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For 'Tony' -- you know who you are.
"I don't do Doms anymore," I told you. "I'm too willful to be a slave."
"I don't want a slave," you replied. "I want a companion who enjoys erotic play in all its forms, and I think you are the one I have been waiting for."
And so you set about convincing me that you are the one for me. You've wooed me for months, with the patience and determination of a man of your age, mindful of my reluctance to become involved with anyone at this place in my life, particularly with a Dom. Always the gentleman, you have allowed me the illusion of control when we've spent time together, conscious that we needed to build trust. We have talked, kissed, touched, but you have not pressed me for sex, and I have not asked for it. Until now.
Now, I am so attuned to you that the sight of you makes me tremble. You voice caresses me like your eyes do, like your hands want to, and I am instantly wet, longing for you, longing to be yours, as I have never longed for another. The sexual tension within me has grown so unbearable that I am distracted randomly all day long, waves of heat rolling over my skin, melting my core, making me ache. And so I called you, and propositioned you, and you accepted readily. I have a roommate, you have guests, and so you booked a room at the Mark Spencer hotel and dinner six or eight blocks away at the Brasserie Montmartre.
We arrange to meet in the lobby, and I have been waiting for just a short while when suddenly you are standing there before me. I look up at you from my seat and I can see that your eyes are dark and alert, and that there is a hint of a smile on your mouth.
"Shall we?" you ask, and hold out your arm.
I rise and take your arm, for which I am grateful, as I usually wear flat shoes, but tonight I am wearing heels. For you. I am also wearing a dress Grandmother had made some 50 years ago from silk she purchased in Singapore. It is the same dusky pink colour as my nipples, with a black and white cherry blossom brocade. It is a form-fitting, tailored dress, the bodice clinging to my breasts, the skirt cut to fit a woman's shape, fuller at the hips and narrowing over the thighs until it stops just above the knees, a scant two inches beyond the tops of my sheer silk stockings. I can feel your eyes on me, and they are frankly admiring, but not lustful. Not yet.
"You look lovely, my pet," you say, making me blush.
From the hotel we slowly walk south to 6th Avenue and then east toward the Park blocks, where the Brasserie is. I love its black and white checkered floors, the velvet upholstery, the seafood crepes, and the excellent wine list. When we are sat at our table I sit next to you, so I can touch you. As we sip wine and listen to tastefully unobtrusive jazz, we converse on a wide range of topics.
Every once in a while I slide my hand under the table and trail my fingers along your thigh, or touch your arm lightly. My skin is sensitized and I know that I am squirming occasionally, but I cannot help it. I am here, physically and mentally, exchanging ideas and opinions with you, and enjoying it immensely. You have a good mind, a lively intelligence, and it makes you most attractive to me. I want you, my mind tells my body, and my body reacts, and my arousal spirals upwards.
Over dessert you say something that makes me laugh, something I don't seem to do as often as most people. The laughter somehow causes the weights in the ben wa balls to roll, and an orgasm takes me completely by surprise, rising from my pelvis up my torso, setting my nipples aflame, and sending a wave of colour up my neck to my cheeks. I stiffen and squeeze your thigh, my eyes opening wide for a moment, and then shutting tight. I breathe in to moan, and then realizing where I am at the last possible moment, exhale it in a long, low whimper instead. It sets me aquiver, this orgasm, and the knowledge that I am having one in a restaurant full of people electrifies me as much as the need to suppress my reaction does.
I have no idea how long I rode out my pleasure, or how long it took you to figure out what was happening. All I know is that at some point you put my hand on your erection and kissed me in a way that left me in no doubt that you found the scene very provocative and wanted to make love to me that moment. I had this mental image of you taking me from behind, my torso pressed into the table top and my legs kicked apart, and the wide-eyed shock of the other patrons as they watched you lunge into me. Yes. Shudder. Yes. Mmmmmmmm yessssss.
