She riffled through the daily mail, purse sliding down to her elbow, run in her stockings, hair coming gently undone from her workday ‘do.
She was wiped out.
She was never sure if it was the end of the week blues, the mundane hamster wheel she seemed to be running on, or mid-life crisis, or some fucking combo of all three.
Sandwiched between her gas bill and an ad for the local real estate broker was a hand-written envelope that simply read
open if you dare
There was no return address, no stamp, nothing to denote whom it came from, or if it was even meant for her. She held it up to the light, but the safety aspect of the envelope made it unpeek-able.
The timer on her microwave beeped, and she dropped the note onto the hall table, dumped her purse there, and made her way back to the kitchen.
Curled up in bed, she was perusing those blogs that she had found, the ones that made her pussy tingle, and her heart yearn to discover if shemight someday find another Dom… she was a submissive, and the past 2 years had been so hard, so terrible, and she was so fucking lonely. …if she had the guts to once again go to the local group having a munch…if..if..if. So many ‘ifs’ and not enough gumption to change. Gumption made her think of “dare”.
She recalled the envelope with its careful lettering “open if you dare”. What the fuck had she done with it?
She slipped out of bed, and padded downstairs. Where had she put it? She looked around the front hall, then remembered the microwave had beeped while she was looking at the mail, and wandered into the kitchen.
It wasn’t there.
But the brothers B & J were. She grabbed the pint of Cherry Garcia and a spoon, and spent a pleasurable moment scraping her spoon across the top, giving herself a mouth-gasm when the small bits of fudge melted on her tongue, enhancing the cherry ice cream.
Gawd, it said something for your life when your mouth got more O’s then your pussy, she thought wryly, capping the ice cream and putting her temptation on ice once more.
She passed through the hall heading back to bed. She’d find the envelope in the morning. Her arm caught in the trailing strap of her purse and it tumbled to the floor.
“Great!” She exclaimed, annoyed. Gawd she was such a fucking klutz. She scooped the contents strewn on the floor back into her bag. As she prepared to plunk it back onto the table, she saw the white envelope right there, it’s taunting message face-up. She smiled wryly. ‘This round goes to the Klutz, ‘ she thought.
Scooping up the envelope, and dropping her purse back on the table, she took it upstairs.
Laying in her bed, cold feet tucked under the quilt, she carefully slit the envelope.
A card fell out onto her lap.
She looked it over. There was no contact information. No phone, fax, email. She turned it over, but the back was blank.
She thought about throwing it into her trash can, held her hand over it for a moment. The wings of the butterfly captured her attention. Hell, she’d look into it tomorrow. She tucked the card on her nightstand, and turned off the light. Thank goodness tomorrow was Saturday, and she could get caught up on her sleep. She was so tired.
She drifted off to sleep.
From the house across the street, a shadow moved away from the darkened window.
He’d watched her for a long time. He smiled as he recalled the puzzled look upon her face as she’d turned the business card around, looking for more information.
He’d baited the hook, and when she placed it on her nightstand, forestalling herself from throwing it away, he knew the hook had caught.
Placing the binoculars on the table beside the window, he allowed the wave of triumph to roll through him. Thinking of tomorrow, he slipped into his own bed, and closed his eyes.
He watched her working in her yard, a busy, serious woman. He enjoyed how her body moved, the careless grace as she flowed around her yard. Enjoying the view as she bent to scoop up another rake-ful of leaves, the worn denim of her jeans outlined a very curvy ass.
He returned to the kitchen, rinsed out his mug, and placed it upside down in the strainer. He was a meticulous man, who took great care with his things.
He wanted her.
He’d seen her at the munch, months ago, though he doubted very much that she would have remembered him. Her eyes ate into his soul. He had seen hunger there as she had moved through the room. He’d inquired about her, discovering that she and her husband had been big in this local group, until his sudden and unexpected death several years ago.
She played occasionally, but rarely with the same Dom, he’d been told, afraid perhaps, of committing.
Now he knew her hunger was tinged with grief. Living in the lifestyle, he knew, bonded some couples even more intensely, forged them together through the intense trust-love bond that developed between a Dom and his sub.
He wanted her.
He knew he could transform her grief, transmute it from grief to pain, pain to pleasure, pleasure to trust, and perhaps, if he were lucky, trust to love.
He popped a fresh k-cup into his exclusive coffee machine, and waited for it to brew. He was a guy who loved his kitchen gadgets. Step one was to pique her interest, which his card had done, since it still resided on her nightstand. Step two, become neighborly with his neighbor.
