The evening shift at the Ferryboat was ... interesting.

My conversation with Fi at her house had developed, for a while, exploring some of her *needs* and - at least on my part - my *limits.* Which went about as far as it could, given that we were due back at work in an hour or so, which is hardly an ideal opportunity to begin exploring the wilder aspects of human sexuality. So we chatted, really quite matter of factly, about some of her enduring fantasies - which were, I felt, helpfully detailed - and I tried to get my head around the domination and control thing. In fact, we didn't really resolve anything very much except to establish very clearly that the Game was most definitely On. 

After which, I left - a little earlier than was strictly necessary - and went and sat on the harbour wall for a while, staring at the waves and wondering whether I was actually capable of following through with this. For instance, Fi had got me to tell her what to wear to work for the evening, which was in itself a weird dynamic - I mean, if she told me what to tell her to do, did that actually count? Or maybe I could just instruct her to do anything that made her happy? Again, strictly speaking that was a command, but I suspected that the semantic argument might not cut it in the circumstances. So I sat and mused for a while, trying hard to see the whole thing as an opportunity, of sorts, rather than the crushing burden that my pessimistic soul insisted on presenting it as. And then I went back to work, so that at least I'd keep my deal with Gregor, however disappointing I might turn out to be to Fiona.

In fact, I was quarter of an hour late, so that Fi had already relieved Morag, was standing behind the bar, serving a couple of early customers, who, strangely, I didn't recognise. Mind you, I hardly recognised Fi ... she was wearing the clothes I'd asked - hang on, no, the clothes I'd *told* her to wear - a v-necked jumper over a similarly shaped t-shirt, with nary a Victorian blouse in sight, and a below the knee denim skirt. This was a conservative sort of choice, on my part - a brief glimpse of her wardrobe had revealed a collection of clothes that made the leather micro minidress look positively conventional, not to mention some ... umm ... adaptations to her bedroom that would have her neighbours choking on their porridge should they ever come to know of them. However, the idea wasn't to humiliate the woman, now or ever, just to get her relax a bit. So I'd got her to leave her hair out of the bun and tie it in a pony tail, instead, wear the aforementioned flattering but unrevealing apparel and ... well, the effect was quite stunning. Whereas Old Fiona behind the bar had been a timid little mouse, New Fiona was chatting friendlily away to our new customers, laughing at a joke or two, enjoying herself and making them enjoy themselves. 

So it was no great surprise to be told, when I got myself behind the bar, what a grand wee place we had here, how surprised they were to see it so empty. Of course, I did my (acting) landlord thing, assured them that it would get busy soon enough and hoped they'd bugger off before they realised what a blatant lie that was. Except that they didn't and, it turned out, it wasn't. Which is to say, people kept coming in and, rather than having a quick half and heading back out the door, actually staying. By about nine we had a bit of a crowd, a gathering round the bar that was at risk of becoming a full scale ceilidh - sensibly, I had a fire extinguisher to hand in case anyone actually started singing - and, well, a successful pub. There were even a couple of groups of tourists, for god's sake, but they were spending a lot of money so we put up with them.

And through it all, the centre of attention, almost literally the life and soul of the party, was, of course, Fiona. I mean, I did my bit - largely collecting glasses, reassuring some of the regulars that they weren't hallucinating, hadn't staggered into the wrong pub by mistake, that sort of thing - but it was Fi's show. By the time we'd rung the bells, and shuffled a bunch of disappointed and reluctant people out into the cold night air, the poor wee thing was near as dammit dead on her feet. Or at least she would have been if she hadn't been so elated ... really flying, in a way that I'd never seen before.

