My last master only wanted to humiliate me, so I let him. But it wasn't what I wanted, what I needed. He wanted me to be an object, an empty one. Why didn't people try to fill you up any more, why were they all queuing up to pour you out?
But he was different. I wore my favourite dress, not one he picked out, he just asked me to wear something that would make me feel good. It was dark blue. "Like your eyes," he said. I shivered. My cock pressed against my pants and I had to distract myself.
He picked me up and we went to dinner. His eyes brushed over me, but he was careful for them not to linger. He as delicate like that. Besides, he knew that I had been used. He had been very clear he didn't want to use me.
I 'd told him my experiences, blurted it all out over a cocktail. All we'd done was hold hands, had that one mind blowing kiss. I'd had to tell him who I was, where I was coming from, where I wanted to go. I was tired of being someone's slut. A disrespected whore. Cum swiped from the sole of a shoe. I could feel myself vanishing. Consumed by the appetites of men who would fuck me until bored. Devour me until sated. Use me until I was empty.
He had stroked my hand, then lifted my chin, looked in my eyes. "You shouldn't be afraid. It isn't right. You don't need to be, not now."
Overwhelming words. He looked into my eyes. His own were dark, his face slim, chiselled, so earnest. "You want to be valued," he said, "we all do."
The second kiss came then. His lips lingering on mine, tongue rubbing gently over the bottom lip, probing ever so softly. Enough for me to need more.
I loved dressing up. I guess I'd become pretty convincing over the years, but it wasn't until he kissed me again, and I felt the press of him, the need stirring, that I truly felt like a woman. He let me go, smiling, realising we had both been overtaken by the moment.
He'd asked me out for dinner, and here we were. Him in his black suit, me in my shiny dress. We went hand in hand to our table. When had our hands joined? I wasn't even sure, it had just been natural. "You look pretty," he said. "And happy."
The fact he noticed, the fact he cared, and the fact it was true, made it hard to react. I just smiled, mumbled a thanks. But he smiled back. He understood me, or so I dared hope. Was it too much to ask for?
I want to be a princess, if only for a day. Not a slave. Not something gaudy. I don't want to be forced to my knees. I want to float down.
I found myself trying to project these thoughts, these wishes. Foolish. But then I'd always been foolish, where had it got me?
We finished the meal, the wine buzzing in my stomach, a comfortable silence growing between us. So many little looks, though. He invited me back to his apartment. There was no sense of expectation, no pressure. He just wanted to be with me. To continue looking at me with the gentle awe I had begun to detect.
I accepted, knowing already I wanted to give him more than he would probably ask for. I was ready.
After a quiet journey, full of ore little touches, little smiles, we arrived. We sat on a dark leather couch, my skin shivering pleasantly with each and any contact. His hand found its way to my knee, which was just below the hem of my dress. He stroked it lightly, waiting for my response. I thought about tugging my dress up a little, giving him a flirtatious look. But no, I wanted him to want me, to show me that he wanted me. Seduce me, I thought, show me what I'm worth.
I just looked at him, expectantly.
He studied me. He took my hand, didn't stroke it just held it. "I want you to know I think you're special." The words took my breath away. "I think that you're beautiful, and I hate that someone didn't-" I kissed him then, before the past could sully any of this. His hand stroked my cheek. "We could go upstairs, if you like," he smiled.
I nodded, heart racing. I had never felt seen like this. As if naked while fully clothed. "Okay."
He took my hand, and then he led me to his room. My thoughts began to blur. Inside, he pulled my closer and kissed me deeper than ever. This continued for longer than I had ever known. Was kissing always supposed to be like this? I felt so happy, I almost felt sad I hadn't known till now. His hands brushed my face, my shoulder, my arms. Feeling, caressing. Never too much, never firm, never presuming. We parted, and he pulled his tie free. I hesitated for a moment, then he threw it to one side and unbuttoned his top button. I relaxed. This was different, I told myself. I was different now. He sat down on the bed, and pulled me down next to him. We kissed more, then we adjusted ourselves, lying on the soft bed together. Our limbs were all brushing each other. Legs stroking legs, bellies rubbing close. Everything was locking together at once, two objects vibrantly aware of each other. Two flowers, I thought, opening. Or was I being foolish again?
He caught the second of hesitation, and paused. "We can stop, it's fine."
I smiled, then kissed him some more. My hand fumbled for his belt, and he laughed. "Slow down, let me." He gently pushed my hands away, and moved himself on top of me. He brought his hands down and gently lifted my dress. This wasn't about him, I realised. I shivered. Oh god. I needed this so much.
My knees were almost trembling. He pulled my dress up to my waist, then lowered his face, and kissed the material of my white panties. I closed my eyes. My fists found handfuls of sheet to clench. I wanted to arc my body up towards him, but restrained myself. Slow down, I told myself. His breath was warm against the material. I felt his fingertips find the edge of the panties, and begin to tug. He paused for a moment, with just the slightest skin revealed. He found this sliver of skin that he had never seen, and kissed it keenly. I tried not to make a sound that would expose my eagerness. But the growing bulge before him would do that soon enough. He stopped kissing, fingers back at the thin material. "I'm going to pull these down," he said, voice softer than I'd ever heard it before, "then I' going to kiss your velvet skin, top to bottom."
