The Commuter

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.

When I turned back to her after retrieving a few things from my bag, I saw her pull her hand from the blindfold. She had picked up one corner, but not tilted her head back to see. Curious I thought, until I realized she was taunting me. She probably didn’t want to see what I was doing anymore than I wanted her to, but she was playing as if she did, just to produce a reaction from her inexperienced Master. It was getting easier to see a “bitchy” side to her.

“Is that right,” I sputtered, as if angry at the test. I saw her smile. That did it for me and I reached down and grabbed her ankles, picking them up to my chest, and twisted them before throwing them back down on the couch. This forced her over on her stomach, and her skirt rode up nearly to her waist.

She let out a brief yelp at the rapid change, and then a sigh at the new position. I couldn’t help but see her continued smile. She was manipulating me as if it were last week and she had me tied up all over again. It was frustrating and insulting to my manhood, while almost affectionate in its longer ranging effect. I wanted this woman more at every turn, and wanted to slap her for it.

Standing back from the couch to look at her, I spotted the garter strap emerging from beneath the bunched up skirt. It crossed the white skin of her thigh and fastened to the dark stocking. She was wearing a garter belt and hose, something that turned me on at the mere mention of it. I had somehow expected the usual pantyhose, and was very pleasantly surprised.

“Your safe word is spinnaker.” I watched her reaction. It was probably a word she’d never heard before.

As I expected, her head lifted slightly from the seat cushion, angled toward the sound of my voice and asked, “Spinnaker?”

There was no way I was going to give her the satisfaction of a definition. On a sailboat, racing sailboats especially, when a skipper yells the word, as she undoubtedly would if in fear of something, the entire crew is expected to jump to the task of raising the huge balloon sail. It was a word that would break through any fog of passion I might be in at the time it was proclaimed, and therefore a very fitting alarm. I smiled at my instant success at my first real responsibility as a Master.

She then asked in a weak voice, “Master, may I remove my skirt and blouse before they wrinkle further?”

Practicality. She was right of course. I had had the same concern the previous week, but as a man, would say nothing of it. Fortunately, she had removed my clothes before the wrinkling settled in. Leave it to the woman to recognize AND act on a need.

“Stand up.” I had intended to spank the little wench, but she was right. I decided there was no sense in doing something destructive to her clothing, especially when it did nothing to enhance the moment.

She rose and began to unbutton her blouse, saying, “Thank you, Master.”

Like someone turned on a switch, I transformed to the role I knew she wanted. The audacity she displayed in beginning to remove her clothes, without my approval, was the last incentive I needed to make the leap. “Stop that!”

She froze, her fingers still on the second button she had attempted to undo. Her silence betrayed her sudden fear at the volume of my voice. Unable to see, she cocked her head an inch to one side, and turned it toward where my voice had come from. “Master? Didn’t you not tell me I could remove my blouse and skirt?”

I didn’t know now if she was playing or truly surprised. “I did not!” I paused and then added, “I told you to stand up.”

She obviously realized her mistake and a hint of a smile appeared on her face, I presumed because she was happy I had suddenly assumed my role. “Yes, Master, you are right, of course. Please accept my apology.” She bowed her head in shame.

“Step over here.” I gave her nothing to go on but the sound of my voice. I had left my things on the bar and stepped over to the overstuffed chair and sat down. She followed my voice and stopped when she felt one of her feet come up against one of mine.

“Kneel,” I told here with authority, but no longer in anger.

She did so and remained in the position, back straight and face forward, toward me. I sat up and looked at her with great anticipation. I looked at her lips, lush and pouty and very red. Her hair still hung forward and back over her shoulders. Some of it flowed down over her blouse and left me in great anticipation of how it would look over her bare breasts. I reached out and undid the button she had been working on .

The moment she felt my hands near, she breathed in deeply. My first instinct was to fear she was going to use the safe word already, but that instinct was my fear, not hers. She had simply sighed in a desire for further contact. She was about to get it, but on my schedule, not hers.

I undid the remaining buttons, having to pull her blouse up from her skirt to reach the bottom two. I let the light material fall aside naturally, still covering her breasts, but revealing a black, lacey bra and her very soft skinned middle. I could also see the beginnings of her breasts, straining against the stretched material, begging for release, if not my touch. Their bulge behind the lace was indication enough for me that I was about to open a treasure I would remember for a long time.

Reaching up toward her shoulders, I slipped my thumbs under the shirt and slid it slowly back off her shoulders, letting it take over the progress under its own weight and fall to the floor. I stood back and admired the proud beauty of my Latina Woman. She was magnificent. Her shoulders were perfectly proportioned for her body type and carried her upper torso like a banner at the head of column. Her breasts pushed through her cascading hair and dared me to touch them, to take them in hand and march with them wherever they went. Her stomach and sides were sound and tight and full of energy waiting to be released, to perform any act I demanded. I could sit there and just look at this magnificent woman for an hour, and then be satisfied just to touch her.