Ever the pessimist, of course, I wondered quite when the crash would come but for the moment, at least, she was happy, quite content to sit beside the bar while I counted and bagged a previously inconceivably large amount of money from the till. That essential task out of the way, I came and sat beside her, gave her a brief kiss and smiled at her. I could see anticipation in her eyes, knew that she was waiting for an Instruction or at least a guide from me and I began to feel a slight frisson of panic. I mean, it had been a bit of a strange day, all round, but I'd come to realise that this new Fi was a very lovable person - someone I could fall in love with, maybe already had done, to be scrupulously honest - and I really didn't want to abuse her ... even if *she wanted to be abused.*

It was a conundrum, I can tell you, but it at least prevented me from doing anything crude - like getting a quick blow job out of her, mauling her tits for the hell of it - so instead I got her to sit on my lap, which I could tell she liked, felt comfortable with, and stroked her hair and, well, yes, OK, her breasts for a while. Or, actually, until she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. I let her rest where she was, knowing she had every right to be exhausted, really impressed with the transformation that had come over her. Eventually, I took her upstairs, very gently laid her on the bed and even more gently took her outer clothes off, leaving her the t-shirt and bra and pants - black lace, this time - while I retreated back downstairs to collect the cash for the safe, switch the lights off and that sort of thing.
When I got back upstairs she was really soundly asleep so I drew the duvet up over her and very quietly got undressed myself. Then, just before I got into bed with her, and remembering how she'd left before the dawn the last time we'd slept together, I found a piece of towelling cord and carefully, gently, tied one of her wrists to the bedframe.

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

She must have been really exhausted as she was still firmly asleep when I got up, pulled some clothes on and went to make us both breakfast. I wondered if I was supposed to kick her out of bed and get *her* to do this, but then I saw her twitch in her sleep, pull against the restraint and smile beatifically. I thought poaching an egg or two was a small price to pay for a look of such pleasure and went and did the business.

When I got back, Fi was lying on her side on the bed, one hand sensuously stroking the cord that bound her to the bed. It was a simple bowline, I knew - I'd tied it - and not hard to unravel. But she wasn't even trying to. While I watched, unseen, she pulled against the cord a time or two, fingered the knot, finally lay back with a blissed out smile, legs spread, duvet pushed aside and her free hand reaching towards and into her nether regions.

I coughed - announcing myself - and she went rigid, genuine shock crossing her features. I gave her a half laugh.

"There'll be time enough for that - or not," I said, removing her hand from its target and handing her a plate of food. She was hungry, I could tell, but poached eggs on toast are peculiarly difficult to eat one handed. I did think about feeding her from a dog bowl and all that shit, but, hey ... not me, you know? So I carefully sat on one of her legs, caught the other between my own - basically ensuring that she couldn't move or bring her knees together, then told her to untie the cord about her wrist. To reinforce the point that I was still in control, and all that, I reached forward and hooked her panties to one side. Very *moist* panties, I noticed, handing her some cutlery and suggesting with a nod that she might eat. Oh, and eating something myself, too.

It would have been easier if I'd let her sit up, of course, but that would have required me to let go of her legs, so I left her to it. When we'd eaten, I sat and watched her for a while. She watched me, too, a beguiling mix of fear and anticipation in her eyes. OK, I thought ... fantasies are one thing, reality quite another. How far did she want to push this? How far did I?

To give myself time to think, I told her to place her hands behind her head and stay still, at which I took the plates and stuff back to Gregor's kitchen. Then, resolved, I came back and pulled her panties yet further away from her gaping gash - not so much glistening as dripping, I noted, almost rationally - and retrieved the previous wrist tie, used it, instead, to secure an ankle to the bed, then found the tights she'd been wearing the night before, used them to secure the other leg. Her quim positively pulsed, I'm sure of it. I did my best 'command and control' voice, sure that she was into this, sure that I had a margin, told her to lose the t-shirt, the bra underneath.
And then, there she was. Not conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but a rather lovely figure of womanhood. She'd put her hands back behind her head as soon as she'd finished removing her clothes as I'd told her to, lying there quite naked but for the irrelevant panties. And, yes, she was *thin* - ribs and pelvic bones all too protuberant - but she was, I thought, quite beautiful. The way her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing, the pouting, flexing folds of her labia, the lust in her eyes as she watched me so very, very carefully...
I tickled her ribs, ran my palms gently over her nipples - she sobbed, needing more stimulation thereabouts - then I dragged my nails down her midriff, finally ploughing through her pubes and ... very lightly touching her clit with just the tip of her finger. I watched her squirm, for a moment, as her legs pulled against their ties, then withdrew.

