The Born Sub

Big Tits

He shivered as he looked up. There, on the stair, slowly coming down, was a boot of shiny, scarlet PVC. The platform and high heel perfectly cradling the graceful foot, raising the arch, tipping the shin forward as the woman descended the steps. His eyes followed the long laces up her leg as she came into view, the top of the boot, a sheer, stocking clad knee, a pencil skirt of black satin, a scarlet belt at her waist and scarlet satin gloves. He tripped, but he couldn’t take his eyes off this goddess as he walked across the court house foyer. A black georgette blouse barely covered a black corset threaded with scarlet ribbons that snuggled against the perfect hourglass figure, pushing her alabaster breasts into smooth mounds that begged to be kissed, and the view just kept getting better. Full scarlet lips, pale skin, a tiny beauty spot that curled with the edge of her mouth as a wry smile formed, dark green eyes that could capture souls and long, black hair that curled and snaked around the woman as though it had a life of its own.

“Close your mouth, honey, you’ll catch flies.” Her voice ran straight to his groin, deep, husky, commanding with a tang of the old South and his jaw snapped shut, unable to disobey. He had been so hypnotized by this epitome of femininity that he had simply walked right up to her, as though reeled in, hook and all. “Well?” She asked, “are you going to stand in my way all day?” He dropped his briefcase then he fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the toes of her boots.

“Mistress, forgive me!” Now why on earth had he done that? A little voice in his head told him that he was making a fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop, he had to devote himself to this paragon, this idol, this walking dream in whose perfumed cloud he found himself. He’d never seen anyone like her before, he’d never dared imagine such a person could exist, and he was determined, having found her, that he would devote the rest of his life to her, just to be allowed into her presence.

Her laugh rang round the foyer, bouncing off the marble and glass, echoing to a chorus of mocking, a choir or hilarity. She bent her knees perfectly together, reaching down and grasping him firmly by the collar of his jacket with one satin gloved hand. She had surprising strength for such a petite figure, but he offered her no resistance as she pulled him first to his knees, then his feet.

“Sugar, if you want to submit to me, that’s fine, but do you really think this is the most appropriate place?” She dusted down his lapels, smoothing invisible creases in the fabric before tucking a business card into his pocket. “Meet me here at ten o clock tonight, and don’t be late. You’ll need to wear a dinner jacket.” She placed her hand under his chin and snapped his jaw closed again, it had fallen slack as she spoke. “Now step aside, there’s a good boy.”

His feet made the movement but the rest of him screamed that if she slipped past him he’d never see her again, he had to capture this will o the whisp before the wind blew her back into whichever fantasy she had arrived from.

* * * * *

Ten o clock found him in the doorway of probably the most expensive restaurant in town, looking anxiously round for her divine presence. He could feel the panic start to rise, she wasn’t there, he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t hear her. The Maitre d’ simply looked at his face and said to follow, please. mardin escort He had never been here before, but he didn’t waste time admiring the crystal or the flowers, the velvets and silks, the people who were there to be seen. There was only one person he wanted to see, and she remained elusive.

At the back of the restaurant the Maitre d’ turned behind a screen and disappeared from view. He quickly caught him up and found himself at the bottom of a metal staircase which he climbed eagerly, lured on by the sound of that voice, that audible lure that had ensnared him earlier. He entered a plush room to find her settled on a red velvet chaise longue, languorously resting on pillows and sipping Champagne from a tall, crystal flute. Her black silk dress was split high on the thigh and had tumbled open, revealing snow white thighs and black lace stocking tops, with just the barest glimpse of suspender belt. Hovering around her were men, lots of men, all in black trousers and white shirts, like waiters, yet completely attendant on her and no one else.

“Well, well, we have a new arrival. Fetch him a chair boys.” One of the men swiftly complied, bringing forward a gold chair with a red velvet cushion for him to settle himself on. She moved the glass away from her body and it was instantly taken by another man who placed it on a tray and carefully held it by its base.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked him, and he shook his head, no. “You know, communication is a lot easier when you speak.”

“Yes, Mistress. I mean, no, Mistress, no. I don’t know who you are.” His voice was squeaking its way through his tight throat and he could feel himself sweating as she addressed him. He wondered how he dare sit on this chair, level with her; he felt he ought to be on his knees at the very least.

“Who are you, what do you do, and why do you want to submit to me?”

“My name is Michael” he told her. “I’m an Attorney with my own practice; I defend corporations against civil actions. Submit, um.” He faltered. “I don’t know. I can’t stop myself. I love you.” His eyes fell to the floor unable to answer her question to his own satisfaction, scared that he had said those words and feeling ashamed for doing so even as he realized that he meant them whole heartedly. He heard the swish of her stockings on silk as she swung her legs to the floor.

“Well, Michael, what do you think you might get from submitting to me?”

“The chance to worship you, Mistress.”

“Is that truly all you want?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“No, Mistress, but I know I don’t want anyone else.” She stood up, turned on one elegant, black, patent heel and strolled away from him, her dress brushing against him as she moved, her perfume seducing him, hypnotizing him, tearing his soul from his body and possessing him.

“Well, Michael, that’s quite a claim on having only seen me walk down a flight of stairs. She looked out the window for a moment, watching the traffic below, before turning back to him. “Look at me,” she commanded, and he did. He looked at her silhouette outlined against the neon and the street lights and thought that if he were to die at this precise moment he knew he would never have been happier in his life. “I have very strict requirements of those who serve me and submit to me, and I think you ought to van escort be aware of them before you make any rash declarations.”

