She didn’t know why he made her do this, but every week she did it. Their car was pulling into a large, circular driveway, and she gazed out at the rolling expanses of lawn surrounding the stately home. Her husband was silent, as he always was on this drive. She didn’t know who the man was that lived here, or what sort of hold he had over her husband. It dawned on her that she didn’t even know the man’s name.
To her it was just ‘Sir’.
She was twenty-three years old, and they had been married for a year. She was a striking woman: 5’4″ tall, short-cropped brown hair and bright green eyes. Her firm, 38D breasts thrust out from her chest above a tight, narrow waist. Her skin was alabaster white, and her large brown nipples made a striking contrast against her white body. She had no pubic hair. Her husband paid to have her waxed; he thought she looked more naked that way.
They had been involved in a d/s relationship from the beginning. The first time she had been tied up and spanked, she loved it. Their bondage and discipline scenes had progressed a long way since that time, and even though he sometimes truly hurt her, she loved submitting to him, and she loved the intensity of the sex that followed. He, on the other hand, loved to see the resulting marks on her white skin; proof of her submission to him.
Then, a month ago, he brought her here, with instructions to do exactly as she was told. That was all he said, he wouldn’t discuss it any further.
The sun was just disappearing behind the distant trees and she shivered. She wore a short, silk robe that came to mid thigh, tied around the waist and high heels. Nothing else. It was the way HE asked her to dress. They stopped in front of the brick walkway that led to the front door. She sat with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. He shut off the car. Leaning over to her, he kissed her on the cheek and told her,
“I will see you in one hour.”
She opened the door and got out. Her short robe opened in the slight breeze that she created as she walked, and her heels made a rhythmic clicking sound as she approached the front door. This was where she first began to feel the flush of shame on her cheeks. It always started here. The door opened as she approached it, and an older woman stepped back inside to let her enter, as she always did. She never knew who this woman was, the man’s wife perhaps; she was not dressed as a servant.
Now she followed the woman across a huge entryway, her heels clacking on the slate tiles. She always felt like a fool, standing there mostly naked, while the woman knocked on some massive oak doors. When the knock was acknowledged, the old woman simply opened the doors, let her pass, and closed them behind her; never once glancing at her, for which she was grateful.
The lighting in the room was dim, except for a bright light that shone down on a low oak table in the middle of the room.
“Ah, you’re here, very good.”
His voice came from behind a desk in the shadows, and he rose. As he came into the light she could see that he held a snifter of cognac or brandy in his hand.
?Let’s begin, shall we?” he asked, and now she saw him clearly.
Dressed in an elegant maroon robe with a black collar, his mane of wavy grey hair cascading over the back of the collar. He was, truly, a magnificent specimen of genteel manhood.
“Approach the table, please,” he said. She knew what to do. She walked forward until the table touched her at mid-thigh.
“And the robe, if you will,” he said, ever so gently.
She untied the short robe and let it slide from her shoulders to the floor. She stood, naked in her high heels, before this man, the burning of shame inflaming her cheeks again.
“Hands atop your head, please.”
She placed her palms flat on the top of her head, elbows out, and she stood quite still. He stood behind her and kept her like that for a full minute.
“Spread your legs,” he said. She spread her feet apart, her well-formed legs making a wide V. She felt the tip of a leather riding crop snake up the back of a thigh, and she shivered. She felt her nipples harden. The leather continued its trace up to her ass, gently circling the white globes, then down the back of the other thigh. He slowly tracked it up the insides of her thighs, and then softly stroked the length of her bare slit. Her breathing quickened slightly, and she could feel herself beginning to moisten.
“Bend, and spread your cheeks for me,” he said. She bent slightly at the waist. She could feel her face redden in shame, but she dropped her hands from her head, reached back and lewdly parted her ass cheeks
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