Black Envelope

- The Intro -

(So, I have been very interested in giving long form detailed role playing a try. This particular section of literotica has always fascinated me, but I have often been confounded on the best way to become involved in interesting threads. Through the suggestion of a delightful helper, I have decided to create a few threads based upon my own concepts in order to show my writing style as well as to show that I at least have some skill. I personally enjoy a wide range of scenarios and general sexual likes. I have a post in the Seeking thread for more detail. To show my diversity, I have decided to create three threads: one dealing with my enjoyment of everyday sexual experiences without a pile of fetishes dumped on top, one showing my love of creativity and fantastical words / scenarios, and one that focuses on my more submissive side. If you would like to work with me and join a thread, please PM me. Since I consider these kind of auditions, if you feel you have different ideas or things to try, PM me as well. I have some hard limits, but beyond them, I like a whole slew of different things. I hope you enjoy! Oh, and for all of these, I am seeking a male.)

(This is the thread centered around my submissive side. It can take a straight or supernatural bend. The male role her can be any number of characters. )


Megan Lentz was a pretty normal person by all accounts. She had no strange ambitions that separated her from any other standard 25 year old human being. Her job was normal, be it incredibly boring, doing accounting for a small law firm. It was a safe job as well as a good paying one that kept her from ever needing money. She had normal friends and a normal fiancee. He was also a standard office drone, spending his days in some drab office building.

Megan's days were routine. The same thing seemed to happen every day. She'd wake up, make her and her fiance some breakfast, go to work, crunch a bunch of numbers, come home, and relax the evening away. Things never veered from normalcy until one Tuesday when she received a strange black envelope in the mail. Inside was a standard card, black in color with a red circle in the midst of the blackness. Inside was a note that said "You are not as boring as you seem."

The letter perplexed her and she spent the day trying to track down who it was from. There was no return address and the post office had no idea. The note was strange and something about it all made Megan feel.... curious. So much so that she never mentioned it to her fiance. As the days passed, she all but forgot about the strange card.

Then, the following Tuesday, she found another black envelope in her mailbox. The card on the outside looked exactly the same, but on the inside it read "Your soul desires true thrill. You know it does." This turned Megan pale and though she wanted to be confused, she kind of understood what the letter meant. Things seemed pretty standard. In college, it seemed that things would never become normal, that adventure was around every corner. The letter, in a weird way, excited her.

The next Tuesday, she was actually rather happy to get another black envelope in the mail. The card looked the same yet again, and this time read "Dig deep down and explore what kind of woman you are." This actually sent Megan soul searching, the question actually having weight in her mind. What kind of woman was she? What did she want out of life? She thought about it all week and actually looked forward to the following Tuesday.

Yet again, there was a black envelope, but the message in this one absolutely shocked her. It read "Discard whatever you think the answer to the previous question was. You are actually nothing more than a pleasure craving slut." Wide eyed and embarrassed, Megan ripped up the letter within minutes, flushed and nervous the rest of the night. Her fiance had no idea what was wrong or what to do, but Megan was in a funk the next few days. She seemed to be angry with some unknowing force that betrayed her and accused her of something untrue.

Yet, by Saturday, she was really pondering the note. In college, she was quite.... loose. She did a lot of crazy things but often laughed them off in her brain, saying that those kind of things were standard for that age. Then, to her chagrin, she started to realize that she missed those times greatly. By Monday, she was afraid of what would be waiting for her the next day.

Indeed, there was a black envelope. She opened it with trembling hands. Inside, the message read "You are an absolute slut, Megan. You know it it is true. Do not lie." She trembled upon reading it. Then, she went to her bathroom and fingered herself while looking at the card, cumming harder than she had in months. Her fiance noticed how happy she was and that her mood had certainly improved. Before the next Tuesday, she had cum four times while reading the card.

With absolute glee, she went to the mailbox that Tuesday morning, waiting for her next letter. To her absolute disappointment, there was nothing there. She checked around her mailbox for more than twenty minutes, but there was no black envelope to be found. She was in a daze the rest of the day, feeling betrayed yet again by some mysterious nothingness. Then, at exactly six o'clock, she received a text message to her pure delight. It said "At 9 AM, noon, 3 PM, and 6 PM every day, look in a mirror and say 'I am a slut.'" She looked in the rear view mirror and said those very words then and there and did so every day. Megan's fiance soon became REALLY fond of Megan's new mood with all the new sexual attention she was giving him, a blowjob at least once a day and straight up fucking in new and wild ways.

