Collared in the Temple of Dendur
May-December BDSM, Exhibitionist
A young woman meets an older man in the wake of a break-up and discovers her submissive side. Her Master takes her to the Temple of Dendur exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum of Art where she submits to sex in public to earn her collar and seal his Dominance. This story features light BDSM, public submission and sex, and a Dom who will make your panties wet in under thirty minutes.
The night I met Ammon Fayed, he gave me what I thought was a small, blue rock. He hadn't introduced himself yet, so I was surprised and a little annoyed when he took my hand, palm up, and closed my fingers over the stone. He'd looked amused by the scowl on my face. That was six months ago at a party for my former linguistics professor's birthday.
He didn't look amused tonight when I met him at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, right in front of the Temple of Dendur exhibit. The intensity of his glare sent a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, but I smiled and strode across the marble floor, my heels announcing my approach. His dark eyes appraised my outfit. The black flounce skirt lay flat around my hips, but flared at the bottom, allowing it to move while I walked. The black, three-quarter sleeved blazer I wore covered the black lace bralette beneath it, leaving more cleavage showing than I would have chosen myself. My hair was in a sleek chignon, exposing my bare neck. I wore no jewelry, as he'd instructed, except the blue Met button on my lapel to signify my having paid the suggested donation to enter.
When I arrived in front of him, he took my hands and kissed me on the lips without speaking. His kiss was long and soft, with just a flick of his tongue over mine. My hands were cold and clammy against his warm fingers. I looked up, hoping to see him smile, but there was no crack in the intensity of his armor. Tonight was not about frivolity, and he wasn't going to indulge me.
He led me by the hand to the entrance of the Temple of Dendur, steadying me on the stairs when my knees shook. I stopped briefly to look at the view of Central Park in the fading daylight. The large room was far from empty, but that was his plan.
On that first night we met, I'd begun the day engaged to my high school sweetheart, even though I feared he could never make me happy. He was kind, intelligent, and well off, but he was a bore. We never went out. We had few friends. Every night of our relationship was a replay of the night before, bland food and dull sex.
By nightfall, wanting adventure and a good, hard fuck, I was single. Before the party, I'd removed the half-carat diamond from my left hand and left it on my fiancé's nightstand. He knew it was over. He'd been avoiding me for days. I ended it without his input. Without his consent. It felt like freedom.
Sexcerpt (XXX if available):
Ammon had done this to me before. If I didn't get there in time, he might not let me come at all. He spoke in my ear as I masturbated. "Good girl. Getting yourself off, right here in the museum. Oh, my little slut. Here comes the tour group."
I continued to masturbate, waiting for his direction, carefully maintaining my arousal without driving too close to the cliff. If I came before he was ready, he wouldn't let me come until he decided I'd been punished long enough. I had no idea how long that could be. Weeks, probably. Not worth the risk.
The tourists' voices swirled around me like a frenzy of starlings overhead. I didn't know how many strangers were in the room as I fingered my cunt, which dripped with my viscous desire. I didn't think I could hold back, but I knew I had to. I had to hold back, to stop myself before I exploded in a flash of red, hot lava, flowing down my legs, wetting my skirt and my thigh high stockings.
Cameras beeped and flashed as the tourists documented their brief visit to the temple. There were so many of them, piling in and filing out of the stone doorway. I felt Ammon's hard cock on my back when they bumped into him. Each time drove me closer, fueled the giant orgasm that was coming.
I wondered if he'd make me wait to come until the tour group filtered out, but we were running out of time. He handed the folio back to me, and I felt his hands at his belt, bumping into my back as he opened his pants and removed his cock. He pressed his hips into me to hide his nakedness in the flounce of my skirt. The tourists had to know what we were doing. Maybe they were taking pictures of us too. Maybe they'd get on their tour bus and show their friends the crazy Americans fucking in the museum, too stupid to realize that everyone could see them.