Red Ribbon, Part 1
This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.
Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor, so read at your own risk.
What the hell was she doing here?
Swirling the fruity alcohol enhanced punch in its small plastic cup Lizabeth Brown surveyed the small room despairingly. The people in the room had broken off into pairings or groups of three. For the most part the women were seated on the chairs and couches placed against the walls while the men stood over them. In another setting this might be taken for consideration, the gentlemen having kindly allowed the ladies to sit while they stood, but in this room, in this situation, that was not the case.
Liz eyed the other women with mild distaste. Everything about them was sending off waves of submission: their posture, the gentle murmur of their voices, the soft, easily removable articles of clothing they wore. Liz was the only woman in pants.
Shoulders curled forward, chins tiled down, words soft and hesitant, they were exactly what the men in the room were looking for. She was not.
Fingering the red ribbon around her neck which marked her as a submissive Liz took one more look at the partner-less men in the room, those who stood in groupings of two or more men to one woman.
Strangely she had assumed that there would be more women then men. Perhaps that view was shaped by BDSM literature she had read which always had Dominants with multiple lovely young submissives making it seem that beautiful naturally submissive women were as thick on the ground as leaves in New England during fall.
In one corner two men lounged in arrogant splendor; their eyes fixed on the large breasts of the woman sitting between them. Their body language was relaxed, confident: their posture said that if they wanted the girl they could have her.
Liz shuddered at the thought of allowing either of them to kiss her cheek let alone stick their dick in her. Both men look weak to her, in body and spirit. One had a beer gut and love handles, his clothes poorly fitted and messy looking. The other was rail thin and gangly, like a bean sprout, his hook nose and squinty eyes adding to his overall air of unattractiveness.
The conversation between the couple next to her caught her attention. Shifting in her Steve Madden pumps Liz leaned against the wall, watching them out of the corner of her eye.
The man was older –early to mid fifties- than many in the room. He wore a simple black sweater with a ‘v’ neck allowing curling white chest hairs to escape. He had an older man paunch, accentuated by the fact that his pants were belted tightly below the paunch. She couldn’t begrudge him his homely face but he had obviously let himself go.
How could the woman sitting so quietly in front of him hope to be mastered by this man who clearly could not take care to master himself? How could she expect to feel captured, captivated, by his arms when they contained no muscle, only soft flabby flesh. For a moment Liz pictured herself on her knees before the man, his –old, wrinkly- cock pressed to her lips demanding entrance, her lips parting, his cock forcing its way deeper into her mouth… That is until her forehead came up against his flabby belly, the sexy insertion of his cock into her mouth stopped by the paunch.
Repressing a gag Liz pretended to sip her revolting punch as the fantasy she had been trying to build shattered. With a shiver she went back to eavesdropping on the paunchy man’s conversation.
“You will be a good slut for me won’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Robert.” Ugh. Bob, his name was Bob.
“What if you are a bad girl, slut?”
There was a slight hesitation before, “You will punish me, Mr. Robert,” Liz heard the tremble of arousal in the girl’s voice now, the words broken by soft huffs of air as her breathing quickened.
“That is right slut” Liz caught the slight flinch on the girls face as he called her that, “I will punish you, nice and hard, just like you need it.”
“Thank you Mr…”
The idiot man cut her off, clearly not hearing her, not caring about what she had been trying to say, the obedience she had been trying to show. His eyes were fixed on the girls breasts, his words rambling as he built his fantasies around his own pleasure.
“You will always be kept naked in my presence, and always on your knees. Whenever I want you will suck my cock, and anyone else’s cock. You will become a little cum bucket. Don’t worry my pretty slut I will teach you to take my cock so deep in your throat that it feels like it is a part of you. I will train you so that you will feel like something is wrong if you don’t have a cock in your mouth.”
The girl’s features had tensed, her body drawing away from him as the arrogant prick rambled on about his toy cock sucker fantasies. Liz couldn’t blame her. Never once did the man mention pleasure for the girl, or how he would cherish the gift of her submission.
When the man’s eyes glazed over in lust at his own fantasies and he stopped talking the timid young woman gamely tried to salvage the conversation and the real-time fantasy she was trying to live.
“What would you do to punish me Sir?” There was a hopeful note in the girl’s voice. Undoubtedly she was waiting, praying, for him to describe how he would pull her firmly over his knee and paddle her ass, deny her orgasm while keeping her highly aroused or put her into tight bondage.
“Why my pretty slut, I would deny you my cock in your pretty mouth. The denial of her Master’s cock is the ultimate punishment for a slut.”
Liz watched the girl crumble, the last of her fantasy shattered. Her vision of a Dominate as a sexually powerful and knowledgeable man who would demand her obedience but treasure her in return replaced by the reality of an all too human man who only wanted to stick his dick in her mouth and thought that his prick was god’s gift to women.
Well that’s done it, Liz though, I’ve truly had enough.