Nobody likes to be thought of as arrogant, so I was a little taken aback when my girlfriend, Lorraine, laughingly said, “You are so full of yourself!”

She’s part of a local BDSM group, and we’d been talking about a gathering she was arranging for some of the dominant ladies. I casually mentioned I was willing to make myself available as a sub. I’m a big-time bottom. I love being under the feet of beautiful, aggressive women. It gets my motor running far more effectively than playing master. But I should have waited until my services were requested and simply concentrated on helping Lorraine plan her party. But by the time that thought dawned on me, it was too late. Rookie mistake.

“Do you mean it, though? You would seriously just hand yourself over as a sex slave to any woman who wanted to take you on,” Lorraine said, smiling slyly. She was as gorgeous as ever. Although with her blonde bob and glasses, my girlfriend looks less like a domme and more like a sexy mom selling homemade pies at a school bake sale.

“Well, sure,” I said, maybe a little defensively.

“OK,” Lorraine said calmly, and then she abruptly changed the subject to something wholly unrelated. Something about where we were going for dinner that night. 

Lorraine and I have been a couple for two years. We’d actually played together for about a year before we’d hooked up romantically; it’s long story. She’s pretty close to my ideal dominant, perfectly empathetic, tuned in to all my favorite mind games and sensual delights. For instance, Lorraine knew I was into anal before I did. She can tease me to the end of my rope and then pull me back in with barely any effort at all.

I particularly love playing bondage games with her. When I made my offer to service the ladies of the club, bondage was exactly what I had in mind. I pictured myself tied down naked on a table with my cock sticking straight up, surrounded by a bevy of stern beauties, all cooing and licking their lips as they debated what to do with me. And that was the image I had in mind for the rest of that day.

But BDSM scenes, like a lot of things in life, don’t always play out the way you expect.

I was busy with several projects for work, so Lorraine’s party came around a lot sooner than I’d anticipated. Held in Lorraine’s spacious backyard, it was an informal social affair, with more denim and linen in evidence than leather and chains. Lorraine had hired caterers to serve the guests, so there wasn’t much for me to do other than mingle and make myself agreeable. I knew most of the people in attendance, if only by reputation, but Lorraine knew them a lot better than I did. She introduced me and tried to include me in conversations, but I realized they were more interested in Lorraine and each other than me. So I eventually wandered over to the side of the garden, trying not to look sulky.

But soon enough, things changed — quite dramatically.

A young woman came up to me, approaching me directly. She was a stranger. I had never seen her at any of Lorraine’s gatherings or anywhere else I could remember. She was dark-skinned with a short hair. She had a petite, compact build and the same kind of slinky swing to her hips as Lorraine. She wasn’t at all dressed like a typical domme. She wore a short sundress and flat sandals that didn’t look very fetishy. But she also wore a wicked smile as she boldly appraised me.

I also smiled, albeit more nervously. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. She was looking me up and down with a sexy sparkle in her eyes.

“Come on,” she said finally, seizing my hand and tugging on it. I found myself floating along behind her, not resisting at all.

“Uh, where are we going?” I asked, as she was opening the back door to Lorraine’s home.

“You’re available, aren’t you?” she asked, looking over her shoulder and turning her unnerving smile on me again. “If someone else already claimed you, they should have posted a guard. You’re mine now.”

I gulped nervously. I looked back at Lorraine, trying to catch her eye, but she was talking to someone, and my claimant kept pulling me behind her. Before I knew it, we were going down the hallway toward Lorraine’s bedroom. And when we got there, I was surprised to see the bed covered with what looked like enough bondage gear to start three sex boutiques. There were hand and ankle cuffs, masks, arm binders, coils of rope, blindfolds — pretty much anything you might think of that could be used to bind someone — plus a few select toys.

I hadn’t seen Lorraine set out any of that stuff. But it was obvious she’d decided to take me up on my offer to submit to any and all of her guests. Maybe it was meant as a joke or a way to teach me a lesson. But I was becoming steadily more intrigued by the prospect.

“I’m Iman. You’ll address me as Lady Iman. Strip.”

