Dianne

CAVEAT

We all have choices in this world and it is not for any of us to judge another's.

This brief yarn is a study in love and where that can take us. Be warned however, gentle reader, that this is not your typical love story and its characters not your typical lovers. Some might legitimately feel that it should have been classed as BDSM. Perhaps so - the world of BDSM of course contains far more than just chains and whips. This story however contains no bondage or physical abuse of any kind.

On the other hand, a good definition of romance is 'an ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people'

. By that description, this tale fairly belongs here in Romance. Our protagonist would herself undoubtedly describe this as a love story and that certainly matters. Readers will however be hard-pressed to find roses, chocolates or lyrical poetry.

If this is not what you seek, pray move on. There are so many other good stories awaiting your attention.

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The clock on the shelf said quarter past five. It was time to prepare myself, for He was always punctual.

I went to the toilet, brushed my teeth again, checked my makeup. I noticed that I needed to touch up my lipstick and did so. I refreshed the perfume I had anointed myself with that morning, before He had left. I brushed my hair -- 100 times, as He liked.

I gave the girl in the mirror what I hoped was a brilliant and expectant smile. She smiled back, reassuringly, framed with long brown hair and soft, compassionate brown eyes. I hoped to live up to her confidence.

I checked my thigh-high stockings for ladders, pulled on their tops to even them out. My high-heels were properly polished, their colour matching the tie I had put on Him this morning, for nothing in His world was by coincidence. The earrings He had chosen for me were in place and hanging straight.

On my way through the study to the side door leading to the garage, I checked my cuffs and collar. The brown leather was shiny, rings shiny and centred. Their weight was a comforting reminder of His care and love.

A bottle of His favourite Beaujolais and a goblet were waiting for Him on a side table by the door. A brown riding crop lay beside them.

I'd polished that, too, this afternoon.

As I knelt beside them, careful not to damage the delicate silk over my knees, I wondered -- as I did almost every day at this time -- whether or not He was watching me on His way home. I knew He could, whenever He wished, call up the home security cameras in every room on His phone. Or on the monitor in the limo, if He chose not to drive Himself.

It was not my place to know His will.

I closed my eyes, tried to calm my racing heart. His going away every morning hurt, but never as much as His coming back every night brought me joy.

I heard the garage door rumble on the other side of the wall and suddenly realized that I had forgotten something important. I reached down, lifted my breasts, pinched my nipples, rolled them between my fingers. To my relief, they became hard, erect.

Distantly, I could hear the car door close. It would be another few seconds. I tried to compose myself, replace the relief and happiness I knew would be on my face now with the calm serenity He so liked.

I picked up the riding crop from its place beside the goblet and, hearing the door begin to open, bowed my head, at the same time raising my hands, palm upwards, offering the crop to Him across my open palms.

It was thus that I greeted Him each evening. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, He would lead me to the Playroom and make use of the crop, simply because it suited His mood. Usually however, He would merely accept it from me and lay it down on the table again before taking me by one hand and helping me to my feet.

Sometimes, sometimes, He would kiss me. I lived for those moments.

Today, for the first time in my memory, He did none of those things. Instead, He merely stepped past me without acknowledgement. Behind Him, to my surprise, followed two other sets of legs, one male and one definitely female.

I was shocked and, for just a moment, almost humiliated to be presented thus without any warning. Then I reminded myself that the house was His to invite anyone He wished to and that I myself was His to present to anyone He wished to and in any manner He thought fit.

"This is Dianne," His deep voice said above me. I did not move, for He had not given me either permission or direction to do so.

In a second, His hand lifted the crop out of mine. He tossed it almost casually onto the table. Uncertain as to what to do, I knelt up straighter, rested my hands on my thighs, raised my head upright but kept my eyes lowered. I could feel three sets of eyes on me as I knelt there, wondering what was going on.

"Stand up, Dianne," He commanded. In response, I rose as gracefully as I could. I looked at Him, saw Him smile and my heart flipped.

I had never seen the woman with Him before. Of course, I had but little idea of His social or business circles.

She was in her late 40s or early 50s, but very well preserved. Slender, with a trim but attractive figure, she had blue eyes so pale as to be almost grey.

