Playing with Perspective Pt. 01

Anticipation, a short story, by His plaything sarah

One last check prior to stepping through the lobby door to make sure I've followed His instructions exactly. Black, knee-length boots, with a three-inch heel. Dress falling a few inches above the knee, exposing some thigh when I sit. Black lace panties underneath. Hair in a smooth ponytail. And no bra; that seems to be a constant in His wardrobe specifications. Fortunately, I'm small enough to be comfortable, physically at least. Feeling confident that I'll earn His approval, I push through the doors a few minutes earlier than the agreed to meeting time.

A quick scan of the lobby confirms that I have arrived first, so I sit at a tall table, legs crossed demurely, waiting patiently for Him to meet me. As I wait, I notice a few lingering stares from businessmen as they pass by. Perhaps the attention was based only on my appearance? Or perhaps it was specifically due to my very erect nipples, reacting to the fabric of the dress and the air-conditioned hotel. But it's a black dress, it shouldn't be so obvious... Panicking for no reason, I start to imagine that even the musky scent of arousal that past lovers have teased me about is becoming noticeable. I've been here for less than five minutes and I'm already feeling exposed and transparent, convinced that the desperate need building up inside of me is completely obvious to anyone else.

As that sense of vulnerability continues to causes my heart to quicken, and my skin to blush pink, I see Him, and everything else is instantly forgotten. Striding confidently across the lobby, eyes locked in and focused entirely on me. His presence causes my body to tingle as I feel it spark to attention. He devours me with His eyes, savouring my flustered appearance, and His gaze makes me clench my thighs together.

He reaches me, lifts my chin with His hand and plants a tender kiss on my lips. "Stand," he says, in His gentle, but authoritative tone. I do, and He slowly makes his inspection. Different than the assessment He gave as he walked in, now He is ensuring I've followed His instructions. "Turn," He says quietly, and I slowly pivot, stopping when my back is facing Him. He gently takes hold of my ponytail, running my silky hair through His fingers. His hand continues its soft journey down my spine, as He ensures I'm standing with correct posture, and then over my ass, which He squeezes affectionately. Taking both hands, He discreetly lifts my dress for a split second to expose the black lace panties He requested I wear. It takes every ounce of my concentration to stand still, to not push myself back into Him, the desire for His touch becoming almost unbearable.

"Well done, my pet," He says, approvingly. "You've pleased me. Turn around and receive your reward." His words cause a deep flush in my skin, starting from my chest, and working up to my neck. The flush is from the pleasure I feel in having pleased Him, and from the anticipation of what comes next, both immediately and later in the room. I place my hands in front of me, palms down and four inches apart as He prefers, and I hear the familiar jingle of metal buckles. It is a sound that before Him meant nothing, but with Him causes a ripple of excitement to rush through my body. He clasps the cuffs on me, links them together, and holds tight to them as He walks me to the elevator.

* * *

Her name was Sarah.

And I watched her carefully, intently, secretly, as she passed by me out on the street, unaware, wheeled suitcase clattering behind her. She had parked where I told her to, so I knew the only path from there to the front door of the hotel was along the street in front of the ground floor restaurant. The windows looking outside were almost fully reflective, and I had requested a table directly against them, giving me a front row seat for her arrival. I had been sitting there for a while, to make sure I didn't miss her, and she was a few minutes early -- which impressed me.

As I took in the view, I wondered how long she might have been sitting in her car fidgeting, fretting about her appearance, reviewing my instructions in her head, trying to steady her nerves. Maybe next time I can figure out some way to watch her from the parking lot, too... ok, maybe that's too creepy. Regardless, at least now I could see and enjoy the fact that she was still fussing: smoothing the bottom of her dress to keep it from riding up as she walked; nervously tucking her shoulder-length dark hair around her ear, then letting it fall forward again; pausing, with one stocking-clad leg extended, to pull up her heeled leather boot. And then, in a perfect moment I could never have orchestrated, looking sideways to check her reflection in the window just a few feet away from me.

