Hitting the Bottom Ch. 04

I keep stroking faster and faster, my movements short and jerky focusing on that most sensitive patch of skin where every nerve ending is firing up begging for more, more, more until that telltale tingling starts at the bottom of my spine and then travels forward to engulf my balls and then rushes up my shaft and explodes from the tip, blowing my load all over the wet shower wall.

Ffffhhhhhhuuuuck!

I heave and pant for several long moments, struggling to regain control of my breath while watching the long, thick jets of cum slide slowly down the tiles. The now-familiar post-orgasmic headache and dizziness settle in but aren't as bad as before and I manage to slowly sink down to my knees, holding onto the sides of the bath, and stay there for a couple of minutes longer until I can leave the tub without risking any dumb falls. I hope.

~~~~~~~~~

"Wow! Look at you... I mean... Wow!"

Sandra is staring at me from the doorway, looking positively shocked. And pleased, if I can go by the twinkle in her eyes and the up-tilt of her voice. I grin self-consciously back at her.

"So you like?"

She laughs. "Oh yeah, I like all right! Not that I'm averse to the rough-around-the-edges look but I'd admit you took that one to the extreme... you do clean up nicely, Dan. Well done!"

My smile widens and I answer with a playful jest - "Why, thank you, young lady. I aim to please. Please do come in."

I step back and hold the door, still watching her face, and my guts clench at the way her eyes widen and her cheeks turn pink at my words. Young lady.

Fuck. Should I apologize?

But Sandra doesn't seem offended. Instead she steps in and then pauses again seeing the coffee table set up for dinner for two and turns back to me, both eyebrows raised with real curiosity, and just a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Expecting company tonight?"

Suddenly I'm nervous. What if she refuses my invitation? It's not exactly appropriate after all, even if I really mean it as a sincere thank-you gesture. I gulp and clear my throat. Fuck propriety. I just hope she doesn't freak out.

"I - ahm, I actually was hoping you'd let me offer you dinner tonight. You know... to show my gratitude for taking care of me this past week. I..."

I stop and gauge her expression. Her brow is still a tiny bit furrowed, as if she's considering it. I finish quickly. "I really do appreciate your help, Sandra. Not only did you take care of the medical stuff but you kept me well-fed and clean and prevented me from pulling any crazy-assed macho stunts... I'd love to do this for you. If you don't have any other plans, that is."

Damn. I hate how insecure I sound. I bite the inner side of my cheek to keep from saying anything else and just wait.

She looks at me a little oddly for another moment before answering lightly - "I was happy to do it, Dan. It was a good opportunity for me to make a bit of extra cash. And sure, dinner sounds great - I'm actually starving! Is there anything I can do to help?"

I feel my confidence come back at her enthusiastic acceptance.

"No, no, you're officially off-duty. No more work for you tonight. As of right now you are my guest. Please have a seat and I'll get the food out."

"Oh - all right, sure. Thank you."

Sandra gives me another tentative smile as she walks over and settles down on the couch. She's wearing that white button-down uniform dress which does crazy things to my imagination, especially as it pulls up to expose several inches of her lightly-tanned thighs. God she's got great legs. Her hands fidget in her lap and I can see she feels a bit awkward with this sudden change of roles but at the same time she seems to accept it graciously. Good. I turn and walk over to the kitchen, coming back with the chilled white wine.

"Pour for us while I get the starters, all right?"

She nods and reaches for the bottle and I go back to retrieve the tzatziki from the fridge, as well as the salad, a small dipping bowl with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and a fresh loaf of bread which I've heated up in the oven for a few minutes along with the lasagna. I slice the bread up into thick chunks and then place everything on a tray and carry it to the living room, amazed at how good I feel right now. How alive. How... hopeful?

Once the appetizers are all set on the table I put the tray away and sit down next to Sandra, accepting the glass of wine she hands me with a smile.

"To your health, Dan." She surprises me with her offer of a toast, but I like the straightforward sincerity in her words.

"Thank you Sandra. To good health all around, indeed. Yamas!"

