Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author's Note: this story was literally written under time pressure, in
response to a brief email exchange I had with a woman desperate to fulfill
a fantasy of being dominated while on her trip to Las Vegas.  She was not
going to have any significant time alone, but was desperate to have a
dominant encounter of some kind.  I wrote this to her, literally in 23
minutes on my commute home.  I fixed some spelling and grammar errors
afterwards, but all else remains the same.  I guess I wanted a challenge to
see how quickly I could conceive and commit a story.  Hope you like it.  As
always, all fantasy, no reality.

   Find all of my stories here:
/files/Authors/charlietwobeans ===============
Imagine:
You sit with your husband at the blackjack table, a smile on your face,
your most glamourous outfit worn, casually playing, half paying attention
as the cards are dealt, the chips are thrown, and the groans and cheers
float by.  You chose The Mirage casino tonight for your husband, insisting
that your friend told you it was a wonderful place to spend an hour
gambling.  You put lots of effort into this evening, preparation, planning
and primping to ensure all would go flawlessly, even if it is expected to
be a fleeting moment in time, and even if it has nothing to do with your

loving husband.

   Your eyes constantly go to the casino entrance.  You have studied the
email you received, and the image attached, for the last week to ensure
there can be no mistake.  His image is etched into your mind, his plan to
enter the casino and stand in a specific location to capture your eye has
been reviewed over and over.

   You see him enter, pause, catch your eye, and then walk to the
elevators. You quickly excuse yourself and whisper to your husband that you
must find the bathroom and you will be back in moments.  He obediently nods
and continues playing, never challenging you, as always, and never
expecting anything from you.  You reach the elevator in moments, breathless
with anticipation, and you see his hand holding the elevator doors ajar,
waiting for you.  Gliding on, your eyes remain on the floor as he assesses
you, breathes over you like an animal in the jungle.  His warm hand runs
along the nape of your neck, grasping it firmly.  His other hand is held
out, expectantly, as you quickly come to grips with reality and remember
what it is you should do.  Hands hike your dress as the elevator numbers
start counting up.  2...4....6....8...  You hook your thumbs into your
panties and whisk them off, ball them and place them in his hand.

   The elevator doors whoosh open and you obediently follow him, three
steps behind, eyes cast downward.  Opening the door to the dark room, you
are presented with the ball of panties, and you dutifully place them in
your mouth.  The scent of your own juices intoxicates you as you plunge
into the dark room.  Immediately you are on your knees, pushed down by his
hands on your shoulders and presented with his cock.  With no mouth to
satisfy him, you reach to stroke him and are rewarded with a light slap to
the cheek, not enough to leave a mark, just enough to tingle and make you
remember your place.

   He places his hand around your neck and guides you to the bed.  He is
aware of the time pressures you are under, but remains calm and cool as he
places you kneeling against the bed, face buried into the comforter.  You
are aware of his movements behind you, aware that he is pulling your dress
up to expose your naked flash, and you are aware of your own heady scent
permeating the room like a bitch in heat.  It is unmistakable, how aroused
you are.

   He turns your head to face him, takes the panties out of your mouth and
inserts his cock roughly, making you swallow his entire manhood in almost
one stroke.  His guiding hand behind your head holds you tight against his
body, his cock down your throat, your breathing becoming ragged and
difficult.  As he lets go, you pull back and your slimy spit archs from his
cock to your lips, and drools over your dress.  His cock is full of your
lipstick, and your makeup starts to run from your eyes as they water from
the strain.  Over and over, he performs this action, 5,6,7 times until your
jaw and throat start to ache.  He then pushes, mashes your face into the
bed and roughly spreads your legs apart, inserting a finger, then two, then
three, into your sopping pussy, and his thumb circles your anus.  A bead of
spit lands on the cleft of your ass as he works the thumb deeper and deeper
inside you.

   Staring at the clock, you think desperately about how much time has
elapsed.  As if on cue, he pushes behind you and his cock splits your
vagina, sending shock waves through your body.  Thrusting deep and hard, it
takes you a minute to come to grips with the searing pain and pleasure
between your legs.  You start to quiver and shake, an orgasm like none
other is imminent.

