White Rabbit – The Switch

May Moore asked for a story with a stranger…

White Rabbit – The Switch

If I tilt my head just so, would you know to fall to your knees at my feet? Would you know to surrender to me without question?


This one though, this one is different. As he approaches he flicks a white fan closed and pockets it in his waistcoat in the sweeping way of a man who knows how to work a three piece suit. The action raises a flush on my décolleté and I’m grateful that I am thoroughly buttoned up today. As long as the flesh on my cheeks remain cool and pale, I will be fine. I will remain in control.

He is standing right before me now—almost toe-to-toe. I pull back my shoulders and look right up into his face, willing myself not to break eye contact. But it is intense. He stares right back unwavering, unmoving until, with an almost sleight of hand skill, pulls out a pocket watch and glances at it.

“We’re late,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind him on tripping heels.

In all my life I have never allowed someone to usher me anywhere like this. He clearly knows who I am as we are standing outside my offices and I’m supposed to be going for some air. I am furious, and yet… not. His stride is enormous compared to my stuttering trot, my legs seemingly bound together by my pencil skirt. My thighs rub together in a way that highlights the fact that I am damp. Damn it. Where is my self-control?

My heel catches on an uneven flagstone and my ankle tips painfully. He never breaks step simply squeezes my hand more firmly and tugs. I am breathless as I almost fall over, catching furtive glances from onlookers who witness my stumbling.

“Where are we going?” I ask but he never looks back, he just throws me a gruff comment over his shoulder.

“We’re late.”

My hair has come loose. For fuck’s sake. And I can feel a cool breeze under my arms where the silk has become damp with my perspiration. Fuck. Oh god. I must look… dishevelled… lord.

I cup my bottom lip to the side and try and puff the hair away which has fallen into my face. I’m having to grasp his hand with both of mine just to stay on my feet. This is just so undignified. And yet… the dampness has become a wetness and the tops of my thighs are positively clammy. I’m beginning to see the appeal of giving up a little control. Just a little. I am obviously furious.

He jolts me hard, appearing irritated by my unsteady gate. He drags me efficiently into a tenement doorway. It is rather horrifying compared to the opulence I’ve become accustomed to.

“This will never do. You are far too slow. Turn around.”

When I hesitate, he gives me a quick look. I know the look. It is a, trust me, affirmation. With the tiniest of movement I nod once and it is all he needs. He grabs my hips and spins me so I am facing the wall.

“What are you…?” I begin to ask as he grabs the hem of my skirt.

“Shh. I told you we are late.”

And with that he tears my skirt—Givenchy—from the vent all the way up to the crease of my buttocks then spins me around and whisks me back out into the street.

I am mortified. My stocking tops will certainly be visible, if not my, now soaking, panties. However, it has done the trick and I can keep up more easily with him, albeit with two steps for every one of his.

“Where are we goi…?” I begin but he halts my words with a sharp tug to my wrist.

It is thrilling and terrifying at once. I wonder who has sent him. I sometimes allow my clients to send me gifts but they are from a very strict list. Being a world class Dominatrix has made me very rich and very fussy. It is not like me at all to be dragged around without being in complete and utter control. My toes are pushed painfully into the tips of my shoes and the balls of my feet are burning. These heels were not meant for walking, that’s for sure. My heartbeat and breathing have become steadier and I somehow allow myself to relax into this odd adventure. I barely notice what street we are on, only the painful contact my soles have with the ground keeps me tethered to this physical reality. My mind, my mind though is falling into some delicious scenarios which I never believed would turn me on. An image flashes of him tearing my skirt right off. Now he has secured my wrists behind my back and…

We stop. I topple into him and he corrects me with gruff efficiency.

He slips his watch out and tuts as it springs open.

“Late?” I venture with a hint of defiance, if the words had been an expression, it would be an eye roll.

I quiver at my bravado as he stares directly into my face, his look piercing right into my very depths, the place I keep guarded, the place I see in others but never in myself.

I liquefy under his scrutiny.

We stand before a huge oak door with those incredible iron hinges which curl and span over the whole face of the wood. Completely unnecessary to the strength of the thing, but oh so required for the look. He shoulders the door open and it is the first thing I’ve seen him do that requires effort.

He pulls me inside to the cool vast space and presses me up against a stone wall, pushing his knee in between my thighs. I hold my breath and my eyes are wide. Never, in all my life has anyone been so brazen. Does he even know who he is dealing with here?

