Jennifer Takes A Dare

She entered, and her breath was taken away. It was palatial. Jesus, she thought, it must fill up half the floor. Beautiful marble, brilliant crystal, rich hardwood flooring, luxurious furniture – she could scarcely take it all in at once. She merely stood, eyes wide, looking around the suite in dumb wonder. He quickly grew impatient.

"Jennifer. Come."

He was waiting by the open doorway to what looked like a bedroom; from what she could see, it looked as big as her entire apartment.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

She walked quickly to him, her heels clicking loudly on the wood floor. Once inside the bedroom, which proved to be even bigger than her apartment, Jennifer stood and waited for his next command. She didn't have to wait long.

"Strip."

Oh fuck, she thought, he's going to see just how fucking horny I am. Her pussy was sopping now. But she didn't want to disobey that voice.

She took off the shoes, and slowly peeled off the minidress, until she wore nothing but the little G-string and sheer bra. It was cool in the room, and her flesh broke out in goosebumps. Her nipples stiffened and pressed against the bra's smooth fabric.

"Keep going," he ordered. He was behind her, but she was too nervous to turn and face him.

"Yes, sir."

Her hands trembling slightly, Jennifer slipped the G-string down her legs, and reached around to unhook the bra. Despite having done the same thing thousands of times, her fingers wouldn't work now – she fumbled the snaps and felt her face reddening.

"Faster." He sounded angry.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I'm so nervous..." She continued to pull futilely at the snaps. Goddammit, she cursed to herself. Why can't I do this?

Suddenly she felt one of his hands grab the bra strap and the other bat her fingers away impatiently. She gasped as he took hold of the strap in both hands and pulled it apart, hard. The snaps gave way almost immediately, with a sound that was as loud as a firecracker in the quiet room. The bra dropped to her feet, the broken ends of the strap trailing tufts of elastic.

I'm bare-ass naked in front of this man, she thought. It made her want to squirm and cover herself with her hands, but she didn't dare. Besides, she thought, I think I'm actually getting off on this. Am I? Jesus, yes, I am. She felt a small tickle on the inside of her left thigh. It was cunt juices. God, but she was horny now. So goddamned horny. What she felt now made her arousal in the restaurant seem like nothing.

"When I tell you to strip, you do it immediately," he said, his voice low.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jennifer whispered, staring at the floor.

"Louder!" The sharp tone in his voice made her gasp.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"Better. When I tell you to speak, you do not whisper. Is that clear, slut?"

"Yes, sir!" The word "slut" echoed in Jennifer's whirling mind like a shout in a cavern. He called me a slut, she thought over and over. He called me a slut!

"Raise your arms over your head and clasp your hands together."

"Yes, sir!" Jennifer did so, increasing her feeling of exposure. Lifting her arms up not only took her hands away from her body, but it lifted her breasts and made her stiff nipples point straight ahead in a decidedly pert manner.

She heard his footsteps, and a moment later he came into view in front of her. He was looking her over intently, measuring and taking stock with his eyes, every curve and fold and private space on her entire body seeming to be open to his inspection. It was the most intensely vulnerable feeling Jennifer had ever had. Juices continued to trickle down her left thigh.

"Go to the bed and put both hands on the footboard. Now, slut."

Jennifer moved to obey. The bed was a king-size with heavy dark wooden headboard and footboard; the footboard was about three feet high. She had to bend over to grasp it with both hands. It forced her to stick her ass out.

Without warning, something smacked her right ass cheek hard. Her left cheek received a smack a moment later. Jennifer shrieked, as much with shock and surprise as with pain, and a stinging burn bloomed where the blows had landed. It hadn't been his hand; it had been something smaller and harder. Without thinking, she glanced over her shoulder in time to see him standing a couple of feet behind her holding a short, thin, flexible paddle that looked like it was made from black leather. It was about two feet long and perhaps three inches wide with a handle on one end. She had no idea where it had come from; he certainly hadn't brought anything into the room.

"Keep your eyes front," he barked.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Jennifer whipped her head back around immediately.

"This is your punishment for questioning me in the restaurant, slut. Take it. Keep your eyes straight ahead and your filthy little mouth shut."

"Y-yes, sir..." Jennifer said shakily.

"Louder."

"Yes, sir!" she cried.