But we didn’t have all day. We certainly had all morning, and a part of the afternoon, as far as I was concerned, but I didn’t want to miss a single thing so I began to reach for her skirt.

“Is Master not pleased?” She asked, not knowing I was already moving on.

I smiled at her concern. I was about to tell her just how damn happy and pleased I was, but decided that would be out of character. “Has your Master ever failed to tell you if he wasn’t pleased?” My voice was not angry, but stern.

There was a blush on her face and her head bowed, “No, Master. Of course not. I am so sorry.” She was almost too good at the role. I truly felt like this woman had somehow justified giving herself over to me entirely. I felt I could tell her to walk up and down the train platform with nothing on, and she would do it. It was an incredible rush to think someone would do that for me, and yet an awesome responsibility to ensure I did not mistreat her in all this. I was trying, but the role was not coming easy.

“Very well. Now,” I was a bit off balance, “Just remain still.” It was all I could do to not stutter and mumble my words.

“Yes, Master,” She responded and froze.

I looked her up and down once again. She was simply magnificent. Some would call her overweight, those people, usually women, who believe that crap in advertising that every woman needs a pencil thin body with no tits, and long blonde hair. What a fairy tale! It’s more like horror story! Some very few women look terrific in that definition, while most can’t carry it. And it’s not that they they are inadequate to do so, it is something entirely different. It’s like putting a convertible top on a limousine. It just ain’t the right thing to do! Can you imagine Gweneth Paltro in a size 8 with tits? Can you imagine Pamela Anderson without them? With all that said, this woman was meant to be a size 8, with a “10” for tits and looks! And yet, some guys would probably not look again. It’s all in the chemistry I guess, and the chemistry between this woman and me, all that mattered in the world at that moment, was nuclear.

She was looking down still, trying to avert my eyes by looking slightly to the side. But I could tell by the slight upturn in the corner of her mouth that she could see my shaft straightening in my pants. I sure hoped anyway, that was the reason for the smile.

Reaching forward, I ran my hands from the hem of her black leather skirt, up the sides to her waist. I reached around behind her just to get a sense of her glorious cheeks, and brought them back to her front. First came the belt. It unbuckled easily and the ends hung limply from the belt loops to either side. The clasp still holding her skirt followed. I felt more than heard her body budge as the tension in the material loosened slightly. Her face remained rather calm, but with just a hint of an edge emerging, perhaps just a touch of tightness in her lips.

I was enjoying this more than anything I could remember, except the previous week of course. Nothing in my life topped that experience I had decided, not for eroticism anyway.

I leaned into her enough to hold the waist band of her skirt with one hand, and pull the zipped down with the other. I wondered why she had a zipper in front, but wrote it off to a lot of other things I would never understand about women. The zipper came down easy, all the way to its bottom.

There was another barely perceptible sigh from my Latina Woman, and I let the skirt go. It dropped minutely, hung there for a moment, and she wiggled her hips once each way, prompting the skirt to fall to the floor.

“Did I tell you to move!” I was surprised at my own intensity, let alone the immediacy of my reaction.

“No Master, I am so sorry.” There was noticeable tightness now in her neck. She’d done wrong, and apparently knew it, perhaps even more than I.

I waited to see what would happen next, if anything. I sure as hell didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

“Please Master, punish me as I deserve. I must be taught I know, to obey your every command.” She bowed her head even more.

I was shocked by the words, and intrigued by her demeanor. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was truly sorry, and truly in need of punishment, not just a little spank, but punishment!

But at that moment, quite frankly, I was so deeply involved with the most recent disclosure of her body, I couldn’t have punished a crook for robbing me blind. She was wearing black, lacey, French cut panties, OVER the garter belt! I was not so dumb on this occasion as to get the hint behind that condition. I was however, even more dumbfounded and simply lost in fantasy about what lay beneath the sexy garment.

I looked up at her once again, saw her definitely more tense than before, and then back at her loins. I couldn’t see clearly enough to verify it, but I was very suspicious that the panties were already damp. With all my preparation, all my fantasizing, all the anticipation of “getting her back” in a fashion I figured she wanted, I was suddenly speechless and frozen. Here was this deliciously dressed, deliciously hot lady, standing subservient before me, and I was lock jawed. I hesitated while I reached deep down inside me for a next move.

“You are wet?” I threw the words at her angrily, “You appear before me already sexed?” I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was doing, but it seemed to be coming more smoothly the more I got into the stream. “You are wet! Aren’t you!” I rose on my feet, my body lifting me without instructions from my mind. If only, I thought, my body would show me the rest of the way through this day!

“Oh Master, yes I am wet. I am so sorry, Master. I cannot control myself. I deserve your punishment Master.” She was nearly whimpering, not moving otherwise, but certainly cowering where she stood.

I stepped around behind her once again and let one open hand fly to the right cheek of her ass. After it hit, I tried to pull back ninety percent of the force. It wasn’t something that would hurt her physically, I don’t think, but I let myself go just a bit too much. The smack reverberated throughout the living room of the suite.