The College: Receiving An Education

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Ellie had finished reading her husband’s concealed book by twelve.

I laid on the bed thinking and by twelve-thirty I had decided on my course of action. Getting up I walked to the wardrobe, opening both doors I looked inside at the rather basic clothes hanging there. When I had packed for our honeymoon I had never envisaged the type of thing that I now found myself looking for, but needs being what they were I could, I decided, improvise.

For starters, I would need these. From the floor I picked up my one and only pair of high heeled shoes, not that high really, which was disappointing, but they might help set the scene. Even improvisation requires a basic level of availability, and looking at the daywear in my cupboard, I decided that it is severely lacking in options.

Perhaps day-wear is not the answer; after all, the talk that I intend to have with Peter was to be of a very personal nature. Thinking leads to action and I quickly rummaged through my underwear. Selecting a white silk camisole top, no bra, I wanted him to see what he might or might not be getting. White matching Camay knickers pulled up tight into my crotch, just for effect. A further rummage produces a pair of tan hold up stockings. Taking both stockings and shoes I sit on the single chair and slowly slip my feet into the stretchy nylons, before easing the material up my extended legs. Next I extended my toes towards the waiting high-heels. I slip on first one shoe followed by the other, reaching down to flick the heel strap up behind my ankles of my black high-heeled shoes.

Then gently I allowed my fingers to trail up the flowing material, tracing my leg almost to the stretched tight material of the gusset, finally I stood up. Four steps and I was standing in front of the mirror admiring the effect I had created.

Damn good. Well, Peter, I think you would be stupid not to like what you are going to see. Satisfied, as far as I was able to be with my limited wardrobe, I walked to the bed and sat down. I imagined what I would look like to Peter when he walked in, what I was going to say to him and how I was going to say it.

The empty chair caught my attention. Standing again, I walked once more towards the high backed and uncomfortable looking thing. Ideal, I decide, pulling it towards the foot of the bed. Now all I had to do was wait. Sitting myself imperiously amidst the pillows, bolt upright and placing the book next to me, making sure it is in clear view, comfortable but nervous, I waited for him to return.

Exactly at one o’clock I looked up, having heard a tentative knock at the door. I had spent the whole morning planning this conversation out in my mind; building my determination to be in complete control throughout the whole time. I was surprised to find that now it was really happening, I felt knots of fear tying themselves together in my stomach. I took a deep breath and let it out. I told myself, make him wait, another breath and then you can begin.

“Enter.” The door opened revealing a damp haired, slightly disheveled Peter. He smiled at me, but received no such smile back. He entered and closed the door then turning towards me, his eyes widened in horrified recognition. He had seen the book propped up next to me resting against the pillows, its dark cover on full display.

“Sit.”

My finger pointed at the chair. I was finding it very difficult to keep a straight face, instinctively I want to throw myself at him and tell him how much I love him, but that was not in my plan. I kept my face straight and waited. What will he do, will he obey me and sit on the chair; if he does then I will know. What, I wonder, is going through his mind. I had already seen and noted the flash of recognition, and then the look of fear on his face, now what?

I watch as hesitantly Peter shuffled forward toward the chair, noting that he could not take his eyes off the book. He, I knew, could clearly see the black cover and single word emblazoned on its cover.

***

Peter was beyond scared!

My stomach had turned to jelly and now it began to flip. I felt like batter in a chef’s frying pan, slowly turning into a pancake. My balls tightened themselves into a twisted knot before vanishing upwards as my fear expanded. Before my eyes my whole world I thought, was going to fall apart again, damn my careless stupidity. So much for keeping my desires secret; what the hell, I’ve not even managed a single full day of married life. My legs shuffled forward, I could not trust myself to take a real step, I was certain that I would fail, I would fall crashing to the carpet, just one more humiliation to add to the fact that she had caught me out.

***

I watch as my frightened husband shuffled towards the chair, obeying my command! He sits before me, bolt upright, his eyes are unable to meet mine, fear of the unknown is written clearly on his face. I need to defuse some of his concern. ‘Smile’, I say to myself, smile at him, relax him. Show him that perhaps if he is very lucky all will be well. I felt the twitch of facial muscles pulling; control it, not too much I caution, then I let it out, the smile arrived and it was perfect for my needs.

