The Mystery of the Mind...

We had met in the most anonymous place on Earth, a chat room. I don’t know what it was exactly that held my attention. Maybe it was that he could spell, initially, maybe the way he wove a sentence through the air and onto my screen that kept me reading and typing back intrepid responses, or maybe it was because he was everything I ever wanted. Whatever it was, not only did it hold my attention, it demanded it with some sort of mystic authority... my imagination.

He said he was 40ish, which we all know in the droning, lying chat world means “50.” He said he had green sparkling eyes and a kindly smile. OK. Not so bad. It wasn’t the way he talked about the size of his pectoral muscles (“Not particularly large, but I’m no wimp” he said.) or the way he asked about me (“What’s your favorite movie?)...but it was the way he didn’t talk about himself, and the way he didn’t ask about me. It was if he knew, somehow, the answers. Not once did he ask the size of my breasts (which everyone knows is the third question a man asks a woman online) nor did he ask me anything about my sexual preferences or experiences. No, he never asked...He told me.

The third time we chatted he interjected into our discussion about the state of the Democratic Party a 5 word sentence that shocked me to the core. “You want to be dominated.” I didn’t understand the statement, still mulling over the state of the Presidency and that “Monica” woman who, for all intents and purposes, needed to be introduced to the spring fresh scent of Tide. When I asked, he simply said “You heard me,” and went about the business of trashing my chosen political affiliation.

That one sentence was all I remembered afterwards. Who did this guy think he was? I’m an independent, intelligent, strong woman! The thought of someone chaining me to a bed and whipping my little ass red was NOT something that I was into. Who on Earth would think so? This guy was nuts! Did I LOOK like a little mouse? OK, he’d never actually “seen” me, but I was too strong for that. I avoided him in chat with the nervousness of a Jr. High student.

Weeks later he found me again, and coolly started a conversation asking if he’d frightened me. Typing the usual *LOL* I told him that yes, his Republican rhetoric had chilled me to the bone, even though I knew what he was talking about.

“You’re from Nebraska,” he messaged me. Scanning my memory I became a little frantic. I generally say I’m from Iowa when I’m online, not knowing who or what might be out there waiting to slit my throat and stuff me into a discarded barrel along the banks of the Missouri River. When I admitted that I was a native to Nebraska he simply changed the subject.

And so it went.

For four months.

Each time we chatted I waited to see the one, singular sentence. This intelligent, funny, intrepid man knew me better than I knew myself. He told me my eyes were green, just like his, that I liked to be kissed softly, that pulling my hair gently was something that made my body ache... he speculated everything, but actually knew very little. I generally ignored the questions that rang in my head for days, pretending I didn’t hear them, and pretending I didn’t feel the connection. The scenario, as strange as it was, went on and on...those four months were among the strangest of my life. I watched over my shoulder, but no one was watching me. No new strangers in my life to tell this man that my tea should be plain and my coffee laden with pink sugar. Strange, eerie things that are beyond guessing... He couldn’t be guessing. Somehow he knew.

“I’m in Lincoln on business,” he typed. He always took his laptop with him, wherever he went. What his business was I didn’t know, but I knew he traveled. So many times we had “chatted” while he sat in exciting places that I’d never been able to visit. New Orleans, San Francisco, New York....but Lincoln??

“Meet me,” he typed in the private world of MSN Messenger.

My blood ran cold and boiled over at the same moment. This man who knew so much but knew nothing wanted me to drive to Lincoln and...and...and what? Screw him just because he could type a sentence? He had to be out of his mind. I told him so in terms that could never be deemed uncertain.

“You’ll come,” he said. And I knew I would. Just the fascination of seeing him for real made it impossible not to. “We will be in public. What can you lose?” The conversation ended with my “maybe” and his set of instructions. He would wait for me. I would wear a black dress and heels with silver dangle earrings and carry a silver colored umbrella, just so he’d know me...IF I CAME. “You’ll be there, and on time”, he said. Damn him. But he was wrong. I wasn’t on time.

I was early.

