Snow Day – The Party

Thank you D.E. for the inspiration.

This is the third in a series of Snow Day stories, though this one can be read by itself.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

The Party

It’d been a couple weeks since my next-door neighbor Miss Claire snatched me off my driveway after a big snowstorm to receive a heady taste of submission from her and her submissive Miss Emily. She told me I was free to visit her next door, but it would be her decision Whether to open the door and let me in. Her invitation haunted me from the moment it left her beautiful ruby ​​red lips.

I’m embarrassed to admit I masturbated three or fourtimes a day since my visit with Miss Claire, always thinking about the shape of her perfectly framed body, the heavenly way that she smelled, and how much I wanted her. I knew I would never have her, but the orgasms I had thinking about her were much more intense than the ones I had watching porn. She lit the flame of submission within me and weeks later that fire was still smoldering.

It was a Saturday morning and another cold front had swept in from Canada, bringing a foot of fresh snow to the suburbs of Philadelphia. I’d just finished my second cup of coffee, watching the falling snow swirling outside my kitchen window and dreamingly thinking about my sexy and dominating next door neighbor. Miss Claire had been in my thoughts practically every waking moment since I was invited into her home. I could see her front door from my vantage point, and that visual was a constant reminder that the woman of my dreams (and fansies) was a short hundred step journey away.

But forme it might as well have been a million miles. Why? For one, I didn’t feel I was worthy of Miss Claire’s affects. She was a deliciously attractive tall blonde, at least twenty years younger than me and way out of my league. I wondered why she took goal on me and brought me in, much like the way one would bring in a straight dog. Maybe it wasn’t logical but it was the way I felt. Second, my fear of rejection. Miss Claire made it clear I would sometimes be discarded by her. I wasn’t sure I could handle the disappointment. I was a chickenshit. So for two weeks I did nothing.

I finished my second cup of coffee and felt compelled to get out my snowblower. If I didn’t, the snow would eventually turn to an icy slush and then freeze on my driveway. I drew a deep breath and went into My bedroom to put on an old pair of jeans. The last time I went out I wore my Ozzy Osbourne 1988 World Tour t-shirt, only to surrender it to Miss Claire in the freezing cold. In the off chance I could get MissClaire’s attention again, I dug to the bottom of my dresser drawer and pulled out my favorite Blondie t-shirt from one of their concerns in the 90’s. Maybe I’d get a rise out of her.

So back outside to the freezing cold. I could see my breath as big puffs of steam and all around me was a thick white blanket of freshly fallen snow. I walked across the breezeway to the garage, trying the man door. It was frozen stuck. I saw and thought to myself it was going to be one of those fucking days, a day when the world would be against me. I used my boot to clear away the snow in front of the door and then shoved hard with my shoulder. The door popped open and I tumbled forward into an open bag of dried chicken manure I left by the door that I’d been meaning to move, but of course never got around to. The manure stuck to my wet coat and I proceeded to unleash my first salvo of profanities for the day. Calming myself, I flipped on the garage light and located the snowblower in the corner, waiting for me, beckoning me like an old crane friend.

The last time I wheeled it out I couldn’t start it. To my embarrassment, Miss Claire showed me I hadn’t fully opened the valve to the gas tank. She proceeded to start it up for me with the mere flick of her sexy wrist. This time I did it the way she showed me and it roared to life on the first pull, belching black smoke. Satisfied, I started on my driveway, throwing the snow onto a pile that was already two feet high. I worked my way up and down until the driveway was done. I felt a minor sense of accomplishment looking up at my clear driveway as a fine layer of snow covered what I’d just done.

Now was the hard part. I always cleared my neighbor’s sidewalks as long as I’ve lived in my house and when Miss Claire moved in about ten years prior I did it without an iota of recognition from her, be it a friendly wave or a note. It wasn’t as if I was doing it for the thanks, but at that moment I knew I would be stand mere steps away from the only woman who truly understand me, and that thought was torture. Even my ex-wife, who I was with for almost twenty years, failed to grapp my unquenchable need to be dominated. In fact the few times I hinted at my kink she acted as if (and maybe she was) disgusted that I could be interested in that sort of thing. Miss Claire was different. She spotted it in my eyes the moment we met and pushed all the right buttons when she made me debase myself in front of her and Miss Emily.

