Stephanie Discovered Ch. 01

From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, Stephanie watched the organised calm of the restaurant. To an outsider, it appeared so easy. But to her, it was only that way because she kept an eagle eye on everything. Guests arrived, were taken to their tables, fed and watered and sent on their way. And in everything, they felt like the only people in the place.

But although it looked simple, there was a lot of skill and people management. Guests arrived late, or stayed longer than expected. Sometimes, (hopefully very infrequently), there was a problem with the food. And then there were the staff, highly trained and temperamental. Only last week a sommelier had stormed out because yet another guest had spurned his suggestion for a wine and had chosen the most expensive bottle with no regard to its appropriateness.

At those times, Stephanie glided into action and displayed the formidable skills that made her so effective. She would approach the scene of conflict and smile. Often, that was all it took; her charming pleasant personality which made people feel extra special. If that failed, then she would just order things better. She had the authority to order what she damn well wanted, and if a customer needed a bottle of expensive champagne to ease their distress, then all she needed to do what give the command – and it was done.

She loved that feeling of a problem solved as she walked away, of resolving another difficulty, of being the boss.

Of course, it also helped that she was a dream Californian girl. She swam, rode, and watched her weight. But all that was merely looking after the assets that a kind and generous god had bestowed on her. At 5 ft 8 she was already tall, but her 4 inch heels made her legs go on for ever. Her figure was hour glass, with proud breasts that declared her woman hood, and subdued every hetero male in sight, (and not a few of the women). To cap it all, the angels had added blond hair and green eyes.

She looked so good, like a model. And she was fucking awesome at her job. And yet, there was a twist in all this. Like the victim of a Greek tragedy, she had been given the world, but not the key.

Stephanie was an incredibly beautiful and successful woman working for the family firm. But all the men who had tried dating her had driven her crazy. They either worshipped her, and drove her mad with boredom, or worshipped themselves, which made her want to throw up.

She knew what she wanted, but she was damned if she was going to hand it to some jerk on a plate. What she wanted was a man who was confident, in charge, and yet saw deep into her soul. Stephanie was a submissive, but not just that, she was deeply submissive. When she was alone in her room, when she was fantasizing about sex, when she was masturbating and using her toys on her wet cunt, she was the toy to some other person. She was no proud woman claiming sex for herself; she was a submissive slut happy to give her body for a Master or Mistress to own, mark, possess or use to their hearts content.

She was tired of having everything, and in her core, she wanted nothing but to serve someone with every fibre of her being. That person, if and when they unlocked this hidden treasure, would find a woman who longed to fulfill another's every dark desire – just to hear their word of praise, there look of love, their touch of ownership.

Standing, watching, she noticed a new guest arrive. Something about him was strange, he didn't fit, and yet he moved as if he belonged here, and everyone else was the outsider. Her senses attuned to a potential problem, she moved closer to hear him being greeted. She just caught his reply to the first question.

"Certainly. I have a reservation in the name of James, Mr. James."

Well, that explained something. His accent was British, well spoken, clear, with a touch of confidence but not arrogance. He was not overawed by the surroundings, but he obviously appreciated the care and attention to detail. He waited patiently for his table to be arranged, and was obviously watching the other diners and the staff.

Hmmm, Stephanie thought to herself, he is a watcher. He notices what is happening around him.

And he was most obviously on his own. Unusual, but not completely out of place. The restaurant had an enviable reputation for excellent cuisine, and often there would be a lone visitor stopping by on a business trip, alone but keen to sample the culinary delights.

Sometimes Stephanie would expend extra effort on these guests. They were usually knowledgeable, polite, and excellent tippers. Spending some time being friendly was rarely a wasted investment.

Stephanie stepped up to this Mr. James and introduced herself, holding out a slim, impeccably manicured, hand.

"Good Evening. My name is Stephanie Harris. I am the manager here. Welcome to Southern Bay."

