Urges

At first, it seemed like a joke. I was merely playing with her assertion that she liked to be dominated. "You WILL meet me at the Bistro Grill on Sable Rd in Stanton. Be there at 11:00 SHARP!" What surprised me was the rush it gave me. By the end of the message, I was nearly seeing red from the raw emotion welling up inside of me. "You will wear RED satin underwear, and a dress or skirt. You will wear a sexy top and your nicest bra." She had to wear a bra, I knew. There wasn't even standard lettering for her cup size, so she would need support of some kind. "Make sure your top won't alarm any nearby families." I knew that she would comply to the utmost, so it was up to me to make sure she didn't go too far. Thinking about the scene caused my vision to tinge red again, and my glands decided that was enough concern for the public good. "Failure to STRICTLY follow these instructions will result in severe punishment!"

I was shaky when I stood up from the keyboard. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. Her response was swift, arriving before the adrenaline wore off. She didn't know I could be that assertive. After acknowledging her surprise, she played the proper submissive and promised to follow my instructions. We would meet in less than 24 hours.

I loved my wife, so I couldn't tell her about my game with Sharon. She wouldn't have understood, but I was merely playing a game. I knew I wouldn't step over the line into infidelity. Even so, that night, I could not stop fidgeting. My cheeks felt like they would burst into flame, as I tried to suppress the emotions I set loose earlier that day. I had let loose a beast within, freeing it from its chains. It awoke from its long slumber, and it demanded respect. My bones nearly ached with the need to command.

I arrived at 10:55, and Sharon already had a table. She stood up to give me a friendly hug, leaning into me a bit more than normal and much more than necessary. I told myself that it was the only way she could give me a proper hug, as her breasts really were in the way. It was still suggestive, even if she had intended otherwise, which she hadn't. I knew that her chest was big, but saying 38DDDD or 40GG or 42H, or whatever her size was that year, was meaningless to me. I never bothered to remember the size when she told me.

"Hi," she purred. "I hope it's okay that I'm early." When she stepped back, I saw that she was taller than I remembered. I always forgot that she was only an inch or two shorter than me, but I missed nothing this time. Her frame was quite a bit softer than when I first met her so many years ago, but it simply made her curvy. I knew she was concerned about her weight, but her form didn't hurt my eyes any. Her lips were equally full, and I briefly considered kissing them. Her hair was a light brunette, bordering on red, and fell just past her shoulders. I realized that her lingering scent was from her floral shampoo. Her skirt was tan, a suede number that fell just above the knee, looking quite classy and revealing nothing. Her blouse was black with gold flecks that decorated the heavy cotton quite nicely. To my disappointment, I saw that her blouse was fully opaque, completely concealing her otherwise ample cleavage. The neckline, however, hinted at what was hidden below while also highlighting her soft ivory skin. It was early fall and quite warm, and I had fancied that since she was equally excited about today. I expected her apparel would reflect either the temperature or her excitement, so I was unsettled by her choice of clothing.

"Do you like?" she said, motioning to her clothes. Before I could respond, she quietly continued, "I was going to dress sexier, but you said you didn't want me to draw attention." It wasn't what I had actually said at all, but she was definitely not alarming any families. Regardless, her smile had a slyness that started to give me back a measure of my composure. "I'm sorry, but I don't actually have any sexy bras. I'm wearing the nicest one I have though." Realizing she was still concerned about following my instructions, I found more of my confidence from the previous day.

"Technically, I only said it had to be your nicest bra," I said as we slid into our booth. "So, you followed my instructions to the letter."

"You can't say that for sure though, can you?" A sly smile spread across her luscious lips. I realized she was talking about her underwear, and my composure began to fade again. What was I doing? I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure how to play this game, much less what I wanted to achieve. I was suddenly glad for the table between us.

"No, I suppose not," I answered meekly.

She paused, and her sly smile faded. She eyed me critically. "You know, you can't really be my master. It isn't something you can just do part-time, every few weeks."

Oddly enough, the statement relieved me. We really were just playing. I didn't need to be in complete control. I managed to force a smile and said, "I know."