She smiles and mumbles "yamas" as we clink our glasses carefully and take a first sip of the fresh, light wine. I almost choke when her pink tongue comes out to lick her lips, savoring every tangy drop. Gulping fast I clear my throat:

"It's not exactly gourmet food but I hope you enjoy it. Please dig in. Bon appetite!"

*

At the sink in my kitchen I take a few slow, calming breaths while rinsing our plates with absent-minded efficiency. There's a light buzz in my head and another, heavier one, is echoed deep inside my core. Neither one of them has much to do with the wine; I'd barely had a single glass. I know I need to get a grip before returning to the living room.

We've just finished eating and I made Sandra stay put on the couch and finish her wine while I cleared the table and took care of the few dishes. I desperately needed this moment to myself, to step away from that magic spell that woman weaves around me without even trying; to think with my head rather than with other body parts.

There was an awkward moment when we'd both reached for the bread at the same time and our fingers touched. Oddly, neither one of us pulled away; at least not immediately. We just sat there, mesmerized by the tiny skin-to-skin sensation, eyes locked together, breaths held, two matching deer-in-the-highlights panicked looks on both our faces... until the silliness of it struck and we both cracked up and pulled back, laughing. I gestured for her to go ahead which she did with a shrug and a smile, and I felt like we'd just passed some kind of a test.

Aside from that I've thoroughly enjoyed sharing the meal with Sandra. Even with the constant inner struggle to keep my attraction to her hidden and under control, it was fun. It felt natural to be sitting so close together, eating and talking and appreciating each other's company. And now I'm stalling in the kitchen because I don't want the evening to end; don't want her to leave just yet.

I can't keep her here, either.

With a heavy sigh I finish the cleanup and wipe my hands dry, and then roll my shoulders before straightening up, my hands balling to fists at my sides.

Right.

With a conscious effort I unclench my fingers and try to soften the too-tight muscles at my back. You've done well tonight, Dan. Don't fuck it up. Taking another moment to wipe the frustrated scowl off my face I walk back into the living room, finding Sandra standing by the small bookcase at the corner of my living room, checking out the titles there. She turns back to me with a tentative smile.

"So you're into popular science?"

She's in no hurry to leave?

I clear my suddenly-tight throat and try to focus on her words. "Yeah, I guess so. Never was much of a reader, I gotta admit. But this stuff I like. It's interesting, and I can read it in small chunks without forgetting the plot..." You're bubbling, Dan. "How about you? You read a lot?"

Sandra half-smiles and seems a bit embarrassed, but still meets my eyes when she answers. "I like popular science too, when the mood strikes. But usually I read what you'd call junk - romance novels mostly, and sometimes sci-fi and fantasy."

"Romance novels? Seriously?" I'm truly surprised. She seems like such a practical woman. I was not expecting that.

The pink on her cheeks deepens. "Yeah. And even though most of them are complete rubbish I still enjoy them. They're like fairy tales for grownups. And there's always a happy ending. I love those."

I look at her face, all lit up and animated as she defends herself - unnecessarily - from my impending criticism. I can't resist poking a bit more fun at her. "I tried reading one, once, a long time ago. Gave it up after a chapter or two. How can you stand that stuff?" I shake my head mockingly, aiming for a slightly condescending tone, but smiling wide to make sure she doesn't mistake the haughty ring in my voice for anything too serious.

Her eyes twinkle mischievously back at me. "Now that's interesting! You'll need to tell me the story of how you got to be reading that one in the first place!" And then she shrugs nonchalantly and adds: "Besides, you must not have gotten to the really naughty parts..."

She wiggles her eyebrows comically, but underneath them her baby-blue eyes have grown a shade darker as they lock with mine. I swear I can see desire smoldering in their depth - is it from remembering some of those naughty parts, or something else? - and my heart skips a beat only to kick-start in a shallow, quick pace a moment later when her tongue sneaks out to swipe quickly across her lower lip in a tiny nervous gesture.

I hold myself perfectly still - well, all of me except for my dick, which is swelling so fast it's already uncomfortable inside my jeans - and I try to think of something to say which would not scare her right away. But my mind is blank; or rather it is filled with swirling, tantalizing images of Sandra fully enjoying the naughty partsof some cheesy romance novel...

