Full Throttle Ch. 01

Full Throttle (Ch. 01)

soppingwetpanties

This is another one of David's fantasies dealing with unrequited submission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Chapter One

The chime of an arriving text message made Allen take notice, picking up his phone and clicking to a new screen. He was in the middle of a search online for a set of Mission-style display cases for a new client. The text from his girlfriend Emily was the third one that day.

Need to attend emergency budget meeting, pls resched dinner til 7:30, move pick up to 7. Love ya'

He sighed, but wasn't at all surprised. Emily was a department manager at a large corporate engineering firm. She had a disorganized but demanding boss who was always making last minute demands on his staff, usually in response to fire drills initiated by the home office in London. Their dinner had been planned for more than a week, as an infrequent formal outing to mark the anniversary of eight months together, but for the life of him he couldn't recall why that number was important.

Allen picked up his phone to dial Le Petit Amour, their favorite place for expensive meals, with them usually opting for the seven course prix fixe dinner, a decision they would no doubt regret after course number six. He changed the time and added a credit card to guarantee the reservation, thinking at the same time that "girlfriend" was really the wrong word. Like him, Emily was in her fifties, divorced long ago, and like him, a "mid-career senior professional," as the job posting sites euphemistically called people their age. The difference was that he had made his exit two years ago from corporate life, following his interests into a new life as a dilettante antiques dealer specializing in Arts and Crafts movement, with emphasis on Stickley and Limbert furniture.

He was able to make the transition due to a high six figure windfall from his last employer, a tech company that had gone public. With wise investing, he retired from the corporate grind in favor of a life of leisure, starting with a visit to The Stickley Museum at Craftsman Farms to hone his knowledge of the acknowledged leader of the movement and the Grand Rapids Art Museum to view exemplars of Charles Limbert's Dutch Arts and Crafts style. His newly adopted profession gave him the excuse to travel the country and to visit antique stores and websites to purchase pieces.

Allen was content with his new profession. He got to travel, meet interesting people, and trade in antiques he'd always loved. He lived in a modest Craftsman style home that was chock full of his "finds" from his buying trips. When he wasn't on the road he marked time at his small retail location in an out of the way location on the outskirts of Morristown, a bedroom community of New York City. There were plenty of well-heeled buyers in the Greater New York metropolitan area, and Allen was able to make a decent living (though a fraction of what he was making in his corporate sweatshop).

It was a late spring afternoon, cold and breezy with bright sunshine. Allen was staring out the display window of his store, watching the blossoms from the cherry trees flutter to the ground. It was a slow day, only two customers and three online queries. When he was bored Allen fell back into his old habit of reading and watching porn on the internet. Allen had always harbored submissive fantasies, but his ex-wife was repulsed the one time he asked to be humiliated (and never again) and Emily seemed as straight-laced as his ex.

He and Emily shared a lot of interests, but never this. They met through a mutual friend and started with meetings that fit her crazy work schedule, walking through scenic local towns then chatting over breakfast and coffee. Now they visited libraries and museums, piano concerts and antique shows, with casual meals at her house or at his. Emily liked her place best, and her bedroom with the brass bed and puffy floral print quilts. She liked tea served in bed, soft flannel nightgowns and comfortable shoes. He liked her generous breasts and slim thighs, the softness of her skin, and filling her warmth.

The sex was pleasant, even pleasurable, but wasn't one of the foundational elements of their relationship. He'd dropped a number of hints about his submissive desires but believed they fell on deaf ears. She didn't seem to like being naked outside the bedroom, or anything not described as "lovemaking" so Allen was hesitant to try anything new. Anal sex? He might as well ask her to fly to the Moon. Both of them enjoyed having their own space, and nights together were often sitting side by side, with each of them on their tablets enjoying their favorite show or browsing the internet. In the ultimate indictment of their relationship, Emily often referred to Allen as her "companion" rather than her boyfriend.

At age fifty-three, and not the physical specimen he was when he was in his twenties, Allen had resigned himself to being content and comfortable. The exciting times of his youth had faded into the mist of time.

