Second Time Around?

I'm not sure when I noticed her presence. It was the type of coffee place she favoured, and in the city she was last reported to be living and working in...but it had been a long time so I certainly wasn't looking for her. But she was definitely watching me. Not that I made any sort of conscious decision really, but when I'd finished the meeting and finished the coffee and she was still there...

Neither of us said anything. She smiled up at me and I simply stroked her blonde hair, then closed my hand and gently pulled her up and out of the chair. "Oooooh..." "Shut up," I interrupted her, speaking quietly and smiling so as not to draw undue attention...then releasing her hair once we were headed for the door... but catching up her hand and lifting it to my mouth, sucking gently on the finger she extended past my knuckles as we left the shop. (Note to younger guys: infants suck fingers...your average female is hardwired with this weak spot—and for chrissake when she gives it to you, take it!)

By now, she had her head on my shoulder, something she had done a good deal at one time and we both knew where we were headed. "My car's..." "Shut up," I repeated, flagging down a taxi. I'd always enjoyed playing the gentleman and waiting, in part because it forced her to slide across the seat.

You have to understand this is one gorgeous woman. Blonde, tall, extremely well crafted. The type sometimes referred to as easy-on-the-eye-but-way-too-hard-on-the-heart. So it was always a pleasure to watch her move, and every guy in the area did it regardless of what 'area' she happened to occupy at any particular moment. "I did tell you I would run..."

"Shut up." The taxi was on the road. I caught her hand again and, yes, once again, slowly closed my mouth on the finger she gave me. Her sigh was audible and loud enough for the driver to check the mirror. Even more importantly, her green eyes had taken on the familiar smokey haze and her throat was working gently under the thin gold chain.

"You've known where to find me."

"From a third party. High school crap. Someone needs to teach you we're closer to 40 than 14."

The smokey eyes widened, the expression dissolving slowly into the wry-stroke-coy smile she used to challenge...and to arouse. The expression she knew how to use from long experience...

The moment the elevator closed and started to rise, I hit the STOP button. Turning to her, I took the key from her hand and slipped it in my own pocket. She was expecting a kiss, had started to tilt her head and close her eyes -- and so it was a few seconds and several buttons before she realized I was opening her chic black leather carcoat. "Shut up," I said, still speaking, as before, quietly but firmly -- and moving on to the zipper and small catch on her skirt. (Females of a certain age tend to thicken around the waist, or to grow obviously thinner. She could have been 30 still, something she always attributed to "lucky genes"). "Shut up," I repeated, placing my fingers across her lips as the skirt pooled around her shoes, then slipping two of them into her mouth when she exhaled. "Suck, and shut up."

She did. She was very good orally. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Gorgeous, and "skilled", and not afraid to explore...and that of course had been the problem. Reaching back, I punched the Start button with my free hand.

She did remember her skirt. Too late. I had her out of the elevator, one hand holding her head against my collarbone, two fingers from the other hand still in her mouth. To be honest, she didn't fight all that hard. I certainly would have released her if she had. Well, probably. Once the doors had shuttered closed, and we were a few feet down the corridor, I did move my hand from her cheek to her waist...and she simply went on sucking greedily on my fingers, smiling up at me. We both knew the room. Had been there a number of times. As the door closed, she took her mouth away from my hand with an audible "sucking sound" and said, "Now that's what I call..."

"Being led to the bedroom," I interrupted, " yes, I know. Shut up and get your kit off." I was peeling her coat off and tossing it on the nearby chair. "Uh-uh," I caught her wrist, held it firmly, preventing her from slipping into the bathroom. "Here, where I can watch."

"But..."

I slapped her face then. Not hard, but sharp. That was the moment...

Shocked, she stared at me, eyes wide, while the flush rose on her cheeks.( I don't hit women. Ever. I don't manhandle them at all, come to that. I can lay on a good hard fuck but that's within context, and with any and all spanks playful and affectionate.) So I just watched, heart in my throat...

Until she began to unbutton her blouse, quickly, her eyes smokey once again. "I know that wasn't from anger. But don't expect me to apologize either and..."

