Instructions to a Would-be Domme – a lezdom story

smoking over the street

A slave or a pet?

“Ok, first of all….” I paused and avoided looking my companion in the eye, partially out of shyness and partially because the woman hadn’t stopped staring at me. We’d only recently met for the first time, in person, and photographs never tell the whole story of how anyone looks in person. I gently cleared my throat and stirred my cooling latte “, first of all, one has to figure out what TYPE of partner you have: a slave or a pet? You also have to decide what type YOU want.”


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“Well, as I said online, I am not into drawing blood, so ‘slave’, I guess, is not what I want.” Her accent showed here and there, and it was appealing to me, as I was never the type to tire of genuine accents. “Vee talked about ‘pets’….”and her voice trailed off. I wasn’t sure if she was wanting the conversation to end, or why she would want it to end, for that matter, so I decided to try being direct and still avoid putting too much “on the spot”….which was never a strength of mine….. “I remember that I also remember touching on what I believe to be the distinction between the two. I believe, and please, correct me, if I’m wrong, but I THINK you basically stated you would be more comfortable with a ‘pet’, right?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I don’t really remember all that well what was exchanged during that IM session. I’m sorry.” She feigned a frown and then made a giggle-sort of sound–she just wanted me to restate it in person. “I see how you are, but I will play along.” How could I say no? I’d told her I would explain anything she inquired after, and besides, she had covered the cost of all my travel expenses, housing while I stayed there, and she was my meal ticket as well. Besides, she asked with such openness and honest interest that it was endearing and went a long way to inspiring the much-needed trust for the venture ahead of both of us.

“SLAVE, to me, would be even more submissive than a PET–no one in their right mind would beat their pet, but one EXPECTS the right to at least leave welts on a slave. If one beats a pet too many times or too harshly, it can be broken or turn on you, neither of which is desirable in a ‘working pet’. Take for instance a sled dog or a horse (big pet, I know)–you discipline them, you train them, but there are plenty of activist groups out there making sure you do not BEAT them.” “Well, I’ve never considered sex with my pet either.” “Smart ass–I’ll tell you that the analogies I draw can ONLY be taken to a certain degree when discussing BDSM. For instance, if I say something regarding ‘well-behaved children’, I would HOPE, that not only would you NOT think I think of children in sexual terms and I would ALSO hope you don’t–of course you don’t, or I wouldn’t sit here any longer talking to you–that’s disgusting. You were indeed just joking with me, weren’t you?” “Yes.” She did that sort-of-giggle again and patted my forearm. “Ok…” I leaned forward a bit more, recrossed my legs, under the table, and took a deep breath….”So, PETS would require direction, training, care-taking, sometimes (or often, depending on the willfulness of your pet) discipline, we have that down.” I was starting to feel a little fidgety, almost nervous–was I going to lose my nerve, after coming all this way? Oh my god, what a let down that would be! I had to force myself to get down to brass tacks in this conversation–I had seriously been looking forward to actually fulfilling a long-standing fantasy here–I wasn’t sure I’d forgive myself for letting it slip away now…..another deep breath….”Let’s talk about situational examples–did you happen to get copies of the novels I suggested?” “Which ones?” I wasn’t sure whether I should be irritated or not–maybe I had suggested SO many she lost track, and she was a busy woman, maybe she hadn’t read any of them, or even found time to track down any of the titles! Maybe she read them all and asked me that JUST to be clear WHICH title I was referring to–I really shouldn’t expect the worst of people so often. “The Beauty Trilogy and Story of “O”, specifically.” I racked my brain for a couple of seconds, trying to recall if I’d suggested any other titles on this subject, and having no success finding any other mental notes, I went with those two. I was momentarily distracted by the glint of the lake, reflecting the mid-morning sun, and the sounds of birds and other diners, moving about us. I gazed just past our booth, at the diners seated and moving around the room, behind my companion. It was unseasonably warm out and everyone seemed to be lightened by it, in spite of the overcast sky, the brightness gave all but the sourest of personalities a lift. There was something tugging the backside of my uppermost calf–I realized it was the curved handle of her umbrella, and I then took note that she hadn’t answered whether or not she’d read either of my suggested titles…..she continued to pull the umbrella toward her, having hooked it around my calf, and uncrossed my legs. Immediately after the toes of my left foot touched firm flooring, there was a slight sound of rustling and then a chill, metal feeling against the inside of my stocking-clad thigh. My heart skipped and began to slowly increase it’s pace and my breath followed suit, as I felt the tip of the umbrella moving up the inside of my thigh. I attempted to avoid peering about the room, to be sure no one noticed what she might be doing. I couldn’t look directly at her, nor could I fully scan the room. I was suddenly torn between wanting to allow whatever she attempted and wanting to maintain decorum. Too late for me, the tip had reached up under my skirts, and she’d already figured out that all I wore beneath them was my thong.