They say that the eyes are a window to the soul. I was surprised at my reaction to hers; for some reason, they struck me as almost predatory. I shivered in spite of myself.

Her skin was firm and she wore her grey hair very short -- many men wear it shorter. Her hairstyle projected a remarkable strength of character while still being deeply feminine.

She was dressed in a perfectly-cut grey business suit, a black collarless blouse and high heels matching the suit to a T. Her makeup was understated yet exquisite in taste and execution. Her nails were perfect.

She wore a large diamond ring set, but on her right hand. A simple string of what I was sure were real pearls circled her neck and matching earrings hung from her lobes.

Her poise and attitude were patrician and I was instantly afraid of her. The expression on her face as she examined me was a mixture of confidence, arrogance and mild amusement. I trembled under her eyes; given choice, I would have hidden behind Him for protection.

Her companion was much younger, perhaps in his early 20s. Tall, clean-shaven with close-cropped pale blond hair, he was dressed in an expensive double-breasted suit and what looked like a silk tie, its colour matching the lady's eyes. While broad-shouldered and clearly very muscular, it was obvious that he was not yet out of his final growth spurt. He wore no jewellery that I could see.

His face too was expressionless and, to me, that spoke much of his status.

"And this is Aaron," the woman said. Neither of them bothered to introduce each other to the two lesser beings.

Apparently finished inspecting me, she turned away almost dismissively before looking at Him with a smile.

"Perhaps Dianne might make Aaron more comfortable. I think he's a little overdressed with her being so perfectly presented."

Her eyes returned to linger on my body; I felt as if I was on a public auction block and she a passer-by casually considering whether or not to place a bid.

I saw a faint flush rise on Aaron's face, but his expression remained impassive.

"Certainly," He replied, "but perhaps we might move this to a more comfortable setting?"

Turning to me, He said, "Dianne, bring this and three more glasses to the library." Without waiting for an acknowledgement, He held out His elbow to the older woman. She took it with her hand and He led her down the hall in that direction. Silent as a shadow, Aaron followed.

It took me but a minute to fetch His glass of wine, the bottle and the extra goblets. When I entered the room, He had already lit the fire I had laid earlier; the flames were licking high around the applewood logs.

He and His guest were sitting on the two sofas, facing each other on the opposite sides of the fireplace. The boy was standing between them, his hands by his sides, looking at neither of them.

I placed the tray beside Him and stood back, awaiting further directions.

"Thank you, Dianne," He said. He always said that harshness was unnecessary if one's control was strong enough. I knew that to be true -- and it made me quiver inside. "Now make Aaron 'more comfortable'."

I thought I knew what He meant but was still unsure. I looked at Him for guidance.

"Undress him, Dianne."

Though I moved without hesitation to stand before the boy, my mind was in a whirl. Was it His intention that Aaron and I were to

fuck

for their amusement? That was the only way I could think of it, for while I was forbidden to speak that word, the term 'making love' was in my mind reserved for just one person - my master, my owner, the man to whom I had given my virginity.

Never before had He directed or required anything like this of me and I began to tremble slightly as my fingers reached for the boy's jacket buttons.

The woman must have noticed my unease, for she laughed softly in the flickering light of the fire. Sitting across from her, He said nothing, but I could sense his sardonic amusement.

I unbuttoned Aaron's jacket, slid it down off his arms and, knowing how He always stressed order and neatness in all things, looked around for a place to put it. There were no hooks or such in the room, so I folded it carefully and placed it on a side table by the door. I was used to neckties, tying His every morning; Aaron's half-Windsor knot was undone without trouble.

Standing so close to him for the first time, I became aware of the boy's scent. Part of it was true masculine odor and, to my dismay, I found myself reacting to that. It was overlaid with a subtle and deep aftershave or cologne. I recognized it -- Dior

Eau Sauvage

-- and felt a glow deep within me, for He also used that on occasion.

Aaron stood as still as a mannequin, as if accustomed to such service. His eyes were fixed above my head and wouldn't meet mine. For that much I was momentarily grateful, but it started me wondering.

I was proud of my hands not trembling as I folded the boy's tie and, stepping away from him, laid it carefully centred on top of the jacket.

