It

She came prepared, she thought, for nearly anything. He told her to be ready for something special. Told her how to dress. No panties, push up bra. Skirt and blouse. He likes them crisp looking and decent. Like she could walk from his arms to the boardroom. His penchant for smart, capable women was well known to her. She struggled to live up to the concept even though she knew she qualified. He told her so constantly. His praise, while not lavish, was consistent and thrilling.

She had the cushioned bra that gave her more show of tits than she actually had. Men loved it, though he was indifferent. He liked her natural and preferred to touch than to look. Built up fantasies didn't impress him. He lived in a reality that kept her in another world.

He met her at the door. Often he would allow her to let herself in. Sometimes he would meet her elsewhere. His appraising look made her want to undress for him. She wished he would undress her with his eyes like all the other men she knew. His eyes merely checked to make sure she did as he asked. All except the first time they'd met when he was appraising her. She's never seen disappointment in his eyes, though many times she's been uncertain of his reactions.

This time he'd asked for a bra like this. Normally he is insouciant. Normally he prefers her tits in his hands, her nipples between his fingers or in his mouth. He prefers to feel her breasts, to enjoy the tactile reality. Her points hardened with these thoughts and she could have moaned with the anticipation of his touch. She saw him lick his lips at this and realized he noticed. The pheromones were pouring off her. They were palpable and she felt a pang of delight run through her.

"Do you need anything?" He asked as though she weren't so keyed up and ready for him to penetrate her that she wouldn't fall on floor right now and take him if he only would. She knew from experience that he wouldn't take her like that. Without so much as a hello or slow strip.

She was still at the threshold as she shook her head, unable to articulate speech when he closed the door and grabbed her arms. He forced her to turn and pressed her to the cool wood. Her skirt was up and she felt his hardness enter her and bore through her molten core in a direct shot.

Her breath was shoved out of her with all the force he used to drill his length into her. And she was right, she was so wet he easily buried his cock in her right to the base. She felt as though she could have taken his balls as well had they fit. Fluid gushed as her mind melted.

He was hammering her, face pushed against the door, ass thrown out to capture more of him, when she felt herself building to climax. She had no idea what he would say, he was so controlling over her orgasms. She would have faltered but he kept shoving her to the door. She couldn't catch her breath or her will.

There was a throbbing in her sex that matched the tempo of his entries and she wondered how she would hold out when the spasms took her. She gasped and groaned trying to keep them at bay, but the feeling was so completely visceral that she lost herself and only made it worse with her inner struggle.

He took her in his arms afterward and crooned to her. His pants at his knees and his impossible hard on stretching for her, his voice uttered her absolute enjoyment: "That was so good. Oh my perfect delight." His praise warmed her and flushed her with new excitement.

She tried to tell him of her thrill at his surprise. The words were mumbled and nonsensical. They oozed out of her like the flow between her legs. As if understanding her thoughts and her impoverished attempts at sentences, he said "Oh that wasn't your surprise. I have something special for you. It is something new. I think you'll like it. I'll teach you how to use it and enjoy it."

Her knees shook with the imaginings. She was unstable enough from the orgasm he'd just forced from her, but it never boded well when he told her things like that. A moan pushed from her as she felt a drizzling on her thigh. She was moving back to that feeling of orgasm with the pressure of his touch on her arm. He was steering her to the couch, pressuring her to sit. She couldn't imagine that she would be able to.

His cock was eye level as she did though and she thought, irrationally, of it poking her eye out. She could have giggled. It was amazingly hard and waved as he walked. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and stuff it into her mouth and she swallowed hard.

He held her hands between his and tied them. Wrapped them with straps he used to tie her to the bed. She felt the flow between her legs, that had eased, begin anew. He placed her hands upon his cock, but drew her face upward.

"I have something special for you in the other room. It is something new for you. It will take training and patience for you to be able to handle it, so we will start that training now." Had she been standing, her knees would have given out.

Her palms were stationary on either side of his member and her brain was hanging open as her mouth undoubtedly was. She couldn't move to close either of them. Numbness crept over her and she lost the ability to answer him with word or glance.

