Precious Ch. 03

I was writing one night with the back door open.

The heat wave had broken, but my place still got pretty warm.

I get a nice cross breeze after dark, so it cools off quicker.

Somebody knocked rudely at the screen door, a moment later I

heard Jean's voice.

'Ha-looooooo?'

And then some giggles.

She'd been drinking a little, and was feeling it.

More obnoxious knocks and giggles.

She was turned the other way, and didn't notice I'd walked up to the door.

Without looking, she turned to knock again, trying to be a smartass.

'WHAT?'

I asked loudly, making her jump.

Her eyes went big for a second, then she realized I'd gotten her.

She made a little face as I laughed.

She recovered quickly and asked

'Do you have any light bulbs?'

I sighed, pretending to be annoyed.

Actually I was glad any time I saw her.

I had a bunch and showed them to her.

She asked if I would put them in for her. I rolled my eyes

in more mock annoyance, and said I would.

I was curious to see her apartment.

We walked in, she apologized for the place being messy.

I hadn't noticed, I was eyeing the strip of skin not covered by her

short top from behind. She had a nice ass, curvy, not too big,

not too small. I like the way it moved under her thin sweats.

She had a small ladder under one of the sockets.

I stepped up on it, and started to unscrew the bulb.

I felt a touch on my leg, she was standing right next to me,

her sweet face even with the fly of my jeans.

A lot of things went through my head, none of them had anything

to do with lightbulbs. I finished that one, she helped me down,

which I thought was funny. I have a great sense of balance.

In so many ways, life is all about balance.

It turned out almost every bulb she had was burned out,

I wound up replacing about four for her. Every time I climbed

up the ladder, she'd hold me steady, her full mouth about

6 inches from my warming dick. I figured either she was playing,

or had a little too much to drink and didn't notice. I was having

fun, I didn't really care which. I was done in a few minutes.

I looked around her place. Studio apartment, her bed in the big room.

It wasn't made, I thought that was cool. She kept house just a little better than

I did. She scurried around picking up clothes, trying to hide the panties

she'd left out. I pretended I hadn't noticed them.

Pink cotton, with little red hearts. Red trim.

She had a large bench type seat, she moved more clothes and waved

for me to sit. She moved around the corner, back to her kitchen.

I checked her bottom again as she did. A moment later, I heard a

glass with ice in it. She asked if I wanted anything, I didn't.

Not in a glass anyway.

Like a breeze, she returned. A quick glance told me she wasn't wearing a bra.

She scooped up a photo album, and sat next to me.

'I've been wanting to show you some of my work'

She opened the book, and leaned toward me.

When I first walked in, I had noticed how nice her place smelled.

I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was nice.

It was her. Her scent. It washed over me.

The room seemed a lot warmer.

I tried to concentrate on the photos.

Her work had a distinct style, she had an eye for the 'off center'.

Ordinary things, shot in an off kilter context.

As she turned pages, I became acutely aware of her every movement.

The subtle things that tell you more about a person than words do.

The way she pushed her hair back, tucking strands behind a small

ear, just little things. The way her fingers caressed a page as she turned it.

This was her work, her passion.

On the last page was a self portrait of sorts.

It spoke volumes about how she saw herself.

She'd shot it in black and white, but it was a study in halftones.

Her hair was longer in the picture than it was now, it fell across

her face, creating shadows, leaving you to guess at the true beauty

beneath. She was wearing a black dress, a wide knit of loose patterns

stitched together. It looked to be made of lace.

She was nude beneath it, yet it revealed nothing obvious.

It was breath taking on it's own, knowing it was her added a deeper

level of appreciation for me.

She closed the book tenderly and moved away.

After a moment, I asked if she had ever displayed her work.

She had, but what she had shown me was her private collection.

The last image stayed burned into my mind.

She explained she'd read my work, and wanted to share some of hers.

I knew I had been allowed to see something special, something personal.

I was touched.

She stood, and placed the album on a shelf.

Her touch lingered on it just a beat longer than it should.

I realized she reminded me of Christine.

Christine had been my first.