This time I simply snapped my fingers. Then shook them sideways in admonishment...

The "inspection" was breath-taking. Truly.

( In fact, I'll enclose a pic for those who request it...worth the full 1000 words, believe me.)

Believe me when I say she had not lost a thing in the two years. The rump was still tight and firm, and I slapped it several times, just for sport. The legs were superb, worth a long flowing stroke or two of the smooth surfaces. "Keep the hands up," I instructed, putting them back, fingers interlaced, behind her head. Then prising one out and giving it a quick suck. Before giving her three or four more quick slaps to the rump so the red was visible and she was quivering when I lifted first one foot then the other to examine the soles.

"You'll have to tell me. Use stop lights...green for go, orange for caution, red for stop." She was nodding her head so I held her head firmly, staring into her eyes, and said, "say it."

She did. Quietly.

Then I stepped, very slowly, around her -- finally stopping in front of her. And gave her the full slow overt visual inspection from tip to toe and back. The breasts were still as you see (if you have to pic)...the nipples every bit as hard and taut. "What's with the thatch?" Not usual this. Not at all. She looked at me, flushing slightly."It's a question...you can answer questions."

The flush deepened. Suddenly, I knew the answer. Remembered the answer actually. But I wanted her to say it aloud, so I waited folding my arms until she whispered, "I'm not sleeping with anyone at present."

I stepped forward then, fished down her left hand from behind her head and slipped the ring off the ring finger. I had recognized it as her standard no-vacancy-keeping-my-options-open but hadn't registered the meaning at first. And once started it seemed reasonable to continue the process. Not that she was a bling girl by any means, but there rings on several fingers of both hands and there was the gold chain necklace -- all of which I had her deposit in the hotel envelope, then lick the flap so I could seal it and put it away in the drawer.

I doubt she had been THAT naked in, well, forever really. She was certainly jumpy, tense now, watching me and licking her lips frequently. I turned her around to face the full length mirror of the closet doors and tucked up in behind her. We had always been a perfect fit...her head to my shoulder, my arms more than enough to reach everywhere easily...and we used to lock eyes like this in pose, even had an acronym for it. But this was different. This time there was going to be a winner and a loser, in a way, and I was playing all the aces -- stroking and tweaking her nipples, feeling and hearing the catch of her breath, knowing that was one place to work -- relishing the smooth pale flesh of her flanks, wrenching the gasps and wriggles from her tightly closed lips -- and of course there was the lush thatch to be caressed, tweaked, even twisted sharply, to more wriggling and gasps -- and she was tough, as I knew she would be -- until I slipped one finger in her mouth, gratuitously, waiting for her drying mouth to summon the saliva I most certainly wouldn't need. And didn't.

She actually brought a hand to her mouth to cover it. So I moved it to the top of her head. She was quivering, actually wobbling, her eyes still locked on mine. "You can speak when you want to cum," I whispered, nibbling her earlobe, my fingers finding all the key points in and around her pussy from memory now,"I promise to consider your requests for permission."

The sequence was interesting. Instantaneous fury, clearly visible, followed soon by stubborn mute resistance, followed by her very best make-you-feel-guilty pout, but she could not hold the latter for long, and to her credit she did not use "red", or even "orange", even after I whispered a reminder that she could -- or perhaps, more cruelly, because I had reminded her -- and in the end, inevitably, after actually holding her breath for some time, she leaned back into me, eyes no longer on mine but rather on the ceiling as she reached one hand back over to grab my head and squeeze, and hissed, "please."

So I gave her one... just one... just the quick hyper-hard desperate little orgasm that can almost break the fingers of the provoker... In this instance the one that made her squirt...the one that hit her so hard that when I let go, she settled slowly to her knees, and from there forward so that her forearms on the carpet and her lovely rump in the air...

Whack!-there were now four clear belt marks across the pale tight rump...Whack!- and the grunts were growing more emphatic with each one ...Whack!- and that one earned a flinch followed by a shudder. But still no colour statement, no comment at all in fact. Moving to the edge of the bed, I sat down and set aside the doubled up belt to untie and remove my shoes and socks. With my leg extended, I used my bare right foot to trace one of the long red stripes left behind by the belt. She was trembling visibly, head still locked to the carpet between her forearms.