On her back in her bed, legs splayed wide and bent, making her little nightie slide back to bunch around her hips... one hand holding the worn paperback up close to her face while the other sneaks down to her dampening panties... stroking lightly over her barely-covered slit, teasing herself, rubbing through an ever-growing wet spot before slipping under the elastic, seeking her hot, slick folds...

I blink rapidly, twice, and suddenly Sandra is standing close, real close, so close that I can smell her sweet skin, and then she steps closer still and the tips of her gorgeous breasts touch and then press against my torso, her hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, her thumbs grazing my convulsing neck. I fist my hands so hard at my sides they are going to have nail marks in them later. I must still be hallucinating. This can't be real.

But then I feel her nipples, poking like hard erasers through her thin white uniform dress, sliding a few inches up my chest as she pushes herself onto her tiptoes until her mouth is just a tiny dip away from mine and her hands press lightly at my nape, silently communicating her wishes.

Fuck... argh, FUCK! I need to taste her. Just a taste... and then I'll stop.

And then all thoughts vanish when I let her draw my head down to eliminate the distance between us and I feel her full, soft lips, slightly parted, press warm and gentle against my own in a slow and lingering kiss.

It takes a moment - and every shred of self-control - to curb my instinctive response. In that uninhibited heartbeat my own lips open and my palms come up to the delicious curve of her waist, my thumbs barely skimming the sensitive sides of her full, heavy breasts. Sandra responds by pressing her whole body into mine, tilting her pelvis forward and rubbing her Venus mound in sweet, tiny motions against the steel rod in my pants. The very tip of her tongue slides past her lips to flick against mine.

Only then does my long-practiced discipline fully kick in, but even with that it is all I can do to hold myself in tight check while Sandra continues her sweet exploration, her tongue sweeping along my still-too-sensitive lips. Small stings of pain flare and shoot from the scarred tissues, mixing in with the pleasure rising up from my groin, somehow deepening it.

But then she draws back an inch to look at my injured lips and comes back to place the softest of kisses on the worst of my bruises, and suddenly reality comes back to kick me in the guts.

What the fuck am I doing?!

With a sharp intake of air and a mumbled curse my hands tighten to hold Sandra firmly in place as I take a step backwards, putting some much needed space between our bodies. But no matter what my mind tells me I can't let go of her body under my palms, and she seems just as reluctant to let go of my shoulders. So we stand like that for long, agonizing moments, still in each other's arms, sort of, both breathing hard, staring mutely at each other.

"Why not?"

Her voice is raspy but at the same time challenging, demanding the truth. Her question cuts straight to the point and there's nowhere for me to hide.

My answer comes out as an agonized whisper. "Because I don't want to hurt you."

At first there's confusion on her face, and then her eyes widen with realization, only to darken a moment later, hurt and humiliation flooding their depths. She tears her hands from me and takes a stumbling step back, balling her palms at her sides.

"I see."

She swirls around, her eyes frantically searching - for her bag, probably - and my hand shoots out on its own accord to grab at her upper arm, stopping her in her place.

"I don't think that you do, Sandra."

I keep my voice as low and steady as I can, but I think she can still detect the ring of desperation just under the surface. Maybe that's what makes her stop and look at me again. Her eyes are too bright and red-rimmed. Fuck.

"Don't I?" She tears her arm from my hand with an impatient jerk and turns to face me squarely, palms on hips, back straight, chin and chest thrust up. Sexy as hell. I can't help but notice.

"I think I understand perfectly well, Dan. For all your fancy open-minded talk youdo think that I'm a freak because of what I told you at the hospital. But you're one of the good guys, and my kink really doesn't do it for you. You don't want tohurt me. Well, just FYI, that's not what I was looking for just now. And the fact that I sometimes like to be dominated in bed doesn't mean that I can't enjoy good ol'..."

Her voice trails off when the expression on my face finally registers.

"Th - that's not what you meant, is it?" Her words now are only barely above a whisper.

Slowly, I shake my head from side to side. I don't trust myself to speak.

"Oh lord... just shoot me now."

Sandra buries her face in her hands, and then walks over to the couch on flops down as if all her energy had just deserted her. She leans back against the cushion, her face still hidden behind her palms. I follow her to the couch and fold myself carefully down beside her. She peeks through her fingers and I try to reassure her with a half-smile as I reach out to take her wrists and gently pry her hands away from her burning cheeks.