"When we go to the other room, you will see it open to you. That is a huge responsibility and your first response will, of course, be to shirk from that but you must not. Just as I have never shirked from you, accepting all that you are and all you would give me with all the delight and pleasure you deserve your gift to be received with. You must do the same.

This is how I took your offering from you: I simply and absolutely enjoyed it. You have your self and your wonderful being in your hands and you allowed me to take them and press them to me." His hands pressured hers around his rock hard cock.

"You sat on top of me and pushed your hands into my chest with your soul oozing out between your fingers as you pressed forward. Your entire self was there between us and I felt it as surely as you feel the throbbing of my need for you. Do you remember?"

She did. Only too well. It filled her every waking day. If not each moment, then the ones on both sides of that moment empty of him. She nodded with her eyes misted over. Her head had a weight to it she hadn't felt before.

"Lick your juices from my cock and let's go see your surprise." He let her face slide from his fingers and she eagerly went for his twitching staff. Her mouth nibbled down one side and up the other. Her tongue flicked and flickered. Her lips molded and sucked. She worked her way over every inch. He groaned lustily. His cock jumped and jerked. Oh, he showed such pleasure! She moaned with the thrill of it.

He was right. That was the difference between he and the other men she'd had. He enjoyed her thoroughly. When he took her, he took her completely, loving every moment, every bit of her. She thought of this as his excitement was voiced to the atmosphere. Even without voice, she felt the thrill deep within him and spilling from out his fingers as they tempted her scalp.

His moans drove her from eagerness to unadulterated greed. She laved her tongue over his cock, pushing it this way and that to slick more of it with her saliva and ensure that she got every last drip of her juices off it. She wanted to do the best job possible for him. She wanted his praise and ached for his pleasure.

She could feel the thrumming grow and thought he might cum for her. Shoot his jism over her lips or deep in her throat. She tried to stuff it between her lips, but his hands moved her face away and pressed her lips to the smooth, taut skin on the side. Ran her full opening over the pulsing veins before she took up nibbling at it again. He groaned then. A rich throaty sound that entered her groin and speared her, sending an answer around his hardness.

He grabbed her hair then and pulled her to the room where her surprise awaited. She trembled with fear. Not the fear of horror films, but the trepidation of bringing home a bad report card or of having an inadequate response to a necessary problem at work. The anxiety of the moment threatened to overwhelm her and it was only his touch that gave her anchoring and hope. Will to move forward and to face what he would give her to manage.

As if reading her mind, he whispers to her in a voice laden with desire "Don't I always reward you for being good?" She hardly found herself able to produce a nod. "All you have to do is be good. You've already been so good for me. It was more than I expected that you would cum at the door, and your mouth gave me the chills and delights I think of every day without it."

His praise threatened to make her cum again. Her knees wobbled and her head swam with the intensity. When his hand reached out and turned the knob, she felt her heart flip over with the smooth pewter finish.

She met its eyes. Before traveling the length of its body and back, she first looked deeply into its self. There were clamps on its nipples that looked like they might be painful if tugged though reasonably comfortable if resting. Its breasts were smaller than hers, though round, and one was scarred from a surgeon's knife. It was bound hand and foot to the head and foot boards and it had a sheen as though it had tested the bindings and found them more than capable of holding it.

There was a sash of silk tied around its waist that ran between its legs and gave the only accommodation to modesty. There was an area of the silk, beginning at its pubis and below until disappearing between its ass cheeks, that was darker than the rest. It was sopping wet and the cloth, though mostly impervious, had become soaked. Its legs were long for its body and she wondered if all women's were and she just hadn't had one to look at like this.

She'd been holding her breath and afraid to step or even to move. Would she frighten it? Its eyes had held uncertainty and indecision and more, fear? Trepidation? Acute anxiety? All of these things and more. It was complex and probably exactly what he looks for in his playthings. Intelligent and capable and very real. Knowing him, it was also now very needing, wanting and willing.