She paused a moment leaning on her rake. “Almost done,” she muttered under her breath.
“When you finish, you could head across the street.” The voice, deep and a bit husky, started her, and she turned quickly. Somehow, her feet tangled in the tines of the rake and before she knew it, she was tilting towards the earth. His hand scooped around her waist and he caught her tight. She noted his intensely green eyes, his strength, and his ability to move fast, and hold not only her, but a mug of steaming coffee without dropping either of them.
He released her, smiling down at her.
“While I didn’t mean to startle you so much, it’s hard to be sorry when such a lovely woman falls into my arms.”
She was surprised at the words. Flustered. A funny flurry of tingles zinged around her body, as if he was electric, and had shocked her.
She supposed he had shocked her, a bit, but that did not explain the tingles in her girly bits. Sexual chemistry sure had a wonky sense of humor. She realized he was waiting for a reply, and blushed.
“I’m sorry, I am such a klutz. You’re the new guy in the neighborhood.”
She spoke with certainty.
“I am, and I come bearing a bribe.” He passed her the coffee, and took her rake from her limp fingers. “I’m trying to hit on you, you see.”
His total honesty was shocking, and refreshing. It made her smile.
“I-” she grinned. There was something about this guy. Something that was reminiscent of David. Hadn’t He been as brash, as self-confident as this man?
She thrust out her free hand.
“Hi, I’m Becky.”
“Hi, I’m Jeff.”
“Jeff? Jeff Mardin?”
His answering grin ramped up the voltage between them, and her nipples rose, bumping out the front of her tee-shirt.
Of course He noticed.
“Now, that’s simply unfair, you know.”
“uh, unfair?” she asked, faltering, blushing deeply.
“Well, your eyes have grown a bit…wary, but those…” and he flicked a quick glance at her chest, “are certainly enticing me closer.” He suited actions to word, and stepped deeply into her personal space. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him now, his chiseled face cut with shadow, the sun back-lighting his head, and framed by the azure sky.
He made her mouth water. That wasn’t the only wet parts, either, she knew.
She wanted to step back, but she didn’t want to back down, either.
It was a conundrum, to be sure.
She was never sure later how long she stared up at him, lost for a time in his intensely green eyes. In her right hand, the cup of steaming coffee, the other, palm against his chest.
He was frozen into the tableau as well, his chest bare millimeters from hers, his mouth poised above her face. His arm curled around her back holding them hip to thigh, his other hand grasping the rake that had tripped her into his arms.
A totally modern American Gothic, she thought later, tapping his business card against her lower lip, smiling to herself.
He had released her, unmolested, balancing the rake against the tree, and helping her bag up the last bit of the leaf pile at their feet.
And invited her to dinner.
Which she had accepted.
It was so unlike her. She’d determined to be careful pursuing any further relationships. Whether vanilla-based, or D/s, she never got “connected” with anyone. She hadn’t had sex with another person since David had died, since she had lost her partner, her Dom, her Master. He had known her inside and out, and she had felt ripped, and raw for so long.
Jeff was…she sighed. There was the rub. She knew nothing about him. He’d been a virtual hermit in the months he’d lived across the street; she didn’t really recall seeing him but once or twice as their cars passed on the street. She’d heard he traveled a lot for his work. She looked again at the card in her hand. What man used a Monarch Butterfly on his business card?
A very confident one, obviously.
Then again, what greater symbol of strength than the fragile butterfly, who could fly for 2,000 miles to winter hibernation grounds? It was fucking sneaky, that’s what it was. She couldn’t stop thinking about him! The butterfly, with all its metaphors, and about His fucking green eyes!
She was both embarrassed and disconcerted when she went inside later, and discovered exactly how much he had effected her when she went to the bathroom.
Her panties were soaked.
More than soaked, actually.
She’d not been this wet and horny in … well, she couldn’t really remember. Since David, to be sure. There was something absolutely magnetic about Jeff. Something in him that called to her inner self.
“hellya, something that calls out to your inner slut,” her shoulder-devil said quietly in her ear.
“He wants you, you heard it loud and clear. You saw that bump in the front of his jeans and it wasn’t his car keys. You know what *that* means…first date sex!!”
That fucking devil was tormenting her already.
“Don’t listen to her,” responded her shoulder-angel. “she’s just a wanton slut. You know how to get to know a guy, to feel him out..”
“Feel him UP you mean,” interrupted the devil, leering.
