Molly and the New Editor Pt. 02

(authors note: like pt 01, more D/s than BDSM)

Molly was trying to reach a decision, and was on pins and needles about it.

A while ago, she'd met her new editor, Gwen. Gwen had implied that the only way that Molly's writing would improve enough to be publishable would be for her to experience firsthand the situations that she loved to describe in her stories. To that end, Gwen had Molly perform fellatio on an associate editor, Thomas. Molly also had to perform cunnilingus on Gwen herself. Both of those individuals had praised Molly's abilities, even though she'd felt rusty about giving a blow job, and had never eaten another woman's pussy before.

At Gwen's suggestion, Molly had hurried home and jotted down extensive notes about her experience. She'd done so, and then written a couple of new short stories, incorporating those elements. She drew upon the tastes, smells, sounds, and textures that she'd encountered, plus the feelings that doing those things evoked in her. After she'd submitted those new works to Gwen, the editor called her several days later and said, "Get dressed up. I'm taking you to a dinner party."

"What? When? Where? Why?" Molly blurted out, surprised.

Gwen laughed. "All you missed was 'how' – and the answer to that is 'in my car' – be ready in two hours."

Molly was miffed, but excited. Miffed, that Gwen assumed Molly'd be at her beck and call, with no previous plans. Excited, because something so mysterious was titillating, compared to her normal, humdrum daily life. She showered, did her hair and makeup, and put on her best dress, all with 15 minutes to spare.

Gwen did pick her up – in a lovely town car driven by a chauffeur. As they sat, chatting, in the rear seats, it was all Molly could do to keep from bouncing up and down with excitement. Eventually, they arrived at a large private home, more like a mansion. All of its windows were lit up, and they could hear soft music coming from inside as they approached the door.

Once they were admitted, Molly was shocked to learn that she and Gwen were guests at this dinner party, attended by the Board of Directors of the publishing firm. During the course of the evening, a dazzled Molly learned their opinions of her prior efforts in comparison with her latest writings. There seemed to be a consensus – many things were said, and they could be summarized by what one woman member of the board said to her.

"My dear. What an improvement! Prior to this, your writings were so banal. I hate to put that so bluntly. But Charlie insisted that you had potential. You were sort of a 'pet project' of his, I gather, so we tolerated it. Apparently, it took a woman like Gwen to give you the proper direction and motivation for your talent to finally blossom. This is why she is being fêted tonight as well." After a brief pause, the woman confided, "Your latest efforts got me quite aroused, I must admit." She finished with a whisper, "And my husband reaped the benefits later in our bed. He got quite inspired himself."

Molly left the dinner party flushed with success. That feeling of success was tempered with the humility of realizing how one-dimensional her writings had apparently been before Gwen's intervention. The members of the board were in agreement that her latest stories seemed to be much more alive and real. So, it looked like Gwen certainly had the right idea in trying to broaden her horizons. Also, the dinner party brought Molly to the realization that Gwen's success was at least partly tied to Molly's success, so maybe the woman could be trusted to be acting in Molly's best interests, in the long run.

To that end, Gwen wanted her to subject herself to more sessions like the one she'd had, suggesting that she probably needed to be fucked, and have her pussy eaten, too, and hinted she could provide these things to Molly. "I'd loved to be fucked by some handsome, lusty man, and have his mouth at my cunt," Molly admitted to herself, mentally. "But come to think of it, Gwen didn't specify whether the fucking would be oral, vaginal or anal." Even though she'd given blow jobs in the past, she didn't think any of them would qualify as a mouth fucking. And she'd never had anal sex, although she loved fantasizing about it in her stories.

Another thought occurred to her. "Gwen never said a man would be the one giving me cunnilingus. What if it's a woman? What if it's Gwen herself?" Even though she'd enjoyed eating Gwen's pussy, she wasn't sure she was ready to have a woman's face at her cunt yet.

But the thing that was really making Molly hesitate was Gwen's statement about bondage. She'd said something like, "Since you seem to like to write about bondage in your stories, I might have to arrange some experiences along those lines for you, if you want your stories to sound plausible." Molly remembered her first impression about Gwen. She recalled the cold cruelty she felt when she first met the woman. Her 'butch-like' appearance, and the aura of power that she radiated.

