Chapter 4: Fog

Charlotte stood about a metre in front of her husband, breathing heavily, but waiting patiently. Her hands returned behind her head, without me asking her. She watched as I dropped to a knee and released my ankles from the heels. I breathed a sigh of relief. There’s a reason I avoided the torture devices. I wiggled my freed toes and returned upright. The cool marble soaked into my bare toes. Barefoot, I always felt somewhat naked, and given the current situation, feeling naked felt awkward, but if this was good enough for Selena Gomez, it was certainly good enough for me.

I padded over to the desk where a large canvas bag or purse sat. I’d noticed it before when I’d entered the suite. Charlotte watched as I peered into the bag. Unsurprisingly, it was filled with an assortment of sex toys and paraphernalia, most of which we wouldn’t be using tonight: lengths of rope, clothespins, handcuffs, shackles, silicone phalluses, a Magic Wand, lube, zip ties, ball gags, another set of blacked out goggles, even a leather whip. On top was a pair of red-handled crash scissors. I extracted the scissors from the bag.

“I’ve never used most of that stuff,” Charlotte said, unprompted. I believed her. Some of it looked rather scary, even to me.

I held the heavy duty scissors up to Charlotte as I approached.

“Free him.” I handed the scissors to her. She reluctantly accepted them, confusion and dismay evident in her eyes.

“Why? The kiss was heavy, but I didn’t climax, I swear it.”

For a moment, I was completely confused. Then it dawned upon me: hard rule. Either party climaxes without permission and I leave. To her, the scissors meant that I was freeing them without any warning because they’d somehow misbehaved or disappointed me. As far as I knew, nobody had been satisfied, including me, and freeing Mark had a mundane functionality.

I touched her cheek, allowing my fingers to trace her jaw before leaving her chin.

“Relax. He’s been in that chair for hours. I’m not into water sports. Let him use the toilet, then tie him back in.”

Mark nodded silently. I imagine with some modicum of relief.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted quietly.

“And he wouldn’t complain until it was too late,” I answered. I guess my brain wasn’t completely murky. Truthfully, I’d considered this when I’d used the lounge restroom after the trolls had left. And then again when Charlotte had.

I padded over to the stuffed chair and collapsed into it, tucking my legs under me. Without another word, Charlotte bent to freeing her husband, the crash scissors making a sharp snipping sound as each tie fell away. Once his wrists and ankles had been released and he rose unsteadily to his feet, Charlotte guided him blind to the washroom and the toilet. She waited by the closed door until we heard the flush, then guided him back to the chair where he allowed himself to be restrained again.

The break also gave my blood time to cool a little.

“Thank you,” he whispered generally in my direction.

“My pleasure,” I murmured as Charlotte resumed her pose, still breathing heavily.

I began at her hands resting behind her head, feeling the wisps of her loose blonde hair as I traced along her bare forearms. She shivered uncontrollably as I traced to her shoulders and rested my hands again upon the slope of her breasts. Underneath the t-shirt, the push up formed a ridge slightly above her nipples.

She licked her ruby lips. She glanced at Mark to my right.

“Hit me,” she whispered.

I hesitated, instead stroking her through the cloth.

“Please?” she begged. Mark moaned as she spoke, pulling at the ties.

I didn’t slap her hard, I couldn’t bring myself to hit her hard, but the sound of my palm connecting with her left breast sent shivers down my spine. She gasped, and then moaned softly. I raised my left hand and slapped her right breast. Again, she moaned, but didn’t pull her hands from behind her head. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations. When I slapped her cheek, she opened her eyes again in surprise. Another groan escaped her throat.

“Please,” she whispered.

Instead I kissed her and then stepped back. She begged me with her eyes.

I wanted her more vulnerable.

“Shirt,” I said, gesturing.

Eagerly, she broke pose, crossed her arms and pulled April Wine over her head in one smooth motion. She walked over to the bondage bag, folded the shirt neatly, and placed it beside the bag. Then she walked back to the chair.

“Bra.”

She nodded and without hesitation, released the front clasp and allowed the undergarment to fall away from her chest to rest in a pile near her sneakers. She definitely didn’t need the bra, her breasts natural and perfect. She returned her hands behind her head.

