Falwell Organics was a family company. Springing from strange roots, her family had rebelled against conservative rural Christian culture by becoming hippies, but since they were already farmers, the only change was turning to organic farming with the idealism of the times, but a few centuries worth of collected knowledge of local farming practices. Unlike most dreams of the flower children, this one was rooted not simply in love, but a deep skillset and love of learning that saw the surprised successors inherit a fair market share when the less idealistic following generations learned to market to Yuppies and Falwell Organics survived the transition from small farm business to minor corporate player in the organic supplement and naturopathic medicine markets.
Geneviève Falwell had grown up on the family farm, but her agricultural degree was matched with a Masters in Business Administration. Her looks were what you would expect from her unique background, looking like a Scandinavian goddess of fertility, she had the buxom blond farmgirl wholesomeness and enough of the Hippy summer of love passion filled her veins still that even still she looked like she should be swaying to the music, crowned by flowers, and clad only in sunshine. To combat this, she war severe business suits, and no nonsense flats (mostly because at six feet her height with heels added tended to put male customers on the subconcious defensive and she did not need the extra hurdles to overcome).
China owned the bulk of the organic supplement market as they could do anything cheaper. What they could not do was quality. The need to cut corners and willingness to accept impurities that no sane human being would allow in animal feed, let alone products for human consumption, left a clear path to success for Falwell Organics to take the top end of the market for their own. Those willing to pay for top quality had the money to burn, but you only disappointed them once before losing them and their money forever. Quality Control was an area that she had been fighting to tighten up since determining the direction she needed the company to go.
Her own in house Quality Assurance programs fell short time and again, as her own Quality Audits tended to gloss over things that fell short of the mark through no fault of the producers. Geneviève could care less about fault. Farming was a science, but much of the quality of the crop depended on art and cooperative nature more than any simple adherence to textbook practice. Her answer was to turn to Vihan Systems. A tech startup firm being fielded by a Hindu biotech star who came over for his education and decided to make a go of it here rather than return home and take his spot in the families own business, Vihan had gathered a group of other young Indian men and women who had also decided to take a chance at the new world, rather than return to a guaranteed place in the old one. The drive and hunger of Vihan Systems was exactly what Geneviève needed to force her own Falwell Organic to stay the course on its transition to high end highest quality production to turn her brand into a Name worth the big dollars.
Geneviève and Vihan were enough alike to strike sparks in every meeting, and yet polar opposites in enough ways that the sparks did not lead to angry confrontations, but a constant playful simmer of a different sort of dominance game. Standing six feet in stockings, an image Vihan had a hard time not thinking about, Geneviève had the broad hips and generous breasts of any teenage boy's dream, and the long red/gold hair and smattering of freckles that caused his brain to supply the floral crown and soft folk music background every time he looked at her. It was always jarring to him that those soft blue eyes that looked so dreamy in contemplation would sharpen to sapphire targeting lasers over the wide white grin of a wolf when she scented weakness or opportunity. It gave her an air of dangerous excitement, like a tiger or cobra. Where other men around her reacted to her dangerous temper and zero tolerance for weakness by labeling her an ice bitch, and ignoring her femininity, Vihan came from a country where the cobra was revered for its beauty, the tiger for its fierceness, by men who both loved, and trained such dangerous things for their own use.
Vihan was a trim dapper man of about five seven. His dark black hair was wavy in a way that would never accept any severe styling, but which conjured effortlessly the bad-boy image his innocent face made all the more dangerous, as his ability to transform from a look of pure innocence that would make a jury tear down the docket to free him, to a hot smoldering wickedness that would have a nun's skirt raised above her thighs before her brain registered temptation. His eyes were a deep dark brown that seemed almost too large for his face, like some sort of living anime hero, and his lips were full and only kept from being described as pouty by the very broad range of expressions that flashed across his face. Some men had faces of stone that fought to show the world nothing, Vihan had a face of water, flashing mercurially through a thousand reactions from humour, to anger, from lust to serenity with an almost elemental purity that made Geneviève look to him almost instinctively to experience vicariously the depth and fierceness of his appreciation for the world, both the sublime and the ridiculous.