I arrived in Lincoln at 7:45 the following evening wearing a deep violet dress. I wasn’t about to let him tell me what to wear! I figured if he knew me like he thought he did, he would know me, even without benefit of me ever scanning in a picture of my mischievous smile or my brunette hair. I walked into the restaurant, one of my favorites, and took a seat at the bar scanning the crowd for a face that might seem strangely familiar. None did. My legs crossed and uncrossed nervously as my panties began to moisten with...what? Fear? Excitement?

Shrugging, I figured I could take my time and eat up the rest of my early arrival with a couple of glasses of the house white zin. After the second glass I was very relaxed like I always am after just a little bit of vino. My chair swiveled around to scan the diners and the people waiting when the Maitre’ D came toward me smiling. “Good evening, Madame. Your table.” And with that he gestured and began walking toward the very dark, very sexy back of the restaurant. I didn’t have a chance to argue. I just clutched my purse and tried to keep up, heels clicking on the cream ceramic tile.

After being led to the very last booth in the back, he gestured toward the seat and helped me sit down. Champagne chilled next to the table and the candlelight shimmered off the pale lavender rose in the tiny vase centered between shining silver and beautiful white china. “The gentlemen will return momentarily,” he said and was gone with the slick magic of any good service person. They could disappear so quickly that you forgot they were there.

I fiddled with my necklace, smoothed my hair to make sure the pins were all arranged in order and looked nervously around the room, hearing the tinkling of good crystal and silver and the hearty laughter of a group of rather rowdy businessmen coming from the room’s center. I tried to look cool and aloof, but kept scanning, taking a sip or two of water to soothe my now parched and constricted throat. There was still time to run...

I felt my legs tense as I readied myself for my flight from the restaurant when a man approached my table. Beautifully tailored double breasted sharkskin gray suit, perfectly waved hair and a gold watch that caught the candlelight as he strode self confidently toward the table.

“Brit?” The timbre of his voice chilled me to the core. It rumbled from his chest and across the 18 inches between us like thunder from a distance...and we all know when we hear thunder in the distance, there is a storm brewing.

Shaking myself from the storm imagery I smiled my best smile and held out my hand toward his, checking my nails, my gold bracelet and my hands, worried that I wouldn’t look as perfect as I’d like. My other hand went to my hair again (a nervous habit) and felt for the pins.

“Now now. Stop that.” He took my hand and softly pulled it from my hair. “There is no need to worry. You look absolutely perfect. And may I say, the violet dress suits you much better than the black I requested.”

I blushed and laughed a little, loosening up slightly as he sat and poured the champagne into each of our glasses. His voice wafted above the table and toward me, talking about his plane trip, the Lincoln Airport and the fact that his hotel was absolutely lovely. God help me, I wanted to see it for myself.

I cleared my throat and began to talk back, finally breaking my amazed silence. I’m not sure whether I was stunned by his looks, his voice or the fact that he was actually HERE. Talking and typing to someone online is always exciting and fun, but the people remain a mystery—just a shadow, until you meet them in person. And in this case, the mystery deepened.

Dinner was absolutely lovely and the conversation made me more and more comfortable. Not one single sentence frightened me or shocked me. Perhaps that was simply his online persona? We all have them. Maybe he’d guessed his best guesses behind the shield of the computer. But I knew that was wrong. He was just waiting.

“What shall we do now, Brit?” Dinner over, champagne gone and dessert politely refused. What to do, what to do...

“How about a walk?” I suggested, thinking that I needed to cool off and get some extra energy out of my system. He agreed to the idea and we left the restaurant with a flourish, all of the women watching him as we departed, his fingers lightly caressing my bare elbow, steering me toward the street. The touch was hot...like lightning...the jagged edge of heat trilling up my arm and into my chest, catching my breath mid-exhale.

Outside the air was crisp and cool on this October evening. We walked and talked, ending up at an outdoor art gallery filled with statues and angry metal sculptures. The cool grass tickled my toes through the open, heeled sandals and I wiggled them slightly as we stood in front of each statue, discussing the use of line and movement.