   He speaks to you, for the first time.  "cum you whore, cum for me you
cock slut, right now, explode and cum and shower that pussy juice all over
the floor"

   With those words, being called a whore and a slut, you explode with an
orgasm, and as you shiver and shake you feel the liquid leaking from your
pussy, your golden nectar.  He continues thrusting, not stopping for you,
enjoying his own pleasure, until he grabs your head and pulls you around
and shoves his cock roughly into your mouth once more.  Deep inside, he
begins to erupt, splashing your throat and tongue with his cum, hodling
your nose so you are forced to gulp.  Swallowing it all, you feel it warm
your insides and you realize what a mess you must be.

   At that moment, you see he has been holding a cellphone the whole time,
and you know it has been recording your shamefully slutty acts.  If this
ever made the rounds with your friends at home....the shame.

   He says to you "smile, your husband will love this."

   Your mind races with fear and anxiety, until you realize what a pushover
your husband truly is, and how this fantasy would all be wasted on him.  So
you smile, cum drops between your teeth, drool and spit and tears on your
face, and say to the camera "I fucking loved every moment."

   He picks up your balled panties from the floor and sweetly, tenderly
begins to clean your face with them.  Wiping cum and spit and drool, caked
on makeup, from your cheeks and lips, your panties, already soaked with
your juices, can only hold so much, but it is the act of tenderness that
astounds you.  This rough man who was moments ago thrusting his cock inside
you with abandond was now treating you like a little princess.

   He raises you from your knees and holds the cum soaked panties out for
you to step into.  Obligingly you do as he wordlessly commands, feeling the
warm and sticky mess wrap around your sore pussy, reminding you of what you
went through moments ago.  He guides you to the door, opens it, and places
a warm hand on your lower back and thrusts you out the door, a little less
tender than moments ago.  The door shuts behind you as you were turning to
say goodbye and to thank this incredible man.  You are left with only the
door slammed in your face.  Slowly, quietly you press your lips to the
door, linger a kiss against the spot where his chest would be, and whisper
"thank you Sir."

   Back with your husband, after a quick cleanup in the bathroom and a
scowl to him when he attempted to inquire about your slightly disheveled
look, your heart stops as you see Him approach.  His eyes are locked on
yours, His strong, firm stride directed toward your table.  You begin to
panick that He will make a scene, embarrass you, humiliate you in
public...and your pussy reacts in kind by gushing more fluid out at the
thought.

   As He approaches, his hand comes from His pocket to reveal the cellphone
He used during your encounter.  His hand reaches toward the back of your
neck, pinpricks spark all along your spine and your head starts to swim,
remembering how strong and firm His guiding hand can be.  He bends slightly
forward and says to to you, looking deeply into your eyes, "you dropped
your phone." The phone He places on the table is the same as was used
moments, aching moments, ago, to record your decadent descent into slutdom.
He places it on the table, then places your hand ontop of it, firmly
gripping your hand and speaking into your ear "you can never be too careful
with your property."

   As He walks away, your husband meekly looks at you in confusion, shrugs
his shoulders and continues playing his hand.  You fidget with the phone,
turning and spinning it, not knowing whether to bury it in your purse or
turn it on and show the whole table what a whore they are sitting with. 
You know He wants you to turn it on, so you fumble and eventually press the
right button to wake it up.  You are presented with a very simple screen
with only two icons, a video (obviously of your performance) and the phone
contacts application.  Curious to know, you select the contacts first, and
are presented with only two contacts: "Safety" and "Servitude".  You
shudder as you stare at the phone, knowing that this is your key, your
gateway to a world you have long desired, the pass to go from being the
boring, demanding housewife and mother to becoming the low, subservient
whore your bones have ached for since you were young.

   Your thumb strokes the screen, inching closer and closer to the contacts
as your brain fights to consider which path to choose, knowing the right
answer that has been locked inside your head, screaming to get out ....