I stepped closer, my toes touching my sneakers on her feet. My hands cupped her bare breasts as I allowed my lips to touch hers. She moaned as I gently stroked the silky skin of her breasts and nipples. My right hand trailed over her abdominal muscles, over the waist of the denim, and cupped between her legs, pressing gently with my palm. Heat emanated from within her, a volcano between her thighs. I was certain that if I’d placed my hand between my own legs, I’d be dripping.

I broke the kiss and stepped back. My hands left her body and she tried to follow, but managed to stop herself, moaning softly. It wouldn’t be long before I was going to have to restrain her to keep her on edge.

“Please,” she repeated. I wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, but I could guess.

I raised my right hand, and slapped her left breast. The sound of my skin hitting her bare skin, the sting against my palm, her guttural moan, surprised me with its intensity. I hadn’t played, indulged the dark side of myself, in far too long. Truthfully, I was frightened of myself, for myself. For a minute, I continued to alternate, slapping her breasts, her arms, her cheeks, until her skin began to redden. She never flinched, not even once, simply absorbed the pain and the sounds and the sensations, rocking her hips into the unsatisfying air, moaning quietly, crying out softly if I stung her more than I’d intended, but she never once complained or asked me to stop.

My arms tired, I stopped, both of us breathing like wild animals.

I bent and kissed her breasts, fingers gently soothing away the sting, her bare skin hot under my lips.

Taking a deep breath, I separated again from her, padding over to the bag. I extracted a few lengths of rope. Charlotte’s eyes shone with anticipation, but I simply returned to my chair to calm my own breathing. I curled up, running the strands of rope between my bare toes. The sensation drove more shivers through my raw vagina. I wanted to touch myself, but any touch was going to send me over the edge into oblivion. I waited for my nerves to calm.

After five minutes, I returned to my feet and approached her.

“What do you want,” I asked quietly.

She closed her eyes, her face flushing.

“I want,” she began, “for you to tie me down, hurt me and fuck me.”

Lacking the proper equipment, I couldn’t physically fuck her, at least not in a classic sense, but I could at least tie her down. And I knew what she meant by fuck me. I was capable of that, too, but it remained unclear if I would go that far. Silently, I wound my hand into her hair and guided her away from her moaning husband towards the separate bedroom.

I left the door ajar, but adjusted the blinds to avoid other prying eyes as Charlotte climbed onto the king sized bed covered in luxury linen. I hoped we didn’t ruin the bedspread over the course of the evening, but I was reasonably certain that Charlotte would simply charge it to the room if we did. The bed conveniently consisted of an exceptionally comfortable mattress covered with designer comforters, four sturdy polished mahogany posts and a polished wooden headboard. Charlotte rested in the middle of the bed curled up, her bare breasts rising and falling with her laboured breathing. She looked small and vulnerable there, bare chested.

I hesitated a moment, but then climbed onto the bed to join her. If it was up to me, I would have simply removed the black dress, my panties and kissed her, stripping away her remaining clothing and ravishing her without further games. The odds were against that happening, Charlotte wanted more, and the night seemed to possess a life of its own.

Rising to my knees, I sank into the soft bed beside her. She uplifted her chin and I kissed her. She murmured words that I didn’t understand, her voice husky, guttural and slurred. Gently pushing her onto her back, I reached down and unbuttoned her jeans. Sensing what I wanted, she toed off my sneakers and kicked the shoes somewhere off to the left where they connected with the marble floor with a clatter. She lifted her hips and helped me get the jeans from her body, kicking them away to join the shoes.

I ran my fingertips over the garter belt and the softness of her panties, greeted with another moan of pure desire.

After a moment, I leaned back onto my hands and waited as Charlotte released the belt and deftly raised each leg in turn, peeling the dark nylon from her legs. The stockings joined the shoes and jeans, leaving her naked but for her Victoria panties.

She stretched out on the bed, raising her hands above her reaching for the posts, her bare toes pointing towards the open doorway. Through that door, her husband sat, still within view, listening to us. Charlotte was the second most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, but I think that of all my lovers in the heat of the moment. Even so, she lay angelic. In that moment, I wanted her with all my heart and soul.

