Helen has her first encounter with a dominate male

By Eroticty

Helen fancies herself a queen. She is intelligent, attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body, and she is fully aware of it and of a certain power that it gives. She has a haughty, imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude that annoys many people and absolutely infuriates others. She is married to an older man who obviously adores her, pampers her, caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and has never satisfied her. Her husband travels extensively.

The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to the symphony, alone, and there encountered a man, Tyrone, whom she had known well once and disliked- a tall, spare man of curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist, stubborn, opinionated, willful- a type that Helen usually detested. That evening, after the concert, he offered her a drink, and thinking of avoiding a long cab ride home alone, she accepted. The thought of physical involvement with this man, though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind.

After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive her to her house, made the expected pass, and she responded by giving him a stinging slap in the face. He replied as no man had before. He twisted her arm, turned her away from him, and using a hard bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the rump. She reacted immediately, and when he slapped her behind hard again, she gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone.

Recognizing her reaction exactly for what it was, as complete submission, he sat, pulled her over his lap, bottom-up, pulled her skirt all the way up over her hips and slowly and with great ceremony, pulled her panty hose down so that her now-bare ass was in his complete view. Now, firmly and with great authority, he totally took control, spanking her bottom until it had turned bright pink and she had begun to bawl like a baby. Ignoring her cries as just so much nonsense (which both of them knew they were), his hand wandered over her rosy red rump, found a path between her tightly clenched thighs and when a finger tested, it discovered that she was sopping wet, that her clit had emerged and now stood upright like a miniature penis, indicating to him just how sincere her protests were. He sensed total victory. In only another moment he had her panty hose off completely, and now with her totally obvious complete cooperation, had unzipped her dress, pulled it over her head, tossed it on the floor as if it was just a rag rather than the very expensive frock that it really was (wasn't that the ULTIMATE indignity?, she thought).

He had unhooked her bra so that she stood nude before him, her bare breasts in his face, her nipples now standing like sentinels, offering themselves to his hard, sucking kisses, her arms around his neck. One of his hands fondled her rump while the other hand was up between her widespread thighs, his finger inserted full depth in her sensuous feminine flower, teasing it and bringing her ever closer to orgasm. She had been totally conquered by a simple spanking and by a bit of foreplay. He had won the prize and obviously it was now his for the taking. He knew this and so did she. She was fully aware that she was excited beyond anything in her experience, that very soon he would want to use her, and however he chose to use her that there was simply no way that she could stop him or would stop him or would even want to stop him.

Now he led her to her bedroom, spanked her further and harder, to her very great dismay- or perhaps to her very considerable joy.

He stripped. Soon he joined her nude in her bed. He was rigidly erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent, totally passionate, totally excited, totally and absolutely orgasmically responsive. He took her in strange positions and in strange ways, vanquishing her completely and certainly satisfying her better than she had ever been satisfied. During it all, with Tyrone's cock buried to its full depth in her humid, squishy pussy, when she had already had orgasm twice and knew she was on the verge of a third, she thought that never, since the day at age 16 when she had lost her virginity until perhaps an hour ago, had she ever really known what sex was all about, what true carnal pleasure could be, what submission to a strong individual could do. She had always liked sex. but really, certainly could have done without it, too- but now?

Now it was hours later. He had gone, almost without a word and she had to deal mentally with the evening's almost incredible events. Well, one thing of which she was certain- she would not be seeing him again. He had brutalized her- well, not exactly brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her. Not that it had hurt especially, but it had cost her dignity. And he had done strange things, disgusting things. Like putting his finger into her anus, and then, of all things, kissing her there, a wet, thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as far as he could. That was absolutely bestial. Animals behaved like that, not intelligent people. And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before leaving, firmly pinched her nipples, made her call him Master, and made her suck his then semi-soft cock, brought him back erect and was quickly impaled again on it. Now she lay resting in bed, thinking about all this, about the moment when he first took her, spanked her and then stripped her bare and spanked her again, brought her nude and excited into her own bedroom, stripped his own clothes off and paraded around the room showing off his very rigid erection, with the absolute implication of what he was going to do with that awful thing -- right here, she thought, in this very room, in my own bed. And she found herself getting overheated once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices flowing. Crazy, she thought, absolutely crazy. She was going to cum again.

She thought about the spanking- actually several spankings that he had given her, all with his bare hand against her naked bottom, with her trying to twist away from the strokes, but at the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps unconsciously, to be accessible, to offer a more tempting target. No man had ever spanked her before. In fact, in her entire life the only spanking she received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening coming home late and slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she had found her mother waiting up, furious. Her jeans were taken down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a very angry parent. That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the one did tonight.

Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this experience. She would call Sara. Now that they were really close she would tell her everything. Sara would just love to hear about this adventure. She loved kinky things and kinky clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate, kinky talk. Sara would flip!!! Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I call her at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story. Helen lay back in bed, nude, voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange thoughts. This WAS a strange adventure, a marvelous kinky adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one to be savored, to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a particularly private moment (perhaps while lying with her face between Sara's elegant breasts, while kissing and gently sucking a mouth-watering, responsive nipple). This was an experience to be digested and analyzed and understood, but NOT one to be repeated.