Molly was perhaps justifiably apprehensive about what such a woman might feel would be an appropriate bondage session. To what sort of 'training' she might have in mind for her. Molly had tried to get some ideas by calling Gwen, and asking who she had in mind to fuck her and eat her cunt, and asking her what sort of bondage experience Gwen could provide.

Gwen said, "Well, Molly, you'll just have to show up and find out. Anticipation and mystery are powerful stimulants, you know."

Being honest with herself, Molly had no problem with the idea of being fucked, even by a stranger. It'd been too long since she'd experienced that. And having someone dine on her cunt – well, that could be heavenly. Molly pressed her thighs together when she imagine that happening. She pressed them together even harder if she thought that a woman might be doing it, now that she was growing accustomed to the idea.

But the idea of putting herself into someone else's power – of being bound, perhaps by a stranger – that was scary. But Gwen was insistent that Molly experience all three things. "This is not a menu, where you select things à la carte. You're either up for this experience, or not. Didn't your first experience with us enhance your writing?"

Molly sighed. "Yes, Gwen, it did."

"Well then, think of the boost your writing will get after this," the editor purred seductively.

"But Gwen, let me be honest with you. The idea of being tied up or chained, helpless, scares me, because I've seen videos of horrible things being done to people, even if it was with their consent. They were whipped or caned until they bled. Some had needles put in places I never even want to think about! I never wrote about that sort of bondage play. It doesn't appeal to me at all!"

"Molly dear, I don't want you to worry. I don't have anything extreme like that in mind for you. Let's state your limits. I propose them to be: no blood, no scat play, and more focus on orgasm than on pain. Plus, you'll have a safeword like 'red', which, if you invoke it, will cause everything to stop immediately. To that end, I promise no gagging, so you can speak clearly. How does all that sound?"

Molly considered what she'd heard. "I guess that does make me feel somewhat relieved, Gwen. I'll think about it and get back to you."

"Good," Gwen replied. "If you think of any more limits, perhaps by watching some more videos, just let me know."

Molly agonized over her decision for about a week, and then called Gwen back. "OK. I'll do it," she told her editor.

"Excellent," Gwen purred, and told Molly where and when to meet.

"You mean I'm not coming to your office?"

"No dear, not for this. We have a special place for these activities. Our personnel also find that refreshers help them do their jobs better, and the office is not the best location for the props needed." Gwen recalled that Molly had confessed no experience with anal sex, so she added, "By the way, you'll need to cleanse yourself, Molly. Take at least two enemas right before you leave."

Gwen couldn't see the startled look in Molly's eyes when she heard that instruction, but she could hear the way her breath caught. After a moment's consideration, Molly replied, "That makes good sense, I guess, Gwen. Thanks for the suggestion." She flushed a deep shade of scarlet as she thought what might happen if she forgot such a precaution. Mentally, she thought, "Euuuuww!"

On the day specified, and as a precaution, Molly called a good friend, Violet, and told her she was going to a meeting with her editor, Gwen. She mentioned the address, and the time of the meeting.

"Do you need a ride or something?" Violet asked.

"No thanks. I just wanted you to know where I was going and with whom... Just in case. Please write the information down." And Molly repeated it as her friend made a note.

"This sounds very mysterious Molly. Is it dangerous or something?" Violet asked in a concerned tone of voice.

"I don't think so. Not really. I'm doing some research for my writing. I just don't know this person very well, nor do I know that part of town very well. So I felt it better safe than sorry, that's all."

"I see. OK. I have it all written down. Please be careful. And call me, maybe by the end of the day?" Violet said.

"I will. Thanks again," Molly told her, before hanging up and climbing into her car. Her GPS took her to a nondescript building in the downtown area. There were no windows at its lower levels, just a cement wall with a battered looking brown door set into an overhang. Molly pressed the button next to the door and waited as patiently as she could, keyed up as she was. As she stood there, she noticed a small surveillance camera set high in the overhang, obviously letting the inhabitants know who was outside.

