All week I had known I had thrown myself at you. Also, I knew I had been so dirty. Sex had never been like that before. It scared me and yet excited me. It also scared and excited me that you had made me orgasm so easily, that you made love to me in ways that I hadn't known and wanted to experience again and again.

We went to a concert during the week. You were a perfect gentleman. I was ashamed to know that what I wanted was for you to make me be rude again. The music was really good, leaving me breathless, and after we had a quick dinner before you drove me back to my flat. You just grinned when I asked you in, saying that you didn't want to push me too quickly and anyway I wasn't allowed fulfilment. I blushed deeply in the darkness within your car and I was mortified to hear myself plead, but you remained firm. I was so frustrated that night, yet somehow your firmness with me was reassuring. The Saturday following you took me to dinner and I was wined and dined. You looked so beautiful. Made me laugh. Kept me amused. Listened attentively. Usually I tried to keep unnoticed, out of sight even in a crowd. I dressed accordingly. Tonight I had wanted to be seen. I had bought a dress, which I thought showed my cleavage. I wanted you to look at me, notice me, want me.

As the meal wore on I was becoming more and more horny. My sex and nipples grew more and more itchy. In the past I had to be persuaded to have any form of sex. With you I was eager before any suggestion from you. I wanted to suggest it. I could almost beg for it.

All week I had wanted to masturbate far more often than usual. I tried to tell myself that it was simply that I had had sex again for the first time in a long time but it was far more. It was partially that you had awakened something lewd in me but also the knowledge that you had told me not to, my punishment. I was shocked. I could hardly believe it when you had told me my punishment, but there was something so exciting about it. Actually I had thought that it would be so easy but thoughts of what you had made me do drove me to distraction. I imagined all sorts of situations where I was in your power. I thought of the orgasms you had given me. I wanted you to take me, make me. Maybe you noticed something in my eyes, maybe you guessed. Maybe you wanted the same as me.

Over coffee you mentioned sex again for the first time in the conversation. You spoke casually as though it had been a continuation of our discussion.

"Have you been a good girl?" I knew what you meant.

"Yes." Looking at the table modestly. Blushing.

"Tell me properly, fully. Look me in the eye."

"I have been good for you." I giggled. Then serious, panting slightly, "I haven't masturbated all week. I accepted my punishment." My face burnt.

"Good. It's important that you can do as your told." My stomach churned. It was excitement. "Did you want to orgasm?"

"Yes." My face charred.

"But you also wanted to do as you were told?"

"Yes."

It had sounded so easy. I had almost laughed at the time. You had forbidden me to masturbate again until I saw you. I had hardly ever masturbated then. It was to be my punishment, and as you said an easy one. But in the coming days I found it wasn't quite as easy as I had imagined. Having to do as I was told was something new for me and it was definitely sexual. All week the thought of holding myself back from doing it left me with a level of arousal that, though sometimes low, had been with me virtually all day, every day. It didn't generally get in the way nor was it so strong as to make me give in to the desperation as to relieve myself, but it was always there. My arousal because of what you did to me, my arousal because I was aroused and couldn't do anything about it, my arousal at not being able to do anything, such a cocktail. After the concert I was frantic with need. I almost gave in, it was so near, but I was determined to prove to myself that I could do it. It got worse.

"In a few minutes I want you to take a cab to my house. I will follow separately. In the house I want you to go to the bedroom, strip naked, and wait for me. I want you to kneel on the bed, offering yourself. On all fours. Like a bitch on heat. Do you think you can do that? Do you want to do that?"

You couldn't ask me that! It was too rude, too wicked. We had only known each other a little while. I should have been angry that you could have even considered...

"Yes." I croaked. Throat dry. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I did. I wanted to be dirty, on heat for you. I was on heat for you I realised. I sat in a daze as you gave me a key and the position and code for the alarm, ashamed at how strong my arousal was.

A taxi was sent for. It occurred to me that it was far safer than it seemed. You had effectively given me a way out. I could direct the taxi anywhere. Not necessarily to the house. I climbed in. Gave your address. I had a strange desire to take off my underwear in the car, too panicky, the thought arousing though. If you had said... I couldn't believe what I was thinking, what I was doing.

I realised at the house how you were showing your trust in me. I worried that I had forgotten the code to the alarm. I slipped out of my dress. Hung it on a hanger in your wardrobe. Sat on the bed. I thought of last week. How I wasn't acting like the 'miss-goody-two-shoes' I had thought myself to be. I realised that time had passed in my daydreams. I took off my underwear. Naked now. Beginning to worry. Climbed up onto the bed. I was naked. Tried out various positions. Felt disgusting. Luckily my hair hung hiding my face but I wanted the blindfold soft against my face, wanted to know I had no control over this. My sex felt sticky and fat. I wanted to clean myself. The door! I quickly knelt, as your whore should. I couldn't believe I was doing this!

