Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission

by Unknown

  She wasn’t at all used to wearing anything sexy. Actually, up until about six months ago, it had been extremely rare for her to wear anything above her knees. She was afraid of her own body and had been for most of her life. Matthew had tried to slowly help her overcome her self-consciousness. He would spend countless time, money and energy in pursuit of his slave’s self-confidence, buying her everything from curve-hugging leather dresses with zip-up vests that showed off her breasts, to casual denim skirts that emphasized her perfect ass and legs. She was appalled at it, but what could she do? He wanted other people’s eyes on her. And Matthew always got what he wanted.

  Who she had been no longer existed with Matthew; Hope the small-town girl next door, Hope the good little Baptist, Hope the golden child had all become Hope the slut. Part of her was horrified, but another, stronger part of her relished the feeling. Her newfound identity was freeing. She no longer had to be any of those things into which her upbringing had trapped her. She was free to be who she was and not what society expected her to be. She no longer had to worry that “good girls don’t want this” or that “good girls don’t do that.” Fuck what good girls do and what good girls want. She wasn’t a good girl. Not with him. He gave her permission not to be that way. He preferred her not to be. He demanded that she not be.

  Hope stood in front of the full-length mirror in the back of Mistress Katrina’s dungeon, hands running along the lace of the shocking dress. Mistress Katrina’s lips had curled into a salacious grin, and she clapped her gloved hands together like an excited child. “Oh, Matthew would never forgive me if I let you walk out of here without this dress!” And I want something see-through, Matthew’s voice echoed in Hope’s mind. This certainly did fit the bill.

  What a rich, wonderful thing it was to know that Matthew was proud of her and that she had pleased him, simply by being who she was. Hope sat silently on her black fur mat at his feet, hugging her knees tightly to her breasts, her eyes closed in sensual bliss. He was brushing her hair tenderly, her favorite music playing softly in the background.

  “Sir?” she inquired of him as he lovingly groomed her.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you always taken such good care of all your girls?” He smiled softly, turning her to face him. His hand gently brushed a dark tendril back from her face, his thumb stroking her cheek affectionately.

  “No.”

  Something see-through…

  His voice echoed in her mind as she stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung in his hallway, her hands running along the lace of the shocking dress. He’d instructed her to wear it. He’d allowed her no pasties, not even a thong or nylons. The only covering on her body was the see-through lace and a pair of strappy black heels. Self-consciously, Hope studied her own awkward reflection. The outfit covered nothing. The hem of the skirt stopped just below the curve of her ass, and the neckline stopped just above her burgundy nipples; they stuck out through the holes in the delicate lace when they were hard. Hope bit her bottom lip hard, catching it between her teeth and chewing on it, staring at herself in the mirror as she practiced positions that might serve to hide her imperfections. A hand here would hide her tummy. Standing at the right angle would make her ass look smaller. Perhaps if she put one leg directly in front of the other, she’d create the illusion of being skinnier all around. But there was just no way to hide. Not in this thing. Hope may as well have been naked.

  Hearing Matthew’s voice from the living room, she moved quickly from the bathroom and down the hallway, stopping in the archway to his living room and playfully turning as she had seen models do on television, laughing aloud as she did. He grinned. That boyish grin alarmed her. His footsteps were deliberate as he moved toward her, his hand running lightly along her spine before his fingers found refuge in the thick dark hair at the nape of her neck. He curled them into a fist and pulled firmly, leaning forward to let his lips brush against her ear. His dark eyes met hers in the mirror, holding her captive in his gaze.

