She inserted the key and unlocked the door. She entered the room tentatively, as if it was her first time. But it wasn't. She'd been here before. The furniture, the fireplace and the painting above the sofa all looked the same. The room was familiar, but the circumstances were different. Yes, it was the aura that had changed, not the room.
And the man who awaited her was also familiar... in the most intimate ways. She had spent hours kissing him, touching him, tasting him. She knew every curve and crevice of his body... the soft parts and the firm ones. She knew the feeling of him thrusting into her and his wetness between her legs afterwards. Yet, like the room, he seemed different tonight.
She knew things were going to be different, even if the room and her companion were the same. Tonight they would take their relationship into a new dimension, for tonight she would submit to him as never before. Her confidence in herself and her trust in him had finally melded with her curiosity about the realm of domination and submission.
She wanted to know what it was like to let herself go, to let him have control of her sexuality, to let him use her for his pleasure. In the process, she hoped to know her own pleasure... the pleasure of her sexuality freed of the bounds of society or stigma. And she hoped to be a part of his hedonism, to be present as he revealed himself through his yearnings.
She trusted him, no doubt. She wouldn't be in this situation if she didn't. But still there was anxiety... about what he would say to her... do to her... with her... how she would respond... whether the reality would match the fantasy... what he would expect of her. She was simultaneously aware of the pounding in her chest and the dampness between her legs.
Patiently, he stood in the corner... in the shadows... as her eyes adjusted to the soft light and her mind adjusted to the situation. He was dressed wholly in black... a turtleneck, slacks and casual shoes, which highlighted his face and his hands with their elegant fingers. He offered her a glass of white wine, served with a warm smile. "Good evening," he said, the rich, familiar timber of his voice helping to put her at ease. "It's good to see you again."
"It's good to be here," she replied. "But I'm a little bit nervous."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said without elaboration. "Do you remember the safe word?"
"Yes. It's 'freedom, '" she said softly.
"Good, then are you prepared to submit yourself for pleasure?" he asked.
She swallowed hard. "Yes," she murmured, surprising herself with the meekness of her voice.
He led her to the center of the room and left her standing in a pool of soft light while he settled into an overstuffed chair. Strains of David Sanborn wafted from the stereo. He threw a leg over the arm of the chair, fingering his wine glass, exuding comfort and relaxation totally at odds with her anticipation.
She looked to another chair as if to sit, but he denied her. "No, stand there for a moment while I look at you."
Self-consciously, she glanced about the room. To avoid looking into his eyes, she fixated on a painting of a campfire smoldering beside a foggy stream. She put her glass to her lips. "Drink it all," he said. "And then remove your blouse."
Raising the glass, she emptied it into her mouth and swallowed the final drops. She set the glass on a nearby table. Her fingers reached for the buttons, fumbling with a couple as she began to undress. Then the garment fell to the floor. The filmy black bra held... shaped... revealed... her breasts. The white hills above the fabric... the hard nipples pushing out. The room was comfortably warm, and heat radiated from the fireplace. The hard points on her chest were from excitement.
He stared at her, and she averted her eyes, looking down.
"Remove your skirt and your shoes," he said evenly. His voice revealed neither eagerness nor anxiety nor excitement. It was level and steady.
She kicked off her shoes and felt her feet sink into the deep carpet. Reaching behind herself, she lowered the zipper. She looked into his eyes as she pushed the garment over her hips, past her knees and down to her ankles. Then she stepped out of it and stood before him wearing only the bra and matching black panties. The panties hid her most private regions but little more. The French cut emphasized her long legs.
"Turn around," he said. "Let me see your bottom."
Obeying his direction, she turned about face, toward the door through which she had entered this experience. She could feel the heat of the fire on one side and the heat of his gaze on her posterior... the smooth globes encased in the tight fabric. The desire was building within her, and already part of her mind simply wanted to be taken and to collapse into his strong, reassuring arms. But that wasn't his plan, and tonight he was in control.
"Take your panties off," he commanded from behind her.
She slipped her thumbs inside the elastic band and pushed the skimpy briefs down her legs. In her bending, she further exposed her globes to his gaze. The cheeks separated as she pushed the panties past her knees, and he could see her most intimate regions. She wondered if he could see how wet she was becoming... or just the swollen lips between her legs.
Her panties removed, she stood again. Still facing away from him, she imagined she felt his gaze burning the flesh she was showing him. He'd always liked her bottom. She treasured the memory of the first night he had taken her there... it had been so tender, so deliciously wicked and so powerfully erotic as he became the first man to enter her that way. She'd given him her final prize... years after performing more conventional acts with previous lovers. Since then, she'd eagerly received him in her ass. It was something special they shared.
"Very nice," he commented, almost with detachment. Her cheeks flushed. "Let me see the front."
Turning again, she looked him in the eye as he stared up and down her body. His eyes focused on the vee of her legs. She saw his hand slowly massaging the fabric over his crotch. She thought about his magnificent erection. It always excited her to see it jutting, twitching, leaking. She imagined what it looked like inside his pants as he rubbed it before her.
"Remove your bra," he instructed.
Obediently, she reached for the clasp in the valley between her orbs and unsnapped it. She pulled the cups away to reveal her firm cleavage. The hard nipples pushed out boldly, and her arms fell to her side, dropping the garment to the floor. She flashed on a memory of the first time a boy had seen her tits... in a dark corner of a high school party. The intensity of that moment couldn't compare to this experience. Then she was unknowing and innocent. Now she was experienced and wanting.
He continued to gaze at her while massaging himself. She wanted to kneel and take him in her mouth, but she couldn't take the initiative tonight. She was his plaything.
"You must be fairly excited," he said.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Play with your breasts, then. I know how much that can turn you on. Arouse yourself with your tits."
Shyly, she cupped her breasts. It was true that stimulating her nipples was highly erotic for her. It was almost unreal the way that touching her nipples could energize the nerves in her sexual region. It was as if her body was wired wrong. It was like flipping a switch in the living room to illuminate a lamp in the den or scratching her arm to satisfy an itch on her leg. It made no sense. But it was a powerful feeling between her legs whenever her tits were fondled. And he knew it would feel that way.
Massaging her orbs, she was aware of the gathering wetness in her valley. Tweaking her nipples, she felt twinges in her pussy. Erotic energy crackled through her body. She closed her eyes to savor the sensations as she kneaded and squeezed her breasts. She thought about how hot she felt and how much she wanted to be touched on her sex. Reopening her eyes, she saw that he'd withdrawn his rod from his pants and was now stroking it openly. His swollen manhood in its shades of pink and red contrasted with the black garments that enshrouded his body.
She loved to watch him stroke himself. He'd been shy about it when they met, but now his self-confidence had grown as he'd learned how it affected her. He would let her watch him sometimes just to enjoy the erotic power it had on her.
"You should pleasure yourself, too," he said.
As much as she'd wanted to do it a few moments earlier, now she hesitated. It was still a most intimate act. He'd seen her before. Sometimes they'd done it together, propped up at opposite ends of the bed, their legs spread as they exhibited themselves and watched the other. The sight of him erupting was frequently enough to push her over the cliff of her own orgasm. But that had been voluntary; sometimes she'd even initiated it. Now she was doing it because he told her to. It was beyond her control. She felt like she was on stage beneath the lights while he was in the shadows. It would be her show.
"Do it now," he said more firmly. "Put your hand between your legs and rub yourself."
.... There is more of this story ...