After a moment or two, during which time Molly's heart was thumping so hard and fast that she feared it was audible, the door opened. A large man stood there in the shadowy entrance. Molly saw his face break into a smile, as he stated, "I'm Eric. You must be Molly. Gwen described you well. Please come in... she's waiting inside."

It was fortunate that he'd mentioned Gwen being inside – otherwise Molly might've bolted for her car. The sheer bulk of the stranger was intimidating. He stepped politely aside, letting Molly enter into the dimness. As her eyes adjusted to the lighting, she spotted Gwen sitting in a high backed chair across the room.

She no longer looked like an editor.

Her closely-cropped black hair and dark irises were the same, of course. She still lacked makeup other than that smear of crimson lipstick, which seemed to glow red in the dim of the room. But what she was wearing made Molly stop in her tracks. She was clad in form-fitting black leather from her chest to her boots. The corset or bustier pinched in the woman's waist, and apparently shoved upward enough to make her breasts threaten to spill out over its top. Her feet were covered in shiny black boots that almost reached her knees. Molly'd never seen boots with spike heels before, but those on Gwen's boots looked at least four inches long.

Gwen watched Molly scanning her outfit, and remarked, "Quite a difference from my normal working clothes, huh, Molly?"

Molly swallowed nervously, trying to wet her throat before answering, "Yes, it is, Gwen."

Gwen's eyes flashed with disapproval. "Molly, you aren't getting into the proper mood for this. You need to address me as 'Miss' when we're together in this room. Failure to show proper respect will merit punishment. Do you understand?"

Molly's eyes bulged as she processed what Gwen had said. The aura of power that she'd felt emanating from Gwen in her editor's office was trivial compared to this. Molly's knees quivered as she replied, "Yes... Miss. I understand." Her mind was filled with a heady mixture of awe and fear at this point.

"You've cleansed yourself, as I directed?" Gwen queried.

"Yes, Miss," Molly said, a delicate flush coming to her cheeks as she thought of Eric knowing what was being discussed.

"Good. Now let's make sure your bladder is empty. Eric, show her where the toilet is."

Eric silently escorted her to the restroom, and waited outside as Molly went inside, closed the door, and sat to pee. She tried to pee silently, very aware of a man standing on the other side of the door. When she was done, she wiped and flushed. Rinsing and drying her hands, she emerged, and Eric led her back into Gwen's presence.

"What you're wearing is pretty, girl," Gwen told her, eyeing her up and down. "But not suitable for what I have in mind. Eric, give her what I've picked out."

"Yes, Miss Gwen," the huge man said, respectfully. He brought Molly a handful of clothing.

"I think you will find those will fit well enough, girl. Go behind that screen over there. Take off everything, including your shoes, and put those things on," Gwen instructed her.

Once again Molly found her body obeying the woman's command without her actually reaching a decision mentally. As Molly hastened behind the screen, and started stripping, she wondered how Gwen could project such verbal control. Obviously, this woman had a lot of practice giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed. Stepping out of her shoes, Molly removed her own dress, bra and pantyhose.

As she was sliding off her panties, out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a mirror. She sucked in a breath as the reflection in the mirror revealed Gwen sitting in her chair and watching Molly with gleaming eyes. The mirror and the chair had been carefully positioned to give Gwen a clear view of Molly undressing. She felt a hot wave of embarrassment reddening her cheeks and neck, but there was little she could do about it – she was already naked.

Quickly sorting through the clothing she'd been given, Molly yanked on a flimsy pair of panties, and a bra shaped like a sports bra, but constructed from the same flimsy material as the panties. The bra obviously offered little support. The remaining article of clothing was a sort of baby-doll dress, with a plunging 'V' neckline, and a strip of elastic that made it hug her torso just below her breasts. The bottom of the dress was short – so short that it barely covered her pubic area. It too was thin and translucent.

As Molly positioned herself for a quick glance at her own image in the mirror, she could clearly see the darkened areas of her areolae around her nipples, and her small, well trimmed patch of pubic hair. Even though she was clothed, it almost looked more obscene than if she'd been standing there naked. Her embarrassment was now mixed with a feeling of naughtiness as she stepped out from behind the screen, knowing that Eric could now also see her like this.