***

Destiny exerted its strange and often wondrous effects! It caused me to lift my head just slightly, making cautious eye contact with my wife, despite my terror for my future I could not resist looking at her. The smile arrived; my heart did a double take, then boomed out, filling my ears with its beats, adding to the adrenaline boost which the smile released in me. A feeling of euphoria exploded, flooded me like a rain storm filling a reservoir; slowly drip by drip topping up, to a crashing wave the breaking crescendo of hope. It wasn’t I noted a relaxed smile, but one seemingly designed to convey reassurance.

***

I had never felt so alive, so in control, so powerful, as I did at that moment. There in front of me was a vulnerable, strong male, reduced to a state of expectant terror by a few simple words and a book cover. I didn’t want him too terrified; I wanted answers, truthful detailed answers. I needed to understand him, reaching out I picked up the book.

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

He sat silently just numb.

“Well, isn’t it?” I asked again, shaking the book at him.

“Yes!”

“You, I presume, have read it from cover to cover.”

Again there was no answer from him.

“Well?” I repeated. At this rate we would never get to the heart of this conversation, which I had so carefully planned out in my mind.

“Yes, Madam.”

“I take it that you like the bits about the captive and subjection?”

“Yes, Madam,” came the less hesitant reply.

What finally followed was a full and frank explanation of what he was, liked and desired. I wheedled out of him, and in detail, all about his previous marriage and the catastrophe that his desires had led to. I just had to smile again once I realised that he had intended to keep everything secret from me. I reassured him that everything was going to be all right, that his life was about to change, a little at least, but not necessarily for what he might consider the worst.

Together we decided that he would from then on become my slave; as for me, I would endeavour to become his mistress. Secretly I found myself wondering if I could keep up my end, I didn’t really have a clue as to what being a ‘mistress’ meant; hopefully I could learn and perhaps even enjoy myself a little. Between my thighs I found that I was distinctly moist, not unusual for me, but clearly it indicated that I had enjoyed myself to some degree during our conversation. I just hoped that I would be able to enjoy myself a lot more, whilst at the same time offering satisfaction to my new husband, and of course myself.

At least I was not the one to be told or expected to do this or that! I quickly realised from the story that I had read that it was my place to do the telling; but what exactly that would entail I was not too sure. There was one thing that I recognised instantly as a positive; I would never need to clean my house again. I hate cleaning; dusting, ironing, especially cleaning windows are my horror. If Peter wanted to be my slave, and clearly I understood that he did, then he would damn well be doing all of the dirty work. I will watch and perhaps instruct a little. The realisation made me smile once more; my future life with Peter offers some interesting potentials, if only I can learn to utilise them.

He, it seems, likes to be beaten and bossed around; that will be a new experience for me! I have never beaten anyone, nor really even thought about doing so! Well I have a reason to beat him, don’t I? His book and him not trusting me. Start as you mean to go on, I decided.

“You are in trouble already, Peter. You have lied to me and been caught out. For that you deserve to pay!” I did not give him a chance to answer the allegation. “We are going shopping this afternoon. I want to find,” I hesitate slightly, before the right words come to me, a cane. You are going to feel my wrath later; that’s something for you to look forward to.” I can see that he is obviously thinking about what I have just threatened, there was a bulge forming in his shorts as his prick became erect, despite the restriction of his clothes.

My thoughts had become distracted as I realised that I too was getting wet, little jolts of excitement flashed across my swollen c**t. I’m more than wet, I’m streaming; drips of lubrication run in rivulets down my legs, tickling against my inner thighs, adding spice to this situation, stimulated it would seem by the scenario I was playing out.

God I really just wanted to rip his clothes off and f**k him, not just f**k him but ride his pole until I could ride it no more. Restraint, wait you smutty b***h, wait. Satisfying my lust might appeal, but it would be a mistake to rush things and spoil everything for both of us, I caution myself. I can have that big fat erect c**k anytime I choose apparently.

Peter sat in front of me looking relieved. He was, I was certain, totally unaware of my thoughts, so being wet and randy were just an inconvenience to be tolerated and perhaps enjoyed. We talked some more, defining the situation, enforcing his position and my rights over him. Then having dressed appropriately, we went shopping together.