Somewhere along the line his watery nature had worn away the armour she put up between her and clients, subordinates, and even family. He was simply too outrageous to take seriously, and with him she did something that she had never allowed herself to do with anyone else. She flirted, frequently outrageously.
Geneviève was leaning over her desk from the side, reading the report he had spread out in front of him. The results of his regimen of testing prior to batching. His assurance that testing the raw materials prior to batching would eliminate the small bad batches before they could be added to the large rendering lots and degrade the whole run had been a large gamble. A new expense, and a new source of waste against. the theoretical possibility of reducing existing losses. The risk had been pointed out by everyone in her company, only Vihan had argued in favour. The board had voted, eleven against, one for. Geneviève had voted for, and so she took the gamble.
"Vihan, you were right. The number of bad crop samples was very small, and by catching and removing them first, we didn't have to toss any of the processed lots away at all. Total loss numbers are down 80% and testing costs are only up 17%. Our quarter numbers are going to rock!"
Leaning over the desk, she pumped her fist in an expression of naked triumph that arched her back, showcasing her amazing ass in the grey severe business suit and causing her generous breasts to move through an astonishing series of bounces. Vihan allowed himself a chuckle and deep contented sigh. Letting her catch him enjoying the view, and ignoring her daggered eyes as he pursed his lips in open appreciation, he responded to her comment with his own observation.
"Quality Control. I have always said, you have the finest quality I have ever seen. All you needed was my control, and you will be unstoppable."
His innuendo was so open and so over the top, that as she was reaching for her outrage he waggled his eyebrows so outrageously the Three Stooges applauded from beyond the grave. Geneviève had no choice but to laugh.
She replied "Vihan you are a naughty boy, sometimes I think you need a good spanking"
All humour vanished from his face, and Vihan looked her in the eyes and said in all seriousness. "Geneviève, my poor Geneviève. You know deep down inside that when you think about spanking, you only and always think of me spanking you. Its OK. Its only natural. You are a powerful intelligent, passionate woman. You cannot be yourself around anyone else, cannot be a woman around anyone else. Of course you have recognized that you need to feel yourself spanked by me, feel yourself disciplined by me, feel yourself taught to obey me, and please me, because you don't trust yourself to let anyone else know or suspect that a woman of your quality needs so desperately to be controlled. It is okay. I respect you too much to ever endanger your position here, the work that you do, or the success you have every right to expect from your drive and genius ever to let your needs jeprodize your future. That is why you can trust my control"
As he rose, he ran a hand down her back and over her ass. He heard her moan as he cupped her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Before he left, he gave each cheek a strong stinging slap. Not playful, but hard enough to leave strong red marks to light the toned pale flesh beneath her skirt. He tossed a casual goodbye as he left.
"A pleasure as always Geneviève. Hey, I was attending the Naturopathic Trade fair in Oklahoma this weekend. I know you had sent your regrets and authorized me to represent both our firms, but I have a plus one for the conference anyway. Would you like to go? It might be a chance for you to stop being yourself for a weekend and take in one of these things where you are not playing CEO. Maybe you could play something for me instead" Vihan was humming happily as he moved through the door. Not really expecting anything beyond the usual mocking counter punch from her. Oddly, no sarcasm chased him out the door, no laughing insult. Funny, usually she was savage in her replies.
Had Vihan looked back, he would have seen Geneviève bent over and holding her desk with a death grip. Eyes wide and staring, breath coming in panting gasps, ass up, back arched, nipples painfully erect as she felt her whole body blasted her brain with a storm of sensation and hormonal response that shattered all other thought and control for almost ten minutes. When her eyes focused again, she looked at the numbers. They really were that good. She and Vihan together had been right, and everyone else had been wrong. She and Vihan together. Her mind recalled his words.
"All you need is my control, and you will be unstoppable" Her body heard those words echo in her mind, her ass cheeks burned from the growing heat of his hand prints, and she arched her back more, remembering his touch. Her right hand darted beneath her skirt, and she began to desperately touch herself.
