Giving up Control

This trip to London had been Sven's idea. It came up almost as a dare during one of our late-night conversations. We'd both had a bit too much to drink, and he'd teased me about how little time I seemed to have for him lately. He accused me of being wrapped up in work or running around to help others--hardly ever leaving time for us. It stung, mostly because it was true. The past two years had been especially intense, and I'd unintentionally let him slip into the background of my life.

The funny thing was, Sven had always been there for as long as I could remember. We'd known each other for nearly seventeen years, ever since high school, and he was one of the few constants in my life. It was like this every time I ended a relationship--I'd inevitably drift back to him, finding comfort in the familiarity. During that late-night conversation, I'd tossed it back at him, saying he should think of something we could do together, something spontaneous.

Then, a week later, he'd called me. "You want to come to London with me for a few days?"

And now here we were, exploring the city together like a couple of carefree tourists. I could hardly remember the last time I'd taken a trip like this, one that didn't involve work or some looming obligation. Today had been perfect. We'd started the morning with coffee in a small café near Covent Garden, tucked into a cozy corner booth with pastries. I'd initially resisted going there, thinking it was too crowded or touristy, but Sven had insisted.

After breakfast, we strolled through some of London's most iconic sights. We spent hours in the British Museum, where Sven had me laughing in front of the ancient sculptures. I found myself watching him, realizing just how relaxed he looked, carrying that confident ease that had always drawn me in. Sven had a way of pulling me out of my own head, making me see things in a new light. I couldn't help but acknowledge that it was one of the reasons I'd been willing to say yes to this trip in the first place.

We finished our sightseeing at Tower Bridge, with Sven insisting that we take at least one cheesy tourist photo in front of it. "You'll thank me later," he'd teased. I rolled my eyes, but, of course, he was right. He stepped in close, put an arm around me, and we snapped the picture together, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. A simple gesture, but somehow, it left me feeling something...unexpected, a warmth that lingered even after he let go.

Now, back in the hotel room, I felt a flutter of nerves being alone with him in this small, cozy space. We'd chosen a standard room with one large bed, rationalizing that it was cheaper than booking two singles. But now, standing in the intimate space, I wondered what unspoken boundaries we might have to face.

I set my bag down and glanced at Sven, who leaned casually against the bathroom door, arms crossed, a playful glint in his eye.

"So, where are we eating tonight?" I asked, trying to fill the silence with something light.

He gave me a small smile. "Actually, I was planning to surprise you."

I laughed, a bit off guard. "Surprise me? You know I like knowing where we're going."

He looked at me, his expression shifting to something challenging. "You really hate it when you're not in control, don't you?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to keep things light but feeling a subtle tension rise. "I'm not a control freak, you know. I... I can let things go, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, you can?" His gaze stayed fixed on me as he took a step closer, the amusement in his eyes becoming something else, something deeper. "Then why don't we put that to the test? I want you to hand over all control to me, just for tonight. Let's see if you can do that."

I folded my arms, arching a brow at him in mock defiance. "All right, What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Control?"

A flicker of something mischievous across his face as he took another step forward, closing the space between us. "I dare you to lay down on the bed and let me blindfold you." he said, his voice low, yet steady. "No interruptions, no questions, no comments, just.....surrender."

I swallowed, feeling my pulse quicken. The idea stirred something in me - a mix of anticipation and thrill that felt both foreign and familiar. I could feel the words of protest rise up, my instinct to push back. But I calmed down on them. He was challenging me pushing to admit that he might be right, that maybe I couldn't let go. And yet I was determined to prove him wrong.

"Fine," I replied, my voice almost daring him. I'll do it"

I could see the hint of surprise on his face, quickly replaced by that self-assured smile. Sven was so rarely taken aback, but this small victory sparked something in me. Still, my heart pounded harder with each passing second as i approached the bed and perched on its edge. The cool crisp sheets beneath my hands grounded me, even as the room around us suddenly felt warmer, almost charged.

Sven pulled a soft, dark scarf from his bag holding it up as if offering me one last moment to back down. I gave him a slight nod, watching his movements as he stepped close and carefully placed it over my eyes. Darkness settled in, amplifying the sound around me - the rustle of his clothes, the light exhale of his breath as he adjusted the scarf, and the way his fingers lingered just too long against my cheek.