Just then the sky began to flicker, streaks of lightning bolting across the horizon and above us, threatening to swoop down and electrify me even more than I already was. The first drop of rain touched my cheek and his hand gently brushed it away. “Thank you,” I said, struggling to recover from his touch like a lady...

And then suddenly, the lightness of the evening that I had worked so hard to grow comfortable with was gone. Our eyes locked mid-sentence and I faltered, my breath catching deep inside my throat and refusing to be expelled. As his lips descended toward me, the world kind of swirled around me and my eyes closed...so close...I could feel his breath when he spoke. “I won’t hurt you. Come with me now.”

I opened my eyes, entranced, hoping that he would kiss me now, but there was no sign of it as he grasped my hand and led me through the darkness toward the street. I couldn’t speak as he hailed a cab and gave the driver instructions, turning to smile at me slightly.

When we reached the hotel he stopped at the front desk briefly, speaking to the girl behind the counter softly before again pressing his fingertips to my elbow and steering me toward the elevators.

1...2...3...4...5...the elevator rose and rose, the small amount of air seeming to run out as we ascended for what seemed like forever. When we reached the top floor, the elevator clicked and clanged and he slid his passkey through a special slot, the elevator opening to his private suite. No hallway with ugly carpet here. No children running the halls looking for the swimming pool. There was no one on this entire floor but us. My blood boiled again, then ran chillingly down my spine.

He led me to the living room and gestured toward the couch. I sat down immediately and must have looked like a frightened kitten, eyes wide, breath shallow. When he strode to the wall and opened the dumbwaiter and pulled out another bottle of champagne and glasses I let my breath exhale, telling myself to breathe. Slowly. Take it easy, Brit.

Suddenly my brain kicked in again and conversation was restored. “Lovely suite,” “Yes, I know,” “Business is obviously good...” And on and on went the small talk, flowing almost as well as the champagne. At one point I giggled and he laughed at me, taking the glass from my fingertips and letting it settle on the coffee table. “Not too much, now Brit. I want your faculties fully intact tonight.” I giggled again and asked him why and he answered, the thunder back in his voice, rumbling low. “You know why, Brit. Don’t you think it’s time we begin?”

I nodded, mute again, afraid and excited, my panties again beginning to moisten at the thought of sex with this beautiful, sexy man. He led me into the bedroom and kissed me passionately then, his mouth playing across mine with deliberate slowness, the sensual feel of his champagne tinged tongue playing against my lower lip, then inside my mouth making me dizzy. I wound my arms around his neck and let my fingertips bury themselves in his hair, nails grazing softly against his scalp and down the back of his neck.

The cool zipper of the violet dress slipped down my back, then down to my waist and hung open as his hands slid gently inside, the slow movement of his soft fingertips burning a trail up and down my spine as it again and again slipped across the silk of my bra then down to the matching silk of the top of my panties. I reached out for his shirt and he stepped back, hands out slightly in invitation. I softly slipped the buttons out of their homes over and over until his chest was revealed to me. He pulled the shirt from his suit pants and I slid it off his shoulders letting it drop to the floor before running my fingertips across his chest, tangling in the soft mat of hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off him for the longest time, and continued my slow exploration until suddenly he gripped my wrists tightly and told me enough was enough.

Amazingly enough, I was not frightened, only excited with the green flash in his eyes. Had it been anger I would have screamed bloody murder, but the flash was...was...what was it? Power? Passion? Both, I decided, and my pussy began to pulse.

He turned me around firmly and reached his hands into the gap in my dress, pulling me tightly against his chest, his hands cupping my breasts through the soft silk of my bra before pulling the dress from my shoulders and letting it fall. The silvery silken lace covered my hard nipples and he held me against his front, caressing them through the covering for a moment, breathing softly against my neck. The hook at the front slid open with a twist of two fingers and the lace fell away, revealing my breasts to the cool air. He did not touch my nipples like I wanted him to. God I wanted his hands on me, his mouth on me...but instead he turned me and summed up what he saw before him with a single, satisfied smile.

