Love Is Blind

There was a word to describe what he was doing to her, and it was not a pleasant word. She was complicit and that made it endlessly complicated and perfectly simple at the same time. She never said 'no'; she never said 'yes'. She wanted him to talk to her, to tell her that it was okay. They were in this together. They pretended to be anonymous, but really they weren't. The two of them were partners in crime, and it was strangely soothing: He could be incredibly tender in the way he brushed her hair from her forehead and then incredibly overt in the way he parted her lips.

You found me, some part of her wanted to say. I want you to keep me just like this, or any other way... After all of the subterfuge and secrecy, at last she knew who he was – maybe. And that made it wonderful – maybe.

He gently placed his hand right there. He felt the heat through the fabric of her panties. He moved the flimsy material aside. His fingers played for a moment with her delicate parts before pushing inside. To her embarrassment, he slipped in effortlessly. She responded: there was a distinct "mmmm," that somehow escaped her lips. He pushed her underwear – the last item of clothing on her body - down her legs, around her ankles, and off her feet, where they briefly caught on her high heels. Aside from those shoes, she was now completely bare.

That was what gave the game away. Her soaking panties, the way his fingers slipped in perfectly, the unconscious sigh of pleasure that she gave as he touched her there; it was obvious. Her body was telling him everything. She wanted it. She loved it.

Despite her best efforts to hide from him, she was overcome by all of it. There was no denying the situation now. The mysterious note; the hotel room; the blindfold; the ties around her wrists; the forced stripping; the high heels he put on her feet; the way he bent her body to his wishes; the admonishments to not talk and just let it happen.

What he did with her simply sent her over the edge. She was mortified by the ease of it; confused by the immediacy of it. Yesterday, she was Jane-average, with only a few moments in her past to suggest the sex-kitten that today was soaking wet and waiting on the bed of a hotel room. The most shocking sex story she could tell happened more than five years ago and only hinted at the lion that lived in her closet.

Suddenly, her cravings were out in the open and it didn't take months or weeks for them to be revealed. There were no long evenings spent talking with some man filling the role of Mr. Wonderful. There were no tentative sleepovers as they approached a truly wild night, no dinners by candlelight, no phone conversations until the early hours of the morning, no looking into his eyes and he into hers. It wasn't romantic; in fact it was verging on lonely.

The seduction she craved was nowhere to be found. It happened off-stage when he wrote that note, and later when she read it and made up her mind to do something crazy and a little stupid. He caught her just right, in a pointless gesture to a world that didn't care one way or the other what she did or said - the rest came easy. If only he would let his guard down as well... then maybe this twisted and conflicted feeling could turn into something else.

She was completely exposed; she looked for a sign that he would reveal himself as well. Her body was naked. Her hands bound behind her back. A blindfold over her eyes meant he could look at her all he wanted without having to meet an accusing stare. The high heels were kinky sex-shoes that turned her legs into erotic objects and her whole person into a lusty goddess. Maybe he would speak, show his face – anything. His gamble – and it was huge one – had paid off. Her body confessed her urges. How could he know that she would fall this easily?

For the last hour or more, she had fought with herself. As he lay down beside her, completely spent, she felt his naked body pressed against hers. His breath tickled the back of her neck, his scent made her woozy with anticipation, and his heavy muscled arm draped over her middle. Her mind told her to push away and make it clear that it was wrong – so wrong – what he was doing to her, but then another voice spoke to her, and she lay transfixed in an awkward pose. Neither able to give in to him nor reject him, she lay there with him wanting an answer, and feeling like a fool for not going one way or the other.

If only her body had not betrayed her, she thought. If only she could just turn it off and pretend it didn't do something to her to be taken and needed and lusted over so completely. Because that was what she saw in him – despite the blindfold covering her eyes: a man who was absolutely crazy for her. He was insatiable. He filled her mouth with an urgency that was unknown to her. He let go of all his inhibitions and moaned and thrusted and gave into every animal instinct he had, and once it happened - with a great sigh of relief and ecstasy - it only took minutes before he was back and needing her again.

While she lay there beside him, feeling his chest rising and falling with each breath as he recovered, she tried to gather the courage to ask that simple question: who are you?

Her mind circled the possibilities; she knew plenty of men through work, through life - as both acquaintances and friends. She felt sure that she must know him, and he must know her. It wasn't random. The way he touched her and needed her to touch him felt both passionate and recognizable. Not familiar exactly, as no man had ever asked – or demanded – so much of her before, nor had anyone ever been so completely enraptured by her.

Logic said that it wasn't necessarily her, it was the act, the sensations, the pleasure that she – or any number of other women – could provide. But she doubted that judgment. There was a touch of vanity about it: When the arguing voices quieted, she felt it was all about her... and what she did to him.