It was only an hour to closing time and he had no appointments and no one in the store. He called up his favorite author, "soppingwetpanties," on the Literotica website and continued reading the "Mistress Elaine" series. Allen identified with David, the submissive man, and his thoughts dwelled on how he would have reacted to a dominant woman. He was starting to get aroused at reading about David's humiliation in front of his co-workers when a cool gust of wind announced the arrival of a visitor.

She was an attractive brunette, full figured but not heavy, maybe late thirties or early forties, with designer glasses. Her cropped haircut, tweed skirt and thigh high leather boots gave her the look of a professional woman, maybe an attorney or accountant.

"Hello, may I help you?" Allen asked her.

"You must be Allen Peabody," the woman said. "I've been on your website. Is that library table over there a Stickley piece? It looks like an original."

Allen beamed at her knowledge and taste. "Yes, you have a good eye. That's a Gustave Stickley from the 1901 catalog, from the original factory upstate. The top is a bit rough, but the color is good."

The woman went over to the table and ran her hand over the table top.

"Any repairs?"

"None that I know of," Allen said, then continued. "I noticed your car is in a "No Parking Zone." It's enforced until five and this town is pretty aggressive about giving out tickets."

The woman looked at Allen like it was his problem. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out the key to her car. She thrust it in front of his face.

"Do be a dear and move it for me. It's cold outside and I'm just warming up."

It wasn't posed as a question and Allen dutifully took the key without hesitation, going outside in his shirtsleeves and braving the wind. A cold front was moving in and snow was forecast for the evening. The woman had driven a Range Rover and parked it in a clearly marked "No Parking Zone." Allen was a bit nervous moving it. He'd never driven a vehicle as large or expensive as her car, and was anxious over scratching it while driving it in a narrow alley to access the rear parking lot. He was impressed by the appointments in the car - - the white leather, navy blue piping, and the plushness of the interior.

He pulled into one of the reserved spaces for his store and before he got out curiosity got the best of him and he opened up the glove compartment. In it was the car's registration and proof of insurance, but sitting on top of those papers was a long black dildo, the length and girth appropriate for a porn star. It wasn't in any packaging and looked like it'd been used many times before as it had lost its sheen and fingernail marks marred the end of it. He slammed the compartment door quickly, not quite believing what he just saw.

He was also trying to reconcile her professional dress and expensive SUV with something as crude as a sex toy in her glove compartment.

Perplexed, he went back into the store to meet his customer. He was chilled when he reentered but he shivered when he saw the woman sitting behind his desk scrolling through the story on his screen. He forgot to lock his computer when she arrived and she was apparently reading the story Allen was in the middle of when she arrived. The story was about David, a man Allen identified closely with - middle aged, divorced, with a submissive side that was never properly addressed. The woman was laughing while she was reading the story.

"Excuse me. That's my computer," Allen said, trying to retain some semblance of dignity.

The woman made no move to leave his desk.

Instead she said "sit down" and pointed to the guest chair next to the desk.

Allen had every right to ask her to leave his store, or at least surrender her place behind his desk, but he did neither. Normally he didn't like to be bossed around, but this was different. He was getting excited, sexually. She could see it from the very obvious lump in his pants when he sat down as ordered.

"You seem to be a man who knows what he wants," she said to him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," Allen said, seeing that this conversation was likely to become very personal.

"Jennifer DiPietro. I collect Stickley. I like that library table. It's a model 454, right? You have it priced at $14,000. I think it's worth no more than $12,000 given the condition of the top. I'll give you $10,000 cash, but you have to deliver... today... and you'll get your money when it's in my house."

Allen thought about it. He was into the table for $6,000 and it'd been sitting on the floor for over a year. Her offer was fair.

"All right," said Alan, pleased by the turn of events. He stuck out his hand to shake.

"There is one more condition..." she said.

"And that is?"

"Unbutton your shirt."

"What?"

"You heard me. Do it now."

Allen was befuddled. It was his store. People could easily see inside the store from the street, though no one was around. He'd just concluded a $10,000 sale. And yet he was seriously considering unbuttoning his shirt for this woman.

"Now!" Jennifer barked.