I began to speak and he put his hand to my mouth, indicating that he wanted me quiet, then slid to his knees in front of me, looking up all the time. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you Brit?” When I nodded, he smiled again and allowed his index finger to trace the top of my panties, teasing me terribly. “Can I feel it, Brit? Do you want me to touch you?” I hesitated and he spoke more forcefully this time “I can smell your honey, Brit, don’t lie and don’t hesitate. Answer me.”

“Yes” I whispered and his index finger trailed down slightly until it reached the very core of my pussy, so lightly that I only felt it graze my clit through the material for an instant before it was gone. “Hmmmmmmmm. You’re wet, but I know you could be wetter.”

Leading me toward the bed I wondered how I could be any wetter. This man had me so turned on and turned around that I could barely stand it. I could feel my heartbeat in my clit and felt my panties soaking through with my passion. As he laid me down, he spread me eagle on the bed, lying between my legs, his erection pressing against my leg. If only he would move just a little... and I squirmed. “No.” He spoke so softly I almost missed it in my need to have his body in contact with my clit in some way. It was then that the total weight of his body held me to the bed and the silk scarves appeared out from under the pillow. I struggled, but to no avail. I asked what the hell he was doing when he started to tie first one wrist and then the other to the headboard, but he just smiled at me and went about his work.

“You know you want this.” was all he would say to me, and when my wrists were securely bound, he began on my ankle, placing all of his weight on my other leg to keep me from kicking. Then both legs were bound. I had some slack and struggled briefly. Then he came to sit at the head of the bed. “This is for you, Brit. This is all for you.” and his mouth covered mine again, slowly dancing across mine, his tongue soft and strong inside my mouth. I fought for just over 10 seconds before I began to drown in the sensation of his mouth.

“Good girl,” he said as I let my mouth explore his, my hands straining to touch his face, but they wouldn’t reach. “No...no...for you.” Was all he said for the longest time.

Moving his mouth from mine his tongue and lips began their slow descent...across my cheek bone, soft warm kisses leading toward my neck and that special spot just at the base where I’m sure he could feel my pulse racing. I moaned softly as he tongued my heartbeat like a cat, slow and warm. Then down my chest, avoiding my nipples completely and kissing and licking the underside of my breasts so softly it felt like a feather. Over and over he kissed and nibbled my breasts, leaving my nipples barren of kisses, leaving them straining and hard...aching for the touch of his hands, his mouth, his chest, anything. They felt so sensitive that when he changed positions to kiss beneath my other breast simply the feeling of his warm breath gliding across the nipple made my pussy pulse harder and my back arch as a moan again escaped my gasping mouth.

“Stop...stop...t—teasing me.” I gasped the words out between moans and I heard his chuckle from the dim room. “Ah, but my darling, that is the point...for now.” Again the thunder erupted in the distance, lightning dancing through the open curtains and across my naked body. God, I prayed for the storm...but which one?

He made his way down my body slowly, slipping his warm tongue in and out of my navel and drawing circles on the warm flesh of my belly before he sat up and walked away from the bed. I responded by begging him not to stop and he simply turned around in the dim light and smiled, flicking on the light switch. The glare burned my eyes and I shut them hard, blocking out the light. Now I was totally vulnerable, he was looking at me like he surveyed the art in the park, with interest. He began undressing completely now, discussing, of all things, the curves and lines and power of my body, much as he had discussed the cold metal structures twisted into art. I was terribly self-conscious, knowing that my body, which looks fairly good in a dress, is not something Playboy or Penthouse magazine would clamor to publish. He sensed it and looked at me, annoyed. “You’re beautiful. I won’t have that kind of thoughts while you’re mine.” That was all he said, but for the first time, I almost believed someone. It took a full 30 seconds of him staring at me before I comprehended how “his” I was. I wanted him inside me so badly that the bedspread, so soft beneath me, was feeling moist...

Naked, his cock fully erect and beautiful before me, I thought my fulfillment was well at hand.

I was wrong.

(To be continued...)