The Shape Of Surrender Ch 03

The Shape of Surrender (Ch. 03)

soppingwetpanties

This is Scott's unrequited fantasy of female domination.

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 Three

Chantal

Vivian had just paid me an unexpected visit that afternoon. It didn't last more than thirty minutes, but it was thirty minutes of perfection - that is if you considered licking her dusty boots and then worshipping her feet perfection. I did just that and felt emotionally satisfied in a way "conventional" sex never made me feel.

I knew I was in love with her, the kind of love that most people wouldn't understand. I thought I was in love with Rose but after being with Vivian I realized I was simply trying to make myself fit into the expectations of others. None of my friends or family knew about my relationship with Vivien and I wanted to keep it that way. There was no point in being judged by people who didn't understand my sexual proclivities.

The unexpected visit from Vivian was such an adrenaline rush I immediately went for a beer and then another, just to bring me down. She forbade me from masturbating without permission, leaving me no alternative than to salve my sexual hunger with alcohol. She knew exactly what buttons to push and when, as if she knew what I felt and what I wanted before I did. For the first time in my life I was completely beholden to a woman yet at the same time felt totally free. An invigorating freedom to act and speak as I wanted without shame or remorse.

I put my feet on the table, taking a third beer out of the refrigerator and enjoying the beginnings of a nice buzz and the contentment I'd longed for. Even my beer tasted better than before. I was in the middle of my third cold one when my phone buzzed. All of a sudden my hackles were raised and my dulled senses were heightened. It was a text message from Vivian.

Vivian: Scott.

Me: Yes, Mistress Vivian. How can I be of service?

Vivian: Be at my house in thirty minutes.

Me: I've had a few beers...

Vivian: I'll send Chantal. She'll be there in fifteen minutes.

My reaction to her abrupt style was a combination of heart-pounding excitement and petrifying terror. As Vivian told me, our relationship was to be fueled by anticipation - anticipation of the unknown. I loved the nervous energy our text exchange elicited.

Chantal would be coming. I talked to her once on the telephone and met her at Vivian's restaurant. It was there I witnessed a true act of submission - her eating my cum off a napkin at Vivian's direction. I still remember the impish smile she gave me after I watched her swallow.

What to wear? I decided on business casual. Vivian was an impeccable dresser so no jeans and a sweatshirt for her. A crisp white button down collar shirt, black slacks and a soft shouldered navy sport coat seemed like the right choice accompanied by a pair of black leather loafers. After a lightning quick shower I was ready to go in fourteen minutes. At minute fifteen my doorbell rang. Even though I was expecting it, the noise cutting through the thick silence still startled me. I rushed to the door to open it.

"Hello Scott," Chantal said to me. Now it was Scott. In the restaurant it was Mr. Alden.

I stood there momentarily tongue tied. When I met her at the restaurant she was wearing a simple black dress, attractive but not sexy. Now she was wearing a burgundy slip dress that clung to her willowy frame like a second skin, the silk shimmering in the waning sunlight. The neckline dipped down low, showing me the cleavage between her pert breasts and the thigh high slit on the side giving me a view of her long, supple legs. Over it she'd thrown a black leather moto jacket - cropped and fitted, adding an edginess to balance out the elegance of the dress. Her stilettos were strappy and unapologetically high.

Chantal was dressed with precision, not to impress, but to disarm. It worked.

Before I could utter a greeting she breezed by me and into my humble abode. The air of professionalism I experienced in the restaurant was absent. In its place I sensed a tension. My gut feeling was confirmed when she seized my chin with her hand.

"What are your intentions with Vivian?" she asked me in an accusatory voice.

"I have none," I protested. I was on my heels. Vivian warned me she was a bit prickly when it came to me.

"She's mine."

She shook my head before letting go of my chin. This wasn't prickly. This was jealousy, pure and simple.

"I didn't intend to get between you two. I found her on a website. That's all," I said, trying to explain I had no intention of taking Vivian away from her.

Chantal huffed at me, unsatisfied with my protestation. "I thought you were just a passing fancy... a new shiny object... a toy... but you've been hanging around for two months and she hasn't tired of you yet."

All of that was true. I was her toy. I accepted that. And I was happy that she wanted me around. But I hadn't factored in Chantal. She was rarely around when I was with Vivian. Now I knew why.

