The Disciplinarian

It was I who noticed her first. Blabbering away on her cell phone, she made countless follow up calls to her office, checking up on every minute detail. Mildly irritated, I surmised this was the type of lady I wanted nothing to do with. I listened to her first few calls before even looking at her.

When I ventured a peek, I was right about what I thought she looked like. Somewhat stocky, but very together, she must have been at least twenty years older than myself. I noticed her face. It was very round, Eastern European, the kind of face I usually didn't find attractive. Her gray suit stretched around her bulky but shapely thighs, flowing over the contours of her powerful thighs. Still yammering away, she let everyone on the train know the importance of her position.

Throughout the course of the trip into the city, I frequently stole glances at her, as she cajoled employees into staying late and finishing her work. Frankly it turned me on. I began picturing her as a shrewd Manhattanite rushing home to let her servile husband out of bondage so he could massage her workaday feet while she sipped a nice glass of port. My cock hardened at such a far-fetched fantasy. I couldn't help peeking over every now and then to feed my mind with the imagery it hungered for.

As the train slowed into the station, I began to ready myself. Folding The Times under my arm, donning my headphones, and checking my wallet, I slid to the end of the seat. We were face to face.

"Quite the disciplinarian," I ventured. Did I really say that? Where did I find the nerve? Something inside must have taken a hold, an ingrained desire of turning fantasy into realty.

"All the time," she answered.

Her rouge enraptured me. She was old enough to be my mother.

Seeing I was at a loss for a timely reply, she quickly cut in. "It's the men, they always need to be followed up on."

How true. I think I muttered something in agreement, but I was too red to maintain myself.

A throng of commuters passed between us and we simultaneously switched into bustle-mode, exiting the train.

I lost sight of her on the platform. This disappointed me greatly. It was the first time in my life my submissive tendencies had reared themselves into a palpable social interaction. I really wanted it to work out.

I waited for a while and let the people pass. Scores of young women passed - the type that would garner my instant undivided attention - and I hardly batted an eye. When the crowd had dispersed, I sullenly made my way up the stairs. And at the top, there she was, waiting.

"Busy evening tonight?" She smoothly inquired.

"Umm, no, well, I, no, not at all." I could hardly get the words out.

"Friday night, how about I drink? I know I could unwind."

I didn't hesitate, and like a dog, followed her to a nearby pub on 8th Avenue.

Over a few rum and cokes, I chatted with Loraine. She did most of the talking. I learned that she was a partner in a Jersey City law firm. She quickly filled me with countless stories of the incompetence of her employees. She was very down on men. I could tell she was a self made woman, and she informed me of that fact, recounting her struggle in this male dominated society and how she clawed her way to the top.

After an hour I was slightly tipsy. I hadn't had a drink for a few weeks and my lunch was light. As she talked, I obediently listened, nodding at all the right places, hanging on to her every word. I - a directionless lackey at an information technology company - was completely enamored by her tales of workplace dominance and dog-eat- dog philosophies.

When the waitress came, she plied her forcefulness, and quickly paid for the drinks with her gold card.

When I thanked her, she made a snide remark about my appearance and my apparent lack of necessary funds. I hardly noticed, as I was swimming in her maturity and unabated aggression.

She ventured a nightcap at her apartment and I jumped at the offer.

The cab ride was quick and fast. While I wrestled with my bag, she quickly paid the driver.

At her place, she told me to have a seat, and made us drinks.

Sitting across from me, still in her work clothes, she began what was an interview style conversation.

"Are you involved with someone?"

"No." My thoughts were monosyllabic at this point. I was using all of my concentration to get out the correct answers. I wasn't sure where all this was leading.

"You know, I don't often do this, but you seem the type that respects a good forceful woman. How old are you?"

"Twenty two."

"When was the last time you were.with a woman, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh not at all. About two years. I've been working so much, I haven't had time for a serious relationship." I was drunk with her interrogation.

She poured another drink. "Do you get lonely? I mean, do you often feel the need to, you know, pleasure yourself?"

I should have turned red. In fact, maybe I did. But somehow, in some strange way, her questions all seemed right. I was melting in her hands.

"Yes, quite often." I couldn't believe my candor.

"I see." She put down her drink and stood up.

I began to stand.

"Sit down." She barked

I remained seated.

She moved in front of me and slowly placed her knees on either side of my legs, lifting herself onto the couch. For the first time I realized there was jazz music playing in another room. She lowered herself until we were face to face. I could smell her strong perfume. She was uncomfortably close.

