The Stranger

I am alone in a motel room. I close my eyes and I remember. I'm in bed, asleep, wearing a black bustier and thong-type panties and my red satin kimono over them. The door opens and a strange man enters. Maybe I hear something but I'm so into my dreams I don't pay attention. He comes to me on the bed and ties a blindfold around my eyes. By now I'm awake of course but he whispers to me assuring me he will not hurt me, he just wants to love me.

Who he really is doesn't matter exactly. Maybe he's a secret admirer, maybe he's a student of mine; except that's hard to visualize because I imagine this stranger as being an experienced lover, which I'm almost sure my students aren't.

The man talks softly to me. He instructs me not to touch my blindfold. Maybe he fixes me a drink or opens a bottle of wine. I hear him moving about the room and my anxiety is raw. He touches me and I can feel he is wearing leather gloves. Maybe he lights a j and offers it to me. I can smell him--manly, musky, with a hint of leather and tobacco. My eyes see nothing in the blackness underneath the blindfold, but my sense of smell and of touch is heightened.

The stranger kisses me. I feel his face against mine and taste his foreign lips. I'm trembling because I'm so scared and yet--yet I'm excited too. I try to draw the blindfold past my eyes but he catches my hands gently and firmly. He tells me I can't do that and then he swiftly pulls the red sash from my kimono and ties my hands over my head so I can't pull at the blindfold. I twist and squirm; tied and blinded, I feel exposed and vulnerable. He tells me do I know how beautiful I am and he draws his gloved hand through my hair. By now I know from his gentle touch he will not hurt me and I relax a little. The wine helps too and he pours another for me. He holds it to my lips for me to drink drink drink.

This man; this stranger, he pulls the robe away from my body and lowers the top of the bustier so my breasts swell out and over the rim. Like two grapefruit, my breasts tumble into his hands, the leather cold as he massages them. Squeezing and kneading, my nipples stand out and press into his gloves. I can feel a quickening, a tiny pulse starting to beat deep inside me where my nipples connect by invisible cords to the secret place inside of me.

I moan a little. I am thinking I want him to touch me there. But he does not. I am thinking I need to be telling him to stop. But I do not. Not yet. He kisses me again and again and tells me my breasts are perfect. He knew they would be he says. They are exactly how he has imagined they would look and feel he says as his hands continue stroking and teasing until the inside cords are pulling tighter and the little quickening has become a pounding throb. Now he lowers his head and kisses my breasts, licking the nipples, taking them fully into his mouth and sucking until I am almost screaming with need for him.

But he turns me over and slides me down the bed so my feet are on the floor. I am bent at the waist, flopped over onto the bed, my thong a dark streak down the center of my bottom. He teases circles on my round globes with his gloved hands. The leather feels cold, impersonal and demanding. But the hand inside the glove is knowing and reassuring; its sensitivities slice through the leather and vibrate from his fingertips. I'm thinking I could possibly be feeling his soul through those fingertips, so heightened has my awareness become. Using his thumbs he spreads me wide and looks at me. I am embarrassed. I feel raw and vulnerable and I squirm trying to evade his hands. I can't see what he is doing. I see only blackness so I imagine he is looking at my nakedness, which of course he is. He leans against me and for the first time I feel his body against my own. He is hard and strong and I can smell his scent more intimately. His masculinity complements my womanliness and I feel the power in our sexual contrast. My need for him has become near to desperate. I don't know who he is, but I know I want to be possessed by him, I want him to invade my secret self, to make me surrender. Of course I don't tell him so, but he knows.

Instead, I tell him he must stop right now. Stop it please I say to him but he ignores me. He runs his hands around the curve of my hip and whispers all the while telling me I am soft, so soft, and do I know how sexy I am. He holds me hard against his body rocking against me like a song and I am so hot. I feel my own heat flushing my skin, his gloved hands cool as he strokes and stokes. I feel the breath he exhales on my back and I quiver against my will at the onslaught of sensation he is causing.

He flips me over to my back again, the bustier is tight against my ribs. My hands still tied render me helpless and I whimper for him to stop stop please. But the please draws out longer over my lips and becomes a begging for something more. Hooking his thumbs inside the waistband of the thong he slides it off in one smooth fluid movement.

The stranger straddles me and places one knee between my legs. I can feel my own wetness against him. I'm embarrassed to be so wet because he must surely know how I am wanting him. I can smell myself too, the pungent scent of pussy wafting to my nose embarrasses me even more. But the man, this stranger, he seems to like it because I can hear his own breath has quickened while his hands claim mastership once again over my breasts. He is pinching the nipples lightly and rolling them between his gloved fingers. The leather must be thin because I can feel the strength of his fingers, the leather does not seem to hamper his dexterity.

He moves his knee and spreads my thighs apart with his hands. I lay exposed to him and I know what I must look like. Golden blond hair in a triangular tuft over my mound of Venus; but, between my legs, the clitoris shaved smooth, sleek, naked. He tells me do I know women who shave their pussies are sexy. They are aware of their own sexuality and are comfortable with it he says. I wonder who this man is, how he knows so much.

He lowers his head and I feel his breath crawling over the curls above my thighs. I crave his tongue on me, I am insane with his knowing tantalization. At last he kisses me and licks me and kisses and licks, his tongue like wet silk sucking up my deepest secrets and I can't help myself any longer as I arch to meet his mouth. At last he takes his gloved fingers and opens up my lips. Again, I imagine how I must look to him. Fleshy, swollen, glistening.

I feel his tongue again and I am beside myself. I moan and I twist as he tells me do I know how good I taste I taste so good so good. Like honey in the sun, he says. He thrusts a leathered finger deep inside me and I burst into a thousand shimmering fragments against his palm, against his mouth. I cry out yes as I let go to him and oh yes again and again and he whispers I am a whore because I like it and I agree. I'd agree to anything now. He must know this somehow and tells me again I am his whore. I agree. I'll be his whore if that will promise me this moment for all eternity.

He lets me rest a minute. He lies down on the length on me and gently unties my hands so I can touch him. I smell myself on him and taste my lovers salt on his lips.

Then I feel him pushing hard against me, penetrating me as he drives himself into my deepest secret place and I thrust upward to meet him until our rhythm becomes singular. His hands are in my hair and he is breathing so hard and fast, driven to a frenzy by the song we are singing and I feel his warmth spreading shooting stars inside me. He has filled me so completely and I am drowning in the dizzying knowledge that this is what I was born for, that this surely is the reason for life in the flesh. Nothing else matters.

All my demons have disappeared.