The Iss

"Kiss me."

Paul's voice was soft, but insistent. Quietly demanding.

Only minutes ago had we been in the coffee shop, conversing like old friends. It was our first in person meeting, though we had been chatting online for several months. His eyes had captured my attention: dark pools, the color of a stormy sea, with a depth not unlike the sea herself.

I shied away, instinctively avoiding contact with those tempestuous eyes, yet mesmerized and entrapped by them at the same time. He stepped in closer, his fingers entwined in my hair, firmly directing my gaze in his direction.

"Kiss me" he commanded with that dominant whisper of his.

Paul is retired military, an officer. He knows the meaning of discipline, of submission, of propriety and respect.

I whimpered, pulled back – shyly avoiding him. He would not let go. Rather, he moved his mouth towards mine and whispered, "kiss me."

For years I had played the Dominant role, but in the months following my husband's death I found myself exploring my submissive side. I wasn't so sure of things from this direction, but the concept of surrendering control was intriguing at the very least. Still, I was fighting this inner dichotomy.

His mouth met mine. Surprisingly gentle, pliable. My mouth formed the kiss, and planted it softly.

I had watched his hands in the coffee shop. They are broad, the skin rough and thick. My lovers have all had small hands, with soft, computer-geek skin. I thought of all the things he could DO with those hands, the places they could explore, the way his flesh would feel against mine ...

"Tongue" he whispered. He had broken the kiss by only a few inches.

Paul was comfortable in silence, which tended to open one's soul. Over the months we had been acquainting ourselves with one another, I had found myself telling him all sorts of things. He just listened, absorbed. He was learning to know me.

I shuddered, trying to look away, but his grip on the back of my head focused my mouth at his. "Tongue" he said again, this time more insistently.

There was no question when I met Paul that he would control me. He has this sort of presence that when he says to do something, you just DO it. There is no question, no "do it yourself" ... you simply do what he tells you to do.

"Tongue" he demanded.

Our lips met, and his tongue touched mine, inviting them to open. My womanhood responded as if his tongue had touched a different set of lips. His taste was sweet, so unlike the coffee we had just enjoyed.

"I am a very sexual person," he had said while we sipped lattes. "I know. I can tell" I had responded. It is a fact I had determined when our eyes first met.

But now I was trembling under his hand, our tongues dancing together, our hearts breathless from the exercise.

He tilted my chin to look me in the eye and said, "I am a very sexual person."

"I know," I whispered, barely able to breathe.

"And you are quite beautiful" he added.

I blushed and looked away. "Thank you."

He then turned on his heels and walked away. Like a gentleman, he left me wanting more, not less.

And I went home to change my panties, never again to see Starbucks in quite the same light.

*****

The above is indeed quite true, although some of the details were changed to protect the innocent, in addition to and as well as the not so innocent.

It was many months before I saw Paul again, but we have indeed not only seen one another, but also have enjoyed a number of play sessions together. Quite a number of play sessions, in fact. Hmm, oh yes. ::: sigh :::

Paul taps into a part of me few others have been able to access. If I were a genuine masochist, I'd be in DEEP trouble. He is such a sadist, who NEEDS someone who not only enjoys pain, but someone who craves it. That really is not me, not at all.

Sure, I can TAKE the pain he dishes out. It is almost an honor to do so. I just don't enjoy the pain itself, and I seriously don't crave that pain. And yet he can just LOOK at me and I will get all weak in the knees and all wet further up. And he KNOWS it, too. Dammit.

Stay tuned for further installments.