I asked myself for the thousands time why I lacked the guts to go over and knock on her door.

I finished my neighbor’s sidewalk and was going across the cleared part of my driveway over to the sidewalk in front of my house that wasn’t done yet. I noticed a couple cars parked in the street in front of Miss Claire’s house. They both had a fair amount of snow on them, telling me they’d been with Miss Claire for quite some time. The draws were open and I could see the shapes of people standing in front of the window. I guessed she was having an all-night/early morning party. Probably her kind of party. The kind to which I would never get an invitation.

At that point I really didn’t feel like clearing her walk and irritating her with the noise. I decided I’d do it later, when the party was over. In reality, I found an excuse to chicken out again. I turned the wheels of the snowblower ninety degrees to move up my driveway and into the garage. Right when I swiveled the machine I heard the sickening sketch of car tires sliding across dirty ice. I turned to watch a shiny new car execute a graceful 360 before coming to an abrupt stop when it thudded into a snowbank in front of my house.

The driver was lucky because the car hit the snowbank flush so it was doubtful there was any damage to the body. The car was a beauty. Jet black and squeaky clean. A Tesla S, Plaid Edition. Whoever was driving was a speed freak. The car was blindingly fast in a straight line. However, it was not the best choice for low speeds on icy roads. A furious woman flung open the door and unleashed a torrent of cusswords that would make a sailor blush. She was a tall elegant blonde with steely blue eyes, clearly not from around here, wearing a shaggy white fake fur coat and matching thigh high white UGGs. She looked like she just got back from skiing at St. Moritz.

“Shit!” she screamed, not yet aware of my presence.

“Hello,” I said, coming down the driveway to greet her. I was a friendly guy, wasn’t I? Especially to a smoking hot woman such as herself.

She was then squatting down looking at her right front and rear tires, both of which were completely encased in snow. She stood up, turned and looked at me with a sour expression on her face.

“Oh . . it’s you,” she said as if she knew me and was disappointed.

She looked to be in her forties, but well kept, with flawless skin and impossible make-up, even though it was only morning. I was already tongue tied in her presence.

“I’m . . I’m . . . I’m . . David . . . ” I said, struggle to remember my own name.

“I know who you are,” she said, as if I had a complete memory delay.

“What?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. How could she know who I was?

“You’re David. David Elliott. Right?”

“Why yes,” I said, incredulous.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Get your snowblower and help me get my car out of this snowdrift.”

I stood there stunned with my mouth agope. She looked at me as if I was a moron.

“Well, hop to it,” she said while my mind was still processing.

I reacted to her order and ran up the driveway in my heavy boots. The snowblower had been idling for some time and sputtered before it died. I cussed loudly when I realized the gas tank was empty. I prayed I had an extra gas can but couldn’t remember. I looked back down the driveway. The blonde had been studying me and must have seen the bewilderment on my face as she approached me.

“She told me you were a bit slow,” she said to my face as if she pitied me.

“Excuse me?” I asked while trying to suck in my gut. My God she was beautiful.

“You. Claire told me all about you. I was hoping to see for myself and here you are.”

“Yes . . that’s me,” I said, stating the obvious. So she knew Miss Claire. It was starting to make sense.

“Of course it is,” she chuckled. “And you ran out of gas. How predictable. Do you have more?”

I went into the garage and picked up a round red gas can and shook it. A small amount of gas sloshed on the bottom. Fuck.

“Here’s my key,” she said, handing it to me. “Have it properly parked in front of Claire’s house and then knocked on her door.”

“OK,” I said. Oh my God. I was being given an invite to the inner sanctum by this mysterious blonde.

“Open your jacket,” she demanded, as if it was the most natural thing for me to do as a gust of frigid airhit us.

I wanted to say something but instead I did as she asked. She stared at my t-shirt.

“Blondie. Interesting choice. I think I like it. Give it to me.”

I knew she meant immediately. I took off my parka and then my t-shirt. I handed her the t-shirt. She sniffed the air.

“A faith whiff of au de chicken manure?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” I acknowledged sheepishly.

