This is a story of submission. 😀 It’s not your typical submissive-type of story. No whips. No chains. Yet at the end of it all? He was deeply, intensely satisfied…and isn’t that what we “small s” types really want? Really? (You know it is!)
All people in this story are true. This really happened. No….uhhhmmm. Wait. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that? Yeah. Right. This is allll just a figment of my imagination. *nods* Really.
Okay. Not really.
He has a gig. It’s a random thing he does, when he’s got the time and in the mood. Involves driving. Sometimes when I call Him, I can tell that he’s in his car. Usually when we talk, I’m a wiseass. Or a tease. Or whining for an orgasm. Or tweaking him (wait, does that fall under the category of smartass?!) about pinching his man nipples (he is alternatively confused and amused by this!) But this gig of his means that there could be someone there with him. And I know that he would have no qualms about answering his phone. And knowing that he might not be alone in the car adds a new dimension to the experience of talking with him, at least on my end.
And damned if He doesn’t know this.
Oh yes, that crafty Dom knows me *so* well. (I’d say inside and out but that would be overstating now, wouldn’t it?) So he knows that I’ll be cautious when speaking …just in case.
“Are you alone?” I asked him the other day.
“Nope, I’ve got Tony and Bill here with me. Say hi guys, this is nilla.”
I think I gasped. I might have swallowed my tongue. I …He…wha?????
I heard replies. I did. I swear it.
“Don’t forget you’re on speakerphone, nilla,” He reminded me at the start.
He left me stuttering for what to say. He’d ask me a question, teasing me, knowing that I’d answer with caution. Tentative. Long moments of silence as I pondered each reply to be honest, but not too risqué. He did call me his slut, I’m sure of it. But it was said somewhat quietly. Did they hear? Did they know? Did I care?(I did, kind of. I mean…did it really matter? No. Yes. No. I don’t know!
I was blushing, there in my car. I wasn’t visible except by voice. I was shy. I was nervous. I was…often at a loss for words, with Him coaxing some replies out of me.
“Nilla, I’ve never known you to be so quiet on the phone before,” he half-laughs at one point.
“Well…” I start, then falter, falling silent. What could I say to that?
He led me all around the barn with his conversation. He would be teasing me, then talking to them.
After about ten minutes, he finally says to me,
“hang on nilla, we’re stopping here. Okay, yes, you’re welcome. Sure the slut loved it.”
I hear the door of his car open, close. The sound of the car speeding up.
“Okay nilla, I’m back on the road.”
“Are you really alone, Sir?” I ask cautiously respectful, and not flippantly smartypants as I usually am.
“I am–as I have been this whole time.”
And again I’m aghast, “You–you–” I stutter, at a total loss for words. I seriously cannot believe that I fell for one of his slick jokes, again. He laughs, while I open and close my mouth a few times, breathing heavy into his ear. He is deeply, fully, richly amused.
“God!” He laughs. “I love those long, long moments of utter silence from your side of the phone, slut. If you were in radio, you’d just have wasted $5000 of air time!” He laughs again as I try to form a cogent thought. “You’re so fucking naive nilla–but damn that was fun!”