The Biker....The Smell of Submission

She doesn't feel like going. There is a continuous drizzle of rain, she's got PMT and, quite frankly, she is annoyed with him. Last time she had given him her mobile before she left and he hasn't used it. Not once. Not even a text.

She decides not to dress up. She doesn't need to as she isn't going to meet him. She picks jeans rather than a dress, deliberately. But she changes her top three times just to get that right level of nonchalance, just in case she changes her mind.

And of course, she does.

He's the only one in the car park. Even the tea van has decided not to show up. She parks the car but sits in it, not bothering to get out. Let him come to me today, she thinks. She is feeling petty, annoyed. Annoyed with him for not getting in touch. Annoyed with herself for being here.

He's sat on his Ducati, smoking a cigarette. She didn't know that he smoked. She sighs. Something else she misses. Something else he could so easily tempt her with. This man is bad for her in so many ways, but she loves it.

He doesn't look over, just finishes his cigarette and starts the bike. She sits up. Shit, he's going without her. Two seconds later and he is at her window.
"Follow me," is all he says.

Quickly, she starts the car and manoeuvres out of the car park. Damn the rain, she curses as she peers into the gloom for him.

He's waiting at the junction. They drive towards the main hub of traffic, onto the North Circular. She wonders where he is taking her. Perhaps he's taking her back to his place. Maybe that's why he wanted her to bring the car.

She's a little bemused when he pulls into a retail park. Mothercare. B and Q. An electrical superstore. She wonders what he's doing. Perhaps she wasn't meant to follow him after all and she's going to look like a nutter when he realises she's there. But he's waiting for her, at the door to a sofa shop.

She smiles. In her wildest dreams she hadn't imagined she'd ever be going furniture shopping with him. From not phoning to this? Men are strange.

He takes her firmly by the arm and guides her to the back of the shop. A few eager salesmen try to descend on them but he waves them away with a polite smile. "Later, when we're ready," he tells them.

He leads her to a brown Chesterfield sofa and tells her to sit back.

"Close your eyes," he whispers. His lips are pressed up close to her ear. She feels her cunt start to quiver. She feels fidgety. A little hot.

"Close them," he repeats and she does. She hopes he's not going to ask her to do anything strange here. In the middle of a forest is one thing, but right here, in public, in front of all these people. She wonders how she can say no, how she can refuse, what words she can use.

"Now, " he begins again, his voice crashing into her thoughts, "I want you to take a deep breath and tell me what you smell.."

"Leather," she replies, "New leather."
"Breathe it in again, try to clear your mind and tell me what you can really smell."

It takes a few moments and then it hits her.....on her knees in the forest, the sound of birds in the trees, the weight of his cock in her mouth, the floaty far away feeling, the desperate need to please him.....her collar."

"Can you smell it?" he ask.
She opens her eyes wide and nods.

She has to cling onto the sofa arm to stop herself from slipping off and clinging to his knees.

"Remember that...every time you use one of your fancy handbags...every time you pass someone wearing a leather jacket.....every time you pick up one of your husband's fucking shoes.....that's it....that's the scent of your collar.....that's the smell of your submission."