  “Go to my room. Wait for me there. Keep the light off and listen to the radio. Do. Not. Move.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Back down the hall she went, hips swaying seductively as he had taught her, concentrating on the soft click-click of her heels on the hardwood floor, eyes lifted only momentarily to a painting of a woman on a throne that hung at the end of the hallway. She looked much like Mistress Katrina, and the slave beneath her was curled up so that one leg was crossed over the other, her full breasts resting on either side of her knee, a chain dangling teasingly between her nipples. I wish I looked like that. The thought ran through Hope’s mind before she could stop it. She sighed and gave a disapproving shake of her head at the painting before slipping slowly into the dark room; Hope stumbled about clumsily until she found the bed. She slowly lowered herself onto it, hands on her lap, chewing nervously on her lower lip. It was a bad habit that she still had not managed to break.

  She was counting the number of songs as she sat silently. Three. Four. Five. Still, she was left sitting there in his room, pulling at the hem of her dress. She strained to try to hear what he was doing, but she could hear nothing. Her stomach was nervous, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

  Finally, the silhouette of Matthew’s handsome form appeared in the doorway. Hope let her eyes glance over the outline of his well-built frame, her tongue sliding across her lips. She still could not understand why he would choose her. She was not the most attractive of women. If you asked her, she was awkward looking. Her butt was too big, her breasts too small and she had entirely too much weight on her hips. Matthew, though, always gazed upon her as though she were some work of art. Perhaps to him, she was. A work of art that he had sculpted. She slowly stood, smiling nervously at him, but he only extended his hand and silently led her to the door. The jingling of keys in his hand caused her to pause and lift her green eyes to him, feet stopping a few paces from the doorway.

  “Where are we going?” she blurted. The question seemed to pop out of her mouth of its own accord.

  “I didn’t tell you, did I?”

  “No, Sir…”

  “Then don’t ask.” There was a sharp blow delivered to her backside that made her yelp in pain. Hope’s mouth went dry, and she was afraid at first that she’d gotten herself into trouble…but when he’d turned his back to her again, Hope was sure she detected a slight curve of his lips and a low chuckle deep in his throat.

  His truck was always difficult to get into, especially in heels. In a dress this short, it was impossible to get into the vehicle in anything resembling a ladylike fashion. She had to flash something. Her Master was watching in thinly veiled amusement as Hope climbed in, causing her dress to ride up almost to her waist. She began to nervously fidget with it, acutely aware of exactly where the hem had landed.

  “Leave it.” His voice was firm and commanding. His very tone turned her on almost instantly, her nipples sticking out through the lacy fabric. He gave them each a tweak and closed the door. She found she actually had to sit on her hands to keep from pulling her dress down to where she thought it needed to be. As much as he had made it clear that he adored the curves of her body, Hope always thought she could have stood to have a few less curves. And she certainly didn’t want them on display.

  The drive was silent and painful. Where the hell was he going? The thoughts rushed through her head, and Hope was completely unable to stop them. She felt hot tears begin to sting her eyes as she saw him driving farther and farther into the city. Her imagination was out of control. He could be going anywhere—a restaurant, a bar, a club…oh, god, what if she ran into someone she knew? What if she was caught by her employer or her family, being paraded about practically naked? What if Matthew’s boss saw them?

  “Sir?” she began meekly. He didn’t even look in her direction. Hope tried again, a little louder this time, fingertips digging hard into her thighs, her nails leaving little half-moons in her flesh. “Sir?” She spoke a little louder,
with a little more enthusiasm. Still he didn’t look up. Unable to contain her panic any longer, she gasped for air, reaching out to curl her small fingers around his arm. “Matthew! I can’t do this…turn the car around and take me home. I mean it…I don’t want to play. Just take me home. Please.”

  Painful silence filled the truck for a few moments as Hope sat there with a vise grip on his arm, his eyes never leaving the road. After what seemed like ages, the truck stopped at a stoplight and Matthew turned sideways in the seat, his large hand reaching out to take Hope gently but firmly by the jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. His words were filled with quiet resolve.

  “It pleases me. And you will do what pleases me.”

  “But, Sir…”

  “Shh.” He hushed her and affectionately brushed a tear from her cheek before pulling away from the stoplight. “It pleases me.”

