A Masterful Weekend GetawaybyMsQuote©
All George told me I needed for the weekend was casual clothes, a bathing suit, and beach sandals. I assumed sunscreen would be important ... and my hair dryer, a brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, makeup, shampoo, soap ... Before I knew it, my carry-on suitcase was packed to the gills. I wondered if men had any idea what kind of project it was to pack just to spend the night somewhere, especially at the spur of the moment.
He picked me up at nine, threw my suitcase in the back seat, and we hit the road going north.
"So, where are we going?" I asked.
He gave me a smile and a kiss and said, "You'll see when we get there."
Of course. Why would I expect him to break his pattern? After only being out with him three times since we first met, I figured whatever he had planned would be fun and that I'd be in safe hands.
He was in an incredibly playful mood, singing to bad '70's songs on satellite radio and cracking jokes along the way. This was a side I really hadn't seen of him, which tended to be incredibly proper, polite, serious and sometimes stern. It was a side of him I was really having a lot of fun with until he told me: "Hike your left foot up on the dashboard."
I looked at him to look for a cue to what he was up to. He glared at me, a reminder that I should have responded with, "Yes, Sir," and not bother to question him.
"That's twelve," he said, referring to the number of spankings I had accumulated for not following directions s properly since the night before.
I complied. I couldn't do this without my short denim skirt hiking up to my hips and exposing my bare pussy for anyone on the road to see. Thankfully, we were on a two-lane road surrounded only by trees on both sides. No one could see my pussy until he got into the opposite lane to pass a semi-truck ahead of us.
Oh my. Was he really going to do this?
I wanted to pull my leg down, but I knew better. I already had a dozen spankings coming my way.
George cruised alongside the driver who had his eyes on the road ... until he honked his horn.
The truck driver, a gruff looking man in his late 40's, maybe early 50's, turned his head and gave me a scuzzy, lecherous smile.
George started laughing, and told me, "Give him a nice show while I still have an open road ahead of me."
He put my fingers on my pussy and guided me to rub it. I started stroking the folds with one finger and then two. Then suddenly, he pulled ahead of the truck to let an oncoming car have its right-of-way.
George laughed and smiled at me, told me I could put my foot down and reached for my hand to hold it.
"Why did you do that?" he asked.
"Because you told me to," I said.
"I love that you did, but I what I'm trying to get at is why you do what I tell you?" he said.
It was a good question, and I didn't quite understand my answer. Normally and with any other guy, I would have said something like, "Are you out of your freaking mind?" But with George, it was different.
"It's the thrill of the challenge," I said. "It's about challenging my inner will. It's about challenging my trust in you. So far, I've come to trust you. You've appreciated what I've done and you've kept me out of real danger."
"You're picking up on who I am and what I'm all about very quickly," he said. "And you have no qualms about where I'm taking you or what we'll be doing this weekend?"
"No, but should I?" I asked.
George just smiled like a kid who had done something really wrong and got away with it.
We spent a good amount of the time in the car talking about hard limits and things I wanted to try. He said he was quite surprised how well I had taken to Katherine the day before in the way I let her expose my nude body to him and allowed her touch me between my legs,
"Did that surprise you, too?" he asked.
"Yes and no," I told him.
I was always curious about how it would feel to be with another woman, but chalked it up to it just being a fantasy of something I would probably never have the opportunity to try. That wasn't to say that there weren't a number of men who would have loved to see what George saw last night and would have made arrangements to make it happen. But with George it was different, especially in the way that he put a stop to it when things were getting really hot and I wanted to touch her myself.
"It's all about control, my kitten," he said. "Control over you and even myself."
"So what kinds of things have you ... oh, how do I put it ... been the master of your domain about?" I asked.
He kissed my hand that he was still holding, and said, "Many things. Many, many things."
"Such as?" I asked.
He laughed, and said, "If I told you, I would be tipping my hand too much. I like keeping you on your toes and keeping you guessing."
"But that's not fair," I said. "I've spent the good part of the last 45 minutes divulging things I've never discussed with another man all in the interest of you getting to know me better. I'm only trying to do the same thing about you."