THWACK!

Jennifer shrieked as his first real blow landed on her ass. The first two had been love taps compared to this.

"Quiet, whore."

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

He spanked her three times in rapid succession with the wicked leather paddle. It took all her willpower not to cry out again. She felt tears begin to fill her eyes again. She blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of them before they could spill down her cheeks. Fuck, but her ass hurt!

"Do you like getting spanked by your new master, little slut? Do you like discipline? Do you enjoy being punished?"

THWACK!

"Oh, God, yes, sir, oh, Jesus, I love it, sir!" Jennifer was helpless to stop the flood of words. "Please, sir, please, don't stop!"

It was true, she realized, as her master continued to spank her – she was loving every second of this. It was her fantasy fulfilled, and it was even better than she'd imagined.

--------

When the spanking session was finally over, he allowed Jennifer to lie on the bed on her stomach, her burning ass upturned. The bed was deep and soft and comfortable, though, and the pain subsided after a few minutes, leaving her butt with a warm glowing sensation that was actually very pleasant. And her pussy – oh, God, her poor aching pussy! Jennifer couldn't remember ever having felt the desire for sex so deeply before in her life, the need to be penetrated by a man over and over again, to be fucked hard and fast. Now, as she lay on the bed, resting, he sat across the room in an overstuffed leather armchair, lounging comfortably, doing something with his smartphone. She studied him as she lay there – what struck her most about him was the thick shock of black hair with its flecks of gray. It made her think of Mr. Spellman, and she suddenly wanted to get up, walk over to him, and plunge her fingers into that hair. She would luxuriate in it, bury her hands in it, curl her fingers through it. She moaned inwardly. These thoughts were making her even hornier, and he had given her strict instructions not to masturbate while she was resting. She hadn't been surprised that he had known just how much the spanking had excited her – her pussy juices had been streaming freely down both legs by the time he had finished with her.

"Come here."

His voice interrupted her thoughts, cut through them like a sharp blade. There was no question of not obeying that voice, she realized, as she rose from the bed and crossed the room to stand before him. She was still fully nude, and again she had to fight the urge to cover herself with her hands.

"Did you enjoy being spanked, whore?"

"Yes, sir, I loved it, sir," Jennifer said eagerly.

"What is the proper response to someone who has given you something you like?"

"Thank you, sir, thank you for my spanking, sir."

"Louder."

"Thank you, sir, thank you so much for my spanking, sir!"

He nodded curtly. "Better. Kneel."

Jennifer dropped to her knees in front of him. She was now staring at his abdomen, clad in a white Oxford shirt. He had removed his suit jacket and tie earlier.

He crossed one leg over the other and presented one of his shoes, a black wingtip polished to a high shine, to her face. "Worship my foot."

"Oh, yes, sir!" Jennifer surprised herself with the eagerness with which she began this task. Bending forward, she began to kiss the polished leather, inhaling the fragrance of rich leather and shoe polish. She kissed and licked his shoe carefully, all the way across the top, over the laces, as far back around to the heel as she could get, until the entire upper part of the shoe had been bathed in her saliva.

Then her master turned up his shoe so she could reach the sole as well. The sole was dirty, with bits of sidewalk grit and grime stuck to it. Jennifer saw what looked like a small wad of chewing gum clinging to the heel. She hesitated, not wanting to lick the filthy surface. Suddenly, his hand was in her hair, pulling hard on it.

"Owww!" Jennifer shrieked.

"I told you to worship my shoe, whore. Lick the bottom clean. Do a good job, or you'll be punished."

"Yes, sir!" Jennifer cried through tears of humiliation. She bent forward again, steeling herself for the taste of his dirty shoe bottom. And it was every bit as disgusting as she'd thought it would be; several times she had to will herself not to gag as she licked and kissed it. The piece of gum was the worst, but she knew if she left it there her master would punish her severely. She was learning that he was very strict and expected his every command to be obeyed immediately and without question. She peeled the gum loose with her tongue and spit it onto the floor, then licked the spot where it had been until it was clean. Finally, her tongue aching and tasting like stale turds, she leaned back on her knees.

Without a word, he carefully removed his shoe and inspected her work. Jennifer felt apprehension growing with every second that passed in which he didn't speak. Would he be upset? Would she be punished for missing a spot? She was certain she had cleaned every square inch...wasn't she?