I reached towards her hips, urging her panties from her body. Charlotte complied without a protest or word of any kind, raising her hips again as if embracing a lover. I guided the panties from her toes until they were free in my hand. I casually tossed them away, not really caring where they landed.

I turned back to her. She had closed her eyes, leaving her arms stretched out above her. Again, she reminded me of an angel, but the flush in her cheeks was hardly pure.

Over the years, I’d had lots of practice with tying knots. I touched her skin as little as I could while I moved about her bare body, fastening the rope to each wrist and ankle, then stretching her already taut body to the bedposts. The process perhaps lasted thirty minutes, but it felt like an eternity to me. If I’d touched her excessively, it would only have served to torment both of us more than was already the case. My clitoris throbbed and my breasts felt like someone had lit a match under them. I couldn’t imagine Charlotte’s state.

Finished, I lowered myself to the floor and padded to the foot of the bed. She lay completely vulnerable on the bed, her skin glowing. A smile graced her lips as she pulled gently on the bonds holding her. Pleased, I noted that she was devoid of hair below her shoulders. It would make the next phase more enjoyable for me, probably for her as well, and my body simply enjoyed the smooth imagery of her immaculate sex.

Always attentive, following my gaze, Charlotte spoke without a hint of embarrassment.

“I usually trim,” she said, “but I shaved for you before you arrived. Surprised Mark, too.”

Personally, I normally didn’t shave either, but I had for tonight. It felt wonderful and strange beneath my plain panties. All day, I had kept touching myself, feeling strangely like a different person, with nothing, not even hair, between my fingertips and my secret places.

It struck me that I was the only one free in the hotel room. Both other occupants were restrained and completely at my mercy. Giddiness rose into my mind. It seemed surreal, standing barefoot gazing at this boardroom lioness, she of making and ruining corporate entities, naked and helpless, lying before me. I didn’t feel powerful; that’s the wrong term. I felt free, her restraint contrasting erotically with my ability to do as I pleased.

I watched her for a while, as she watched me. Eventually, I climbed back up onto the enormous bed, kneeling between her spread legs. I kissed her bare toes, running my fingertips up her instep. At first, she tried to pull her foot from my fingers, but then relaxed and allowed herself to be caressed. It was against the odds for anyone to resist the ticklish sensation of fingers tracing along one’s instep, but Charlotte managed it, her bare foot merely quivering under my fingers. I became aware of her moaning softly as I traced my tongue up the inside of her naked calf, over her knee, and up the inside of her quavering thigh. I felt her body tense in anticipation as I passed harmlessly above her denuded vulva and proceeded down her right leg, kissing and licking gently.

“Please,” she whispered as I kissed each of her right toes, my fingers toying with her instep.

I twisted myself around and placed my lips two centimetres above her vaginal lips. She was so beautiful it took my breath away. Drops of dew glistened between her legs. I wanted to plunge my fingers inside and tongue her until she exploded. Instead, I blew softly on her skin there in a steady stream of cool air.

“Oh God, oh God,” she whispered.

I stopped.

“Please. Don’t. Stop,” she whispered. She didn’t mean the harmless air from my lips. She wanted my fingers and tongue.

But we weren’t ready for that.

I crawled up her bound body and pressed my body into hers, feeling her naked breasts below mine, only the sheer fabric of the dress separating us. Heat from between her legs steamed into my body through both de la Renta and my panties. My vagina convulsed, crying out for a touch, any touch.

I closed my eyes and kissed her. Hungrily, she kissed me back, her tongue finding mine, pulling her bound limbs in frustration. I wanted nothing else but the tongue currently between my teeth against my swollen clitoris. It dominated my thoughts.

After a long time, I broke the kiss. She tried to follow, but the ropes held her. She licked her lips, tears of frustration nearly overspilling from her blue eyes.

Her breathing was ragged and uneven. My breathing wasn’t much different.

Mark said nothing to me as I passed by him, my bare feet silent on the marble. I tried to calm my nerves as I picked through the bag on the desk. He was certainly aware of my presence, as I was acutely aware of his. He knew what I was doing with his wife, and there didn’t seem to be much to say.