Anticipation

I wrote this for a lover I never met. We lived in separate countries and exchanged a heated correspondence for several months. It was my first 'experience' with someone who was of a dominant nature, sexually. It was terrifying and a turn-on, all at once. He ordered me to write about what I fantasized our first meeting would be like…and this was the result. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

I hope you enjoy it.

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You've ordered me to tell you, and so I will. But do you really want to know what I fantasize about? How I imagine it might be between us, knowing the reality would be nothing like my imaginings? How I work myself into such a fever of longing it takes just a touch to send myself over the edge?

The thought of you bringing yourself off as you read this is incredibly arousing. Please be naked for me when you read this, love. I need you naked.

What I mean to say is….forgive me for asking, my lord. I'd consider it a boon. If it pleases you.

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There are so many things I've imagined us doing together. Some of a quieter nature than others. In writing it down, I've realized that for me anticipation is more than half the pleasure. And how very much I want simply to use all of my senses to experience you.

If I could have you acquiesce to my wishes, however briefly - if you would grant me the freedom of your body, with the knowledge you might change your mind at any time - I would ask that you let me undress you. Slowly. That you let me give you what pleasure I can, with my hands and mouth. And my body, if you wish it. You remain the dominant one; you have merely given me permission to pleasure you in this way.

I understand that I may not raise my eyes to yours. Even though I am not dressed for submission, not today, not for this first encounter, yet still I am subject to your will. And so nervous with it. My hands are shaking. Part of me wants nothing more than just to lie with you and look at you – to absorb you – but the other, more wanton part of me wants to be yours entirely – to demonstrate my willingness to take this to a level I have been longing for.

I stand facing you, head bowed, waiting for your permission to begin.

It's the strangest feeling, knowing you so well on some levels – knowing how your mind works, what makes you laugh, what some of your experiences have been - but not having fully absorbed the reality of you yet - not at all.

I'm suddenly aware of my breathing. It's very quick.

Your hand circles my throat. I wonder if you can feel the pulse beating there. I can almost hear it, it's so frantic. Your thumb traces the side of my jaw, moves down my throat, traces the line of my collarbone. My eyes close. You're very gentle. Your hand drops lower, squeezing a breast casually. Your fingers tighten, twisting slightly.

"Well, slut? Here I am." Your voice is low and steady.

"May I touch you, my lord?" I'm torn between letting myself get completely lost in this game of pretend and trying to anchor myself to reality. Why is it so very hard to breathe all of a sudden?

"You may," Pause. "But first –"

My eyes flick upwards involuntarily, meeting yours for a fleeting second before dropping again.

"You will be punished for that later, sweetling." There is the merest hint of pleasure in your voice as you make this statement. You release my breast. "You may undress me. But first you will undress yourself. And take your time."

My mouth goes dry. I'm suddenly not sure if I can do this. The thought of standing naked in front of a fully clothed virtual stranger is almost paralysing. But it's you; you're hardly a stranger. In some ways – in

this

way, especially – you know me better than I know myself. And the thought of what might follow….

I take off my shirt. I struggle to go slowly, but it's only a thin tank top, fitted to my body like a second skin – it revealed as much as it hid. I've worn white for you underneath, though. Nothing too fancy, just a little lace and satin. Demure, but too sexy to be schoolgirl.

Pants next. They're loose, drawstring yoga pants that slide down my legs to puddle at my feet. White under here as well. My feet are bare. My skin is very brown; it's been a long, hot summer.

I step out of my pants and kick them aside. Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra, slide the straps down my shoulders, toss it aside. My nipples are hard. There is an aching there that travels all the way from their tips, through the butterflies in my stomach, straight to my clit.

I can feel that last garment is damp between my legs. I can also feel your eyes on me as I hook my thumbs in the waistband and slide my panties down my legs to the floor, stepping out of them and straightening before you.

My hands hang at my sides, legs slightly apart, head bowed. I wait. Not being able to meet your eyes is becoming almost a physical pain. I need to know how you're reacting to me. I'm not sure what to do next.

I see your hand reaching for me. You take my wrist and tug me towards you. Closer. My breasts are just touching the cotton of your shirt. I breathe in and they press against you slightly. My stomach brushes the front of your jeans. You lean into me, mouth at my ear, fingers tracing a path lightly down the nape of my neck, my spine – and then lower – one hand gripping my ass, roughly lifting my hips into sudden contact with your own.

You're hard for me.

I arch myself into you; I could come, just from this.

Your mouth is hot on my ear, your breathing is harsh, your fingers on my flesh digging in hard enough to bruise, the other hand on a breast, forcing it high, bending lower to take it into your mouth, scraping me with your teeth, sucking so hard I gasp and fist one of my own hands in your hair. The other is gripping your shoulder for support. My hips have a mind of their own, bucking against you. I'm going to come, there's no controlling it –

You release me.

I stagger, regain my balance, try and control my ragged breathing.

You reach for me again, between my legs, one finger slipping easily into my pussy, then a second, fucking me briefly with your hand, careful to avoid my clit.

"You like that, don't you, sweetling? Do you want to come?" You thrust harder, faster, and my head falls back. I hear myself make a noise that starts as a moan and turns into a whimper.

