Claimed 17

She had every reason to turn around.

As the chill November air whipped several loose strands of her long, auburn hair about her face, she stared at the door, her hand hesitating an inch from the doorknob. The keycard that had been left for her at the front desk now dangled provocatively from the lock just above her hand. A shiver, not born of the cold, ran up her spine as she pulled her coat closer to her body. Her piercing green eyes glanced first left then right as she swallowed hard, doing everything she could to strengthen her resolve. She was so very close to turning around and bolting when a nearby dog barked, startling her to action and before she could talk herself out of it she grabbed the doorknob, turning it and quickly stepping through the door only to close it behind her. The latch clicked shut, that little sound reverberating through her mind like the breaking of the final seal to a future she both wanted and feared. She leaned back against the door, closing her eyes and taking several slow breaths, trying to still her beating heart before it deafened her.

Finally, she nodded to herself. This was happening, and she needed it, perhaps more than she had needed anything in ages. Initially she glanced around, not turning her head to either side. Her instructions had been absolutely clear about what she was to do when she got here. Swallowing hard again, why did she leave her water bottle in the car, she took several steps into the dimly lit wider room, her fingers moving to the buttons of her ankle length beige coat, unbuttoning it slowly. She closed her eyes, this time for good, knowing he might be watching and needing desperately to please him. She couldn't help but smile slightly, despite her situation as one by one the buttons slipped through the thin slits in the cloth and the coat began to open. If this had been one of the stories she read from time to time in quiet moments or one of the many second rate shows on television, she would have had nothing on underneath or some skimpy set of lingerie complete with garter belt and leggings. This was neither, and while her master was many things, he was never cliche. Letting the coat slide from her shoulders, she took it in hand, folding it neatly and setting it on the nearby bed, her hands locating it by touch.

She would follow Master's instructions to the letter. He was so good to her, and she loved and needed him to be happy more than she could express. Never would she willingly displease this man who had come into her life and redefined so many things for her. One by one, she repeated her actions with each article of clothing. Every piece of clothing she removed, neatly folded, and placed atop the previously discarded article. Each piece had been selected by her master and nothing that was his was mistreated or carelessly handled, that included her. Finally, after what had seemed an agonizing eternity, she stepped out of her black lace thong, placing it atop the pile. She stood in the unfamiliar room, completely nude, except for her black three inch high heels, shivering. Her fair skin dimpling and her nipples standing out prominently from her firm breasts. She lifted one foot and then the other, slipping off her shoes and placing them next to her clothes on the bed. And then, she waited.

The room was eerily quiet, the only noise was the occasional cycling of the air conditioner as it clicked on and off to maintain the temperature. She began to shiver slightly, knowing she was on full display, straining every sense left to her for any sign of her master. She had thought he would be there, but she had been given very specific instructions, and one of those was that she was to wait, just as she was, facing forward, eyes closed, so she waited. Her nostrils flared as she took in the room, a slight hint of some cleaning agent filled her nose and a distantly familiar scent teased her memory, but she could not lock it down. How she wanted to call out for him, to look around, to do anything, but that would displease him, so she waited. She waited and inwardly the voices started questioning, picking at her resolve, telling her this was not how an empowered woman should act. This was not how an intelligent woman should behave, and this was not how anyone with a shred of dignity or any sense of self preservation would comport herself. She had never even seen her master. Not in person. They had exchanged photographs, so she had an idea what he looked like, and she had spent, what probably amounted to literal months on the phone with this man, submitting, obeying, talking, laughing, crying, laying herself bare before him and losing her heart to this man who seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

Was she crazy? Sometimes she thought the jury was still out on that. What she did know is she loved him. He filled a need in her that no one else ever had. He made her feel special, loved, needed, and so so many other things. She was his, and she knew it, and so she waited and silently willed the voices to silence. Paying for their silence with her total commitment to a man she had never seen or touched, and her penance of leaving herself completely vulnerable and giving herself to the trust she had in him. And then, it happened. There was the smallest creak in the room, as though a piece of furniture had shifted or groaned. Her teeth found her bottom lip and she held it, straining to hear anything, and then there they were, footsteps. Her shivering intensified, each step seeming to take an eternity, how she wanted to say anything, to turn and see the master she loved and needed, but she waited. She obeyed. She submitted.

Then, everything changed. A hand touched the small of her back, and it took everything she had not to jump, but she did gasp audibly. The hand was warm and firm, but surprisingly gentle as it slowly caressed her back. Then, that beloved, silken, baritone voice broke the void of silence that had become her prison, "Hello, mine. You look stunning tonight"

She swallowed hard, the voice she had ached to use to call out to him was suddenly gone and only after another deep breath and taking a quick swallow, she managed to speak in barely a whisper, "Thank you master."

A cold chill ran up and back down her spine as she heard him laugh, well it was more of a chuckle really, as his hand momentarily left her back. "This is your last chance, my girl. Are you positive this is what you want?"

Oh what a cruel question, it teased every doubt she had. It prodded every uncertainty and questioned the reality of her commitment to him and her submission. Pausing only a second, she responded simply, "I'm sure, my master. I want this."

