Archive-name: Slaves/oralgal1.txt
Archive-author: R. Bolla
Archive-title: Oral Gal - 1


        The butterflies in my stomach are getting out of control.  I haven't
felt fear like this in a long time - a dread of something that is coming, but
for which I have no frame of reference.  It reminds me of when I was a child
and did something wrong.  I knew then that I would be punished - but I had no
idea what form the punishment would take.
        Today, I know I'll be punished, too.  I know it because it is part of
what today is all about.  But I have almost no idea what the punishment will
be.  Or even what I will be punished for.
        Perhaps I should start at the beginning...

        Several weeks ago, I broke up with my latest boyfriend.  It wasn't
because he wasn't handsome and successful (he was a tall, blond, WASP
stockbroker who made well into six figures) or attentive (he brought me
flowers, remembered birthdays and anniversaries, and shared the domestic
drudgery) or fun (we had similar tastes in sports, movies and other things -
and the money and time to enjoy them).  The whole problem, in fact, had
NOTHING to do with him.  It was me.  I was bored to death with my sex life.
        I've never had difficulty finding partners, as long as I have been
willing, in a crunch, to settle for someone shorter than me. I'm six feet
tall, exactly.  I weigh 141 pounds, have dark brown hair down to my shoulders,
and hazel eyes that seem to attract as much attention as the rest of me.  At
38B,26,37 I'm a little too big to model - but I did manage to do a little
commercial work when I was in college.  That was twelve years ago.
        What faced me when I kicked Roger out was that I had never had a
sexual partner who really excited me.  He was as good, stable and strong in
bed as he was out of it, but he didn't do any more for me than any other guy
had.  Not that I'm gay - my one (relatively recent) fling with an old college
roommate said more about the fact that I wanted a change than it did about a
lesbian bent.  I've had no difficulty climaxing with the men I've been with,
and I've sampled quite a few.  But somehow they never seemed to treat me the
way I wanted to be treated, and I never seemed to know what to ask for - so it
was just more of the same, over and over.
        One afternoon soon after my breakup with Roger, my girlfriend Paula
and I contacted a bulletin board on her personal computer. Kidding around, we
started chatting with a guy called Fred who had a good sense of humor and was
quite sexy.  He wanted to engage in what he called "computer sex" - sharing
fantasies over the computer.  For some reason or other, it turned both of us
on - I was really hot instantly.  I didn't want to admit it, for some reason,
but this seemed to be what was missing, after all this time.  We started into
it, and I took the lead.  I did the typing, came up with most of the wild
ideas, and soon we had the guy admitting that he was playing with himself as
he read. Meanwhile, so were we!  I had my skirt hiked up over my thighs and my
hand up under my panties whenever it wasn't occupied on the keyboard. Paula
was doing the same thing with her left hand - and soon her right was stroking
the inside of MY thigh!
        That really turned me on, but it also frightened me.  I had never made
it with another woman - and Paula and I were best friends.  I was embarassed
to be feeling what I felt, and pushed her hand away.  She was a persistent
little dickens, though, and as soon as my hands went back to the keyboard, she
went back to her assault on my thighs.  Finally, I gave up and let her do what
she wanted - which was first to lower my panties and play with my pussy, and
later to kneel between my knees while I typed and slowly, expertly lick me to
several climaxes!
        The excitement I had that afternoon was greater than all the loving
I'd had in the last couple of years.  And I didn't only receive attention.
After she had thoroughly wrung me out, she sat in my place at the terminal and
continued our "correspondence". I knelt in front of her and slowly,
tentatively began to play with her pussy.  It was definitely NOT the same as
playing with mine! It turned me on even more than if I had my own hand burried
between my legs.  As I knelt there with two fingers playing with her clitoris,
the aroma of her reached me and I almost fainted.  Hardly believing I was
doing it, I raised my hand, covered with the juice from her pussy, to my nose.
 The smell was stronger and even sexier than before.  I couldn't stop my
tongue from licking my fingers. The taste was musky and a little bit metalic -
but definitely NOT unpleasant.  I bent my head and began to lick.  She moaned
and slid down in the chair, her heavily-lidded eyes watching as my tongue
traced the shape of her outer lips.  As I stuck my tongue further out and up
into her pussy, she began to press herself against my mouth and my face,
covering my chin, lips and nose in her juices. I found her sweet clit with my
tongue and began to lick - just as she had been licking me a few minutes
before.  In no time at all, she exploded.  That was the beginning of a whole
new life for me.
        Not that Paula and I began to sleep together regularly.  Far from it!
We have been friends so long that neither of us knows what to do with this new
way of relating.  Besides, we both LOVE men, and want regular relationships,
so it's only happened once more in the last four weeks.  But my imagination
has been awakened.