“It suits you,” she said, not missing a beat. She walked away without looking back. I didn’t even know her name.

* * *

It was fortunate my neighbor Eddie had a full gas can that he was willing to lend me. I got the snowblower working and it only took me a few minutes to clear the snow away from the car’s tires. I opened the driver’s side door and got in, inhaling the scent of the woman’s perfume. It matched her sense of style and elegance. I’d never driven a Tesla so it took me a few minutes to figure out how to operate it. I fiddled with the control panel, noticed an iconn for the radio, and queued up what she was playing. Joni Mitchell. Interesting. Some of her earlier stuff. The heated seat felt good on my wet butt.

Curiosity got the best of me. I leaned over and opened the glove compartment. I moved a small box of tissues out of the way and revealed a small bottle of perfume behind it. I didn’t recognize the brand but it same scent as what was in the cabin. I put it all back the way it was. As I was straightening up I noticed a small overnight bag in the back seat.

Should I?

Fuck yes. I shoveled out her car without a word of thanks. I was entitled. I leaned back and retrieved it. I opened the zipper. A couple casual shirts folded on top. I moved them aside. A black bra was underneath. I didn’t dare pull it out but I leaned forward to touch my nose Against it and smell. Just a hint of sweat. The slightly damp lacy fabric was ambrosia. There were panties next to them. They were wadded up. Bingo. I pushed my nose deep into the lacy maTerial that matched the bra, letting it cover my face. Smother me with her scent. Her feral scent that I was instantly drawn to. It smelled like pussy and cum . . . and a whiff of her perfume. I had to make myself take my nose away from her fragrant panties. Only the risk of discovery keep me away. I zipped up the bag and put it back where I found it. No harm.

Back on task, I wheeled the car into a spot I cleared in front of Miss Claire’s house. I was hot and sweaty and my parka still had traces of the chicken manure stuck to it. The woman told me to knock on Claire’s door after I parked her car. I wondered if I should take the time to take a shower and change, but she didn’t say anything about a shower so I went right to the door. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I pushed the doorbell. I could hear muffled voices and then footsteps.

The door opened. It was Miss Claire. Tall, thin and blonde, there was more than a passing resemblance between her and my newest “friend.” She wasn’t dressed for inclement weather wearing a cream-colored silk blouse that revealed plenty of her ample cleavage, an increasingly short black skirt and black “fuck me” pumps. She was hot enough to raise the temperature in the room at least five degrees.

“Open your coat,” she said without so much as a “hello.”

I did, and when she saw me shirtless she called back to the kitchen.

“You win Elaine. That was his t-shirt.”

So her name was Elaine. Then Claire turned back to me while I came to that realization.

“You’re late,” she said before she let me in. I didn’t know there was an appointed time but I was certain my tardiness earned me a punishment.

“Coat?”

I handed her my coat, starting to shiver.

“Nice,” she said, seeing my white chest hairs dotted with sweat.

She held my coat with two fingers like she was holding a dead rat. She cast it in the corner of the entrance in a heap.

“Keys?” she asked, holding out her hand.I pulled them out of my pants pocket and put Elaine’s keys in her hand.

“Take off your clothes here and then come to the kitchen,” she said curtly.

That was it. No greeting. No small talk. So she left me in the entranceway alone with no light on. This seemed to be the routine in her house but I wasn’t accustomed to that kind of greeting, being ordered to strip naked in the dark. Then I was to present myself, flabby gut and all, to Miss Claire and the enigmatic “Elaine.”

I took off my boots, jeans, socks and finally boxes, unconsciously looking around and seeing no one. I was getting cold in the drafty entranceway and told myself I had to get going.

How did she know that I’d do anything for her? Because she knew from my lack of visitors that I was a lonely man with a love of the opposite sex and an overwhelming submissive desire. Because she knew a woman like her wouldn’t give me the time of day. Because she had already brought me to heel. In the two weeks since my last visit I wished for this exact moment. Naked in Miss Claire’s house.

I put one bare foot in front of the other in her renovated Victorian house, the elegant furnishings in sharp contrast my gross hairy nakedness, trying to move stealthily to the kitchen. I could hear the two of them talking and as I approached I picked up the scent of fine wine and artisan cheeses. They were deep in conversation when I entered the brightly lit kitchen, each holding a glass of wine with a tray of assorted cheeses and crackers on the counter in front of them.

