Tonight I'm going out with Viper. Yes that's his scene name; I'm not allowed to use his given name, one of his rules. We've been dating for almost a year, it's getting serious and lately he's raised the bar on his expectations. This is a good thing from my point of view, it tells me he's investing time and training into my submission and I'm pretty happy with the way things are going. Maybe he'll be the one that insists I stop dating. Maybe.

Viper has specifics for dress. I'm not allowed to wear slacks, not allowed to wear panties, not allowed to wear panty hose. My hair has to be free of hairspray and hair ties, my nails and lips must be red, no other color will do. When we're out I walk beside him, I hold his arm or we hold hands, every door is opened for me, every chair is held for me. When we're at a club, he never waits to be served, instead, he hands me money and sends me up to the bar to get our drinks. I serve him and we both like it that way.

I know how to prepare for Viper; my dilemma tonight is how I'll greet him. I know we're going out for dinner, after that who knows. I chose a straight, black, linen skirt with a cream translucent chiffon blouse and cream teddy. Viper likes class. He'll be here shortly and I have to be ready, ready to greet him in a manner appropriate to his specifications. It's one area I usually get to choose on my own but there are so many choices.

Standing in the middle of the room means he'll inspect me, if he's in a hurry, it will be done quickly, with a pinch of a nipple and the lifting of a hem to check for stockings and garters. If he wants to prolong his inspection he starts by circling me, looking me up and down. He won't say a word; he just looks at me, his eyes unblinking and his face stoic. He makes my knees tremble when he does this.

His hands enter the equation next. He runs them down my sides, sliding them forward to cup my breasts. He'll twist my nipples and I'm supposed to keep still, regardless of the electrical zing that charges through me. His hands will travel down my belly until they get to my waist, from there, they circle my ass where he squeezes my ass cheeks, digging his fingers deep into my flesh, sometimes he leaves behind tiny bruises in the pattern of his fingers.

My legs, no matter how far apart they are, are always pushed wider as he runs his hands down one thigh and then the other. On the way back up he'll often stop at the apex of my thighs and press a finger or three inside of me. To make sure I'm reacting as a slut should, is his excuse. I have never failed that part of the inspection. I'm always wet and I always gasp. But then, he's training me to be a slut, and I learn well.

If I kneel by the door for him, his response is different. He'll stroke my face, run my fingers through my hair. Often he'll press my cheek against his cock so that I can feel his hardness. I love that. My face becomes buried in his crotch, my teeth seek his zipper and I'll pull it down, my eyes bright with anticipation of his cock filling my needy mouth. Sucking his cock is my privilege, swallowing his cum is my pride. Wearing it is my humiliation and depending upon his mood either ending is equally possible. I leave the house with him with his cum on my breath or in my hair, but we usually leave the house.

Kowtowing is the wildcard greeting. I kneel either at the door or in the living room, my head on the floor, my ass in the air, bare, exposed, and ready for him. His options are many when I greet him this way. He can spank me and leave a bright red imprint of his hand on my white flesh, or he can torment my pussy, pinching and twisting my clit, threatening to enter me but holding back, making me wait, insisting on silence as he toys with me. He thoroughly enjoys keeping my orgasms at bay, it entertains him to watch me as I squirm and squeal and fight for control of my body.

By far my favourite reaction to a kowtow is when he chooses to take me and use me as the slut he's trained me to be. When he walks in and I hear him growl "Oh yeah baby." I know I'm about to be used for my prime purpose, his sexual gratification. I'm an object then, to be used as he wants, to fucked and be reamed, to be a receptacle for his seed and perhaps, if I'm very lucky, he'll let me orgasm too.

There's little or no warm up if he fucks my pussy. I hear his zipper come down, his pants drop and in moments he is plowing inside me, thrusting his cock into me deep and hard. He'll pace himself at times and slow way down, sliding inside me inch by exquisite inch, not allowing my hungry cunt to have too much of him too soon. He makes me match his pace and then he'll thrust hard again, taking me by surprise, shocking my body with tremors that I'm sure are going to split me in two. My pussy engorges and swells around his cock and he drives himself into me until my juices feel as if they are pouring down my legs and soaking the carpet.

When I'm that wet he'll pull out and charge into my ass and my scream of shock and surprise only encourages his thrusting. My moans become guttural and primal. Anal sex does that to me, I can feel my civility slip away, my mind gets lost in white noise and all I know is what I feel. My belly churns, my clit feels tight and ultra sensitive, my pussy throbs and I growl and grunt as my ass is attacked and soon I'm begging, near tears as I beg. I need to come, I have to come, I need to. Please Sir. Please. And when I hear "Cum slut', those magic words, I feel as if I'm exploding as my whole body contracts and my cunt pulses and my clit throbs. It's like no other feeling on earth.

We don't usually make it out of the house when that happens. By then we're both far to tired to care about any plans he might have had. We usually collapse on the floor and take our time recovering and then we start all over again but with bondage and crops and cuffs tossed in for good measure. I usually don't kowtow to him on an evening where we have plans that we shouldn't miss. After all, part of my job is to make sure we get to the places we need to go.

Tonight we are supposed to go out for dinner. Funny though, I'm not particularly hungry right now and he's going to be here any minute. I'm sure I could kowtow properly in this dress; it should hike up over my hips just fine.