A Trip to Boulder

It took me some time to process the implications of this. She (or should I now say "they"?) knew my name, my phone number, and had video of me in a very compromising position, on my knees, handcuffed, in oral service. I developed a knot in the pit of my stomach, and wondered if I had bitten off more than I could proverbially chew.

And when I looked around the room, at the nightstand, the envelope was still there.

I did not think that a reply to this text was called for or desired. A message had been sent to me about control and power in this relationship (if I could even use that word at this stage). I did not think that my second visitor was Mistress Rose either, as I was reasonably certain that she was of a different race and body type entirely. My thoughts continued to spin somewhat incessantly until I did, finally, fall into a reasonably peaceful, albeit somewhat confused, sleep.

I contemplated skipping the next day's events entirely, but realized that would be a mistake as I would merely continue to focus on the video. I kept my phone close to me so that I could quickly respond to any incoming messages (totally unclear what my response would or should be).

My imagination went into hyper-drive, as every encounter I had with anyone of the female persuasion, especially if they worked for the hotel, made me incredibly suspicious and a bit nervous. If someone politely smiled I found myself quickly lowering my eyes. I would have sworn that the waitress at lunch stated that there was a special on cunnilinguini, which is when I realized that I was not helping myself. I did my absolute best to focus on the people and the events that were my reason for being in Boulder in the first place.

At the end of Day 3 I thought I would take a walk on the Mall and grab dinner, but those plans were quickly scuttled when I received an incoming message at 5:45 that afternoon. It merely said "Go to your room."

In some ways I felt like a child being punished, but my childhood never involved situations like I encountered the past two days. I did as instructed, turning on some music and attempting to read a novel to relax.

I can't say I was surprised by the knock on the door. This was my last night in town; would I finally meet Mistress Rose and, if so, how would she compare with her two previous accomplices?

Upon opening the door, my eyes were jubilant but my brain cautious. Had I not known better I would have thought that Miley Cyrus, minus the tattoos, was standing in front of me (which was great, since I personally believe that tattoos detract from, rather than enhance, the female body). I subsequently learned through a bit of small talk that she had just come from her yoga class, so was mildly, but certainly not offensively, fragrant. I searched for the proper adjectives, in addition to undeniably cute. Perky. Sexy. Erotic. Naughty? And given where she had just come from, my wicked mind added flexible for good measure. She was carrying a large handbag and set it down inside the room.

Mistress Rose, for it was indeed she, needed to center herself. I followed her lead as we continued to engage in more small talk. I learned that she was a true fan of this lifestyle, and enjoyed practicing it with both genders as well as all (legal) ages and races. Her limits were well beyond mine, as her current fascination involved needles and fire, but she was very respectful of limits and boundaries. I had questions running through my mind how far I would allow her to stretch mine.

She needed to focus on her breath, and to stare into my eyes to answer questions of her own, that she silently asked and answered. She asked if I would like her to don the long black wig that she wore in her photos on her website, but I felt she was so much more beautiful and commanding without it. Natural is what I requested, and natural is what I got.

When she was ready, she moved, or should I say transformed, quickly. I was given five seconds to strip. Awkwardly, I attempted to comply. She was merciful in her count, as I'm sure it took me longer than that, but here I was, a 50 plus year old white male standing naked in front of a thirty-something year old vision of beauty.

She directed me to remove her thigh-high boots. Stupidly, I attempted to undo all of the laces, not initially seeing the zipper on the side. She quickly corrected me in my actions. I do have to praise her intuition and observations. She had thought that I might somehow enjoy worshipping her feet, but quickly realized that's not my scene. I do certainly have favorite body parts, but feet are not included on the list.

She put her hand under my chin, gently raising my face so that she could gaze directly into my eyes.

"Tell me, boy, and tell me true - what are you fantasizing about right now?"

I chose my words quite poorly. Talk about pronoun trouble.

I replied "I'm imaging you fucking me, although I don't truly feel worthy."

She smiled, rather mischievously. "If that's what you want, then ask me, nicely. Beg me."

From my knees, I did as I was told. "Please, Mistress, would you please fuck me?"

My error rapidly became apparent, as she walked over to her bag, and withdrew what I recognized to be a strap-on, although I had never before seen one in person. Did I make a mistake, or had I done something intentionally, subliminally? "Don't worry," she said, "this has been cleaned well beyond the CDC requriements."

She added to my ignominy by standing in front of me, while I was still on my knees, and getting me to do what I had never dreamed I would do. She was definitely exerting her dominance over me, and I was strangely (?) accepting it, as she guided her latex prick into my mouth. "That's it, boy. Be a good boy. Kiss it. Take it all in. Use your tongue. Let me see you work the tip."

My body felt like it was betraying me. I felt as if I should stop, that I should protest, but I did no such thing. In fact, I started to become aroused, which felt even more confusing. Who was I? What was I doing? Had this been a guy I would have become physically violent. From a short haired young woman I was doing exactly what I was told.

"OK, boy. Stand up and turn around. Put your hands on the bed. Tell me again what you want me to do."

Meekly, I heard myself say "Please fuck me Mistress Rose." I continued to surprise myself by doing so.

She walked back to her bag and pulled out a bottle of lubrication. Thankfully the toy she had chosen was not too large, as I'm sure she surmised this was my first time.

She applied a liberal dose of the lube, saying "I was hoping to make you my bitch. It's even better when you ask for it. I'm glad you didn't choose the red envelope, and that you saved yourself for me."

The sensation of being entered for the first time is not one that I'll relate in any great detail, but I was surprised, shocked even, after she had passed what I will call the point of no return. Pleasurably I felt the penetration. I was full. Complete. Hers.

There was a wall mirror in the room, and I took perverse joy in seeing the smile on her face as she rode me. Fortunately, she was indeed kind, and stopped well in advance of it becoming painful for me. She pulled herself out, and went into the bathroom to clean up.

By this point I was standing in the room, not sure what I was supposed to be doing or where I should be doing it. She walked over and reached out to grab my testicles. "You know," she said "I really like knowing I have you by the balls."

And then she began to prepare to leave me. She packed up her belongings, including the envelope.

Surprisingly, she told me how much she and her friends had enjoyed the encounter, and would continue to do so with their video, now added to their private collection.

I had a flight out the next day, and needed to pack. But before she left she said, "if anyone from the hotel knocks on the door this evening, you are to answer and do as she, or they, say."

And then she left.