The next Tuesday, Megan jovially opened her next black envelope which stated "You are a whore, Megan. Branch out." So, she aimed to be with a different man each night, something she hadn't done for years, finding fun new excuses to give her fiance every day. The next message the following Tuesday was "Don't stop, slut. Keep going. Do not lie to yourself again." The next Tuesday was "You are being very good, Take pride in yourself." The next Tuesday, Megan actually beamed with pride when the message said simply "You are a slut."

That following Tuesday, a strange and stormy day, the message made Megan absolutely turn pale. It simply gave an address and said "tomorrow 8' o'clock." Minutes after reading it, a black package was delivered. It said, "Do not open until 7:45" Megan was nervous all night, barely able to please anyone, even calling off work.

The address was a good two hours away. During the entire drive, Megan shook with anticipation. She soon realized the location was literally in the middle of nowhere, far removed from everything. It took her down a windy dirt road and to the front of a darkened mansion. The place was huge and ivory, bathed in moonlight. She stared in wonder as she realized it was time to open her package. Inside was a black leather corset, a black skirt, fishnets, six inch heels, a pair of velvet gloves, and a choker. She shook perfidiously as she put on her new cloths.

At exactly 8 o'clock she went into the mansion, a little scared and a little excited, calling out, "Hello, is anyone here?"

She worked in the lawfirm that was employed by Jacob's company. He noticed her during one of his visits to the firm. A pretty girl who's beauty seemed wasted in the monotonous job of crunching numbers. And he could see it in her face. A look of boredom. It was a look he'd seen before. And like in the previous instances, he resolved to do something about it.

Jacob Matthews was the head of a successful company that pretty much ran itself, which left him with the time to indulge in other activities. There were the obvious charitable functions, of course. After all, he was a generous man. And then there were the private functions behind closed doors away from the eyes of the public. And finally, then there was his personal life, which would have raised a few eyebrows among those familiar with his public image.

It began as it had in the past. With the little black envelopes. And the cards with messages designed to puzzle, intrigue, outrage, and seduce the girl. His assistant, Amanda, saw to it that they were untraceable by delivering them herself. No post office or mailman was involved in the delivery.

The only time Jacob involved himself in the process, was the Tuesday the girl DIDN'T receive a letter. He parked up the street from her house and watched her approach the mailbox with excitement on her face. And then walk away from the mailbox, disappointed. That's when he knew he had her hooked. At which point, he sent the email. He didn't need to observe her to know that she would follow his instructions.

The mansion was not his. He had a large estate of his own, but for first encounters, he preferred to meet elsewhere. The mansion was on the market and had been rented from the real estate company under an assumed name. He'd chosen it because of it's elegance, it's remoteness, and because it still had much of the furniture of it's former occupants.

The night of the first encounter, Jacob had all the lights on the front of the house turned off. That is, except for the chandelier in the cavernous front entryway, which was dimmed to it's lowest setting. And a lamp on a small table next to the front door. The chandelier was dimmed so as to keep the top of the staircase and the balcony of the upper floor in darkness. The same balcony where Jacob sat watching the front entrance, invisible to anyone entering the front door.

The table lamp was the brightest source of light in the entryway. And as such, it called attention to the silver tray next to it. On the tray was a black spandex hood, a lock, and a note. Jacob had initially considered a leather or latex hood, but rejected them. Leather and latex didn't breath. And if the girl was claustrophobic, that could be a problem.

The spandex was the kind that would take away her sight, but still allow air to pass through. It had a shiny black surface that gave it the illusion of latex. The hood had three openings. One for the neck, one for the mouth, and one at the top back of the head to gather up and pass hair through. Jacob loved to pull hair at the right moment in time. The hood zipped down the back for a skin-tight fit. The lock was to secure the choker in place over the neck of the hood. Locking the hood in place until such time as Jacob chose to remove it. Plus, the lock would be an indicator of her resolve. He and she would both know that once she clicked that lock in place, there was no turning back.