Small frame, dark hair, dark eyes that went on forever.

She taught me who I really am, the ways of my true nature.

We'd been seeing each other for awhile, long enough that we were

fucking each other stupid. I loved the taste of her skin, her lips, both

upper and lower. Her scent drove me insane, it made me want to fuck.

It made me want to fuck her. Hard. I did. The more we'd fuck, the more

it drove me. We weren't making love, we were fucking.

I couldn't get enough of her.

Instinctively, I somehow knew she needed more.

Out of bed, she was one of the sweetest women I've ever known.

Smart, gentle, her eyes warm with an inner humor.

She was always on time, always letting me make the decisions

about where we went or what we did. Yet still, I got the feeling she was

waiting. Waiting for something I didn't understand.

One night, she found her opportunity, and took it on herself to show me.

We were out at a club, nothing out of the ordinary.

It was Karaoke night, so there was plenty to talk about.

Not too many things funnier than some boozed up joker

trying to slur their way through a song they don't really know.

Chris was uncharacteristically snippy that night, I figured maybe

it was PMS. I figured wrong, she had a plan.

She was flirting heavily with the bartender, getting free drinks.

She could see I was getting pissed about it, and kept doing it.

It was like she was going out of her way to get under my skin.

The night was turning decidedly sour.

Every time I asked a question, her reply was either bitchy,

or a cold eyed silent stare. The bartender came back, and she turned on

the charm. I finally leaned over and asked sarcastically if they'd like to be alone.

I was fucking steaming.

One of the singing drunks wandered over, and started hitting on her.

I told him she was with me. He glanced over, and then continued where

he left off. He shot a smirk at me over her shoulder.

We locked eyes, I smiled back.

I stood, and stepped between Chris & him.

If he was lucky, he'd wake up in the ambulance.

He threw a couple of pretty good punches, I'll give him that.

I caught his arm, and yanked him away from Chris. I didn't want her to get

hit by accident. The look in his eyes gave me a reason to smile.

He'd thrown his best, and all it did was piss me off.

He knew he was in for a beating. The bartender yelled for the bouncers

as I pulled back my fist. They weren't going to get there quick enough

to stop me. I heard her voice, through the melee. Soft as it was,

it cut through everything else, even the roaring in my ears.

I felt her touch on my fist. It calmed me.

I let him go, the bouncers tossed him out. She still held my fist.

She looked me in the eyes, seeing what she already knew.

With both hands, she raised my fist to her lips, and kissed it tenderly.

Her deep gaze into my rage was soft, knowing.

In a whisper she said 'Take me home.'

With her small hands still holding mine, she walked me out,

to the stunned silence of the rest of the club.

On the ride to her place, she kept her hands folded in her lap,

her eyes downcast. She seemed so small. I noticed she was shaking a little.

I touched her hair, she only stared downward.

I asked if she was OK, she said nothing.

Finally I snapped at her 'Answer me!'

Her nearly inaudible reply was 'You didn't give me permission to speak.'

At the time, I didn't know that she was teaching me, helping me to

answer questions I didn't know how to ask.

I played along, very curious to see where this was going.

Something about it felt so right. The rest came to me naturally.

I said 'You've been a very bad girl tonight, haven't you?'

She was visibly shaking now.

Her reply was a mute nod 'yes'.

My fingers closed, gripping a fistful of her hair.

I gave a small tug. She inhaled sharply through her nose.

Her small hands closed tighter on each other.

Something was happening inside of me, I had to go forward.

I was as if a part of me had been unleashed, something I'd

been denying for too long. And it was hungry, very hungry.

I knew my questions were no longer questions, they were commands.

I was forcing her to answer what we already both knew.

In a voice new to me, I asked, 'You know happens to bad girls, don't you?'

She pressed even tighter to herself, her hair falling across her face.

A tiny sound came from her.

I pulled again, a bit harder this time.

'Answer me!'

'yes'

My dick was so hard, and the moment so intense, I almost blew through a red light.

I asked 'Do you think you should be punished?'

A tiny sound and another nod.

I pulled back, turning her face to me.

