It's in the elevator that I notice I'm trembling feverishly. Yes, in the hotel lounge my voice had quavered, but I'd been almost numb with anxiety. I'd been nervous to meet Jason for the same reason I wanted to so badly: He is stunning. Part of what makes him so attractive is a dominant look in the eyes that can't be faked: cold but not dead-eyed, cruel but beckoning. It was on display in the photos he sent me. It's still there in front of me over a glass of wine. He has light blue eyes--my favorite--short blond hair, a pretty smile that struck me as having a practiced warmth, and a wonderfully tall and energetic body. His skin glows with health; he'd been on vacation someplace sunny and arranged his travel plans to include a night in New York to meet me.
We talked and he was polite, direct, not pushy, but perhaps he never had to be; my pupils must have been blown wide at the sight of him. That and my breathing was shallow, my hands shook... yes, it was obvious I'd submit. It was effortless.
If I hadn't felt so submissive to him, I would have been all over him as soon as the elevator door closed. Then again, I wouldn't have wanted him so much if he wasn't the kind of man who demanded I beg first. I'd beg for his touch, to be kissed, for all of it. I'd beg to suck on his toes, cock, his fingers... but now it's mine he brings to his lips. He takes my hand in his and grips it tightly--possessive, not affectionate--and brings it to his soft, pink lips. He bites the pad of my middle fingertip and flicks his tongue against it suggestively. I can barely breathe I'm so aroused and terrified. Of him, but also that he'd change his mind, be called away suddenly, or that I'll simply wake up. I'm terrified of the wet proof of my need to do the things he's promised, all the acts and pleasures that await on the other side of that door.
We walk down the empty corridor. Jason stops, but not at the door of his room. He reaches in his shoulder bag, one like any well-dressed traveler would carry, and produces a wide leather collar. It looks like it used to be black, but it's worn from use and taken on a vintage brown cast. It's not a gift for me. It's not mine. This is something he has because this is what he does. It's equipment, not a love token. My fever spikes even more at the sight of it.
Standing there in the hall next to a housekeeping cart, voices from rooms faintly carrying, he fastens the collar snugly around my thin neck. I hear myself mewl at each small brush of his hands as he does this. He smiles down at me. He is so tall. He pulls me against him by one of the collar's heavy rings. His body feels so hard, all lean muscle and bone and arousal. He smells like expensive soap and sex. I smell like sex and fear. This will be perfect if the rest of us meshes as deliciously.
His hand strokes down my spine to conform to my ass, which he pulls against him, too. I think I might be moaning. Then he lets go of me to find the chain lead in his bag and clips it to the collar.
I look up at him with big eyes and he laughs. "You are such a puppy. I'm so glad we were able to connect," he says with a deliberate tug on the chain. "Now let's get you inside; we'll start with a quick obedience lesson."
My heart leaps and sinks at once... I already feel greedy and the seconds of our one night together tick by so fast. I am determined to savor each one and make Jason recall this puppy every future time he'll touch this collar. Even though I'm nervous as hell, I know I was built for this; I know, deep down, I'll satisfy that craving that took him miles out of his way to this girl in this place.
He walks me to the end of the hall slowly, but no one sees us. He unlocks the room and we enter. The place is modern and elegant but beyond that, nothing registers but him. Jason is not the kind of Dominant who gets off on posing in his suit while a naked girl serves him. He's a hedonist who loves sex and feels good in his skin. He takes off his clothes right away. "Get undressed," he commands casually, only half-watching with those glittering, cold eyes. I gulp, audibly.
I peel off my dress quickly, glad I remember that the chain still dangles from my neck. I think about the silly amount of time I'd spent choosing a lacy bra and panties, stockings, suspenders that wouldn't show under my clingy knit dress. Jason isn't interested, or he isn't today. "All of that, too. Let me see you. I was patient about the modest pics you sent because I understand being sensible about what you send to someone online. You'll find I'm less patient in person. Far less."
He looks dangerous and gorgeous standing there erect and naked. His posture itself is dominant like it's in his DNA. This, I love. I like to roleplay and a bit of theatrics, but the number of fakes and wannabes I've encountered online and, unfortunately, in real life, makes me want to kneel and kiss the feet of a genuine Dom. So I kneel. He doesn't mind the initiative--it's not Simon says, after all.
"Very good. You want to be a good girl for me, don't you?" he asks curiously, almost like he's surprised by me, too. Is he surprised this is real for me, that 'the real me' is this submissive?