  It pleases me. And Matthew’s pleasure was all that mattered. Hope turned to face front again. Her tear-filled eyes made all the lights of the city blurry, traffic lights and signs and headlights blending together in a misty collage. She could make out a green billboard with white lettering, flashing neon signs advertising exotic dancers, a brightly decorated limousine with flowers, painted windows, and old cans dragging along behind it. Feeling sick to her stomach, Hope closed her eyes tightly, forcing the tears from them to spill onto her cheeks. Earlier that evening, he’d been so tender. So affectionate. Matthew had never told Hope that he loved her. It wasn’t in him to say such things, but the little things he did told her as much. Through his actions, he constantly told her what she already knew. He treasured her. He loved her. He would care for her. She was safe.

  The car was parked when she finally snapped awake from her daydream, and she was watching as Matthew moved to the other side of the truck. He opened the door for her and took her hand to help her down out of the car. With a simple gesture, he ordered her to lace her fingers behind her neck, turning her around and pulling her dress down so that the hem hit her midthigh. She no longer protested. The length of the hem didn’t matter. The lace material of the dress could cover up none of her body. She was naked, and he was going to parade her about. She supposed she could take it as a high compliment, if she could get past the paralyzing fear she still felt rising up within her.

  Matthew turned her back around, letting his hands wander about her body. Hope was sure, from the way he chuckled, that he could feel how hard and fast her heart was pounding. He leaned down, his hands wrapping around her waist and whispering softly into her ear. “You are so beautiful, my girl. I’m sure everyone will think so.”

  His hands grasped her own, guiding them back down to her sides. Attention turned to protocol and made it easier to put service at the forefront of her mind. When she concentrated on his pleasure more than her own irrational fears, it became less difficult. She walked to his left side, exactly three paces behind him. When he was training her, he’d insisted on hearing two distinct sounds when she walked in heels. His rules also demanded that her eyes remain focused only on his feet. This was convenient for him; it meant that she would not be able to see the building they were walking into. He held the door open for Hope, who stepped through the threshold shakily, then waited as he again took his place in front of her.

  Her heels were immediately silenced on the carpeted floor of the store. The bad lighting and cheesy music one often thinks of in a porn shop was missing from this establishment, which was surprisingly classy and inviting. As she moved inside with her Master, she instantly felt eyes all over her. She stopped, all at once feeling unable to continue. He turned to her. Somehow he always knew what she was thinking. His eyes were gleaming with pride, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Yes,” he said, “you can.”

  The three words were all the encouragement she needed. After all, if Matthew said that she could do something, if her Master believed she was able, who was she to argue with him? He knew his possession well enough to know what her abilities were. Yes, I can.

  She saw him nod to the young man sitting behind the counter, but she was more keenly aware of the way this man was openly staring at her. She wasn’t used to this open kind of appraisal, and she shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, fingers pulling at the hem of her dress. It clung to her body in an odd sort of way that she found both sexy and annoying. Matthew had been talking to the guy behind the counter regarding a certain little toy he had wanted for her, but the conversation was temporarily put on hold when he turned to her, a disapproving look on his face as he observed her nervous fidgeting.

  “Hands behind you,” he barked at her suddenly, the sharpness of his voice jerking her violently from her thoughts. “Legs apart. Now! Farther. Yes, good girl. Stay. You are not to move.”

  Matthew turned back to the man, who now had one arm leaning on the counter. From his elbow to his wrist, black ink decorated his skin. Hope squinted, leaning forward so she could inspect the tattoo. It was a cross, decorated with flowers and draped in cloth. Interwoven in the flowers were three words: No MORE PAIN.

  Turning from the man, Hope’s attention moved to the decorations. Reproductions of Impressionist paintings decorated all of the walls. It seemed a little incongruous to her. Monet’s Water Lilies was hanging right above a small shelf full of flavored condoms. And what of Clair de Lune as an accompaniment to the buzzing of vibrators as they were tested at the register? Finding it all a bit too odd to dwell on, she turned her gaze once again to the patrons. Unable to look into their faces, Hope focused on their shoes wandering silently about on the pillowy, off-white carpet. Most of them were polished to a high shine, the crease of perfectly pressed slacks lying atop their toes. Every last one was wearing a business suit, and every last one of them was staring straight at her.