“I know you,” he says, growling sensually into my ear. It raises the hairs from my earlobe all the way down the side of my neck right to that delicious spot, right on the inside of my elbow. My knees give way a little and I sag into the sensation, letting it engulf me.

“What do you mean?” I whisper, closing my eyes as his commanding breath tickles and delights my erogenous zones. It is like a spell. An erotic tiny imp dancing over every perfect nerve ending.

“I mean.” He pauses, taking his time. Both hands are placed on the stone above my head and his body is so close it feels like he is pressing into me though not one part of us is touching. I could easily slip out under his arm if I wanted to. “You think you are one thing, but I know you are quite another altogether.”

“Have we met?” I want him to keep talking, his voice is thrilling and I shuffle my heels apart a little, shocked to smell my own hot arousal as he takes my cue and lifts the hem of my skirt.

“Yes, many times.” His palm is between the fleshy pillows of my upper thighs.

It begins to dawn on me how I know him but the transformation is so startling that I banish it immediately, preferring instead the mysterious presence.

With one hand still supporting his weight, he has to bend his knee to enable to other to access my panties. I offer no resistance. My sex is throbbing for attention. My spirit is thrashing around like a crazy thing, losing all control and writhing, yet I remain still.

“Let go,” he croons as a finger hooks into my sopping knickers and curls briefly into my wetness. I should be ashamed at my display of utter self-abandonment but I am exhilarated. I let my knees buckle further until he is carrying my weight in the palm of his hand and I begin to ride his fingers like a wanton hussy. “That’s it, that’s it, give it up to me.”

Oh lord, his voice is like a silken invader, massaging my mind and body from the inside out, seducing me with words and tone. My pussy is clutching greedily at his thick fingers and he pulses them in and out in rhythm with my thrusting.

“Yes, yes.” I gasp, my voice catching on the breath of pleasure. My clit is peaking and yearning in that desperate way and I grind it hopefully onto the heel of his hand. He obliges and rams it hard, pinning me to the wall by my mound and thrusting fingers into my burning slick hole. “Oh fuck, yes, yes,” I say over and over. My lips and tongue feel swollen and hungry too and I lurch my head forward, trying to grab onto his flesh with my teeth, my mouth, I want to join him in his feasting and eat him up. Consume him, the way he is consuming me.  Eat me. There is nothing for me to sink my mouth onto except crisp tailoring and I’m frustrated by my empty gaping mouth. He notices. Of course he does, and leans in with his full and sensual lips and kisses me hard as his fingers still work in my cunt. It is perfect. My head hits off the stone with the force of his tongue sliding greedily into my mouth and filling me. I gobble him up, meeting him mouthful for mouthful as his fingers slide on up into me again and again. “Harder,” I manage though a muffled kiss. He cups me tighter and I can see the muscles in his shoulder twitch through his suit as he pounds me with ferocity. Drink me. My pussy wells and from deep inside, begins to shudder and spasm as I reach that glorious point. I still. Everything stops, then in a flurry of heat and gushing pleasure I come hard onto his fingers and palm. He holds me there, mouth on mine while our breathing and racing pulse subsides. Then he withdraws, leaving me a panting dishevelled mess against the wall. He brushes himself down and takes my arm ushering me to the door which he opens.

He leads me silently yet protectively back to my place of work. I am bereft. Shocked and somewhere through the illicit thrill, humiliation threatens to sting the high. I glance up at his face which gives nothing away. Did that offer him no pleasure? I am suddenly self-conscious and shy. Shouldn’t I have given him pleasure too? Surely if I’d turned him on, wouldn’t he have demanded it? Too many questions, too many insecurities. I need to get a hold of myself. After all, it is exactly what I do every day.

He is going to leave without a word. Damn it. I will not plead for anything. I forbid it of myself.

Just as I turn to leave, he pulls me to him and presses his substantial hard-on into my side.

My heart leaps as he lifts my chin to his smiling face.

“Look what you do to me, you naughty, naughty girl.”

Now I recognise him. Now I know.


When I’m back behind my desk and Shirley, my PA, is out searching for another skirt, I run my fingers down the diary entries for Friday. Yes, yes it is him. I go to my drawer and take out my finest kid gloves I save just for him and hold them to my nose. The scent of our previous meeting fills my mind and I see him tied and bound over my velvet gym horse. His arse cheeks burning and red with the spanking I’ve just administered with these very gloves. His face is always obscured by a mask. A peculiar kink as all my other clients trust my discretion. My body buzzes at the idea of seeing him again. Though this new development makes me wonder what we will do next time we meet.

So, my Mr Friday is a switch.

Who knew?

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