"Have you fucked her yet?"

"No... no... and I probably never will," I insisted. I wondered if she believed me.

Her hazel colored eyes bored into me, searching for the truth. She seemed satisfied with my answer. She moved her left foot forward enough to make her dress fall off her leg at the slit, revealing her calf and part of her thigh. She was young and sexy. I couldn't control my reaction.

"You're getting hard Scott. Do you find me attractive?"

Of course I did. She knew it. She was playing with me like a hungry cat with a terrified mouse.

"Yes Chantal. You're very attractive."

"Show me."

"Show you what Chantal?"

"Show me you want me."

I wasn't sure what to do. I dropped to my knees and bent forward and lovingly kissed the tips of each of her spiked heels. Then I kissed her ankle and started going up her calf. I started to breathe harder. I wanted her. I wanted her badly. The seductive smell and taste of her youthful skin made my blood boil.

Worshipping Vivian's lover was truly tasting forbidden fruit. Since meeting Vivian I embraced a boldness and recklessness I couldn't have previously imagined. I was ruled by my dark desires, not by rational thought.

"That's enough Scott," she said, pulling her leg back after a flurry of kisses.

I looked up at her with pleading eyes, clearly wanting more and at the same time waving the white flag of surrender.

She smirked. She'd already won.

"Just don't fuck with me Scott."

I passed her test.

"I won't Chantal," I promised. The last thing I wanted to do was fuck with her.

* * *

I've often thought cars reflected the personalities of the people who drove them. My car was a 1988 Saab 900 Turbo, its boxy shape and wraparound windshield giving it a funky charm. Like me it'd developed a number of quirks over the years -- a balky heater that needed to be coaxed to work and a tape deck that only worked if a pencil was wedged under the cassette (yes, I still had mixed tape cassettes in my glove box). It was old but reliable.

I smiled with approval when I saw Chantal's car in my driveway. It was a car I lusted after but on a college professor's salary was just a pipe dream. It was a gleaming obsidian black Porsche 911 Carrera GTS, the perfect blend of performance and comfort. Like Chantal, the body was sculpted to perfection with graceful curves to its flared rear fenders and slim LED lights that gave it a sharp, almost feline stare. I opened the passenger door to see a pleasing mix of leather and black carbon fiber, minimalist and luxurious.

She slid into her seat, her slit dress falling open to let me feast my eyes on her seductive legs. Her driving style was as graceful as she was, effortlessly moving the gated shifter. The car scattered colorful fall leaves as it hurtled down the country roads on the outskirts of Northampton.

We arrived at Vivian's house exactly thirty minutes after our text exchange. I'd been to her home once before, an old Victorian like mine but with modern bones. From the street it looked modest but well-kept, with its weathered gray clapboard and black trimmed windows. Chantal opened the front door for me and I was greeted with the seductive smell of Vivian's cordon bleu, a classic French dish using pounded chicken breasts covered with a layer of prosciutto and a ribbon of gruyere, then dipped in egg wash, rolled tightly, secured by twine or toothpicks and then coated with a fine layer of bread crumbs. My stomach growled. I had three beers and no food. I was hungry.

"I'm here in the kitchen," Vivian called out.

Like the rest of the house the bones of the kitchen were old - worn wide plank oak floors, exposed beams painted a soft matte black - but everything else was redone. The cabinets had flat panel doors painted a charcoal gray with brushed brass handles. The countertops were a yellow granite with faint white veining. The commercial gas range dominated the back wall, flanked by open shelving. A rectangular frame of blackened steel pipe hung over the butcher block island, with polished copper pots and pans suspended from it on "S" shaped hooks.

Butter hissed on the skillet as Vivian gave the chicken breast roulade the finishing touch of a golden crust. Vivian was standing over the stove, the sleeves of her cream colored silk blouse rolled up, and the top of her black cigarette trousers covered by a slate gray apron that showed traces of flour. She was barefoot, heels neatly placed in the corner.

I was in Vivian's lair along with her tigress. I was walking in during act three of a four act play. I had no idea what I was doing there. So I stood there, watching Chantal stand behind Vivian, nuzzling her neck. Vivian shrugged her off.