I did as I was told, and my cock was already getting hard. I wanted to see how far Lady Iman was prepared to take things with me. But at that moment, I wanted to strip for her. I wanted her to tie me up and make me her slave — especially if Lorraine were watching. I hadn’t known I’d harbored any exhibitionistic tendencies until that afternoon, but life is full of surprises.

At first glance, Iman might not have looked like a mistress, but she definitely knew the ropes, if you’ll pardon the expression. In no time at all I was spread out naked on the bed, bound hand and foot. The unused restraints and toys lay on the floor in a pile. Iman sank down next to me on the bed and took her phone from her purse. She made a call and began speaking to someone in a language I didn’t recognize, all the while playing with my cock.

She laughed as she spoke to the person on the other end of the line, keeping her eyes on my oh-so-stiff dick. She ran her finger over my shaft from its thick base up to my swollen cockhead. I stretched my limbs on the bed in response to her light, ticklish touch. The chains connecting my cuffs clinked. A little pearl of pre-come formed at the tip of my dick, and I felt somehow embarrassed, as though I had lost control of myself. Iman laughed again, and when our eyes met, I felt my cheeks burn.

Who was she talking to? My imagination threw out a hundred dream dommes of every race and body type, and the burning I’d felt in my cheeks now heated the rest of my body.

Iman’s phone friend might even be a man. That possibility made me squirm, but before I could give it much more consideration, she hung up and looked me over.

“You’re very pretty,” she said. Hearing the word “pretty” had an oddly provocative effect on me. To be honest, it made me hotter than ever. I was more than ready for the real fun and games to begin. But all Iman did was press her cool palm against my cheek for a moment, and then, before I knew it, she was out the door.

I lay there staring at the ceiling and stewing in my sexual frustration. But I wasn’t unfamiliar with tease and denial. Besides, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Shortly after Iman left, the door creaked open and two women entered. One of them I recognized. She was a professional domme named Sasha, who had a daytime career as a ballet teacher. Her body, as you might expect, was amazing, and there was a subtly aggressive quality to her that made me wonder what it would be like to be alone with her when she was really, really horny.

Her companion was a redhead in a flowered dress; she was pretty but with a subdued air. Sasha was talking to her about something — some person they knew who had apparently done something unforgivable. She kept making gestures with both hands, and the redhead nodded distractedly. Neither of them acknowledged me. Suddenly, Sasha began going through the toys and things on the floor, helping herself to a couple of dildos and a bottle of lube. Was she going to demonstrate different penetration techniques for the guests out in the garden? Or did the dildos actually belong to her? I had no idea, and the women weren’t letting on.

Something about being so completely ignored while I was naked and obviously horny made me a little crazy. I tried to catch the redhead’s eye, without success.

I heard my phone shrilling from my discarded slacks. Sasha and her friend smiled at each other, then the redhead dug out the phone and answered it.

“Yes,” the redhead said in a surprisingly deep voice. “He’s right here. One second.”

She sank onto the mattress beside me and held up the phone, so I could see Lorraine’s face on the screen.

“Well,” my girlfriend said. “I see a few of my guests have taken you up on your generous offer.”

Sasha seated herself on the bed on my other side as the redheaded reached out and ran a fingertip around my right nipple, triggering such a ticklish sensation I couldn’t stop myself from squirming. She continued teasing me and assured me, “This’ll give you something to focus on besides what’s going in your ass.”

That’s when I realized Sasha was humming to herself as she lubed up one of the dildos.

Lorraine sighed pleasurably on the phone and said, “Get to work, ladies.”

So there I was, bound to the bed, as Sasha’s lubed fingers squirmed between my ass cheeks and wormed their way into my hole. Once she felt I was properly prepared, she worked a small dildo into my backdoor. I pumped my hips up and down as she fucked me and instructed the redhead to ride my face. The woman’s dress blocked out my view of everything but her hairless snatch. But I set myself to the task at hand, tonguing her until she came on my face noisily, and then doing the same to Sasha when the women switched places.

By the time they were done with me, my asshole was thoroughly worked over, and my face was fully glossed with pussy juice — and it was the best afternoon of my life.