Elaine looked every bit the elegant and sophisticated woman in a white V-neck cashmere sweater, black pants and black heels. I stood in the entranceway for at least a minute without either of them paying any mind to me. Finally Elaine interrupted the conversation she was having with Miss Claire.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said as if she was dying of boredom.

“Yes,” I said.

“You moved my car.”

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. An awkward conversation to say the least, me being naked and her being fully clothed (and gorgeous).

“So what do you want?” Elaine asked me.

I wasn’t prepared for that question.

“Me?” I asked.

“This may be a short conversation,” she said, about to resume her discussion with Miss Claire.

“Wait . . .” I almost shouted. “I want . . . I want to be of service to you and Miss Claire.”

Elaine smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Then I noticed there were two naked woman, collared and kneeing, their eyes trained on the floor. Their heads were bowed so I couldn’t make out their faces, though one was a tall, thin bottle blonde and the other was a short buxom redhead.

I had no idea what to do so I just stood there. I tried not to star at the subs but I did. I wondered what exactly was going on. Now I was part of the show, and likely unexpected. Miss Claire and Elaine continued to ignore me, continuing theConversation they were having when I interrupted. I got to study each of the women carefully, standing side by side, noting the resemblance. They were talking like they knew each other well, sharing a joke and then pointing at me.

“Trust me. I know this one. He’ll do anything you can dream up,” Miss Claire said as if I wasn’t there.

“I can think of a lot,” Elaine replied with a level of confidence that made me uneasy.

“Usual bet?” Miss Claire asked.

“Naturally,” Elaine answered.

“So you’ve really taken this guy in?” Elaine asked.

“Taken in is a strong phrase. I let him in once. You invited him this time.”

“But you’ve developed this unusual attention?”

“C’mon Elaine, let’s not argue about this. I know you’re here for a specific reason, but you’re the one who invited him.”

“So what’s up with this guy?” she asked instead.

“He’s a wannabe sub who thinks he’s willing to do anything for us. I think he wants us to test his willingness. Could you picture a more unlikely candidate for that role?” Miss Claire asked. “Let’s take a break from your training session and have some fun with him,” she went on to suggest. “I know it’s not part of your plan for the day, but I need some entertainment.”

Elaine surprised. She acted as if Miss Claire did have a point. Elaine looked at me, amused.

“You’re going to make him do something disgusting, aren’t you?” Elaine asked Miss Claire.

Miss Claire circled behind me and walled my ass with the palm of her hand. It stung like a swarm of bees. I jumped and screamed. Miss Claire started laughing.

“You can count on it. The worse the better, isn’t that right?” she asked me. My knees were quivering at that point. She reached under me and grabbed my balls before I could answer.

“What?” I croaked. I was still feeling the sting of the slap when she gave my balls a good squeeze.

Through the pain I could hear Miss Emily tell Elaine, “I told you he was thick.”

As she stood behind me she held my balls in a viselike grip. I sunk to my knees, as did she. She rested her chin on my shoulder. I could feel her hot breath as she spoke into my ear. I couldn’t help but notice her breasts pressing against my back, the nipples hard and her breasts unyielding. I was completely within her control, like a spider in her web.

“You don’t belong here, do you?” she snarled. Another squeeze of her hand and a blinding burst of pain.

I had to catch my breath. “No,” I answered honestly. There was no point in lying to her. She’d know and she’d just punishment me more severely.

She increased the intensity of her hold on my testicles and let her voice drop to a whisper so Elaine couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“It’s good to realize this you worthless piece of shit. You’re here because I told my sister about you. So don’t fuck it up, capiche?”

“Yes Miss Claire,” I said in a voice an octave higher. So they were sisters. Theresemblance and familiarity between them. Of course.

Thankfully she released my nuts from her death grip. I sucked in a huge sight of relief, though my balls were still throbbing.

“So you’ve met Elaine. So she got your shirt. Blondie, really? I took you more for Metallica.”

Elaine picked up my t-shirt off the counter and waved it like a trophy.