by Miyelo Ina ©
She stood alone at the rail, enjoying the solitude for the first time in her life. It was always the company of others that brought her security but at this moment, she knew the impending visit was the most dangerous act of her whole life.
The sky was the color of a lightly bruised peach, ranging through corals, reds and fading out above her to a deep purple. The sea before her blended seamlessly into the sky on the horizon, calm as far as she could see except for the narrow frothy fringe that caressed the sand.
She took a long, relaxing breath - the salt air a tingle in her nostrils.
There was no place that brought her more peace than standing beside the ocean. As her eyes closed, she smiled vaguely, thinking that it was the most powerful natural force on the planet. The concept of power made her feel safe. Power outside of herself.
The breeze was light and almost chilly. The girl's hair was very long, cascading down her back and below her waist. The wind whirled it like liquid whips around her smooth face and pale bare arms.
She glanced again at the horizon where the sun had just disappeared and wondered how long it would be before he arrived. Her watch, along with her earrings and even her wedding band, were locked in the hotel room back up the beach. She'd dressed as he'd asked, wearing a long white sundress and nothing else. The wind off the water continually threatened to lift the skirt of it and expose her to the world, the cool air swirling between her legs kept that pleasant quiver active in the pit of her stomach.
Finally the sound of footsteps on the pavement behind her tugged her attention away from the sea. The urge to turn and assuage her curiosity fought inside her with the knowledge of how wrong this all was and also with the fear that he might not give her his approval. It had never made sense to her why she should care so much whether he did or not. Maybe it wasn't even him back there. Maybe if it was, he'd not like her and just walk on by.
She kept asking herself why she had come. It was wrong. She knew she would feel guilt as soon as it was over. She felt guilt for just being here now. It was too hard to say no anymore when her whole body betrayed her. Maybe the footsteps weren't his, maybe she would turn and run and not look back. But the footsteps slowed as they drew nearer, then stopped directly behind her.
She closed her eyes again and gripped the railing to steady herself. It seemed as though her knees would buckle and she'd fall to the pavement, trembling. His eyes burned into her flesh - she could feel them rove over her body from her head down to her feet. Her breath had already quickened and she was certain he could hear her heart pound over the hiss of the surf.
It was an eternity that she was held this way - so long that she felt she would burst if she didn't turn and confront him. Just before that point, she heard him move closer.
The unexpected pressure and warmth of strong hands on her hips made her gasp.
"Ssh," his voice soothed her, but the trembling did not subside. Strange how the very same voice could cause such anxiety and such peace at the same time.
He pressed her against his body and through the thin fabric of the dress, she felt how strong and solid he was, warm and safe. She sighed as her body relaxed against him.
His hands moved to her arms. The fine blonde hairs stood up as more chills spread over her. It was as if each individual hair tried to reach out to him on its own.
He touched her in a way that implied he was more interested in what he was feeling than what she was. That vague callousness was comforting in a way - if he remained detached from her, maybe she could stay that way too.
She couldn't stifle the intake of breath when he brushed her hair to one side of her neck. The trembling grew in intensity when she felt his breath just below her ear.
"Relax, miss," he whispered as the heat of his lips met her skin.
A sound like the perfect mixture of terror and contentment came from low in her throat. She was melting and unable to save herself. She wanted to cry out, "Stop it! Let me go!" but she knew that even if he did, she was unable to walk away from him.
"Mmmmm," he murmured, "You are just as I imagined. Sweet to my eyes, sweet to my nostrils, sweet to my lips. But I imagine there is even sweeter tastes to be had?"
He asked the question, knowing that she was already so wet that it had dampened the top of her thighs. He caught the hot scent of her arousal and she felt him growing hard against her back.
"Is there anything you want to say?" he asked, circling her completely with his arms.
She looked down at the arms that held her - how strong, how sure he was of himself. Her sense of self was fading quickly, just as she knew it would.
She couldn't think clearly, she couldn't even speak now - only feel. But the way she felt! It was as if all her nerves were directly exposed to him - there was no protection from him now, no more hiding. At this moment, there was only overwhelming pleasure, but just as she felt unprotected from him now, she felt exquisitely separate from the rest of the world.
