A First Meeting

Again you place your hands on my hips and lift me, moving my body around as though I were no more than a doll. This time you position me so I am straddling your lap, facing you, and finally you remove the blindfold. The contact of our eyes is almost more intimate than feeling your fingers in my pussy and instinctively I turn from the invasive proximity. You tut and roughly turn my head to face you. "You need to at least be able to look me in the eye, little one," you scold smilingly. "Do you still think that you can play games?" I shake my head, but a flash of anger passes over your face and immediately I know what you want.

"No, Sir." My voice is more confident than I feel and I manage to tentatively hold your gaze.

"I don't know. I'm not about to think that a few hours of corner time is all it takes to teach you. But it's a start. It shows me you want to be taught." You pull my head towards you. I am expecting a kiss, but instead you take my bottom lip roughly between your teeth and bite down as your hand finds my breasts and begins to knead and squeeze the pliant flesh, cupping them and sharply twisting the nipples between your fingers. I arch my back, accommodating you. Your touch is rough, far from the fumbling caresses that are all I have ever been used to, and I know you don't care about hurting me.

As I straddle you I can feel your cock hard, straining against your jeans. I am almost relieved, pleased to see that I have had at least some effect on you; though perhaps it was naïve to think you could be presented with my naked, yielding young body in all its immediacy and remain entirely unmoved. I grind into you, excited by the first indication of your own need, experiencing some gratification as my pussy rubs over the coarse denim. However, you remain entirely controlled, your lust only secondary to your aim, and using both hands you still my hips. I feel completely wanton, squirming and struggling and grinding and moaning with my frustration, while you only regard me with mild amusement. "Oh, look at you. Are you frustrated, baby?" I moan and whimper, nodding at you, trying to move, your hands remaining firm on my hips, anchoring me in place. "Tell me what you want? You just might get it."

I move my hand to your crotch, grabbing and rubbing at your cock through your jeans. In a swift movement you grab me by the wrist, tightly, bruising. "I said tell me. Not show me. Do not make me have to tell you something twice again."

"I want your cock...Sir," I whisper, shame etched on my face to be using words I never usually utter.

"Clearly. Where do you want it? Here?" You slip a finger into my waiting mouth. I catch it, suck it, but you withdraw it quickly. "Or here?" It moves to my aching pussy, entering me abruptly with one easy thrust, then leaving as quickly as it slipped in, causing me to writhe and moan with need. "Or...here?" Your finger, slick with my juices, now caresses the opening of my most private hole. I squirm with discomfort as well as pleasure at the unfamiliar touch but again, your hand only lingers there for the briefest moment. "Tell me. You won't get anything tonight that you don't ask for."

"I want your cock in my mouth, Sir." I am bold, my lust finally surpassing my embarrassment, and you are pleased with me. You lift me again, placing me down on my knees next to the bed. You kick my legs open as you position me how you want me, arranging my body exactly to your liking, knelt at your feet, thighs separated just enough so that I cannot offer myself any relief by squeezing them together, and so that my juices can run down my legs with abandon. Leaning over, you take something from the drawer by the bed and tie my hands together behind my back. Finally I am as you want me, right down to the desperation in my eyes as I look up at you, my lips parted ready for their prize.

Only now do you remove your clothing, leisurely, teasing me. I cannot take my eyes off your cock from the second it is revealed to me; I am hungry for it. You, however, are in no hurry, and once again you open the drawer by the bed, removing from it this time a digital camera. You take a few shots of me, ignoring my mute protest. You know it makes me uncomfortable, you know I don't like it, but you also know I am not about to argue now, not when my prize is finally so near at hand. You lay the camera on the bed, I can only assume to be accessible for further use, and, at long last, softly brush the head of your cock over my waiting lips. My tongue darts out to taste you, desperate. You have obviously decided that I have been teased enough, or perhaps your own desire is beginning to take hold, because you force your thick, hard cock into my mouth and down my throat, gathering my long hair tightly into your hand and using it to guide my head.