His shirt was silk, with crisp, starched French cuffs. I was pretty sure from their weight as I removed them that his cufflinks were real gold. They followed the tie -- which had indeed proved to be nubby silk, bearing a prestigious Italian label - onto the table.

As I returned, I looked to Him for reassurance and got a soft smile that reminded me of why I was so in love, so very lucky to be His.

I had a bit of trouble getting the boy's shirt tails out of his trousers and had to undo his belt first. Once more I could smell his male odor; once more I began trembling.

I had fumbled with his trouser buttons, but when I loosened them, Aaron's trousers immediately sagged, almost fell, but he moved quickly to hold them up while I finished undoing his shirt buttons. Underneath, he wore no undershirt and the hairless skin under my fingers was smooth, taut, tanned.

Moving around behind the boy, I slid his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. I gasped slightly.

Other than Him, Aaron was the first man I had ever undressed, the first bare torso I had seen since high school swimming classes. As I walked around in front of him again, I was stunned. Putting it plainly, the boy was buff, with chiseled muscles - a level of development I had had no idea existed.

His shoulders were massive, his waist narrow, the masses and planes of his chest sharply-defined, as if carved in warm stone. He was, to my eyes, enchanting.

My master was anything but flabby, but I found this boy's body resonating in some deep, primitive part of me I'd had no experience with before now. My breath caught and I felt a heaviness in my groin.

I was required to work out in the home gym for two hours each day. I had no idea how long Aaron must have had to spend exercising to achieve such a result. He looked like a Greek God brought to Earth.

Without thinking, I found myself running my fingertips slowly over the smooth skin of his abs before His stern, "Dianne!" brought me back into the real world. I blushed and apologized.

The woman laughed, openly this time. "He has that effect on women," she chuckled. "Be forgiving, dear."

Dear?

Had I heard that right? My heart sank.

Deep within me, I feared His disapproval for a transgression more than I did His punishment for my having transgressed.

I feared another's affection for Him more than either.

"Bad precedent," He said, "but since it's you asking it, very well."

A tear came to one eye, knowing that I had displeased Him. Bending to my task, I tried to focus. I knelt before Aaron and helped him out of his shoes and socks. I rose as gracefully as I could and placed them under the table.

As I again knelt in front of him, I could see the beginnings of a tent in his silk boxers and found myself become anxious, deeply conflicted. Doing my best to ignore the fleshy mass expanding just inches from my face, I slipped his trousers off. Rising, I folded them and placed them on the table with the rest.

I resolved to take off his boxers from behind, just to avoid any need to look at his organ, but the woman spoke in a soft but commanding tone, "Up front, Dianne!"

I looked despairingly at Him. Despite my gaffe a moment ago, He was smiling, clearly amused at my shyness. He merely gave me a short, "Obey!"

Almost in tears, all too aware of the desire building in my loins in spite of myself, I moved to kneel in front of the almost-naked figure. As I knelt, I noticed the boy's eyes were half-closed, as if trying in his turn to avoid the sight of me.

I was for an instant offended by that, but quickly found myself empathizing with him. This whole thing was unprecedented and no doubt he was as uncomfortable as me. Hadn't I been thankful for his not meeting my eyes earlier?

Trying to remember my place, I took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. Judgement of another was emphatically not mine to give.

As I pulled the slippery blue boxers -- yes, silk, too - down over his slender hips, his half-hard organ lurched out. Knowing that that would happen, had I been fearing it or yearning for it? In any case, had I been kneeling any closer to him, it would have brushed my forehead. Now I blushed deeply. I bent my head, hoping neither of them would notice.

To my surprise, I realized that his entire body had been shaved or waxed. In my innocence, I hadn't known men did that.

As his organ began to thicken and rise in front of my eyes, I noticed a gleam of metal under it. Rising with his boxers in my hand, I got a momentary better look.

Circling his scrotum above his testicles, it was made of some silvery metal, more sterling than chrome in color. No wider than a pencil, it didn't appear to be at all heavy and lacked any secondary ring or attachment point that I could see. Although it didn't appear to be all that tight, it was clear that it could not be easily removed.