She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to her bed. She willed it to ring. Let some one call me, she thought, anybody. Nobody did. She thought, what if it rings right now, and it is him- Tyrone, that bastard- and he orders me to get into my car and drive to his house, stark naked, right now!!! Would I? She wondered. She looked at her nightstand. There, on a sheet of paper was his parting shot- his telephone number, written there just as he was leaving. His verbal order to her to call him tomorrow night, exactly at nine, or suffer the consequences-- whatever that might mean. Call him tomorrow? Well, he could just forget about that. She meant to crumple up that piece of paper, right now, and to put it in the ashtray and light a match to it- as if burning it meant burning the relationship and burning that bastard Tyrone at the same time. But just then she did not have a match handy, so it would wait until tomorrow. Yes, she thought, I will burn it in the morning.

And speaking of burning, she thought, he certainly did burn my bottom with that awful spanking. And that thought was finally too much for her- with a hand rubbing across her nipples, caressing them, and the other hand teasing and rubbing her clit, her body began to heave and shake and away she went into wild, total orgasm again!!

Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. In each of the three or four times that she had been bedded down, the man was of the same type- a mature, intellectual, professorial type, a man for whom she had profound respect, a man who respected her own intellectual strength and her breeding, who treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case was almost a clone for her husband. Every time so far the appeal had been mental. Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these things that had interested her in the past. He was a totally different specimen- mature, yes, but not a great mind, not a scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that she could identify. She giggled, thinking that his penis wasn't all that huge either, big enough certainly to get the job done, but not huge either, like some of those that she had admired in porno flicks. Well, if the appeal wasn't mental, and it wasn't completely physical either, then what was it? What DID this guy do that was so special? All he did was take charge, ignore what she wanted (or thought she wanted) take control of her, discipline her, and--- well, what else, she thought.

The next morning she could think of nothing else. But now she had better personal insight in to what had really happened. He had somehow peeled off the veneer layer from her, and had gotten down to the core, to what she felt was the fundamental person inside. He made her feel like a true love slave, ready, anxious to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely weird point about this whole episode was that she did not love this man- she did not even especially like him and did not respect him. He did not have the deep bass voice that she sometimes found sensuously attractive. He was neither especially handsome nor tall. He had no great brain. What he did have was a certain presence, a command of the situation that she found just incredibly overpowering. And he wanted her, obviously wanted her, physically wanted her, carnally wanted her, and could and would all but own her, body and soul, but mostly body.

She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and found that Sara was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the details as she was in telling them. Helen found this part of the adventure just doubly delectable- lying nude with Sara, her lips nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue probing, her hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching between Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding exquisite cream in that scrumptious cunny. As the adventure proceeded, Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom she had met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long, how, when, where. Sara seemed to want to participate, but vicariously, afraid really to cross the line and join directly in the adventure. And this Helen wanted to protect her from, not really knowing where it was going. Sara was Helen's secret. So Sara knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and his friends, but Tyrone never knew about Sara.

Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for a month or more and for that month she has a master, one who owns her, will train her in the image that he finds desirable. He will spank her when he pleases, perhaps in the privacy of her bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching. That much he has already told her. She knows that she should flee him, refuse to see him again or even speak to him. And she is entirely certain that she will not do that- that tomorrow she may be terrified of what can happen, but she knows that she WILL see him again. And she will be spanked by him- and she is, of course. Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at all severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare hand or mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom. They do not even especially hurt. They perhaps more than anything else are symbolic, both to him and to her, of his sexual domination. They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving her heaving and gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to please him even more. And he promises her nothing more than regular, almost constant excitement, wild new adventures, exciting new friends, and orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!!!!

And so she does not go to Europe that summer. She decides that the pressures at work are too great, that she cannot get away, that Herbert will travel alone and enjoy himself, that his freedom will be good for him, invigorating. She tells all this to Sara, and Sara thinks it is hysterically funny. Sara believes that women are mostly cunt anyway (expressed in exactly that phrase). She believes that all women occasionally have their brains in their vaginas but that Helen's brains now are totally confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that conclusion, Sara leans forward, finds that delightful appendage, and emphasizes her point by giving it a lovely kiss). Sara thinks that Helen is currently involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps best called Mind Fuck, in Sara's judgment an effective and acceptable form of therapy. She approves of this adventure, conditionally. That is, the idea is good, the events so far have been fun and very, very different. This will all be OK so long as it can be kept in perspective and no long term damage is done.

She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows all about him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been so interesting. Her only complaint is that Helen does not have as much private time for Sara, but the time they do have together is absolutely marvelous- more intimate and exciting than it had ever been before.

So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her feminine wiles of the past are useless, a man who has captured her, has used her thoroughly and often and made her love him for it, conquered her totally employed her sexually in every conceivable way, introduced her to threesomes and foursomes and orgies, photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses, kept her constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces, a series of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but marvelously, voluptuously dangerous and exciting at the same time. The queen has become a willing sex slave to a highly imaginative master, and never has she felt herself so much a woman as now.

The End