His control, his hands, his punishing hands on her body. His control. His hands at her neck, on her throat. His hands pushing her to her knees before him. His hands pushing her face down on the bed. His cock pushing into her. With a cry, she collapsed on her desk, pushing the reports to the ground as she slumped on her own desk, unable to control her own legs or arms as she came. She could not believe she had masturbated in her own office, without even locking the door. It just felt that she couldn't move from where he had touched her without.....permission.
Shaking her head, she decided maybe she did need a vacation. Clearly stress and an utter lack of a personal life was making her go a little stir crazy. Maybe she should book a spa day or something.
Of course, if she was taking time off, she would like to see what everyone else was doing in the trade conference. If she told her assistant to book her a suite and send an email reversing her earlier apology, she would have to put together her own team and presentation. That sounded like too much work. She could go as Vihan's guest. Let him to the presentation work for both of them as she agreed. Let him play boss for the weekend and she could be free to....
For some reason she didn't finish the thought. Simply texted Vihan "Can you book us both rooms? I think I will go to the conference with you"
------ Geneviève
Looking into her closet there were three kinds of clothes. There were the power suits for meetings with corporate types. There was the "soft dress casual" for when she wanted to wrap herself in the "down to earth, eco friendly" for when she was meeting with family, other farming reps, and anyone in the ecology or organic end of the spectrum. Then there was the "raised on a farm, not dressing up if I'm in gumboots" actual farm clothes. Somewhere along the line she lost anything for an actual private life.
If she was going to the conference, she would bring the usual soft dress casual, but what about when she wasn't at the conference. What if she and Vihan wanted to let their hair down a little. She had zero clothes to relax in. Wait........
Digging in the back of her closet, she found her old university bad girl box. Her leather skirts, skin tight jeans, bolero half jackets, cowboy boots and western shirts were still there. A quick check showed her she no longer fit in the tight jeans, as her tush was rounder (fitness fanatic that she was), but the leather skirts were if anything sexier than they were back in university when she and her girlfriends would hit the western bars and leave broken hearted cowboys in their wake as they danced all night and left together. They called us cock teases, but we never bought a drink, or paid a cover charge. Giggling, she added those to the suitcase. Who knows, maybe she might find the chance to let the bad girl off leash again. This weekend was an escape from herself.
---- Vihan
Two jewlery cases he put into his bag. Having them engraved raised more than a few eyebrows at the jewlers, but he didn't get this far in life without being bold. One case held a simple golden cross with a diamond in the center. Like Geneviève now, cold and perfect, unapproachable and forever alone. The other. Vihan smiled. The golden Trishul hanging beneath the cold steel ring was graven with Hindu script. It would take far greater courage to offer her this, and greater still for her to take it up. What was the saying? “There isn’t a tree in the world that the wind hasn’t shaken.” It was time to shake the tree, to dare the storm, and see what may be.
Arriving at the hotel in seperate cars, Vihan awaited Geneviève in the lobby. When she arrived she saw him shake his head sadly to see her in the customary business attire. Blushing at his dissapointment for reasons she couldn't explain, she found herself rushing to assure him.
"Vihan I swear, this is the last time you will see me in CEO dress this weekend. I guarentee you will not recognize me when I change. I promise, this weekend I will just be attending as your guest, taking in the conference, letting my hair down and relaxing." Geneviève swore.
Vihan shook his head sadly. "I don't think you can. I know you want to, but without my help, I don't think you can shut it off anymore. I think you can't even reach any part of you except business without some strong guidance. Do not worry, if you have trouble, you can just leave it to me. I will make you into a new woman"
Geneviève knew she was going to blow Vihan's doors off when she strutted in wearing her old "bad girl" university club wear. I mean she hadn't had cause to put them on in ten years, but she had loved to let go and move on the dance floor, making every guy there fall over himself trying (and failing miserably) to impress her. Still, the nervous stiffness relaxed a bit when he promised he could fix it. She could always rely on him; when had she started depending on him so much that even in her personal life his word was simply accepted?
