Control Lost

Cathy responded in the worst possible way. She turned her head to stare at him angrily and realised too late that he had captured that moment with his phone camera. This was too much: dropping her skirt, pulling up her panties she stormed across the room away from him.

Cathy: what are you going to do with that picture? Give it to me.

Michael: That picture is safe with me, exactly where it should be; but I want you to be aware that it could emerge at any time, unless you do exactly as I instruct.

Cathy was in uncharted territory. In arguments at home Richard had inevitably wilted before her anger, but Michael held all the power in this engagement. She could think of nothing that could take her out of this predicament.

Cathy: I'm going to call security.

Michael: and tell them what? You want them writing down your name, calling Richard to validate your identity? Because that's what they'll do. Their job is to protect the hotel’s reputation, not yours.

And Cathy knew that he was correct.

Michael: when you play at being submissive online it's all on your terms. How many men have thought they were controlling you? When they tell you online to take off your panties, to spread your pussy lips, you know that you're not doing it. It's a game for you. It's a safe way for you to be in control, not them. But that's not what I want. I want this middle-aged wife to have her reserve and dignity stripped away. You're going to be my slut on my terms, whether you like it or not. And if you don't do that, you could pay a very high price. I wonder how your daughter would react to this picture?

Cathy: this has gone way too far. You know this isn't right. Please. You are frightening me. I'm begging you to give me the picture, to let me delete it from your phone and end this here. I'm begging you.

Michael: rather than begging me, do what I fucking tell you Cathy. Panties at your knees, bent over showing me your anus as you were. And I won't wait for you to do it; do it now or all of this becomes public.

Cathy: Please. Please. I'm begging you.

Michael reached across and drained his glass of whiskey. He curled his lip and took a step towards the door, but Cathy ran across and grabbed his arm, pleading all the while. Michael was a big man: with hardly any effort he lifted her and seated her on the couch, then walked to the door. With each step, Cathy felt the horror of her normal life, her comfortable existence, her safe marriage drifting away. As he placed his hand on the doorknob she jumped up and almost screamed: “I'll do it! I'll do it! Don't leave! I'll do it now!”

Michael paused, hand still on the doorknob, then half turned to watch her. He didn't say a word, but it was clear that he was waiting and would not give her much time. Cathy knew that she must quickly show obeisance, or he would leave. Her heart pounded, there was a churn in the pit of her stomach, but she stood up, and without looking at him positioned herself as before: panties at her knees, legs slightly apart, bent forward with her skirt and slip pulled up under her chin, and – humiliatingly - hands behind her, holding her bottom open.

Michael: I hope we won't have to have this discussion again. I won't tolerate it. Do you understand me?

Cathy: Yes. Yes Sir.

Her eyes were closed and teary, but she heard him pouring himself a refill of whiskey. Taking a sip. Leaving her in this egregious position as he took his time. She became aware that he was removing his jacket now and rummaging in a pocket until he walked up behind her.

Michael: I love a mature arse. More feminine than young girls that look like boys. And I came prepared.

Cathy had no idea what he was doing - he seemed to be fussing with something small.

Michael: don't move. It's time to be a good girl.

He placed one hand on her pulled-open buttock, rested it there for a moment until she felt the shock of a gel, cold against her anus. Michael placed his other hand flat across her lower back as if to support her, or possibly hold her bent over.

Michael: Just relax and this won't hurt. Shh.

With some misplaced sense of courtesy, he was trying to comfort her as his finger gently massaged the gel into her. Her embarrassment was coupled with a sense of disbelief at what he was doing, more so when she felt a finger penetrating her slightly. She could not help but release a gasp and he again made gentle comforting sounds placate her. After this brief exploration he removed his finger and now she felt the coldness of a small steel object being gently, gently pressed into her. She was panting with fear, short sharp breaths, made all the more difficult by how she was bent over.

Michael: gently now. This is a small enhancement for you to wear. With a pretty jewel on the end.

Michael pushed the object into her she was being opened uncomfortably and she tried to move to ease it, but suddenly it slipped in and she realised that it was designed for this purpose. Again she was instructed to look back as Michael took his time photographing both her face and this new adornment.

Michael: you've never had a butt plug have you?

Cathy: a what?

Michael: your naivete is endearing. How ever did you come to be online, giving sexual fantasies to all those men? And women too I have no doubt. Now take your panties off completely and stand up.