I'll never forget the depth of emotion in her eyes.

They pooled with tears, trickling down her cheeks.

I wanted to kiss her so bad, but knew I couldn't.

My new voice told her

'You have until we get to your house to choose your punishment.'

I don't think she expected that. I was learning fast.

Her eyes went wide, I released her hair.

The silence of the rest of the ride was deafening.

We parked, she sat until I opened her door and pulled her out with just

a bit more force than I needed to. I held her arm, marching her inside.

She never looked up. I felt a small wet spot at the end of my dick.

I moved her to a spot in the living room, the way I did told her to stay there.

I pulled a chair from the dining room and set it in the middle of the living room.

I sat and stared at her, waiting.

Her hands moved to the button on her jeans. They were shaking so much,

she had a hard time undoing it. The zipper followed, a moment later they

slid down her legs. Her underwear was dark green.

She stepped out of the jeans, I could see her knees trembling.

Her little socks were still on, adding a touch of innocence.

She padded to me, and crawled across my lap, face down.

It turned out she was wearing a thong.

She settled, and lifted her shirt, giving me full access to her soft

and soon to be very tender ass. Her hands went back to the carpet,

bracing herself. I made her wait. I could feel her heat rising, both dreading

and sweetly anticipating that first sting of flesh on flesh.

I moved suddenly, she jerked and tensed. She had chosen her punishment,

but not how it would be administered. I raked my nails into her ass,

from bottom to top, just hard enough to press into the skin.

She jerked again, trying to keep her balance. I moved my legs apart, giving her a wider base.

I reached a hand down, caught her wrist and brought it up behind her back.

My nails took another teasing run along her other cheek, with better results.

She exhaled loudly, goosebumps raised the tiny hairs on her skin.

I leaned hard across her, deliberately squeezing her with my chest,

and snatched up her other wrist. It joined the first behind her back.

A moment later, I held them together. She had to fight to keep from falling

forward. She had to curl her legs up into the side of mine. It pushed her

bottom even higher into the air. I let her squirm, giving her time to

appreciate her situation as she tried not to fall. I used her wrists to

push her around a little. I knew her hamstrings would hurt later.

My nails dug in again, this time raking her. She almost went over face first,

I pulled back on her wrists to hold her up. She gave a little grunt of pain.

There was no question she was mine to do as I wanted.

It was time for her punishment.

I started on the backs of her thighs. Teasing them with my fingertips,

just enough of a touch to cause that feeling between a tickle and a caress.

I think all the air went out of her body on the first stroke.

At the second, the entire front half of her arched, she gave ragged little pants.

As it finished, she slumped, fighting for breath.

By the third, she was thrashing to either get away from or push herself deeper

into the sweet torture I was inflicting on her. It was not what she expected at all.

It was worse, much worse. I was enjoying her punishment as much as she wasn't.

When she thrashed, it created a delicious friction on my already hard cock.

I knew she could feel it press into her from underneath.

I told her how much pleasure her discomfort was giving me.

That seemed to make her mad, she stilled, determined not to squirm any more.

I smiled inwardly at her passive agression.

A moment later, she lost that standoff as my nails bit into her thighs.

She gave a long groan of pleasure and surrender as her climax took her.

A loud splat filled the room as the first of many carefully measured swats

found her butt. She exploded. I could hear her wetness. The air was thick with

her scent. I pulled the thin strip of cloth tight up and between her pussy lips,

and shoved it between her fingers.

She knew to hold it tight, or there would be further punishment.

Every time she squirmed, the cloth bit into her folds.

After that, the only noises in the room were the smack of hard

hand on soft skin and the mingled chorus of her sounds as she shifted

between pain and pleasure. I made sure she recieved equal amounts of each.

The feel of her hot flesh as it met my palm was incredible.

I watched the shock of each blow traveling outward from the impact, barely

stopping before the next set her skin in motion. I varied my speed and

force in accordance with the changing string of sounds pouring from her.

I could tell when she got close, she'd stiffen and then arch, her head coming

up in an exquisite motion, her face a picture of bliss.