Instantly, her hands came down from behind her head, sought relief in her thatch. I pulled them away, leaned forward so I could look her in the eye, told her that she'd get off if *I* wanted. She squirmed, convulsed and ... I think ... orgasmed slightly at that point.
Clearly I had things to learn about this Domination stuff. Oh, and about Fiona, too.

So I sat back down for a while, in fact I wandered around for a bit. Fi was displaying her most intimate regions, physically, her most intimate desires, facially. Not that there was much she could do about it - her hands remained clamped behind her head, her legs were splayed by virtue of both ankles being tied to the bed. I recognised the power I had, half guiltily revelled in it ...

Eventually ... eventually *enough,* I hoped ... I put a finger where she wanted it, a thumb where she needed it and, with very little effort, brought her to an apparently mind numbing, certainly very vocally and physically impressive, orgasm. And she fell asleep again, that beautiful smile playing across her lips the while.

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

I went and sorted the pub out, returning after a while to find Fi awake but still restrained, despite being in quite urgent need of a piss, apparently ... it seemed there were new responsibilities I hadn't really come to terms with. Anyway, I sorted the immediate problem out - by untying her and telling her she was free to use the toilet - and then I gave her the afternoon off. I could do the lunchtime on my own, no worries, and I thought there were better ways of her spending the time. Such as carrying a couple of minor instructions which I gave her as she got dressed. She seemed to like the idea, anyway, and soon enough was on her way home.

Strangely, the lunchtime session seemed to carry on from the night before, not by being crowded or anything, but by being noticeably more relaxed than before and with more of a buzz about the place. Once again, too, people tended to stay for more than just the single drink, actual conversations were struck up between strangers - sometimes even between people who'd been drinking in the place for twenty years or more and had never found the need to exchange words before - and even I got dragged into a few discussions, shared a few jokes and generally did quite a good job on the 'genial' side of the bar persons role.

Still, I was extremely glad when Morag came in to take over - looking slightly shocked to see so many people in, so many people looking like they were enjoying themselves, might actually be planning on staying, or something - and I was out of the bar and out the back door in record time. I did feel slightly guilty about leaving her on her own - despite the time she'd worked in the bar she actually had virtually no experience of actually serving people - but I had much more pressing matters in mind. Specifically, getting to Fiona's place as quickly as possible.

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

Fi greeted me at the door dressed in a dark grey below the knee dress, armless but otherwise completely unrevealing, and ushered me into the sitting room where I took a chair and she went back up the stairs without a word. Well, you never knew when the postman or someone would call and I didn't see any reason to rink scandalising the neighbourhood - or not yet, anyway. While she was away, I made myself comfortable reclining on the couch and picked up a book - the *Bloody Chamber* - and flicked through it. When she came back I continued to read for a while, ignoring her, then beckoned her over.

She stood in front of me as if for an inspection, which is precisely what I'd told her to do ... because I wanted to make an inspection. And, yes, she'd done as I'd required. The dress had gone, replaced with the black leather micro-mini, knee length (leather) boots and some practical looking wrist cuffs. Her hair was tied back with, inevitably, a leather band and a choker had appeared on her throat. I sat back and looked at her for a fair while, knowing that this was what she wanted, her excitement visible in her dilated pupils, the slight tremors she gave whenever I gently adjusted her position. I found myself enjoying the situation, too, getting painfully hard as I contemplated the next stages, recalled that to date our sexual encounters had not been directly *rewarding* to me. So I turned her round, picked up the cuffs that she'd placed on a table and used them to secure her arms behind her back. I pulled her back into me, then, her hands caught against my dick through my jeans as I tweaked her nipples through the thin leather of her fantasy wear. Then I gave her a light slap on the bum, suggested that we should head upstairs to that ... interesting ... bedroom of hers.