Her head bowed and turned as if she was trying to shake herself from his spell, but her action only caused her cheek to brush against his arm, almost affectionately. She smelled his personal smell. Clean, slightly scented with soap, musky with pheromones. She felt faint and she'd never even seen his face.
"Walk for me, " he told her, pushing her a bit ahead of himself in the direction of the hotel. "Don't look back, miss."
Vaguely she wondered if he meant that literally or figuratively, so she naturally turned to look at him for confirmation.
Immediately her cheek met the firm resistance of his open palm. Not a slap but a gentle correction, forcing her to only look straight ahead. She began to fear that he meant for her not to see him at all.
She wanted to speak up now, to protest. She'd drawn so many lines and he'd crossed so effortlessly over each one. Her last line of defense had been to tell him she'd never meet him without seeing his picture first. And that had come after the line she'd drawn saying she'd never meet him at all. She said no to him often... but it never seemed to make any difference.
She hardly noticed the people in the lobby... she thought they must be staring at her... at how wide her eyes were... at how she gnawed her bottom lip nervously. What must they be thinking of her? Could they see her body through the sheer dress? Could they smell how moist her thighs had become?
At the door to her ... their ... room, he surprised her by pulling out his own card for the lock. Evidently he'd been there even before she'd arrived and showered.
He urged her purposely into the room and alarms went off in her head. Before when she'd come here to change, she'd not been afraid... she'd been excited, maybe a little nervous. But now real fear flooded her, clearing her mind just a little bit. Her main thought repeatedly was "What did I get myself into?" It would be no problem for him to erase any trace of her from the room... she'd straightened up and put her things away before going to meet him anyhow. The room was sterile.
She tried to turn again, but this time he held her shoulders forcefully.
"Please just let me look at you," she pleaded. "Please give me that."
He didn't answer with words but by holding a silk scarf in front of her, folded to a dark blindfold. He drew it slowly towards her face.
"No!" she cried and made a step forward to escape.
"Do not move," he told her, his voice very low, very serious.
That should have terrified her, kicked in her fight or flight response. However, she froze in place and felt her breath catch in her throat. The warm electric rush in her midsection and lower was not unpleasant at all.
Her vision was taken from her, heightening her other senses. She could hear him close the door and in that moment, she could've reached and removed the blindfold and leapt away from him. She felt unable to move though. She stood like a statue... trying to judge everything he was doing by her ears alone.
It seemed that he was moving around her, and as she heard his footfalls, she felt his gaze on her shoulders, breaking her skin out in goosebumps as if he'd caressed her lightly with his fingertips.
"Please," she whimper-whispered.
"Hush," he told her, his voice warm and falling on her skin like silk. "No more words unless I ask you to speak. Is that understood, miss?"
She nodded quickly, fear painting her skin.
"Pull the straps of your dress down," he directed, his voice strangely close to her ear. She had not been aware of him moving closer to her.
Again, she bit her lip, not knowing whether she was more afraid to obey him or to disobey.
As if he expected nothing but her complete obedience, he said in a very calm, very even voice, "Don't make me tell you anything twice." She felt it was more of a clarification than a threat.
For the first time, she was actually glad for the blindfold. She didn't have to meet his gaze this way. She could try to convince herself that no one was there watching her... that she was hearing his voice across miles of phone lines... that she was safely alone. She was grateful to him.
She tugged the straps down hesitantly and pulled her arms free of them, holding the top of the dress up with one open hand pressed against her chest.
She heard him move, shift position, breath deeper.
"Slowly, pull it down to your waist."
Her own breath came quicker now, almost as if panic held her, but she obeyed without question.
"Ah, yes," his voice low and dusky now. "Beautiful!" He stared at the exposed skin, his mouth watering to taste those nipples that were so pale they didn't even stand out against the surrounding skin. But he would control himself and not strike until the right moment. He watched the nipples grow hard, like two flesh-colored pebble and he saw the aureola crinkling responsively.
"Now push it the rest of the way down," he directed.
Inside herself she could feel a struggle. There was a part of her that didn't want to do it, of course. Unfortunately, the part of her that he touched was much larger and stronger. Feeling dizzy with her humiliation, she let the dress slide to the floor.
"Mmm, pet, you are wonderful," he breathed. She thought she heard true admiration in his voice but there would always be doubt until she could look into his eyes.