Vihan conducted her to their ajoining rooms. Settling her in her room, he stepped through the connector to his own to change and go down to the lounge for drinks. He told her to meet him as soon as she was ready to face the world as a woman and not a job title. She laughed; he didn't.
Twenty minutes later Geneviève was not laughing either.
She had slipped into the leather skirt, feeling the tight black leather conforming to her tight toned ass like a second skin. The black cowboy hat with the band of silver bangles fit her head like she remembered, and if anything she had filled out a bit since those college days and the shirt strained across her bust in a way that would draw every eye whenever she moved or breathed. Looking in the mirror she saw....... a terrified fraud. She gripped her hands in nervousness, her face was white with stress and she forgot how to do makeup for the "party girl". Three times she wiped off what she had done, seeing cold professional respectability staring back at her where she had been trying for wild party girl. She stood with her legs pressed together, looking at the bare legs and low boots not as her usual clubbing costume as she had in the past, but as something strange and unnatural on her now. She looked stiff, she moved like she forgot how to walk, not like she had been dancing her entire life. Stiff, nervous. No call it what it was. Terrified. She was terrified. Without the role of Geneviève the CEO, Geneviève the head of the family business, Geneviève the peacemaker, Geneviève the fountain of knowlege, she had zero idea how to be just Geneviève.
Her phone alarm went off, she was late. She hated tardiness above all things, as it showed disrespect for the time of everyone. She may not have a clue what she was doing, but she could have a panic attack downstairs as easily as here, and at least then she would not also be late. Clutching her fringed leather clutch, she bolted for the hotel room door and the stairs to the lounge.
Vihan treated himself to a nice gin and tonic, letting the juniper flow over his tongue like liquid relaxation. He looked at the two jewlery cases on the table, and wondered if he would have a chance to offer either, or if the gods were truly with him, both. Shooting his left wrist from his cuff, he looked where his own purchase would only go if she chose to put it there. Smiling he thought, one chance in a million. Ah, but she was one in a million, so why not try? A girl entered the bar. He caught a long white flash of very agreeable thigh as she came through the door, and began to come down the steps to the lounge.
Tight black leather skirt framed an ass that was an invitation to sins that hadn't even been invented yet, long toned legs that looked like they belonged on a temple dancer stretched down into low cowboy boots. The steps were halting, uneven, almost hesitant. Like a deer at the forest edge, afraid to enter the clearing for fear of the tiger, yet needing to come to the water to drink. Just like that, a terrified prey animal, beautiful, innocent, and oh so very tasty. Vihan felt himself begin to harden, even as his eyes tracked upward already suspecting what he would find. Oh yes. Oh sweet Shiva. Geneviève. Her breasts looked absolutely amazing in that western blouse, and the hat was no doubt to set off the boldness of the outfit and lay down a challenge before all men, but right now the stark terror in her face was ruining it. Ah yes. Without her mask, my dear Geneviève feels quite naked right now. Without a role to play, she had no idea how to simply be herself.
Perhaps she really does need my control. A low growl escaped Vihan's lips as his smile widened and his dark eyes took on the low fire of the tiger at hunt's beginning. Raising a hand to draw her attention, he summoned her before him with an imperious gesture. Noting how she smiled and relaxed, skipping to his table like a filly entering the training ring, her sudden smile transformed her into a beauty that eclipsed the "bad girl" she was trying to recapture, and brought out the promise of woman behind the harsh CEO mask she wore all day. He noticed the men in the lounge stop talking as she passed, and took a certain amount of satisfaction in how every eye fastened on him. Wondering what made him so special.
Geneviève saw Vihan motion her forward and suddenly a shot of joy cut through the nervousness and she practicly pranced to his side. He let her get within two paced of the table and then held his had out flat in the halt gesture as he commanded simply.
"Stop!" She froze. Did she displease him? Terror flooded her again. She looked ridiculous, he was going to send her back, or make a joke! She could feel tears welling up with her panic.
"Turn!" His second command was delivered sternly. She spun, ready to flee. He was sending her back to change. This was a terrible mistake, She would put the suit back on.