OMG, she thought, i’m arguing with my imaginary devil/angel about this. She was laughing, cringing, exasperated. She was going nuts over nothing, really. And she had so much else to think about. Taxes. Fixing her front porch light.
And most importantly, what the fuck was she going to wear?
The restaurant was in-town, a place she’d never been to before. It was fairly new, and very exclusive. The tables were discreetly placed around upscale wooden cubicles, effectively hiding the diners from each other. The music was soft, classical jazz. The lighting was muted.
Her black dress had been the perfect choice.
So what if it was something she had just bought today. She refused to think of the 17 dresses she had tried on over the last few hours, finally finding this gem in a little out-of-the-way boutique. The top was all crisscrossed strapping, sexy, but subtle. The bottom fell in overlapping sections, so that they fluttered when she moved. The underskirt came just to her upper thigh, but the petals moved around her knees.
Until she sat down and realized that not one petal covered her legs. He noticed, the Man. He said not a word out loud, but the barely suppressed grin spoke volumes.
She could hardly believe how much she blushed with Him. It was like being a virgin all over again, wanting to catch his eye, but nervous about it, too.
The waitress came to their table, filling their water goblets, and proffering menu’s. He reached out and took hers away before she opened it, handing it back to the waitress.
“We’ll have a steak, with the new potatoes in rosemary butter, asparagus, and the ’99 Winton Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s one meal, two plates, please.”
She was blushing by the time he finished, his eyes keeping contact with hers the entire time he ordered. She felt the tightening of her internal muscles, the leaking of her pussy. Gawd. This was something that her husband had never done. He was much more into physical bondage.
“I know your secret,” he spoke quietly. “I first saw you some months ago at the Independence Day munch. I know some of your story, but not all. If this works between us, if W/we click, I will eventually learn all that from you.”
Her eyes widened, and her breath deepened. He knew.
“You’re a…” she couldn’t say it, not here, not out loud.
“I’m …” He paused, looking deeply into her. She felt like the only woman on the planet when He looked at her this way.
“…interested in you. I find you remarkably lovely, and very sexual.”
“I’m not…” He cut her off with a raised eyebrow, and continued.
“even raking leaves you exuded a sensuality. It is endemic to your very nature, little one.”
She wondered if everyone thought that way, decided it didn’t really matter to her if they did.
All that seemed to matter just now was Him.
Their meal arrived, and he passed the plate to her.
“Serve me,” he said.
She looked down at the steak steaming in front of her, then her gaze flew up to his eyes. Those intense, incredible eyes, that just drew her in.
‘Was that a double entendre?’ she wondered.
He took her hands, pulling her from the car, admiring the flashing glimpses of her legs amongst the floating tendrils of her skirt. He felt her pulse knock up as his hands slid up to circle her wrists, pulling her towards him. They stood that way a moment, pressed gently against each other, as he folded her arms behind her back, then grasped both wrists in one hand as his other cupped her chin.
He bent his head, and gently nibbled her lower lip, before kissing her lightly.
He released her and stepped away.
“Dream of me tonight, little one,” he directed, then he turned and got back into his car. She stood watching him, bemused, as he turned into his own driveway, as the garage door lifted silently, then closed, swallowing him from her view.
She took a deep breath. Her pussy was pulsing alarmingly.
“That’s it? You’re just going to stand here and watch Him drive away? Well, FUCK! So much for first date sex,” groused her shoulder-devil.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, and turning on her heel, she went up the walkway to her home.
She tossed and turned for a good bit of the night. It was near two before she fell deeply asleep, and she did indeed dream of Him. He was tying her to a St. Andrews Cross.
She watched as he threaded the rope beautifully around her wrists, creating a rope cuff for each, before affixing her ties to the iron rings in the upright arms.
She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, feel his fingers unlacing the tie-back halter He’d insisted she wear. She shivered at the touch of his clever fingers brushing her spine as he untied the bow holding her shirt closed. He’d already undone the tie at her neck and she saw the top flutter to the floor landing across the toe of one peep-toe shoe.
The contrast of the brilliant red shirt against the shiny black shoe, was her lingering mental image, as she woke with a start. It had been so fucking real! She could feel the fine thinness of the fabric against her tits. She reached up and rubbed her breasts, unsurprised to find each tipped with a hard bud. She was so turned on, so aroused.
Her analytical mind refused to let her play, and to try to fall asleep just now was an impossibility. What she wanted to do was march across the street, as she was just now, naked, and wanton, and pound on His door to be let in, to be fucked. To drop to her knees and give him the blowjob of his fucking life!