"As I said, I don't want to hurt you... so I'm afraid shooting you is off the table, too."

My lame attempt at humor is rewarded with a small twitch at the corner of Sandra's full lips. I am momentarily distracted by that pink lusciousness, and it blooms in response into a real smile. Caught, I force my gaze to travel up her reddened face to her eyes, and find them looking straight at me, quietly curious.

Time to 'fess up, Dan. Now.

Unconsciously locking her wrists between my fingers and thumbs as I take her small hands in my much larger ones I straighten up to tell her as much of the truth as I dare.

"What I meant was that I don't trust myself not to hurt you, Sandra." She tilts her head as she considers my statement but doesn't seem convinced. I try again.

"You asked me 'why not' - that's why. I was afraid - am afraid - that I'd lose control. That I'd screw up and hurt you without meaning to -"

Now Sandra seems downright confused. Sighing deeply I release her wrists to rub both hands over my face before taking another deep breath and facing her again. She sits quietly, her eyes expectant and somewhat wary. Good. She should be.

"Sandra, I'm - first of all, I have not been completely honest with you at the hospital. While I did tell you that I am not at all disgusted by your kinks, as you put it, I had conveniently - cowardly - failed to mention was that I actually shared some of them. You see, I -" gulp - "I'd been dominant in most of my sexual relationships. Including my marriage."

Sandra's mouth drops open but no words come out. After a moment I continue.

"You should also know that I'm not one of the good guys. Not by a long shot. I told you that before, too. I've done some things..." my throat closes painfully and I almost choke. I cough and swallow and start again, forcing myself to look her in the eyes.

"I hurt my sub - my wife. My ex-wife, actually. Anyways... I'm not even sure how it got to that but - but the bottom line is I hurt her, bad. And I can't risk..."

Sandra shakes her head looking faintly dazed. "I don't understand, Dan. What do you mean, you hurt her? Hurt her how?"

I rub my hand over my eyes again feeling immensely tired all of a sudden. When I answer I almost can't recognize my own voice, it sounds so defeated. "I hurt her, Sandra. I lost my mind and I hurt her. When I heard she had found herself a new Dom... I flew out halfway around the world and tracked her down to her place and there I -"

I make myself look into her eyes again and continue, quietly determined now.

"What I did to her... I broke every rule, every agreement we ever had, even if we hadn't been divorced for two whole years. I bound and gagged her without her consent. I slapped her, even though I knew that was a hard limit. I ignored her fucking safe word. I spanked and belted her and I -"

The incredulity in Sandra's eyes is too much for me to handle. I break away from them and drop back against the cushions, hands holding my head, staring unseeingly at the white ceiling above me. The horror movie that is the memory of my attack on Naomi comes rushing back to play in my mind again, and I can't help but watch it, the wretched nausea rising and threatening to choke me any second.

I can hear nothing beyond the blood rushing in my ears and my lungs start to burn with too-heavy, too-fast breaths so it takes several long moments for the sensation of soft, warm palms squeezing and shaking my shoulders to penetrate through.

"Dan, stop. Please. You're hyperventilating. You need to stop, now." There's an urgent authority to her voice, much like there was back at the hospital. "Cup your hands and blow into them, Dan. Here, like this -"

She demonstrates quick, hard exhales into her cupped hands covering her mouth and nose, and then grabs mine and pushes them in front of my face, still puffing out like a freakin' doula coaching a woman in labor.

Somehow that does the trick though - I find myself mimicking her motions, letting her hold my hands such as to make me re-breathe the air going out of my lungs in order to counter the effect of hyperventilation. Slowly my head clears and the buzzing in my ears subsides.

My eyes re-focus and I am suddenly aware of Sandra again - really aware of her - kneeling on the couch right next to me, the hem of her white uniform dress riding up her thighs because of the way her knees are positioned, open wide to keep her balance as she was leaning over me. And she's still holding my hands in both of hers, her eyes again searching my face.

"Better?"

I nod once, mutely. Sandra lets go of my hands and slowly gets off the sofa and sits down on the coffee table, facing me.