Her Fantasies

The minutes tick by as she stands in the middle of the room. He said 2:30pm but he could be early and she wants to be ready. Ready for Him, for His pleasure. She feels the familiar drop in her stomach as she thinks about the evening ahead. Shrugging off the thin, button-down shirt, she steps out of the short skirt she wore at his request. The jewelry is next to go. She takes off both rings she loves, the dangly earrings, the watch, the bracelet. She feels more naked without those than she does without her clothes. After all, she's frequently naked with him but she only started taking off her jewelry recently.

The black lace thong is next and now she's shivering in the cold air-conditioned air. She runs her hand over the silky sheath of her black thigh-high stockings. The wide band of lace on top hugging her thighs with a loving caress; the thighs that will soon feel the sting of a whip or the pressure of a cuff.

She shudders as she thinks about it. Almost feeling the ghost of the sensation now. The high-heeled sandals that he allows her to keep on as a concession to her one remaining vanity, stay on her feet. The black bra circling her torso manages to simultaneously conceal and expose her breasts. She adjusts it nervously, glancing in the mirror as she tugs at it. She's ready. Now for the hardest part.

On shaky legs she walks to the door and opens it, wedging the book into the opening gap as instructed. If he's early, the door will only remain open a few minutes, if he's late... She refuses to think about it. The gap in the door is only an inch or so, just the width of the Gideon Bible, ubiquitous in every hotel. She suppresses a giggle at the irony of using the bible to prop up a door to a room that is about to play host to their games.

Returning to the center of the room she takes a deep breath and turns so that her back is to the door. She won't be allowed to turn around until he comes, no matter what happens in the meantime. She's facing the glass doors to a small balcony, the curtains fully open, daylight pouring into the room, making the two lit lamps obsolete.

She closes her eyes and steps into the position he taught her. Feet about a foot apart, back straight, arms raised over her shoulders, hands clasped behind her head. Motionless, she waits. She doesn't know if minutes pass or hours, from her position she cannot see the clock and she doesn't dare turn, the door is soundless, he could be in the room already, watching her, waiting to see if she follows his instructions. Just as her arms are beginning to ache she hears his quiet voice behind her,

"Very nice."

She stiffens in surprise and then relaxes, the blush of pleasure at the praise suffusing her cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He is pleased. She hears the soft thud of his gym bag hitting the floor and then the heat from his body indicates that he's behind her.

"Very nice... But something is missing..." His fingers trace a path around the back of her neck and she feels her heart jump in her throat. In her haste she had forgotten to put on her collar. She opens her mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain, but he interrupts,

"No need to talk, just nod if it's in your bag."

She nods, shivering with a mixture of fear, shame and excitement. He walks to the far side of the room and she gets her first look at him. He's wearing the usual get-up of t-shirt and khakis and he is ignoring her as he lifts her bag to the bed and shakes it open to empty the contents onto the flowery bed spread. She stiffens at the invasion of privacy. Almost worse than the invasion of her body is the invasion of her bag. She watches the contents spill out – her wallet, make-up, pouch with both the public and the private collars, the smaller bag with all her toys...

Suddenly she goes pale and almost takes a step forward, catching herself just in time but unable to contain a soft moan of surprise and confusion. A large, spiral-bound notebook tumbles onto the bed, resting on its back, a single word "Create" emblazoned on its glossy gray cover. She remembers putting it in, thinking that she'll write a little as she waits for him and then hide it in her card before he comes. His phone call and instructions for pre-meeting preparations had forced all thoughts of the book out and now here it was. As these thoughts flit through her mind, he looks up.

He notes the pallor and the trembling lips, the strain in her entire body and lifts a questioning eyebrow at her. With a supreme effort of will she relaxes and pretends calm. He reaches for the book and lifts it off the bed, preparing to flip it open.

"Please..." her voice is urgent, pleading and striving to sound indifferent at the same time, "please don't..." Unable to help herself, she breaks the posture and closes the distance between them, placing her small hand on the cover, looking up at him, the plea clear in her large brown eyes.

