The day is May 28,2008 I am on flight AC052808 Toronto to Tucson. TextMessaging you from the plane I instruct you to meet me at the Holiday Inn Tucson, knowing full well that you're to get away for two hours. Telling you to wear a black blouse, black slacks, and Heeled sandals and I will be waiting in the lobby reading a copy of the Toronto Sun.
Watching you walk through the glass doors I realize how extremely beautiful you are and how lucky hubby is to have such a gem devoted and totally in love with him, and my fortune that the forbidden fruit has such a strong pull. Staying seated reading the paper you approach sheepishly not sure if this is exactly what you want and fearful of the consequences, yet drawn like a powerful magnet. Stopping before my chair whispering barely audible Northrnflyer, Sir. Lowering my paper looking you straight in the eyes for the first moment smiling yes lacie it is I.
Standing taking your hand in mine leading you without a word to the elevators, glancing sideways and smiling we wait, you begin to speak but raising a single finger I place it on your lips and silence you. The elevator doors open with a hiss and placing my hand on the small of your back I motion you inside.
Once inside you turn to me and look up into my face and I caution you with a stern look to look down and wait. The doors close and the elevator whisks us up to the floor I am registered on, getting out I guide you to the room and unlock the door. Without warning I lean down and scoop you up into my arms and carry you inside the room to the bed and place you gingerly on the edge, still not saying a word but looking you straight in the eyes reaching depths deep inside of you that even you were unaware existed. Choose to step inside. Choose to accept these new feelings rising from your deepest inside to the surface of your very existence.
My eyes now travel across your body, the full soft breasts rising and falling under your black blouse, the roundness of your hips, your long solid legs folded across each other at the knees, the slender feet encased in the heeled sandals. Take off your sandals I say, without hesitation you slip your feet free of the restraining sandals and wiggle your toes, the first surrender and acceptance of surrender to my will.
Now the skirt, as I smile. She loves the way her legs feel under the skirt, breeze blowing up against her body when she walks outside, the freedom of her knees, soft drapes of fabric caressing her thighs as she sits. Loves the way it forms a concealing curtain around the roundness of her belly, the extra curves, hiding the expanse of her body. Loves the waistband hugging her waist. "The skirt," I say again, smiling a little less. She pulls it past her hips, lets it fall to the floor.
Because she knew she would come here ... because she knew he would like it... she is wearing the black lace. The one-piece garment holds her breasts up firm and high, creates the desired cleavage, and makes her chest magnificent. She is proud of her chest, clothed. Not the soft pillows of breasts she cradles while she sleeps. But this created breast, a soft shelf, adorned, which moves with each breath.
Unbidden, she unbuttons the shirt, letting it fall open, revealing the bounty of her creamy flesh and rose-patterned lace. His smile is broad again. She can see the hardness begin beneath his trousers. She longs to cross the room, lay her head on his chest. But she will follow his timing.
This is his scene.
Beautiful, he says, you do not need to be shy with me. She sighs, stands a little straighter. Her eyes are afraid to meet his for more than a moment.
Come here. She leaves her clothing on the floor, steps toward him.
The hand around her waist is surprisingly firm. The other hand cups her chin, raises her eyes to meet his. Look at me, he says, unsmiling. "Whatever happens here, it's for both of us, for both our pleasure. But you are mine. Your time is mine. And you will do exactly as I say. Understood?"
His sternness at once thrills her and alarms her. What might happen here? Could she escape even if she wanted to, half-dressed, against the will of this man who towers over her, commands her with his velvety voice. She shivers, nods. He tightens his grip slightly, and she relaxes into it.
His lips graze her ear, and she closes her eyes, awaiting his kiss. But he does not kiss. He whispers, right into her ear: I will fuck you. This is what I want, and you are mine. You will lie on the bed, he whispers. I will not tie your hands. You will lie obediently, because I command you to. Held in place by the sheer force of my will.
She walks to the bed with slow, dream-like steps, her eyes downcast, a disappointed felling welling in her chest. No bindings. She had longed to be bound, with soft cords, elastic cords, wrists together, arms raised above her head. Longed for the surrender of offering her wrists to him for the binding, knowing with that symbolic act she forfeited any hope of escape.