"You're sure?" he murmured, his voice a mixture of challenge and reassurance.

I hesitated, feeling the familiar sense of control slip from my grasp, but i forced myself to nod. "Yes I'm sure."

"Good," he replied softly, but there was a firmness in his tone that sent a shiver through me.

I lay back, positioning myself in the center of the bed. Every sound felt sharper, every movement magnified by the darkness behind the blindfold. Part of me arched to ask what he would do next, to fill the silence with words, to somehow steer the situation. But i knew that would only prove his point. I took a slow, deep breath, trying to keep my nerves at bay, determined to see this through. I felt the light pressure of his hand on mine, his fingers lacing through my own. It felt reassuring, grounding, but it only made the tension rise further, knowing I had no idea what he planned.

The bed dipped slightly as Sven moved closer and before I could anticipate his next move, I felt the gentle yet firm grip of his hands on my wrists. A flicker of surprise coursed through me, but I kept my mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any protest. Then came the soft brush of fabric -- a second scarf, I realized -- as he looped it around my wrists.

"Remember," he murmured, his voice close to my ear, low and calming. "You wanted to prove you could let go."

I swallowed, feeling my pulse thrum in my throat. He moved with a calm deliberation, tying ma wrists together, firmly but not painfully. I tested the knot slightly, feeling the tension in the fabric. I couldn't deny the slight rush that accompanied this loss of control, mingled with a wave of nervous anticipation. I felt the tug of the scarf as he looped it to the bed's headboard, anchoring me in place. My heart pounded and though I couldn't see him. I Imagined the satisfied look on his face. There was something about knowing he was watching me, noting every reaction, that heightened the thrill and made me feel more exposed than if I could actually see him.

"Still feeling confident?" he asked softly, his voice laced with amusement?

I forced myself to stay steady, even as my voice came out softer than intended. "I'm fine, Sven," Is this supposed to scare me?"

He chuckled, a low sound that reverberated through the room. "Not at all. It's just meant make you feel....vulnerable. Uncertain."

He was right. I could feel the flutter of nerves settling deeper, challenging my instincts to pull back. But I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. I felt his presence as he leaned in close, his breath warm against my cheek, his voice low and deliberate.

"You know," he whispered, amusement dripping from his words. "There are a lot of things I could do right now with you." A shiver ran down my spine, but I kept silent. He paused, letting the silence settle before continuing.

"For instance..." he drawled as though savoring the thought. "I could take a little picture of you just like this, with your own phone." I stiffened slightly, feeling my cheeks grow warm. " And maybe I'd sent it to your brother, think he'd like that." He leaned even closer, his hand lightly tracing down my arm, sending tingles across my skin. "Of course, there's always the option of slowly removing those clothes, piece by piece." I held my breath, aware that I was completely at his mercy.

I felt his breath warm against my face, close enough to make the space between us feel almost electric. Then, the unexpected sensation of his tongue gazing my cheek, a slow, deliberate flick, sent a shiver through me, igniting something that lingered between thrill and surprise. I bit back a laugh, my lips parted, but I refused to break the moment with words..

"Do you remember that one weekend trip?" he asked, his voice low hum beside my ear. The way he spoke, so close, made the hairs on my neck prickle. "The one with all our friends, when we all shared that big room with the bunk beds?"

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry, as if memory had been locked away, waiting to be brought back. I could see it clearly now: the early morning light seeping through the window, soft voices and sleepy murmurs filling the room.

He continued, his voice barely more than a whisper: "I was the first one awake, but I wasn't the only one. You sat up, stretched, and -- casually, as if no one was watching -- you changed your shirt." His words slowed, each one a deliberate taunt." And you knew I was awake, you knew I was watching."

My cheeks warmed, the memory tinged with both embarrassment and excitement. It still felt like yesterday, even if it was many years ago. I'd pretended I didn't noticed his gaze, yet I felt it, drinking in every move a I pulled off my shirt and put on my bra.

"Why did you do it?" His voice was thick with curiosity, but layered beneath it was something else, a desire that smoldered between each word.