        I was never much interested in fantasy.  I thought that it was much
better to be a doer than a dreamer.  Well, that may still be true, but I've
found that dreaming can be better than much of the doing I've had in the past.
I began to tell myself stories - first about Paula and me, then about the two
of us and a man (usually one of my old boyfriends).  The stories were most
frequent at bedtime, and resulted in my masturbating nearly every night.
Then, more and more, the story was just about me and a man - but in a way that
I had never been with a man.
        I contacted more bulletin boards, during this time, and began to chat
with men by electronic mail about different types of sex. The beauty of it was
that I was able to delve into many types of sex which, normally, I would have
been afraid to talk about.
        Many of the new things interested me not at all.  I had no desire to
wear high leather boots and tan a man's ass with a riding crop .  And as for
the women, I doubted that anyone would turn me on more than Paula did - and I
KNEW her and CARED about her, so why look for someone else?
        But over and over, I got little peeks at the world of domination of
the female by the male, and that began to prey on my mind.  I spoke to a woman
on a board up in Westchester who was a "slave" (her word!) to a man she called
"My Master".  When I first heard those terms, I didn't like the idea at all.
I had no intention of giving up my independence and my freedom to a man I
didn't even know!  She praised the life she led - told me it was the most
exciting and joyful she had ever been.  I couldn't believe her.
        But then, I met another woman on a local board in New York City who
was delighted to be completely controlled by her lover - not only ordered
around, but forced to wear very revealing outfits and fetish clothes and to
play with herself (and with him!) at his order and under his direction.  As I
spoke with her, I found myself getting strangely excited.
        I began to see that one of the problems with being a very tall and
good-looking woman is that men tend to be a little less demanding of one.
They're a little in awe, I guess, at their luck in attracting such a woman -
or they want to make damn sure not to lose her, so they give in more to her
desires.  The problem with that, I realized (now that I began to tell the
truth to myself) was that I wanted to be told what to do - particularly
sexually.
        The more I spoke to these two, the more I envied what they had.  I
wanted to serve a man.  I wanted to see what it was like to do exactly what my
lover (my master?) wanted - to be treated like a toy made expressly for his
pleasure.  As I told the truth to myself, I began to be more comfortable
telling it over the computer lines.
        Within a couple of days, I had met a man called Richard.  I was
introduced to him by a woman whose name was Janice.  The two of them had an
on-going relationship in which he was the dominant partner and she the
submissive one.  As Richard and I explored my desires on the BBS, I began to
see that there were certain things that particularly turned me on - and
Richard seemed to be the perfect match for me there.
        I wanted to be dressed very sexily for a man.  I had always worn sexy,
feminine underwear, but now I wanted to be introduced to the kind of clothing
I would have scorned a few weeks earlier. I wanted to wear things that were
designed to display me - that were there specifically to turn a man on.  I
wanted to be controlled, to be psychologically humiliated, in a sense.  And I
wanted to perform oral sex for hours.
        Of course, oral sex wasn't new to me.  The men I had dated loved it
when I ate them, but I had to admit that I had never gotten as deeply into it,
in reality, as I now did in fantasy. The problem was that, to me, sucking a
man's cock was a very submissive position to be in, and I had not attracted
the kind of men who would take full advantage of that position in the past.
The reason probably was that they weren't, themselves, very dominant.
        As Richard and I got into more and more detailed fantasies, I found
myself spending half the evening every night playing with myself in front of
my new computer.  More and more, I would fantasize during the day about the
fantasies to come that evening - and the fact that I'd be able to raise my
skirt (or take it off entirely) amd masturbate to my heart's content.
        Finally, Richard suggested meeting in person.  We had lunch at a small
restaurant in Manhattan.  He was attractive, about 40 years old, 6'3" tall,
with greying temples and VERY sophisticated. He was trim and obviously
exercised regularly to keep himself that way.  I was immediately interested
and turned on.  After talking over lunch, it just got better.  We discussed
the sort of things we both liked (keeping our voices down so we wouldn't shock
the neighbors) and came to an agreement about the ground rules for our first
"session", as Richard called it.
        Since he wasn't married, he suggested that I meet him at his
apartment. I was to leave information with someone about where I would be, so
that I wouldn't be concerned about my safety.  He didn't want me to be
distracted from my full enjoyment of what was to take place.  He explained
that he wasn't really into heavy pain - but got more enjoyment from the
psychological sort of control that I had been fantasizing about.  He told me
that he would expect me to arrive at 6 o'clock on Friday evening - puctually,
since tardiness would be punished.  He informed me that he already had most of
the equipment we might want, but that he wanted to take me shopping after
lunch.
