Then Everything Changed
He locked his eyes on mine across the table.
Calm, commanding, he asked if I wanted to learn more—if I’d be willing to show more of myself in return. Excitement and fear twisted together in my stomach as I whispered yes.
“Go to the bathroom,” he said evenly, “and remove whatever you’re wearing under your blouse. Then come back.”
It didn’t sound too outrageous. But I knew the tiny piece of fabric between my thighs was already soaked through with pussy-juice. Another trip to the leather cleaner, I thought with a smirk.
Five minutes later, I slid back into my chair. My nipples brushed against the starched blouse with every breath, sending shocks straight down my spine. The snug press of my coat made it almost unbearable—in the best possible way. He noticed immediately, telling me how beautiful I looked, how my breasts moved under the fabric. No one else glanced our way; it was subtle, almost secret. My firm breasts gave me that advantage.
As he shared more about himself—his desires, his sensuality—I leaned in, hungry for more. “Take off your jacket,” he said softly. I obeyed. His gaze lingered on my rock-hard nipples pushing against the blouse. “Undo a button,” he murmured. Then another. My hands shook, but I did as he asked.
Then he told me his secret. He was a Dom. And he hoped I would be his submissive.
Yes. I was tired of playing at bondage onstage. I wanted the real thing.
Thank God no one else could see me. My mind raced with wild, delicious thoughts, knowing I would do whatever he asked. And I did. When he signaled for the check, he leaned close and whispered if I wanted the waiter to see my open blouse. My pulse pounded as I said yes. Let him admire me, too.
I eventually buttoned back up, ready to return to the office. As we rose, he bent to my ear and whispered: “Next time, don’t wear any underwear.”
Next time? Hell, yes.
Becoming Sir
We kept seeing each other. Quickly, I discovered how much I enjoyed saying yes to his requests. Always requests—never demands—but with an unspoken weight I craved. He made it clear I hadn’t earned the title of submissive yet, let alone slave. But he would test me.
He sharpened my mind, pushing me to connect stray judgments into meaningful precedents. He challenged my body, taking me to the gym until I nearly collapsed those first months. Slowly, I grew stronger, fitter. My ass, my legs, my tits hardened into something I was proud to display for him. He took me deeper into dance, into blindfolded performances, into meditation and martial arts.
And into his bed.
I learned to suck his cock without gagging, to open my throat for him, to take him fully until my jaw ached with use. I practiced with bananas when he wasn’t around, wanting to perfect it for him. One afternoon in his car, I surprised him by swallowing him to the root and licking his balls as I sucked. “Show-off,” he groaned. “Don’t stop.” I didn’t.
Sometimes we made love. Sometimes we just fucked. Sometimes in private. Sometimes in public. Once, he bent me over a table in an empty dining room of our favorite restaurant, his cock buried deep inside me while my juices dripped onto the floor. Without warning, he ordered me to cum—and I did. Hard. Then again. Tantric practice pays off.
At home, he used me in every way. Mouth, pussy, ass—sometimes all three in the same night. His favorite command was simple: Cum. And I obeyed, happily, again and again.
I started calling him Sir. At first it was playful. Then it became serious. The first time, he warned me to be careful what I asked for. I told him I liked the clarity of a command. He accepted the title, at least in private.
It was always my choice. That was the essence of what he called power exchange. My submission had to be chosen, never forced. But once I chose it, he had the right to command me—and he used it well. Like the time he told me to get on my knees at his front door and take his cock into my throat. Or the time in the police department parking lot.
I gave him a gift after that. I told him I was his anytime, anywhere, anyone woman. That I would suck his cock anytime, anywhere, even with anyone watching. I trusted him to keep me safe from jail—but never from my own limits. And he has never stopped pushing them.
Like the night he brought in his friend Louis.
Oh my God, Louis…
