This story is fictional. As I wrote it I realized it would be too long for one story so I’ll write and post more parts if people are interested. I apologize for the overly long introduction but once I started writing I just kept wanting to add more. If you’d like to skip ahead to the humiliation and sex I’ve marked the start of that a few paragraphs down.
Hello, my name is Liam, and this is the story of how my first mistress led to my second.
Deviant, horny, perverted, twisted, kinky, all terms which I could not honestly deny are characteristics that define me; at least they define a part of me. I’m an introverted 20 something man with an average college education living in an average house and holding down an average job. That is me during the week, on the weekends I’m a little less average.
I’ve grown up in a house peopled with professional musicians and have myself been playing the guitar for nigh on two decades. I play in a regionally known cover band, playing hard rock hits mostly from the ’80s but some modern as well. We play large bars, casinos, festivals, rallies, and the like. A common theme at these gigs are the drunk women. As I’m the youngest member of the band by 10 years and am the only one single it’s truly not difficult to find a hot young woman with whom to spend the night. She may regret her decision in the morning but fuck if I care. Single, married, black, white, as long as she’s hot or seems like she’d be good in bed I’ll take her…and I have. I’ve a special weakness for redheads and Asians, but that’s unimportant to the story. Based on these words one may think I value women as little more than sexual objects and enjoy dominion over them. That is, however, untrue.
The truth is that I just love sex. The fact that I choose to have sex with women doesn’t mean I respect them less than men, I just like vaginae. Some may also say I simply enjoy the conquest of women. Well sure it’s fun to experiment with different ages, races, and sexual personalities; but again I mostly just like sex. In fact I would contend that the women desiring a guitarist in a band were more exhibiting acts of sexual conquest (I don’t mind though). In terms of dominion, it is crucial to this story that I point out my strong tendencies of sexual submission towards women. I’ve known since I was about 8 years old that I’m very submissive to women, before I even knew what sex was. Perhaps someday I’ll write about the circumstances leading to that revelation. Unfortunately my post-concert flings with drunken party girls were normally just suck and fuck sessions of mutual usage of the others body. Still great fun, but never an introduction of any role play.
I should now describe to you my first mistress. She is my most cherished guitar that I play at all my concerts. I’ve decorated her with colors and accoutrement that invoke images and thoughts of bondage and sado masochism to me. I’ve named the guitar Omphale. Omphale is a character from Greek mythology. As punishment for a wrong doing Heracles (Hercules in Roman mythology) was forced to be sold as a slave. The winning bidder was a queen of Lybia named Omphale. Omphale dressed Heracles in women’s clothes, made him do women’s work, and turned him into not only her physical slave but also her sexual slave; and Heracles greatly enjoyed this. I have “Omphale” spray painted in big letters on my guitar case. I’d never met anyone who understood the reference until one night at a particularly fateful concert.
As I was putting away my gear after an average gig a young woman approached me. She saw me putting away my guitar and noticed the name “Omphale” on my guitar case. “Omphale” she said. I looked up at her as I knelt over my guitar case. I replied “Yea, that’s what I named my guitar. It’s from Greek mythology.” This was my standard answer when someone would ask me why my guitar had such an odd name. “Oh I know it is” she said. “Does that make you Heracles?” I looked up at her again, she was beautiful. She was of petite build, pale white skin, and dark straight hair. She accentuated these physical characteristics with large black rimmed glasses; those ones that nerdy people wear when they’re proud of their nerdiness. She seemed to be about my age, mid 20s or so. She wore tight black pants with white pin stripes, a short sleeved ruffly white shirt, and a black vest. I gave her a knowing smile and replied “I guess it kind of does.”
Start here for the humiliation——————————————————-
“Do you like wearing women’s clothes?” she asked. She didn’t say it in a mocking way, she seemed to actually be curious. Truth be told I often wear women’s thongs when I’m playing a show. It excites me and consequently gives me more energy and presence on stage. I normally didn’t let the women I slept with know that though; I’d slip into the bathroom and remove them before we got down to the action. I also wear black eye liner, pretending it’s because I’m in an ’80s cover band. I looked at this beauty considering how I should answer. I was in a town miles from where I lived, didn’t know this girl, and figured ’what the fuck, I’ll just tell her the truth.’ “Sometimes, yes, I wear women’s underwear.” I thought I noticed her eyes brighten a bit, might have been my imagination. “Are you wearing them now?” she asked. I couldn’t really read her intent so I again just opted with the honest answer. “Yea, I am actually.” She smiled slightly and said “Show me.” I gave her a look with a cocked eyebrow. She wasn’t drunk, at least she didn’t exhibit any signs of being drunk which made this seem an odd request.