She would have turned back, but there was a fascination that held her rooted, as though the wrappings on her wrists had snaked around her ankles as well. She felt her legs drawn apart in sympathy for it. Or was it empathy or want? She could feel the wrist bindings. She had felt them. Enjoyed them. Reveled in the things he did with her when she was strapped in them. Despite all her uncertainties, her body became heated and the flow of liquid inside her began again.

Her senses were heightened. She saw and felt the sheen of perspiration on it. She licked her lips and tasted the salt in the air. She saw the glisten of her saliva drying upon his pulsating member. Felt how it jutted out, hard and long and aching for release. Freedom to ravage the female counterparts in the room, swollen and engorged in their own right. She felt her sex give a pang of need and saw its pussy twitch under the silk. Jerk like his cock.

It could have been hours standing there with his touch breathing into her pores and the women's hormones misting through the room driving her to frenzied yearning. His hand slipped its way to her behind and massaged it lightly. It was such a contrast that she moaned.

"I will teach you what it wants and how to take it in your hands. Don't worry, it wants me and to please me, but you can give it as much as it will give you." His voice dropped to a husky stage whisper. "Just enjoy it. That's what it wants more than anything and what I give it."

He walked her to the side of the bed. Her skirt felt too short and her blouse was suddenly too tight. Her bra scratched at her and the lack of panties chafed where her juices were drying. It moaned and she imagined she looked as good as it looked to her. She wondered if her breasts looked as good when she were lying flat and if her neck were as graceful. No wonder his hands were so constantly eager to be all over her. She showed it the wrappings on her hands as though to exhibit camaraderie. "We're in this together." She wanted to say.

Her outfit felt contrived. It was writhing on the bed and its nude form looked so sinuous and beautiful that she felt ashamed of her clothing. The way it hid her faults. Pushed her tits into a preposterous jutting, faked stiff nipples (though she felt hers hard as marbles underneath the material), and pleats to cover the flare of her hips. How many times had he told – and showed - her of his delight at her curves, yet confronted by its bare contours, hers felt inadequately large and ungainly. Its looked sleek and well proportioned, the way he always told her he saw hers.

He put his hands on it and moans filled the house. It looked like it was on fire. The flush that had been creeping up its neck had flamed over its chest and face. From hairline to nipple line. His fingers toyed with its skin, danced over its very self. Everywhere he touched, there was redness as though he'd pinched or poked though she knew he hadn't. When he took its nipple up and twisted it by the clamp it gave out a desperate noise. Half between a scream and a groan. It was an animal noise, base and organic and it sent a deep pang into her lower abdomen.

He pulled her by the elbow and brought her close enough to see a fine spattering of freckles over its upper arms. Her hands reached out and were brought back before touching. His fingers continued toying with its breasts, twisting bits of the flesh on the sides and tweaking the nipples every so often to hear the wail it produced.

"Just enjoy it." He said and moved his hand onto its stomach. The other hand he used to bring her wrists onto its thigh. Her touch was so light she wondered that it could feel except that it reacted so vehemently, moaning and writhing, pressing for more. It felt wonderful to her to have such effect and she pressed harder. It moaned the more deeply, panting with the effort of working its thigh into her hands. She moved to its knee, prancing with her hands the way she'd felt him do.

The skin was smooth and well muscled, though softer to pressure than his. She delighted in the feel of its knee. The bones beneath the tissue covering felt delicate and desirable. She had an urge to kiss and nibble at it.

She moved onto the svelte calf. His were so heavily muscled that she knew only the deep cut and bulge that her fist couldn't close around. These calves were smooth and fine. She could place her thumb and forefinger encircling them. And the ankle made her want to kiss and lick.

The toes were slim and well cared for. Painted nails that made her want to stroke them like little cocks. Each and every one. He pulled her back from them and placed her at its navel. No lower. The place she would have avoided until no longer able to justify skipping. He pressed her forward and pulled her tit from her bra. His hand on her back, he bent her forward until her stiff nipple twanged at the touch of silk. She cried out in time with its next wail.

