April Greer stood on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and looked up. She counted up four stories and wondered if one of those windows was his, or if his room was on the other side of the building. People passed her, taking no notice of a middle-aged woman standing in the light spilling out from the hotel lobby. She shivered slightly and pulled her coat closer around her, although it wasn't really very cold. But she was nervous. Terrified, actually.
He was up there, in one of those rooms, waiting for her. Dr. Evan Moran, New York chiropractor. And her online Dom for the last year and a half. So why was she so scared? There was nothing about herself that she hadn't told him, no fantasy she hadn't shared with him. He knew more about her than anyone in the world, more than her late husband had known. They met online and began with emails in which he slowly drew from her the secret fantasies she had never shared with anyone...had tried to deny even to herself. He spun fantasy after fantasy for her as she opened up, using every tidbit that she revealed. She marveled that he could pick up on the most insignificant details that she mentioned without attaching any meaning to them, and turn them into a fantasy that had her searching for her vibrator to relieve the ache he awakened deep inside her. Slowly they proceeded to IM, exchanging recordings of themselves masturbating, pictures, video, and then, finally, talking on the phone.
It was his descriptions of bondage that first drew her. He talked about leather wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs, about tying her into a chair, to the bed, to the door frame. She realized she had always been aroused by the idea of being restrained during sex, but assumed there was something wrong with it...with her...and so she had always pushed those thoughts away. She was even more shocked to find that she liked it when he talked about spanking her, and even more so when he talked about whipping. Crops, floggers...even the pictures of them that she found online made her wet. Eventually she bought a set of purple leather wrist and ankle cuffs, with a matching leather collar. Evan laughed at her choice of purple, but it became routine for her to wear them whenever she read his emails, or spoke to him on the phone, whenever she masturbated. There was no way for her to restrain herself (although sometimes she did sit in the chair and tie her ankles to the legs) but she was shocked at how much she loved the cuffs and the collar. Even the smell of them as she pulled them out of the drawer created a Pavlovian response in her and would start her juices flowing. The feel of the satin lining against her skin, the weight of them, the faint tinkle of the silver rings as she moved started a slow burn in her nether regions and every order Evan gave her only stoked the fire.
April had never considered her breasts to be particularly sensitive but to her surprise, and Evan's delight, they discovered that she became highly aroused when he wrote or talked about touching them. He indulged his fantasies about breast play and she had many orgasms to his descriptions of sucking and licking them, of nipple clamps, even (or maybe especially) of whipping them. Something else that was a favorite for both of them were the fantasies of tying her to a chair. She didn't know why but the image of herself in a chair, wrists bound behind her, ankles tied to the legs of the chair, was just incredibly arousing and Evan had a lot of variations on that theme.
So why was she so afraid? Because deep down she doubted that she would react in the same way to the reality of bondage and whipping and submission. While the fantasy, coupled with her vibrator, brought her unfailingly to orgasm, her fear was that the real thing would simply be uncomfortable and painful...without the arousal.
There was also her body. She was no nubile young thing. She was a fifty year old grandmother, with a body that had borne four children which showed in the softness around her belly. Nor was she as limber as she had been thirty, or twenty, years ago. Her breasts, she knew, were neither as "ample" nor as "gorgeous" as he described them in his fantasies. She had been reluctant to reveal herself in pictures or video, even more reluctant to meet Evan in person.
Her biggest fear, she acknowledged, was that he would be so disappointed in the way she looked and the way she reacted that he would end the relationship completely. She couldn't bear the thought of no more phone calls, no more correspondence. She had resisted this meeting for months, until Evan stopped asking and simply told her one day that he had bought a plane ticket to San Francisco and reserved a room. He told her the weekend he would be there, the time he wanted her at his hotel room, even what he wanted her to wear for her arrival and what clothes to bring for the weekend. In spite of her fear, she couldn't refuse him, and so had made the drive from Napa to the city.
Looking at her watch, she realized with a start that if she stood out here much longer, she would be late. She picked up her suitcase, took a deep breath, and walked through the double doors into the lobby. She glanced regretfully to the left, where the restaurant and bar were situated. She wished she had arrived early enough to stop for a drink to calm the butterflies in her stomach. But it was too late for that and she turned right to the elevators, her heels clicking on the expensive tiled floor. If she weren't so nervous, she might more fully appreciate the luxurious décor of the lobby. An elderly couple got on the elevators with her and she smiled at them as they acknowledged her.
The elevator was large, carpeted, and the back wall covered with mirrored panels. It moved smoothly, stopping almost soundlessly at the third floor where the couple disembarked. As it began its ascent to her destination, the fourth floor, April wondered if an elevator ride had ever seemed as long as this one. When it stopped and the doors opened, her heart, already racing, began to thud in her chest and she thought briefly she might pass out. She trembled as she walked down the lushly carpeted hallway, hoping her shaking legs didn't give out. Stopping in front of Room 405, she paused for a moment and then reached out and softly rapped on the door.
The door opened and for the first time April was looking, without the aid of the computer, at Evan. He was familiar and unfamiliar to her at the same time. She knew his dark, curly hair, with the traces of gray creeping in, his brown eyes that were softer...warmer...in real life than in pictures. He had told her that he wasn't "particularly tall", just about six feet, but even in three inch heels she had to look up at him. His shoulders were broader than they appeared on screen, muscular, he told her, because of his work ("adjusting backs takes a lot of upper body strength"). His short, neat beard was shot through with more gray than his hair. He smiled and it lit up his face, and made it difficult for April to catch her breath.
"April," he said. "Right on time."
He took her suitcase and stepped back to allow her to enter, putting the case down just inside the door. He helped her off with her coat and took her purse, hanging both on hooks on the wall behind the door. He looked at her approvingly.
"You look nice," he told her.
"Thank you," she said softly, smiling shyly.
He should approve of the way she looked, she thought. He had picked out all of her clothing. The green blouse that buttoned down the front ("your tops should always button or zip or somehow fasten in front...so that I have access to your breasts any time I want"), the flowered skirt that just skimmed the tops of her knees. Her cream colored lace bra hugged her breasts, just covering her nipples, the tops spilling over in a way that made her feel almost as "ample" as he talked about. The matching garter belt attached to her stockings ("yes, real stockings...never pantyhose"). The lace panties, as instructed, were in her suitcase, making her aware of her shaved labia throughout the entire drive. The black heels were higher than she normally wore, but she was beginning to get used to them, since he sometimes ordered her to wear them to work. They weren't especially comfortable to wear while stocking shelves in the book store she owned, but she had to admit that they did make her feel sexy.
She turned to look at the hotel room and had just registered the chair sitting in the middle of the room, with ropes attached, when his hand on her arm spun her back to face him. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, but her gasp was swallowed by his mouth covering hers. The kiss was soft, exploring, his arms holding her against his body. Shocked at the suddenness, she didn't respond immediately, standing stiffly in his arms, her mouth open but not returning his kiss. One hand moved to tangle in her short, blond hair and he began to tease her lips; licking, softly biting. He drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked gently, pushed his tongue into her mouth. Slowly she relaxed against him and her arms wrapped around his waist. She began to return his kiss, tentatively sucking on his tongue, moaning softly as the kiss deepened, became more demanding. He had told her once that he was good at kissing and now she knew he wasn't just bragging, he was good...very good. She was breathless by the time he stopped and lifted his head to look down at her red, swollen lips and half-closed eyes. He released her and slid his hands down her arms. Still dazed, she didn't react as his hands encircled her wrists and pulled them behind her back, holding both of them in one hand.