As she spoke the set script, Stephanie used the close contact to size up her guest.

He was 6 foot, slim build, late 40's Balding, with short hair – he wasn't vain enough to try and cover it up. A point to the Brit. He wore glasses and a neatly trimmed beard. Unfashionable, but on him, they worked. Somehow, he gave the impression of being his own man, secure in himself, and yet very approachable.

He smiled warmly at Stephanie, his eyes widening at her beauty, but obviously not distracted by it. His handshake was firm and dry, and not held any longer than politeness required. She couldn't help it, she liked him, and smiled right back. She was being put at her ease by a stranger on her patch. That was so unusual, and strangely attractive.

And then his voice, directed at her, almost made her go weak at the knees. It was calm, warm and seemed to wrap her in a blanket.

"Thank you Ms Harris, it is a pleasure to be here. I have heard such wonderful tales of the food, I just had to pay you a visit."

"Well, I hope you enjoy the visit, and I will make sure that all the tales you have heard are proved correct."

It was a lame line, but she needed to break off this chat before she ended up taking over. She wanted to take this man to his table, sort out his menu, help him choose the wine, and even bring him the dishes. For crying out loud - she was the freaking manager, not some two bit waitress.

But, even so, at various times, she found herself keeping a special eye on Mr. James, just making sure he was being properly looked after. To her pleasure she saw that he was attentive to the suggestions of the staff, and happy to intelligently discuss their recommendations. They all left him with a smile, feeling as if they had been listened to and valued. He really was a most intriguing visitor.

He was a late visitor anyway so it was perfectly reasonable for her to stop by his table as he finished off his meal with an Islay Malt.

"I do hope you enjoyed your meal Mr. James, and that you will tell you friends of your time here."

"Thank you Ms Harris, I will. In fact, I have only one disappointment here tonight."

"I'm sorry to hear that, was there anything wrong with the food or service?"

She was genuinely shocked, and was ready to lay into whatever misbegotten s.o.b. who had upset this man.

"Only that I had to eat this superb meal all on my own, without your charming company."

That was bullshit, laid on with a fucking trowel, and Stephanie looked sharply at him. But he was smiling, and it was quite obvious that he was mocking himself and all the bullshitters who tried to worm their way into her panties. She smiled back at him. He was good, this Mr. James, he knew how to have an intelligent conversation, and had a sense of humour as well.

"Well, as it is quiet, I suppose I can make up for that by joining you for coffee, if that is acceptable."

She smiled and arched an eyebrow, knowing full well that he wouldn't say no. But he did have the courtesy to be genuinely pleased, and be sincere at his thanks.

And so, she spent a very pleasant half hour being gently and sensitively quizzed by him. He was knowledgeable, but not afraid to ask if he didn't know. And he seemed to take a genuine interest in her answers.

As she talked, she relaxed, for the first time in several years, and she looked younger and happier. She found herself talking about her job, her life, her family. He was so easy to talk to, and to laugh with.

He disclosed that he was on his own, on a business trip, and without thinking; she suggested that after the business closed, they went out for a drink. This was a new customer she told herself, and she felt like celebrating.

An hour later, they met at the entrance of the restaurant. She was playing hooky, for once letting her deputy close up and set the alarms. She tripped down the steps like an excited schoolgirl and slipped her arm in his.

"So Mr. James, come with me, and I'll show you a good time."

He laughed, grinning at her own mocking use of chat up lines.

They didn't really go far in the end. In the booth of a late closing bar, the real Stephanie came out of hiding. Not entirely – she didn't tell him about the freaky fantasies where she begged strange men to use her as their cum sucking whore. But she told him about how unhappy she was, about what bastards men were. She told him that she was fed up with being someone else's fantasy, but never being allowed to be her own.

And he listened, carefully, sitting close and caring.

It was all too much. The sadness of keeping all this locked up just broke through. The happy Californian sunny girl mask cracked, and her tears washed out her pain.