I'd slow up, teasing her along, keeping her at the edge until I decided to

show mercy and push her off. She'd barely finish, and I'd start again,

before she could recover.

My pant leg grew wet as her juices soaked into the denim.

Her ass was a kaliedoscope of pink and red with interlaced welts.

She was dead weight in my lap. She slumped, exhausted.

My hand felt like raw meat.

I relaxed my grip on her wrists, her fingers still clutching the strip of her thong.

Without warning, I landed one last hard shot across both cheeks.

I made sure it hurt. She cried softly.

I stroked her abused flesh, and spoke.

'Your punishment is finished.'

I rose slowly from the chair, helping her find her legs.

We stood, she moved into me. It was different than all the other

times I'd held her, something had changed. It was somehow deeper,

more intimate, shared. I pulled her closer to me, wanting more.

She shook from head to toe.

We stood for a long time, just feeling.

Her hands moved up, and found my face. She tilted my head to look

her in the eyes. Yes, something was different.

She was still Christine, but changed. She had let me in.

It was not a time for words, there would be plenty later.

She dropped slowly to her knees, and looked at me expectantly.

I never broke her gaze, I couldn't. My hands found the button and

zipper. I had a tough time pulling myself out. The glistening head

stood inches from her lips. She waited for my permission.

The intensity of her stare touched my core.

I nodded once.

Her still wet eyes sparkled, her mouth closed around me.

It was all wriitten in her eyes.

Her delight in pleasing me after having to punish her, the knowledge

that she had helped me reach that point, and knowing what her mouth

was doing to me at that moment. She knew what I had tasted, and would

demand more. In that, she knew better than I knew myself.

I was surprised when I felt that tingle begin to build at the base of my cock.

I almost never come from blowjobs, somebody told me once I have control issues..

But again, this was different. I felt that somehow, letting her please me

was her reward after being punished.

It didn't make any sense, yet it made perfect sense.

Her mouth made it impossible to think.

She had been working on me for a long time.

Tender, steadily measured strokes of gratitude.

Her tear streaked face stuffed with my cock is an image

burned forever into my memory. I was reaching the point of no return,

in more ways than I understood at the moment.

Her small mouth stretched as I swelled.

She was going to make sure I finished, she refused to fail.

It built with every pass of her lips, beyond the point where I normally shoot.

Her eyes bored into mine, still deeper, another pass. I had to come, or explode.

One more pass, and I did both. I came so hard I thought I'd blown the

end of it off. Her sweet mouth continued until I was completely finished.

She sat back on her heels, still holding my eyes.

She folded her hands in her lap, and said

'thank you'

And then she looked down.

I sat in the chair, and looked at her for a long time.

I realized that she was testing me, that she had shown herself,

and that the next move was mine. This was an odd game, and I had to figure

out the rules myself. It had been her choice to give me control over her, yet she

had led the way. I had proven myself to her, now she sat, awaiting my acceptance.

I was confused, unable to put this jigsaw of paradox into a picture.

'Christine' I said softly.

She looked up, there was hope and fear in her eyes.

I held out my hand. For the first time, she crawled to me,

and took it in hers. Her face flushed with emotion.

She waited, her eyes brimming with an unanswered question.

I said one word

'Yes'

and then

'Sit.'

She did. At my feet, not quite touching me.

I hadn't given her permission.

I pulled her closer so that she did.

She cried softly, her search was over, as was mine.

Through her, I had found myself.

I stroked her hair, replaying the events of the night in my mind,

filing away what I'd learned. What I had to learn next.

I'm not naive, I knew a few things about 'Masters' and 'submissives'.

I'd even been to a few leather clubs in my days on the road.

I thought I knew a lot more than I really did.

Something about it had always appealed to me, but until Christine,

I never knew why. Now I did. I realized it was time for me to raise the bar.

She deserved to be rewarded for her courage and strength, I had to be up

to the invitation she had extended. The puzzle was starting to come together.

A short time later, I stood, extending my hand to her.

She rose with it.

I kissed her, with everything I felt.

Things were different now.

We moved to her room.

We didn't fuck.

We made love.