"Out of 10, how wet are you?"

"8."

"So you could come again." A statement and she had enough control left not to take the bait. I got down on my knees and pulled her feet out from under her, spreading her legs and leaving her splayed face down on the carpet. From the bar fridge, I retrieved a bottle of wine. From the bathroom, I got two glasses. Twisting off the wine top I poured out two generous glasses, placing one on the carpet beside her head. She was looking right at it. "Prop up on your forearms and have a drink." She did, and was sipping wine and watching me in the mirror when I settled back on the edge of the bed and took a sip of my own. Then I slipped my bare right foot between her thighs, nudged it under, set my big toe just inside the lips of her swollen wet pussy. Her eyes were huge, fixed on mine in the mirror. "Go on," I said, raising my glass in a mock toast. "You have til I finish this wine to give yourself one..."

..."Too late." She'd been too slow getting started, reluctant apparently. Although she had gained momentum, and was now going at it with determination and her breathing was beginning to change, but,well, I was finished my wine. Setting aside my glass, I withdrew my foot, to her obvious frustration -- so I walked up her back with my clean left foot, pushing her down until her face was in the carpet and my foot on her head. Then I turned her head with my foot, pinned her, and pushed my wet foot into her mouth and said, "Clean it."

She was learning fast, went right to work. In about a minute I had my toes in her mouth, testing her gag reflex. Another minute and I had flipped her onto her back, really had my foot inside now, stretching her mouth, the strain making her face red and causing fresh perspiration to coat her flesh. "Can you hear me?" She nodded. "A choice. Suck or cum? Thumbs up for your choice." I worked my foot around some more, forced her cheeks to bulge. "Suck? Or Cum?"

I had her vote twice...and she was firm in her choice. So after a few seconds more I removed my foot, sat back on the bed and poured a glass of wine. Then I checked my watch and said, "Two minutes to cum. Go. Masturbate for me."

Once again she was reluctant, almost shy. When I announced 90 seconds she set to work for real. At 60 seconds she was in a rhythm, eyes closed. At 30, her hips were arched and her thighs stretched taut and from her breathing I thought she would make it. But when I tossed the remaining ice cold wine from glass onto her at 0 she sat up gasping, disoriented, having not made it...having not even made it to asking permission. I pulled her up by the hair and dragged her, legs wobbling, staggering, to the low coffee table near the window. Where I organized her on her knees, hands once again interlaced behind her head. She was facing the window and from the apprehension in her eyes she was afraid I was going to open the drapes. Remember she knew this room , knew there was a whole side of a highrise hotel that would be able to see what was happening if I did. I left her to ponder that possibility.

I was thinking on the fly, using what came to hand. Her panties, still damp, made a passable gag. A pillowslip, wrapped twice, an excellent blindfold. One of my shoelaces tied her thumbs together, in the interlaced position behind her head. I took the opportunity to prise loose a finger and suck it thoroughly, reveling in her sighs and trembling. My other shoelace tied her big toes together underneath her, which for the sake of balance forced her to spread her knees on the smooth surface of the table. I took the opportunity to walk my fingers around her engorged pussy lips, to dip the tip of one and find her clit, give it a slow circling stroke then another for good luck. I then realized there was too good a chance to miss, and untied her thumbs, retying them with one end of the shoelace, using the other to pull back and knot it into her hair, stretching her neck back and immobilizing her upper body. That was nice and I liked it. I was in the process of jerking the drapes open with a loud clatter, savouring her gasp. The plan was to close that same side almost immediately. Which from her position would have to sound as though the drapes were wide open. That would play on her mind, make her feel completely exposed...and since 90% of all sex was in the head it was a ploy worth exploring.

