I loved Rachel for months before I met her in person. It began as a cautious, deliberate acceptance of intrigue and lust, and developed into admiration and appreciation of her as a person. This was my first love for her, and it was tempered with fear and mistrust on both of our parts. Later, as we knew each other better, shared more of ourselves and risked more in that sharing, I fell deeply in love. I savored the ache and longing that came with having those feelings for someone who is not touchable, not seeable, and only partly knowable. We did not live very far apart geographically, but our lives and situations made those miles as insurmountable as continents.
I thought of her constantly, as one does a new love. But like a devout Catholic's guilt who is unable to attend confession, my infatuation was never tempered or released by seeing her, touching her, or even being near her. We typed to each other, even spoke on the phone, but I did not know her smell, know what her trembles felt like, could not understand her better by reading her face. My thoughts wandered often to these questions, and I let myself dwell upon them for many hours. Do her eyes crinkle when she laughs? Is her gait rolling, or staccato? When she talks, does she move her move her hands expressively, or leave them at her side? I knew her eyes were a beautiful, deep green from the one photograph I had of her. Do they change colors with her mood? Do they appear brown in dim light, and get bright green in the sun? I wanted to know everything about her.
Finally, months after first finding each other, we met in person. I was not nervous about whether she would find me attractive, physically – she had seen photographs – but I was nervous whether I would be able to greet her without becoming overly emotional. I was right to be nervous; when she stepped out of her car, I found myself unable to say a word, and so simply took her in my arms and held her to me for many minutes, finally finding enough breath to whisper "I love you," into her ear.
Pushing up on her toes, she whispered back, "So much, so very much," and I felt less embarrassment for the tears welling in my eyes by seeing the tears sparkle on her cheeks.
In the preceding months Rachel had let me control many parts of her life. She had let me mark her by coloring her hair as I had asked, and by keeping the nail of her small finger trimmed short while the others remained long. I had her agree to a list of things which we each would and would not do regarding each other, and I had made a daily schedule for her to follow which accounted for most of her waking hours. She had influence over this list and schedule; they were something we did together, but they were a way of me holding her, and controlling her. In return, I loved her, cherished her, encouraged her, and tried very much to be a steadying and reliable presence in her life. There were some areas of her life with which I did not directly interfere, however, and the time of our meeting was chief among them. She had decided when it was to be, and under what conditions.
We drove together for several hours after meeting in the parking lot. We listened to music, told stories, talked of our experiences together, and often sat unspeaking, just reveling in being close enough to touch.
After walking on the beach and warming ourselves by a fire back at our cabin, we grew more affectionate and, quickly, passionate. Holding her in my lap facing me in front of the fire, I spoke to her firmly; stating, not asking – "You are mine."
"Yes, Sir, I am yours," was her perfect reply.
"Come with me, now." And, standing, I picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. "Undress." As I adjusted the water in the shower, I sat on the edge of the tub and watched her remove her clothes. She was nervous, but had no reason to be. Her body was as I had imagined it, perfect. She was a tiny woman, with large, full breasts and gorgeous silvery stretch marks running up her abdomen. We all have our fetishes, and this is one of mine: the body of a woman who has carried children looks and feels more feminine to me, more adult, more womanly. Between her legs, Rachel's patch was trimmed closely, auburn colored, the lips shaved. Her face was scarlet with embarrassment and excitement as I sat for several minutes just gazing at her, saying nothing, my breathing getting more rapid. Quickly, I stood and undressed, and I noticed her eyes went quickly to my swollen, leaking cock. We had not yet touched sexually. "It is just looking at you, being near you," I said.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, and, reaching between her legs then showing me her hand, proudly displayed damp, glistening fingers.
I took her arm and guided her into the shower. "Of all the fantasies we have shared, Rachel, the one I think of the most often is this." I turned her to face me, her back to the water and put my hands on her, one on top of her head and one under her chin. Tipping her head back, I let the water flow freely over her hair and then worked it in, making sure her hair was completely wet. Turning her away from me, I rubbed a generous amount of fancy shampoo in to her hair, careful not to pull it, working the lather into her scalp, scrubbing behind her ears, making sure every part of her hairline was scrubbed, but no suds got in her eyes. Finally, satisfied, I turned her back to the spray and tilted her head again, rinsing carefully.
