Yeah, right, Whatever. She, Naomi, wasn't going to do a thing to make my situation easier. In fact, odds were she wasn't going to do a thing, full stop. I'd asked her, the day before...I'd actually said out loud, '...what if I asked you nicely, please, to let me play my hand.' (You might remember, if you read the previous account, I'd been naked from the waist down at a table of five women -- in an afternoon poker club, downtown, in the shopping district -- where females predominated. Naomi's response had been to cock an eyebrow, cover the bet of my briefs with a $5 chip and raise with another $5 chip -- leaving me an impossible decision).
Now I was facing the same cocked eyebrow. Only this time she was ensconced behind a large executive desk, and behind her was a glass wall looking out on dozens of other office windows -- the occupants of which could of course look in. At me. While behind me, on the other side of yet another glass wall, Alli, the blonde 'wingman' from yesterday, and evidently Naomi's PA in real life, was probably watching, amused, from her desk.
So after stripping, calmly I hoped, seeking some dignity, to my briefs and tee-shirt, I paused. Hoping. Against hope. But nonetheless hoping...
I just watched. And waited. I won't lie--- I was excited. My favourite submissives are female: they rise up and challenge at some stage. Always. There is a pecking order amongst our gender that won't let them simply cave and grovel. I relish the process of breaking a female sub -- of stripping her layer by layer first of garments then of defences. The mere thought made my stomach tighten, my thighs tense and my skin tingle. But my next favourite is a male who is only just starting to come out of the closet -- only just getting an inkling, and reacting against that inkling -- determined to refute any evidence he may be what he clearly is... a submissive. Soon to be MY submissive. (This one had been perfect yesterday: stripped, he'd strolled, engorged erection rolling and jouncing, while he served drinks to the players at all three tables for over an hour...taking the pinches and pokes and plucks, and the trash talk, and the slaps... he'd even taken Alli's flat out over lap spanking -- all in good part. If he'd simply walked out after the throwing in his hand -- as in, stood up, and walked away from the table and out of the club -- I wouldn't have stopped him. I would've been disappointed, especially as he was reasonably well hung -- and therefore a good potential toy -- but I wouldn't have stopped him. And if he hadn't shown today, I wouldn't have gone looking for him).
But he had shown. He'd come to my office at close of business, precisely at close of business, as promised, and to now he'd obeyed my instruction to strip. So I could wait him out. I could let the initial realization sink in...I could let him decide for himself that he wanted to do it.
Which he did of course.
Yesterday had been different in that he'd stripped in the course of play, in the flow of events, in a seemingly inexorable process...and been grateful, in truth, for the IOU -- for the way out of the paralysis they all reached when they didn't want to admit what they were 'going to wager' -- and had been working toward wagering -- all along. Because submissives who gamble always want to lose...to be helpless, to be naked and helpless if possible...to be forced to submit. He'd actually smiled, faintly, acknowledging this truth on some level, when he'd tossed in his hand. I'd liked that.
Today, it was cold blood. He'd come into the building deliberately... he'd negotiated security, deliberately...he'd come up in the elevator, deliberately. Encountering Alli must have given him a frisson. Alli with her vixenish grin. Alli, who would have found some way to remind him of the spanking, some gesture or some facial expression he couldn't help but associate with the sharp short blows of her right hand. Yet he come into my office when she opened and held the door. He'd moved to the spot where I motioned him to stand, about 10 feet from my desk, and began to strip, deliberately -- first one shoe then the other then the sock on that second foot then the sock on the first foot then his shirt and finally his slacks. Now, after a pause of what?...a minute, maybe 90 seconds, his hands crossed on the hem of his tight teeshirt and he peeled it up and off.
He wasn't what you'd call buff. But he wasn't bad. It gave me another coursing little tingle and an involuntary tautening of the thighs to see him without the thin gold necklace, which I'd taken yesterday, as collateral for part of the debt-- which I held out my hand palm up and waited for, in front of the witnesses in the club, in front of 18 women envious of my control over him, until he'd worked out how to get it off -- a bit frantic by then, a bit panicky -- the thin gold necklace he'd then sheepishly pressed into my grasp. Desperate by then to have my approval. Only to have me signal for the ring on his right hand. His face and neck then the colour of his butt cheeks: recently reddened by Alli's expert spanking.
