After an hour of drinking and schmoozing with my three girlfriends I'm horny and looking for a hook-up. I've dressed in a way that usually works--tight toreador pants, high heels, and a nylon, snug button-up top that accents my perky tits, especially when I leave top three buttons undone. I think it's "sexy-classy", but my girlfriends rolled their eyes when they saw me. Screw them. I'm the one who usually gets hit on first. I'm twenty-seven and won't look this way much longer. Sooner or later, I'll meet the right guy and settle down.
It's late and the hotel lounge is nearly empty. The trio dance band is about to quit. A lone man at the bar has caught my eye. He's big, very big, at least six-six, and not fat. I'm only five-five and have never been with a guy like that. He could throw me around and have his way with me any way he wanted. Yum...
He's looking our way, and I give him a smile, in spite of the fact that he's probably ten years older than me. A return grin materializes on his handsome face. I turn away shyly. If he's the confident type I like, and if he likes what he sees, he'll come over to our table. I make it a point not to look in his direction.
"Uh, oh," says my friend, Susan. "I think we are about to have company. My goodness he's big."
I turn and find he is standing over me, ignoring the other girls. "Let's dance," he says in a way that's more of a command than an invitation.
"Okay," I reply. He takes my hand. We walk to the dance floor. "The music stops at eleven," he says in a deep voice. "We have only time for one dance to get acquainted. Put your arms around my neck and look at me."
"Yes, sir."
I can't believe I just said that. It just came out. Was it meant to make fun of his brazenness? Or did it come from somewhere else? In any case, my arms come up.
"My name is Carl," he says, as he rests his huge hands on my hips. We sway to the slow music. I feel the eyes of the musicians on us. They may have been on the verge of stopping, but not now. The predator has pounced, and they want to see what happens.
"I'm Shawn," I reply nervously. "It's usually a boy's name, but not always."
He chuckles. "You are definitely not a boy. What are your measurements?"
I'm shocked. "That's not an appropriate question to ask a girl!"
"You are tired of appropriate questions," he says with a grin. "You're seeking authenticity with a compatible partner."
That's true, but not with a strange man in bar.
He continues. "You're in your late twenties, unattached, exploring life. And something is bothering you."
"Oh, what is that?" This guy is putting me on, but I go along.
"The difference between your fantasy life and your real life."
Bingo. How does he know that? I look at him in a new light. Is he some kind of shrink? He's obviously a well-educated professional of some type.
"That's an interesting speculation," I say. "Are you a psychiatrist?"
"No, just an observer of human nature. And a lover of women of a special type."
A special type? What does that mean? Alarm bells are ringing.
"What do you mean, 'special type"?
"A woman who is curious, open-minded, adventurous, willing to take risks, and is of course good looking."
I laugh, relieved that he hasn't said something offenseive. "That describes a lot of women, including me, I hope...not so special."
He responds with a knowing smile. "I'm holding back describing a few other characteristics."
"I'll bet you are," I tease. "You're probably a married man with three children on a business trip, looking to pick up an innocent young thing like me."
"Wrong. I'm not married, or even, as they say, 'attached'. I'm a seeker, like you. I hardly think you are an innocent young thing."
He pulls me a little closer, and I let him. My heart is pounding. I'm wildly attracted to this guy, and his blatant assertiveness. But I know I should be careful. Weirdos come in all packages.
We shuffle around the dance floor, body to body. He's a smooth dancer, controlling and easy to follow. After a few turns he lowers his head to speak in my ear. "I'm staying in this hotel. When the music stops, we will walk to your table. You will say goodnight to your friends and come with me to my room. There you will answer any question I care to ask and do whatever I tell you to do. We will have an unforgettable experience together. I have a sense about you, and I'm seldom wrong."
I'm flabbergasted. No man has ever come on this strong right out of the gate. And he makes no bones about expecting to dominate me. It tingles my toes. I just look at him.
"Of course, you are hesitant," he says. "You've just met me. I could be a misogynistic serial killer. You have to make a snap judgment, trust your instincts. You will not be harmed."
I believe him, probably because I want to. My fantasy is to be sexually dominated, and no boyfriend, or girlfriend, has ever come close. Finally, I find my voice.
"What is this 'sense' you have about me?"
"You are brave. You're not afraid to purse your desires."
A chill runs through me. Am I really brave enough to go with this man? The music stops. My arms linger on his shoulders. He squeezes my hips and stares down into my eyes.
For a long moment neither of us speaks. Then he steps back, takes my hand, and walks me back to the table where my girlfriends have been watching every move. He addresses them as a group.