Her smile disappeared and her tone became more harsh. “I said show me” she repeated. I chuckled, “Maybe a little later. I have to finish putting away my stuff and help tear down the rest of the equipment and load it into the truck.” She looked down on me in a superior manner. She placed her hands on her hips and spoke again more forcefully but still without raising her volume “Show me now!” I stopped packing up my guitar and just stared up at her. You must understand that I love being talked to this way by women. It cuts straight to my desire to be sexually submissive towards women and I want nothing more than to do what they say. “I’m waiting” she added. I looked around quickly checking to see if anyone was paying attention to me. The rest of the band was distracted tearing down the equipment either on the other side of the stage or back stage. “Go on” she said. I slowly undid my belt as inconspicuously as I could and unzipped my fly. I continued to glance in all directions. My heart was racing like an F1 engine, I was incredibly excited and turned on by this situation. Still on my knees I quickly parted the waist of my pants and pulled them down slightly to give her a glance at my light blue and white striped cotton thong. It had small strips of white lace along the edges. I quickly replaced my pants onto my hips and darted my eyes around looking to see if anyone had noticed my act. I’m sure my face was very red.
“I didn’t get to see the who thing” she said as I looked back up at her. “Turn around and do it again, let me see that nice looking ass.” I managed to choke out a few words. “I can’t do that, there’s people all around.” She took a few steps towards me and hunched down in front of me, joining me on my level. She spoke to me in a quiet voice “I like the way you play and the way you move on stage. Those things say a lot about you and I find you very attractive. Now I’ve been looking for a man to have some fun with and if you’d like to have fun with a woman who will treat you the way I can tell you like to be treated you’ll do as I say.” I looked dumbfound at this phenomenal person. She stood up and took a step back replacing her hands on her hips. “Now show me your ass.” My heart hadn’t slowed and my excitement only grew. Again I discretely undid my pants. I turned around and fiddled a bit with my gig bag trying not to attract attention. I grabbed my pants and took a deep breath. I nervously looked around again and saw the drummer glancing over towards this woman and I. “Now!” she said sternly. “I don’t care who’s looking, just do it.” I looked back at the drummer and saw he was now looking down. I hoped he wouldn’t look up and pulled down the ass of my pants and showed this sexy woman my thong. I quickly pulled them back up and began to stand.
As soon as I was on my feet and buckling my belt, my back still towards the young woman, she wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her right hand immediately dove down into my pants and her left ran up my torso under my shirt. She pinched my left nipple with her fingernails and squeezed hard. I let out a breathy gasp at the pain. Her right hand was now squeezing my dick through the thong. I was quickly getting an erection. She rested her chin on my shoulder and whispered into my ear. “What’s your name?” she asked. “Liam” I answered also in a whisper. “Liam, my name is Olivia. You may call me ’Olivia’ when we are in public, but behind closed doors you will call me Mistress. I will call you ’Slave’ whenever I wish. If you disobey me you will be punished. If you ever feel you must refuse to do something I have commanded you to do or you feel your punishments have become too much you are free to tell me so and I will no longer be your mistress. Do you understand?” She pinched my nipple hard and now grabbed my balls and gave them a slightly more than gentle squeeze as well. I gasped slightly at the pain. “Yes, I understand.”
She slid her left hand down into my pants and grabbed the thong. With both hands she yanked seemingly as hard as she could on the thong. It dug into my ass and balls and was a little painful. She pulled the waistband well out of my pants and finally something snapped and the thong was pulled off my body and out of my pants. I looked around again to see if anyone had noticed. People were still milling about on the other side of the stage and I had no idea if anyone had witnessed this girl pull my women’s panties off of me. “Do you have a pen?” she asked. I bent down and looked through my bag, I did have a pen. I handed it to her and as I stood facing her she wrote something onto the thong she’d ripped off me. “Open” she said once she’d finished writing. She was indicating for me to open my mouth. I did and she shoved the thong into my mouth. I’d been sweating through the concert and needless to say my underwear which had been rubbing against my crotch and stretched up my ass did not taste good. I gagged slightly as she pushed them in with her finger and then closed my mouth by pressing up on my jaw.
“I wrote my email address on those. I expect you to email me a schedule of your shows. I will meet you at those shows and you will pay for my gas and cover fee if one applies. You will keep those panties in your mouth until you’re home tonight. Is that understood?” I pushed the thong to one cheek and answered “Yes, I understand.” She gave a satisfied nod. “Good. I’ll see you next weekend slave.” With that she turned and walked away; her ass in those tight black pants was amazing. I went back to work packing everything up, the unpleasant taste of the underwear not getting any better. When I finally got home that night and removed the thong from my mouth it was soaked in saliva. I immediately emailed Olivia my gig schedule and masturbated while reflecting on the events of the evening. The taste of the panties lingered in my mouth all through the next day.