A small slightly shy smile tugged at my lips, emboldened by the safety of the blindfold. "Because I knew you were looking at me." I admitted softly, each word a surrender in itself. "And....I...wanted you to look. I wanted you to see."

A charged pause hung in the air, and then he leaned in, his breath once again warm against my cheek. "Why?" he asked, his voice soft yet probing, as though he wasn't just seeking an answer, but unraveling something deeper between us.

My heart skipped, my pulse racing with both nervousness and excitement as I searched for the words, feeling exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. The truth of my feelings bubbled to the surface, leaving me without my usual defenses. "Because...because....I liked knowing you were watching me," I whispered, my voice unsteady yet honest. "I liked the way it felt, like I had your attention entirely, even if it was just that moment. All our friends still sleeping and you were staring." I swallowed, feeling the weight of the confession settle in the air? "And part of me wondered what you might be thinking as you looked."

He didn't answer right away, letting my words linger between us., his silence more intense than any response. Then he trailed his fingers lightly along my waist, his touch deliberate savoring, as he found the button of my jeans. With a slow, steady motion, he began unbutton my jeans, each button releasing with a soft pop that felt like its own quiet, thrilling revelation. His fingers brushed against my skin with each undone button, their warmth sending waves of sensation over me. Every sound, every touch felt amplified, leaving me breathless as he took his time, savoring each moment, each little bit he revealed. Bound and blindfolded, I couldn't see his face, but I could almost feel his gaze upon me. Then, close enough for his breath to tickle my skin, he leaned in, letting his lips barely brush against a sensitive spot on my neck. "Do you still like it, when I look at you?" he whispered, his voice a blend of challenge and invitation, a taunt wrapped in velvet.

I held my silence, every nerve lit with tension, letting him tale my quiet as my answer. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound.

"I'll consider that as a yes," His hand returned to my waist, he pulled both side of my jeans to the side, so he had a good view of my black panties I wore underneath. I felt a thrill shoot through me as his fingers found the waistband of my black panties, tracing along the fabric excruciatingly slow tease. "Then you surely don't mind peeking underneath..." he said, as he tugged the delicate fabric down, very slowly....further and further, until I felt the cool air against my bare skin. I couldn't believe I was fully exposed like that. A heady mix of emotions surged within me -- vulnerability, excitement and the undeniable thrill of surrendering completely. I was laid bare to him in a way I'd never been before, every breath of mine catching as I felt his eyes stared at me.

While his one hand pulled my panties down, he used his other one to gently brushing over the exposed public hair. That sensation was both intimate and tender, and I felt a new rush of warmth at the vulnerability of the moment. His voice sounded low, almost reverent. "I love it when a woman keeps this....all natural." His tone laced with appreciation, as though savoring this small revelation about me.

I felt my breath catch, his words igniting a new thrill within me. His fingers lingered for a moment longer, tracing with gentle reverence, before he carefully slipped my panties back into place, covering me once more. The next moment it all remained still. I just fell he was staring at me, his eyes taking in every shallow breath, every subtle reaction. I could feel the slight brush of his fingertip tracing the outline of my lips, feather-light, as though testing my resolve to remain silent. His touch made me shiver, leaving me caught between anticipation and surrender.

"You want me to continue?" he asked, his voice filling the room. That question left me breathless. I nodded, my breath catching in my throat, as his finger lingered near the corner of my mouth. I didn't see his face to sense the satisfaction there, the quiet triumph in my silent, willing agreement. I knew to well that with that single nod, I felt as though, I'd crossed an unspoken boundary, willingly giving myself over to whatever he wanted next his control feeling like a tether binding me to the trilling unknown ahead.

Sven stood up, I fell the subtle shift on the bed as he moved. I heard a series of quiet sounds -- a rustling, a soft thud. It sounded like he was removing his shoes, it also sounded like he took of his jeans pants, But I couldn't be sure. I don't know what he did, but it lasted a while. Suddenly everything became quiet. I had no idea where he was. Then I felt his hands near my feet, gentle but assured as his fingers found the laces of my shoes. Slowly, he began to untie them, taking his time with each knot, as though savoring the small, methodical process. One by one, he slipped my shoes off. I heard as he dropped my shoes on the floor. Suddenly his fingertip traced over the sole of my foot, teasingly slow. A surprised giggle escaped me as the touch tickled, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. His quiet chuckle in response told me he'd noticed, but he didn't rush, instead, he lingered, drawing out each gentle touch.