It was engraved with an elegant filigree pattern, culminating in a flat spot featuring a monogram in gold inlay letters. I hadn't the time to discern the individual initials.

I realized that, as with my own more visible collar and cuffs, the silvery band must be a token of ownership.

The woman again laughed softly then commanded, "Inspection, Aaron!"

The boy obediently folded his hands behind his head. His feet slid apart to shoulder width before he froze in place. The position emphasized his already bulky thighs and lats. I found myself longing to be standing behind him so I could see his bum.

"Very impressive," He said softly from behind me. "May he have some wine?"

"Of course, dear," she smiled. "I'm not an ogress, you know."

"I'm never certain," He replied, smiling kindly.

She returned His smile with an ironic smirk.

The two of them were clearly old friends, or, if not, then at least close acquaintances. He and she were perfectly at ease with each other.

"Dianne," He said, without looking at me, "pour for us all. You have some, too."

Frankly, by then, I felt I needed it. As His guest, I first served her, then Him, lastly Aaron and myself. Or rather, I placed two glasses in front of the woman, for the boy was still standing in the inspection posture. On thinking, I placed my glass by His as well.

When I had finished serving, I moved to stand beside where He was sitting, away from her. There was something about her which still very much frightened me. I found myself praying that, if it was His intent to hand me over to another for His amusement this evening, it would be to Aaron as opposed to his grey mistress.

The Playroom was mine. Well, no, it was most certainly His, but every atom in me recoiled at the thought of it being used by anybody but Him and with anybody but me. I supposed that I could even accept sharing it with another like myself, but the prospect of my being taken in there by her was a terror beyond my imagining.

I wasn't sure what to do now.

I didn't know!

That in itself frightened me. I decided to take my lead from Aaron's example and moved into an inspection pose. Remembering what He had taught me, I tried to stand as straight as possible and keep my stomach and bum tight. As I did so, I felt her eyes on my breasts as they shifted and wondered if she was jealous of mine being bigger than hers?

That wasn't my fault, was it?

As I firmed up my position, I noticed Aaron's pupils enlarge slightly, saw his eyes flicker over my nakedness in front of him, noticed a barely-perceptible twitch in the hardness now rising towards his stomach. At the same time, there was a low grunt of approval from Him and the woman smiled. I was relieved -- I had obviously done the right thing. And Aaron obviously found me attractive as well.

As I stood there, I felt His hand grasp my leg above my knee and run slowly, ever so slowly, upwards. My skin under the stockings tingled at His touch and I felt my body react in oh-so-familiar ways as His fingertips slowly stroked my inner thigh.

"That's enough, Aaron," his mistress commanded. "Come sit here beside me."

The boy obeyed, sliding in so that his bare hip was touching her skirted one. Almost as if by impulse, she reached out to grip his penis. Taking a fold of skin of the super-sensitive triangle under his crown, she began gently rolling it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger.

The boy squirmed.

"Drink your wine, Aaron," she commanded. He picked up the glass, took a small sip but did not drink thereafter.

The beloved hand on my leg slid higher, lingered over the hem, moved on. His fingers loitered over the skin of my inner thigh, His thumb probing my after opening. I moaned, just slightly, and the fingers on my thigh clenched more tightly in silent reproof.

Suddenly and without warning, He pulled me towards Him. Losing my balance, I landed on His lap, only to be trapped by His arms. Realizing I was where He wanted me, I stopped squirming and lay back against His chest.

His right hand began stroking my side before rising and cupping my breast, squeezing gently. I moaned, more softly this time.

Opposite us, Aaron's penis had obviously grown still harder, darker under his mistress's gentle but unceasing attentions. From where I was lying, I took the risk of staring at it, knowing that He could not see my wanton inquisitiveness.

I was fascinated by what I saw. While not abnormally huge, Aaron's organ was significantly longer and thicker than His. The boy was circumcised and his crown bulged substantially out over his shaft, like the head of a fleshy mushroom. His sack below had been shaved, too, and lay tight up against his body. His oversized balls were pushed up into view by his thighs, the silver circlet hidden beneath them. I could see them twisting slightly, growing in size as her soft, demanding fingertips slowly exacted an increased arousal from the boy.