"You've done well, slut," he said after a couple of minutes. Relief washed through Jennifer in a warm wave. Relief, and pleasure at having pleased him. "Now, clean the other shoe."

She bent to the task immediately. When this shoe was also cleaned to his satisfaction, he told her to lie down on the bed, face up. She padded across the room, her slick pussy lips rubbing together exquisitely. She lay down on the bed, on her back. It was very comfortable, with a rich brocade coverlet and what felt like down pillows. But Jennifer hardly noticed; all of her attention was on her master as he crossed the room to the bed and sat on the edge of it, close to her head. Then, he began to stroke her cheek gently with the fingertip of one hand. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the throbbing tingle his touch produced. Her legs shifted, and she moaned almost inaudibly.

"You are doing very well so far, little whore," he said softly. "Do you want more?"

Jennifer didn't need to think about it. "Yes, sir, please, I want more, sir," she whispered.

He slapped her very lightly on the cheek. "Louder, slut."

"Yes, sir, I want more, please, sir!"

Her eyes were still closed, and suddenly she felt one of his fingers, long and limber, slide between her legs and probe into her wet sex. She gasped loudly and her eyes flew open as a shock of pleasure sizzled through her body. Her skin tingled and her nipples stiffened. God, it felt so fucking good!

He slipped another finger between her thighs. He slowly massaged her labia and rubbed gently across her engorged little clit, making her buck her hips upward, her body greedily trying to get even more pleasure from the touch. His hand moved with her, massaging and rubbing and squeezing. Oh, fuck, Jennifer thought through the fog of pure sensation that had wrapped her brain in a gauzy film. Oh, it feels so damned good...

An orgasm began to build deep inside her, like a spark growing into a flame that threatens in turn to burst into a fireball. She realized dimly, as if it were coming from far away, like a faint radio transmission, that she was begging and pleading with him not to stop, to let her cum, to please let her cum. His fingers rubbed with greater urgency, pushing her to the brink, and she held her breath in anticipation of the ecstasy.

Suddenly, his hand was gone.

A loud whine escaped from Jennifer's throat, and she thrashed her hips and legs instinctively trying to bring the pleasure back, her brain shrieking with frustration. She opened her eyes and saw him walking away from the bed.

"Sir, please, please," she begged in a hoarse whisper. Her poor cunt was aching with need. "Please, sir, I was about to cum."

"I know that, whore. That's why I stopped. Get up."

Trying to clear her head, Jennifer stood up from the bed.

"Come here."

He was standing by the door to the suite, putting on his tie, which he had left hanging on the doorknob before her spanking. She went to him, heart fluttering.

He extended one hand to her mouth. "Clean your slut juices off my fingers."

"Yes, sir," said Jennifer, and took his fingers into her mouth.

"Gently," he warned.

She took care not to let her teeth scrape across his skin. His fingers tasted of cologne and...her. She sucked at them eagerly, enjoying his taste mingled with hers, enjoying the intimacy of having her master's fingers deep in her mouth. As she sucked and licked, she looked at his hair. This close, it looked sexier than ever. The black with gray flecks...again she found herself wanting to stroke it, wrap her fingers in it. She wondered if she would ever get that chance. God, she hoped so!

He took his fingers out. "Very good. Now, get dressed. We're going out."

Jennifer went to her clothes, which were still on the floor by the bed, and picked up the G-string. She stepped into it and wriggled it up onto her hips, feeling the thin cord between her legs dig into her swollen pussy. She stifled a groan. The bra was useless. She picked it up and turned to him.

"Leave it," he said. "You won't wear one tonight."

"Yes, sir." Jennifer pulled on the fishnet stockings, sitting on the edge of the bed to roll them up her legs. Then she slipped the minidress over her head and snugged it down over her body, adjusting the hem with a few tugs. The nipple erections she had were obvious to anyone who cared to look: the hard little buds poked the fabric of the dress into two small tents that projected straight ahead. The slight friction of the dress against them only made it worse. She didn't know how she would be able to go out in public, but she would have to bear it. She found her fuck-me heels and slipped them onto her feet. Then she stood and presented herself to her master.