  All of her energy was being poured into the uncomfortable stillness Master had commanded of her. She hated him at that moment as he made her stand in the center of a building, men all around her, gawking at her as if she were an object. Tears were stinging her eyes as she looked at Master again in desperation, pleading silently with him to get her out of here. Just take me home, she begged inwardly. Her arousal, though, was unmistakable. Her nipples peeked through the lace fabric invitingly. One gentleman with bright blue eyes and cross-shaped cufflinks on his sleeves looked down at them, then winked at her with a grin. Her face was flushed a deep red, her heart pounding so loud in her ears that she couldn’t hear herself think. Hope felt trapped. She was unable to look anywhere without being blatantly reminded of the situation. She saw the man behind the desk looking her up and down again, slowly.

  Suddenly, the feeling of humiliation and objectification, while it didn’t go away, wasn’t so bad anymore. These men told no lies and sugarcoated nothing. There was only honesty in their enjoyment of the beauty of her body, and the shamelessness of lust and desire. It was a refreshing and honest way of looking at someone, free of games, free of fear. It turned her on in a way she couldn’t explain. She felt her juices moistening her inner thighs, and she was sure that the musky scent could be smelled throughout the entire building. The suspicion was confirmed as Matthew turned and grinned at her. There it was again, that boyish smile that appeared when he knew that his will was being exalted above hers. He took her by the hand and led her down the aisle. Her full hips continued to sway from side to side, and the seductive manner in which she moved only served to draw more attention to herself. She felt at least a dozen pairs of eyes drilling into the back of her head like lasers.

  Hope was amazed. She was actually doing this—because it pleased him. Her preferences were not an option. Matthew wanted; Hope gave. That was how this worked. It didn’t matter whether she liked it.

  In the midst of that shop, with all those people watching her, Hope’s mind took her back to her very first party. She’d been so frightened. The same sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d suffered in the truck was present at that party. She’d been led up onto a large stage a
nd tied securely to a cross in front of a hundred people, stripped down to a thong and pasties, then teased, flogged and humiliated. It brought her to a place in her own mind that she neither understood nor wanted to understand. She just wanted to feel. It was scary as hell, and that made it hotter still. That night, he’d taken a pair of safety scissors and cut the clothing from her body, shred by shred. The way the air suddenly attacked her flesh, Matthew’s fingertips running up and down her legs and back and leaving goose bumps in their wake…Hope remembered every single sensation as though it was still happening. More than anything, she remembered the feeling of shock and panic when he leaned his body up against hers, her bare breasts pressing into the cold of the wooden frame’s finish. His hands crept along her arms, from shoulders to wrists, his breath hot in her ear as he whispered to her.

  “Everyone’s watching you…”

  She was trembling. She didn’t know whether it was from fear or the rush of endorphins…or maybe both. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and as a result she appeared to be in shock. He led her back to the truck, the bag that held his purchase clutched tightly in Hope’s hands. He turned her toward him before helping her into the car, his fingers tenderly caressing her flushed, burning cheeks. Suddenly, Matthew grabbed her shoulders, forcefully pulling her body tightly up against his own. He kissed her roughly and hungrily before stepping back, his hands over her nearly nude form as he admired her.

  “My god, you are beautiful,” he crooned into her ear. A smile spread across her face, pleasure welling up from deep within her.

  “So you are proud of me, Sir?” She looked up at him, joy filling her eyes. He lifted a hand to brush a dark tendril from her eyes, just as he had done earlier that evening. Leaning forward, Matthew let his breath push the words past his lips, that ever-present spark in his eye. “You belong to me. You are my possession. What’s not to be proud of?”