Had she been able to see, she would have found what she sought. His eyes were half-lidded with lust, examining every inch of the body he was being given. From the full, firm breasts, down the warm, flat stomach to the closely cropped light brown hair hiding the engorged lips down below, he was fully pleased with everything he saw.
"Remember how I told you that you would present yourself to me, miss." It was not a question.
Terror struck her now, burning embarrassment that took her breath away. She turned her head towards the sound of his voice and begged, "No, please not that. Please."
He didn't reply to her. She heard no sound at all except the pounding of her own heart. But the force of his disapproval - or more likely his supposed disapproval - hit her as hard as any fist. And inside, the part of her that wanted... no, needed ... to please him sent warnings through her. It drew all her thoughts down into tight focus, all centered on what he wanted; what he expected.
"Under what circumstances did I tell you that you were most beautiful, pet?" he asked, his tone letting her know she was to answer.
"When I obey you," she whispered.
"Yes, miss," he answered, giving her confirmation and permission to proceed.
She knew this scene by heart. He'd described it to her, planted the image in her head long ago... an image she had always feared. It was a highly symbolic gesture meant to bring her into the state of mind they both desired.
Walking away was impossible for her. There were too many ghosts from her past surrounding her now, making her unable to do anything except what his will commanded. She was beyond knowing why... beyond caring why.
She leaned back slightly, pushing her hips forward. She could feel him in front of her now and hear the sound of his clothing as he moved.
Very reluctantly, she reached down. Using her first two fingers of each hand, she touched the swollen lips there and began to pull them apart very gently. A half-moan, half-whimper escaped her throat and the blood rushed to all the surfaces of her skin. An all-over body blush was the outward sign of the shame she felt as she opened herself in the most private and intimate way she could. It was a way of inviting him into this intimacy with her, of showing him there was no part of her that she would hold back from him and that she trusted him not to reject her on this deepest level. Her head was bowed naturally and tiny tears of her humiliation wet the scarf.
There was again no sound from him. If only she could see his eyes! But the continuing fear and uncertainty worked like an aphrodisiac for her. Her fingers were already wet and she could feel more coming. Her thighs trembled as she held this pose for him.
There was more sound of movement, and now his body was close to hers, his rough jeans against her leg, his shirt against her stomach and his fist grabbing a handful of her hair. This jarred her enough that she jerked her arms up in self-defense, pushing against his arm without conscious thought. When she realized he wasn't hurting her, she was ashamed of her reaction and she let her hands drop immediately.
"That's better," he whispered. With his other hand, he reached and smoothed the lines of panic that were suddenly etched in her forehead.
"You are making me proud, miss," his breath against her cheek, "But now you must tell me what it is you want."
His words echoed in her head, but they didn't make sense. What did she want? Did she want anything at all?
"To please you?" she asked uncertainly.
"You have pleased me," he told her softly, "I adore you, miss, just as I told you I would. Now I want to know..." she felt a hand brush her thigh, "...what..." it moved over the closely-trimmed hair, "...you..." she shivered as it caressed her stomach, "...want..."
His touches made her breath quicker, made the wetness into a flood. He touched lightly, tickling, non-invasive. Her hips pressed forward, needing to feel more. She moaned as he teased her.
"Tell me, miss. Tell me what you want to feel."
Her breasts rose towards him as she inhaled sharply. She wanted these touches to continue forever.
"Let go, miss. Tell me what you want from me."
Why couldn't she just tell him? She felt like she was going to explode!
"My little slave, tell me now!" he demanded.
She shook her head, consternation now wrinkling her forehead. "I'm not a slave," she protested.
His touches grew more insistent, but they never touched the spot she wanted most. His fingers danced all around - causing electric sparkles in her brain.
"Tell me what you need!" he growled with intensity.
"Your touch," she managed to whisper.
He moved just a little closer to what she wanted to feel - stroking her outer labia and feeling the blood pulse behind the skin.
"Just my touch?" he asked mockingly. "Like this?" He reached and stroked her shoulder in a much less than romantic way.
"No!" she cried, arching her back, feeling the desire grow.
Before he spoke again, he turned her and she felt herself falling. She screamed - her senses already overloaded with unknown sensations - but then she felt the soft bed beneath her. She didn't remember being so close to it.