As she stopped and turned her body further, her jacket fell open enough that I caught a glimpse of the low-cut dress concealed within, clinging tightly to the curves of her body. If I could have reached through the glass and pulled her against me right then, I would have. As it was, I almost banged my head against the glass, a profoundly undignified moment that would be stricken from the official record of our affair. She didn't need to know how much of an effect she was already having on me!

As I pulled back from the window, one of my hands did tap the glass, and this must have made a small noise outside because almost immediately she jerked back and pulled her coat around her as she realized she was on display to anyone sitting inside the restaurant. There was a very distinct look on her face in that moment, one that I recognized from past experience. It wasn't embarrassment; not exactly anyway.

She turned and continued her walk to the front door, moving more purposefully now, and I was only able to enjoy the view from behind for a brief moment before she slipped out of sight around the corner leading to the entrance. I had enjoyed the brief show in the window, but I would have to take more time for a proper inspection in the lobby. I had proposed that we meet there first, and resisted the temptation to rush out and meet her immediately. It would be much more satisfying to maintain my own self-control, build the anticipation, and let her squirm for a few minutes before I went to collect her.

* * *

His name was Christopher.

And I watched him anxiously, uncertainly, demurely as he appeared through the door of the lobby bar looking, in contrast to me, annoyingly calm and composed in his custom-tailored grey jacket and pants. Perhaps on the inside his mind was racing like mine was, but he would never show it. As he walked toward me, it took every ounce of my willpower not to fidget or look away, but instead to sit up straight, legs together but not crossed, chin up, with my hands in my lap. My fingers, however, remained tightly curled, hands trembling slightly. I couldn't find a way to relax them so I stopped trying, shifting my attention away from the fingernails that were digging grooves into my palms. I tried to place my focus entirely on him, and on meeting his approval, and on losing myself in his steady, penetrating gaze.

Despite the bar-height chair I was sitting on, he was still several inches higher than me as he stepped in, intimately close, and then placed a single finger beneath my chin. I nearly flinched at that touch but managed to keep my composure, expecting a firm correction to my posture. Instead, he very gently lifted my face further up towards him until our eyes locked again just a few inches apart. Seeing clearly that his expression was everything I had hoped for -- proud, approving, playful and aroused -- it sent thrills through my body, and in an instant my mind felt washed clean of doubt, left blank and calm as the fear of disappointing him melted away.

Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, and I was very lucky that I was still sitting down. That simple little kiss made me utterly weak from my waist to my knees. That approving little kiss sent my head spinning n delight of his praise. That possessive little kiss sucked away what little self control I had left. That delicious little kiss made me completely, embarrassingly, panty-soaking wet. And do I need to point out that lace panties don't really soak up much of anything at all?

Yes, I was a mess, and he hadn't even said "Hello" yet. And the first thing he said to me instead was "Stand up." Holy hell, he couldn't have found a more difficult task for me in that moment! My legs were made of paper, and the only thing l felt capable of doing both physically and mentally was sliding out of that chair and falling down on my knees in front of him. I didn't even seem to care about the fact that people around us would be watching, and that realization sent another little earthquake through my body. It would be so shockingly easy... and I didn't need to ask permission to express my desire in THAT way, did I? But I already knew the answer to that. And the stern look on his face was telling me I had delayed my response a little too long.

I found the strength to stand up, and the good sense to place my hands behind my back. And I only wobbled ever so slightly on the narrow heels of my boots as he looked me up and down deliberately. My cheeks flushed pink at the attention, and then into my right ear he breathed the words "turn around", which felt unquestionably like the second most difficult thing he could have asked of me. How does he always manage to do that?

* * *

"Yes, Christopher," she responded softly.

There was such a lovely, layered, deliberate quality to how she spoke those words to me. It wasn't rushed, it didn't roll off the tongue, it didn't sound automatic, or habitual, or rehearsed. The "yes" had a husky edge to it, an audible expression of her inner craving. She spoke my name with heavy emphasis on each syllable, adorning it with greater authority. Even the space between the words had a distinct hitch to it, like a gulp of anticipation, or trepidation. She made good eye contact too, so it would have been perfectly delivered if only she had managed to speak a little more loudly. That, however, was a minor transgression compared with having forgotten to say those exact same words when I first told her to stand up! I didn't think she had even realized her mistake yet, but I would certainly address it later.