The note on the tray gave specific instructions. More specific than anything he had sent her up to this point. It said....

"Welcome and congratulations, Megan. You've made great progress. To take the next step in your adventure, remove the choker long enough to put the hood on. Then buckle the choker back around your neck. The buckle at the back of the choker is designed to be locked. Use the lock on the tray to secure it. Then wait where you stand. You will not be disappointed."

______________________________________________________________________


Jacob sat up there in the darkened balcony as she entered and said "Hello, is anyone here?"

He smiled, pleased by how she looked in the provocative outfit. He remained silent, waiting for her to notice the tray and the note. He leaned forward, watching her intently, curious as to what her next move would be.

Megan swirled a bit, taking in the barely lit sights of the luxurious mansion. Her outfit squeezed every bit of her body, but yet, she would classify that as a discomfort. The beautiful lobby and the scandalous cloths added to the mystery; the glorious shrouded mystery that just added to her general sense of excitement. Suddenly, she noticed an object shining at the edge of the room. A tray. Curiously, she approached it, the loud clicks of her heels echoing through the cavernous room.

It was a card, just like the rest she had received before. A strange spandex garment sat by it, also shining a bit in the low light. The words of the card were the first things to give Megan a bit of a pause and almost a sense of fear. Yes, the mystery was attractive, but putting on the hood was almost a complete surrender. "It is one thing to read the cards and drive out her, but it is another thing to completely block out all sight," Megan thought.

She picked up the hood and stared at it. The more she stared at it, the more she began to revise her own thoughts. How was there a different? She obeyed the cards' every command without question, sight unseen of the sender. She even drove the entire way here, putting on the slutty outfit as instructed. How was putting on the hood any different? Actually, the more she meditated on it, the more the idea sounded exciting... and rather sexy. A smile crept across her face and her heart beat faster. She pressed her skirt against herself with a gentle rub.

Quickly, she tied her hair into a ponytail and undid the choker. She slid the hood over her head, the world immediately fading to black. Her ponytail slid through the hood, the spandex sliding under the choker. Swallowing hard, she took the lock and clasped it, shuddering as the metal clicked, echoing through the room like her heels did.

So, she stood there as the card told her to, the world now unseen to her eyes and her hands folded in front of her. After a few minutes of standing, it felt.... wrong. Not the hood, which was still exciting, but the act of standing. Megan knew that with going this far, standing did not seem appropriate. With a sigh, she fell to her knees, gripping her heels. Yes, that felt much more appropriate.

It was hard to see her face from the balcony, so Jacob raised a pair of opera glasses to get a closer look. With them, he could see the hesitation as the girl examined the hood and debated her next action. And then the smile. As if finally deciding to throw caution to the wind. For a moment there, it looked like she was going to get herself off from her excitement.



Jacob was pleased and yet dismayed when, after putting the hood on, she chose to kneel. He had planned to let her stand there awhile, observing how she would handle the darkness, the silence, and the waiting. But the floors were hard and would probably become uncomfortable very quickly on those knees. So he got up and started down the stairs quietly.

She seemed unaware of his presence until he stepped over to the table and opened a drawer. And even then, she just turned her head, as if uncertain whether she had heard anything or not. The drawer contained a set of wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs. Picking them up, he stepped over to kneel behind her. But rather than put them on in the awkward position she had chosen, and risk her jumping out of fright and falling over, Jacob decided to make himself known and make her more comfortable. So wrapping his arm around her and pulling her back against his chest, he murmured in her ear, "Good evening, Megan. I'm glad to see that you could join us."

The wood worked into Megan's knees as she just staid there, her back slightly arched. Her breath was heavy, each exhale and inhale tinged with anticipation. When the sound of drawer broke the silence, Megan's back shot upright. Her knees scarped against the wood as she sprung to attention, even more excited than she was before.

The hand was heavy as it gripped her, sliding her body to a tight grip. At first, she was alarmed by the touch, but then, she was glad that the grasp was not too much of a shock. Her chest inflated and deflated against her arm, her head cocked back. The blackness of the hood made it almost feel like she was being straddled by a vacuum, as if nothingness itself is what grabbed her.