"Do you find me attractive?"

I felt like her plaything. "Of course," I said.

Without warning, she placed her experienced hand on my crotch and felt my erection. A tiny smile alit in her face. I was speechless.

She got off the couch and sat back in the chair across from me.

"Get me another drink." She said.

I swiftly walked into the kitchen and fumbled with the ice, the shaker, the glass, the soda, and the gin. I would have been shaking, but the alcohol calmed my nerves.

When I returned, she was fully reclined and relaxed.

"I want you," she began, "to get on your knees right here." She pointed to the floor in front of her.

I mindlessly obeyed.

"It was a long day," she said, looking up at the ceiling, "why don't you give me a foot message?"

I eagerly moved down to her high heels. Wedging them off, I briefly drank the musky odor of her feet. I didn't want to seem perverted, so I didn't linger. When I gripped her stocking-clad toes, she put down her drink and told me to stop. She stood, and to my surprise, began to unzip her pants. I tried not to gawk, but I couldn't help but stare at her plump and milky white thighs as she lowered her pants. After that, she peeled off her stockings and haphazardly threw them on the coffee table. I found myself kneeling before her large naked white thighs, my hands positioned next to her moist feet.

I moved in and began working her feet. My penis was straining in my jeans. As I kneaded her toes, she let out a great relaxing sigh, and I felt reassured.

I switched to her other foot.

"Your hands are cold."

"Oh, sorry," I stabbed, moving them away.

"Why don't you use something warmer?"

"Umm." I wasn't reading her.

"Your tongue."

This was the coup de grace. I was sure of what I had gotten into. A deep surge within my stomach told me I was in heaven, even if my mind didn't register it.

I lowered my head, and venturing past the musky and sweaty odor, I extended my tongue and began to message the flesh. I was her babe in arms.

Up and down and side to side, I greedily swathed her plump sole with my generous saliva. The flesh tasted better than anything I ever imagined. She recoiled in ecstasy, and I, in servile remittance. This was my every fantasy come true.

After what seemed a short time (it flies when you're cleaning a dirty sole with your tongue), I moved in between her toes. She extended her foot in acceptance, and I wedged my tongue in between her sweaty and sticky toes. I was addicted to the dirt and grim waiting for me there.

As I worked, I started to rub my crotch. She noticed this at once.

"Enough." She said, sitting up and withdrawing her feet.

I sat stupefied and a little ashamed. Had I done something wrong?

"You're a good look foot licker, aren't you?"

I said nothing.

Standing up, she grabbed her stockings and walked into the kitchen.

"You can't stay tonight, but I'd like to see you again."

She returned a moment later, wearing sweat pants. My dick was still rock hard. She sat down and I resumed my original seat.

"I'd very much like to start something here, between us. Are you interested?"

"Yes, very much."

"How would you feel about being my."

"Slave?" I interrupted.

"You are eager. I was going to say house servant, but slave will do. Have you ever role-played like this before?"

"No." Only in my dreams I thought.

"Good. Very good. Now listen carefully if you want to continue." She picked up a fresh drink from the table. "Have you ever heard of a Prince Albert piercing?"

Indeed I had, so I nodded.

"If you want to see me again, you must get one, as soon as possible. These things take time to heal, so make sure you get it right away. Tonight or tomorrow would be preferable. And make sure you get a large gauge, like an 8 or 10. No 12."

I agreed as if my life depended on it. I had always thought genital piercings as very erotic, but never knew anyone I could share that notion with. Now I did. I suppose she was interested in hanging weights and whatnot from it. That only enticed me more.

She got up. "That's it. Thank you for the footbath. You were very good. I'll call you in a few weeks. Write your number on the pad by the door and show yourself out."

I paused. Was that it?

"Now!" She yelled.

I quickly and quietly followed her instructions and left.

That night I gave myself an explosive orgasm.

Three weeks later I stood in the cold in front her building, the biting wind slapping my skin.

The last we spoke was two weeks earlier. It was a brief conversation on my cell as I rode the train home. She wanted to know about my piercing. I gleefully informed her that it had been done the day after we meet. I made sure it was an 8 gauge. My penis was still a little sore, but it had healed a good amount since the job was done.

She buzzed me in and I stepped into the elevator, passing an elderly couple. Riding up to the 8th floor, I gripped the wine she instructed me to purchase, trying to quell the nerves bubbling in my stomach. I hadn't had anything to drink, and frankly I wasn't sure how she was going to receive me.