As she began to pivot, I savoured the full unobstructed view, her coat out of the way and hanging off the chair. She paused with her back to me, hands now down at her sides, and peeked hesitantly over her shoulder as I came up from behind. I reached out and gently turned her face away from me again, and then took hold of a handful of her hair possessively while I looked down at her. The black dress was narrow and form fitting, very flattering on her upper body, with a low-cut back that invited the fingers of my other hand to follow the ripples of her spine all the way down, very slowly, sensing each slight adjustment she made to her posture as I touched her. My hand continued its journey across her ass and down one leg, until I could just reach and gently pull up the hem of her dress enough to slip my hand beneath it. I stroked my way up the back of her thigh again, and ran my fingers across the lacy pattern of the underwear that I had expected to find there.

I could feel her shivering slightly now, reacting to my teasing touches to the exposed skin of her back and thigh. I stepped in much closer, pressing into her from behind. I moved my hand around to hold her, my own state of arousal evident as I let her feel the heat of my body and the ridgeline in my pants. She let out a soft moan of lust, but managed to resist the urge to grind up against me, and I held the embrace for a moment longer before finally releasing her hair, dropping the hem of her dress, and stepping away. "Well done, my pet," I said approvingly. "You've pleased me. Well, for the most part..." I smiled to myself when your posture stiffened at that last remark. "Stay still while I present your reward."

I reached for the pocket of my jacket, in which I had earlier concealed a heavy set of steel handcuffs. Pulling her wrists behind her, I quickly clasped them together with a chatter of very audible clicks. The shock and surprise, as well as the cold of the metal against her skin, triggered another full-body shiver. Next, I retrieved her coat from the chair and placed it over her shoulders. This would provide some temporary warmth, but was mostly meant to conceal her new predicament. Then, with one hand behind her for guidance, I aimed her towards the bar and restaurant, and spoke softly of my intentions.

* * *

"Come this way. Not to the elevators. I left a drink behind that I would like to finish first."

Damn it! Apparently, he wasn't finished with little surprises yet. I should have known better than to cling to any selfish expectations, but I couldn't help cast a quick glance down the hall to the lifts where I had assumed we'd be heading -- ideally, in a hurry! It was just a momentary, furtive glance; one that he caught, of course. But all he did was smile and continue leading me in the opposite direction, one hand pulling my suitcase, the other hand at my back, maintaining firm contact with my concealed and very captive wrists.

To be honest, I was grateful for the extra support. It would have been nearly impossible for me to walk normally otherwise. Even with his help, each step was awkward and unbalanced, and dear god, I felt horribly self-conscious as we moved across the lobby and into the restaurant. He steered me toward a table by the window, and in the mid-afternoon quiet of the mostly empty restaurant I became acutely aware that my heart was frantically trying to pound its way out of my chest.

He pulled a chair back for me and helped me get seated, arranging my coat in casual disarray across the back of the chair to provide some cover. Then he tucked the suitcase nearby, sat down across the table and leaned back slightly, raising a crystal tumbler of whiskey to his lips while gazing at me intently. Was he seriously going to make me just sit here like this while he enjoyed a drink? Was he not even going to say anything? I felt a sudden impertinent urge to express my objections, but my nerves were in shambles. My "grand" act of defiance turned into just giving up the effort to sit still; I began shifting my body about, very obviously and uncomfortably.

To be clear, this was not really an act. I was being forced to sit stiffly forward thanks to the position of my arms, while my shoulders were feeling the strain of being pulled backwards to bring my wrists together, and my hands were caught in between my body and the chair back. Movement brought some slight relief, but to my dismay the more I changed my position, the more aware I became of the handcuffs, and the more helpless it made me feel. That was joined by the soft ache of my bare nipples, and my damp thighs sticking together slightly, and suddenly every movement was hitting a raw nerve somewhere on my body. And the more time that passed with his eyes on me and with no option to escape the discomfort, the more my body kept betraying me, exposing my true reaction to this situation.