You are fucking my face, and with my hands tied behind my back, I can do nothing except comply helplessly. I am used to being in control when I suck a cock, to being able to tease and taste and kiss and lick and suck and caress at my leisure; never before has my mouth been used like this. I gag on your large cock and my eyes water. I can feel my saliva and your pre-cum escaping from my mouth, wetting my chin, as you bury your length into my throat. I try to use my tongue on you, try to do anything to take part in the action, but you are not interested. Maybe another time you will let me show off my cock-sucking skills; right now, my mouth is just another hole for your use.

My eyes are closed against my ecstasy and you sharply command me to open them, to look at you. You are holding the camera again and I hear it click. I know you will keep these pictures, and part of me is pleased that when this is all over I will have evidence that it happened, I will be able to see myself how you see me now, looking up at you with my mouth full of your cock.

Your thrusts become more insistent as you get into a rhythm and I can sense you are close to cumming. I love the feeling of being used by you, nothing more than a toy to get you off, and I am absolutely desperate to feel your hot cum in my mouth and my throat, desperate to swallow it, to claim a little part of you as you have so completely claimed the whole of me. But it is not to be; you know exactly what I want, so of course you don't give it to me, and at the last minute you pull your cock from my mouth. I gasp and moan and whimper and protest, straining forward to try to capture you back, but you keep your hand tight in my hair, using your other hand to guide your cock as it spurts your cum over my face, warm and sticky on my lips and my cheeks and my chin. I can feel some of it drip onto my chest. I know what a sight I must be, and almost as if you heard my thoughts you take the camera again. This time you turn it to show me the picture displayed on the little digital screen and let me see myself, your cum painted over my face, looking exactly like the little slut I have so needed to be.

I can't help licking your cum off my lips, tasting it, swallowing it, and this makes you smile at my hunger. You use your finger to scoop the cum from my skin and feed it to me, letting me eagerly suck it from you, not wasting a drop. As you do this, your other hand strays to my parted thighs, feeling the slick evidence of my need coating them. I have never been this wet before, never felt it dripping from me, never so desperately needed to be filled. Your fingers trace over my sensitive pussy lips, scrape my clit, hover at my entrance. "Remember what I said before? You have to ask for everything you want tonight."

You are so close, your fingertips just almost pressing into me, and I can barely breathe. "Please" -- it is as though the words are ripped from me -- "Please, Sir, please finger my cunt." My obedience is immediately rewarded and I feel you thrust into me, two, maybe three fingers, coated immediately in my juices, probing deeply, feeling my wet and aching hole, beginning to finger fuck me just as your cock fucked my mouth. Your thumb finds my clit and rubs over it roughly, insistently. Your other arm now circles my waist, holding me up, because I am shaking, my whole body trembling, unable to focus on anything other than your hand working my pussy, pushing me just to the brink.

"Beg me," you mutter softly as your mouth finds my neck, your teeth nipping my sensitive flesh.

"Oh, god...please let me cum...please, Sir, please can I cum..."

I almost know it is coming before it happens. You pull your hand from me completely, knowing that if you had kept going I would have cum, permission or no permission. I cry out in frustration. "I only said you might get what you ask for. Did you really think your punishment would be just a little spanking? I know how much you enjoyed that. How wet it made you." You hold your hand up and I see my juices glistening on your finger. "This is your punishment. It almost hurts, doesn't it, how badly you need to cum? Don't worry. When I finally let you, you'll thank me."

You gently lift me to my feet and untie my hands. I am confused, hazy with lust, and I sway as I try to stand upright. I don't understand what is happening as you take my underwear, which I had so willingly discarded for you earlier, and order me to step into it, pulling the soft silk panties up over my legs and settling them into place. They are immediately sodden and I squirm with discomfort. You pull the bedclothes back and order me to climb in. I obey, beyond the point of being able to do anything else. I watch from the bed as you dress again. I have no idea what time it is or what your plans for me are, but it doesn't cross my mind to question you or to argue. I know this is all part of a long planned out, elaborate tease, designed to force me to the point where my desperation to submit to you is entirely beyond my control.

You lean over the bed and tuck the covers around me with an unexpectedly tender gesture. "I want you to sleep, now. I will be back." I am disappointed as I stare up at you; I don't understand why you are leaving me again, how you can be so controlled, why you haven't just taken me and fucked me as I hard as I know we both want it. "Again, you're free to leave at any point. Again, if you're not here when I get back, anything we ever had or could ever have is over. It goes without saying, you are not to touch yourself."