He looks down at her hand and raises and eyebrow, waiting for her reaction. As if her error had just occurred to her, she gasps softly, her hand falling away from the book, feet automatically stepping apart, hands once again interlaced behind her head. She's looking down at his feet, as if unwilling to meet his eyes and see the reflection of his thoughts.

"Need I remind you that anything you bring into the room is fair game?" He waits a space of a heartbeat and adds, "You may speak."

Her response is immediate,

"But I didn't mean to bring that!"

"Look at me when you're speaking." His voice is quiet but does not invite argument.

She looks up, meeting his eyes and swallowing at the unsmiling expression she encounters.

"I didn't mean to bring that," she repeats, holding his gaze as instructed though it's clearly an effort for her.

"What is it?"

She's silent.

"I could always just open it and see for myself..." His voice trails off as she quickly shakes her head,

"No..."

"No?" amusement and disbelief are warring in his voice as she rushes to qualify,

"No, I meant that I'll tell you. You don't need to look." She swallows again, considers lying but, knowing how easy it is to disprove a lie about the contents, sighs and replies,

"It's a sort of a fantasy journal."

"A fantasy journal? Explain please..." His hands are caressing the spine of the book as he waits for her answer. She's motionless, wondering how much to tell him, how much she can get away with holding back. He is looking at her, his eyes narrow slightly as he turns away, walks to the chair near the window, sits down and faces her, laying the book in his lap. Folding his arms across his chest, he speaks,

"I asked you a direct question. Omissions in this case will be treated as lies and punished accordingly."

She is trembling, forgetting for the moment that she's virtually naked, feeling much more exposed by her lack of control over her book than over her clothes. Finally, she answers,

"When I'm bored, I daydream and I thought that I might try writing them down... They're incomplete... Really just bits and pieces of scenes, images, words..." her voice trails off. She wonders if she's managed to satisfy his curiosity or if her half-baked explanation had just managed to inflame it further.

He is silent, caressing the spine of the book, almost absentmindedly, but she shudders inwardly, knowing that he's anything but absentminded. A desolate sense of helplessness washes over her and at the same time she wonders if subconsciously she forgot to put the book back in the car intentionally. Had she wanted him to find it? Had she wanted this to happen? He lifts his eyes to hers and she can see that he's wondering the same thing.

"How long have you been keeping it?"

"Not long..." she doesn't pretend to misunderstand, she knows exactly what he's asking, "a couple of weeks."

"So, you started it after our last meeting." It's a statement, not a question, but she confirms it anyway,

"Yes, but not immediately after."

He nods, then continues,

"And how many of these fantasies, snippets have you written?"

She bites her lip and shrugs,

"I don't know... I didn't count..."

He gives her a measured glance,

"You can lower your arms." As she complies, he hands her the book. Relief rushes through her as she grasps it and turns to put it back in her bag when his voice stops her cold.

"Count them."

She whirls back and stares at him, her lips parting, words about to spill out as he continues, seemingly unaffected by her outrage,

"You said you haven't counted them... I could count them for you, but I won't necessarily know where one ends and another begins," he adds, "not without reading, anyway."

She's motionless, considering her options even though there are none to consider. Sighing, he reaches forward, as if to take the book from her but she takes a quick step back, sitting down on the edge of the bed, flipping the book open and leafing through, counting to herself. Finished, she snaps it shut,

"Five... Well, six if you count the one I started, wrote a few sentences and abandoned." She waits for his reaction, her voice edgy, almost defiant. He notes it and raises an eyebrow in question, shaking his head slightly, reaching toward her; his gesture indicating that she should return the book. She draws back, holding the book to her chest. He waits, his hand still outstretched. Finally she whispers, her soft voice begging for a favorable answer,

"Why?"

"Because I want you to," the edge in his voice is unmistakable. "Walk over here and hand it to me." His hand returns to his chair as he waits for her to comply.

And comply she does, walking toward him and gingerly placing the book on his lap.

"Good," his voice is calm, "but not good enough."

She stiffens as she waits, looking down, knowing that she's in trouble but not the extent of it yet.

"Let's see... You forgot to put on the collar. You broke posture and spoke without permission when explicitly instructed otherwise. You hesitated when given clear instructions. You questioned my orders. Need I go on?"