"Please –"

You stop. Withdraw your hand. Raise your fingers to your lips.

My mouth goes dry.

"You will not come until you have my permission. Do you understand me?" I nod. "Do you understand me?" Your voice is stern, but low and steady as ever, damn you.

"Yes, my lord. I understand." My voice is low, too, and only slightly shaky.

"You may undress me now."

"Thank you, my lord." I step closer to you. Lean into you, face at your neck, breathing you in. I move around behind you, pressing my naked body against your clothed one, resting my cheek against your back, reaching around to unfasten the buttons of your shirt. It's easier this way. Easier to deal with not being able to look into your eyes.

Button by button, I open your shirt, tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans. When it's completely undone, it slides off your shoulders and falls to the floor.

Your back is mine, now. I run my hands over your skin. It's warm and smooth and I feel your muscles jump under my hands. I reach around you again, trail my hands up, over your belly, to your chest, your nipples, so different from my own. I scrape my fingernails across your chest, running my tongue up your spine, from your lower back, up as far as I can reach, between your shoulderblades.

I let my hands roam lower, below your waist, tracing your prick through the confines of your jeans. You are very hard. I trace the long ridge of flesh and it pulses beneath my fingertips; I squeeze you suddenly, roughly, so that your hips jerk against my hand. I slip my hand down inside the front of your pants, against the flesh of your belly, feeling the prickle of hair against my wrist before the smoothness of your prick fills my palm. I slide my hand over you, reaching lower. Your hips jerk against me again. You are pulsing in my hand. With my free hand, I pinch your left nipple hard.

I hear you take a breath and your hand suddenly grips my wrist again, fierce and quick, jerking me around in front of you.

"On your knees, slut." I drop to my knees. "Undress me." Brusquely.

My hands fumble with the button at the waistband of your jeans.

"You may not use your hands."

I freeze. Feel my face flush. My hands drop to my sides.

I try to reach the button, but I can't quite do it from my knees, so I stand up and bend over, gripping the fabric with my teeth. The button gives way, and I use my teeth to draw the zipper down and to ease the denim down your legs to the floor.

Again, I use my teeth to ease the elastic of your underwear over the head of your prick. A furtive flick of my tongue across the tip finds you salty and so hot. Your flesh leaps as my mouth passes lightly over you. When I've finally managed to ease the garment from your body and you've stepped away from the pile of clothing at your feet, I kneel once more.

"Yes, sweetling?"

"If it pleases my lord, may I use my hands now?"

"Until I tell you to stop, you may."

I start low. Bent over at your feet, I stroke the back of your left leg below the knee, lightly, tracing a path up towards your thigh. I rub my cheek against you, cat-like; as I move higher I rub my breasts against your thigh, the hair on your legs rough against my skin.

And now I am level with your prick. Eyes closed, I feel my way with my mouth, breath warm on you, hands on the backs of your thighs, exploring your ass, sliding between, searching for that smooth and sensitive place behind your balls.

Your cock brushes against my cheek, leaves a damp trail. You smell good; musky and male. Your body is giving off heat – it's like kneeling before a small fire. Leaning back a bit, I close my mouth over you, suck you in deeply, feel you in the back of my throat, swirl my tongue around the length of you. Pulling back, sucking hard, then moving forward again, taking you deep, I feel your hips start to move with me. Your hands are in my hair, fingertips against my scalp, tightening as I increase the pace, as I let you fuck my mouth.

There is no gentleness in what you do to me now. My right hand cradles your balls, feeling the globes moving inside the loose skin. My left is still between your legs, between your buttocks, searching out your anus, pressing hard against the ring of flesh.

I feel your thighs clench, your hands tighten on my hair, you groan – are you going to come? – but suddenly you jerk my head away from you. I look up, startled, lips wet. Our eyes meet and hold.

And then you're on your knees, too, and it's not a game anymore, it's your mouth on mine, your tongue in my mouth, your arms around me, pressing our bodies closer together, easing us both to the floor. Is there anything as good as that first feeling of two bodies naked together, full-length, limbs entwined, smooth against rough, one wet and yielding, one hard and ready?

I could kiss you for days. You raise yourself away from me slightly, stroking my breasts, pulling the hard nipples first with your fingers and then with your mouth. I have lost all capacity for thought – all I can do is feel – I reach for your cock, stroking hard, as your hand finds my pussy and you circle around my clit with your thumb, fingers inside me. I'm gasping, crying out, face buried in your neck, sinking my teeth into your shoulder. My grip on your cock tightens, involuntarily, and your hips thrust against me.

I need you inside me so badly. I arch my hips against you, begging with my body.

You kiss me again, hard and fierce, using your teeth and your tongue. "Tell me what you want," you say, against my throat.

"Please, my lord –" I know what you want me to say. I can't say it. I've never said it.

"Tell me what you want," You're between my thighs, I can feel the head of your prick against me, you slide it over my wet, slick cunt, across my clit. I grip your hips with both hands, pulling you towards me, trying to force you inside me, and you stop kissing me long enough to smile into my eyes. "Tell me, Jessie." The way you say my name undoes me completely. Then one hand reaches up and pinches my breast, pulls a nipple so hard I bite my lip.

You know me so well.

"I want you to fuck me."

And you do.