"I'll tell you this; there is one thing I will disclose about my self-control with you by the end of the weekend, but until then, will you trust me to keep that promise?" he said.
I sighed and told him that I would trust him on that, whatever that disclosure would be.
After a two-hour car ride, we pulled up to our destination; a large two-story chalet with floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the front and overlooked the Bay. He said it was his family's cottage, but with his parents getting older and his brother and sister living out of town, he pretty much had free reign of it whenever he wanted.
He showed me around the inside. We unpacked our bags and the food he brought for the weekend before he took me outside on the front deck.
It was a gorgeous day – warm, but not too hot; sunny, but not blinding off the sheen of the water; and breezy enough to feel as if I were being caressed by a lover's touch like his as he held me from behind.
"I never get tired of this view," he said.
"I can see how," I said. "It's beautiful, refreshing."
"I was talking about you," he said before he started nuzzling my neck. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
He took me by the hand and we walked into a thicket of trees a short distance from the side of the house. It was barely a path of dirt, dried and yellowed pine needles, and leaves that fell last fall. In the middle was a small clearing.
We stopped. He let go of my hand, backed up a few steps, kept his eyes on me, and said, "Strip."
I looked at him as if to say, "Here? Are you nuts?"
"Thirteen," he said sternly.
I replied with the obligatory, "Yes, sir," and pulled off my T-shirt, bra and skirt. I stood buck naked under the trees as he picked up my clothes and walked away.
"George, where are you going?" I called out, and then remembered that I shouldn't do anything to call attention to myself.
At least I still had my flip flops on to protect my feet from the blanket of peat on the ground. The little bit of sunlight and the wind that managed to come off of the lake had little similarity to how it felt just a few minutes earlier when he was holding me on the deck. I felt a chilling feeling in my head. I felt bare, vulnerable, scared and abandoned, especially after the way he just walked off. Even more confusing was how he was so loving, caring and adoring until the moment he told me to take off my clothes.
I just stood there and crossed my legs enough to cover my pussy and cross my arms across my breasts even though no one was around to see me. A few minutes later he came back with neatly coiled strands of rope, a thick blanket, and a large duffle bag. He put the gear down, walked up to me, and yanked my hair hard.
"My kitten," he said in that low and gruff voice I had come to learn to know that he was in his Dom mode. "I'm going to do some training with you today. You know your safe words, but I urge you not to abuse them just because you don't want to do something. I want you to give the things I'm about to do a try."
George lay the blanket on the ground next to a tree and told me to get on my knees. He took a piece of the rope and brushed and dangled it against my skin until I felt relaxed and comfortable. He looped a long section of the rope over a branch of the tree and ran it through a pulley and secured it to a metal clasp that held together the leather wrist bands put on me.
He took some time winding and knotting several long pieces of rope around me. At times, he'd pull on the rope attached to the pulley to make me stand stretched as high as my arms could reach and the balls of my feet could secure me while he constructed an elaborate costume of sorts around me that fit tight around my breasts and kept them and my ass and pussy completely exposed.
"Normally, I would like to see you fully bound in rope unable to move, but this weekend, I have several things in mind," he said.
The first thing he brought out was a large dildo attached to a heavy weighted base that he placed on a blanket. He lowered the rope above me, told me to kneel over it, and then said, "Ride it."
At first it was hard to position myself with my wrists stretched and clamped over my head, but I knew what the consequences would be if I didn't comply quickly. He sat back in a folding chair and jerked on the rope to bring me up and down onto the inanimate dick. He seemed amused by the way he was able to control the short pulses that I lay onto it. Even I was surprised how much enjoyment I got out of it.
As soon as my short and clipped breathing and moans became more audible, he asked, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
What else was I supposed to say? It was quite obvious.
"Aren't you embarrassed or humiliated by having me watch you fuck a fake dick in front of me?" he asked.
"Yes and no, sir," I said.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, dropping my weight further onto and lifting me higher over the dildo with every pull.
"I-I-I," started to say, stammering over the stronger sensations he was controlling on my forced impalements. "I feel awkward be-be-being watched this way, b-b-but ... it feels so gooood ... ahhh ..."