And dear gawd she wanted to be fucked senseless.
She got up and padded downstairs for her computer. She wanted to know what all that meant, that dream. She sure wasn’t going to sleep with this…. this pure, hard-core lust boiling inside her. She passed by the front door and saw, by the dim light of the kitchen nightlight, a card on the floor. It must’ve come through the mail slot.
On the back He had written:
“I enjoyed your service tonight, little one.”
Her pussy leapt into overdrive. So few words, but how rich they were in meaning.
She pulled her laptop closer and hit the google button. She wanted to delve into this. He was tying her in metaphysical knots and he’d barely laid a hand on her.
She found what she was looking for on the first try: “A red dress in a dream would be a sign of strong sexual desire.”
Well, it wasn’t a dress but she thought the meaning was the same.
“And, well, DUH!” she said, feeling her clit still throbbing, touching herself and feeling the slick wetness beading her lower lips. They were puffy, sensitive. From a fucking dream!
She went back and searched “black shoes”. Gawd. She stared at her screen in wonder. No. No fucking way.
“Shoes in dreams are symbols of the “direction we are headed” in our lives. … To have themblacked in your dreams, foretells improvement in your affairs, …”
She passed in front of the living room window again. It was 8:22 a.m. and she needed to grab her keys and head off for work, but she kept looking across the street.
The fucking garage doors never opened.
Maybe He was working from home? suggested her shoulder -angel.
‘no lights, dummy’ replied her shoulder-devil.
“shut the fuck up” she told them both, and angrily snatched up her purse. She all but flew out of her house shutting the hem of her skirt in the door and not realizing it until she turned away…and couldn’t.
“Oh for crizzakes,” she muttered under her breath. Unlocking the door, releasing her skirt, relocking it, she gave a short, frightened squeak when she turned and found Him right fucking behind her.
“Self-bondage?” He asked with a smirky smile.
She snorted, trying to ignore the blush rapidly suffusing her face, and her pounding heart. He’d just …startled her, that was all.
‘yeah, tell that to your cunt’ whispered her devil.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” He continued with a small, contained smile. She thought he was trying to not laugh, but the corners of his mouth continued to quirk and his chin quivered just a bit.
She stared at him hard for a minute, then sighed.
“Oh, go ahead, dammit, and laugh.”
And he did. Rich, rolling laughter, that made her own mouth quiver and arch at the corners. She refused to laugh. Flatly refused to giggle.
And then he poked her in the belly. The giggle was unexpected.
“There, now that I’ve deflated your ‘huff’, feel better little one?”
He acted like it hadn’t been three days since he’d last seen, or spoken to her. Three long days since she’d found the card on her foyer floor.
“I’ve been out-of-town, and just got back. I left suddenly, hope you got my card?” He knew full well she had, as he’d seen her holding it when she had gone back upstairs, watched her tuck it into her nightstand drawer. Once her light had gone out, He had called the limo company, and before the hour was gone, he was whisked away.
“I’d like to take you out tonight, but I’m afraid my schedule won’t allow anything until after 9, and I think that might be a bit late for you? I wondered if i might stop over for a while, visit, share a glass of wine, work on getting to know the mind behind the beautiful face.”
Flattery, kindness, sincerity, caring all wrapped up nicely, sans bow. “How the hell did He do that at 8:3o in the morning?” she wondered. She was intrigued, she could admit to intrigued.
“intrigued is good” her shoulder-angel whispered.
“fucked is better” snickered that persistent, and all-too-accurate devil.
“Okay,” she spoke, wondering if she had hesitated too long.
He smiled down at her, his amazing green eyes just delving so deeply into hers.
“I’ll see you tonight then. Wear something for me?” His voice was a question, barely. Bordering on an order but somehow not quite crossing the line, not quite getting her back up.
How the fuck did He do that?
She flew through the house and tore up the stairs. Why today, of all fucking days, she had to have not one, but two things spilled on her at work was a mystery for the ages. First the fucking copier had vomited developer powder on her, then Mickey had tripped and spilled his (blessedly not hot) coffee on her. Half milk, 2/3 sugar, a dash of coffee. Good old Mickey, and his syrupy java, all down the front of her jacket, splattered on her shirt, and down her left leg.
Fucking fuck! She impatiently ripped the shower knob to “ON”, then peeled out of her clothing so fast it was a miracle she didn’t set it ablaze.