Anyway, that was when I found the long slim plastic handle for the drapes. When I had closed the drapes I eased up on tiptoe and the little hook slipped off the drapes. Turning it so the hook was in my hand, I had a crop. A crop that made a lovely crack on the table beside her leg. And life was good. Unless you were her. She was a sweating, panting, clearly terrified mess. But no colour. No mercy asked for. So I ran the smooth plastic of the crop across the hard erect nipples before dropping the tip to the tabletop between her splayed knees...tap, tap, tap...and moving it farther under her...tap, tap, tap....and raising it, hearing her breath catch with contact, and I had slid about a foot of the smooth plastic along the length of her pussy when she came. Hard. Hard enough to buck forward and snap back with a muffled scream when the stress tore at her hair and shoulders. Of course I had more smooth plastic to pull through her hypersensitized pussy and I could also push it back through from front to back and then do it all over again. By which time there was spittle dripping from her mouth onto her belly and the tabletop and I was actually a little concerned she might pass out or something so I pressed her forehead to my stomach, cradled it gently for a time, letting her breathing still. Before I began to use my crop as a crop. Lots of those little short quick strokes...back, butt for a while, back again, inner thighs, back...and when she was rocking and moaning constantly, I leaned close and said, "crop or cum?"

She chose cum. So this time I did it properly. Three fingers, hard quick consistent almost pulsing strokes into her soaking wet pussy and soon she was cumming...and cumming...and cumming...so I offered again, "crop or cum?" and went on and on, and continued until she was thrashing and begging, best she could around her panties, for "crop." Which earned her focus on the soles of her feet and her butt and her breasts and her inner thighs, and she admitted to cumming while I was cropping her, nodding her head frantically because I knew she had but had made it clear she couldn't go back to the "cum" option unless she told the truth, in fact until she told me how many times, and it was 8 and I was a little surprised but not really because she was frothing at the mouth and her green eyes were rolled right back and fluttering and I hadn't seen her like that, well, once, but this incredible. All I had to do was slap her pussy now, open palm, and she came again...

I untied her toes and spread her legs. I slid my bare foot under her crotch and she rode it to orgasm, then she licked it clean and I took advantage of the panties being out of her mouth to put my throbbing erection there. This was not her usual controlled expert oh so delicious experience. This was her out of control, for a change. This was going for it...wet and loud and sloppy and I took her head and made her deep throat, holding it in place, until her colour indicated she truly needed to breathe...and the moment I thought it was safe I went back to holding her head and driving her on. And I was close. I was so close.

But this was not where I wanted to cum.

I pulled out, used my grip in her hair to bring her off the table and over to the bed. I draped her over the footboard and slapped her ass, open palmed. And again. And again. In fact I turned it into full blown spanking, sometimes one hand sometimes both, and kept at it while she wiggled and writhed and until her rump was a ripe red colour and she was begging me to stop, to let her catch her breath.

At which point, I fished in her purse because she said she had lube. She thought she had lube. She did have lube. I squeezed it out, let it drop from a foot or so, directly until her tight little bud of anus. "NO!" I held her with one hand, squeezed more into the area. "No, please. You know I can't. Anything. Look, I'll do anything just not..."

"Use the colour, " I replied simply, interrupting her.

She went still and silent. I squeezed in more lube, used a fingertip to be sure it was in the right place. Her whole body said no. Every bit of her. But she refused to use the colour...so I lined up behind her, parted her lovely rump with my hands, held the pose for a moment, which to her must have seemed much longer, than slid my now throbbing erection deep into her pussy. Deep deep deep and held. She choked and exhaled in sheer relief. So I slapped her already bright red rump and said, "well, get on with it. Do the work before I change my mind..."

She took that direction well. She was talented, always had been -- her stamina was impressive, especially after everything the past few hours...and this time we came together, her tightening and rippling internally to enhance the experience...

The dress code was minimal. Jacket and shoes. I doubted she would find her skirt still in the elevator. "Tomorrow, same time," I took her head in both hands and kissed her, easing back afterwards a few inches to study her eyes. "Don't forget the initials." She had once offered to carve my initials in her pubic thatch. Now I would let her.

Smiling, eyes twinkling, she initiated a kiss, turning away after and letting herself out. It would be a long 20 or so hours -- waiting to see if she would in fact return.

After all, she'd been gone over two years prior to today.