It had been a long time. She didn’t know whether she had stayed away for him, or because of him. But there was the dance floor, and several cowboys sauntering up already. She doesn’t want to dance yet, so she turns and starts walking.

It is a warm night, middle of summer… dry Texas heat wave coming on strong. Her Rockies fit like a glove. Her ass is framed with the denim seam so tight that it would show every flaw, were there any. Long legs hold that heart shaped ass up and move with supple elegance through the crowd. The black lace-ups are tight and hot on her feet this time of year, but she’s here to dance and dancing requires the right foot gear. Everything requires the right equipment; she’d be changing for him later.

The crowd parts slightly everywhere she struts. Hard to miss in those jeans, and with that little tiny, summer crop top that, well, a mother wouldn’t have approved! Her ample breasts bring smirks of delight from the men as she passes by. The soft black material clings to the melon shape of her form. Her cleavage is clearly visible, as is her belly button, with its temporary tattoo showing just slightly.

Showing just enough to make them wonder, deceiving the casual eye. Gentlemen all, they don’t reach, but fists clench as she walks by. She’s oblivious. But he isn’t. His table is in the middle, a tier up. He watches everything in the bar, and her, all the time. And she knows he is watching, guarding, but she doesn’t look his way, or even try to catch his eye. Make the evening last, she thinks.

The cowboy she picks out is a medium. Not too tall, but not shorter than she. And he is watching the crowd. A challenge. She spots a friend nearby and stops to chat, constantly making eye contact with the lone cowboy. She is determined to dance with him until sweat runs down her cleavage. His move is almost imperceptible. He nods his head towards the crowded dance floor, lifts his eyebrow in a question and they are on the floor. He starts a smooth, slow gait, no turns. Just a smooth two step.

No talking, no chit chat. she hates that and would have walked off the floor. They dance around to learn each other’s moves, then finally say hello to each other. Onlookers see the next bit of conversation as cozy, but it is only deal making… he needs to impress upon someone his absence…she needs to impress Him.

By the time the next song plays, they are clearing the floor. Couples move away, some in awe, some in frustration as this silent couple spins and turns. Her hair flies around with each spin,lands perfectly in place. Her hands explore his back and his arms, as his rove her body in a guise of spinning her, and leading her. She follows well. It’s as if they have been together for years, not minutes. Dirty Dancing, fuck dancing, country style.

By the time she leaves the floor with him, everyone in the bar has glimpsed the ass in the jeans, deeply inhaled at the thought of their hands gaining access to that set of (hooters) and caught the grin that emanated not from her slightly parted, full lips, but from her eyes, vibrant green eyes, shining with purpose, delight and provocation.

Her long, slender fingers wrap themselves hungrily around the long necked beer bottle. Her chin arches to the ceiling as she raises the glass bottle slowly to her mouth, knowing what an obscene illustration the slightest change in gesture could produce. No, she doesn’t. She knows such a scene is still to come, but privately. And she longs for it. But she will show off for him first.

Polite talk with friends. Her dance partner watches as she flirts, and hugs old acquaintances. Several other men ask her to dance. She turns them down, then reaches back to him. They slide more slowly this time, a waltz Soft, smooth and slow. She takes this time to draw the stares.

Her hands roam unbridled down his back, and around his sides. He imagines his old love. She imagines her Master. Song over, she thanks him with a very discreet kiss and completes her circle around the bar. She pays for a beer, and heads back into the crowd. Flushed face, but no longer out of breath, she slips the bottle onto His table and smiles. He tells her to go away, that he will come for her.

A little later, she’s chatting, flirting, still wriggling her ass in front of cowboys and wannabe’s that are growing hard watching her. The she feels His hand on her ass from behind.

“It’s time to leave, Now.”

She doesn’t even say goodbye to those nearby and walks silently out the door after Him.

“Did you enjoy dancing?”

“Yes, my sir, it was very nice.”

“And was it comfortable?”

“It was a bit uncomfortable, Sir.”

“No one knew, did they?”

“Sir, they did not.”

“Very well, let’s go home.”

She crawls obediently into the cab of his pickup. The climb into it makes her whimper and grimace. With a quick slap to her butt, he climbs in.

“Sit here, on the console.” A better reminder he decides, than the soft plush of the other seat. She sits gingerly, her ass still sore from the discipline earlier. She had not meant to argue about the plug, he just caught her off guard and the hesitation had cost her.

Once inside, he leads her to the couch, and gently helps her to sit. Sitting doesn’t come easy, but he soon stretches out her legs, and slowly unties the laces of her boots. He massages her ankles as he pulls the laces completely out of her boots.