He senses her sadness, addresses it at once. "You regret this, lacie girl?" he asks. She shakes her head slowly. He smiles, "you desire the bindings then?" She smiles, and he traces her smile with his finger and traces what would be bindings around her wrists down her chest around her breasts and down her stomach along the insides of her legs and around her ankles, "today your mind envisions these bindings are here and if things work out next time they will be real understood lacie?"
On the bed, he says. She sits, and his palm against her heart presses her back. Give them here, he commands. She offers her wrists, feeling the first surge of wetness between her legs. His knowing eyes understand. He raises her arms, encircles her wrists, mimicking fastening them to the headboard. Steps back to admire his work, as she rolls slightly from side to side, trying to arrange herself in a comfortable position.
He approaches with a pillow, and she feels a moment of panic. Suffocation? She is helpless now. One leg kicks out involuntarily. But he slips the pillow beneath her head almost tenderly, brushes the hair away from her face. Rests one hand on her pounding heart. "Easy, lacie girl," he says. "I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go." Traces her lips with one finger.
"Easy."
"Now this body ..." he says, and she winces, turns her head. Self-consciousness makes her blush, turn her face. She wishes it was a better body, a proud body, curves only in the best places, firm and young and desirable. She wishes ...
Look at me, he says. "This body is mine. You cannot hide it from me. I will know every sweet, soft inch. You cannot be ashamed before me. I will this is to be mine. I will enjoy it and appreciate it, and you will open yourself to me. Understand?"
She nods, still flush with embarrassment. "Lovely body," he says, calming her with his voice, his hands caressing the softness of her body. You will enjoy how much I appreciate your body.
He strokes her long legs, and she feels them relax under his touch. "My body," he says. "Mine, to do with as I please." She nods, the warmth of his hand spreading through her lower half, causing her to throb inside her panties. She wills his hand to travel there, and can tell, he senses that. But his hand instead touches the crease of her elbow, the back of her knee, the bottom of the big toe, and the front of her throat. She shivers, feels her nipples grow hard.
His hand brushes against them, pinches one gently, then more firmly. Pinches the other firmly. Slips one hand beneath the bra and lifts out a breast, kneading it with his hand, his thumb flicking the nipple back and forth, watching it contract into a tiny purple bud.
"Mine," he says, squeezing the nipple. Mine. The electric feeling travels to that sensitive point between her legs, and she squeezes her legs together.
"Good girl," he smiles. "But only squeeze when I allow you," he sighs and continues, "to let the electricity flow without stimulation from you, understand?"
He brings his lips to her soft belly, lets his lips travel across her hip, his tongue leaving a warm, wet trail, dipping momentarily into her navel. Hands cupping and caressing her belly, the soft belly, which earlier made her feel shy, now contracting with shivers of pleasure. She is glad the garment remains in place -- and the instant she thinks it, feels him begin to tug it away, slipping it over her hips, flinging it to one side of the bed.
He smiles at her appreciatively. "Nothing to hide and nowhere to hide, little girl. No way to hide from me!"
He opens the drawer next to the bed, and she feels the apprehension return. He removes a blindfold. "This will make you more comfortable," he chuckles, slipping the elastic band softly around her eyes. She struggles briefly to see around the barrier, underneath it. Then sighs and allows her focus to turn inward. It is comfortable, the warm darkness, the soft pillow, the imaginary bindings around her wrist... .
His hand has grasped her suddenly, hard, between the legs, and she emits out a little cry. Squirms to back away from the squeezing fingers, which clutch her pubic hair into his fist, one knuckle brushing her clit. She feels his breath tickle her ear. "This is mine too, mine," he says sternly. "You will open yourself to me."
Legs shaking, she tries to spread her knees. Shyness, fear keeps her thighs together. She feels his hands pushing them apart, lifts her head, forgetting the blindfold strains to see. Seeing nothing, her head falls back on the pillow. Her knees sag in surrender. She can hear him sigh.
