I guess I should have known it would come to something like this.
Here I was, on my knees, clad only in pink thong panties, sucking an amazingly large cock for all I was worth, while three women "encouraged" me – verbally and with their hands, at times, pushing rather firmly on the back of my head.
I realized that I had been headed in this direction for quite some time, at least a decade. How had I gotten to this point? I honestly didn't know. All I knew for sure was that the raging cock ramming in and out of my mouth was getting close, dangerously close, to exploding! What then?
Some explanation is in order.
I had put myself in this new and rather awkward position quite unintentionally – I think – with one of my bright ideas.
You see, I like lingerie. I like it a lot, have for years. I absolutely adore wearing panties – and more, when I am safely tucked away in a hotel room or some such place. I also like femdom humiliation. In fact, I crave it. But though an online mistress had "trained" me, from afar, for years, I did not really have a mistress. God I wanted one, one who would force me to worship her pussy, one who would pound my ass with a strap-on, one who would humiliate me to no end. I craved that – all of that!
Once upon a time, my online mistress had actually taken me shopping at a renowned lingerie store. Though she went easy on me, no doubt, I loved it, absolutely loved being embarrassed in the store, in front of the sales girl. I wanted more, more, more. But I had no real mistress to put me through my paces, so to speak. So I decided to "do it myself."
I got the bright idea to venture to that same renowned lingerie store by myself, which I had done before, but this would be different. In the back pocket of my jeans, I had a typewritten note, in a sealed envelope, which I planned to pass off as being from my "mistress," as if I had no knowledge of the note's contents. In reality, I knew full well – because I had written it – that the note contained various instructions on how to humiliate me in the store – in front of customers and other workers. What would be the harm, I figured? I soon found out.
Upon entering the store and proceeding to a display of panties, I was not surprised to be approached by a sales clerk. Of course, she was attractive – medium height, dark hair, which I love, a tight sweater displaying some rather nice assets and a very cute shape, top to bottom.
"Sandra" her name tag informed me. Perfect, I thought. The first girl I ever fucked was named Sandra. Well, at least that's the way I used to think of the experience, back when I thought I was a man, or at least on the way to becoming a man. In retrospect, quite some time ago, I had realized full well that it was actually Sandra who had fucked me. Or more precisely, she had fucked me over.
We were in college. I was a sophomore. Sandra was a freshman. But she was more experienced than me. Hell, everyone was more experienced than me. Sandra had had sex. In fact, being from New York, she had had sex with the son of a famous stage actor. She knew her way around the girl-boy thing. I certainly didn't.
Every guy in our dorm thought Sandra was the hottest thing walking. Funny thing was, I didn't. I really didn't. For whatever reason, Sandra's looks just didn't really appeal to me. She was very intelligent, and fun to talk to, but I didn't find her particularly attractive. I think that's why Sandra wanted me. I was the only guy in our dorm who didn't fall all over himself for her, and I think she viewed it as a challenge to make me her conquest. To make a long story short, she did. We wound up fucking. Several times, in fact. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't even know how to insert my cock into Sandra's pussy. She had to do it for me. I remember after she abruptly broke it off with me, because she hooked up with an older guy who undoubtedly had a much larger and more experienced cock, I worried that if I ever got another chance with a girl, I still wouldn't know how to penetrate her without help. At the time, I was crushed. Hell, I had thought I was in love. I didn't know the difference between sex and love. Sandra, though, wanted me just to prove she could get me. At least I got a little experience, and certainly some fun, out of the deal. It was many years later that I realized that Sandra had merely used me as if I were nothing more than a sex toy, a human dildo, if you will. That's all I was to her.
So, now, I was standing beside this new Sandra, in the lingerie store, looking at panties. I told her that I had a rather unusual situation to deal with, that I had a note to give to her. She didn't seem taken aback in the least. I imagine it wasn't the first time for her, given her occupation. Anyway, I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and handed it to her, my hands trembling and my heart pounding in my chest. I just wanted her to embarrass me in the store, and then I could race home and jerk off. I jerked off a lot, but this would be HOT!!
Sandra excused herself momentarily and told me that she would return shortly. I thought that seemed odd, but didn't think a whole lot about it. After a few minutes, Sandra returned with another woman, an older, very attractive woman. Soon, I would find out that her name was Megan, and she was the store manager. Megan explained that the note I had given Sandra was quite inappropriate, and that she would have to discuss it with me – in her office!
"Um, that's OK. Never mind. I'm sorry. I'll just leave," I stammered.
"Oh no you won't," Megan responded, in a stern, extremely forceful manner. "Sandra, bring him along."
The next thing I knew, Sandra grabbed my arm and, for a rather small girl, displayed amazing strength in yanking me toward the back of the store. We followed Megan through a curtain, down a short hallway and into a relatively small but nicely decorated workspace. There was a lengthy sofa on one wall and two chairs in front of a rather large desk. Megan took a seat in the large office chair behind the desk, while Sandra pushed me down into one of the chairs in front of the desk. Sandra sat in the other.
"Just exactly what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Megan barked at me.
Not knowing what to say, I offered nothing.
"You think we have the time and energy to deal with pussies like you?" Megan snapped.
"Um, I ... I ... don't know what you mean," I stammered.
"Who wrote your 'note?'" Megan demanded.
"My, my mistress," I said, my mouth completely dry, my palms sweating profusely and my heart racing.
"Like hell," Megan fumed. "Why didn't she sign it? It's perfectly obvious that you wrote the note and just came in here looking for your jollies. What a pathetic little bitch!"