The thong was no barrier to her attention, instead she used it to her advantage, she pushed the tip of the umbrella against my panties till I squirmed against the juiciness, leached from my aroused organ. She withdrew the tip, leaving my thong stuck to my pussy lips, but it gave me just enough room to draw my skirts out from under my ass, and avoid any tell-tale wet marks. OBVIOUSLY, she has read SOMETHING, even it wasn’t what I suggested! I didn’t have much presence of mind to work with at the moment since I felt I was being distilled into one, small organ. In the space of those few seconds, when I’d felt the withdrawal of the tip she decided to invade me with, a hundred emotions and a puddle of moistness had formed. The tip had already glided back up my thigh and evaded the protection of my thong, now it penetrated……….. aahhhh………. “Please slide forward, lean back, and relax,” I heard this request slash command as if in a haze because I didn’t realize my eyes had just closed. “Now. Please.” My eyes were starting to open, just as the tip began to twirl around and around, inside the over-flowing juiciness and tightness I had become. Then without any more warning, my surprise visitor has withdrawn again and cracked against the inside of my thigh, splashing juice against the inside of my other thigh and smearing it on the inside of my innermost skirting. Ok! NOW my eyes were straining open and I looked her right in the eye! “Scoot forward slightly and lean back, now. Please.” She wasn’t exactly snearing, nor was she smiling–but there was most definitely the glint of enjoyment in her gaze. She is ready to violate me publicly, without me having said anymore to her at all….oh my god….I slid my bare ass forward on the seat of the booth, feeling the umbrella knocked against the inside of my knees, just enough to instruct me how far she wanted my legs opened to her attention. I knew there was a trail of my essence, from scooting my pussy on the seat. I didn’t have any way to care, or any way to stop the event in motion….. ahh, the tip of her umbrella was poking at my clit–she had incredible control over this instrument of choice–she was driving my clit in circles with this tip! My breath increased, my heart began to fear being too loud, and my pussy began to ache and grasp the air, waiting to be used. She slid the tip down over the clit she had successfully, deliciously mashed into submission, feeling it pop upwards, having been released from it’s tip of torture. I visualized the tip sliding between my inner lips, over my urethra–it paused just below and was slid upwards, to the base of my now throbbing clitty. Oh my god, my eyes wouldn’t stay open, and now my mouth was finding it hard to stay shut….”Dear, it’s rude to chew with your mouth open. And please, look at me, when I speak to you.” Her voice was firm and falsely authoritarian, and it added to the strength of the flowing of my pussy. The sliding up and down, over my urethra, with that tip didn’t hurt either. Then she plunged the tip down, slipping freely into me. She deftly angled her umbrella upwards into me then and buried as much of the umbrella as possible between my lips and pumped it a few times. I gasped shortly and fiercely, almost making the mistake of grabbing for my crotch. Instead, I grasped the edge of the booth seat firmly, and feigned an additional sigh, saying “,I think I need to let my food settle for a couple minutes.” She pulled out completely, staring at me, when she saw I wasn’t backing down, nor was I alarmed or hurt by her public use of my sex, she began entering me, just enough to get past the muscle, and withdrawing, only to re-enter again–she continued this entry-removal sequence well past the beginning of pussy starting to make what I was sure were outrageously loud, slurping noises. I asked her “Do you hear that?” and let my gaze drift downward. “This?” she inquired, and then entered and exited me just as hurriedly, making it difficult for me to resist writhing about in my seat, and making a great deal more sucking and slurping noises emanate from beneath our brunch table. “Ye-yessss, that.” I was having difficulty pretending there was nothing at all going on between my straining thighs. “What if I happen to enjoy that song?”, now she smiled broadly at me, and continued fucking me, being sure to make as much noise between my legs as possible. “Who would know the composer of the current selection anyway? If one cannot see the instrument being played, only hear the resultant overture, what can be proven?” When did she learn to speak in analogy so wwwelllll? God! I was starting to slur even my inward thought. oh…..yes, yes…. My thighs were soaked to the edge of the seat now, and it flowed backward, under my ass, as well. “Silde forward just a bit more, please,” I heard this simultaneously with the sensation of another umbrella tip moving up my calf…