You survey me, my face tired, a few drops of your cum still clinging to my skin, my eyes glazed. "This is another one of those things that isn't fun or sexy. I'm not going to tie you up and leave you with a toy in you, like I know you've fantasised. I think the hardest thing for you is going to be to just do nothing, without question. It's easy to do what you're told when it's something fun and slutty, isn't it? I want to see if you can do it when there's no gratification in it for you, not even the pleasure of pleasing me. So, go to sleep. I'll know if you've played."

You don't give me a goodbye glance, let alone a goodbye kiss. I notice you have taken your bag with you, so maybe you really are staying somewhere else tonight. My pussy is still throbbing, insistent, calling my attention, but I ignore it, as instructed. You told me to sleep, so I close my eyes and let sleep come. You said I could leave, but the thought doesn't even enter my mind.

PART THREE

I awake to the annoying trill of my phone alarm. I am completely disorientated in the strange bed as I grope around for my phone, finding it on the pillow next to me. A lamp next to the bed is switched on, so I can see, and as I turn my alarm off I note that it is 11am. I must have slept for hours. A little icon on my phone screen flashes that I have a text message, and I open it, seeing that it is from your number. An address, the words 'Call me', and a photo attachment. My fingers tremble slightly as I open the picture, not sure what I will see. I am surprised to find it is a simple shot of me, asleep in the bed, my dark hair spread out over the white pillow, partially obscuring my face, the covers falling slightly to reveal the slope of my shoulder, the soft curve of my breasts. So you came back while I was sleeping. I'm astonished I didn't wake up, but I know I must have been in a deep, deep sleep.

I look around the room. You have tidied it and the chest I noted with such excitement last night is no longer there. I am slightly disappointed that we didn't get to explore it. You must have planned on using its contents, or you wouldn't have brought it with you; I wonder what changed your mind. The clothes and shoes I was wearing are gone, as are the candles and my broken watch. The only evidence I have of the previous night is in the cold stickiness between my legs, the bruises I feel on my arse, and the desire that once again wells up inside me.

Taking my phone, I do as instructed and dial your number. You answer on the third ring. "Morning, beautiful."

"Hi..." I am not sure how to address you, not sure how to proceed; I don't know the context of this conversation. I can hear background noise, traffic, and guess you are outside.

"So you got my text? Get my address?"

"Uh huh."

"What do you want to do today?"

"What do you mean?" I am surprised to be given a choice. You have thrown me off.

"Well, you can go home, of course. Or you can come and see me."

"Oh!" I settle back into the pillows, smoothing my hair away from my face, wriggling my sleepy limbs. "I want to see you, please."

"Good girl. You liked last night, then?" My only answer is a soft, embarrassed giggle, and I know you can sense my blush even over the phone. "Ok, but we're going to do this properly. I bet you lied about where you were going last night, didn't you?"

"Umm...uh huh."

"Naughty girl. So no one knew where you were? I could have been anyone, anything could have happened to you!" I sense your disapproval and squirm, amazed at the effect you can have on me with just a few critical words. "Right, as soon as we hang up, I want you to phone one of your friends. Tell her my address and my phone number. Tell her whatever you like about who I am and what you're doing with me, but tell her you'll ring her again this afternoon so she knows you're safe. Understand?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. I want you to meet me for lunch." You name a pub, give me directions. "Don't go into the car park. If you keep going past the pub, you'll see a lane on your left. I want you to park there, ok? You have an hour and a half, it'll take you about 15 minutes to get to the pub. Have a bath. You can play with yourself but you are not to cum. I'll know if you do. Wear the clothes I've left for you in the bathroom, and only those clothes. But wear your pearls. Did you remember to bring them?"

"Yes." I look around for my bag, notice it placed neatly on a chair.

"Ok, baby. I'll see you at 12.30. Be good."