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Lathering a washcloth with lavender soap, I washed her face and rinsed it under the warm water. Then I soaped her neck, her shoulders, washed under her arms, and scrubbed her back. Her eyes were closed most of the time, but she let me know she was enjoying it with quiet murmurs. I knelt and washed her feet, her calves, her thighs, and then stood and washed her hands and arms. Finally, I lathered her large, perfect breasts and drew her to me in a slippery embrace. I tilted her head, my hands on either side of her face, and kissed her deeply, tongues dancing against each other. Her nipples tightened and grew against my lower chest, and my cock began to pulse, jumping to attention. I stepped back and guided her to the back of the shower. "Place your hands on the wall, please." She did, and without being told, spread her legs in a prone position.
"Is this right, Sir?"
"Yes, Darling, that is perfect." I soaped her ass and pussy, then, carefully working one finger gently into each hole, cleaning and possessing her most private places. Her breathing quickened and deepened, but I quickly withdrew and rinsed her off, not wanting the soap to burn her. Unable to resist her beautiful as cheeks sticking out at me, I leaned over her back and whispered to her, "It is time to turn your ass red. Are you ready?"
She breathed in deeply, steeling herself, "Yes, Sir."
I smacked her fanny hard then, the water adding to the sting and the sound echoing in the shower. I switched back and forth, right and left, again and again, until I could see my handprint clearly on each cheek, then laid my hand evenly across both, bridging the red spots between them. She squealed and moaned, tears came to her eyes and ran down her face, but she did not move away, did not tell me to stop, and did not say her safe word. I was very proud and I told her so.
"Please, Sir, please..."
"Yes, Little One?"
"Please..."
I turned her, then, and pushed her to her knees, the water at my back and she in front of me. Looking up at me, tears and water glistening on her face, she held out her tongue and opened her mouth, shaping a perfect "O" –
"Yes, Little One, yes, you may." My hands found went to her hair as she cupped my full balls and flicked her tongue over the head of my cock. Excited from the spanking I had given her, I was leaking profusely and she gathered every drop onto her tongue, savoring it all. She began to whimper, then, a long time fantasy coming true for both of us. "Are you ready now, Darling?" She looked up at me, blinked, nodded, and then placed her hands in her own lap, as we had talked about before. My hands in her hair, holding her steady, I slowly pushed my shaft past her puffy lips, over her flattened tongue, and, finally, felt the head of my cock in the back of her throat, my heavy balls resting on her chin. Amazingly, she pushed her tongue up against the underside of my shaft, tightening the seal, and then, somehow, managed to sigh the most contented sigh I have ever heard from a woman. I withdrew from her mouth, which extracted a whimper from her, and helped her up. I guided her out of the shower and toweled her off quickly, then she me. I led her to the bed and laid her down on her back. Working quickly, I tied her wrists with soft rope, then pulled them up over her head and knotted them to the bed posts.
I straddled her head, knees on either side of her face and commanded her, "Open." She did, and as my cock had mostly softened since out play in the shower, it fit easily in her open mouth. I thrust my hips just a little and my balls rested perfectly on Rachel's chin. Her eyes opened wide, and I saw just a little fear there. With her head flat against the bed, and my cock growing in her mouth, breathing was becoming difficult. I withdrew about halfway and made sure she had a few good breaths, then, my cock beginning to throb again, pushed slowly back into her mouth. Again and again I drew back and pushed forth, letting her breathe, then closing her throat with the head of my swollen cock. I swelled more and more, her eyes watered and her breaths shortened. I withdrew completely and smiled down at her. "I have not forgotten your safe word, darling. Are you all right?" She smiled and held out her tongue for an answer. Strongly, I pushed back into her mouth and held my cock in the back of her throat for a full count of fifteen. Then, withdrawing, I moved back and kneeled between her knees and stroked myself.
