Erotic Short Stories

Disobedient

After several days of waiting, I finally received the letter in the mailbox. The envelope, a reddish hue that captured the sunset light, was not explicit, but its vibrant color instantly let me know it was the long-awaited invitation. In elegant calligraphy and deep black ink, it read my name preceded by "Miss."

I rushed up the stairs, feeling like a fifteen-year-old girl. Upon reaching my floor, I locked myself in with the haste of someone guarding a treasure, sat on the floor in front of the door, and barricaded it, even though I knew no one would come. I opened the envelope delicately and discovered a formal invitation, as solemn as those for a wedding or a funeral. The paper listed the date, place, and required attire. At the end, it specified the desired color of the lingerie.

My heart beat with an unknown intensity. I held the invitation to my chest, flooded with happiness and impatience. There were only two days left, but the preparation for that night had to begin immediately. Much had been murmured about these invitations, and finally, one of them was mine.

The next day, I embarked on a shopping spree. In the most exclusive lingerie store I found, I looked at myself in the mirrors and received only compliments from the saleswomen. They admired my body, especially the muscles in my back and the attributes that so attracted men. They suggested lingerie sets that enhanced my figure in such a way that I could hardly believe it was me reflecting in the mirror.

Finally, I decided on a set adorned with delicate metal elements that ran down my back, my abdomen, and from the garters down to my knees. I never would have imagined buying orange lingerie, but if that's what the master desired, I would obey without question.

As I left the store, a concern settled in my mind: what would happen if I didn't attend the appointment with the lingerie color requested by the master? The doubt about disobeying intrigued me so much that I returned to the store and bought a second set that had also captivated me, of the same design but in a vibrant fluorescent lime green.

On the day of the appointment, I put on the green lingerie and over it, a black dress that concealed everything. I did my nails, both hands and feet, and also my eyelashes, knowing that the master liked them long. Finally, I decided to curl my hair.

At seven o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang: it was the limousine driver who would take me to the master's residence. I would be one of the first to visit his home. Usually, the appointments were held in hotels or rented houses, but this time, tired of the displacements, he decided to open the doors of his mansion. Thus, he welcomed me at the entrance. He was everything I had imagined: a tall man, sculpted body, trimmed beard, well-groomed hair, and a posture that denoted wealth, accentuated by the majestic garden that separated the entrance door from the house.

"Good evening, Avril," he said with a deep, masculine voice, extending his hand to help me up the stairs.

He led me to the living room, where a bottle of French wine and two glasses awaited on the table. He poured the wine to the rhythm of a soft jazz that I instantly recognized: my favorite.

I sat elegantly in front of him, who settled into his armchair, crossing his legs while observing me intently. He studied me with the attention of someone who had already conducted an exhaustive investigation. Thus, he started a conversation about my tastes, demonstrating knowledge of my preferred coffee, how I took it in the morning, and even which gym I attended.

Time flew by, almost an hour, and my nerves began to dissipate, but he brought them back with a simple question I had been waiting to hear:

"Shall we go to the room?"

I tried to maintain composure and appear confident. I placed the glass on the table and stood up. I nodded my head, and he indicated that I should follow him. I took his arm for him to guide me to a vast room decorated with paintings, sculptures, and so many works of art that it was difficult to remember them all.

"Undress," he ordered as he closed the door.

I turned around, continuing my contemplation of the bed while sliding the straps of the dress. Suddenly, with firmness, he stopped me.

"You didn't read the invitation; I asked for another color."

"I read it," I responded timidly but defiantly, "but I wanted to wear this one."

He let go of my arm and headed towards the door.

"In that case, I ask you to leave. I cannot work with someone who doesn't know how to follow the rules."

"I like to break the rules," I replied, pulling the straps back up and walking towards the door. "I know how to obey when necessary," I added, and before completely leaving, he grabbed me by the neck firmly. He turned me around and pressed his lips to mine with overwhelming passion.

"I see how you are," he said, heading to a cabinet from which he took out a collar adorned with rhinestones, which he placed around my neck.

He pulled the collar, making me lose my balance and forcing me to fall to my knees.

"I have a special place for you."

Descending the stairs on my hands and knees was a daunting task, but the excitement of being led by the master filled me with an unprecedented sensation, a mix of submission and exaltation that I had imagined so many times but never experienced. I felt like a true bitch, a long-repressed desire that was finally materializing.

The cold marble seeped to the bones, but no physical discomfort prepared me for what was to come. We entered his study, a vast room filled with books and shelves that rose majestically. Behind the desk, a thick wooden door opened silently, revealing a dark room decorated in red and black tones, where various sexual toys hung, leather straps, and whips, each with a different braid, like instruments of an orchestra of pleasure and pain.

"Stay there," he ordered, pointing to a corner of the room where a red carpet covered the floor.

He took one of the whips and approached me.

"Show me the lingerie you're wearing."

When I took off the dress, the whip fell on my skin with a snap. The pain mixed with a strange form of pleasure, and I understood this was what I had been waiting for. The second lash drew a cry of pure delight from my throat.

"On your knees."

I obeyed instantly. The master unzipped his pants and I brought my face to his sex, but he stopped me with his foot. He took my hands and tied them behind my back.

"You're a disobedient slut," he said. "Disobedient sluts can't use their hands."

Hearing him call me that filled me with an unknown sensation of happiness. Enclosed in his playroom, that word resonated within me, instilling a strength and sensuality I had never felt before.

Once more, he stood in front of me. This time, I could fulfill my duty, taking his member into my mouth. The lack of my hands made the task difficult, but I had to achieve it. He assisted me, placing his hands behind my head and holding me by the sides. He thrust into my throat deeper and deeper until he decided to take complete control. With the whip at the back of my neck, the master kept me in one position, moving his body in and out of my mouth with an unrelenting rhythm. His moans intensified and suddenly, an explosion of pleasure filled my throat. He didn't give me time to savor it; I swallowed all the semen. He pushed his member even deeper, and so it ended.

He took my cheeks with two fingers and said:

"When you learn to obey, you can savor."