“Look, how convenient, one for your feet and one for your hands.”

With one hand, he reaches for her head, and while kissing her deeply, slowly unbuttons her shirt. His fingers caress the soft skin of her bosom. He presses hard towards the nipples, applying pressure in the ever increasing vise of his fingertips. Her shirt gets pushed back over her shoulders and off, quickly and efficiently. He lingers at the sight of her breasts before abruptly pulling her to her feet.

“Get the rest of this stuff off, slowly.”

His voice started out tough, and yet, the last word or two linger in the air, as if he is remembering how much he had enjoyed the planning.

As the jeans slip down her thighs, what was hidden except to him comes fully into view. A simple yet effective harness, tied to her waist and a leather cord buried deep in her ass, and wedged tightly in her cunt. Attached to the leather bindings were several strategically placed small loops. One loop secures a butt plug deep in her ass. Dancing had been an supreme experiment in control. Sitting had been a misery.

He pulls her hands over her head, and ties them with the a cord. He let her hands drop forward. Her tied arms obstructed his view of her breasts. So he pulled on the cord and led her to the doorway, where he anchors her hands above her head and then slowly removes the intrusion from her ass.

His hands run all over every inch of her, paying special attention to those areas she’s been instructed about..her flat stomach and well groomed cunt. He spends close moments examining her carefully. He bent to place

her heels on her feet. The black high heels felt so light and unbalanced after her boots. The lines on her stockings were crooked, so he straighten them slowly, looking up into her pussy and smiling at the results of the leather intrusion. He fingers her cunt, playing and tugging with her lips, daring her clit. It doesn’t take long until she is begging, pleading, and then cumming.

He walks away and leaves her there, hanging, with a wet cunt and high heels and garter. All dressed up, no place to go.

From another room, she hears music. Not the country swing of the bar. Jazz, a blues song, hot and heavy. And from behind her, a voice, “Wanna dance for me? Dance for me good, hear? Or you don’t cum.”

And with that he unties her hands, and massages the wrists. He leads her into another room, one chair and a table in front of it. A low table, the top even with the seat of the chair. And a light is trained on it, spotlighting the area of the table.

Everything else in the room is dark, hidden. He takes his seat in the chair, and reaches to the other side of the chair to produce his riding crop. It might come in handy. She stands anxiously by, and with some hesitation , crawls onto the table. Finally, she is standing on the table, and the music gets louder.

She wants to look at her master, but doesn’t. She focuses on a spot on the wall and begins to sway with the music. Within seconds, her body is grinding down and her high heels click on the table as she tries to concentrate on the dancing while her body fights to concentrate elsewhere.

The sting of the crop is quick, and full of focus. She reaches with her hands to cradle her breasts, rub her tits and hold them in offering to him. Sub is dancing for him, she must stay focused. Every movement of sub’s body is for the Sir, for his pleasure, for his delight. Her knees fall apart as her pelvis rocks in time to the slow rhythm. Her cunt is glistening wet, and he can see her cunt lubricating the leather strap that invades her. He can tell that in order to move for him to see her cunt, that her hips roll forward, squeezing the strap in that tight ass he admires, and disciplines.

His eyes flicker over her, steadying their gaze at her cunt, and her tits.

She is struggling to stem the tide of her longings. He can tell that she could cum at any moment he gave the command. He is going to make her wait.

As the music dies, he rises and urges her to her knees. He sternly wraps her hands behind her back, securing them hand to elbow. He cradles her chin in his hand and lifts it towards the ceiling.

“Thirsty, my dear?”

He lifts a cold beer bottle to her mouth and pours the backwash of his beer down her throat. He starts slipping the bottle farther and farther into her mouth, making her take that cold, hard bottle as she is about to take His cock.

He arranges her on the table, and begins to feed her His cock. He forcefully uses her mouth, watching in delight as she struggles to please Him. Her eyes are shut tightly, as she concentrates on His cock thrusting in and out of her mouth. He goes deeper and deeper into her throat, sensing the submission, the acceptance. And cums, deep in her throat.

He reaches down to her, and works her clit between his thumb and finger, rolling it and pinching it. She is struggling under his weight, and soft whispery moans are begging to him, please, to let her cum. As he smiles his permission, his sub’s body is racked with an all consuming fire.

She screams out her torment and her body shakes with the strength of her orgasm. As she settles and takes a deep breath, he cradled her, and lifts her up off the table. They sway to the blues as he leads her gently back to the couch. He pulls her down to him and enfolds her in his warm embrace, soothing her to a gentle, dream filled sleep.

“Sleep well, princess,” he softly speaks. “For in the morning we fuck,” he thinks, as he grins like the devil himself.