In fact, dungeon might have been a better word, if you could imagine a bright and airy dungeon, that is, and one that on superficial investigation looked quite like a normal bedroom. Until you noticed the mirror on the ceiling, perhaps, or the variety of hooks and brackets artfully arranged around the bed. Or, at least at the moment, the variety of interestingly shaped rubber and perspex objects arrayed on the side table, the ropes and cords draped across the back of the chair. All this stuff may only have been fantasy to Fiona up till now but ... well, she'd clearly wanted to be prepared to seize any opportunity that came her way ... 

Which, I guess, this was. I decided to get into the spirit of the thing, pushed her down onto the bed and lay her on her side, slipping the wrist cuffs over a convenient hook to secure her against the wall, pulling the skirt of her dress up to reveal her pantyless bum ... and distended, throbbing outer lips. I gave her a brief stroke along the length of her labia and then withdrew my hand quickly as she shuddered. I thought that she might usefully *wait* for any sort of release - ha, in more senses than one - and instead took one of the larger vibrators from the selection, turned it full on and rested it lightly against her cheeks - in fact, just verging on touching her anus - where I knew the sensations would be stimulating without being ... liberating. And then, I stepped back out of the room, without a word, and left her there.

Actually, I felt the need to calm down a bit as I didn't think making a mess of my pants would contribute to the mood I was trying to create, so I found Fi's bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, took the opportunity to remove my shoes and socks and other more fiddly bits of clothing - tripping over myself undressing wasn't quite on message, either - and finally went back into her room wearing just jeans, pants and t-shirt.

First thing I noticed were her wide, staring eyes, looking both excited and frightened, then I noticed that she'd managed to move herself so that the vibrator was now wedged against the entrance to her bum which I thought was enterprising of her, but not really in accordance with the script I had planned. So I pulled the thing away, rolled her onto her front and sat across her legs, grinning at her as she frantically peered over her shoulder. Then I took one of the thinner leather straps from the chair back and made a great play of testing its flexibility around my fingers before, finally, giving it a flick through the air and catching Fi's right buttock with it. She squealed and I repeated the process on the left, then again on the right. Not hard enough to cause pain - let alone bruising - but I felt the shock and surprise was probably sufficient ...and the way that Fi was now panting and writhing against her restraint suggested that I was probably right.

Time to move on, I thought, and stood up again, moving round in front of her and slipping out of my remaining clothes while she stared at me wild eyed. I swear she gasped when my dick sprang out in front of her - its nothing special, normally, but was probably larger and harder than it had ever been before - and then she actually tried to get her hands round to touch it. Quite impossible, of course, given that they were securely attached to the wall, but I moved in towards her and she took the hint, took it into her mouth and began to use her lips and tongue along its length.

I warned her that this was likely to be a brief intervention on her part - I could feel my balls begin to spasm at the first touch of her tongue - but she merely nodded and grinned, continuing her manipulations the while. And it didn't take long than I'd expected - within a minute, two at the most, several days' worth of liquid frustration were pulsing down her throat as she swallowed and looked slightly pleased with herself, an emotion, I felt, that I could hardly begrudge her.

Luckily, though, I've never been someone who feels the need for a quick sleep or a beer or whatever immediately after coming so I pulled away from her - she was continuing to assault my dick with her tongue and it was just a little sensitive for that - and leaned down and gave her a deep kiss on the lips, simultaneously rolling her further towards the wall and lying down on the bed beside her. This meant, of course, that since her arms were still tied behind her, I had completely free access to the front. So I rolled the dress down - further restraining her arms - and exposed her breasts in their - gosh - leather bra. Once that was pulled aside, I began to nuzzle and bite her nipples which set her groaning, tugging against her bonds in an attempt to get her hands somewhere more useful - such as on her clit, I presumed, while I stopped her doing anything of the sort and, instead, reached over her to pick up a medium sized glass dildo, rubbing it over her tits and using it to pinch both her nipples against my thumbs before moving it slowly downwards and then, suddenly and with as little warning as possible, shoving it deep inside her as she screamed with possibly the quickest orgasm I had ever seen ...
After which, I sat and cuddled her, for a while, untying her arms only for long enough to re-secure them in front of her, and muttered nice things while she kissed my neck and shoulders, began to play with my rapidly resurrecting penis. I pulled her hands away, again, settled into a long and passionate kiss ... and told her that I loved her. This observation seemed to go down quite well as she collapsed against my chest and started crying, again ... only, for a change, with tears of happiness?

