First Meeting 28

The door closed softly behind me just before my heavy black bag slid off my shoulder and dropped to the floor with a muffled thudding sound. My hands nervously smoothed over my skirt and then fluttered together, clasping each other tightly.

I knew you were nearby. I could smell you. I could hear you breathing. But I couldn’t look up, couldn’t look at you. My heart was beating erratically, very fast, and I could feel that my face was flushed.

I knew why I was here. You knew why I was here. We'd been so long getting to this day that I felt faint and trembly with hard-edged anticipation.

"Look at me," you directed, your voice warm but reinforced with steel.

I took a deep, trembling breath, and responded obediently to the voice I knew so well. You were standing close and I relaxed a bit more at seeing your familiar blue eyes. I’d looked at your picture for hours and knew your face as well as my own. We’d spoken on the phone many times; your number was on my speed dial.

You stepped closer and leaned in toward me at the same time I lifted my lips to yours. The kiss was tentative for a moment, and a little awkward. We fit ourselves together, though, and clung tightly as pent-up passion swept away all hesitancy. My body began to shake when your arms tighten around me and your hands slipped into my hair to cradle my head.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you told me, your lips lifting from mine for a second.

“Me, too,” I murmured, gasping when you ran your fingers through my hair, pulling my head back so you could nibble my throat.

Moving your head, you trailed kisses from my shoulder down my arm as you stooped to lift my bag. Indicating that I should follow, you walked into your house, and to the place you’d prepared for my visit and our play.

Narrowly focused arousal silenced me and made me apt to stumble but I followed along the best I could. You slowed to steady me a couple times and at each pause I sought the heat of your arms, your hands, and your mouth.

We walked around furniture and down stairs. I stumbled into you, you righted me, and we shared another kiss, searing in its energy and promise. My hands moved over you, yours over me. Your scent filled my nostrils, your taste spread over my tongue, and the small sounds you made while you kissed me etched into my brain. I could feel your body imprinting itself onto mine with every passing minute.

You stopped again and turn to face me, maintaining some small distance. Gathering my courage, I slid my hands down the front of your pants to feel over the inflexible arousal there. I rubbed you up and down, moaning; I was being consumed by wild lust for you. Laying your hands on my shoulders to hold me still, you slowly and deliberately pulled your groin from my restlessly stroking hands.

"Did you ask?" you demand. I looked up in surprise, shaking my head.

"No," I whisper. The words were hoarse as they pushed past lips ready for almost anything but rational conversation. "No. I'm sorry."

Panting, foggy with galloping desire, I slid my hand down the front of your shirt once more, my fingers stretching toward your pants. You made a small disapproving noise and I hesitated, looking up at you again. "May I touch you?"

Sternly, silently, you looked at me, waiting. Tension boiled and crackled between us. I dithered, I trembled, and I hesitated.

"Sir," I add. The word filled the space between us with electricity. I gasped when I said it and saw you shudder slightly. "May I touch you, Sir?" My words were just a whisper but the power they represented wrapped around us tightly, almost suffocating me with its intensity. My submission had been offered. We both knew it.

"Yes. You may."

Guiding my hands down the front of your pants, you pressed them against the raging hardness beneath, watching my face. My fingers swept over you, feeling for your piercings, learning your shape. I panted and struggled; I was drowning in desire, uncaring that you saw it.

Looking up, I noticed that you were trembling, too, and I knew that violent need rode you as hard as it did me.