My heart felt it could beat no quicker, but still it tried. I looked down into the corner, where my booth seat met the wall, and saw no umbrella there. She’s got mine!, and what, pray tell, does she–oh god, she doesn’t intend to–I never did bring that particular subject up with her. My dislike for the use of my anus just hadn’t seemed like a necessary topic of conversation, until now. Although she’d hardly need any lubrication, as I was thoroughly soaked anywhere between my legs. The second tip had progressed all the way up the inside of my thigh now–what was it she contemplated now? My breathing, though roughly controlled, didn’t sound normal anymore, as one might expect, with such stimulation going on. I was scooted so far forward, on the booth seat, that the back of my head rested on the back of my booth. Luckily for me, the booth behind me was still empty. I rolled my eyes, beneath closed lids, and listened to my companions orchestrations and the ambient noise of the dining room. I felt the second tip, that of my own umbrella, reaching up, under the one now employed in that delicious piston action that occupied my pussy. I noted that my reluctance to having my anus used vacillated between a very potent fear and only a slight distate, depending on how much or little attention I gave the tip of my umbrella. If I didn’t dwell on the matter, and concentrated instead on sensation of being entered over and over and over, then I barely noticed my companion angling towards my rear entry. I am so juicy, so hot, and pleased with both myself and this womans performance, she can have my ass, is basically what I began to repeat internally. As if she waited for my inner dialog to conclude in her favor, I felt the second tip poking into my pussy, with the tip of her umbrella as well. My pussy was forced to accept both tips at once, stretching my sex in the most agreeable manner. My companions control over her instruments of choice is now further demonstrated by her next act, where she starts retracting one tip and plunging the other, etc,.etc.,etc.,etc….unto my utter undoing! I’m starting to feel as though I may implode–it’s the adrenaline rush of a fantasy coming to fulfillment, the anxiety involved in the actual manifestation of it, the total submission, and erotic nature of the moment–in short, many elements working together. Everything in the room begins to fade from my consciousness now. The only sounds I note come from my sex, the only objects that remain real and firm to me are the tips using me and the seat I am on. Suddenly I hear a voice ask a question of my companion and my eyes want to pop open, I exert what little discipline I can muster and force the lids to take their time admitting the world. It’s a waitress, with a pot of what I assume is coffee. She askes me the same thing, in a single word: “Coffee?” “Uhhhh, uh–well, ye-yessss. Tha-ank you.” It’s not as if my partner in crime has ceased her activities, so speaking is stilted, at best. As the waitress bends over, to pour my coffee, she looks down, into my lap. She straightens up, having filled my cup, turns back to my companion, then stares me in the eye. Her eyes are a bit wider now and her smile reaches all the way across her face. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?”, raising one eye brow… “O-oh, very mush, thank you.” I actually said ‘mush’, oh god. My friend across the table is positively beaming and going for broke, the slurping noises are now accompanied by the clacking of the two tips together. “Were your meals satisfactory?” the waitress had to know what was happening, and her gaze didn’t shift from crotch at all. Thankfully, my friend now spoke up, saying something in another language, which the waitress both nodded to and smiled broadly at. I felt only one tip inside me now and it pulled towards the wall–ok, why closer to the wall? My question is now answered by the waitress slipping into the booth next to me, angling her body towards the wall. My companion uttered a single word, directed to me alone: “Show.” The waitress put arm along the back of the booth, behind my head, as I pulled my skirting up, over my knees and the umbrella. My companion went back to fucking me, so the waitress could witness our brunch-time activity. My companion asked the waitress something in their language and I see the waitress not only staring at my sex, the hand not behind my head, is now zeroing in on my crotch. She takes hold of my clit and starts jerking it to the same rhythm my companion is using in my pussy. This waitress seems to know exactly how far a clit can stretch and she takes full advantage of the elasticity and the resulting stimulation. “I vish I could stay” she laments, “but thank you! If you’re interested, my number is on your receipt.” She left with my companions credit card and our bill, without bothering to warn me at all. I glanced at the diners, in the booth across from us, and saw their shock. They leaned down a bit, to get a better view of the under-the-table-action. Then, sitting up-right again, gave my companion “ok” hand signals and thumbs up. My companion waved back, said what I guess is “thank you”, and said to me: “Cover.” Which I gratefully did. The waitress returned with the receipt, for a signature, and sat next to me, turning to my friend, with a question in her expression. My friend, being thrilled with finding a like mind so unexpectedly, not only happily told the woman “Of course!”, she removed the umbrella from between my legs entirely. “Show,” said the same stern voice, that had spoken before. Dutifully, I hiked up the skirting. The waitress took hold of the knee closest to her, pulled it up and shoved my thigh against the back of the booth. “Lean against the wall, please.” I did and the woman put my foot across her lap, and quickly took hold of my hips, pulling them closer to her. My juice was spread almost everywhere in the booth seat, so sliding me about posed no problem at all. The waitress now turned to my companion, not pausing in her feeling around between my legs, and asked if we were enjoying Pride week thus far. Ah, is she ‘family’?, or does she simply ask because we’re so obviously gay? “I won’t be able to go to many of the functions because of work.” she stated, rubbing her hand between my pussy lips, getting lubed up. “So….?” my partner didn’t need to finish the question. “Yes, I am.” the waitress didn’t hesitate finishing the question at all. She slipped three juicy fingers between my lips, four, then I felt the tip of her thumb, and I exhaled real slow…

