with the snap of the mental leash she had me tethered to. I got her drift. Keep my fucking head down and my fucking mouth shut unless I was asked. I put her first boot down and helped her off with the second. Then she thrust her feet under my nose.

"Socks."

I helped her off with them, trying not to fall to temptation and sniff them before I put them down. She made it clear she had eyes in the back of her head. I was warned. I pulled them off for my first view of her bare feet. Another part of heaven. Slender size 7 with toenails painted to match her blood red fingernail polish. I'm sure I was obvious when I was ogling her feet. Another violation, but I was willing to pay the price.

"That's enough Scott," she said to me pulling her feet back. I wanted them. I wanted her.

"I'm a lady and expect to be treated like one. Do you respect me Scott?"

"Very much so," I answered truthfully.

"Well then if you do, then you'll do what I ask, but nothing more. Is that understood?"

It seemed clear as a bell to me. "Yes," I answered.

"Kiss my feet now. Show me you love me."

She slouched back in the chair, her riding pants fitting the contours of her body, a camel toe visible, extending her bare feet to me, still sweaty from being trapped in her riding boots for at least a couple hours. I took the heel of her left foot and cradled it in my hands, kissing the top of her foot lightly and tenderly.

"I love you," I said, still looking down. "Thank you."

I kissed down her foot to her toes, kissing the top of them before sucking her little toe in my mouth and swirling my tongue around it.