"If you want to be useful, spoon on the sauce," Vivian snapped at her youthful girlfriend. The Domme placed a roulade, the golden crust still sizzling, on one of the three empty plates on the counter. Chantal went to spoon the tarragon cream sauce on the center.

"Uh-uh," Vivian murmured. "Angle the sauce slightly left, not center."

Chantal did as she was ordered and then furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why are you this bossy?" she asked, seemingly annoyed.

Vivian flipped another roulade on the second plate. "Because you're doing it wrong."

"You're lucky I like you," Chantal retorted, covering the roulade with the creamy sauce in the way Vivian insisted.

"I don't believe in luck," Vivian fired back. "I believe in standards."

"You should open a restaurant," Chantal said mockingly, poking the bear.

Vivian stopped what she was doing. "Are you begging to be punished little one?"

"Always," came Chantal's reply.

The prospect of seeing Vivian discipline Chantal got me excited. I could see that I was being drawn into a complicated three-way relationship when I barely had the capacity to manage a relationship with one of them, let alone both.

"Later," Vivian said. "In the meantime get these plates on the table." She put the third roulade on the last empty plate. Chantal dressed it and then moved all three plates to the simple wooden kitchen table, with a setting for three already on it.

Vivian and Chantal went for their chairs. I made one step towards the plate with the empty chair in front of it.

"Not so fast Scott," Vivian said to me. "You can either enjoy your meal with us at the table, or under it, where you'll be dining on our alternate selection this evening. Your choice."

The chicken cordon bleu looked and smelled amazing and ordinarily I'd be chowing down, but under the table seemed to be an enticing choice. My guess was the "alternate selection" was Chantal. The last time I was under a table I got to eat Vivian's pussy in her packed restaurant. That encounter was rushed and frenetic. I was hoping I'd have more time to enjoy this moment.

"Under the table," I said confidently. That much I knew.

"Then go," said Vivian.

I didn't need to be asked twice. It was a small four seat table that left me only enough room to park between the knees of both women. Vivian was wearing pants and made no move to take them off. Chantal was wearing a skirt. I waited on my haunches for further instructions. In the meantime I listened to them talking and eating. My mouth was watering. I caught them mid-conversation as I settled under the table.

"... he's not much to look at." It was Chantal's unmistakable (and sexy) French accent.

"I think he's cute," said Vivian.

I was glad Vivian was standing up for me.

"But he's housebroken - - that's a plus," said Chantal.

What?

"But I already have one dog," said Vivian.

"I wish I could adopt a dog but my apartment building won't allow it," said Chantal.

"What do you think about our new pet?" Vivian asked.

"He's still waiting."

"Be nice," said Vivian. "He's still learning."

It was fascinating hearing them talking about me (finally) but I was really pining for Chantal. My eyes had adjusted to the lower light and I could see Chantal had crossed her legs so her slit dress fell open, exposing her legs up to her panties. I was able to study the well-defined muscles in her thighs and the shapely dancer's curve of her calves.

I found out that Chantal was born and raised in Paris and moved to Northampton to work at a Michelin starred restaurant in Boston. Vivian met her on one of her dining excursions and recruited her to become the general manager of

Le Cygne Noir

at the tender age of twenty-eight. She was single, but obviously attached to Vivian, though I wasn't sure if it was a true submissive relationship or whether they were just lovers (though Vivian's threat of punishment suggested it was the former).

Vivian got up from the table to clear the main course. That allowed me enough room to get on my hands and knees, waiting for Chantal to open her knees. She opened them just enough to get my head between them and within inches of her panties. In the background I could hear Vivian making a sauce for the dessert.

"Beg for it Scott," Chantal demanded.

I didn't know what to call her. Was she my Mistress now?

"Please... Mistress..."

"It's just Chantal."

"Please Chantal..."

"What do you want, Scott?"

I tried to look up at her. The table blocked my view so all I could see was her narrow waist and the pleasing curve of her breasts.

"I want to lick you Chantal. I want to lick your pussy. Please? May I?"

"Take off those preppy clothes and smell me first."