She shook her head wordlessly, knowing that everything he said was true.

"Turn around."

She turns without hesitation, presenting him with her back, holding herself straight as he likes. His fingers trace a path down her spine, trailing gently over the curve of her backside. A sudden smack on the right cheek of her rump makes her jerk in surprise, a hot flush spreading over the skin. She gasps but doesn't move away; waiting for the next slap but it doesn't come. Instead he speaks,

"Go bring me your collar," after a moment's pause, he adds, "the private one."

She walks to the bed, opens the pouch, pulling out the rigid leather collar with its D ring on the front and a small padlock with a key on the chain in the back and carries it back to him, placing it gently in his hands and waiting for the command she knows will follow.

"Turn around and kneel."

She turns again and sinks to her knees, as gracefully as her high heels and trembling legs will allow. Kneeling between his spread legs she resists the impulse to touch him, instead she bows her head forward and lets her palms rest on her thighs. She feels the braided leather slip around her neck and tighten as he locks the clasp and then threads the padlock through it. Finished, he commands,

"Stand up."

She struggles to her feet, leaning on his knees for help to get out of the awkward position. She's between his legs, her back to him, her arms hanging limply by her sides, languor invading her body as she waits for his command. She doesn't have long to wait.

"Present yourself..."

The phrase always sends a shiver of delicious excitement through her. It has the same effect now as she complies, letting her feet step apart and clasping her hands behind her head.

"So, your punishment..." As he speaks, his fingers are tracing random patterns on her backside and the pale skin of her thighs above the wide lace of her stockings. She shivers, not quite sure if in response to his touch or in anticipation of his next words.

"You are to take your book, pick any one of the fantasies you've completed and read it aloud to me."

The request should not have come as a total surprise but as the words penetrate her conscience she is literally speechless with shock. He read her writings before. The stories she's written at his request and with him as one of the characters, but this was different. This she hadn't intended to share with anyone, maybe not even with him. Her mind is blank as she remains frozen in place, waiting for... For what? For him to stay that he was joking? Not possible... He wouldn't joke about something like that, especially where it's classified as punishment.

"I can't..." her voice sounds tight and alien to her own ears.

"Presumably if you wrote them you should be able to read your own handwriting," he pauses, then continues, "Arms down... Turn around."

She lowers her arms and turns to face him. He lifts the book off his lap and hands it to her, waiting for her fingers to close around the solid cover, but not letting go. Using his free hand he pulls another chair over and arranges it behind her back so that when she sits down, she'd be facing him about two feet away.

"Sit down."

She sinks into the proffered chair gratefully, hands clasping the book.

"Open it," his voice is quiet and measured. He knows she'll do it and suddenly, seized by a rebellious stubbornness, she shakes her head.

"Look at me," earlier traces of amusement are gone, he's all business now. "Think carefully."

She looks up to see the expression on his face. For a moment, both are silently taking measure of each other. Finally, she swallows and looks away. Leaning back in the chair, she flips the book open, skimming the sections quickly, trying to pick one. She refuses to think about the intimacy of reading out loud... let alone reading something like this.

Finally she settles on one and lifts her eyes to his, hoping against hope that this was just a test to see if she would comply, that she won't have to do it after all.

"Start reading..." He leans back, folding his arms across his chest, eyes on her face.

She lowers her gaze to the words swimming on the page in her lap, takes a deep breath and begins to read...

It's cold and she's shivering on the cool floor, naked, on her knees, hands folded in her lap, head down, eyes to the floor, waiting for Him to speak. He makes her wait, watching her from the armchair.

"Come here," His voice is hard and she shivers, struggling to stand up. His next words stop her efforts as he adds, "on your knees, pet."

Her face flushes crimson as she moves across the hardwood floor toward Him and stops between His legs, head down, hands laid gently on her thighs.

"Stand up," after a brief pause, He adds, "on your own."

She struggles to her feet, leaning on her own thighs for support, barely able to stand, legs quivering with the strain of kneeling for so long. Still not looking at Him, she waits.

"Tell me why I made you kneel, pet."

Her answer is immediate, without hesitation, "Because I disobeyed you, Sir."