I arrived at her apartment and the door was open.

"Hello?" I softly ventured.

"Come in."

I pushed the door open and slid into the apartment, shutting it behind me. She was seated on the couch. She obviously prepared for this evening. Her hair was done very tightly wrapped back - a very smart look. She had the same copious amount of makeup, painted artistically on her round and mature face. Her lips were flaming red. She had a kind of halter-top on and a black leather skirt was wrapped tightly around her shapely rear and thighs. Dark stockings flowed down her powerful legs and disappeared into the black boots she donned. She was the poster-woman of dominance.

"Come in, put the wine on the kitchen table, and strip." She took a drag of a cigarette as she ordered these commands with the utmost calm.

When I returned, I began fiddling with my clothes. I had purchased a new outfit for the occasion: Khakis, Armani shirt, nice shoes. They were not going to be admired tonight.

I knelt down and placed the last item, my shirt, on the pile I had created. I was completely naked.

"Now, let me see how it looks." She said, leaning forward.

I approached, showcasing my piercing. My member started to swell, and even under the immense embarrassment I felt, I was powerless to stop it.

Reaching out, she grabbed my penis and began to examine it, show-horse style. I turned red.

"Good, very good. Now, go into my bedroom." She pointed to an open door. Things were starting quickly. I barely had time to process it all.

I entered her room and saw her bed. I noticed chains, wrist and ankle cuffs attached to the four corners of the frame. My stomach dropped slightly. I did in fact expect something like this, but there was always a doubt that this person may be crazy or extremely sadistic or something like that. This was New York.

"Lay face up on the bed." I didn't notice her come in behind me.

I complied, swallowing my fears for the moment.

Once I was completely reclined, she moved over to my feet and began cuffing my ankles with the chain. She said nothing, but occasionally stole coy glances at me as she did. It was her way of courting, perhaps.

When I was completely secured, she stood for a moment, drinking in the sight she had just worked to create.

"There are a few things we need to go over before we start. Understand?"

"Yes." I nodded and realized I was rock hard.

She systematically lowered her leather skirt, revealing her stocking clad pelvis. I could she a pair of black panties within. She then stood on the bed right over my face. From my perspective, she towered over me, her dark crotch in the center of my view.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. A kind of initiation, okay?"

I nodded.

She turned around and squatted. Positioning her ample ass over my face, she held it a few inches from my mouth and nose.

"I don't want you to talk anymore. When I ask you a question, you will wiggle your left foot for yes, and right for no. Understand?

I smartly wiggled my left foot.

She lowered her large ass onto my face, covering my mouth and nose. I tried to adjust, but she countered by letting all of her weight sink down. Her massive flesh engulfed my entire face, my nose dug up into her ass crack.

I realized I couldn't breathe. I started to struggle and groan but she said nothing. I started to panic.

"Can you breathe?" She finally asked.

I violently jerked my right foot, combining it with a pathetic whine.

"Good. Now answer this first. Do you want to be my slave?"

I couldn't think. I was scarred shitless. I summoned enough logic to frantically move my left foot. My face was painfully getting crushed.

She responded by easing her ass of my face. I gasped for air.

I didn't know what to say, and she continued.

"Good. Don't be afraid, I just wanted to show you whose boss. I won't hurt you." She moved her ass on my face again.

I inhaled deeply before she achieved full contact. I was still scared but less frantic. I tried to ease into the game.

"Do you know why I got you pierced?"

Right foot.

"It's so I can chastise you. While you're my slave, I don't want you masturbating. Do you think this is fair?"

Pause.

Crunching and a yelp.

Left foot.

"Good. Now here's what I expect from you. First, you will never call me. I initiate everything. From now on, you are mine. We'll have a contract drawn up later. You will always do exactly what I say. And I know you will, I can sense a worm when I see one, and I see it in spades in you."

In the middle of her speech, she eased up slightly, allowing me to draw a breath.

"Now, as a houseboy, you have limited rights. For now, you will come here after work and attend to my needs. You'll return to your own apartment for the night unless I say otherwise. You will be at my beck and call. You are to always leave your phone on. Anytime I don't get through, you will get whipped, regardless of where you were at the time. I don't like excuses. All of you social plans must be cancelled. I'm sure dating is now out of the question. You will live only to serve me, understand?"