She had to wash her hair, she thought, uncertain as to whether she was wearing a coating of copier toner in her tresses. And on top of everything else going awry today, she had to top it all off by getting caught in a traffic jam. A tractor-trailer carrying dog food, of all things, had jacknifed across the three lanes, and spilled thousands of pounds of kibble across the expressway. It had taken over 2 hours to make her normal 45 minute commute home. Detoured, stuck in the morass of motor vehicles, she began to wonder if she’d make it home at all tonight. Now, here it was 8:38 p.m. and she was going to be late for an informal date in her own living room. Fuck!
She sighed, stepped into the shower. She looked down at her feet, and almost cried to see she was still wearing her heels. Then it started. At first a teary sniffle of a giggle. Then a snort, and that made the laughter even harder. It wasn’t a moment later that she was bent double, laughing like a lunatic in an asylum.
“OGAWD” she tried to calm her racing heart, stop the wild release of the laughter, but bent as she was, there they were, her fucking shoes. Right there on her fucking feet, with her fucking thigh highs. In the fucking shower. She guffawed. She swallowed, choked, giggled, guffawed some more. OGAWD, she moaned, her stomach aching from the wild laughter.
Palm braced on the front wall, head leaning against that arm, eyes closed, she gave up and simply allowed the laughter to flow, as cleansing as the tears would have been.
Tension poured out of her, washed away by the heat of the water, the sheer ridiculousness of the position she was in.
He stood watching her through the gap in the curtain. Her laughter was slowing now, reduced to giggles and hiccups.
His cock was hard as stone in his pants; he was smiling widely at the picture of her there, her softly arched back, her delightful ass, the hose and heels drenched, but delineating beautifully curvy legs. He could see the outward curve of her right breast, the protective curl of her arm across her belly.
She had no idea what time it was, when she finally got herself under control. She straightened, arching her back, and shaking back the sodden mess of her hair. It trailed in long, saturated tendrils down her back, around her tits, tickling her elbows.
She was rinsed enough. Gods knows she must’ve been in here close to 20 minutes. She cranked the water off, and reached out to grab her towel. It wasn’t there.
She pulled back the curtain, and scanned the floor to see if it had fallen.
It wasn’t there.
hmmm. She thought she’d put one there this morning when she did the wash but perhaps she’d forgotten. Squeezing as much water from her hair as she could, she bent and removed her ruined shoes. She poured the water out of them, and still wearing her stockings, carried them into her bedroom.
He was laying on her bed, propped on her pillows, arms folded behind his head. Her towel lay draped across his lap. She let out a shriek of surprise, of shock.
He raised an eyebrow. He wondered, as he watched her mouth move soundlessly for a moment, if the rosy tone of her flesh was embarrassment, the heat from her shower….or from a much more exciting source.
“Well, my dear girl, when I suggested you dress for Me tonight, I had no inkling what you had in mind. Gotta tell you though…that outfit works for Me.”
She stared at her handsome, sexy neighbor. He was sprawled across her bed, her towel across his lap.
“Correct me if I am wrong, but didn’t we have an…arrangement for tonight?”
At her nod, he continued.
“I heard the shower when I came in at 9, through your unlocked back door, an oversight I have since corrected. Never a good idea, little one, to take a shower with your doors unlocked. I could have been anyone.”
Her eyes dropped at the slight admonishment, but she remained silent. After a few moments of quiet, she looked back at him, reclining there.
He looked at her, eyebrow quirking until she nodded again. He did not comment on her nakedness, and she had only a passing thought of it. It was as though he had transformed her into a statue, unable to move, unable to even care, really. She was transfixed, watching Him, watching her.
He watched as a single gleaming drop traveled down her collar-bone, and slid silkily into the hollow of her throat. Watched it glide down into the valley between her dewy breasts, and trail down her torso to hide in the cave of her bellybutton.
“I still can’t figure out why you clean your shoes in the shower. ” He turned slightly, though she could still see the slight smile cross his lips, and lifted a glass of wine from her nightstand. Rising, He came towards her. As the towel fell from his lap, she could clearly see the bulge in his trousers.
It was an awesome bulge.
She stared at it as he crossed to her, forgetting for a moment, her nudity, the wet hair steadily dripping down her body. For just a moment, her world narrowed to the juncture of his thighs, and the massive hard-on He was sporting.
It had been two years and a bit since she’d last had sex, she comforted herself. Then he was there, right there. He lifted the goblet to her mouth, the smooth bastard, tipping the contents, a soft white, to tease at her lips.