"I can see," he said. "You're coming like crazy. I bet you're delicious."
As soon as he said that, I couldn't answer; I could only cry out in ecstasy from being so filled and getting wetter than ever.
"Open your eyes and tell me how you're coming," he said.
I looked straight at him and did my best to say, "Yes-s-s-s, sir ... I'm coming, an-an-and I n-n-need to come harder."
"How much harder?" he asked.
"Harder!" I shouted.
I really wanted to come harder, but I needed something. I needed his touch. I needed to feel him rubbing my clit. I needed to feel ...
"What if I told you that you were being watched by others?" he asked.
"Oh, my god no!" I shouted. "Only for you! Only ..."
I couldn't finish my thoughts. I didn't know how to. Was someone other than him watching me? I was scared and embarrassed, but at the same time, the pulses he was imposing on me by yanking on that rope became much more intense. I felt as if I was on the brink of explosion.
"What if I told you that that guy over there has been wanking off ever since he saw you?" he asked.
"Where? Where?" I screamed in panic, turning my head around to see, but focused on being forced not move in a way that I might get hurt, especially with my hands being clasped and strung above me.
"Don't look around; look at me!" he ordered.
In between my orgasmic cries, I managed to barely eke out a feeble "Yes, sir."
"Good, good, my kitten," he said in a softer voice. "I like watching that man over there hiding behind the trees. He's watching with his wife and he's yanking on himself so hard ... oh, my god ... he's spraying all over the place ... he's coming so hard he almost looks like he's in pain ..."
I felt as if I burst the biggest cum bubble of my life. Cum was just slopping all over myself, down my legs and up my ass crack. I couldn't stop screaming as the large fake dick turned into a slippery pole inside of me.
He quickly pulled me off the dildo and raised me upright. I was shaking and could barely stand. Thank goodness he ran up to me to catch me. I was breathless and felt like dead weight in his arms.
He brought me down to the ground slowly, let the rope above me go loose so I could bring my arms down, and cradled and rocked me on his lap.
I started crying in his embrace. It was this involuntary reaction that just came out of me. Perhaps it was a combination of sensory overload, both good and bad – extreme pleasure, extreme humiliation, and extreme objectification.
"There, there," he said softly as he continued to rock me. "It's OK. You were beautiful. You really, really were."
George held me until I finally settled down. He said it was the most amazing thing he ever saw.
Obviously, there was no one else around. The only voices I heard were faint voices of people on the beach and the muffled rumblings of motors of boats far off in the distance.
"Why do you do these things to me?" I asked.
He thought for a moment, and said, "I don't know. I really don't understand why. I've always been this way, and there have been only very few women who have let me be this way with them."
"How many?" I asked.
"Three," he said. "Two women when I was younger, when I was in college and shortly thereafter. They weren't around for long. There was another woman, my sub of six years. We parted ways two years ago, and there's been no one since."
"So why me?" I asked.
"Because you intrigue me," he said. "You're beautiful, classy, and have this joie de vivre. I love how you're so eager to please me, and yet sometimes you can be a challenge. You're a very interesting creature."
Creature. That was an interesting word. It was something I was never called before.
I thought back to the other lovers I had in my life. Aside from a couple of nice men I dated for a few months at a time, there were only two significant men in my life.
There was Glenn, who I met in college, who always treated me like a princess, but got insanely jealous whenever I was friendly with another man or another man looked at me as little as two seconds too long. Our sex life was pretty ordinary, and sometimes he'd freak out if I wanted to try something the tiniest bit risqué. However, he saw nothing wrong with having me watch porn with him on occasion. Ironically, I broke up with him after three years when I discovered he was running the same game with another woman who believed that he wanted to marry her, too.
Then there was Brad, who was insanely fun. We got into some unbelievable sexual hijinks with each other – sex on fire escapes, inside open windows at hotels, in public bathrooms, and even in the coat room at his best friend's wedding reception. But he was divorced and a single dad. His daughter, who was in her mid-teens and lived with him, was always the excuse for why he couldn't promise a more permanent relationship. I couldn't move in with him as long as he wasn't married according to his parenting agreement, and he never came close to popping the question in the two years we were together. I told him that I had to move on.
