First Time Submissive - Sex Stories

First Time Submissive

... street. On this early afternoon, the blinds are down, filtering the harsh light from outside.

The kitchen area is set up as close as possible to the entrance and windows. Just beyond, a long solid wood table, framed by benches, defines the dining area. The living room is further back, in the slightly darker corner. An imposing leather sofa occupies almost an entire wall, opposite it are two toadstool armchairs and, in the middle, a massive coffee table on a thick carpet.

“Come and sit down," Virginie gently invites me as I make my way into the living room.

She settles comfortably on the sofa and I sit nervously in one of the armchairs opposite her.

“How are you?" she asks me warmly.

“Stressed.”

She nods, smiling.

“I understand. Don't worry, I'll be fine. You'll love it.”

“It's my first time and...”

“I know all that," she cuts me off gently. “I'll be careful. And you'll always have the chance to stop. You know that, right?”

I nod nervously.

“Good, now you need to get ready. The bathroom's over there," she says, pointing to a door at the back of the living room. “You'll find some accessories there. I want you to put them on and then come back here.”

“All right.”

“When you come back. You will wait for me on your knees in the middle of the room. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Completely naked,” she says.

This last piece of information makes me swallow nervously. But I nod in agreement.

“Perfect then. I'll get ready too. See you ...

... soon.”

With that, she gets up and heads for another door, her bedroom door. As she disappears, I rush into the bathroom.

On a small cabinet next to the sink and shower, I see the accessories she's left for me: leather handcuffs for wrists and ankles with metal rings and snap hooks.

My mind's already stopped thinking as I hurriedly undress and close the leather ties around my wrists and ankles. I check that everything is in order and tight, then return to the living room.

Virginie isn't here yet. As she ordered, I kneel down in the middle of the room and wait for her.

A few minutes later, she emerges from her room. And it's not the same woman who appears before me. Goodbye jogging pants and T-shirt. She's now wearing a black bustier that hugs her waist and pushes up her round breasts. Her long legs are molded by thin black stockings held up by a garter belt. At the top of her thighs, black satin panties conceal her intimacy. The thin tips of her high heels rattle as she moves towards me.

Her hair is now tied in a long braid that hangs down her spine, accentuating the oval of her face. A line of black mascara highlights and lengthens her almond-shaped eyes, and dark lipstick adorns her lips, giving her a stern, austere air.

When she stops in front of me, I can hardly breathe. Instinctively, I lower my head.

“Good reflex," she comments. “You didn't look up. That's good.”

She pauses and I feel her hand on my face.

“Today, exceptionally, you can do it. ...