As the giddiness passes, the waiter arrives with the check. You efficiently pay the ticket and before I know it we are outside the restaurant, walking at a good pace back the way we came. I protest that we are going the wrong way and you turn into a dark doorway and pull me hard against you. I can feel your erection through the heavy silk fabric of my dress.
"That was a naughty trick," you say, your voice rough and dangerous. Your hand slides under my dress and up between my legs. You pinch my labia together, rolling my clit, making me gasp.
"Here, or the hotel," you say, thrusting your hips against me. You know what my answer will be, but you give me the choice. I close my eyes and lean my head against your shoulder.
"The hotel," I answer, my voice muffled.
Your other hand runs up the back of my neck. You pull my head back and look into my eyes. "I didn't hear you," you say. We both know you did, but we also know that you want me to say it, looking at you, acknowledging the import of my answer.
"The hotel," I say again.
You kiss me then, on the forehead. A gentle kiss. You smooth the skirt of my dress back down over my hips and then you tuck my hand into your arm, and resting your own over it, step back out onto the sidewalk. To all appearances we are enjoying a late-summer night stroll, our heads bent toward each other was we speak with low voices upon some interesting topic. In reality, your fingers are playing with mine, and you are telling me how much it turned you on, seeing me climax there in the restaurant, how much you wanted to take me there, just as I had imagined. It makes me shiver and tremble, realizing how closely aligned our minds were in that moment.
In the elevator you take me in your arms and kiss me, a nice lingering kiss, and when you break it, you murmur something in my ear that makes my heart lurch in my chest. "You know I'm going to have to punish you for being naughty, little wench."
I nod, trembling again. I want you to punish me for my naughtiness, for using ben wa balls without your knowledge, for coming without permission. I want to feel the flat of your palm against my skin, stinging me, awakening my flesh to pleasure through the low-level pain.
You open the door for me and I pass through, stopping just inside, awaiting your instructions. The bed seems awfully big in the room. It is all I have eyes for. I remind myself to breathe, that this is what I want, that I want to be here, with you. Your arms come around me from behind, one hand sliding up to cup a breast, the other downward, cupping my mound. You kiss along the side of my neck and I relax a bit, leaning against you with a sigh.
A moment later you swing around and press me to the wall with your body. I can feel your cock against my ass, your chest pressing into my back. Your hands run down my arms until they have hold of my wrists, and then you raise them until my hands are above my head, pressing against the wall. You pin my wrists there, with one hand, and with the other, unzip my dress, very slowly, teasingly. Your mouth touches the newly exposed skin of my back, making me shiver and moan, making me press back against you, wanting you.
You release my hands and tell me to stay where I am, and I do, even as I want to protest you backing away, your heat leaving me. You flick a switch and the room is flooded with mellow light. You are quiet, I cannot hear you, and a minute ticks by, two minutes, and the only proof I have that you are in the room is the feel of your eyes on me, watching me. I try not to squirm there, pressed against the wall. I school myself to stand still, calming myself with slow, deep breaths.
There is a creak, and you tell me to turn around. I do so in silence, and see you sitting by the desk, in a nice leather captain's chair. I meet your eyes as calmly as I can. I am feeling a bit anxious, seeing the bed there, knowing we will end up there, wanting it and fearing it at the same time.
"Undress for me," you instruct me. Your voice rolls over my skin, plucking at and releasing my nerves with the mastery of Segovia on his guitar.
I move to slip the dress down over my shoulders, but the sound of your voice stops me.
"This won't do, Kay," you say. You sound mildly irritated or frustrated. I look at you, my eyes wide. I find myself wondering if you have changed your mind, if you don't want me after all.
"I love the sound of your voice, baby. I want you to respond when I tell you to do something."
I look steadily at you, knowing what you want to hear, but I won't give it. I won't call you 'master'. You haven't earned it yet.