After a brief romantic interlude, though, I decided that it was time we got back to business and whispered a further instruction in her ear. She nodded eagerly, let me unclasp the ties from her wrists and then gathered a new set of claps, a blindfold - a particular fantasy of hers, she'd told me - and some lube that she'd secreted under the bed. Which seemed like invitation enough, so I secured her again, kneeling facing the wall, both arms secured to yet another set of hooks, applied the blind fold and ... waited. Well, I pulled the dress up over her bum and gave it a few brief strokes, allowing my fingers to drift over her anus, her perineum, her labia, then I gave her a couple of light swats on each cheek, *then* I waited. For a while, keeping my breathing as silent as possible, trying not to give her any clue as to where I was ... what I was doing. When the confinement and the anticipation was clearly getting to her - that ragged, ecstatic breathing, again, the occasional low moan - I carefully applied a dollop of lube to a convenient, long, thin, vibrator and giving as little warning as possible, move it directly against her arse. She dilated immediately and the thing slipped in a good eight or ten centimetres in one go, disappearing almost entirely on the second stroke. I left it there, buzzing away merrily, while I stroked her buttocks again, then softly moved myself round behind her and began to stroke her clitoris and labia with the head of my penis, then slowly began to fuck her from behind.

I lasted a lot longer this time, of course, and I felt her climax four or five times beneath me before I finally pulled out and sprayed semen all the way down her back, giving her another gentle swat on the bum as she collapsed beneath me, both of us almost completely exhausted.

It was a shame that we both had to get back to work in the pub so soon, really ...

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

Strangely, we made it on time. I was tempted to get her to leave the anal vibe in situ but thought better of it - I know Fi would have done it if I'd asked - but contented myself with selecting a rather provocative leather (sigh) basque for her to wear under the high necked wool dress I also chose for her. Not that it was at all visible but ... Fiona would know it was there ... and so would I.

Morag, I think, was very happy to see us, and probably relieved enough not to notice the fact that we came in together or that Fi had been holding my hand as we pushed our way into the bar. She was excited by the fact that half the passengers on the afternoon boat had come straight to the pub - word had spread rapidly, it seemed - and that people had been spending money and generally having fun. As, it appeared, had she - I think the word is glowing, really, but she seemed to be really enthusiastic, starting asking me whether we might even reopen - OK, excavate - the pub kitchen, perhaps experiment with food, that sort of thing. I grimaced at that - I was sure that I was in enough trouble with Gregor already - but Fi was a lot more supportive, wondering what on earth had happened to turn the place around so rapidly, wondering whether or not it could last.

Well, I could have given her a gentle hint, or two, but in fact it was Wee Tam the fisherman who got to break the news. 
"You know," he announced to the bar in general, "Its amazing the difference a good shag makes ... "

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

We worked very late, that night, preparing for Gregor's return the next day and generally getting the place in order - cleaning, finishing off the books, getting an order together to replace the amount of stuff we'd sold over just a couple of days - and by the time I picked up the few bits and pieces I'd brought over to the flat upstairs I was, frankly, completely knackered. So I accepted Fi's offer of a bed for the night - an offer made to the floor, inevitably, as if she really thought that there was any doubt that I'd accept - more on the basis that her place was closer than mine rather than in fevered expectation of yet more mind boggling sex.

I got it, anyway. Well, first the mind boggle, then the sex, to be honest. What happened was that when we got into her place, Fi instantly stripped down to that basque, dragging me upstairs with unseemly haste and surprising assertiveness, given that she was supposed to be the submissive one, so that finally I had to pretty much fight her off.