Shyly, Molly glanced in his direction. While she'd changed, he'd also changed. He'd stripped down to a simple loincloth. She gaped at his muscular torso and thighs. She was more than surprised to see such an obviously powerful man ceding his control to Gwen. She turned back to her editor, subconsciously covering her breasts with one arm and her pubic area with her other hand, and asked, "What happens now, Gwen?"

An instant later, she knew she'd made a mistake as Gwen's expression turned to one of disappointment. Too late, she realized she'd use the woman's name after having been told explicitly not to do so.

"Eric, the paddle. One swat," Gwen commanded him. Making no comment, the man strode over to a rack on the wall, unhooked the paddle, and moved to Molly's side. Given the novelty of the situation, Molly's mind was uncharacteristically slow on the uptake. She didn't move when Eric drew back his arm and brought the paddle forward with a solid 'thwack' right across her buttocks.

The sting of the impact made Molly take a small step forward as her hands instinctively flew back to protect her now smarting ass cheeks. She also articulated a sound similar to, "Ouch!"

"You know why I commanded that, don't you girl?" Gwen hissed.

"Yes, Miss. Because I used your name. I'm sorry, Miss," Molly said contritely.

"Get down and kiss my boot to demonstrate your sorrow, girl," Gwen ordered her.

Molly could've said, "No." She could've left at that point. She could have defiantly change back into her own clothes, and slammed the door behind her. Those thoughts did skitter across her mind as she contemplated the humiliation of having this woman and this man see her get onto her hands and knees to crawl forward and press her lips to the offered boot.

Perhaps it was something in Gwen's tone of voice. Maybe it was just the fact that this domineering woman was so confident that any command that she gave would be instantly obeyed. It's possible that something clicked in Molly's mind – the realization that such things often happened in her fantasies, and she now had the chance to make such a fantasy become reality. Whatever it was, Molly stooped down until her hands touched the floor, and rolled her knees forward until they touched. The hem on the front of her dress brushed the floor as she crawled forward to Gwen's boot. She tasted and smelled the leather as she gave the boot a careful kiss.

"You'd better be noting your feelings and sensations carefully as you participate in this session, girl," Gwen reminded her. "I don't demand you vocalize each thing aloud, but feel free to volunteer whatever information you wish."

"Very well, Miss," Molly whispered to her boot, remaining as she was, for fear that changing position without being told might displease Gwen, and earn her another stroke of the paddle. "The scent of leather is in my nose, and its taste is still upon my lips. I'm abashed to think that Eric is probably staring at my exposed ass – which still stings, since these panties offer very little protection. To be honest, Miss, I feel a bit silly, being down on the floor in this position. But I'm also a bit frightened of both you and Eric."

"Do you remember what I said about your safeword, girl?" Gwen asked, looking at Molly's back.

"I think you said that 'red' is my safeword, Miss. Is that right?"

"Yes, girl. And if you feel that you must say that word, everything stops immediately, your session ends, and you may leave us," Gwen intoned. "But let me add another word for you. If you say the word 'yellow', that will act as a signal that you wish us to slow down or pause. It will not end the session, but it will give you a breather, so to speak. It signals that what we are doing is approaching your perceived need to safeword, but allows us to make adjustments, so that the session isn't ruined."

"But Miss," Molly began, "why don't I just say 'stop' or 'no' or words like that?"

"This is your first true bondage experience, Molly," Gwen reminded her. "I think you will find that saying those words comes naturally when you're experiencing things, and it gives you a relief to say them 'in the moment' – it may even add to your overall enjoyment of the experience. But in hindsight, you may discover that even though you say 'no' or 'stop' or even plead with us, in one part of your mind you know you don't truly want things to end, so such words become ambiguous when said and heard. The safewords are not ambiguous at all. If we hear them, we know you're serious. Does this answer your question?"

Molly swallowed hard, trying to swallow her fear. Gwen was implying that she and Eric would be doing things to her that would make her instinctively beg them to stop! That one hard swat with the paddle had already begun the process of showing her the difference between dreaming about being paddled, and actually experiencing it. Her voice quavered a bit as she replied, "Yes, Miss. Thank you for your clear explanation. I will remember 'yellow' and 'red' as important words."