I don’t respond well to being told what to do. This goes back to my rebellious teenage years and carried on through my first and now second marriage. Not that either men were/are commanding, but I’m not submissive. I’m a partner and wife in all that it entails, but I do what I want to do. *cracks whip*
I don’t write many stories about submissive women either. I actually prefer my girls on the bad-ass, dominant side, some even issuing punishment to their mates who often test the waters, push the limits until their ladies wind up giving them a nice, swift spank on the ass or tying them to a bedpost.
In the story that I’m posting here today, originally published in Alison Tyler’s Got A Minute?, I went a different way. In a motel room, all by herself, Stephanie did exactly as she was told:
As She Was Told
Stephanie did as she was told. She lay there flat on her back, her eyes to the ceiling, knees up and thighs spread.
Her fingers drummed on the dingy floral bedspread. Those very fingers were supposed to be resting on her cunt, preparing to find their way inside right about now, but she hadn’t worked up to that yet.
It had been enough just to drive here, to rent a single room in the name of a Mrs. Jacqueline Jones, and then shed her clothes, all of them.
They lay folded neatly on a chair in the corner of the room. Stephanie had found it strange that he’d even instructed her on what to wear when what he ultimately wanted was her naked. Still, he had insisted on a crisp yellow blouse and knee length gray skirt. The shoes, he had demanded they be black, patent leather heels.
And though one wouldn’t peg Stephanie as the type to take orders, she did it all. She didn’t question any of it, not the fact that he wanted the curtains to remain open or the door unlocked. She didn’t even ask why he needed her to be laying on top of the covers, hiding nothing as people walked by.
Of course, she never questioned him. Questioning brought consequences, always. If she questioned or strayed from his specific instruction even slightly, he would resign to only talking to her about the weather, or he’d tell her about his dog’s recent hip operation, or worse, he wouldn’t talk to her at all.
So she learned to simply do as she was told.
With him, Stephanie always did as she was told.
And now, she stopped the nervous drumming and got to it. Slowly, her fingers crept over her hips and traveled down between her thighs.
Stephanie was wet.
She hadn’t expected that. She had assumed she would be too aware of everything and everyone around her to get turned on, but strangely, it fueled her, urged her to insert a finger, then two.
When she yearned for more, she reached for the box that lay on the floor beside the bed. He had mailed the package to her office and had included specific instructions on what to do with that was inside.
Stephanie had never used one before, didn’t see where it could bring her any satisfaction. After all, this was a machine and she was a woman, a complicated woman.
Still, she twisted the base of the curved, leather cock until it began to swirl and vibrate in her hand. She moved it down between her thighs and slipped it inside.
And though Stephanie knew that people could see her as they walked past, could hear her if their footsteps were soft enough, might enjoy her if they were bold enough to stop and watch, she trembled when she heard the click of heels on the concrete.
She halted, holding the machine deathly still between her legs when a couple, who walked far apart from each other and kept their eyes to the ground. They slowed, glanced briefly inside the window, then shuffled swiftly by.
Then Stephanie resumed, regaining her rhythm quickly.
So consumed was she with the pounding in her chest and the throbbing between her thighs, Stephanie didn’t notice the maintenance man walk up and stop just outside the window. When she opened her eyes, he was propped against the railing, cigarette lit and dangling between his fingers.
She had been instructed on what to do if such an incident occurred, and so, as she was told, Stephanie continued. She inserted the stiff cock quickly, removed it slowly. She teased the edges of her cunt with the tip, arching her back and twisting on top of the covers.
The dark, wavy haired man turned away when her eyes met his through the window, but, as if he couldn’t help himself, he turned back again, his eyes fixated between her legs, his foot tapping nervously on the concrete.
When Stephanie looked more closely, she saw that between his long legs was an erection that pressed forward against his zipper. He crossed his legs just below the knee, leaned back, his elbows on the railing.
He took a final drag of his cigarette and put it out on the concrete. Then he brought his hand down to his crotch and unzipped his navy blue trousers.
His cock sprang forward as if it had been waiting to be freed, waiting for just that moment when it could breathe. And just as suddenly, his hand was gripping the base, holding his thick, dark cock in place.
Stephanie spread her legs farther apart, excited by the thought of what could happen next, if the stranger so chose.
And he did choose.
One hand worked slowly on his stiff cock, the other he propped on the rail. Slowly, steadily he stroked, watching her. When the leather cock slipped deeper inside her, he licked his lips.
Stephanie’s nipples hardened and rose like pearls on her breasts. The one thing she hadn’t been told was that she’d enjoy it, even hunger for more. She wondered if she were stepping out of line, if she’d somehow be reprimanded for her own pleasure.
And he would know that she enjoyed it just a little more than she should. He always knew.
The thought caused Stephanie to hesitate. Then, just as suddenly as he had begun, the main outside her window stopped stroking, tucked his still rigid cock back into his pants and stepped out of sight.
She paused. Had he seen someone coming? Was he suddenly afraid? Embarrassed?
When Stephanie noticed that he never passed the second window, that he had halted just outside her door, she pondered.
Would he take it upon himself to push the door open and come in? Had he merely stepped closer so that he could hear her?
And as if he was listening, as if his ear was pressed against the door, Stephanie resumed, her moans growing louder, her thrusts more intense. The dildo circled and shook insider her.
And then, on top of the tasteless, dingy bedspread, flat on her back, knees up, thighs spread wide, Stephanie came.
She allowed herself to catch her breath only for a moment before she stood on her feet, cunt wet with desire, skin glistening with sweat.
Stephanie stepped back into her clothes, not even looking toward the bathroom or the sink. And as she was told, she placed the used dildo back into its box and tucked it under her arm.
She paused at the door, listening for signs that the stranger was still there, and hearing nothing, she opened the door and walked out.
She looked down and smiled. Stephanie stepped over the thick, wet result of the stranger’s passion, and as she was told, she stuffed the box inside her shoulder bag and walked quietly away.
Got A Minute? is still available here.