"Look," I said, trying hard to sound exasperated, "I will do my level best to fulfil your most perverted imaginings in the very near future, honest, but just at this precise moment I *really* need a piss very badly, so ..."

This did not have the intended result. Her eyes lit up and she started dragging me towards the bathroom, losing the leather thing on the way and finally crouching in the shower stall. Enlightenment dawned rather quickly. 

"Ah ..." I said ... "Are you suggesting that I should piss on *you?"*

She nodded, nervously, and I stared at her for a second. Then I thought, well ... whatever next ... and unzipped my jeans as she watched avidly. I found the whole thing very strange - sort of unpleasant, but also surprisingly difficult ... it being difficult to urinate when one is becoming aroused ...

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

After I'd hosed her down in a more conventional fashion, we went to bed like a long established couple, made love with tenderness and time and without any sort of additional equipment, which was a strange relief, at least to me, but satisfying enough for Fi if the orgasm count was anything to go by. And then we fell asleep, in each other's arms.

Next morning, Fiona was up first - well, it was her house, after all - appearing a few minutes after I'd woken with a mug of coffee which she sat on the bedside table, insouciantly shoving aside a monster dildo and a rather complicated harness to make space - and then sat down beside me, stroking my hair while I looked at her. For once she was wearing something close to conventional nightwear - an actual nightdress of black silk, the fabric hugging her nipples enticingly. She followed the direction of my gaze, laughed and swatted my hand away as it began to creep up towards her breast.

"There'll be time enough for that," she said, "once we've got you moved in"

And then, fetchingly, she looked really embarrassed, like she'd just spoken some forbidden thought out loud entirely by mistake. So I started to laugh, of course, even as the implications of what she'd just said struck home. Did I want to move in with the woman, for us to live together for - well, if not forever, at least the foreseeable future? Bit of a no brainer, that, I thought, reaching for her and pulling her down on me ...

Afterwards Fiona got serious again, asked me if I was serious, whether I'd minded her even asking, for crissakes ... I shushed her, took her in my arms again and reassured her as best I could, told her I loved her, again, (she blushed) and generally said all the right things ... for a change. And eventually, I got to ask her the question that had been bothering me, slightly, since the previous evening. Quite how had she gone from being so completely submissive to being actually pretty self-confident ... how, indeed, had we made love the last couple of times without involving leather, manacles, any of that sort sort of stuff? She looked dreamily at me, for a while, one hand trying - surprisingly successfully - to revive my flacid dick.

"Its strange," she said. "I'd never actually tried that stuff before - with anyone else, I mean - and it was wonderful, everything I'd hoped for. But so was making love to you without it. So ... oh, I don't know ... its not like that part of me has just *gone* or something ... its something I'd like to continue doing, if you're up for it, but its like not *essential* any more." She paused, picked up the harness thing from the table and looked at it. "Anyway," she continued, do you know how much this stuff *cost?"*

* **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  ** *

I'd asked Morag to open up, for a change, so Fi and I got into the bar about noon, finding the by now customary lively group around the bar, discussing fantasy menus by the sound of it - as if the food idea had a chance of surviving the landlord's return - and I bought us both a drink and joined them, no longer, I presumed, being an employee, while Fi went and got herself sorted for the rest of the lunchtime shift.

I'd barely taken a sip from my pint when I heard a strange belowing sound from behind the bar, followed immediately by the appearance of Gregor, looking severely pissed off and waving a large bag of money in my direction, while gesturing wildly at the others gathered around the bar.

"You!", he yelled, coming to stand directly in front of me. "I left you with this place for a fortnight and ... what the fuck have you done to my pub? What the fuck have you done to my fucking staff, come to that?"

I shrugged, not really believing the bluster, then I looked him in the eye and said,

"It wasn't me, mate, it was Fiona. We discovered that she *really* like taking orders ..."

And Fiona was standing beside me, muttering, "Well, sometimes ... and from some people."

And something ... the tone of her voice, the look on her face .... got us a cheer ....
