This is the second installment of 'Meeting Me at the Ritz'... it's better read after reading the first. We continue as Michelle, the redhead has just been (wo)man-handled by The Reverend's wife while sitting at the bar. After reading, I encourage you to vote on my writing, and to comment if it so pleases you.
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"You're welcome, Honey. Now, if I may?" and she nodded to your lap, her hand still clenched there by the power of your thighs, her finger still slightly inside of you, her palm covering the red patch of pubic hair you were so proud of.
"Oh." and you loosened your grip on her. She pressed her finger against you one more time before sliding it up 'her' crevice and out. You wondered what she'd do now and that question was answered quickly as she took her moistened finger and put it to her mouth. Pulling it in her full, brightly colored lips covering it completely and sucking on it before sliding it out pulling her slightly with it, you imagined her giving head. How good those lips must feel around a man's penis, or, in the case of a dominant man, his cock.
It was interesting how much difference a word made you thought. Penis/cock, they both referred to the same part of a man's anatomy but they were very, very different. While a penis was nice, and every man had one of varying size, length, hardness, and stamina, not all men had a cock. That was much different.
A cock was a tool. It was something to be admired, something that was altogether different. Much like the sword of a samurai warrior it was unique. Stronger, more powerful, feared and respected. It was a symbol of the man behind it. While the size, and shape might be the similar to other men's, the man wielding such a tool made all the difference. He was masterful. He used his mastery both to subdue, and to lead those he came in touch with. Those he commanded. "Yes." you thought, those he commanded. For even those that were not aware of your personal relationship, any submissive's relationship to her master, even those were somehow under his command. They were aware without knowing what it was that drew them to him. He, himself, held the power. And you were addicted to that power.
Just then you felt something at your lips. It was Michelle's other finger. Her long, black, index finger perfumed with your own juices. You smelled it just before she touched it to your lips which, unlike hers, were painted a much softer color. A light pink tonight. You'd been careful to chose this color, and to apply it the way I liked -- not to thick, just reaching the edges of your nearly perfect lips. And you opened up your mouth... a bit more than it needed to be opened for her finger, like her finger was my cock entering your mouth, you let it slide in and then pressed your lips to it holding it there while your tongue did it's magic. Pulling on it slightly you swirled your tongue around the finger, cupping it and then circling it. You reached up and held her wrist steady as you made love briefly to her finger finally pulling it out of your mouth and kissing it lightly.
"Mmmmm, mmm, girl. You got it bad!" "He's a lucky man... and you, I'm thinking... you're a pretty happy girl."
Part 9
The Reverend Jerome asking "How are you girls doing?" broke the trance you were in and brought you back to the situation. Here you were at the Ritz bar, your skirt draped down along with the sides of your suit coat nearly all of you frontally exposed. In fact the only things covering you were a small part of your coat where it was buttoned and the waist of your skirt which hid the garter though the straps on top of your thighs were clearly visible for a couple of inches, and the chain. The chain, which covered nothing, but said volumes about you. About you and I. And about our connection.
Discreetly you picked up the napkin laying on the counter and shifted it into your lap covering you there where the rule about shifting your skirt kept you from lifting to move it in order to provide some modesty.
"We're doing well, Reverend. Your wife and I are enjoying getting to know one another. "
"Well, watch yourself." he responded "She can be a bit of a handful."
"You have no idea who's the handful." you thought to yourself. "Thanks for the warning, I'll watch myself."
"Well, with that, I think I'll excuse myself for a moment." Michelle said as she got up to head to the ladies room "You coming dear?"
A thought in your head told you that I wanted you to stay and, not being sure, you took the safer route. "No thank you, Michelle. I'm fine."
"OK girl. Behave yourself now."
"Oh my God." you thought, if she only knew how well you'd been behaving yourself tonight. How each of the incidents of the evening were of you being mindful of your promises and our agreements. How, where before meeting me, each of these things were fantasies but now becoming realities in your life, both on daily basis, but more so on those special occasions when we went out for 'fun'. How tonight all the things that had happened, including her opportunity to explore your flame red patch, were aspects of you being a 'good girl'.
You looked around. Where was I? You were now alone with the Reverend Jerome DuToit it seemed. Oh, yes, you'd sort of overheard me saying that I had to make a quick call when Michelle was removing her finger from your mouth. That meant I'd have gone outside since the band was still playing.
"It seems we're alone now. Would you like to dance?"
Thinking it would get you off the stool and your current predicament with your skirt you replied "Sure. I'd enjoy that."
The Reverend, he liked being called The Reverend, led you to the dance floor. As it happened the song the band was playing was a Barry White tune. Even without a man around Barry White stirred something up in you. His voice, baritone, soft, compelling reached deep inside of you and, if you closed your eyes, you could imagine him singing just to you. An audience of one. The song was one which wasn't fast, but it wasn't really slow either and you wondered how The Reverend would want to dance. Part of you hoped it would be apart, for you enjoyed the energy of fast dancing but part of you knew that wouldn't be a good idea. The singular button on your coat would most likely unbutton itself leaving you, and your chain, exposed to the entire dance floor and you'd have to act as if nothing had happened until the end of the song, your breasts bouncing with the music, the chain flailing around, a silver 'Here I am!" piece of jewelry that would stop conversations and have people turn to watch.
No, that would not do. So, as soon as you got to the dance floor, you put your arms around him and started the dance. The Reverend was a large man. His build the powerful build of an athlete but his days of playing ball at the college level were long gone. He'd put on weight. A lot of it. Still at 6'4" and nearly 300 pounds he was a force to be reckoned with. You placed your hand in his and it was smothered. There was no way you could even hold his hand, it was like grabbing onto the trunk of an oak tree. But he moved with the grace of a professional. His steps light, knowing. He led you around the dance floor as if you'd been with him your entire adult life.
Maybe it was Barry White, maybe it was the comfort with which you were dancing with this powerful man, but what you were sure of was that your eyes were closed and you were lost in the music when you took his hand, the one holding yours and pulled it close to your chest. He didn't resist this move at all. Rather he pulled you closer to him. His right arm around your waist and his left now cradled in yours the backside of it touching the side of your right breast.
His girth was something you couldn't get used to. Your arm reached only part way around his back and it was hard for you to reach the top of his shoulder, but in the moment it was just possible. The muscles of his shoulders were still huge. As you danced in this fashion it happened again. The button holding your jacket together popped and the jacket spread open. Not to worry though, draping down it hid your hand holding his close to you and no one else could see.
And Barry was singing.
Lost in the song, lost in the dance, lost in your nakedness under the open jacket, you were in your own heaven. Not thinking rationally, rather being primal in the moment, you let go of his hand and turned his around pressing it against your breast, holding him there tightly. Thinking to yourself how small you must feel compared to his wife.
You'd always been proud of your breasts. "The girls." you called them, and you pampered them. Massaging them throughout the day, putting lotion on them in the evenings. Large for a slender girl like you, they were nothing like The Reverend must be used to with his Michelle. Still, you knew how much men had enjoyed whenever you'd allowed them to play with the girls.
And now, on the dance floor of the Ritz Carlton, you were inviting a stranger to do just that. To play with the girls for the rest of the dance. How could he resist?