His voice tore through her, down to her very core. She was a bit fluttered, not knowing what to say at first. She stumbled with her words a bit, then forced herself to calm down, speaking in literate sentences. "Well... well.... thank you. I wouldn't miss it for a world..." she paused, deliberating the sentence. "There is an 'us'... I mean, more than just you?"

"Why yes, Megan. You are the guest of honor at a gathering of a few close friends. Now, why don't we get you to your feet. That floor is much too hard." Jacob stood up and then helped Megan up. Then picking up the leather cuffs, he proceeded to put them on her wrists, while continuing to talk to her, diverting her attention from his actions with his words.

"The hood is for your protection as well as for my guests. You can't see their faces and they can't see yours. The only person who knows the face under that hood is me. And trust me, I'm the height of discretion. For tonight, you will not be known as Megan Lentz. Your name is Miss Fawn. My guests have assigned numbers instead of names. And nothing will be done to you that you don't want done to you."

The corset Miss Fawn was wearing had D-rings at the bottom edge. Some were for garter straps. But others were there as anchor points. Jacob secured her cuffs to her sides in that manner. And then knelt to put cuffs on her ankles, continuing to speak as he did so.

"If at any time you want the activities to stop, Miss Fawn, just say, "Please stop everything." I find that the word "stop" or "please" tends to leap to a woman's throat in moment's of passion when she doesn't quite mean it. But a full sentence takes a bit more thought and a bit more certainty. So rather than having a safe word, you have a safe phrase." Jacob left the ankle cuffs unconnected for the moment. Standing back up, he leaned in close to ask, "Do you remember the safe phrase, Miss Fawn?"

The spandex over her head hugged the contours of Megan's skull. It filled in every nook and crevice of her face, squeezing her snugly and ensuring that no image could enter her eyes. Megan chose to focus on the feeling of the hood on her head in order to keep a tether to calmness. Stimuli was sending her neurons rapidly down different pathways of thought. She felt that she could be on the verge of not focusing or concentrating on the situation at hand. If she focused too much on her anxiousness, she could become fearful. If she focused too much on her sexual arousal, she could become too sporadic in activity and not follow the rules. Thus, Megan chose to focus on the spandex clinging to her head as well as the words of her gracious host.

His voice was smooth, she thought, curious about his polite dictation and soft spoken manner. Of course, she had no idea what would be done next, let alone said, so she chose to dwell on the spandex instead of trying to predict the future. Each word had a rhythm as did each action, as she felt him stand her up, cuff her arms to her sides.

Using her meditation strategies, she kept up her air of demure confidence and calmness. "I am Ms. Fawn now. I understand," she replied. Fawn. A curious choice for a fake name, but a delightfully whimsical one as well, thought Megan.

She became a bit more nervous by the discussion of safe words and the feeling of cuffs wrapping around her ankles. Megan worried if she would be able to walk. She was used to safe words, but always felt it was a coward's way out to use them. Yet, despite her adventures, she had never been in an outright extreme situation. The worst she ever had was some light bondage, whipping, and things in her behind. Yet, once again, the trepidation soon was overwhelmed with excitement. She was here to face a challenge after all.

"I understand. And the phrase is 'please stop everything.' I promise to use that if I become desperate. I hope I am not being too presumptuous, but I feel rude to be in the process of my host without knowing what to call him. What number or moniker would you like me to call you?" she asked. Through her calm, yet determined actions, she definitively felt his control of the situation. Through his response to her kneeling, Megan realized that she should follow his exact instructions to the word. Still, a girl could a least be curious of a name, especially considering it would be false anyways.

Jacob had chosen the name Miss Fawn because other girls, upon meeting his friends, initially trembled like frightened fawns. The hood had the effect of playing on their imagination of what they thought was going on around them. And what they thought was going to happen to them. But perhaps the name was a misnomer in this case. This Miss Fawn seemed surprisingly calm in her blindness and her bondage. However, he had already chosen the name, so he decided to stick with it. As for his own name for the evening, the relationship hadn't developed to the point that Master was appropriate. Though something about this girl made him think that was possible in the future. Much more possible than with the girls of past gatherings.

