I've waited for this for so long. Thought about it, dreamed of it.
I trembled in the elevator, watching the numbers as I rose. One, two, three... Four. The elevator dinged and I felt my nerves ping sharply in response. You stood there in the hallway, tall, very still, a grave expression on your face. I inhaled sharply, feeling your eyes on me like a brand. As I walked toward you, I smiled, blushing.
"You even wore a tie." I was a little undone by that, how you looked, the care you took in your appearance.
You smiled then, and opened your arms. I came to you. You gathered me in and held me, tenderly. I put my cheek against your chest and for that moment, everything went away but the sound of your heart, the rise of your chest, the trembling of my body.
We broke naturally; you kept one arm around me, opening the door to our room with the other. Your arm fell away and you took my hand, pulling me after you. Warm skin, warmth in your touch. I was so charged with excitement, but shy -- there were no words. You took my coat and then led me into the room, sitting down in high-backed armless chair, directly in front of a full-length mirror.
You wanted to watch. I wish I could have, too.
I was hesitant, not knowing what to do, but you took care of that for me. You reached for me and drew me in again, unbuttoning my jeans. You pulled them down, taking my panties with them, pulling them to my knees. You told me to lay across your lap in a quiet tone, but still, underlain with a firmness that made me shiver. Your hand cupped my cheeks momentarily and it began.
Almost indescribable. Your hand came down, a brushing motion, sharp, stinging, hand flat and hard across the top of one quivering cheek. I felt the burn immediately, the blood rushing to the surface of my skin, heat radiating through it. You rested there for a moment, and then a caress. Smack, caress, smack, caress. One cheek, then another, again, again, and again.
You seemed tireless as it went on, regular, increasingly harder, yet always the caress after the smack. I whimpered, all thought driven from my mind. I was suspended in a no-place between pain and pleasure, sting and sensual blaze. I surrendered to you and lost time.
Then -- soothing, gentle strokes. Softness on my burning bottom, a salve, your hands a kiss. It was over. My nerves were singing. You bent over me and pushed my jeans all the way off.
"Go lay on the table."
Over there, by the window, a round pedestal-type table stood, two small pillows on top of it. It was an amazingly perfect height. Again I hesitated. You had not removed your clothing, and I wondered if I should remove my sweater. I turned to you, questioningly. You took my hesitation as confusion, I think.
"No, face down, feet on the floor."
Apprehension flared in me, flooding my nerves with cold adrenaline. But then your hand, warm, gentle on the small of my back, guiding me forward. The warmth of your touch, both physical and mental, calmed me. I bent over, settled gently on the table. The presence of clothing, still, was another ritual. A ceremonial touch to your laying claim, your possession of me.
But first you wanted my mouth. You came around in front of me, your cock already erect, protruding from the fly of your slacks. I'm afraid I felt clumsy taking you between my lips, but shortly became involved in your taste and how you quivered, alive on my tongue. One hand twisted in my hair, guiding me to pleasure you. You did not force me, but I was under your complete control. You played with me, pulling yourself out, rubbing my face and lips and cheeks. I moaned when you did this, part from denial, but also from pleasure. For a time you let me suckle you, but you began to pull out more frequently. I could feel the energy building in your loins, your abdomen growing taut with need.
It was time. Back around behind me again, your hands again on my bottom, stroking, soothing, settling. You wanted me to relax; you wanted to make it good for me. Next I felt a tickling liquid sensation at the top of my cleft. So considerate. Your fingers played, slipping and sliding up and down the cleft of my bottom, spreading the slickness around, preparing me. So careful and gentle you were, but there was no question this was going to happen. Your finger felt practiced as they slipped past the initial muscle, lubricating, massaging, and preparing me for the inevitable.