The relief of dropping her skirt and slip and standing normally, letting her panties slide to the floor, folding them neatly and placing them on the coffee table like an incongruous ornament. With each movement she felt the plug inside her, the end piece uncomfortable between her buttocks.

Michael: and now your slip. I want only a skirt on with nothing underneath.

Her resignation seemed complete now. With no protest she reached under her skirt and the slip slid down to be folded as meticulously as the panties which they now accompanied on the table. This was unfortunate, because while the slip had allowed her skirt to easily glide across her legs, she quickly became aware that, without the sheen of the slip her skirt was catching on the plug. She wondered if the head was large enough to be seen as a visible sign of her submission.

Michael: Such a good girl. Every woman needs to experience the discipline of obedience at least once, don't you think?

Cathy was grappling with the discomfort of the object penetrating her, trying to find a comfortable medium, ironically pulling herself open of her own accord. She was trying not to look at him but it was clear that he found her discomfort amusing. Not for the first time she wished she had never gone searching online for the thrills she had been missing.

Michael: I'm glad you find it so comfortable, because the time has come for us to show you off. I think we should go to the bar. You haven't had anything to drink yet, have you?

Cathy: I can't go out like this! Someone may see me. You know that.

Michael: I wasn't asking.

She was still trying to find a comfortable way to stand as Michael put his jacket on. With each step it seemed she found herself in more precarious situations. And now he opened the door and gestured for her to accompany him.

The hotel room had become a place of embarrassment but walking down the corridor to the elevator she could feel her skirt catching. Cathy devoted so much time normally to looking perfect and was now reduced to trying to cover her bottom as she walked, wondering whether anyone could see this shameful projection.

When the elevator arrived she quickly stepped in and placed her back against the side. Michael stood next to her as a handful of other residents and staff joined them. She glanced warily about trying to ensure there was no one that she knew. Provided she kept a low profile this may turn out safely after all.

Michael, as cruel as always now placed his hand on her bottom, fingers finding the plug and as the elevator absorbed and released passengers at each floor he started twisting it, pushing it gently in and out while she tried to remain impassive against this onslaught. And she could not do it - her unconscious movements and barely controlled moans were being noticed. When she tried to push his hand away he ignored her and continued this public invasion. She kept her eyes straight ahead but became aware of a young man, barely in his 20s watching her openly, clearly knowing that something was being done to her. She longed to reach the ground floor and escape, but now Michael was using his fingers to slowly draw the back of her skirt up. Cathy placed her hands on the front of the skirt to keep it down as far as was possible, while Michael’s hands had now found the nakedness under the skirt and continued his ministrations with a renewed vigour.

The ground floor finally arrived and everyone bustled out. But Michael held her back and it appeared that something had transpired between him and the voyeuristic young man, for he remained behind as well. As the doors closed Michael beckoned him over and looked down at her skirt. The young man cocked his head as if to affirm Michaels consent, who nodded briefly.

Michael whispered to Cathy: don't stop him. Just stay calm.

The young man, a grin covering his face reached down and with no preliminaries at all cupped her vagina through her skirt then lifted it to look at her womanhood. Instinctively she tried to beat her skirt down but Michael took both her hands and drew them behind her back, holding her as the stranger, whispering about her cunny while he found her clitoris began to finger her. She could no longer withhold herself and moaned, trying futilely to pull away from his hands, entreating him to stop. Thankfully, or unfortunately nobody got into the elevator until they reached their floor, by which time Cathy was openly giving in wetly to his actions, pushing her hips forward, shamefully giving her cunt.

Eventually they arrived at their floor. Cathy was flushed, wet, not believing her own actions, how she had abandoned herself willingly against her conservative best instincts, a game victim, a mature – she hated to say the word, even to herself – slut. The progressive build-up over the past hour had left her in a state of heightened shame, yes – but being forced to abandon herself to the experience had presented her with an opportunity which she instinctively had grasped in a moment where she had no control. And being submissive to a young man – wasn’t this what she had fantasized about for so long? Was this an assault or a realization of her desires? Even as the lift doors opened she pressed forward one last time against the invasive fingers before her voyeur stepped back.

Michael: her name is Cathy. She’s a married slut looking for excitement. Would you like to join us?

Cathy turned to stare at Michael in disbelief, but he just smiled: we’re not going to the bar any longer. We’ll order in.

He took her hand and walked back to the room, pulling her as the stranger walked behind and she wondered, yet again, if the plug was visible through the back of her skirt.