"Now, Evan is more what I'm talking about, but his wife won't let him be my master. Besides, they live too far away. Have I told you about Evan and Stephanie?"

With that, Sharon launched into her story of Evan and Stephanie, and their liaisons. Her friends were visiting from Atlanta earlier that month, and they discovered, after some drinks, that they shared the same kinks. The rest of their weeklong visit was punctuated by Sharon playing slave to both Stephanie and Evan, although Evan was the master. To Sharon's disappointment, she was not given any release and was only allowed to service Stephanie. "Neither of them ever touched me. I just had to watch them and play with myself," she complained. "And lick Stephanie, when she needed to cum." Both of her friends ordered her about, she explained, but Evan was not allowed to do anything to Sharon. Stephanie kept at least that much power over her man.

The afternoon before they returned to Atlanta, Stephanie went out shopping, leaving Evan alone with Sharon. At first, they just talked, fully clothed, but the conversation soon turned to how Evan was tempted by Sharon. Of course, he wasn't willing to do anything about it without Stephanie's approval, but he still told Sharon about what he wanted to do with her given the chance. Seeing her opening, Sharon decided to take her sexual frustrations out on Evan.

"So, you want me?" she asked, slipping out of her seat.

"Yes, but I won't do anything," he replied firmly as she advanced.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, as she slid next to his chair.

He paused. As his resolve faded, his answer caught in his throat. "Y- yes."

Sucking his fingers between her pouty lips, she cooed, "That's too bad." When he did not pull away, she stood up and slipped her shirt and bra over her head. Her bosom bounced free, grazing the side of his face as it did. She slid over to the front of his chair and began crawling up his body, while he sat paralyzed. As her breasts slid over his groin, she cast her large brown eyes up into his and asked, "So, are you the master, or is she?"

"I am," he responded as firmly as he could, though clearly uncomfortable and uncertain about the turn of events.

Through his shirt, she teased his nipples with her tongue before slowly licking her way up his neck and to his chin. "If you say so," she whispered as she brought her lips to his, gazing into his eyes as the tips of their noses touched, "but you still can't have these, can you?" She leaned back slightly and then pushed the weight of her breasts up to his face, her nipples flitting briefly past his lips. She shook them gently, and he watched them as if in a trance, his lips parting in hopeful anticipation. Chuckling silently to herself, she withdrew, standing just long enough to seductively push off her pants and underwear before climbing onto his lap. She felt his manhood rigid under his pants, pressing against her naked sex. She slowly shifted her hips back and forth across his lap, grinding herself into his manhood as her tongue slithered around his ear. Finally, she breathed huskily, "I suppose you can't have the rest of me either, can you?"

With a swiftness that frightened her, he stood up, dumping her to the floor. His discomfort and uncertainty were replaced by a look of pure rage. He grabbed her arm, and literally dragged her to the bedroom, throwing her face down onto the bed. Sharon smiled as Evan's knee met her back, pushing her further into the bed. She heard him unbuckle his belt, and then the sound of his pants falling to the floor. He pulled her head up by the hair and bit her painfully on the ear to make sure he had her attention. With a fierceness to match his rage, he growled, "You won't tell her about this EVER! Do you understand?"

Sharon managed to gasp "Yes!" before she was thrown back into the bed. She managed to turn herself over just as Evan stepped free of his pants. He grabbed her hair again and dragged her off the bed. She came to a stop in front of him, in a kneeling position, and he shifted his grip from her hair to the sides of her head. Knowing what was next, Sharon opened her mouth. He impaled himself down her throat, repeatedly, until he came.

Sharon sputtered and coughed as she tried and failed to catch her breath, her arm and ear and scalp still hurting, but she glowed with pleasure. Once Evan caught his own breath, he pulled up his pants, and calmly restated, "Stephanie will never know about this. It never happened." Sharon readily agreed. She never got her release, but it no longer mattered. She had what she wanted. She won!

After dinner, Evan and Stephanie finished packing. They all kissed goodbye, and Sharon was alone once more.