"You can call me Mister Stag, my dear." Jacob said as he walked around her, admiring her. "You really are quite extraordinary, Miss Fawn. Driving to a strange place in the dead of night, putting on that outfit and locking that hood in place, all based on mysterious notes that you received in the mail. You are quite wasted in that job of yours at that law firm. I knew the first time I saw you that you were destined for better things. Tonight you will be among some very powerful and influential people. They won't know who you are, but I will. And any one of us could advance your career in an infinite number of directions. But tonight is not a job interview, but a night to leave your boring life behind and have an adventure."

Jacob reached up to lightly brush her lips with his thumb. "The pity is that none of the others will know the lovely face under that hood. But perhaps in time..............well, we'll see. Everything is up to you. You may not think you are in charge right now. But tonight you will be the center of attention. So what say you, Miss Fawn? Shall we go meet the others."

Megan couldn't help but smile at the name Mr. Stag. It certainly created the sense of a mischievous forest theme. As long as no antlers were involved, she was fine with the naming scheme. "Well then, thank you for your gracious welcome, Mr. Stag," she cooed, honestly happy to be invited.

The continued description of the other guests went to further fuel Megan's fortitude.... as well as stoking her competitive nature. She had never known any kind of financial richness or poverty, her parents firmly middle class. Their encouragement allowed her to pursue a career that was also firmly middle class, something both safe and stable. Her initial desire to perhaps become a writer or an actress was squashed by sensibility. Why gamble on a risky career when a less exciting one would provide more security? Thus, she was driven to the "thrilling" world of accounting.

Still, from her cramped office, she marveled at the rich clients that would saunter in with a sense of prestige. Money never was a concern for Megan. It was just a substance that helped her survive and maybe allowed her to own a nice thing or two. What appealed to her about the prestigious men and woman was the power they held. She often was given to believing conspiracies on how the rich spent their time attending secret meetings and parties, discussing the fate of the common man and perhaps participating in various forsaken debaucheries. All of her friends and families thought her ideas were insane, that those with more were just like those with less. Megan now felt smug knowing she was the correct one. Of course, she could have never guessed that her promiscuous activities would be what led her to the discovery.

As Mr. Stag touched her lips, every nerve in Megan's body jumped to an alert status. Her posture straightened and the muscles in her face tightened. The mere touch threatened to undo Megan's hard earned confidence, confirming to her brain that keeping her cool would be more difficult than expected. Thus, Megan moved on to not only focus on the hood, but the rest of the pieces clinging to her body, such as the leather squeezing her breasts and her wrists, firmly fastened to her sides. Whenever she would become worried, she would move on to focus on a new piece of clothing and how that fit on her body.

"Well, I do aim to impress, Mr. Stag. I have always played it safe, but I do appreciate the opportunity you have given me to be daring. I also have nothing but respect for those in a higher station than me, so I wish not to waste their time with a middling attitude. I will do my best to impress." She turned her head to the direction she believed Mr. Stag was speaking from. "Thus, I am ready to go when you are ready to take me."

Everything seemed perfect up to this point. But now, Jacob felt like there was something off. The black cards that alternately encouraged her and then called her a slut were designed to keep the girl off-balance and constantly reassessing herself. But her cool confidence was not in keeping with that goal. He'd always found something delicious about the trembling nervousness of those who had come before her. Nervousness anticipation of something new. But in Miss Fawn's behavior, there was none of that.

But perhaps, Jacob considered, there was nothing wrong with Miss Fawn's behavior, but with him. In the past, he'd always maintained a certain distance when bringing a new lady before the gathering. But the attraction he had felt from the first time he'd laid eyes on Megan had been something entirely different. And now he was finding fault in her behavior to justify what he wanted to do next. Claiming to himself that she needed to be flustered and off balance rather than calm and cool before the gathering in order to excuse his actions of.......

Jacob stepped forward, leaning into Miss Fawn. His lips inches away from hers, he placed his right hand on her back and reached up with his left hand for her hair. And jerked it back. HARD! The moment she opened her mouth for a gasp, he silenced it with his lips, his tongue invading her mouth, probing it, exploring it, and owning it. He bent her back, as her hands fluttered, searching for something to hold on to. And then, just as abruptly, he broke contact and raised her to an upright position once more. She was gasping for air and indeed flustered. But then, so was he. Trying to regain his composure, he took her arm.