With that, you are gone. An hour and a half seems too long to wait to see you, and I don't know how I'll get through lunch, burning for you as I am. I pick up my phone again and ring a friend, telling her your address as you instructed. I had told her that I had a date the night before, but not who you were, or the specific reason we were meeting. She is surprised that I spent the night, somewhat disapproving, but she tells me only to be careful and have fun. I take care with my bath, smiling to note that this is the second time in 24 hours that I have prepared my body for you like this. My skin where you spanked me is stinging and inflamed, but the warm water soothes it. I have an angry red mark on my neck where you bit me, and two little circular bruises on my wrist, where you grabbed me. In a perverse way I am pleased to be marked so, pleased to wear the evidence of my shame and desire and denial.

It does not surprise me to find that all you have left me to wear is a simple white dress and a pair of sandals. No underwear; but I hadn't really been expecting it. The dress is plain and casual but clings to my curves, highlighting my feminine figure. It is cut higher than I normally wear my tops, hiding my braless breasts from view, and I am thankful for this. Still, it is tight on my chest, and as I turn to examine myself in the mirror, my nipples are clearly visible through the thin white fabric in some lights. I never go out without a bra. I sigh, hating the feeling of being exposed, but knowing it could be a lot worse. The dress is fairly modest, really, and I am thankful to you for easing me in.

I take care when drying my hair and applying my make-up, wanting to look good for you. The last step of your instructions is to fasten the pearls around my neck, and I relish their cold against my still-fiery skin. In the mirror, in my white dress, with my hair loose down my back and my prim little pearl necklace, I look extremely young, almost innocent; I am sure this was your intention. I wouldn't turn any heads. If you saw me in the street, I would go unnoticed; unless, perhaps, you are perceptive enough to observe the flush of my skin, the bruise on my neck. It would take a second glance to detect the dark desire in my eyes, although I am sure it must be written wantonly on my face. Maybe a third look would reveal my hard little nipples through the clinging white fabric, and maybe if your eyes strayed lower you would be able to tell I had no underwear on underneath the dress, maybe if you looked really closely you might catch a glimpse of my yearning leaked onto my creamy thighs. However, no one ever looks so closely; and I comfortable in the knowledge that today, I will turn no heads.

It takes me 15 minutes to drive to the pub, as you said, and I park not in the car park but in the little lane, as directed. You are there, waiting for me at the bar, looking rested and handsome, a smile on your face. You lean down to kiss my cheek. It is a friendly action, and to all appearances we are just a couple of acquaintances meeting for lunch. Your hand doesn't even stray lower than my waist as you guide me to a table, and the gentlemanly gesture as you pull my chair out for me makes me giggle to myself. All I can think of as I look at you is being spread out over your knee the previous night. "Why are you giggling again?" Your voice is teasing and I know you don't really expect an answer.

The only concession to the nature of our relationship is that you order for me, cutting in smoothly when the waitress asks what I would like. Even this, though, is not out of the ordinary, and you can sense my longing as I gaze at you. I don't know how to have a casual lunch with you but you lead the conversation and somehow I manage to find answers to your questions, even to laugh with you. Perversely, just the casual nature of our interaction is driving me as wild with desire as the memory of your cock in my mouth and your fingers in my pussy. Seeing you here now, eating your food, sipping your wine, flirting with the waitress, I wonder if I imagined the events of the night before. As ever, it is as though you read my mind.

"So, I have something to show you." As you speak, you pull something slim and silver from your jacket pocket; your digital camera. You pass it to me and I know exactly what I am to see. I have never blushed so much, as I scroll through the pictures of me, naked, on my knees, your cock in my mouth, your cum on my face. I am so immersed in my own embarrassment that I don't notice that the waitress has approached our table, and is smiling.

"Ooh, pictures? Anything exciting?" I gasp and whisk the camera out of sight, but you shake your head at me.

"Very exciting. Why don't you see for yourself?" My eyes widen with shock. "Don't be rude! Olivia would like to see the pictures."

It is then that I realise that the waitress never told us her name, and she is not wearing a name badge. You know each other. I had noticed the way she looked at you, but in my naïveté had just assumed she was attracted to you, as any woman would be. Now I look at her again, with new eyes. She is attractive, slim, blonde. Her tight trousers hug a pert round arse and her lips are full and pouting. I almost gasp as I take in the way she is looking at you. I recognise the look; it is the same one that is evident in my eyes in the pictures I have just been examining.