Did any of them see my submissive side? Not that I could tell. Then again, none of them were anything at all like George.
I nearly fell asleep on his lap until he woke me and took me to the outdoor shower to get me washed up. He was so loving and caring in the way that he washed my hair, lathered my body, and massaged sunblock on my skin after he dried me off with a towel.
He placed a towel around me and took me to the front deck. He said I had been through a lot, more than he anticipated putting me through, and said he wanted me to rest and dry off in the sun where my skin and the ropes would dry quickly. He laid me on at a lounge chair and once again, the wrist restraints came back on and got locked together above my head and attached to the chair. He placed similar cuffs around my ankles and attached them to the bottom corners of the lounge chair.
George grabbed a beer for himself and made a mojito for me. He pulled up a lounge chair next to me while I lay on the deck with my pussy splayed spread eagle, opened to and teased by the fresh air. My tits fully exposed in the intricate knotted rope configuration he had me in.
"What if someone comes walking up here?" I asked. "Like one of your neighbors coming over to borrow a rake or a cup of sugar?"
"I guess we'll have to deal with that if it that happens," he said as if my concern was just over me strutting around in a bathing suit that was a tad immodest.
I thought he was joking, but after a while, we got into a very pleasant and ordinary conversation about thing that had nothing to do with sex or hard limits. We talked mostly about work, friends and family just like any other couple except I was sunning myself bound to a chair tied in rope and secured in leather restraints. I had to admit I loved it. I loved the feeling of the warmth and the breeze over my skin – all of my skin. I loved being doted on by him every time he fed me a sip of my drink. I loved the way he would pause to look at me and smile as if I were some kind of masterpiece. I forgot about my inhibitions. This was the best feeling in the world. I swore if he came over to touch me, even if it was just to put a finger on me, I could have orgasmed.
It got to be time for dinner – burgers and corn on the cob on the grill, pasta salad from the deli. A simple summertime dinner from the grill. George unlatched me from the lounger, brought me inside, and put an apron on me.
"For modesty's sake," he said. "And I kind of like seeing you looking like a happy homemaker."
I stuck my tongue out at him and flipped him the bird.
"Happy homemaker my ass," I said, being cheeky.
George pulled a long-handled spatula out of a drawer, tapped the flat end of it against his palm, and gave me an impish grin.
"What are you up to? I asked, giggling.
His eyes took on a more serious look as he walked slowly toward me.
"Fourteen," he said. "And you just made this a very appropriate time."
He took me by a long wrapped section of rope that ran down my back, hauled me onto the deck. He wrapped more rope around my wrists and secured them to the deck railing.
"Bend over, feet shoulder width apart," he said tersely.
"George, this is taking things a bit too far," I protested. "It's daylight. Anyone could walk by on the beach ..."
"Fifteen," he said, and he wasn't kidding.
I parted my feet, squinted my eyes shut hard, and held my breath. I thought for sure that he'd start wailing on my ass with the metal spatula. Instead, he caressed it softly with his hand and breathed warm wisps of his breath in my ear. He leaned against my ass briefly just long enough to let me know he was hard. I kept my eyes closed only to focus on his caress. I wanted to cum, not hard, but the stirring inside of me made me sway my body slowly.
As soon as I was completely unaware of being handled like this outside came the sudden whack of the flat metal end of the spatula. I practically jumped out of my skin.
"Count!" he barked.
That one hurt even more since I knew to expect the thin, semi-pliable sheet of metal to come in contact with my ass.
He caressed my breast with one hand and rubbed my ass with the other. I immediately went back to that place of bliss in my mind, stirring to his touch.
"Three ... Four," I said with my face cringing.
"Five! Six!" I practically screamed while gritting my teeth.
I was about to call out, "Yellow," my safe word to let George know to take it easier on me. However, he seemed to know without saying a word. He gently placed his hand on my shoulder lightly circled the flat end of the spatula as if it were a feather on the meaty part of my ass cheeks until he pulled it away.