My eyes fluttered, and I realized I’d fallen asleep–my stiff elbows and lower back told me I’d fallen asleep in a curled position. The moisture I felt between my thighs, along with a gripping sensation inside me, told me I’d fallen asleep directly after, or during a fantasy. “Oh yeah…” I remembered a wild cafe scene….”Wow, is that truly what I’d desire, as a sub?” I thought to myself. I kind of had second thoughts, even though the fantasy had done the job well enough, but umbrellas? Even I had to admit that was taking it a bit too far for me–think about the unsanitary condition of most umbrellas! Ah yes, the conscious mind regains control and analyzes all enjoyment to dust. I would have to reconsider exactly what I might want, in a real-time environment, as a sub, without completely killing the element of surprise and spontaneity. Being a sub necessarily means giving control of a situation over to another person, trusting that this person would know how far is too far, and how to keep the momentum going. However, if this was to be a first time on both sides, as I knew it was, then I was indeed expected to impart any knowledge I have on the topic and then simply trust. She could, it was hoped, check around for any source materials she could find, books, friends, websites, etc.,etc.,etc. I knew she wasn’t a prude, only shy and a first timer to this area, as I was. I’d already given a few suggestions, for reading material, even though I knew her schedule was awfully full. I also knew she’d sampled her share of porn, and had probably run across a fair amount of Master and Servant type of thing. Perhaps my answer to a lot of these questions lay in simply saying that I should be wearing a mask, or a wig and fake eyelashes, with enough make-up to confuse even my own Mother! I figured that if no one could really discern who I was, perhaps the pressure to perform or to allow (allow whatever that is) would be lessened. I had my doubts though, given my body image, I expected that, even being disguised, I would be hard pressed to enjoy being exposed in public. In order to break through that barrier, it would take a stern hand, could this woman stay in character long enough to do such a thing? I have read many times that this can usually lead to tears, before it leads to pleasure–it’s the process of breaking through that barrier of fear that would lead me to tears. For some, the tears are release, others are tears of joy–beyond that, I really didn’t understand yet. In writing this, though, aren’t I, in a fundamental way, my own Domme? Writing how to subdue me? How effective can that really be? Would I actually reveal how to break me?, how to control me? Isn’t there a subconscious block that would prevent such admissions? It could be, though, that if this woman brought enough interest, strength, and creativity to the table, she could apply what I wrote in ways I didn’t realize. Or, she could easily become totally self-conscious, break character, and in a very real sense, leave me hanging? All a very risky business…

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