“Just a taste,” He said, removing the wine, and replacing it with his lips. They moved softly at first against her mouth.
‘first contact,’ she thought, before she was rendered incapable of thought.
Sensation coursed from her mouth to her cunt, from her cunt to her nipples, from her nipples to her hands, which somehow were tangled in his hair, pulling him into her. He allowed her to taste, to explore, giving her free reign over his mouth.
For a minute, anyway.
As he pulled away from her kiss, her hands in his hair, he cupped her chin, and pulled her gently to the bed. The wine went back onto the nightstand, then his hand was between her breasts, pushing her back, back onto, into the fluffy comforter. He followed her down.
He was big, tall and muscled and heavy. She was pinned to the mattress every bit as much as a moth to a collectors board. He moved her, hands under her, until they were fully on the bed, and then he held her a moment, one hand cupping her nape, the other, smoothing the wet tendrils of hair from her face.
He looked deeply at her, into her, feasting his eyes on her face. He drank in her features; from her eyes, where lust danced freely, to her parted lips, where breath flowed quickly in and out. The flare of her nose with every inhalation, the soft turn of her cheek, the flow of her brows.
Slowly, he lowered his mouth until just a whisper of breath separated his from hers.
“I’m going to take, little one, as soon as you say yes. I’m going to take, and demand, and take until you are fully, totally mine.”
“Not even David had been this …intensely forthright,” she thought, looking up into his eyes. This man was so intensely …compelling. And she wanted. Oh, great gods how she wanted to feel the hard thickness of a man between her lips, buried deeply up inside of her.
“Yes!” She whispered, not losing eye contact. And again, louder now,
“Yes, oh, please, YES!”
Their lips met, smiling.
His mouth devoured her.
That was her last, rational thought, before clarity faded, and all that remained was sensation. They came together, she naked and still wet from her shower, he still dressed. His thick erection pressed into her belly through His jeans, as his mouth took, and took more. She’d never been so thoroughly taken in a kiss. His tongue explored every part of her mouth, lapping at her lips, her tongue, her inner cheeks. His teeth bit and pulled her lips, his lips sucked on hers, then her tongue.
For a moment, there was a pause. He pulled away, just a fraction of space, and looked down at her, seeing her flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, and swollen lips. Then his mouth was back, taking possession of hers again.
His tongue probed at her lips, even as his lips were fused to hers. Around and around the tip of his questing tongue circled the very edge of her mouth, and then ever so slowly, slipped through those lips, over her teeth, and across her tongue. He withdrew, then slowly slid back once again. Back and forth, gently at first, then faster, deeper, more demanding, his tongue fucked into her mouth, his hands cupping her head, locked in her hair, holding her steady for his ravaging.
She felt giddy, light-headed. Sensations traveled from her mouth to her nipples; they were hard, so achingly hard! Her nipples forwarded the message to her belly, which quivered, and transmitted the news to her pussy, her clit. She was sizzling with the things he was doing with only lips and tongue; aware, aching with need, and so amazingly alive!
His lips traversed from hers, up to her ear. He nudged and licked those soft whorls, drawing a gasp of raw pleasure from her. His soft “mmmm” was felt as much as heard, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Please…” she moaned, not fully sure what she was asking for.
His hands slipped down her moist flesh, cupping and molding her tits, before finally, finally taking the hard tips between his fingers. His pinch was gentle, a pinch with a small roll, left-right, right-left.
Her moan was louder now, her head drawn back, exposing her throat, exposing the rapid pulse beating there in that soft hollow. He watched that pulse as his fingers began to demand more from her. His pinch grew tighter; the pulse beat faster. Her breath came in short pants now, her head tilted, eyes closed, lips swollen and slightly parted.
He felt the nipples in his hands try to rise and fall with her breathing, but he held them tight, then slowly he began to twist them in opposing directions while increasing the pinch. Her moan was low, almost an exhalation, and he saw the rise of goosebumps down her arms. He twisted those hard buds in the opposite direction, and began pulling the nipples towards him. Her eyes flew open as he reached the critical point where her full tits were pulled out straight, tight and coned.
He continued to pull, his eyes holding hers. He watched the wince start, her eyes crinkling, watched her jaw clamping, trying to hold back the yell.
“Give it to me…give. Me. your. pain.” His firm, deep voice broke the long silence between them, and opened her throat. She whimpered, moaning, panting, yet not quite daring to lean forward to relieve the pulling pain. She looked back at him, feeling possessed, taken, controlled, and a deep intense need for this.