SMACK! Vihan's hand stung as it loudly smacked her leather clad ass. She froze in shock.
"Turn slowly woman. I want the chance to appreciate all of you" His voice was low, husky. A mix of confidence, hunger, and something darker, something predatory. She felt a heat blossom from her freshly spanked bottom and rise to her cheeks, stopping in her panties to kindle a fire that climbed all the way to her own eyes. Letting her own face relax from a frozen mask of nerves into a sultry smirk, she slowly swayed in a circle, one arm raising above her head, the other running up from the base of her skirt, along the curve of her hip, until it cupped her heavy breast as she ended the circle by letting the caress of her breast extend forward into offering him the same hand.
Brushing her knuckles with his lips gallantly, he bowed gently and handed her into the booth beside him. Every eye was on them after that enterance, and he could see her feeding off of it, some part of her loving being on display, and another part of her letting of of her fear of not knowing what to do and diving head first into obeying him; and feeding off that too. Interesting.
He summoned the waitress to get her a drink, gesturing for another gin and tonic, but making the two sign with his fingers, to make hers a double. She was so highly strung, she needed some help to get past her fears. He let Geneviève babble for a few minutes about her problems with makeup, with nerving herself up to come down. With not understanding how she didn't even know how to stand or walk in clothes she used to dance the night away in every weekend. Vihan nodded. Geneviève had seen the edges of the pieces, but had no clue how to solve the puzzle that was her mind. He smiled. She was a woman of rare quality, but she was in desperate need of his control.
They began to talk. Vihan touched her hand and felt her blush, and relax, moving closer to him in the booth. Pressing her leg against his as she seemed to draw strength from the contact and begin to lose the almost statue stiffness that seemed to creep over her whenever she thought about what she was doing. Looking over at her, he brushed a red gold strrand of hair back over her ear, and felt her tremble and bite her lip as he let his hand trail down her neck, and finally turn her chin towards him. Staring helplessly into his eyes with a naked need that was both arousing and painful to see, her whole body seemed to orient around the light brush of his fingers. It was time, he thought, to see if she was ready.
"Geneviève is the person you created to take over the family business, to guide a company of people who saw you growing up and had to be forced to take you seriously. She a mask, not a lie, but a part of you that you have put all of yourself into for so long you forgot who you used to be, and are in danger of being nothing but the mask. Geneviève doesn't wear such clothes. Geneviève doesn't dance so wildly that grown men start fights just to buy her drinks, or open the door for her. Geneviève can't walk across the bar floor without saying a word and have every man in the bar stop talking, stop breathing, stop blinking just to watch her strut. But you said you weren't going to be her this weekend. I can offer you a choice. If you are strong enough, if you are brave enough. I will understand if it is too much for you. Western people are not able to embrace the duality of the world, to accept that all is illusion, and you must surrender to the illusion if you wish to find the truth of yourself."
Vihan brushed her lip with his thumb.
"I think I can teach you to surrender for a time. I think I can help you to give up your mask, give up the Geneviève you created, and let you touch a part of yourself that was well on the way to dying. Perhaps together we can find the parts of you that you have forgotten. There is a choice you must make though."
She found herself sucking on Vihan's thumb as it brushed her lips, hanging on his every word, her blood rushing in her veins so strongly all she could hear was the roar of her blood, and the low confident tones of her Vihan. Her trusted Vihan.
He slid two boxes across the table. Opening one and then the other he told her bruskly. "I had each of these made for you. Now understand, I value you, I respect you, and whichever you choose, I freely give to you with all that it entails."
The first box he opened for her. In it was a simple gold cross with a cold white diamond glowing in the center. A long thin simple gold chain ran through it.
"This belongs to Geneviève. It is cold, perfect, and alone. Self contained, it needs nothing, and inspires all who stare up at it." She looked at it, and it reminded her of the person she saw in the mirror every day. Her hand stayed on the table, not moving towards it.