"Shawn and I are going to my room for a nightcap. It's room number 942. She'll call you tomorrow."
They stare at me with their mouths open. I've made my decision. "Don't worry," I say. "This is my new friend, Carl. He promises to take good care of me."
They are too dumbfounded to reply. Carl turns and, still holding my hand, leads us through the door and toward the elevators. "It was a good idea to tell them your room number," I say. "They'll know where I am and worry less."
He laughs. "I could've given them any number, but it's the right one. You think they'll come up to check on us?"
"I doubt it. We've all gone off with men in bars. But never this abruptly."
We enter the elevator. The doors close. I expect him to kiss me, and he does, pulling me hard against him with his hands on my ass. My body comes up off the floor as I cling to his neck, my mouth open to receive his tongue. I surrender to him and match his lust with my own.
The doors open on the ninth floor. He releases me and again leads me by the hand. It's like I'm a little girl being dragged home to be punished. We reach 902. He drops my hand to retrieve the keycard from his pocket, clicks the door open, and pushes me gently into the room. The door closes with a substantial click. I hear it as a signal of my vulnerability.
The room is a suite, with a bar, full kitchen and sitting area. I see a portion of a king size bed in an alcove off to the side. The sitting area has a small couch, a coffee table, and a large upholstered chair with an ottoman.
He leaves me standing by the door and walks to the bar, where a bottle of champagne is leaning in a bucket of ice. He has obviously prepared to bring a woman back to his room. It makes me feel cheap and special at the same time. He pours two glasses and hands one to me.
"I've already had quite a bit tonight," I say. "You don't want me falling asleep."
He chuckles. "No chance of that. Drink it down. I want you relaxed."
"Is it all about what you want?"
"Yes. And what I want is to make you crazy with desire to please me. You will have no choice, and having no choice will make sex better for you than ever before. From this moment you will respond to all my commands with 'yes, sir'. Failure to do so will result in physical punishment."
I shudder. What have I gotten myself into? I take a step back. "Are there no limits? What about a 'safeword'?"
"You won't need one, but if you say 'Chicago', whatever we're doing will end, and you will be free to go."
"Why 'Chicago'?"
"It's easy to remember and not likely to come up in conversation."
The fact that I have a 'safeword' is reassuring. I gulp down the rest of the Champagne. The alcohol hits, and my arousal goes up a notch. The last of my inhibitions fade into the background. I stand before him, ready to follow his orders, excited and anxious at the same time.
"There are two bathrooms. The one through that door is yours for the duration. Mine is off the bedroom."
Thank goodness. I need it. "May I use it now, sir?"
He smiles. "Be my guest. I will do the same. But when you come out, I want you in your slacks, shirt, and heels, but nothing else. No underwear. Is that clear?"
I gasp, imagining what I will look like in this outfit with nothing under it.
"Yes, sir," I say and head for the bathroom.
Never has a man played with me like this. It's always off with the clothes and onto the bed. I'm stirred by the idea of being naked under the thin material of my pants and top. He will see the outline of everything, and any touch will be intimate.
It takes me about five minutes to re-do my outfit and fix my makeup. I pull my shoulders back and look in the full-length mirror. My bra-less breasts stand tall, outlined clearly in the silken top. The high heels and tight pants do their job of highlighting my basketball ass. I'm incredibly turned on, and I look down to see a damp spot on the crotch of the toreadors.
I hear faint music. Carl must be setting the scene for my ravishment. I open the bathroom door. The music is louder, and I recognize it as Ravel's seductive Bolero. I've fantasized about being fucked to this piece. No doubt that Is about to happen.
The lights have been lowered. Carl is standing next to the upholstered chair, looking at me over his Champagne glass. He's wearing nothing but the short terrycloth robe provided by the hotel. I'm surprised. Usually, my boyfriends are the last to get undressed. Carl is accessible with a simple flick of the robe. That awareness adds to my excitement.
He points to the place in front of the chair and pushes the ottoman aside. "Stand right there," he orders.
I comply, and he sits in the chair. "Come closer," he orders. "Stand between my legs."
I shuffle forward until my knees but up against the chair. His size puts his head at the level of my breasts. Reaching out, he traces the outline of my body with his fingertips. The thin fabric slides over my skin. I shiver as his hands roam lightly over my tits, groin, and thighs. His long arms reach around my hips, allowing his palms to lightly cup my ass, assessing its shape and texture.
He returns to my breasts. Fingers and thumbs close lightly on both nipples. I moan. My pussy is now soaking. The pressure increases.
