Author's note: Thank you to my good friends, BaileyL and Squarey, for reading, correcting, suggesting, pushing, and encouraging me.
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April waited for her breathing to return to normal as she watched Evan efficiently pouring drinks for them, a vodka and cranberry juice for her, whisky for him. She straightened and pulled her blouse together with trembling hands.
As she reached for the top button Evan told her, "No, don't...leave it open."
Reluctantly, she let go of the edges of the blouse and reached for the glass he handed to her. She kept her eyes on her drink, unable to meet his gaze, and took a sip. Now that her climax was over and her heart was returning to normal, she was embarrassed. Embarrassed by her disheveled, exposed state while he remained calm, cool, and completely dressed. Embarrassed by how easily he had turned her into a writhing mass of need. While Evan had proven to her that she was capable of responding to him, now she was afraid of the power of those responses. For the last year and a half she had enjoyed the fantasy of ceding control to him, but suddenly faced with the reality, April felt a sense of foreboding...mixed with excitement...knowing that what had just happened was only a taste of what was to come in the next two days.
Holding her elbow, Evan guided her further into the hotel room. Or suite, she could see now. There was a kitchenette; a sofa, coffee table, and wing-back chair in the living room area; a small dining table with two chairs (one of which was now sitting across from the sofa with ropes attached to it) sitting in front of a huge picture window, a set of glass French doors leading out onto a terrace; through a set of double doors she could see a tastefully furnished bedroom. With a very large bed. Beyond the bed was the bathroom, which she couldn't see much of but it looked to be quite luxurious. He led her to the window and they stood sipping their drinks as they gazed out at a spectacular view of San Francisco. She thought it was unlikely that anyone could see her up here. At least that was what she hoped. The air felt cool as it hit her bra, wet from his mouth, and her breasts were covered with goose bumps, her nipples erect. She watched his profile as he looked out the window.
"Nice view," he murmured.
"As nice as New York?"
He looked at her and smiled. "Nothing is as nice as New York." Gesturing to the sofa he added, "Why don't we sit down?"
April wished she could go to the bathroom and wipe off the wetness between her legs, knowing that if she sat down in this condition it was going to get on her skirt...and probably the sofa. But she suspected he would not allow that; she knew that he liked for her to walk around with her juices smeared on her pussy and her thighs. The truth was that she enjoyed it as well, pretending it was his cum. She tried to arrange her skirt so that none would soak through to the rather expensive-looking sofa. Evan sat next to her, his left thigh touching her right, his left arm on the back of the sofa behind her and his hand just touching her shoulder.
"How was your drive," he asked as they sipped their drinks.
"Not bad," she said, looking up at him curiously. This was the kind of question she had expected when she arrived...before they got down to the reason for this weekend.
She relaxed as they talked about inconsequential things; the weather in New York versus San Francisco, his flight and her drive, the new titles that had arrived at her bookstore the day before, sightseeing plans for the next day. Out of the corner of her eye, through the bedroom doors, she could see the dresser, and on it were items laid out neatly. She couldn't see what they were, exactly, but she caught flashes of leather and chrome. Evan noticed her gaze wandering in that direction.
"Can I look," she asked softly.
"Sure. Do you want another drink?"
"No, thank you."
He took their empty glasses to the kitchenette as she stood and walked to the bedroom, feeling the butterflies begin again in her stomach. Her reflection in the mirror seemed to belong to someone else. Alone with a man she had only met in person an hour ago, her shirt open and bra exposed, wet spots on her skirt. This wasn't April Greer...responsible parent, upstanding business owner, respected in her community. She had only dated sporadically since her husband passed away suddenly ten years earlier...and hadn't had sex with any of them. Ten years...how had she come to be in this hotel room with this man?
She stood and looked at his collection. Black leather cuffs and collar...they looked more expensive than her purple ones, and more menacing, somehow. Evan had told her not to bring hers ("You're going to wear my collar this weekend"). He had told her not to bring anything but clothes for the weekend; he would provide everything else they needed. Chrome clips and short chains, varying lengths of rope, nipple clamps connected by a thin silver chain, and the whips. Black leather crop, a flogger...she ran her fingers over them lightly, shuddering with an equal mix of anticipation and dread. Her eyes met his in the mirror as he came to stand behind her.
"Are you ready, baby?"
"I think so," she whispered.