"OK, OK," Allen muttered. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the flaps out of his pants.

"I know what you want," Jennifer proclaimed.

"What's that?" Allen asked, truly curious.

"It's this," Jennifer said, getting up from the desk chair and reaching into his shirt and twisting his nipple.

"Ow!" Allen shouted. He went to reach for her arm and she used her other arm to stop him.

"No touching me without permission. Got it?"

Allen was instantly apologetic, taking his hand away. "I'm sorry," he said. His cock was pulsing in his pants. That development was not unnoticed by his customer.

Jennifer pointed to the computer screen. "Those stories are pretty dirty..."

Her comment elicited another apology.

"I'm sorry you saw that."

"Are you? Why?" Jennifer asked.

Allen thought for a moment. Why indeed? Should he apologize for his sexual tastes?

"I guess not," said Allen. "It's just that..."

"It's just that you're a slut Allen."

"I beg your pardon."

Jennifer pulled out her phone and opened an app on it. She showed him a video of him opening up her glove compartment.

"Where did you get..." Alan started to say.

"I had a security system installed on my car. It included a camera inside. Thought I wasn't watching, did you?"

"I'm sorry."

"There you go apologizing again. Don't apologize for who you are. Embrace it. You're a slut Allen. Just say it."

Allen's head was spinning. A few minutes before he was bored. Now he was about to admit to a strange woman that he was a slut. She'd gotten farther into his sexual proclivities in five minutes than his ex-wife and Emily did in a lifetime.

"OK. I'm a slut," Allen admitted.

A smile curled up on Jennifer's lips. "Good of you to admit it to yourself Allen." She handed him back the car key. "Now get the dildo that was in the glove compartment and come back here with it in your mouth."

Allen felt like he was going down the rabbit hole and into the great unknown. His life had been so predictable, and comfortable, up to that point, and now it seemed to be unpredictable and very uncomfortable. He had feelings for this woman, not romantic ones, but ones of service, submission - the very feelings he was hoping to have with his ex-wife and Emily.

Her outrageous demand seemed sensible to him so he took the key and went back out into the parking lot, shirt open, and got back into the Range Rover. He opened the glove compartment and looked again at the dildo. It was about the same size as a large banana. He wondered how he should present it. Sideways in his mouth, or lengthwise, like he was sucking it? He asked himself what a slut would do. Sucking it.

Jennifer was pleased when Allen came in with the dildo half in his mouth and half out.

"Let me get a picture of this," she said, holding up her phone to snap a picture.

Allen stood there dumbfounded, not believing he was letting this woman humiliate him in his own store.

She showed him the picture. It was every bit as scandalous as he suspected. He should have been horrified. Instead, he was hard as a rock.

"Why don't we post this on the store's website?" Jennifer asked. "Then everyone will know what kind of man you are."

Allen shook his head, the dildo waving in his mouth as he did so.

"No?" Jennifer asked. She went up to him and put her hand on the back of his head and used the other to force the dildo deeper into his mouth. He started gagging and drooling. Jennifer noticed that his cock was threatening to bust out of his pants.

"Looks like we have a problem here Allen," Jennifer said, pointing to the pronounced bulge in his pants. "Take your pants down and jack off."

Allen attempted to protest with the dildo crammed in his mouth. He was not successful.

"Do it!"

Allen got behind his desk so at least he couldn't be seen through the window. He dropped his pants and boxers and got on his knees. Jennifer mouth fucked him with the dildo while he stroked himself, shamelessly fastening his eyes on Jennifer's generous cleavage.

Jennifer had stripped away all pretense between them. It was liberating for Allen. He could be who he wanted to be, not the person he was expected to be. He proudly masturbated for Jennifer, his cock swelling as drool dripped off his chin.

She unbuttoned her silk blouse and pulled down the cup of her bra, exposing her voluptuous lily white breast and long pink (and erect) nipple.

"That's a good subbie boy," Jennifer said. "Now give me some of your delicious cum."

"Uh... uh...uh.. uh," Allen grunted. This was his dark fantasy. Under the spell of a beautiful, big-titted, wicked Domme. Jennifer could see that he was close and jerked the dildo out of his mouth and held it in front of Allen's about to explode penis.