I got out from under the table and stripped off all of my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, unconcerned that I was buck naked and they were fully clothed. Back under the table, Chantal opened her legs more to allow me to push my nose into her sopping wet panties and into her slit so I could smell the earthy pungent odor of her cunt. I was so anxious to lick her I wanted to jump out of my skin. I buried my nose deeper, using my nose like a small penis, parting her labia and relishing the sweet heat of her juicy pussy.

"Enough," she said. I sat back up on my haunches. The alluring smell of her pussy was still on my nose.

"Pull off my panties, but with your teeth only."

That was a challenge. She opened her legs wider. Her panties were made of drenched white lace. She may have been playing it cool but her body betrayed her true emotions. She wanted this as badly as I did.

I snagged the material in the middle of the soaked crotch with my teeth. I pulled back with my teeth and the panties started sliding down her thighs to her knees before the material snapped out of my grip. Her hairless pussy was revealed and even in the low light I could see there was a glossy sheen to it. She was kind enough to put her knees closer together to allow me to grab the wet gusset and pull them down to her ankles. She kicked off her heels so I could pull her panties off.

They were still hanging out of my mouth when she said, "show me."

I crouched down to get out from under the table. I'm sure I looked ridiculous standing there in my birthday suit holding a pair of soiled panties in my teeth. Chantal appeared as if she was appraising a painting as she looked at me. I could hear Vivian coming up from behind me.

"Looks like he's a retriever," Vivian said, chuckling.

"Let me get a picture of this."

I stood there mortified as Chantal got up to retrieve her phone. She looked spectacular in her red dress as her hips swished as she left the room. Vivian put the dessert on the table, a lavender scented panna cotta with honey drizzled on it, and then sat down. I watched her with Chantal's panties still in my mouth. Chantal returned with her phone, gleefully snapping several pictures of me.

"Got it," she said. "I'm sure the faculty at Smith College will enjoy these."

A cold shiver went up my spine. Would she make good on her promise?

She seemed unconcerned that her veiled threat had sent a shockwave through me.

"Enjoy dessert Scott," Chantal said to me. She plucked the panties out of my mouth. I was a bit bewildered. That was it? The dessert looked great but I was looking forward to licking her pussy.

Chantal and Vivian started on their dessert without waiting for me or looking at me. I sat down and started eating it. It was as delicious as it looked, but I wasn't enjoying it. I was pouting over not being able to worship at Chantal's temple. Vivian looked over at my plate and noticed I'd only taken one bite.

"You don't like the dessert?" she asked me.

"I do Mistress Vivian..."

Her eyes, ever probing, were focused on me.

"Your heart isn't into eating dessert, isn't it?"

"No Mistress Vivian..."

"You're pining over Chantal, aren't you?"

As I said, Vivian seemed to have a window into my soul.

"Yes Mistress Vivian."

"I told you Scott that anticipation is a key part of submission. You have to relish it. Embrace it. I know you want Chantal... maybe more than me. I know that Chantal is jealous of my relationship with you. Show her you want her as well. Go back under the table."

Vivian was right. The anticipation was delicious but nerve wracking. I wanted Chantal so much it hurt. With her permission I got under the table but Chantal's knees were together. I know I whimpered. Vivian took pity on me.

"Let him in Chantal. But do be so good as to tell me what he's doing. I'll enjoy your narration while I finish my dessert."

I felt a surge of joy at her direction and when Chantal's legs opened for me.

"Go ahead Scott, lick my pussy," she said.

I let out a low throated growl and pressed my head between her legs, feeling the smooth soft skin of her thighs rubbing against my cheeks. I stuck out my tongue for my first real taste of her. It was divine. Pungent, earthy... a primal musk that heightened all of my senses. I wanted so bad to touch myself while I was eating her out.

"Yes... yes... that's it Scott... curl your tongue and push inside me... yes... yes... like that..."

I did as she asked, stiffening my tongue, curling it and penetrating the ripe, wet folds of her labia and reaching the soft, spongy walls inside her pussy.

"Huh... huh...huh," she panted.

I went as far inside her as I could, my lips joined with hers in the most intimate of kisses.

"Now fuck me Scott... fuck me with your tongue," Chantal demanded.

"Do it Scott... fuck her... fuck her and make her cum," Vivian called out.

I went into a wild frenzy, fucking, sucking, licking, kissing until I could feel her thighs trembling, then locking around my head. It was nirvana for me.