"Very well." With those words, she felt her hair drawn back behind her ears, and a thin piece of cloth was placed over her eyes. She thought it was silk, but she wasn't sure, perhaps satin. He drew the ends of the sash back, tying them tightly behind her head, ensuring nothing would be seen. Her world was reduced to four senses. She felt him move forward, pressing his body to her back, and she began to tremble in earnest, her eyes growing wet under the blindfold. He gently wrapped his arms around her, his beard brushing her shoulder as his lips moved beside her ear, "I've got you, mine."

She cried quietly for a moment, leaning back against him, her hands moving to his despite the instructions he had given her, and he did not protest or correct her. He simply held her, she knew he understood. She had wanted this for so long, needed this. It had always been out of reach, and somewhere deep within her from a place that she constantly denied she had doubted that it would ever become real. But, now it was. She really was his, and she was free. Finally, she remembered herself, but still she lingered, stealing moments of his presence before what she knew would be an ordeal of burning ecstasy and teasing as he explored her body, taking her as his, finally. Smiling, his lips puckered, kissing her earlobe, and his embrace tightened for a moment, "No more waiting, mine. Everything we've wanted is now."

Her hand tightened on the back of his and then she let go, lowering her arms, breathing slowly, deliberately, as he had taught her to. Calming and centering herself as she waited on her master's pleasure.She didn't have long to wait before he let her go, stepping back from her. Her stomach jumped at the loss. It was unfair, she had waited years and now she had only had moments, but she obeyed. He was her master and she would make him happy. She felt his hands on her wrists next, taking hold of them, drawing her arms slowly behind her back. Every action he took with her was slow, methodical, deliberate, and screamed to her that she was his. He knew what he was doing, he always knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and she would do it. This man had taught her so much about herself, about being free, and being confident. She was a submissive, his submissive, but that did not make her weak. It made her his. She knelt only to him and he would always put her needs first. It was a perfect symbiosis, she gave everything to him, she served his every need and whim, and he saw to her every need and desire.

It started with her left wrist, the same feeling as the material that had stolen her sight. He wrapped the unseen cloth around her wrist several times before drawing her wrists together, securing her other wrist in what she assumed was a similar fashion, he tied them together, leaving what she was fairly certain now was indeed silk, dangling down from her wrists. She shifted her arms slightly, and she was definitely restrained. He had been so gentle with her, so careful, his hands so strong as they removed one more freedom, she knew she was smiling again, but she didn't care. Master should know how happy he was making her. Walking around her, she felt his finger trail across her hip, just above her hip bone. Slowly it moved across her bare stomach, her muscles twitching under his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as her knees began to tremble. This was so unfair. Did he know how he made her feel? How erotic every touch was to her? God, this man should not be able to do these things to her, but how she loved it!

His finger lingered on her belly button, only to disappear, and she stood there, waiting. She drew her knees together tightly, tingling with arousal and need, already feeling the moisture from her arousal trickling down the inside of her leg. What had he reduced her to? And then, oh my god, his lips... they pressed to her belly, encircling her belly button, his tongue darting out and playing inside of it, her knees buckled as her stomach muscles spasmed with a will of their own and she gasped, his hands taking hold of her hips and steadying her. Holding her up as his lips abandoned their landing spot to move lower, a chain of warm, lingering kisses creating a trail southward. How she wanted this man, why wouldn't he just take her? She knew everything would come in his time, and despite her frustration she basked in the divine torture of his patience. Finally, his hands slid down slightly, still steadying her as the pressed to her thighs, his thumbs reaching the top of her labia, moving down either side and drawing back, parting her lips as his lips disappeared and she heard that beloved voice again, "Spread your legs, pet."

"Yes Master." She didn't hesitate. He could have anything he wanted, anything, just please don't stop. She needed this, and soon or she would go mad. So she stood there, nude, blindfolded, wrists bound behind her and spread before him, completely vulnerable and exposed before a master she had never seen. Owned, his, lost, and found at the same time. Then he really began the torture. She felt it, a cold breeze on her inner lips, running ethereal fingers along every exposed surface, teasing the hood of her clit, making her shiver and tremble with renewed vigor. He was so wonderfully cruel. Then his right thumb moved to her hood, drawing it back, exposing her insanely sensitive clit and her knees almost buckled and he steadied her, his shoulders pressing to her thighs as his hands held her still, his tongue darting out and flicking her clit with it, and the world erupted in starfire.

Despite herself, she inarticulately cried out, her hips pushing forward with need, and his lips encircled her clit, his tongue continuing to dance with it, moving about it rapidly, twisting and sliding across it in unpredictable ways. Her restraint gone, taken by her need and the combined frustration of years, she leaned into him, her wrists straining against their bonds, desperate to touch him, to feel him, to bring him closer to her and to melt into him. But the bindings held and it was such a delicious denial. Her body thrashing, she screamed, surprised by the power and suddenness of the climax that came like a thief in the night to steal across her body, taking her senses and washing her in wave after wave of pleasure. Her world narrowed to a single point between her legs and her life focused on the touch of her Master, and that was just the beginning.