Bring on the geeks

Unsurprisingly, Kim was dressed to please when I arrived, yesterday evening. She was also very keen, to please in other ways and was on her knees, unzipping me, as soon as the door was closed. I did not speak as she got to work.

It was her who spoke first. Looking up at me, she said, "perhaps I should be punished for yesterday?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you really sure that you want to play that game?" I asked.

"I'm sure," she said. No smile, no laugh. Instead, a look of anxious sincerity.

"Okay, just remember that you asked," I said. She nodded.

I took a fistful of hair from the nape of her neck and pulled her up onto her feet. Then, still holding the fist of hair, I guided her up the stairs and into the bedroom. I put her face-down onto the bed and rummaged around in the draws of the dresser, to find some stockings or tights. I secured each wrist with a stocking tied as tightly as practicable. I started to spank her with my hand, carefully gauging her reaction as I did so. She squirmed a bit and her buttocks were reddening but it was still clearly playful.

"Not hard enough for you, slut?" I asked.

"No," she said in a barely a barely audible whisper.

"I can't hear you!" I said. "Do you want it harder? Speak up?"

"Yes," she said. She could hardly get the word out, such was her anxiety.

"Perhaps I should use my belt on you? Do you want that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" I persisted.

"Yes, I want you to use your belt," she said. I was tempted to press on to get her to say 'please' and 'Sir' but I didn't want to push her too far.

Now, a belt can be a very severe tool, even on someone experienced. I was, therefore,  pretty gentle; though it probably didn't feel that way to Kim. After about a dozen strokes, I was tempted to take her anally; something I hadn't yet done. But, again, intuition told me not to go too far, too quickly. I kissed her neck, her shoulders and then kissed up her arms to her wrists, untying first one and then the other.

As I rolled her over to face me, I could see that her eyes were slightly moist and her face had a faraway look. Though it was a physically mild experience, it had obviously been an emotionally intense experience for Kim. I held her gently and entered her similarly gently. I wanted to be tender but was important to associate the intense emotions, from the spanking, with sex and not something separate. I told her I loved her and made love to her slowly, until she came back from her daydream, when we fucked to a climax. This time it was Kim's turn to say "I love you."

After that we ate, drunk some wine and fucked some more, until it was too late for me to go home.

***

This morning, I asked Kim if I could use her PC, to check my email. She told me that I could use her work laptop but that it was old and very slow. I asked about the large-screened Sony PC I had seen in one of the rooms off of the landing.

"That's John's PC," she said, "but it's password protected. God knows why?"

"Maybe he's got something to hide?" I said, sounding jokey.

"I don't know. He said it's to stop me and the kids from messing it up but I would love to know what he gets up to on a Friday night," said Kim.

"How old is the PC?" I asked.

Kim's expression told me that she thought this an odd question but she answered anyway. "He bought in the January sale," she said. Probably Windows 7 or Vista, at worse, I thought.

Now, I am not technical but I know someone who is. The Geek is a subject who is a partner in a large international management consultancy. Ordinarily, a partner in that sort of firm would have left his technical skills a long way behind, as he moved up the ranks. The Geek, however, manages a practice that specialises in stuff like security and something he calls forensics. He's still an über-geek. Even if he cannot help personally, he has loads of socially inadequate pointy-heads, who work for him, that he can enlist to help me when I need something geeky.

I fancy that tomorrow, Kim will get her wish and find out what John does on a Friday night.

The truth can be trite

Expressing disappointment is a very effective tool for correcting errant behaviour. If the subject genuinely wants to please, disappointment is much more effective than, say, physical punishment. The reason should be obvious. Disappointment happens inside the subject's head. It lingers, festers, grows and shames. School teachers try to use disappointment but are generally unsuccessful because their subjects don't really want to please; the expression of disappointment leads to embarrassment not action. But to hear that one has disappointed a newly found love, who has awakened the subject from a slumber, is powerful stuff.

So, yesterday, evening when Kim opened the door, I expressed disappointment that she was wearing casual clothes, not dressed as a slut or even a high-class whore. The tone I use in these type of situations is, I think, important. In the past, I have described it as 'theatrical' or fake' but I am not sure that quite captures the spirit of it? I try to express the disappointment is a light-hearted way. The point is serious and is still made but it isn't like a dagger that deflates the subject. It stabs the conscience nit the heart.

Kim said she was sorry and that it had been a long and trying day. I said that if she wasn't in the mood to meet then it might be best that I if  come back another day. I took care not to make this sound like a fit of pique. I adopted at tone of care and concern. Kim demurred but I saw this as an opportunity to correct any misconception about my ready availability. I leaned forward and kissed her gently. I told her not to worry and get a good night's sleep. Then I departed, leaving her to ponder.