You came into the room. My breathing jangled my breasts. You were looking at me. I looked at the bed red faced. Embarrassed more by the knowledge of my arousal than by what I was doing. You moved behind me, told me to open my legs a little wider. Thought I could smell my arousal. The shameful agonies of displaying myself like this. Began to rise. Told to stay down. That was what I needed. You telling me. I couldn't do anything about it. You were making me. You stood next to me, dressed, whilst I was naked. There was something so arousing about being naked for you whilst you still had your clothes on.

Your hand stroked my back. Stroked my buttocks.

"That's good. I like you to show me your body. Do you like it?"

"My body?" I asked stupidly.

"Displaying yourself."

"I don't know. Yes. It's really embarrassing though." I closed my eyes.

"Does it make you feel naughty? Does it excite you as well?"

"Yes. Yes. It does. You make me want to be naughty." Your hand stroked over my skin. I felt it slip between my cheeks bringing a soft cry as it touched my little private opening, then it moved on.

"You're wet, such a bad girl." Just a statement, such a correct one. So humiliatingly wet.

"Yes." I croaked.

"Do you think you should be acting like this? Does it excites you so much that you can't stop, even though you know you should?"

"Oh God. I've never ever done anything like this before. You don't mind do you? Your not put off by me being so bad are you? You don't think I'm being... too disgraceful?"

"No. I love you being full of disgrace, offering yourself like this to me. Do you want to stop? Want me to stop?"

"Oh God no!" My face still red as I looked at the bed.

"Have you ever seen a bitch on heat?" That phrase!

"A dog? Yes."

"What does she do?"

"She offers herself to the male dog."

"How?"

"She lifts her tail so that her bottom is on display. So that it can see that she's aroused. She sometimes licks his penis." I felt myself push up even more for you.

Kneeling naked for you! Your hand stroking me. I knew I was on heat. My buttocks thrust. I wanted to lick you, to make you want me. I couldn't believe this was me here, doing this, thinking this! Your fingers played down the divide of my buttocks again. I pushed up rather obviously. Fingers pressing along the smoothness from back over my puckered private opening and found my wetness again. Whimpered. It felt good to whimper.

I felt so embarrassed. Horny. Kneeling there whilst your fingers rested between my lips, in the sticky warmth of me. A long deep moan came from me. Your other hand reached under me. Took a breast. Testing the hardness of a nipple. Almost painfully, but it was good. Fingers slid inside my body. In and out. You fingered me in my vagina and fingered my clit, and watched me respond whilst you did it. Tendrils of pleasure grasping out from both my breast and sex. Orgasm building. All too much. Displaying myself so sexually. Your fingers. Being so naughty. Not being able to stop you. You left me on the brink. I pleaded in vain. I heard myself pleading! It was so embarrassing to beg you give me release. I groaned, silently cursed, but stayed in position. For some reason it felt good that you wouldn't allow me to just because I wanted it. Bitter sweet.

"Are you a bitch on heat?"

"Oh God. Yes."

"Whose bitch?"

"Yours."

"I like you being on heat." It was a good job!

From my hands and knees I watched you undress. I so liked that. Enjoyed watching you. Your body hard. Your erection large, hard. God I wanted that. You looked so manly, so sexy. You wanted me. Yes. I aroused you. Joined me on the bed.

"Do you have animal needs?"

"Yes."

"Are you truly on heat?"

"Oh God! Yes! Yes. All week!"

"Lick me. Just your mouth. Not your hands. You're just a bitch. A dog. If your mouth is good I'll rut you."

Still on my knees I turned to you. Licked all over your hard throbbing cock. I was a dog, a hot bitch. I wanted your rutting. It was alive. Rubbed my mouth over it. Over your balls. Wanting to give. Your earlier fingering leaving me molten inside. Your cock smelt and tasted so masculine. I remembered the only other time I'd touched a cock with my mouth. Last week. Your cock was covered with your semen and my juices then, now it was just you, so male.

It was so hard, pulsed. Wanting you to enjoy me. Shaming myself before you and trying to give you pleasure. So exciting. Rubbed my face against you. Lost myself. Took you deep into my mouth. Almost gagged. It felt so hot and alive. Kissed you. Licked your knob, your veined length, and your delicate testicles. Inside my mouth again. Taking your gift.

"Stop." Unwillingly I did. "Turn around. Breasts and face against the bed. Display yourself. If you look good I might use you." Turned round. Bent my back to stick my bottom high. Onto my elbows. Legs wide apart. I knew what you'd see. Slut, slut, slut! Moving back and forth lewdly. "Put your hands behind you, as though tied." Oh God! Oh yes! My face and breasts pressed against the bed as I accepted my bonds.

Yes. Yes. You were going to make me again. Thank God, yes.

"Does that excite you? The thought of being bound?"

"I don't know... yes." My need was far too demanding for me to question why. It just did. A lot. Never mind the guilt, it felt right. "Yes. Yes."