"I masturbated myself raw that night!" Sharon finished her story excitedly, growing louder than the hushed tone she had used for the rest of the story. I looked around, but no one had noticed. No one else was paying any attention. My cheeks felt warm from listening to her story, and Sharon was clearly affected as well. She returned to her hushed tones as she gushed again about how wonderful it was that Evan bit her ear. I didn't really understand, except that it was part of her power play with Evan and she was claiming victory. My attention began to wander to how I could find out if Sharon was wearing the right underwear.

In my mind's eye, I said, "Stop." Quietly, forcefully, the words echoed between us. In that dream, no one else heard. Sharon looked at me quizzically but obeyed.

"Take off your underwear. Now."

She looked confused, but smiled as she asked, "How?" I shrugged, and she giggled. Her hands went beneath the table, and she leaned forward suddenly. Her breasts were crushed into the table, clearly in the way. Then, just as suddenly, she leaned back. Pressing her shoulders against the back of her booth, she arched her back slightly to lift herself off the seat. She shifted to her left, then to her right, her hands still beneath the table as she squirmed. Suddenly, she leaned forward again, crushing her breasts into the table once more, and more than I thought possible. Her cheeks were red from the exertion, or maybe the excitement, and that sly smile returned to her lips. She finally sat up normally, though hunched conspiratorially toward me, and glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one noticed before putting her hands on the table. Shielding its contents from the room, her right hand opened to reveal a wadded ball of red satin.

But then what? The restaurant was too public, and I was too worked up to think straight. Sharon was still gushing over what happened with Evan: how his manhood felt in her throat; how her ear still tingled; how much she liked being thrown onto the bed. In my mind's eye, I started over.

"I still don't know if you followed my instructions," I tried again. "Go to the restroom and take off your underwear."

She blushed at my interruption, and her eyes twinkled as she stood up. She sauntered down the aisle to the restrooms with a little extra swing of the hips, clearly intended for my entertainment. It seemed both an eternity and a moment before she returned down the aisle, bits of red satin showing between the fingers of her right hand. She handed them to me before sitting down. I opened my hand just enough to see that she had complied, and then closed it again, feeling the satin, still warm from her thighs, crush beneath my grip.

She sat back down and leaned back in her booth. Though I could not see it, I knew she was spreading her legs under the table, safe from prying eyes. Gathering her hair up into her hands, she cooed, "Your turn."

It still wasn't right, so I erased the thought. Perhaps if I had her masturbate in her underwear first? No. I knew it wouldn't work. In spite of my fantasies to the contrary, I was no longer in control. Only a minute had gone by, and Sharon was still talking about Evan. I asked her a few questions, first about Evan and then about Stephanie, just to keep the conversation going. I didn't know what to do next, but I did not want the fantasy to end so soon either. I was too flushed to give up, but I knew it was too late. The server came with the bill, and I wondered if Sharon could see how undone I was. Instead of answering my unspoken question, she insisted on paying. I could not find my voice to argue.

Instead, I croaked hopefully, "Where to now?"

I knew it was a bad idea, but it really was the only logical place to go. We still wanted to talk, and the conversation we were having required at least a semi-private place. Sharon's house was much closer than mine, and I couldn't think of anywhere else that fit the bill. Besides, I hadn't seen her new place before. I collected myself on the drive over. I reassured myself that nothing was going to happen. It was for the best. My confidence actually soared once I decided that the game was probably over. I pulled up behind her car as Sharon was getting out, and it was obvious that she had calmed down as well.

Walking up to her townhome, I admired the classic architecture, freshly painted in primary colors. I couldn't decide if it was trying to imitate Old Charleston or Old Boston, with its wrap-around porch and colonial railings. Inside, it was quite spacious, with a second floor balcony overlooking the living room. The living room got most of its light from second floor windows, making it very comfortable-and very private, provided that no one else was home. And no one else was home. I was irrationally thankful that the bedrooms were all upstairs. Aside from a large kitchen and small bathroom, the main floor was comprised of only the living room and a study. The study was immediately off the living room, separated by two large sliding doors, which is where Sharon concluded my tour. As she closed the doors, I saw an icon on the computer screen was flashing. Sharon followed my gaze.

