The Secret Life of Amanda Middie (2)

In all her life she had never been truly stunned by a situation so out of her venue. What the hell…?

“I won’t be offended if you tell me to go. I won’t be unhappy if you invite me to share your shower. I’ve read your blog. I know it was you. I can see into your bedroom window at night when you’re typing. It is just enough of an angle for me to be able to see it from the sidewalk over there.”

He pointed out her living room window. She blinked, then moved over to where he pointed. There was a bench there. And yes, from there one would be able to see her bedroom. But she wrote late at night…who would see her then?

“I used to work some heavy duty overtime at my last job. I’d park in the back, but have to come around to the front to collect my mail. I’d cut through the park area, and look up and see you typing away. Not every night, but enough to make me curious. And your breasts in profile are stunning, by the way.”

Again, one of those awkward social situations…how did one reply to that?”

“Thank you?” she murmured, uncertain.

“I got curious. So I brought my binoculars. I stood behind the bench and could see the header on your blog. I googled it, and there it was. An erotic sex-fantasy blog. And here you were, in my own building, my own little neighbor.”

“I’m not little.”

“You are a submissive though. And hungry for sex. It comes through in your writing. You write very…evocative…pieces that make me want to dive into your apartment and bury my face in your tits, your thighs.”


She sounded like an absolute moron but there was absolutely no prior event in her life that prepared her for this sort of scenario. She always wondered about if her parents found out, or a co-worker, but a neighbor had never crossed her mind.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“No. I had one, but we broke up a few months ago. She wanted to get married, but she wasn’t my one. Frankly, I doubt I was hers, either. I needed a break. How about you, a boyfriend?”

“No. Not for a long while. I had a…”

“a…pet frog?”

She laughed, shook her head. Mr. Diablo would have died if He’d ever heard that.

“no…oh no…” the laughter, nerves and release, bubbled up again.

“A Dom?”

She nodded, biting her lip. Her smile remained.

“He was a real bastard. Thoughtless and random. Two of the worst kind of things, really. I might be submissive but I still have feelings.”

“Being a Dom isn’t about not acknowledging your feelings–it’s taking them into account and working around or through them. It’s not possible to be a successful dominant by ignoring that.”

“You’re a Dom?”

“I’m flexible. I’m not the kind of guy who wants to know every last waking detail of your life–it is your life. But sexually? Yes. Very much so. And sometimes I might tell my sub what to wear in certain situations. But the control is mostly about when we are together. When I get to reap the benefits of that control.”

She’d never really considered that before. Mr. Diablo had been borderline cruel, attentive one day, then dismissive or ignoring her existence for days at a time. It was frustrating and kept her off-balance. She’d thought it was the way it was for Doms. But she’d done her homework, and discovered that really,  he was just an asshole who liked to throw his power around.

It stung that she let it go on as long as she had. The fun times had been really fun. The down times had been really awful. Fantasy had helped her get through it. Helped get through the “afterwards” when she was alone…and lonely.

He moved close to her again, stroked his eyes across her face in a way she found unsettling. His hands cupped her elbows and if she let herself fall into fantasy for even a second, she’d think he would lift her and kiss her senseless.

He would raise her, his hands tugging her roughly up, and towards him, while his mouth ravished hers, his lips and teeth biting at hers, a savage yet welcome assault…

He lifted her by her elbows, and brought his head low. His lips aligned with hers. Touching gently the sensual warmth passed from his lips into hers. His tongue slid  inside, tasting of peppermint. She wasn’t kissed senseless, but sensation-filled. Her nipples tingled. Tiny hairs at the nape of her neck rose. Deep inside, butterflies kicked their heels in her belly, while ripples of pleasure spun outward, like a galaxy exploding. Heat, light, excitement ran through her; a quiet desperation born of want, but tempered by caution threatened to swamp her.

His mouth left hers, yet his hands held her steady. His eyes asked questions she didn’t have the answers for. Yet he saw something echoed in hers. Once more his head dipped. His lips slid down the column of her neck, teeth nipping gently at the tender curve of her shoulder.

The moan caught her unaware. Her head fell back–a cliché. Oh, but now she understood, at last, how it had become one.  Sensory overload? It was so much more than that.

It was a fucking tsunami of sensation. Breathless, her small whimpers died back to silence, yet her fingers grasped his forearms, relaxed, grasped tighter.


“This is unfair of me.”

He let her go. Gently he peeled her fingers away from his arms, stepped back.

“I’m pressing my advantage here, knowing that I’ve been thinking about touching you for weeks now. That’s unfair of me, and not the done thing. The proper thing is for us to go out for coffee, to talk about your needs and desires, to listen to mine.”

She stared at him, her eyes huge. Things swam in her blood. Jungle drums, and pussy honey, and the most incredible, raw need.

“Fuck the done thing.”

It was his turn to blink, to stare at her.

She giggled at his slightly agog look.

“Really. Fuck it. It’s weird and the kind of thing that only seems to happen in my stories but…I need a shower. A long, hot steamy one. ”

She untied her robe, shrugged out of it. She had never been so brazen before, not even with Mr. Diablo.  There was always a sense of decorum in their sexual play. Fuck decorum, too, she thought.

His shirt hit the floor behind him in seconds. There was the intoxicating sound of his belt slipping from the loops at his hips, and she imagined the weight and heft of it as it sliced the air and hit her bottom. The sound of the report, that sharp erotic pop as her skin absorbed the energy, the pain carried in the swing. His pants hit the floor, jarring the fantasy from her.

“Let me.”

Emboldened, she stepped forward, and slid her thumbs into the waistband of his underwear. His hands reached, cupped her tits, his thumbs caressing the tightening buds.

“I think ….we’ll miss the shower our first time….”

“Later,” she murmured, and fell against him, smiling.


6 thoughts on “The Secret Life of Amanda Middie (2)

  1. Ohh. Just the kind of story fantasies are made from. Very nice.
    I like the double layers. We don’t really know if it’s just another fantasy, do we now?
    Lady P

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