        So, when lunch was over, he accompanied me to a small boutique in the
Village which speciallized in sexy and sensual underwear and lingere.  He was
not in the least bit embarassed, as most men might be, but went through the
racks carefully, looking for what he wanted.  He finally settled on two very
sexy corsets.  The first was white satin with pink lace detail.  It was only
half-cup, so it supported and presented the breasts, rather than covering
them, leaving the entire top half of the breasts and the nipples completely
exposed. The pink lace framed the breasts and the lower edge, ran down the
front in sexy, pretty strips and covered each of the detachable garters.  The
second was the same design, but made entirely out of black lace - as sexy a
thing as I had ever seen.  Both corsets came with matching g-string panties.
He then found very sheer, seamed stockings in black and white, shoulder-
length gloves in white satin and black lace and a long white hair ribbon.  He
paid for everything, gave me one bag containing the white outfit, and he
carried the one with the black.
        "When you come to my apartment on Friday, I will expect you to be
wearing the corset, stockings and panties.  Over that, I want you to wear
something white that is very feminine and also VERY sexy.  Between now and
then, you will buy two pairs of shoes - one white and one black.  They should
both have very high heels - at least three and one-half inches, but the
higher, the better.  I prefer slingbacks, or something that has a sexy bow in
the back. Sandals are not acceptable.  You will carry a bag which contains the
white satin gloves, your black shoes, your makeup, your toothbrush and your
housekeys.  You may bring a $10 bill for the cab fare back home.  That is all
- absolutely NOTHING else.  Do you understand?"
        I agreed to do as he asked, and he spun on his heel and walked away
without saying goodbye.  I was left standing there, in the middle of Bleeker
St., feeling annoyed, excited and scared - all at once.
        Yesterday, I went shopping and found exactly what he wanted for shoes.
I got a pair of white calf pumps with four inch heels. At the back, above the
heel, was a white leather bow.  I had never worn anything so high, and the
little bow seemed to scream "Fuck me!".  But the black ones are worse.  The
heels must be almost five inches.  They are black calf, highly polished.  Each
side is made out of five very slim black leather laces that come up out of the
sole of the shoe, are gathered together and become one at the back of the
heel, where they tie in a VERY sexy bow.  I was embarassed to even try them on
in the store - I was SURE everyone would know what I wanted them for.  But I
did it, and it made me even more excited!  Both pairs are perfect!
        I couldn't find the right dress to wear over there until today.  In a
store I would NEVER have thought to look in down near Wall St., which seemed
to cater to the secretaries from Brooklyn and Queens, I found a white satin
dress with a tight, low-cut bodice and very full, puffy sleeves down to the
elbow. The skirt flared WAY out, and hung only to about four inches above my
knees. I got a very, very full white lace crinoline to wear under it, and it
held the skirt out perfectly.  When I got it home, and tried it on again, it
was even sexier than I had thought in the store.
        I had to take today off from work.  I was so excited and crazy that I
knew I'd never be able to concentrate on anything, anyway. I spent some time
on the computer talking to some of the BBS', then took a llloooong bath with
perfumed oil in the afternoon, shaved my legs and underarms, towelled dry and
powdered myself.  I took a long time over my makeup, getting everything
perfect.  Richard had said nothing about my hair, but had left me the ribbon.
So I wore my hair up with the ribbon holding it off my face.  Then, I went
into the bedroom to dress.
        As I put on the corset, I realized how small it was!  It held my waist
in very tightly, which emphasized my breasts, hips and buttocks.  I drew the
long, sexy stockings up my legs and attached them to the garters, and  pulled
on the g-string, which served only to cover up most of my pubic hair in front.
In back, my ass was still completely bare.  I stepped into the crinoline and
drew it up to my waist, then put on the dress and zipped it up.  The bra was
doing its job, all right - most of the upper half of my breasts were exposed
above the deep neckline of the dress.  My nipples WERE covered - but just
barely!  I put on the shoes, and walked over to my full-length mirror to check
out the full effect of the outfit.
        "God, I can't go out like THAT!" was the first thing that came to my
mind.  The sexy, feminine dress with its view of my breasts, combined with the
"Fuck me!" pumps and the tiny waist (courtesy of the corset) was just too much
- added as it was to my normal dark, somewhat sultry look and my six-foot
height, it was like carrying a neon sign advertising sex.
        I HAD to go out, though.  It was the only way to take the first step
toward my new adventure.  So I did the only thing I could think of - I called
a car service and spent $35 on a limo to take me the fifteen blocks to
Richard's house.
        So, here I am, standing out on West 10th Street, EARLY for the
appointment.  I'm too nervous to knock on the door - I assume that I am to be
ON TIME, not early.  But the looks of the men passing by are becoming a little
unnerving.  It's almost six o'clock.  I can't wait!


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