The second box opened. Inside was a man's golden bracelet, heavy gold links and a medalion hanging off a cold iron ring that said Saheb in English, and presumably the same in Hindi beneath it. Beside it was a stainless steel dogs choke collar. The heavy stainless links would well suit a rotweiller's neck. Around her neck it would leave the large steel ring hanging about her cleavage. Above the heavy steel ring was another medalion. This one was also gold with a stylized trident on it. The name Randee was engraved on it in English, and in Hindi beneath.
"The second one is a set. The man's bracelet is put on by the woman if she chooses to make it true. The woman's collar is put on by the man she has chosen to bear the bracelet, but only if she is willing to become the promise this makes. It is no easy task, but she accepts that the man she has chosen will truly be what she has named him, and if this is so she cannot fail."
She found herself touching the heavy steel links. This was a dog collar. A dog training collar. Not a necklace. A collar, for a leash. She felt the cold steel links, drew it from the box, allowed it to brush against the skin of her throat. She gasped, and dropped the chain as her whole body shuddered at the almost electric effect of the cold steel caressing her pale vulnerable neck.
Rubbing the chain against her neck and feeling her nipples harden, she looked at the gold bracelet. The heavy gold links looked like they belonged upon a strong dark wrist, they looked like they belonged on some story book prince or pirate. She had a sudden image of Vihan's hand, that medalion shining at his writst as he caressed her cheek, and let the gold brush the flesh of her neck as he took it in his hand to draw her foward to claim her lips for a kiss. A louder moan escaped her.
She focused on the word. Saheb. She almost felt she knew it.
"Vihan," Geneviève asked "what does Saheb mean?"
Looking her in the eye, Vihan smiled softly and said. "Master. Saheb is what you call your Master"
The blood was rushing so loudly in her veins she could hear her heart pounding like the waves as it dashes a foundering ship upon the rocks. The storm rode her blood, taking her confusion and fear, her excitement, her need, her growing and almost insane hunger and dashing what was left of her restraint upon the rock of his voice, his will, his truth like that storm tossed ship against the rocks.
"And what does Randee mean, Vihan?" She asked, lips parted, trembling.
He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "It means whore. Good little English whore for her Hindu Saheb" His lips brushed her ear and tugged at the lobe playfully.
With a snarl she turned and he braced himself for the slap he more or less expected.
Instead, she kissed him so hard he felt his lips bruising. Her hunger was so intense that her hands actually pulled at his hair as her tongue darted between his teeth like a bird darting madly about its cage. He took control, his hand moving to her neck and his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, letting her tongue dance and wrap around his in a mute promise of how she wanted to use it to please him and satisfy hungers she was only now discovering. Finally he grabbed her long strawberry blond hair and pulled her lips back from his own.
With a slow deliberate move, he slapped her face. Not hard, just enough to sting.
"You do not have the right to that yet. The kiss of the Saheb does not go to Geneviève. She is a good and proper woman. A cold and aloof woman, a proud woman who is always and ever in control. No such a kiss can only be experienced by a Randee."
Vihan was struggling to keep his own voice level, for to show how much he wanted to take her right here on the table would be to imply to her that he was unworthy to be Saheb, that he was just another lust crazed white boy willing to make a fool of himself just to beg for her smallest attention. He was a Hindu bull, and white cowgirls were just another animal to be tamed, trained, and enjoyed. Gently though. While he wanted to break her, to train and own her, she was an amazing woman whose life and accomplishments outside the bedroom he had no intention of destroying. Her body, heart and soul would be his though. By divine right of conquest.
Trembling her hands buckled the bracelt about his left wrist. He looked at it in the light of the lounge. Overcome with emotion, she grabbed his wrist and kissed his palm. He let his hand cup her face. She looked up at him fearfully, at the end, she feared rejection more than anything else. If the dream died right now, she could never face him again, or herself for that matter.
He could see the panic rising in her, and his tone was iron as he stiller her fears like Indra siliencing the storm with a single word. "Kneel"
Slipping to her knees, and gods how that made her heaving bossom strain that western blouse, she looked up at him eagerly. To be honest, most of the bar was staring at them now. He took the simple steel choke collar and draped it over her head. Pulling the chain tight until it bit lightly at her throat, he tugged her chin up until he could see the realization of her helplessness fill both of them. He smiled. She blushed, then kissed the hand that held her chain.