‘this is what had been missing these last two years,’ she thought, as His eyes, dear gods His eyes delved into her very soul. “this need to be taken to this place, this need to give…..THIS……to someone.” She’d never found that at any of the play parties she’d attended after David had died. But it was here, now.
With this insight floating in her heart, she was brought abruptly back to the here, the now, as the pain in her tits became nearly unbearable.
“oGawd, GAWD!!!” she exclaimed, and yelped as his fingers slipped to the very edge of her nipples, pinching just that wee bit of flesh cruelly, before finally slipping off. Her tits fell back to her chest with a bobble. Her nipples swelled and pinkened from his attention. And her pussy was soaked. Her nipples burned, her tits ached. Her lips were sore.
She’d never felt better in her life.
His finger poking her between her tits brought her focus back to him. Slowly, He was pushing her backwards. Step by step, until she felt the bump of the bed behind her legs. She couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across her face as His hands lifted to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
His shirt slid slowly from his shoulders. He was stripping for her, she realized.
“The best things take time,” He said aloud, bringing her attention from his hard, male nipples to his mouth, his brilliant green eyes.
“The butterfly does not transform from the caterpillar instantly. As the caterpillar, she exists for the purpose *of* transforming. She craves, she eats, and when she is ready, she rests for a time. Sleeping in her safe cocoon, she becomes, slowly, what she was meant to be all along.”
She lay back on the bed, watching him, absorbing his words, each falling softly upon her, the way a gentle mist falls on verdant woods. She felt coated in him, his rampant needs evident, but knowing he would not be rushed into a fevered pitch.
She understood his metaphor. He’d waited for her to be ready for this. For Him. She swallowed the sudden pool of saliva in her mouth as his shirt fell to the floor. He was gorgeous. He wasn’t hursuit, yet there was a rich swatch of hair which arrowed sharply at his lower belly, pointing, definitely pointing, to what lay hidden from her view.
And yet, not fully hidden. She swallowed against the sudden rushing of need. The urge to possess him. The sudden ferocity of that need stunned her. Her pussy throbbed to the thundering rhythm her heart set, as she saw his fingers reach towards the tented khaki slacks.
His fingers mesmerized as they wove in and out of the hasp of his belt, the tinkle of the hardware a soft counterpoint to her ragged breathing. She wanted, oh gods how she wanted him.
Her nipples crinkled tightly, her areola fully clenched with her desires, the small buds deeply ruby, from theearlier work. The ache there was partly from his handiwork, but mostly from her lust. It nearly matched the ache from between her thighs.
“Open your legs and let me look at you.”
Slowly, almost shyly, her legs parted. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his finger across his lips and “shhhh’ed” her to silence. She was blushing, she felt the heat of it on her face. He looked. No, more than that…he saw. She wondered if she had ever met anyone with such deep intent before. She tried to picture her lower body. She didn’t have the body of a 20-year-old anymore.
He reassured her, as if reading her mind, as if understanding her worry.
“It looks lonely. All those soft folds, swollen and slicked now with your sweet juices…I wonder, little one, how long it’s been since someone besides you sated that beast inside of you?”
She looked up at him, her voice husky when she replied…
“too long, Sir. It’s been too long.”
“Not Sir, little one. I will be your Master before we are done here.”
The sound of his zipper lowering punctuated the statement that brought a rush of fine goosebumps along her arms, her belly.
Her hair was dry, curling wildly around her face when she woke. It had been wet, trailing beads of moisture down her body when she’d come out of the bathroom, but now, hours later, and dried by a very different form of heat than her blow dryer…well, she imagined it took ‘bed head’ to new heights.
She lay, His arm curled ’round her waist holding her close even in sleep. She couldn’t help the smile that slipped over her face, any more than she could stop the joy blossoming in her heart.
In truth, her caterpillar had broken free of the chrysalis and was drying her new wings.
She had been transformed, the moment she had stood, transfixed, when she emerged from her bathroom to find Him in repose on her bed, holding her towel. Holding her fate, really.
She felt the soft warm wetness between her thighs, her pussy still gently pulsing from his attentions. Cock and hand, teeth and tongue, all had played a part in her multiple eruptions.
His cock was a delight; nesting currently at the junction of ass and pussy and thighs, she could feel the silky skin grow hard and hot and thick once again. She wiggled, pressing that growing beast against the bottom curve of her ass.