You prove that we are on the same wave-length. "I want you to say 'Yes, Tony' or 'Yes Sir.' Do you think you can do that for me?" you ask with a raised eyebrow. It is a challenge and a compromise. I accept both.
"Yes, Tony," I say, and continue undressing. Slowly. Easing the small cap sleeves down my arms, pressing the bodice of the dress downward, exposing my breasts and the black bra. I move my hands back to unfasten it, but you tell me to leave it on. I say "Yes Tony" again and pull downward on the skirt of the dress, shimmying out of it as it slips over my hips. The little ben wa balls rock to the movement of my hips. Stepping carefully out of the dress, I shake it out a little.
"May I hang this, please, Tony?" I ask, not wanting to ruin the mood, but not wanting to damage a dress that has great sentimental value for me.
You look pleased and nod your head and I turn to the closet, slipping the dress quickly onto a hanger, then returning to where I was standing before. I am still wearing a black skirt slip, and I ease it down over my hips, letting it form a pool around my feet. I am wearing nothing more than a black bra and panties, the sheer thigh-high stockings, and my heels. I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to yours.
"Come here," you say, and I respond as you have instructed me, with a "Yes Tony" as I walk slowly up to you.
You run your hands over my body, their heat branding me. Breasts, waist, hips, thighs, ass. 'All mine,' your hands seem to say to me. You pinch me through my panties again, trapping my clit between my labia and rolling it between your fingers. I gasp and a moan escapes me.
"Beautiful Kay," you say, your voice a little deeper, a little tighter. "Such a little pleasure...kitten," you amend. The word 'slut' hangs between us, unspoken but still there. I let it go, appreciating your effort not to use words that I object to.
"Time for your punishment," you say, and instruct me to lay over the narrow end of desk, with my head turned so that I am looking at you. You want to watch my face as you spank me.
You slide the chair forward, and remaining seated, you begin administering the spanking. The first sharp light smacks on my ass make me bounce and cry out in surprise. The ben wa balls inside me roll and rock, seasoning the pain with pleasure. It has been years since I have been spanked, and you go easy on me, not swatting too hard. But you still do a thorough job, covering my ass and then my thighs, making them sting and itch, not stopping until I have tears in my eyes and my hands are gripping the edges of the desk.
Your hand pushes the hair away from my face and you lean forward to touch your tongue to one of my tears.
"There's my good girl. That wasn't so bad now, was it?"
You run your hand down my back and I start trembling and crying. You pull me into your lap and hold me, making comforting noises. I cry it all out, the fear and the anxiety and the tension, and when I am done crying I feel loose and relaxed. You set me on my feet and finish undressing me, tenderly, and then guide me to the bed. You pull the sheets back and tuck me in, and tell me to rest there for a few minutes.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, you are in bed with me, your body slipping up behind mine. You smell good and you are so warm compared to the cool sheets. One of your arms slides under my neck, the other around my waist, pulling me snugly against you.
"Tony," I moan and suck my breath in between my teeth, loving the feel of your hardness pressing against my ass.
"Yes, baby," you respond, your mouth hot on my shoulder.
I turn in your arms so that we are facing each other. I thread my fingers through the hair on your chest, scratching gently at one of your nipples. You make a purring sound in your throat and move to kiss me. I offer my mouth to you with a groan, kissing you back. Our tongues brush and dance and I slip my hands up to cradle your face. We kiss for a long time, feeding on each other's passion. I part my thighs and hook a leg over your hip, opening myself to you.
"Please..." I murmur against your lips.
"Please what, Kay?" you ask, then nip at my bottom lip.
"Please touch me, Tony?" I ask. "Feel how wet you make me..."
Your hand slides from where it was tormenting my nipple and works its way down my belly, down over the smooth skin of my mound, all freshly shaved and oiled for you. You cup me, your fingers pressing lightly against my pussy lips. They are plump, my outer lips, and only slightly wet. Your fingers press between them, and there are my inner labia, somewhat slicker. Gently, you quest, looking for the promised wetness. You caress my labia, seeking the entrance to my vagina, there, somewhere, so close.