His hand kept pressure on her back and she felt a breeze on the globes of her ass. When his cock plunged into her she met its wail and her breast pushed down on the hot middle point of its legs. She couldn't breathe. She'd never felt anything like the way fire radiated from the moist place under the smooth, soft cloth.

She envisioned she could feel the downy lips spread open and grasping at her nipple. She imagined the dripping opening grabbing at anything hard in range, felt his full length bump into her cervix and tamp her breath out in violent expellations.

She was going to cum and moved her hands to the sash providing it modesty so she could feel the wet of its opening. Wanted to see the steam that poured forth. He rammed into her particularly viciously and she cried "Oh!" and a moan followed, long and low.

She wondered if her vagina looked as beautiful. Less of a slit than a gash in the middle of a subtle mound. The hair was matted and sparse. The labia looked so swollen that she wondered they didn't dry in the open air, instead, they glistened with dew. Another hard slam and she cried out "Oh! Oh!" and the lips pursed and tremored. The edges of the opening puffed into smaller mounds. She wanted to press them between her fingers and feel them ripe and fully plump.

His cock slammed into her inner core and caused her to shudder. The shudder became a quake and suddenly she was beyond it all, shimmering and unable to manage sound or thought. As the calamity subsided, she saw a rainbow of saliva stretched from its pussy to her own lips where she must have drooled on it though she remembered nothing.

It was whimpering with abandon and his hand relieved the force from her back, moving to its nipple where she watched it pinch, pull and twist the clamp to change the whimper to a keening.

She couldn't take her eyes from the surgical scar on the side of the tit nearest her. It had survived breast cancer. It was strong and capable and probably highly driven and intelligent. He loved women like that, enjoying not the power over them, but their trust that he will give them what they really need.

She felt the drool still oozing onto her chin and reached her bound hands to wipe. As she did, she saw it staring longingly, so she made a show of taking the drizzle on her fingertip, turning it slowly and pushing her finger into her mouth. It licked its lips hungrily and the greed in its eyes made her want to cum again.

She couldn't help herself. She felt lascivious, wanton. An unfettered harlot. She moved her hands to the buttons of her blouse, opened one and teased the tender cream she knew her skin to be. Her nail traced the line that marked the swell of her bosom. One side, then the other. He was massaging its feet and calves. Just where she had been moments (was it hours already?) ago.

It was mesmerized. She trailed her fingers down the cleft between her swollen breasts and delighted in the subtle scratch of nail, all the while feeling its eyes like a pressure on her spine. When she reached the next button, she teased it open, eliciting a gasp from it. His hands were moving toward its open labia.

The sash she'd pushed to the side remained askew and its tiny lips protruded slightly from between the small pushed up bulges. Its entire sex seemed so impossibly small to her that she wondered if his cock would fit, and if so, would it be tighter than hers?

Would the fit be vice like, more pressure on his engorged cock than she could bring to bear with her muscles spasming closed on him? It looked so much smaller than when she looked in the mirror. Would he prefer it to her? His cock ache for the squeeze of its hole more than she felt his hardness seek her?

He was handling its breasts and she realized her own hand had stopped after widening the gap between shirt halves. It was moaning and snubbing and the noises had merged into a symphony of depravity. How long had it been here like this? How long had he been tormenting it before she had come? She had checked the time repeatedly on the way over and made sure to be at the door exactly on time, exactly as he had instructed her.

Her fingers were teasing at the front clasp as his were squeezing the sides of its tits. She toyed with the edges of her blouse and seductively twitched it open before undoing another button. The moans became so rhythmic that she was swaying as she tweaked the clasp apart and left the bra supported only by her now heaving breasts. The atmosphere was thick and moist and she could taste its juices wafting on the humidity.

His digits moved to dance on its shoulders and throat. She pinched her nipple and settled her hands on its ribs. They were so delicate and fragile, she marveled at its fine muscles stretched over the tiny skeleton. "Enjoy it," he'd told her. How could she not? It was a delicacy. A perfect blossom. Its pistil waiting for her intrusions. Its flowering hoping for her fascination. She was entranced. And it moaned and writhed in ways she'd never seen.