"Take off your top." Unable to tear her gaze from his, she shrugged and let the blouse slide off her shoulders and down her arms, dropping it on a bit of clear space on the dresser. "Now the bra." She blushed as she reached behind her to unhook her bra, putting it on top of the blouse. "And the skirt." Her fingers shaking, she unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it, still looking at him as the skirt joined the pile on the dresser.
She blushed again and dropped her gaze, unable to watch him looking at her nude body. Not a slim, tight, young body. While she exercised and tried to eat healthfully, she lacked the discipline it would take to keep a fifty year old body looking like it was thirty. Her body had the curves and slight sag that came from age and four pregnancies. Her breasts, not the huge jugs she suspected he had imagined, were full, with large brown areolas and nipples...the result of having nursed her babies all those years ago.
Stepping closer to her, Evan ran his hands over her belly and her hips. She could feel his erection, hard against her butt. His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed, causing her to gasp. His attention was riveted on the mirror, watching the way her flesh filled his hands and squeezed through his fingers. Then they skimmed over her belly to her generous hips and ass (definitely not her favorite part of her body), to the insides of her thighs. Two fingers slid into her folds, still slick with her juices. She moaned softly and wiggled her butt against him. He pulled his fingers out and brought them towards her lips.
"No!" Her eyes wide with shock, she grabbed his wrist.
"Who gave you permission to touch me," he growled in her ear.
They froze for a moment, eyes locked. Unable to bear his gaze any longer, she closed her eyes in defeat. Releasing his wrist, she opened her mouth and he pushed his fingers between her lips.
"Suck that, baby. Suck all that juice off my fingers," he told her softly, his mouth against her ear.
She whimpered but did as he told her. It was the first time she had tasted herself and she was surprised that the musky flavor was not repulsive, as she expected. Soon her whimpers turned to moans of need as she sucked on his fingers, her hips beginning to grind in small circles. When he pulled his fingers from her mouth, she opened dazed eyes, aware that she was getting wetter but not sure why. He reached across to pick up the black leather wrist cuffs and turned her to face him. She watched him as he fastened the cuffs on her wrists. She could see the desire and excitement on his face, as well as the hard cock pushing against the fabric of his pants. But he was controlled, businesslike, as he knelt and buckled the cuffs on her ankles. Standing up, he looked her over for a moment before turning her around and picking up a chrome clip. He pulled her wrists behind her and slid the clip through the rings on the cuffs, binding her arms behind her.
Her heart was pounding as he looked at her and smiled. This was what she had imagined so many times when she put her own cuffs on at home. Sometimes she put her hands behind her and pretended they were bound, but this...this was so much more powerful than her imagination could conjure up. There was fear...she was completely at the mercy of this man standing in front of her. He could do anything he wanted to her and she wouldn't be able to stop him. But more than fear, there was relief. It was out of her hands now...literally. She didn't have to worry about "performance"; he was in control and he would direct whatever happened.
"Almost perfect," he said.
He picked up the black leather collar and buckled it around her throat, then stood back to look at her. Her breasts lifted with each shallow breath and her nipples hardened. At home, playing with her cute purple leather collar, pretending it meant she belonged to Evan, she'd had no idea how it would feel for him to place his own collar on her. She felt a sudden urge to drop to her knees, to kiss his feet, to beg him to take her, to do whatever he wanted with her. But she stood there, wearing only her garter, stockings, and heels...along with his cuffs and collar...waiting for him, for his reaction. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her throat along the collar.
"God, baby, you have no idea how fucking hot you look like this," he whispered in her ear, causing shivers to run down her spine. "Do you feel how hard you make me?" He rubbed his cock against her and she whimpered. "It makes me so crazy to see you like this. I want to just throw you on that bed and fuck you."
He lifted her face to him and kissed her, hard and deep, stamping his brand on her with his lips and his tongue. His hands pulled her tight against his hard body and she could feel the muscles of his chest and thighs beneath his clothes, the buttons on his shirt and the zipper on his pants bit into her soft skin, making her groan. One hand went to her hair, holding her head immobile as he continued to devour her mouth. His other hand slid down her back and over the smooth skin of her buttocks. One finger threatened to slide between her cheeks and she jerked and squealed in protest. She felt him smile against her mouth as he withdrew his finger. April pushed herself against him and hungrily returned his kiss. Finally he pulled away and held her away from him. She was flushed and panting.
"Yeah...I want to fuck you. But we have some business first." He held her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. "Do you know your safe word, April?"
"Yes," she said. They had discussed safe words, of course, but communicating only by email or phone, there had never been a need for one.