I was dizzy now, but managed to keep my affirmatives going with a jerk of the left foot.

"We'll get along perfectly. Now, one more for good-luck."

She engulfed my face, this time more forceful than the first. I immediately winced in pain and protested with a muffled yell.

"Stop struggling!" She yelled, gripping my balls like a vice.

The added pain was unbearable. Again I helplessly protested.

"Stop it now, or I won't. You need to learn to give up your body completely.

I used every effort to calm down. Overriding my breathless panicking, I went limp, absorbing the pain and holding what little air I had. Seconds passed. I grew weak and dizzy. She began grinding her ass up and down, rubbing my crushed nose with her sweaty crack. I felt like I was going to blackout.

She lifted her body and dismounted me. Shaken, I tried to relax. I didn't even notice her blindfolding me.

I found myself alone. After what seemed to be a half hour, she returned, holding a bowl. Kneeling beside me, she pulled out a handful of ice cubes and poured them on to my already soft cock. I was shocked out of subspace.

Wordlessly, she lifted my penis and threaded it into a metal tube.

"What is that?" I asked.

She squeezed my balls tightly. "No questions. Remember our deal? I may not have said this specifically, but you will never address me. But if you must know, I'm installing your new chastity tube. It works nicely in conjunction with your Prince Albert."

I felt her fingers working. She skillfully wedged my penis into this device and began to get hard. I felt a cool metal wire running through my tender piercing. My erection stiffened and an immense pressure pushed against the entire shaft.

She undid the blindfold. I adjusted to the light, then to her. She had taken off her stockings and panties. A large and furry unkempt pussy stared me in the face. Stray hairs ran onto her ample white thighs and a good three or four inches up to the belly. Although stocky, with some extra padding, her middle was curvaceous, in a large framed, whole-lotta-woman way. A black bra struggled to hold her enormous breasts. A potent stinging emanated from my crotch. My cock was attempting to swell out of its rigid confines.

"I'm almost done with you for tonight. Slave, I've tagged you and made you mine. I realize this all must be a lot to take in, but the first time is always the most trying. After tonight, I'll give you a few weeks to think about things, during which I send you emails outlining your duties. Of course, you won't be able to orgasm, so you'll need to learn how to cope with that. I suggest throwing out your porno collection, of which I'm sure you've got plenty."

I didn't know what to say, and besides, I knew I wasn't allowed to anyway. My role was forging fast and I accepted it. Things we making sense and precedents were getting set. I was someone's slave.

"Now, I want you to pleasure your owner." She said, getting on the bed.

She turned around again, the same position as before. I could smell her vagina mixed with sweat. She obviously didn't shower after work that day. Lowering herself, she nestled her extra sized pussy squarely on my face.

Like a hungry wolf, my tongue sprung out and I feverishly licked and licked. Her large labia flipped between my lips and tongue as I worked. Her juices were pungent, but as I consumed the remnants of urine and sweat faded and her natural tastes became apparent. This only fueled my efforts. My hands, which were still bound and sore, ached to help out, but it wasn't in the cards this night. Her pussy started to drip incessantly, and soon my face was soaked with her gooey lubrication. She began grinding her pelvis, and I met the resistance by straining my head into her slit even more. During the act, her moans were low and she didn't say anything.

She slowed her oscillations. "Now my ass." She ordered.

Moving into a squatting position, she lined up her anus with my mouth and dropped it onto me. I eagerly plunged my tongue into the puckered hole, breaching the tight walls and tasting the acrid residue residing there.

"Deeper slave. I want to feel your entire tongue up my ass."

I complied and worked like a dog to please her. A suction-like action began to occur, pulling my tongue even deeper into her crevasse. I buckled under the exertion, trying to keep up.

I felt her began to orgasm, and she pounded her entire ass onto my head, pushing me deep into the mattress, into the region of breathlessness. I waited it out, and soon she dismounted, flush and happy. She left the room without a word.

A little later, she entered, fully dressed. I was untied and given my clothes. Rubbing out the aches in my knotted muscles, she became impatient.

"You must leave now slave. I have no more need for you tonight."

I was becoming more and more obedient, and I quickly dressed and left.

It was 10pm on a Friday night. I walked home, passing beautiful couples on dates and stunning women in bars and cafes. I hardly noticed though, I was thinking about the wonderful night and my new role in life. The painful throbbing from down below was hardly apparent.

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Page last updated 03-Jun-02 by: Altairboy@aol.com