"Yes, Sir," I ask, waiting for any correction. No, "Sir" is correct for Jason.
"Do you want to ask me anything before you're my puppy girl? Puppies don't talk, you know," he says pleasantly.
"Um, what are the rules?" I ask, feeling stupid. Downstairs over a drink, we'd simply chatted and he'd said everyday things to make me feel comfortable with him. It hadn't been a BDSM negotiation.
Jason arches a smooth eyebrow. "Rules? My dear, you do what I want you to do, without hesitation, like a good girl should. If you don't like something, you do it anyway to please me. If you truly don't like something, I trust you to have a good reason and I'll respect your safe word. Tell me your safe word."
"I don't have one--I never needed one!"
I realize how irresponsible that sounds and I blush. I must seem like a novice. It's not that, it's just that I've never come close to my limits. How I'd been sure I'd never need the safe word in my back pocket, I do not know. I operate by instinct when it comes to fulfilling my desires. The only way that has let me down is that they've never taken me to someone strong enough, who'd go far enough in his domination.
"I guarantee you won't want to use it with me, but you have to think of one," he says, that aforementioned impatience puncturing his silky voice.
"Avocado!" I decide. It's what I ate for breakfast.
He shrugs his tanned shoulders. "If you're in pain or there is something I really need to know, I'll stop if I hear that. But you do understand I'm not a gentle Dom and I expect submission."
"Yes, Sir," I reply, delighted to hear this from him.
"I think that's why you're here with me now, isn't it? It's not just that you have a thing for blonds," he says wryly.
* * * * *
"Now. Without using your paws, pick up the end of the leash and bring it to me," Jason says.
I lower myself onto my hands and knees so that the chain pools on the floor, then I crawl back a few inches and bend my elbows to pick up the hand loop with my teeth. The scent of the burnished leather in my mouth mingles with those of new indigo carpet and stainless steel. I crawl to Jason, quick but still slinky. I am skinny enough to have noticeable ribs and am somewhat swaybacked, with significant muscle mass in my lower body. In this position, my body does resemble an animal. I sit back on my heels, shoulders back with stiff, upturned nipples presented. I'm drooling slightly.
My new Master ruffles my sheepdog-like mop of rust-colored curls. He takes the leash from me.
"Walk nicely for me."
I know this means to crawl beside him where he'll lead me.
"Climb up. Dogs shouldn't be on the bed, but since this is a hotel and I've had a long journey, I'll make an exception." He pats the white comforter and I climb up onto all fours, facing away from him. The sturdy bed doesn't creak at all under my weight, though the surface is luxuriously soft.
Jason pets my back, but his fingertips are quickly in my cleft, thumb digging into the meat of my ass cheek. His touch skates over my clenched anus a few times then dips lower into my dripping cunt. It makes a wet sound. Jason's murmur of approval is more like a noise than a word, an "Oh" that finishes in a shuddering intake of breath. Or maybe that was me.
"You are not allowed to come. Not for a while, so you'd better hold onto it. You are not to chase after it; if you feel yourself getting close, you back off. Understand?" he says wickedly as he fingers my pussy in generous, firm strokes.
I whimper enthusiastically; I try to make it sound more like obedience than pleasure but this feels too good already. Already, I wonder what the punishment will be because this man is going to make me come.
He fingers me, going deeper and steadily grazing my G-spot. He doesn't correct me when I rock my hips back against his hand, making this harder on me. My body is flooded with a singular need and conflicting desires. Then he stops and reverses the path he'd taken, up to my puckered asshole.
"Relax," he commands. "I get to have every part of you. All your holes are mine, not yours," he says like he's talking to a bad dog. I make myself yield to him and earn a "Good girl." He says it with a sweetness that I know is a lie and that arouses me even more. I shiver.
His fingers are still coated in my natural slick and it's painless even if I don't like it. What I love about this is a chance to be an obedient pet and show him he can take whatever he wants. I crave more praise from him and to experience his sincere pleasure.
Two fingers now, and I whine--not in protest, just to express that I'm struggling. I sense he'd want that--either because he cares or because it tickles his sadistic fancy. It's probably the latter that makes him purr.
"Shh, you're trying so hard, aren't you? Well, alright, then--that's enough of that for right now. And you were a good girl to follow my instructions to clean yourself so thoroughly."