“First of all you will never call me Mistress again. In fact, in my presence you will only speak if I tell you to do so, which is unlikely. You will not sit unless I direct you to do so, you will not eat, drink, nor perform any bodily function in my presence without my instruction. You will give me the deeds to your home, the pink slip to your car and sign over all of your possessions, then you will come to reside with the rest of my toys, in a home that I provide. You will eat what I choose for you and you will wear the clothes that I put in your closet. You will have a barber attend you at the same time as they others each month, along with a doctor who will see to your basic needs and inform me if you should require any further treatments or medications. You will be given the freedom to continue to pursue your career, but your monthly cheque will be sent directly to me. You will own nothing. You will be nothing. I shall even change your name to one that suits me. You may continue to be an Attorney at Law, but outside of your work you will be my possession, a shell that I shall dress and decide the content of. A carefully trained pet who will do precisely what I wish and not one jot more or less. You will also be chaste, locked into a steel chastity device that will be surgically secured to your body for the rest of your life. It need not affect your ability to serve, nor your usual functions, but you will never experience sexual arousal again.” She slowly walked back to him, the swish of silk and the tap of her high heels the only sound as she approached.

“Because of these restrictions I need to know you are completely committed to me. You shall have one month to think things through and get your house in order. If you still wish to serve me at the end of that time I shall require you to present yourself with a portfolio of your bank accounts, a list of your properties and possessions and all paperwork necessary to transfer your entire life to me. Including a power of Attorney that states you are no longer to make decisions for yourself, but that I have completely control over you. If you do that, then I shall consider taking you into my service.” He heard the words, but part of his mind was wrapped in her presence, happily smothered by the power she exuded, breathing deeply in the hope of catching air that had graced her lungs.

“Nod if you understand me.” He nodded slowly and firmly. With no further ado she walked round him and left the room, one man opening a door to one side for her to pass through whilst another presented Michael with a piece of paper on a silver tray. He took the folded sheet and opened his mouth to ask a question, but the man simply placed his forefinger over his pursed lips then walked away.

* * * * *

The month seemed to crawl by. Michael hadn’t needed to think things through; he had started on the transfers the very next morning. That sheet of paper held valuable information; it gave him her name and the address that he was to present himself at on the relevant day, as well as the date and time of his presentation, and a list of all that he must do before hand. It took him no more than a week to make the changes, to re-direct his wages, to inform the utility companies of the change ankara escort of householder, to put the property into her name, change his bank accounts over, re-register his car, cancel his private mobile phone contract and other subscriptions that were not strictly professional. It took a little longer to put his practice into her name, but there was nothing he would not do for this divinity. Each night as he slipped into sleep her name was on his lips, knowing that he would never be allowed to speak it in her presence, yet comforted by the sound and the knowledge that soon he would be hers.

* * * * *

On the appointed day Michael rose early, showered, shaved, brushed his hair and dressed in his smartest suit. He did not know if he would ever see this house again as he locked the door, nor the car that he drove to the appointed address, he did not even know if he would ever again wear this suit. But he did not care. He pulled up at the gates to a grand house and waited patiently as they opened before him, not seeing the pattern of stars in circles that made up their pierced frontage. He drove along a paved driveway, past flower meadows and orchards, until he arrived at a house that could only be hers. It was white, clean and pure in line with large windows that reflected the sky. He parked next to a tall dovecote and walked to the front door. He instinctively knew he would not need to knock.

The door swung in to reveal his new owner, dressed now in white with her dark hair tumbling over the shoulders of her long gown. She was radiant, the embodiment of love, and he stepped forward willingly to submit to her. A man in white stepped between them with a silver tray in his hands and Michael laid his briefcase and car keys on it. In the case were the documents she had asked for, the deeds to everything he owned. The man did not open the case or offer it to her, he merely withdrew. She smiled beatifically as she gestured to the door where the man had left.

“Welcome to your new home. Your brothers will help you settle in.”

Sure enough, when Michael stepped through the door he found another man in white waiting for him. He handed Michael a white folder in which there was a timetable of daily events, a list of instructions and a map of the house and grounds. It seemed that he was to reside in a dormitory, separate from the main house, with the other men. He was to rise at 5 in the morning, shower, dress appropriately to that days activities, tend to chores about the main house and garden as well as chores in the dormitory, and to be in bed again by 10 in the evening. He had a diary that told him what he was to do each day, including allowing hours for him to go to work and continue his practice, and an appointment for his surgery. There were cautions in the folder against speaking to any of the other men or addressing his owner, and he was told to maintain his body, mind, home and clothes in a state of utmost cleanliness at all times. And on each page there was a single entry for all to gather together in the central temple of the main house, where they were to offer worship to their Goddess. He ran his finger over her name, feeling a blessing in the touch of the letters on the page.

Looking up at the other man Michael smiled his gratitude and closed his folder, ready to begin his devotions. The man smiled back in complete understanding and extended his arm for Michael to walk away from his name, from his past and from his ability to resist; into his new life. He did so. Gladly, willingly, tearfully grateful, and like the bull and the horse and the dog before him, he became an obedient slave of Astarte, Ishtar, Ashtoreth, happily yielding to the yoke in return for her presence.

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