"Tell me where then," he said, lying out beside her, his hands now roving over her whole body. He was so hard he could've driven railroad spikes but that was not his goal today.
"Down..." she whispered, "Down there."
He reached lower and caressed her smooth tanned calf. "Down here?" he teased.
"No!" again she cried in frustration. Her body was so tense in it's need for release that every muscle quivered.
"Then tell me, my slave. Tell me!"
"I'm not..." she started to say, but wouldn't. It hurt to hold the words back.
"You want me to touch your pussy, don't you, slave?" He used the word emphatically, knowing how she hated it.
She nodded - almost perceptibly.
"I want you to touch my pussy," the word was hardly audible, one she was embarrassed to say.
He laid his open palm over the triangle between her legs. "Tell me what to do with it," he instructed. "Talk to me, slave."
"I'm not a slave!" she shouted, pushing her hips up to meet his hand.
He used his fingers to part her lips, she was so wet that his hand was covered. He teased her more, until she was thrashing and moaning over and over "Please... please!"
"Please what?" he whispered.
"Please let me cum," she begged, only a very tiny part of her surprised to hear herself. "Please, I can't stand it!"
"Then tell me what you are," he said as he watched her face contort with her inner struggle.
"No," she only formed the word with her mouth - no sound escaped her lips.
He stopped the movement of his hand.
"No!" she screamed. "Please, please don't stop!"
"Tell me," he whispered, putting his mouth against her ear.
"I'm your..." she couldn't say the word.
"Tell me," he repeated, pulling his hand away. "Tell me why you can't get up and walk away from me. Tell me why you can't cum until I give you permission. Tell me why you are begging me." His whispers cut her like knives, the pain in her mind was so sweet.
"I'm your slave," she moaned, her breath convulsive.
He put his hand back and leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling her. "I can't hear you, miss."
"I'm your slave," she said again, just the tiniest bit louder.
His fingers opened her again and her breath came in gasps. She was so close to the edge that she could hardly hang on.
"Three times, miss. Tell me what you are three times."
"I'm your slave," she panted, then she began to repeat it - suddenly changing her tune so that it seemed not such an awful thing anymore. As she began to repeat it for the third time, it seemed as if she said it with joy - in full and complete surrender now.
As she said the final "slave", he touched the right side of her clit. It was just a slight, gentle touch, but it was enough to make her scream as her orgasm arrived and he cut off the scream by putting his mouth over hers, taking her pleasure as it left her body.
She came hard and long, he could feel the strong muscular contractions wracking her body and the tip of his cock grew with its own fluid. But again, that would wait. He'd gotten what he wanted from her for now. He had something she'd never given anyone before... he had her shame.
When the spasms eased, she lay completely limp for just a moment. Then there were sobs - not just tears, but waves of such profound release that the small sounds she made hardly seemed human.
He cradled her against him, she was so much like a rag doll now, but he only smiled. He knew this was her drug - this release, this floating, this peaceful oblivion. This was her addiction.
"I adore you my pet," he told her again while he smoothed back the hair and kissed her forehead. He knew that even if he had removed the blindfold now, she would never bother to open her eyes and see him, but he left it alone.
She was drifting somewhere off in a world where there was not thought, no feeling, no nothing and he knew that the sound of his voice was her only anchor to this reality. He knew her fear of being lost in this and the way that she clung to him now showed him the ultimate trust. He would let her float there for awhile and then bring her slowly back down. He talked to her, just speaking meaningless words of reassurance until he told her it was time to come back..
"You can sleep now, miss," he instructed. "Peaceful sleep, no dreams, and when you wake, you'll be back in the real world."
He spoke for a bit longer, his voice mesmerizing her, using her real name now, until he felt her sleep, knowing when she passed into slumber by the sound of her breath.
He could barely wait until the next time - there were so many things he had planned for them. She belonged to him now, there was no question.
She awoke to the sound of a very quiet beeping and found herself was alone in the bed. She did not feel his presence in the room. It was very dark except for one small lamp burning in the corner. She was tucked warmly under the covers and she felt wonderfully numb. But why had he gone? Was he angry with her? Had she disappointed him?
She sat up slowly, then saw a small dark object on the other pillow. It was a credit card-sized text pager with a flashing message. She had to turn it towards the light to read the single word.
She knew that when he called her, she would not hesitate to come to him.
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