The Queen’s Pawn, Pt. 01

She insisted on clearing the table and washing up while I stood back and admired the view from behind. I was relieved that the pink streaks I'd inflicted had all but vanished. She seemed to have had no problem sitting. After that she suggested we play chess. It was a sedate way to end the evening; but it was my first game in ages, and she won with no apparent effort. While I regretted allowing my skills to lapse, I made no excuses for letting her beat the pants off me. Of course that's just an expression. In reality I kept my pants on. She was still naked.

When it was time for retire for the night, predictably unpredictable Sabrina showed me to the second bedroom. I consoled myself that maybe she needed her rest for the morrow.

Indeed events the next day, Sunday, played out in a similar fashion, with plenty of bondage, whipping and various forms of degradation. Sabrina was more submissive. When I awoke in the morning and went downstairs she was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast, naturally au naturel. She greeted me by kneeling and kissing my feet. We then ate on the lawn which, although the rain had stopped, was still soggy. Sabrina laid down a towel for me so I didn't get my trousers damp. She sat on the wet grass, and her lips wrinkled in a most adorable way as her bare backside touched it.

We made love in the shower and after that I bound and whipped her again, not hard but to assert my dominance. I was really getting into my role as her master. But that's the point, it was a role. It had to be a game because Sabrina did not give the impression of being a masochist. She was not servile. She was aggressively submissive, if that means anything. "Topping from the bottom" is the term I've seen used. In other words, I never lost sight of the fact that I was servicing her desires. Mine were almost incidental, if nevertheless indulged. In giving me pleasure she found hers. So while we did have a genuine connection, I was her instrument of sexual and emotional fulfillment. I didn't mind.

Sabrina luxuriated in her subjugation and humiliation, wearing these like a sumptuous fur coat. Of course, she hadn't worn a stitch of actual clothing between taking off her bikini on Saturday and saying good-bye at the front door on Monday morning.

Just before I got into my car I pointed at her motorcycle. "Put something on before you go out on that," I warned.

She looked offended. "I always wear a helmet!"