Slowly. I felt him take hold one of my socks. He started to ease it off, sliding it down with such care. As he slid it down, I felt a strange, almost uncomfortable thrill. The cool air of the airco brushed over my skin, heightening the sensation as each part of my foot was revealed. It was an off feeling -- something I'd never though would affect me like this. But with each slow movement, each small shift of fabric. I felt my heart beat faster.

When he eased he sock off completely, leaving my foot exposed, I felt as though I'd been stripped bare. My toes curled instinctively, a reaction I couldn't control. The vulnerability of it, of knowing he was staring at this part of me I usually kept hidden, made my skin prickle with awareness.

His soft fingers traced along my sole, a gentle, feather-light touch that sent a shiver up my spine. I suppressed another giggle as it tickled, my body betraying my reaction even as I tried to stay still. His warm hand lingered on my ankle, grounding me, and yet, with each touch, I felt my usual self-consciousness tugging at me. I'd never liked my feet; I'd always been self-aware about their -- in my eyes -- imperfections, and there he was, seeing them up close, probably examining them as though they were something to be appreciated, not hidden. He moved to the other foot, taking his time as he slid the second sock off. The process was slow, intimate, and somehow despite my usual discomfort, there was a strange allure to it, an acceptance that began to settle within me.

Now that my both feet were bare, I felt like I'd shared a part of myself I'd never intended to. And yet with his warm hand resting on my ankles, I began to let go my self-consciousness, allowing me to myself to be seen like this.

The warmth of his lips grazed he tops of my feet, each kiss slow and tender. His mouth moved with a gentle rhythm, trailing from the arch to my anke, and every touch of his lips left a tingling warmth that spread through me, pulling me deeper into the moment. My senses felt heightened, each soft kiss sending a ripple of pleasure that I couldn't see coming but felt everywhere.

I felt how the mattress shift as he moved, the weight of his body crawling onto the bed. His warmth was closer now, near my feet and then I felt his fingertips, tracing lightly over my skin, teasing at the curve of my arches and the tops of my toes? I squirmed, a breathless laugh escaping as his fingers skirted the line between gentle and tickling. The anticipation built, and with it, a sense of surrender I couldn't escape. When my foot brushed against his leg, the realization struck me: the warmth of bare skin met mine and I knew it for sure. He'd taken oof his jeans. My pulse quickened, a rush of exhilaration mingling with curiosity. The thought of him there, undressed, unseen, added a tantalizing edge, leaving me to wonder just how much clothes he'd taken off.

Without a word, he took my left foot in his hands, cradling it gently, almost reverently, and lifted it toward his face? I felt the warmth of his breath first, then his tongue -- soft and slow, tracing a line along my foot. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver through my entire body and I drew in a sharp breath, caught off guard by the intimacy of this touch. He took his time, his tongue traveling with purpose, savoring each part of my foot, letting the heat from his mouth linger. His lips moved to my toes, pressing soft, playful kisses there, and then he nibbled, just enough to make me gasp. The sensation was both tender and thrilling and I couldn't stop the slight squirm that followed, my body reacting instinctively to the tease. I could feel his silent amusement, his quiet pleasure at my every reaction.

Then, with a firm yet gentle hand, he brought my foot against his chest, pressing it flat to his are skin. The warmth of his body radiates through me, and the subtle beat of his heart pulsed beneath my sole, grounding me, making me feel connected to him. Then I realized he took of his shirt and he wanted me to know. Before I could fully process the intimacy of the moment, he took my other foot in his hands. His grip was steady, holding me in place as he lowered his mouth once more. I felt the tip of his tongue glide along the entire length of my sole, slow and deliberate, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. He explored every curve, every dip, his tongue pressing lightly against my arch, then trailing over the ball of my foot, finally finishing with a soft kiss at my toes.