He shifted his hips, sliding his thickening shaft deeper in the hot wet cleft. Was he awake, she wondered, or merely shifting in sleep to find a more comfortable niche for his rising penis?
The hand at her waist crawled upward and supplied that answer. He cupped her tit, hefting the weight of it, then pinching her nipple, gently, at first, then harder, firmer.
Teeth gnawed at her shoulder and she moaned. He’d managed to find the exact spot he’d bitten last night.
Gawd. Last night.
She fell backward in time, remembering. It would be hard to forget, this first time with a lover who was as filling to her spirit as her body. There had been some kind of magic in the air, as they had stood, face to face for a moment before he’d laid her on the bed, and traced her body with the lightest of touches.
The memory of those feathery caresses made her shiver even now. He’d learned every curve of her body, every hollow. He’d probed, tasted, touched every inch of skin, sucking her big toe as avidly as he’d twirled his tongue in her belly button.
That had made her giggle like a school-girl.
He’d lapped at her breasts, sucked her nipples, all done with a gentle tenderness. Then He’d blown across her wetted skin, raising goose-flesh all along the round globes of her tits, which he attacked with his teeth.
He was playfully ferocious at first, growling and nipping along her tits, into her armpits, but play became infused with lust, with ardor, and with a deep, nearly savage groan, he’d sunk his teeth into her shoulder, biting hard, and deeply as his cock had found her swollen lower lips, wet with her need. His cock parted her, entered her, and they had attacked each other with a ferocity she’d not known herself capable of.
He’d fucked her through several orgasms, despite her gasping pleas to wait, so sensitive, please please please…He smiled down at her, fucking deeply, slowly into her belly. She was filled with Him, surrounded by Him.
And then He pulled away, and told her to turn on her belly. His cock gleamed in the soft lighting from her dresser lamp, wet with her sex juice. The thick shaft was at full attention, and she moaned and licked her lips.
He denied her.
“if I tell you again to roll over, little one…” His voice trailed off.
She rolled. His hands circled her round fanny, then kneaded the full globes. From kneading, to slapping, from slapping to hitting, from hitting to nipping, from nipping to biting.
Gasping, moaning. Was there anything as painfully humbling as having a Man bite the tender flesh of ones bottom? she wondered. She knew there would be deep marks there come morning.
She could hardly wait.
His stiff cock probed along her leg as His teeth worked over her ass. He licked up her spine, then reaching under her hips, pulled her up, instructing her to bend her knees under her, head pressed into the mattress.
Subbie, supplicant position, He called it.
She called it embarrassing…yet it turned her on immensely to be so exposed.
Vulnerable. Open. Available for use.
He began weaving threads of submission into their sex play. Two fingers in her pussy. His thumb in her ass. His left hand slapping between her thighs, bidding her to spread more, open more to Him.
Her breathing became more ragged, raw. Her need flared suddenly. She needed pain. She needed submission. She craved Him.
He didn’t disappoint. The fingers left her pussy, entered her ass. The bed shifted as he moved up behind her, began fucking her pussy from behind, driving himself ever deeper into her tummy.
Fingers from each hand slid into her ass, and her mouth was open making soft grunting noises as cock and fingers worked her bottom holes. He stretched her tenderest, tightest hole, persistently, gently preparing her.
It had been a long, very long, time since she’d been ass-fucked, and her heart raced. This was her ultimate surrender.
“Yes, little one?” His voice, always mesmerizing, sent a shiver straight through her body to her clitoris, and she moaned.
“Is that a yes?” He asked again. He understood her reticence, though how, she had no idea. He was just that good … a man, a Dom…knowing that if she said yes it was to more than just a vigorous ass fucking.
“yesssss, gods above, yessss, please fuck my ass ….Master..”
He took her ass completely, the pain expected, exciting, and eventually, fading away to full-blown, raw lust.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease” she begged.
He fucked harder, deeper, then she had ever before been taken, and she came, and came again, before He shouted his own impending explosion. She couldn’t’ feel His release, as her cunt clamped down, hard, and sent her brain into a tailspin as yet another orgasm poured from her body.
They had collapsed together, entwined, and fallen asleep.
The crepuscular rays of the dawning sun began to transform night into day, illuminating the bare tops of the trees in her front yard, painting them with a patina of gold. That gold spilled into her room, dashing off the edges of the window, one post of her headboard, and her ‘Starry Night’ reproduction print on the far wall.
She could see his hand against her breast, feel the heat of his touch, the responding heat in her tit, the fullness of her nipple against his palm.
It was going to be a beautiful new day.