After I left, she called me a couple of times. When I didn't answer she started sending texts, saying how much she wanted me. Then she started to send me pictures of herself dressed in slut-wear. These got more and more explicit. I can only assume that the camera on her mobile 'phone has a timer function because both or her hands seemed to be very busy in the pictures. Finally, I sent a text that simply said, "See you at 7pm tomorrow, slut."

As I have noted on previous occasions, things often don't go according to plan. Follower types get frustrated and disappointed. They cannot see beyond their failed expectation. Leaders look for the opportunity. The phrase 'bring me opportunities not problems' has become so trite that followers actually steel themselves against looking for opportunities. The aphorism that entered common parlance has become self-defeating. Leaders see the truth in the cliché.

One door closes

It turns out that John's work is taking him offshore, onto an oil rig, for the coming week. He is flying to Stavanger today. This has scuppered my plan for the coming week. John, and his integration into my relationship with Kim, was going to be my main focus.

But change brings opportunity. I was going to make myself less available to Kim in the coming week; this is pretty standard practice to make someone want you more. The opportunity presented, however, is such that I am going to take the risk of seeing a lot of her, with a view to intensifying the relationship and accelerating her development.

Also, I understand that their son is home from university and may be around for some of next week. I am keen to meet him, so it would be an added bonus if I can manage to bump into him a couple of times.

Three little words

When I selected John and Kim as my next subjects, I expected that I would be using John to manipulate Kim. Discovering Kim's premarital past as a slut turned that plan on its head. I am now wondering how far I can get her to go without coercion; my instinct is that she will go quite far.

I am tempted, at this point, to indulge in a discourse about the spectrum of persuasion, from manipulation to coercion, the thin line between them, and their respective pleasures. I touched on this in my very first post and feel a slight qualification is necessary. First, I never promised to be consistent. Secondly, I am starting to think that my subjects might offer a heady mixture of both. We'll see.

With this in mind, I met with Kim today for some more consolidation and little more exploration.

For the third time this week, I went to Kim's home. I had not set up a role-play nor had I set any expectations about how she would dress. I had a hope but not an expectation. The hope was fulfilled. Kim opened the front door, further than she had on Wednesday, dressed as a total slut. We looked at each other with mutual pleasure. This time I didn't linger to long on the doorstep. I was keen to find out if she was already wet. And she was; very wet indeed

After telling her how much her appearance pleased me, I took her by the hand and lead her straight upstairs to the bedroom for a good, hard, slut fuck. After a decent pause for recovery, I rolled her onto her back, took both of her hands in mine and pinned them to the mattress, palms up, each side of her head.

"I should punish you for being such a dirty slut in your marital bed!" I said, playfully.

"Chance would be a fine thing!" said Kim.

Her answer was along the lines I expected, so I was ready to flip her over and administer a mild spanking. There was no real pain but I was only interested in establishing the principle, on this particular occasion. When I finished, I slid my fingers into her, to gauge her response.

"You've done this before?" I said.

She looked back over her shoulder with a smirk. "Not for a very long time," she said.

"Maybe you like being tied up as well?" I asked, with a raised eyebrow

The chuckle that this elicited told me all that I needed to know. Her stocking came off easily, in just two movements. One. Two.

"On your back," I said, mock sternly.

She rolled over and as she did so, she offered her wrists. I bound each one gently with a stocking and secured them to the headboard. She could easily of slipped out of her bonds but made not attempt. Like the spanking, it was just playful but, similarly, it established a principle, to serve as a base-camp for more challenging adventures. For now, it was just a game. A gentle ripple in the vanilla.

***

There were a couple of other things that I wanted to achieve today so, after we fucked, I suggested we go out to lunch. 

"I'll just have a shower," said Kim.

"Oh, no, no," I said, "I want you to go as you are. Well fucked and dripping with me." Kim looked at her slut clothes with apprehension. 

"Wear something modest but, perhaps, no underwear," I said. We dressed, Kim without underwear, and went to the pub where we had our first 'date'. 

Over lunch, I asked about the children. Kim told me that they don't get on. If one of them says they like something the other will dislike it and vice versa. It wasn't always like that, she said. Up until the boy was thirteen, they were inseparable. Maybe he started to resent his sister when he realised how clever she was going to be, she said. But whatever it was, it had now festered into a genuine dislike and they were rarely home together. I sympathised, of course.