He looked her up and down for a moment, frowning, then reached out with both hands and pulled the hem of the minidress up a couple of inches. Jennifer could now feel cool air against the very lowest part of her ass cheeks, and she knew that part was now on full display.

"Sir, please..." she whispered, her eyes lowered. "I can't...I don't think I can walk around like that."

"Yes, you can, slut, and you will." The utter certainty in his voice somehow made her feel a little better. "I expect that dress to stay exactly where it is. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We are going to a small, very intimate bistro downtown. I expect it will be quite crowded. It's a very casual place, with a lot of college students. Your provocative outfit will make you the center of attention, I think."

A hot flush began to creep up Jennifer's neck as she anticipated the embarrassment of walking into such a place dressed as she was. But, underneath it, she felt an undeniable rush of pleasure. It was the thought of following his commands and pleasing him, she knew, even if doing so made her suffer.

----------

They drove to the bistro in his BMW, and he found street parking a block away. The sidewalk was crowded with people. Before they got out, he retrieved a small red velvet bag closed with a black cord from the back seat. Jennifer wanted to ask what was in it, but decided she would probably find out soon enough, and she sensed that she wasn't allowed to ask.

They got out of the car and wound their way between the other pedestrians toward the restaurant. As the walked, Jennifer felt eyes on her, front and back: a middle-aged man with a beer belly and two young kids in tow stared openly at her nipples as he passed them; a group of fraternity brothers hooted and catcalled from a sidewalk café, saying things like "Nice dress!" and "Damn, can that thing be any shorter!"; someone, Jennifer didn't see who, hissed "Slut!" in a stage whisper from somewhere just behind her. And she did feel like a slut, a hussy, a tramp. In a word, she felt cheap.

And she had to admit to herself that she was actually enjoying it, at the same time as she felt the humiliation burn in her cheeks.

They reached the bistro, a tiny place called Mark's, and as her master had predicted, it was packed. They had to wait twenty minutes for a table, during which time they stood, at his direction, in the middle of a small throng of older men in business suits. Their ties were loosened, and they had clearly been enjoying quite a few after-work drinks. They commented loudly on Jennifer's ass, tits, nipples, and legs; three of them managed to cop feels on her ass, and a fourth "accidentally" brushed hard against her breasts, almost making one nipple slip out.

During all of this, her master watched her carefully. She knew he was gauging her reactions, and she felt a strong need to please him, so she tried to focus on the arousal she was feeling instead of the embarrassment. She even managed to smile once or twice at men who made comments about her, trying to make the smile look wicked and sassy. She had no idea how successful this was, but it encouraged the oglers to make even louder and more obscene comments.

Finally, a waiter came to tell them their table was ready. With her master leading her firmly by the hand, they entered the bistro. A loud hum of conversation filled the room, punctuated by an occasional burst of laughter. Jennifer saw several people turn to stare at her; one woman, dressed in a smart, business-casual outfit and sitting with another woman dressed similarly, stared at Jennifer with her eyebrows raised, then leaned close to her friend and whispered, pointing at Jennifer. Both women giggled like schoolgirls. Bitches, Jennifer thought.

Their table was in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by other tables, all of which were full. But they didn't sit. Instead, her master led her past the table and on to the back of the room, where the bathrooms were. Without pausing, he pushed open the door to the men's room and pulled her in. She almost protested, then realized he would certainly punish her for it, and kept her mouth shut. The bathroom was the one-occupant kind anyway, so she need not have worried, unless someone had seen her go in and complained to the management. He locked the door behind them.

Her master set the velvet bag down on the closed toilet and opened its drawstring. He reached into the bag and produced something that at first glance looked like some kind of harness, and her heart leapt into her mouth. Was he going to restrain her here, in public, in this crowded restaurant? Fuck, she hoped not. That would be more than she could handle.

He must have seen the look of fear on her face, because he said, "Don't worry, slut, you'll enjoy this, I think."

"Are you going to...tie me up, sir?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her with mild surprise. "No, of course not. You don't know me well enough yet for that."

Relief washed through Jennifer. Thank God, she thought. But then, what is that thing?

She saw now that, although it had straps and buckles, it wasn't a restraint. At the center of the straps was a pink plastic object. It was a...butterfly? Yes, a butterfly, Jennifer thought with a sense of the surreal.