And he moved from his seat to sit next to her, and he held her to him, and she wept on his chest, a lost little girl who wanted to go home.

And as she did this, she felt finally safe. It was so fucking weird, This British guy she hardly knew had opened her up like a tin can, and she was blubbing on his chest. And yet it was a safe and warm and friendly chest.

He helped her up and led her outside – throwing some notes at the barkeep to cover their drinks. Once in the cool night air, he held her close in his arms.

"I think I know what you need. Will you trust me, and let me show you what I mean?"

Stephanie looked at him, puzzled, her heart pounding. He was not being pushy, but there was a quiet intensity about him.

"What do I need?"

Her question hung, simple and direct, a last puzzle for him to solve.

"You need someone who will take charge, someone who will let the real you come out, and who will hold you safe. You have spent your life taking charge, and I can feel the pressure that places on you. I think you want a man who will find the real you."

He didn't say anything more – the look of stunned shock gave him the answer he needed.

He reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. He cupped it, rubbing his thumb on the soft skin. Like a switch being thrown, her neck relaxed, and her head felt into his palm.

He pushed the hand around the back of her neck, gripping her gently. Stephanie felt the pressure, and with it a sense of calm and safety. Her head tilted back in a primeval signal of vulnerability and availability.

He stepped forward and kissed her, gently, then more firmly, his tongue working its way into her mouth, until she moaned in sexual need. He had hardy done anything, and yet she was opening up like a slut to him, her cunt getting wet. And she wanted this more than anything else in the world.

"You do trust me Stephanie? I will walk you back to your apartment, and I will leave you there if you wish. But if you trust me, I will come into your apartment, and then I can show you what you really need."

She didn't need to think about that. She led him the couple of blocks to her apartment, checking to make sure that the doorman took a proper look at her companion, and also checked that she was fine and not under duress.

And then, she took him up to her home, her safety, her security, and invited him into her life

Once inside the door, he stroked her face again, causing her to blush and go weak at the knees This time, though, he didn't grip the back of her neck, Instead he twisted her hair in his hand and pulled her face to his, bruising her lips with his.

He stood back, watching her carefully. She was fine. She was slipping into a place she would later learn was called sub space, but also discovering the ability that an experienced Dominant had to put her in touch with her real self.

He stroked the fabric over her full firm breasts, grazing the sensitive nipples. Her breath caught at the spark of arousal of this more intimate touch. Without being aware of it, her back arched forward, offering herself to him. His fingers toyed with her stiffening points, and then he pinched one of them. She gasped, biting her bottom lip and whimpering. But she made no move to withdraw, watching him as a young doe watches a tiger.

He pinched the other nipple, another jolt of pain opening the floodgates of her cunt. She was barely remaining upright, her knees threatening to buckle under her.

He led her into the living room, and swiftly undid the fastenings of her dress, sliding the thin material off her shoulders and down to the ground. A maroon lacy bra and matching thong were all that covered her now, and they did more to highlight her beauty than protect her modesty.

The bra was next to fall, the cool air hardening her nipples even further, drawing up the aureoles in sympathy.

Finally, he eased her thong over her hips and down her thighs.

And all this time, a part of Stephanie was watching and wondering if this was a the work of some serial killer. But the most of her, the most of her in charge of her body, mind and voice, stayed very still, concerned that this man might change his mind and walk away, leaving her bereft and empty.

His hands stroked her nakedness possessively, cupping her curves, sliding into her wetness – her legs parted reflexively as he did that. He cupped her round pert bottom, feeling the resilience of her toned muscles.

And all this he did in silence.

"On your knees slut. Kneel to me."

His words lashed her brain, and cut the ligaments to her knees. She almost fell to the floor – acknowledging the truth of his judgment. It wasn't just that she had let a perfect stranger undress her without protesting. It wasn't even because his undressing of her had left her so incredibly wet and turned on. It was because she knew that this is what she really was, and that he had seen the truth of her. She was so grateful, she almost cried with joy.