"Let's go in, Miss Fawn, Jacob said, leading her into the ballroom at the back of the mansion.

A soft murmur of voices as the doors opened. "Ladies and gentlemen. The guest of honor, the lovely Miss Fawn."

The kiss was certainly an unexpected surprise to Megan. The hair pull itself threatened to destroy her concentration and caused her to tense up, expecting something hard to hit her. The lips of the man was the last thing she would have anticipated, but they certainly were not unwelcome. As he kept a tight hold on her ponytail, Mr. Stag explored her mouth with great thoroughness. If Megan did not have a hood over her face, he would have seen her nose wrinkle and eyes shut as she gently kissed back. There was even a hint of passion to the action, though there was also a heavy sense of aggression too. The kiss then ended as suddenly as it began. Megan was left panting, wanting to bend a bit, but finding that hard with her hands fastened to her sides.

Then, she was being whisked away, guided by the arm of Mr. Stag. Her heels clicked loudly as she tried to keep up, her skirt flopping about madly. The creek of the door was loud and pronounced, cutting into her ears like a knife. As she was ushered into the room, Megan noticed that this one was a bit colder and judging by the chatter, had a nice sized group of people within it.

She started to tense up and almost panic. These were complete strangers seeing her dressed like a blind harlot, being led by a man who was always a complete stranger. For a few seconds, her lips trembled, the back of her brain telling her to run. Then, she remembered that horrible yoga class she took in college. Shutting her eyes below the hood, she took in a deep exhale, and then let out a nice long breath. She did this for a few breaths, using this to return to her previous scheme of focusing on her clothing. The breathing and the focusing techniques allowed her to become calm again. Well, as calm as one could be in the situation.

She forced a smile and aimed to stop the trembling in her red lips. Despite the new found calmness, her voice still stuttered and cracked while she spoke. "H... hello... hello, everyone! I am *cough* excuse me.... Ms. Fawn. T - thank you very m... much for..... thank you veeeeeerry......." She stopped, taking in one long and deep breath. "Thank you very much for in- in - inviting me...." She did a quick little bow that lasted less than a second, coughing again.

Mr. Stag, after making the introduction, had stepped away from Miss Fawn so that she would be the center of attention and the group could admire her. But he had forgotten an important step that he had always observed in the past. It was traditional for him to warn the guest of honor to speak only when spoken to just before walking into the gathering. In trying to unbalance the girl and indulge his passions, he'd forgotten to make that admonishment.

Generally, very little was said by anyone at the gatherings, once the guest of honor was presented. That was to avoid making an unguarded comment that would give someone's identity away. And it helped to focus the attention of everyone away from verbal communication and towards the communication of touch. While Miss Fawn would be the center of attention, she would not be the only action in the room, as people would begin to make each other's acquaintance, in the biblical sense.

Some chuckled and some gasped at Miss Fawn's attempts at conversation. Mr. Stag could see a frown on the face of Lady One, as she turned to a table of toys to pick up a ballgag. A tall and powerfully built black woman, she was the CFO of his company. And the executive he had already designated as his successor once he grew tired of the business. She had the respect of most of her colleagues because of her skilled handling of the company's finances. And the respect of the rest of of them because of her intimidating stature. A sleek, athletic body that was muscular without being overly so, she had started towards Miss Fawn when Mr. Stag stopped her.

"No, it's my fault, Lady One. I failed to give her the warning beforehand."

She nodded in response and turned to hand the ballgag to her husband, a bookish-looking professor of English. He looked at the gag, then took his glasses off to look at it again, as if trying to decide if she was expecting him to wear it. Their's was an interracial marriage where it was clear who was the dominant.

Lady One continued towards Miss Fawn with the slink of a jungle cat. Pressing up against the girl's back, she cupped one hand under her chin, tipping it back. Her other hand reached down the top of the corset, pulling the girl's breasts out. And then started rolling a nipple around between her fingers. Bending down, Lady One lightly licked Miss Fawn's lips with her tongue in a teasing manner.

"Listen up dear," she purred. "Since Mr. Stag failed to mention it, the rule is that you only speak when spoken to. Do you understand, Miss Fawn?" She then pinched the nipple hard to emphasize her point.