Gesturing for her to sit beside him. He allowed her to process this all while he ordered them some appetizers. She was becoming more animated and he could see how she had surrupticiously begun undoing buttons on her blouse so more of her chain could be seen. He could see her wiggling to feel the slide of the steel chain along her chest, and feel the heavy ring and Trishul brandinger her as Hindu owned caressed her pale white breasts.
Looking at her sternly, Vihan slapped the table and said mock sternly.
"Randee, you dissapoint your Saheb. What will men think, to see you dressed like that. Is that a bra under that shirt, and did I see a panty line on your skirt?" I thought you cow uddered western women did that thing with your shirt so you don't need a bra?"
Clapping her hands, she asked to be excused to the bathroom. Half the bar turned to see her happily skipping like a schoolgirl off to the bathroom. He got glares from half the bar, and frank stares of admiration from the rest. Vihan sipped his drink and shifted to ease the strain of almost ten inches of Hindu manhood that was doing its best to imitate a pillar of teak. He was going to have to do something about that before he stood up, or he would not be able to walk upright. Chuckling, he thought it might go away on its own. Then Randee returned, and he knew he was doomed.
In her left hand was a lace half cup bra with the sort of underwire required with breasts of a certain heft. Twirling around her right hand was a pair of lacy white french cut panties. Singing "Save a horse, ride a cowboy" as she bounced across the room, she stopped every conversation. Her western shirt hand been knotted beneath her breasts, leaving them about three quarters exposed, with the dog collar shining steel against her throat and chest, and the golden Trident of Shiva blazing her Hindu ownership for all to see. She presented her bra and panties to him with a flourish that had the whole bar whispering.
"These are yours Saheb, as am I" She winked and roller her rump wickedly as she turned to slide into the booth beside him. Now looking innocently at the waitress whose scandalized face would no doubt be repeating this non stop at church for months afterward.
Conversation resumed slowly around them. Vihan was letting his hands roam up her silky smooth thighs to find the hot honey center of her sex. Her cries were mostly suppressed when he put the ring from her collar in her mouth and ordered her to bite down on it, but he could see her bucking like she was riding a mechanical bull and not his finger let everyone in the bar know that she had just cum. Damned if she wasn't as responsive as he dreamed. Now there was no way he was going to be geting up any time soon. His cock was so hard it felt like iron, like diamond.
He felt her hands rubbing his cock through his pants. His hand caught hers and he admonished her sternly.
"Randee means whore, or slut, and look what you have done. You have made your Saheb so hard I cannot stand to take you back to the room becuase my lund is hard and long as the horns on one of these redneck's bulls. Now how am I going to take you back to the room to take you properly? You must learn some self control or I cannot take you out in public"
Vihan shook his finger at her like he was admonishing a small chld, but his other hand had to keep a death grip on her wrist as she kept trying to stroke his cock through his pants. If she does that, he will never be able to stand and go back to the room with her. Suddenly Randee looked up cheerfully and chirped.
"Look Saheb, the bill is ready!"
Vihan turned to look and sure enough the older white waitress with the eternally disaproving look was almost to the table with the debit machine in hand.
"Where did your lady friend get to? I would have sworn you couldn't have pried her out of that booth?" The waitress asked. Vihan looked confused, turning to look at Randee, and freezing in confusion for a second when he coulnd't see her. For one moment he wondered where she went. Then he felt hands undoing his belt and zipper, and a warm mouth close around his aching hard Hindu cock.
Sitting back with a smile, Vihan gave the waitress a big tip, and said to her.
"My lady friend had some feminine needs to take care of. I will just finish my drink here while she attends to them. You have a nice day now" Vihan said, gritting his teeth as he felt one of his balls being sucked into Randee's hungry mouth as her long white fingers worked his hard Hindu cock. Sitting back to enjoy his drink, and blowjob. Vihan sighed. This was going to be a long, hard weekend.
There was a lot of training to do.