"That's just my online chat buddy," she said, her wicked smile returning as we made our way to the living room couch. "He's been ordering me around, too. I told him about you though, and he ordered me to do whatever you say today."

I was surprised, but I don't think I showed it. The game wasn't over after all, I knew, but I was still composed from the drive over. My heart skipped a beat, and I asked myself what I wanted out of it. What did I want her to do? What would I order her to do?

My throat felt dry, but I found my voice easily, "I thought you didn't have a master."

"Oh, he lives in Quebec. We're just playing," she smiled. Her voice was dismissive, but her eyes told me to ask her more.

"So, what does he have you do?"

"Well," she began with a naughty grin. "Yesterday, he had me masturbate in my cubicle at work."

I didn't try to hide my surprise. "Did you?"

"It was really hard to keep quiet!" she giggled, blushing slightly.

"I'm sure it was. What else?"

"I had a date last weekend, and he wanted me to blow the guy. The date didn't go well though, so I couldn't follow through." Her eyes twinkled as she giggled again. "Of course, I had to be punished!"

"How does that work, if he's in Quebec?" I asked incredulously.

"Not very well," she admitted, her smile fading a bit. "I had to do it myself, and I couldn't reach around well enough to spank myself with any force. So, I had to use my hair brush. It felt

good

..." She dragged out the word, and her cheeks flushed at the memory.

My chest tightened, tingling slightly. The opportunity was in front of me. I simply had to decide what I wanted, and I would probably get it.

"He also made me take pictures of myself. Would you like to see them?" Sharon teased.

Not wanting to sound too eager, though I clearly was, I replied in the most boring tone I could conjure, "Sure."

We went back into the study, and she stood beside the keyboard as she pulled up folders on the computer. "Sit!" she encouraged, gesturing to the lone office chair. I did as she wished just as a picture opened on the screen. An image of Sharon was staring back at me with a come-hither look, a small pink plastic vibrator at her lips. The picture changed suddenly, and she was leaning over, her pendulous breasts naked but shoved together with hands covering the nipples. The same tiny vibrator was held between them as Sharon licked the rounded end. The picture changed again. Sharon was farther away, licking her lips and holding her breasts while dressed in only a pair of lacy black underwear and high heels. The next picture showed a close up of the tiny vibrator hovering over the underwear. In the next, the underwear was gone, her hairless folds visible where the material had been. Next, from farther away, the bottom of the vibrator was visible, barely peeking out from between the folds, while Sharon pinched her nipples. The tingling in my chest spread from my chest to my hands and feet. I suddenly felt hot and almost queasy.

"Do you like them?" The real Sharon turned and was suddenly in front of me. Her voice had dropped an octave, husky and strained.

I tried to say, "Yes," but my voice cracked. I nodded instead.

"Would you like the real thing?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, but her lust screamed.

I was petrified, but Sharon wasn't. She lifted her shirt over her head, revealing her nicest bra. The hints of design along its edges only highlighted the amount of fabric required to constrain her. Light from the high study windows reflected off the swaths of matte black satin that strained to constrain her mountainous bosom. I briefly wondered if this really was the nicest bra she had, how she didn't have something more suggestive and less overwhelming, but the thought disappeared as soon as her bra did. Her breasts really were massive, overwhelming with or without fabric hiding them, and they were inches from my face. The nipples were not standing up, but almost hidden instead. I briefly became aware that my cock was in a similar state, too overwhelmed by my excitement to grow erect.

Inches of pink surrounded her shy nipples on all sides before blending into the ivory skin that extended for what seemed like miles beyond. Up so close, I could see the imperfections in the ivory. Light red splotches betrayed her own excitement, even as fine white squiggles cut across the splotches where the weight of her immense breasts pressed the skin tightly against the uneven anatomy within. Her breasts were a living Greek sculpture, soft and warm and massively oversized. My cheeks burned with desire as she lifted them up for my inspection.

"What do you think? Do you want me to stop?"

There was only one right answer, and she knew it too.

Quietly, forcefully, I told her, "Stop."

"Stop what, baby?" she teased, whispering into my ear as the weight of her chest came to rest on my own torso. She tried nibbling lightly on my earlobe, but I grabbed her arm.