Chapter TEN
Two days later, on the commuter train home from New York City Thursday night, my Latina Woman was back. I deliberately sat in the facing seat, this time pulling my thighs in tight around her knees. I had had time to think, to put things in perspective. The woman had controlled my every move from the moment I had boarded that train two days ago, to what can only be described as the most intense orgasm of my life, and I fell for and loved every second of it. But having had the chance to run the events through my mind a few times, I was ready to set the scale back in balance. Next time there would be no repeat of what had happened, at least not to me.
I had spent time resurrecting fantasies, a little reading in a few BDSM places, and begun to concoct a thoroughly exotic and enjoyable repertoire. Every step of the way would be to please me first, and her second. I was even beginning to think of some punishments to throw into the schedule, though I had to admit that much of the “Master” roles I had read seemed to be based more on formality than desire, and a bit more selfish than is my nature. My version might be deplored by aficionados, but it would certainly meet my own standards. After all, I was setting them as I wanted, and I still had several days before I had to be ready.
She looked up at me, smiled, and looked back at her Newsweek. She was so cool. It was as if we were old friends, or even married, courteous but non-plussed. I wondered how she could be so composed, knowing how she had humiliated me, let alone forced me to cum, all on my own! She looked again from her magazine to me and laughed, before looking back to her reading.
It was adding humiliation on top of humiliation. And now it was beginning to happen in public. She was asking for it, I told myself, and simply adding to the punishments she would have to endure. I restlessly shifted in my seat to give my eyes a chance to look around. It appeared that one woman in a facing seat across the aisle was on to us. She looked away the instant I looked at her. Damn! If this got any worse, I would have to leave the car just to save face. The worst case scenario of course, would be that someone I know picks up on our relationship and the word gets back to my home.
The train arrived at my stop and I departed. I walked to my car with yet another hard on, a double in effect, one for her, and one to get her back. My day would come.
Chapter ELEVEN
It was Tuesday morning before I saw her again. I had changed to her train schedule for the duration, and waited as each time in the same car we departed from last time. She pulled the same trick as last time, but this time I was ready for her. The moment she came around the corner to the doorway of my car, she bumped into me. It was her turn to be surprised.
I took her by the arm to coral her before we stepped off at Mineola. We said nothing as we walked up and over the railroad crossing, and down the other side. We turned right and walked quickly to the motel.
Our reservation was waiting and the same clerk served up two keys, which I snapped up this time, and handed back my credit card. He also handed me the large bag I had left with the motel the night before on the way home. This caught the attention of my over confident Latina Woman. Finally, it was her turn to wonder. We went to the elevator, up to our floor and down the long hall to the suite. I noticed from the receipt that the clerk had done for me the same favor as last time and given us their best room at the economy price. The poor travel industry. Their loss of business in terrorist times, was our gain this day.
We entered the room and I escorted her into the living room. I took her bag, considerably smaller this time, no more than an average leather purse, and put it on the bar. She simply stood there, as if awaiting my command. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” I said, carrying my much larger bag to the bar.
She did as instructed, silently, though every bit as provocatively as she could. She was wearing the same outfit as last week, though I doubted I would see it changed into her sexier leather garments. Her hair was still styled in large waves cascading down her back and over her shoulder to her breasts. The skirt rode up her thighs as she sat and her loose fitting, thin material blouse was unbuttoned well below the top of her ample breasts. From that moment, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. She stared forward, at nothing. I knew I was dealing with an experienced sub, and wondered if I was up to the challenge.
“You really had your fun last week, didn’t you?” I was walking behind where she sat in the large, overstuffed chair, preparing for my first act of reprisal.
“Yes Master. I was so bad. I will do anything to make it up to you.” Her voice was full of emotion! If she was play acting, one would be hard pressed to know it. And she had been bad, so bad I couldn’t get perhaps the most exotic experience of my life out of my mind. She had been very bad, yet oh so good.
I stood behind her for a time, contemplating what she said, and how she had said it, and twiddling the eye mask in my hands. “Yes, you were bad all right, but I intend to set the record straight today.” I was totally new at the idea of being a Master, or even a Dom. It had been explained to me in the form of a kind of Pro vs Amateur status and skill respectively, and here I was a complete novice, working over a pro. I had read what I could, tried to understand others’ points of view, and in the end thrown my hands up in frustration and decided to take whatever course I felt comfortable with. Hell, once I had her tied up, there wasn’t anything she could do to complain or stop me anyway.
“Please Master, I know I should not be so bold as to ask, but is there to be a safe word?” She asked politely, and respectfully, and pointed out my ignorance without trying to embarrass me. She also continued to look down at her feet, and not at me.
“Yes, there is a safe word you ungratefull….” I still didn’t have the nerve to call her a slut or a bitch or anything else. I felt no true animosity toward her. She was frustratingly beautiful, curiously distant, and remarkably hot. She had not hurt me at all, and truthfully, she had given me perhaps the most intense orgasm I had ever had.
For the first time, I realized she’d done all this, and I had let her, without a safe word! I blurted out in some foolish effort to save face, “And what the hell was my safe word? Huh?”
“Your safe word Master was simply ‘No.’” I would have stopped the moment you said the word, intentionally or instinctively.” She kept her head bowed and added, “But please Master, if it pleases you, I would like to have a more difficult word. I may say ‘No,’ too often, I think. It is only fitting, after my insolence, that I be given a very difficult word to remember.”
I was blown away yet again by this gorgeous Latina Woman. She sat there in an opposite persona form last week, and just as expert in the role. She was giving me her limits, while telling me there were virtually none. She was telling me that the safe word was the ONLY word upon which I had to stop what I was doing, that she was going to take whatever I could do to her. Hell, she was telling me to take my best shot, and in such a way as to make it my idea. I forced back the thought that even in submissive mode, or slave mode if that was what came of this, she was still in control. I was a fish out of water.
In a frantic yet deliberate push, I brushed all the inferiority and inexperience aside and applied the blindfold. I wanted to set a few things up and didn’t want her to see. She remained seated and didn’t fight my actions at all. If anything, she was too passive.