"And how did you disobey me?"

She blushes but responds, "I did not complete the assignment, Sir."

"And what was your assignment?"

She struggles to get the words out, "To come today wearing the toy, Sir."

"What toy was that, pet?"

Her voice is barely a whisper now, "The anal plug, Sir."

"And yet, here you are, without it..." His voice trails off as if daring her to respond and respond she does.

"I forgot, Sir."

"Is that an excuse, pet?"

"No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"And now you also spoke without being asked a question or given permission to speak." She does not dare look up, but knows He's frowning, displeased. "Are you asking to be punished?"

"No, Sir," she shakes her head for emphasis.

"I'm not sure that's good enough..." He is silent as he considers her penitent form in front of him. "How long has it been since you've cum, pet?"

"Two weeks, Sir," her lower lip trembles as she answers.

"And do you remember what I told you when I asked you to come here tonight?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me, please."

"You said," she pauses and quotes his words back to Him, "I hope you'll enjoy the present I got for you. It should help end the two week draught rather quickly."

"That's right," He hides a smile at her flawless recitation of his own words. "But I'm afraid your disobedience has just earned you some more time..."

She opens her mouth as if to speak but closes it almost immediately, though not before He sees the gesture and asks,

"What did you want to say?"

"Nothing, Sir."

He's silent for a moment and then commands,

"Kneel in front of me, pet."

She sinks to her knees once again, looking at Him, at His body, longingly. He waits until she finally raises her eyes to his face, asking permission wordlessly.

"Yes, you may."

She exhales in a rush of delighted breath, reaching for the front of his pants, deftly unzipping them, helping Him rise and slip them off.

She pauses and draws a deep breath. The pause stretches between them as she sits there, biting her lower lip.

"Is that the end?"

She swallows, raising her eyes to his but not responding.

"I didn't think so... Continue, please."

"But..." she pauses, thinking of the explicit scenes ahead, "Couldn't I just give you the book? You could read the rest yourself..." her voice trails off as she lowers her eyes, unable to keep meeting his penetrating gaze.

"Why would I want to do that when you're doing so well?" He pauses and continues, "besides, this is not just your punishment. It pleases me to hear you read your own writing."

She flushes with pleasure at the praise though the interlude brought no other relief.

"Continue please..." His voice is calm and relaxed, but sneaking a glance at the front of his khakis she can tell that he's not entirely unaffected by her story.

Taking a deep breath she lowers her eyes back to the pages in front of her and reads on...

His underwear is next, leaving Him wearing only an open button-down shirt. She reaches for his shoulders to slip it off but He shakes his head,

"No, leave it."

Immediately her hands fall back to His thighs. Again she looks up, her eyes asking permission, hope and fear of being denied mingling together.

"Yes..." He nods and leans back, sighing with pleasure as He feels first her hands and then her warm breath on His aroused flesh.

"You are to stop when I tell you to," He warns softly and she nods in agreement, intent only on tasting Him. His thumb sneaks under her chin, lifting her face, forcing her to look at Him. She flushes and quickly responds,

"Yes, Sir... I will stop, Sir."

Pleased, He releases her face in the next moment He cannot suppress a groan as her warm mouth settles over His arousal, her tongue circling the rigid flesh, eliciting almost involuntary sighs of pleasure from Him. She teases him, moving slowly, tasting every inch, lowering her head with agonizing slowness. He allows her to have her fun until the pleasure becomes unbearable and, tangling his fingers in her hair, He pushes her head down, forcing her to take Him all the way in. Heedless of her muffled moan of protest, He keeps his hand firmly on the back of her head, setting the pace, forcing her to move at his speed. As her head comes up He hears another moan, this time one of pleasure. After a few more thrusts, he speaks,

"Stop... now." She freezes for a moment and he hears a clear moan of frustration. But in the next instance she lifts her face up obediently, gazing at his thighs, breathing heavily.

"Stand up, pet."

Once she's on her feet, He turns her around, standing up behind her, letting her feel the warm length of His arousal pressing to the small of her back. She whimpers in frustration, pressing back against Him. He smiles to himself, his hands on her hips, holding her steady.