First Meeting

He stood in front of the room's lone window, a large one overlooking the roof of the parking garage next door. The sky was overcast, and he watched a mother exit her SUV, open a red-and-white umbrella, gather her children beneath it, and usher them toward shelter.

It must be raining again.

He drew the curtains of the sparse hotel room, then looked for a light switch. Even though the skies were gray, he didn't realize how much light had been let in through the window. He flicked theswitch near the door and the entryway and bathroom were filled with light, but the rest of the room was still bathed in shadow. Too dim?

He checked his phone again, opening his texts to reread the most recent.

I'm here. Room 221. I'm waiting, so a quiet knock will do

Okay, I'll be right down

He took a deep breath, again, and tried to calm his nerves. They'd talked online for years, but this was it--the moment--where they would meet face-to-face for the first time. They'd traded texts, spent hours on the phone together, but this was different.

This was the real thing.

He knew her, and he believed that she knew him. There shouldn't be any surprises. There shouldn't be any shocking revelations. He figured, at worst, there might be some shyness, maybe a little awkwardness, but at the end of the day they knew one another. That little voice in the back of his mind wouldn't let go with the panicked 'what-ifs' but he knew that there was only one way to silence that voice.

He almost didn't hear the knock at the door over his pounding heart. Why was his throat suddenly so dry?

Every question in his mind hung in the air, suspended, as he willed his body to act. Hand on the door handle, turning it, swinging the door into the hotel room, catching his first glimpse of...

...her. The pictures didn't do her justice. She wore a tight shirt that accentuated her curves, a pleated dark-green and black checked skirt, and a smile that melted every ounce of doubt that had been lingering.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, come in," he answered, though something about her was setting off fireworks in his brain.

He stepped aside and she entered the room quickly.

"I don't think anyone saw me, so we should be..."

She turned to look at him as she spoke, but it was too late.

He was surprised at how easily his hand wrapped around her delicate throat. Was it the surprise of his movement, or did she willingly let him push her against the wall? He couldn't be sure, but something in his chest growled and he didn't care.

Her wide, dark eyes bored into his, and in that moment he knew who she was.

Prey.

She stood perfectly still as he stepped toward her, their bodies almost touching, her gaze upturned to him.

"Don't say anything." His free hand traced down her side, coming to rest on her hip. "You know what's going to happen now."

She was silent as he squeezed her neck just tight enough to pull her away from the wall, pushing her in front of him as he stepped behind her and walked her toward the bed. With her legs pressed against the side of the bed, he released her throat and instead pushed on the back of her shoulder, bending her over at the waist. She responded by giving a little gasp and putting her hands in front of her, palms-down on the bed.

"Little girl,I think it's important that we establish some ground rules." His left hand reached down, grasping the hem of her skirt. "You're here, now. You belong to me. Do you understand that?" He traced his fingers up the back of her left thigh, dragging the skirt with it until he could see her black panties peeking out from under the skirt.

"Yes," she replied, her meek voice sending a tremor through his chest.

He hooked his finger under the waistband of her panties and pulled them slowly over her hips. He wanted to lift her skirt and look at her, bared to him, but...not yet. Why was his throat so dry? With both hands on her legs, under her skirt, he knelt slowly, running his hands down her legs and taking her panties with them.

"Step out of these, then sit on the bed."

She acquiesced, slipping her shoes off and stepping out of the panties before turning to face him. She straightened her skirt then sat down. He stood in front of her, folding her panties and putting them into his pocket.

"If you're good, I'll give them back later," he said, reaching his right hand into his pocket, searching for something.

"I don't want them back," she said slowly, her mouth turning up at the corners into the faintest smile. He loved that about her, and it drove him wild. He turned away, unzipping a pocket in his duffel bag that sat on the dresser. After a moment, he held a handful of thick zip-ties.

"Wrists, Brat," he demanded, stifling his own smile. She presented her hands, and he wrapped a different restraint around each wrist. With a zipping noise, he tightened them til they were snug--not tight against her skin, not digging into her flesh, but tight enough that no amount of wiggling or thrashing would be earning her release from them.

"Not together?"

"Don't question me." He produced a knife from his pocket and, holding her left wrist, he flicked it open and pressed the flat of the blade against the flesh of her forearm. Staring into her eyes, he watched her pupils dilate, and another surge of electricity coursed through him. "Hold still."

Two quick cuts from the sharpened blade removed the excess plastic from each of the zip-ties around her wrists. In one quick motion he closed the blade and it disappeared again.

"So what now? I'm not very restrained," she asked, raising her arms and wriggling her wrists to taunt him with her freedom. He smiled and stood, walking toward the kitchenette between the bathroom and the bedroom. Moments later, he returned with the empty ice bucket and thrust it into her lap.

"Go fill it." She looked away from him, at her shoes. "No." She looked back up at him. "No shoes, no panties, and keep those on your wrists." It was a formality, really; he knew she couldn't get them off. "Oh, and you're not filling it up here. Go to the first floor."

She squirmed on the bed, obviously a little uncomfortable with the idea, and he smiled. Perfect.

"Why the first floor?" she said, a subtle pout forming on her lips.

"Because I want you to be seen, and wanted, but we know..." He got very close to her, whispering in her ear, "...they can look, but only I can touch."

*****

This time, when she knocked on the door, he was not taken by surprise.