And oh my, he was enjoying the sight of me suffering. I could tell just by how he was leaning in; by how he had totally forgotten about the drink in his hand; by how his eyes were eating up every little movement I made. His rapt attention was making my cheeks feel flushed, and my return gaze, which I had been determined to hold firm no matter what, fluttered and failed when he finally spoke:

"It is captivating to watch a woman struggling so much with the simple act of doing nothing."

My cheeks grew warmer. Ugh, he was messing with me, trying to make me flustered and confused. I knew it was mostly playful teasing on his part, but it was working. Was he praising me, or scolding me? Was it better for me to struggle, or to resist that urge?

"Mmhmm, you are certainly putting on quite the show for me. Even better than the one you gave me a short time ago, when I was watching you adjust yourself through this window..."

My face must have gone another two shades of crimson deeper, easily. It felt like my brain was about to short-circuit, disposing of whatever rational thoughts remained, dumping all decision-making to my already over-stimulated pussy.

"I am REALLY looking forward to seeing your reaction when I actually give you something to do other than sit there and look pretty."

My face was on fire as his words hit me like a playful slap. He was tipping me over from the inside-out, making me feel not just sexy or submissive, but a little wanton, and a little stupid. Nobody else had ever played that card on me without getting pushback. But it was clearer to me now: my pussy had no more say in what came next than any other part of me did. He was the one responsible for all of the decisions now, and I had eagerly agreed to such an arrangement. It was a simple enough concept to grasp, so why did it feel like it was getting so much more complicated now?

* * *

Mindset, a short story, by His pet sarah

As we walk toward the elevator, my mind begins to race, along with my heart. He knows I prefer to keep this side of myself deeply hidden from others. Why would He expose me so openly like this? My cheeks feel like they're on fire as my eyes dart from one person to another, certain of my impending discovery. My gaze settles on a family across the lobby, focusing on the frantic mom hustling her brood toward the same bank of elevators He is targeting. She's playing a role to which I'm quite accustomed. Under any other circumstances, I'd be managing my own flock. Keeping one eye on the little one who likes to run off, and another on the oldest who tends to lag behind. I would be managing our luggage, while also directing my husband toward the correct room number. Always managing. Always in control. My mind processing myriad thoughts simultaneously.

But not with Him. My role with Him was not to lead, but to follow.

Remembering this, my mind begins to calm itself, and to focus. Follow His lead. Trust in His guidance. Relax into the sensations. As I repeat these mantras to myself, my breathing begins to regulate. Like a runner settling into rhythm, I begin to find my pace, and feel safer. I notice the physical sensations that my anxiety with being exposed is masking. Inhaling deeply, I savor His scent. I feel my erect nipples brush against the soft fabric of my dress. My swollen clit rubs against the stiff lace of my panties. All these sensations, intense as they are, somehow serve to calm me, slow my thoughts, and focus my energy on Him.

He turns to me during this moment of calm. It's no surprise, really. He always seems to recognize these opportunities. I should have known better than to allow myself a little smile. I should have known that He'd sense my relaxation and be unable to resist pushing me out of my comfort zone again. He catches my eye and penetrates me with that gaze. A sly smile spreads slowly across His face, and He gestures just slightly in the direction of a marble-tiled column to His left, located just before the elevators.

He leans into my ear, brushing it slightly with His lips as He says in a low, quiet tone, "Place your hands on the column, and spread your legs." I hesitate, focusing again on the family headed our direction. "But," I begin. "Now, pet," He says louder, and more authoritatively. I stop thinking and respond to His voice. I take the few steps over to the column, place my cuffed hands flat against it, spread my legs, and wait.

I focus on regulating my breath, and calming my body, and I realize I have a perfect view of the family bustling toward the elevators. But He's positioned us very cleverly, just outside of their line of vision. He comes up beside me and presses Himself firmly against me. The sensation of His cock, already hard, pressing into my side is too much when combined with the thrill of being in public like this, so close to being caught. My clit begins to throb, and I feel a burst of wetness in my pussy. All rational thought has now left me.