It was beautiful afternoon and after lunch, we went for walk, just as we had done that first time. And just like that first time, I pulled her close to me and kissed her.

"I love you," I lied, as I had lied before.

"And I love you," she said, reciprocating, as she had done before.

The first time that she uttered those three words was in a state of post-coital bliss, as reflex to my words. So what else could she say now?  Whether she meant it or not didn't really matter. She probably did mean it in those specific moments, but not in a lasting way. However, people have a deep seated need for consistency. Having taken a position, they feel obligated to stick to it. Moving in another direction causes dissonance. So whether she really had fallen for me or not, she had twice repeated those powerful three words. She will find it increasingly difficult not respond similarly when I give her the same cue. And you know what happens when something is repeated often enough?

A true vocation

Kim did not disappoint. She answered the door wearing a translucent cream coloured blouse, over a lacy black brassiere, a very short red skirt, very high red heels and what I assumed to be red hold-up stockings. She was well made up with scarlet lipstick and long earrings. She held the door in a half-open position, half-hiding behind it.

Role-plays are a great way of resetting norms. Initially, it provides the opportunity to set aside inhibitions and explore those dark corners. Over time, repetition blurs the boundary between the role-play and reality. Repeated frequently enough, the role-play becomes a new reality. If the subject is reluctant then it may take many repetitions. Often, however, the subject is releasing an inner desire that one taps into, and then the transition can happen quickly.

Managing this does take some skill - particularly reading people; knowing when to push and when to draw back. Reading people was something I developed and honed when poker was my main source of income. One quickly learns to differentiate between confidence and fear, between weakness and strength, between predator and prey. A lion doesn't have to be empathetic to choose the weakest or slowest wildebeest. That's just observation and natural selection.

But one did't need those skills to notice that Kim's feet were planted shoulder-width apart. Or to notice that her hips were pushed forward. Or to notice that her chin was tilted upwards. The excitement was plain to see. I could almost smell her.

"Open the door, slut," I said, "let me get a proper look at you."

She opened the door wide. I did not hurry to go inside and ease her nervousness at being seen. But, equally, I could tell she was aroused by the risk. I so wanted to take her for a walk, dressed as she was, but it was way too soon for that.

"You look good, slut. I am pleased," I said, as I went inside. She smiled, pleased at the affirmation of her aptitude for the role.

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

Her use of the word 'Sir' was, to a large extent, a reflex, trained into anyone who serves customers and patients. It wasn't, like John's use of the word: an acceptance of submission. However, as it was spoken in response to the epithet 'slut", it was a pleasing show of deference, in this context.

Kim walked towards the foot of the stairs but I had other ideas.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink," I said. At his point I gave her a theatrical wink to remind her that it was a role-play; I didn't want her to think I was bossing her about.

She lead me into the living and I sat down in an arm chair, drinking it my surroundings, as I had done on Monday, in the hallway and in the bedroom. I was particularly interested in the family photographs, of which there were relatively few. Except for the wedding photograph of Kim and John, they were pictures of the grown up children and just one of the young children together. It's too early to know whether the choice holds significance but I will make it my business to find out.

I asked Kim for a glass of red wine but she came back with two glasses.

"Did I offer you a drink, slut?" I said.

"No, Sir," she answered, obviously shocked at my dominant tone.

"Put it down and get on with it, slut," I said, opening my flies, and emphasising the word 'slut' to remind her it was just a role play.

She went down on me and I gently pushed my fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. Gradually, I took her hair between my fingers, twisting it into my closing fist. I tightened and twisted slowly, until I was pulling her hard onto me. At the same time I talked to her constantly and as crudely as I could, telling her what a slut she is and what I was going to do to her.

As I came close to climaxing, I used the fistful of hair to pull her to the ground. I lifted what there was of the skirt, pushed aside the gusset of her thong and entered her hard and deep. She was was what I can only describe as dripping. As I  felt her tighten around me, my eyes sought out the family pictures. The sight of the family watching Kim, dressed as a slut, being fucked in the family home was more than enough to trigger the stain I would leave behind.

My face was inches from Kim's, as I felt her spasm, an after-shock, gripping my penis. I hugged her tight. I showered her face with kisses. She gave me that beatific smile that women have when they have orgasmed really hard.

"I love you," I lied.

"I love you too," she said. I kissed away the solitary tear.

"You were the perfect slut," I said.

"Was I?" she said, grinning, with false modesty.

And so went upstairs, where, reassured that she was cared for and valued, the line between Kim and the slut blurred completely.