"Fuck!" Allen shouted as his hot cum spewed out of his throbbing cock. Most of it coated the dildo. The rest splattered on the floor.

Allen squeezed his eyes shut, panting like a racehorse. It was the best, most glorious orgasm he had ever had. He was trying to savor the moment, but Jennifer had another agenda.

"Open your eyes slut."

Jennifer was holding the cum coated dildo in front of her face. She stuck her tongue out and flicked off a small wad of cum, making a show of tasting and swallowing it.

"This is what I'm talking about," she said. "Delicious slut cum." She held it out in front of Allen's face.

"Now you finish it. All of it slut boy."

Allen was living his dream. He lapped up his cum, all the while his eyes fixed on Jennifer while she watched him debase himself. It was a bittersweet moment for Allen. He was finally unleashed, a cum eating dildo sucking slut, the slut he wanted to be his whole life, yet bitter because he'd waited thirty some odd years for that moment. He licked the dildo squeaky clean and basked in his slutdom.

"Don't forget the floor slut boy."

There was no bottom for Allen. The dirt on the floor, mixed with his cum, was the sweet taste of submission.

* * *

Jennifer was sitting at Allen's computer reviewing his search history and surveying the porn videos and erotic stories he was watching and reading while Allen was vacuuming the back of the Land Rover. Jennifer had three dogs and didn't want a speck of dog hair on the library table she'd be transporting back to her house with Allen's help.

Jennifer called Allen's phone, whose number was now on her speed dial. She'd also downloaded the contents of his "Contacts" list.

"How's it going slut?" she asked.

"It's almost done Miss Jennifer," Allen said deferentially and without an ounce of complaint even though he was covered in dog hair (she had three border collies) and sweating. So far it was the best day of his life.

"Call me when it's done and I'll come out," she said, sounding bored. She was watching one of Allen's downloaded videos, one of his favorites, where a paunchy middle aged man was cropped and then fucked up the ass with his Mistress's dildo. The sub dutifully cleaned the dildo with his tongue after the vigorous ass fucking. She laughed to herself when she thought about how much fun she'd have with Allen. It was clear he'd been sexually starved his entire life, and what was he, fifty? sixty? He had to make up for a lot of lost time and it was clear he'd do anything for even a morsel of attention from her.

She was in the middle of one of the Literotica stories that Allen had marked as one of his favorites. The protagonist, David, was humiliated in a number of perverted and highly arousing ways, including watersports, cum eating (which Allen had already demonstrated adequate proficiency), and wearing ill-fitting women's clothes to a dressy cocktail party. Her phone rang, interrupting her reading. Allen reported he was finished.

Jennifer changed the password on Allen's computer before signing out and then donned his winter parka. She'd left hers in the car and told Allen to perform his chores bare chested. He was actually grateful to be naked from the waist up as the job of cleaning up the dog hair from three border collies was a painstaking task. By the time he was done there was a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his mixed dark and white chest hairs.

"Let's see how you did," Jennifer said to Allen, peering into the back of the Range Rover.

She spent several minutes inspecting the seats, the floor, and then the rear storage area. She pulled up the rubber mat covering the storage area and found a single white hair.

"Normally I'd punish a slut for an infraction like this but being that you're new I'll overlook it. Otherwise you've done a good job and will receive your reward."

Allen's ears perked up at the mention of the word "reward." Jennifer smiled when she saw Allen's reaction, like a three year old hearing the word "present."

"It looks like you're interested in your reward. I'm going to give you two options. Believe it or not I'm not a vain person, but I know you're infatuated with my body because of my outstanding tits and ass. That much was obvious when you were jerking off. You certainly like my tits. So I'm going to give you the choice of sniffing my pussy or asshole. Are you into pussy or ass slut?"

Allen wasn't expecting a reward and never had that kind of choice posed to him. He wanted both. Jennifer was the embodiment of what he wanted. She was attractive, maybe a bit shorter than he'd hoped for, but she had big, melon size tits and a generous booty along with a nasty disposition, heavy on the sex factor.