Wanting you to be as excited as me, enough to want to rut me. You were. You did. You took me like a dog. I had never experienced it in this position; it made me know my place. You knew what I needed. It felt so good with your hardness so deep inside. Filling. Possessing. You thrust and thrust and thrust. I screamed in orgasm over and over as my face rubbed over the duvet. Impaled on your hard flesh. You just kept on until you was satisfied, my body used. It was so bestial, it was so good.

The next day you wouldn't allow me to put clothes on, not even my underwear. You kept me naked in the house. You didn't allow me clothing until you took me home. I felt so displayed, so exposed. I also felt so aroused. You kept touching me, arousing me more. It was so embarrassing. You kept telling me to stop covering myself. Whatever I was doing, sitting reading, walking, making lunch, your fingers or mouth would find me wet and ready to respond at your first touch. Often you would leave me crying out for release, desperate, but making me know I had to wait. At times you had me wear the blindfold too. I found it strangely exciting. Playing this game with you, my submissiveness, was so surprisingly exhilarating. You fingered me as I stood blindfold in the front room. I couldn't stop myself. I came as you watched me, and I couldn't see you.

"You know the punishment for that?"

"Yes." Another week of pent up, unrelieved lust.

Then you took my body with yours, unexpectedly as I still tingled from orgasm. You took me from behind again as you knelt me on the sofa. I wanted you to enjoy me.

You wanted me again on the way home in your car. I had never done it in a car before, though I knew many others who had in various cars. In the back, as ordered. You kissed me, I was yours. I even helped you take off my clothes. It was virtually outside! Up a tree lined little track, but it was just possible people would see. I was naked, spread over your thighs. I sank down on you. It filled me. I felt so exposed as you had me ride you. I knew my breasts bounced in front of your face as you brought me to the brink of orgasm. Held there, I felt your hands on my nipples as my hands were ordered behind my back. My vaginal muscles were contracting wildly. You told me to come as your fingers squeezed my nipples. Pulled them. My body did as you said without further urging.

I kept thinking about you. The girls in the office could tell I was having a relationship but they didn't know it was with you. Charlotte was keeping my secret. They were constantly making facetious remarks. Throughout the week I had been unable to stop thinking of the times we had been together. Once I had even begun to masturbate at work in the toilet without thinking. When I had realised that I wasn't to, it made it worse. I was really horny these days. Thoughts of what we had done. What you made me do. Your hands on me. Your use of me. Your strange and exciting demands. My willingness to comply. I loved it.

Another day. Another meal. I couldn't stop thinking of what I hoped you would want me to do for you later. I was certain you would have demands. Again, thrilling conversation but no mention of sex until coffee. Then you asked me about my sexual experiences. It would have been an inappropriate question with from anyone else. From you it wasn't somehow. It was a question that I had to accept and answer. I told you. All so boring, really boring in comparison. Afraid that talking about my past experiences would suggest that I didn't enjoy my new ones. Became tongue-tied.

"What are you trying to tell me?" You grinned over your coffee. Didn't you like sex?"

"At the time I thought it was, well, OK. But... it seems... it seems, well pretty dull looking back." I laughed nervously.

"Do you like sex with me?"

"Oh God yes! You know! It's not even vaguely the same thing! You can tell."

"What's the difference? I don't want compliments; I want you to tell me the differences. Do you prefer the way that I deal with you?"

"Yes. Oh yes." It seemed so forward. I looked at the table.

"And how is that?" I couldn't speak for a moment. My face was ablaze.

"You know."

"Tell me." A sip of coffee to take the dryness from my mouth.

"You tell me what to do, you take charge. I never realised. You make me do as I am told. I like to do as you tell me."

"How does it make you feel?"

"You know! It makes me so excited."

"And how do you feel about this new knowledge?"

"I don't really know. You... you make me feel vulnerable. Yet.... strangely secure. Vulnerable in a strange way. It's like you have responsibility for me. And... tell me to do things, things that I wouldn't have done if it weren't for you. I'd never have done them before. But I can't do anything about it. It's like I can't escape. You decide the things you want me to do. Naughty things. Things I shouldn't really do. Things... things I like doing. Things you make me do. Like rutting me like a bitch on heat. Like keeping me naked." I felt that I had spoken a long time. All in a rush. The pause after was as long for me, if not longer. Staring at my coffee cup.

"But things you find you like doing? Things that you want to continue doing?"

"Yes. Oh yes." My face scarlet as I admitted it. The tablecloth scorched by its proximity to my face. "I don't know why. I don't understand it."

"What do you want now?"

"I want.... I want you to make me.... I want you to make me... do whatever you want."

You took me back to your house. In the hall you kissed me. Your hands began gently undressing me against the wall. Quickly our joint desire overcame us. You tore at my clothes as our mouths continued joined. You impaled me against the wall, but only after you had made me to beg. After, there were my juices on the wall. And elsewhere too.