"Here," I sigh, and with my hand, I hook your fingers upward, parting my inner labia, opening the floodgates. You suck in your breath between your teeth as your fingers touch it. Hot and wet and slippery, just like I promised. You groan and kiss me, and your body moves, grinding your cock against my hip.
You begin murmuring to me. Murmuring how much you want me, how much you want to be inside my hot wet little pussy, how much you want to fuck me and make me yours. You slide a finger inside me and it feels so good I clench down on it, squeezing for all I'm worth. I press my lips to yours, sucking on your bottom lip, scraping it with my teeth. My nipples brush against your chest, making me gasp as your hair teases them.
Your fingers abandon my pussy and you suck on them, then kiss me. The smell of my juices on your face makes me wild. I start whimpering, my body rocking, jolting as the pleasure surges through me.
"Oh god, I want more of that," you say, trying to press my shoulders into the mattress, starting to move down my body.
"No. No please, I want you inside me," I say, tugging urgently at you. I find your cock, slide it in my hand, pulling the foreskin forward toward me. I hug you closer with my thigh, my foot pressing against your ass. I wriggle closer, urgently, until you are there, pressing between my lips, just outside the entrance to my pussy. I dig my fingernails into your shoulder.
"Please," I beg. "Please, Tony. Oh please god, I want you inside me."
You groan and push forward into me perhaps an inch. We both suck our breath in. I feel your weight pressing into me, and you slide in a little farther. I tug on you, trying to worm my leg under you, to get you between my thighs. You go still for a moment, and then we are both moving, and you are laying on your back, with me on your chest, and a wet slippery mess between us as your cock slips out. I make disappointed noises and squirm against you.
"Hold still!" You say, and I freeze. Your fingers quest between my lips. You press two into me a little ways and separate them inside me. "Push the ben wa balls out," you tell me. "I don't want to hurt you, baby."
I had forgotten about them! I winced, thinking about how that would have hurt, and bear down carefully on your fingers, squeezing and releasing my muscles until I have expelled them from my body.
"So hot," you say, and press one against my skin. Wow! I am amazed by the sear of the metal against my flesh. It makes me want you inside me even more. I want you to feel that heat, I want to make your cock that hot.
I shift to a squat above the hand I have wrapped around your cock. I tug firmly upward, pulling your foreskin up, far over the head of your cock, and then down, a nice long stroke that exposes it to my gaze. I lower myself slowly onto you, until the purplish head is completely inside me, and squeeze my muscles. You moan, and your hands come up under me to cup my ass.
"Yes baby!" you hiss. "Take that cock!"
I ease a little further down on you, until I feel you against my cervix, three or four inches inside me. My muscles clench and release, making room for you. Your cock is so hot and it twitches inside me, making us both moan. I flex my thighs and raise myself up, until you are all the way out, and I slip the head of your cock along my slit until it nudges my clit and wrings a gasp from me. Then back inside me, slow glide three or four inches deep, until you press my cervix again. I hold my breath and press down a little more. Pressure. Pressure. And there, there, you're past it, sliding along the neck of my uterus, pressing deeply. Not much room there...but it feels so good.
I rest my knees on the bed and lower myself until I'm resting against you. I can feel myself shaking. I try rocking a little against you, but I'm shaking too much. I lean forward, resting my head against your chest. Your arms come up to cradle me against you.
"Please, Tony," I say.
"What baby? Do you want to stop?" you ask. I can hear the tension in your voice. The last thing you want to do is stop.
"No! No. I--I don't want to be on top," I say, finally. I crave the feel of you over me, thrusting into me. I want to wrap my legs around your waist and dig my nails into your back.
Your arms tighten on me and then we are rolling, and in a heartbeat I am where I want to be.