She collected all the facts that she could about him. She measured his height as best she could as he lay pressed against her. He was tall. His head was above hers, and his feet below. There was hair on his chest, and it rubbed against her bare skin. He was broad shouldered. She felt like he was encircling her with his arms and chest. There was the tone of the note he sent; the location of the hotel. It all added up to one person.

But then her mind ran back to other facts. He was using her. Taking compete control of her. It was all about him as well, and what her mouth was doing to him.

And then he stirred a little, as if he could read her mind. With his head so close to hers, she half-wondered if her thoughts somehow escaped into his. He kissed the back of her neck, he brought her hair around and bunched it up in his hand and left a hint of warmth when his mouth traced down her back. His other hand moved from her stomach to her breasts and squeezed and caressed, as if reminding her that it was about her whole body, not just her mouth.

She knew she was responding; she could always pretend rejection or acceptance, but never indifference. The voice that told her to push away – you're a good girl, and good girls don't do this – went silent as his hands hungrily kneaded and teased her nipples. He obsessed her tits, and she loved it.

Against her back she felt his cock begin to stiffen and push strongly; she knew what would happen next, as it had happened before... and before that. He left her side and came around to her front. Silently, as if motivated by some subliminal cue, she opened her mouth and came closer to him. She imagined him looking at her, seeing her answer, and watching as his gambit played out again. Yes, she thought, I'm your little blow job princess.

But this time it was different. He undid the tie around her wrists, and her arms broke free. In an instant she could choose to lift the blindfold from her eyes. The thought passed; that would violate - something. Before she could acclimate, he took hold of her shoulders and pressed her flat on the bed. This was a change; her face was up this time. His hands found her naked thighs, and with a sure movement he lifted and spread her legs. She resisted with a tacit doubt; what was he going to do?

And then with a sigh, she gave in, knowing they shared a kind of trust. She felt him move just on top of her, his knees on either side of her head. It was this now. Oh, god. Just above her mouth, his cock was waiting for her.

As if teasing her, and without warning, he lowered his head to bring his lips to her skin and kissed the inside of her legs. A hand stroked and caressed her calf and then ran down to her ankle, where he felt her foot and one of the high heels.

She followed his progress, and imagined his fingers running over the length of her shoes and then finding her toes, perfectly fitting and showing out the end.

A flash of recognition went through her mind. He knew her shoe size. Either that, or he was extremely lucky in his guess, which seemed impossible. No matter, it was more confirmation – I know who you are - and she wanted to say his name to let him know some part of their balance had shifted. He wasn't anonymous. And with that she raised her hands to his hips and pulled him down towards her mouth.

The moment her lips met him and welcomed him into her mouth, she heard that same sigh of pleasure and love she had heard all night. There was no doubt in her mind: he loved what she did to him. It was about the act, but it was also about her. No other girl could ever be here, doing this, bringing in those waves of pleasure that made him push into her and ask that she take him - just like this - for as long as they could last together.

In answer, his mouth climbed the inside of her thigh and then with complete abandon found her again, right there.

It was not his finger that played with her this time; it was his tongue and his lips. He licked and teased and then seemed overwhelmed and simply planted his mouth on her, as if he wanted all of her at once and couldn't resist any longer. She felt the response, she seemed a passenger in her own body, and suddenly the primal instincts took over. Her hips rose to meet his mouth, the heat flooded, and her legs parted more. He craved to taste her, to lick and kiss and suck and gently pull at her folds with his mouth. It was her pussy, and he wanted her in the most intimate way he could experience. She pulled him further down into her mouth; all of you she gasp - and all of me.

It had been maybe three hours, and now, for the fourth time he was on the verge of losing control and just letting the rampaging needs and wants takeover... and when that happened, it moved from love to hunger. Suddenly he lost all thought for her as anything other than a sex object. He fucked her. His cock grew even more intense. His breathing changed. He grabbed at her and forced her. She sucked and let him take her mouth for his own. She was pinned beneath him; now was the time where even if she were to speak the word 'No', he would refuse to listen. Nothing was more important than her and him like this. It made her dizzy.

And then with a final titanic thrust he shot into her mouth. It must have been a painful pleasure; he quivered and shuttered and let the feeling course through his body and then moved somehow back into her with a hot pulse of sex. He wanted to collapse on her and let exhaustion replace ecstasy, but already his other-self was regaining control from his body, and he moved from over her to the side, and caved into the fatigue. She swallowed the rest of his cum and only then did she realize that she too had ridden his mouth to orgasm. That boiling, dizzy wave was him and her, together.

And again, it was him lying next to her. He flip-flopped to bring his head next to her. He pressed his body against hers. His breathing was heavy and spent. Eventually, the night would come to an end.

At last she spoke, needing to know: "Who are you?"

He answered with a voice and name she had never heard before.