She knelt before him, and looked up at her Master, eager to please him, poised and waiting for him to command her.

"Take out my cock, whore, and suck it."

Fuck, after the gentle British tones of the earlier conversations, his harsh commands were even more disturbing and arousing. She obeyed without hesitation. Undoing the zipper of his pants and freeing his hardening shaft. She bent to this intimate part of him, and gently sucked the flesh into her mouth, pushing her self wholly on to him, seeking his ultimate pleasure.

He gasped at her readiness to comply, sensing that her submission ran very deep, and that all he needed to do was to gently guide it.

As he hardened, he gripped her hair and with increasing intensity started to fuck her gently sucking mouth and opened throat. Her hands she dropped to her sides. She was passive in his use of her, offering no resistance to whatever he desired.

But before he gave her the gift she desired, his seed spilling into her swallowing throat, he pulled out.

She whimpered in frustration, he was doing so well. Why stop?

"You are more than just a slut. You are a cum hungry slut. You have sucked my cock like a common whore. Climb onto that couch and kneel. I am going to punish your arse for your behavior."

Oh God yes, she thought, this was more like it. This was a scene straight from her fantasies.

Kneeling on the couch, her head bowed down and arse thrust up, Stephanie was now far removed from the capable manager of a large restaurant. She was a beautiful submissive waiting for her Master to punish her.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

The blows rained down on her behind, reddening the skin and causing her to whimper. But her pain was sweet and arousing. It was a pain to be treasured, held in, transformed into fierce pleasure between her legs.

As he spanked, her back arched, her thighs fell apart, and her sex swelled and leaked its juices down her thighs.

Within minutes she was crying softly, but with a pleading voice, begging him not to stop, to punish her to his hearts content. But then, oh god please, to fuck her hard, to use her, fill her, cum in her.

She was so close to her climax, he could tell, and he was in no mood to hold back any further. Once she had tasted the pleasure of this, he knew that she would be eager to repeat the experience, and eager to please him in any other way he could think of.

He stopped, long enough to pull of his pants and briefs. Roughly he pulled her off the couch and onto the floor, ensuring that she was now lying on her back. She was squirming with need, looking up at him with desperation in her eyes. His authority was now so complete that she didn't feel able even to touch her sex. She was waiting for him, for her Master to possess her.

He positioned himself over her young taut body, drinking in the promise of its firm flesh. With his fingers he sought the folds of her cunt, parting the lips and opening the way for his lust hardened cock.

For a moment he poised himself, feeling the wetness at her pussy entrance kissing the swollen mushroom of his cock head.

And then he pushed hard – driving himself all the way into her moist tightness in one hard thrust.

Stephanie felt herself impaled, and screamed – her body vibrating to this brutal talking. Yet her hips bucked up to him and her arms held him tight.

Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, he pounded his cock through her enfolding fuck hole. Her legs rose up and enclosed him, urging him to use her with greater force.

It was her final despairing cry that pushed him over the edge so quickly this first time.

"Oh fuck me Master, fuck my worthless cunt and make me wholly yours."

With a cry of anguish, he felt his seed erupt up and into her hungry sex. He groaned as he felt the cum spurt in urgent spasms, filling this young woman.

And Stephanie felt his climax, his marking of her so soon after his first drive inwards. And that very suddenness, irrespective of her own readiness, was all she needed. He wasn't making love to her; he was using her as his fuck toy. Her body thrilled and shuddered as she gave a wail of release, clutching him as she was swept along by the tidal wave of her cumming. She was his slut, she was her Master's own slut, and she was lost in the joy of it.

For several long minutes, after they had calmed themselves, they lay still, bodies entwined.

Eventually, Stephanie gave a low laugh. Her hands stroking the back of her new lover.

"You were so right," she giggled "you did know what I needed."