The entire time she was away (it felt like an eternity) he paced the room, thinking. Feeling. The ache in his chest, the dull throb of his cock pressing into his jeans, and the memory of her--wiggling her ass for him as she walked out the door, confident and smug and bratty. She knew he wanted her. She knew he'd been dying to taste her for months, maybe years. She thought she knew how this was going to play out.

Oh, how wrong she was.

The door opened with a click--he had given her the second key before she left--and she stepped inside. As it latched loudly behind her she said "Here, I have the stupid ice..."

Before she could finish, he was on her. He grabbed the ice and bucket and they sailed through the air, crashing into the bathtub as he grabbed both of her wrists with his other hand and pressed her body against the door.

He heard her gasp--no, he felt her gasp as he pinned her against the door--as he quickly slid another zip-tie through both of her makeshift cuffs and locked it in place to bind her wrists together.

"Let go of whatever you think is about to happen, little girl," he said to her, standing behind her again and forcefully leading her toward the bed. "Up, and on your knees."

She obediently climbed onto the bed, her bound hands in front of her, her knees slightly apart, her ass facing him. He stood behind her, savoring the anticipation she must feel, taking his time as he walked around her. He saw her eyes travel to the bulge in his pants, and he slowly unzipped his fly. He pulled his boxers aside until his cock was free.

"You hungry, little girl?" Standing at the edge of the bed, he reached behind her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her mouth to his cock. There was no struggle, she accepted him eagerly as he guided her. "Get it good and wet," he instructed her, and she obeyed. He didn't have to keep hold of her hair, but he did anyway, savoring the resistance in his hand whenever their rhythm's would differ. He stepped back as he held her head still, pulling out of her mouth. "Now spit on it."

She spat. "More," he demanded. "Get me so wet." She spat on his throbbing, wet dick a few more times and, satisfied, he pushed her head down to the bed. She let out a low moan as he held her face against the top sheet.

He walked to the other side of the bed, behind her now, and grabbed her hips. With a yank, he dragged her ass to the edge of the bed. He lifted her skirt slowly--savoring every inch of skin revealed by the retreating fabric--until he could see her, fully bared.

"Do you feel exposed?" he asked. She said something that he couldn't hear, but he was already pressing his spit-covered dick against her ass, rubbing it back and forth, satisfied at how slick it was becoming.

"I'm going to take you from behind, right now, and you're going to be mine forever." She began to say something, but he didn't wait. She cried out a little bit as the tip of his cock began pushing into her tight ass, and he slowed his pressure. "This is why you had to do a good job making it wet," he said as he braced his hands on her hips. He edged away, relieving the pressure, and could almost hear her sigh in relief--which he took as a sign to begin again.

This repeated--press, wait for her to whimper, or gasp, then release, until he felt dry skin-on-skin. Kneeling, he pulled her hips back to his mouth, where he spat on her and watching it drip down over her ass, down to her pussy. He wanted to taste her so badly, but not yet. Not now. He quickly positioned his dick and pulled her back onto it. This time, he could feel it, this would be...

He felt a gentle pop as the pressure against the head of his cock gave way and he knew he was in. She moaned, and he saw the sheet being pulled away from the pillows as she clawed at it.

"You like that, you little slut?" he asked, easing his way mostly out before slowly pushing back into her. "You like knowing that you're mine now, forever, marked by me?"

"Yes," she whimpered as she pushed her hips back against him, taking him deeper.

He pulled out of her again and brought his right hand down to slap her ass. The sound reverberated through the small room as she gasped again, stifling a moan of surprise and pain. He was already on her again, pulling her hips back against his cock, inside her again, fucking her in the ass as she moaned beneath him. He was pleased to see a red, hand-shaped welt begin to rise where he'd struck her.

"Does my little girl like offering her ass to me?" he asked, his words punctuated by her ass slamming into his legs, the hungry girl burying him as deep as she could as she twisted and ground against him.

"Yes, Daddy," she managed to choke out, and that did it. He fought for breath, his muscles betraying him, as he pulled her hips against him as hard as he could. Fingertip-sized bruises on her thighs would remind her of this moment for the next week as he exploded inside her, shuddering and struggling to stand. Exhausted, he pulled out of her, wiping the cum off of his dick with the inside of her skirt.

She rolled over and spread her legs, her hands massaging her inner thighs, inviting him to her.

"Now do me," she begged.

He had already put himself away and was zipping his pants. "Not yet, baby. We're not done yet." There was that pout again--the one that melted him, the one that he struggled against, the one that she knew would work because she was a brat--but he was stalwart. "Now you go stand in the corner."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

"What?"

"Go stand in the corner, facing away from me, and you're not allowed to move or join me on the bed until you feel my cum dripping down the inside of your thighs." He fluffed the pillows and laid down on the bed as she slowly got up.

"You're serious?" she asked, frustration--almost agony--apparent in her voice.

"So serious. Go."

And she did, like the obedient little girl she was. He laid back on the bed, relaxing, waiting, and after about sixty seconds he felt her bound over and jump on the bed, on top of him, straddling him.

"Hey, I'm happy to see you too," he started, and then he felt it. The warm, wet spot on his jeans. He opened his eyes to see her, grinning even as she wrapped herself tightly around him, her hips grinding his own cum into his jeans. "You fucking brat," he finished, laughing as he spoke.

That maneuver was going to get her punished, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew that.