Even as he thrust deep into me, filling me with his welcome warm seed, I thought about how much he’d changed my world. I’d been his for a month and I’m not sure I could now recognize the lonely lost girl sitting in a bar full of couples: the wallflower. He seemed to come out of nowhere, sucking me deep into the rabbit hole that’s his world. Lying under him now, smelling the scent of our sex, I know it’s my world, too. I could never go back, never return to my life before him.
°°°°°°°°°°
I’d always known I was different. Every relationship, every one night stand, every sexual interlude in my adult life, had left me feeling empty. Sometimes, I was more lonely in a relationship than when I was actually alone. Sure, the pleasantries were nice enough. I managed to enjoy dates, sex, even the obligatory pronouncements of “I love you”. Yet I always felt that there should be more, something to lift me above the mundane.
A castoff, a shadow, alone: that was the usual perception of myself.
Tonight was like any other Saturday night. I was going to my favorite upscale bar; a secluded bar tucked into the back corner of a restaurant where I couldn’t actually afford to eat. As always, I’d be trying to fill a void. I was on a mission, craving the embrace of a man even if, mentally, it left me feeling even more lonely. Physically, maybe, it would fill some unspoken basic need, the void permeating my life and soul.
I went straight to my favorite spot at the bar and ordered a margarita, needing the liquid courage to survive another night of people watching and wondering what I was really seeking. The bartender, quite attractive, placed a glass in front of me, making sure his hand brushed mine. Yes, I could have him, but it would be too easy, much like winning for the sake of winning. It would be just another empty victory in a string of failed attempts to feel whole.
Frustrated, I knew my lackluster experiences were not what romantic novels or erotic literature meant by passion. I wanted more. Hell, I ached for more. Lost once more in melancholy, I didn’t see him approach. No matter, I didn’t have to see him. The air around him was vibrant with electricity and the hair on the nape of my neck rose. It was as if a voyeur was infringing on my personal space, watching and waiting. Oh yes, I was aware of his presence all right.
After standing behind me for a moment, he spoke. “Turn around,” he said. “Don’t say anything, just turn around so that I can see you.”
He must be insane, I thought. Hmm… then again, maybe I should do just that, turn around — and then walk away, leaving him standing there.
But no, I didn’t. Instead, I obeyed, slowly turning around. He said nothing, simply watched. Heat colored my cheeks as he stared at me.
A grin softened his expression while he gazed at the little black dress hugging my curves. I was significantly shorter than him, even wearing my favorite stilettoes. Having been rushed for time, my hair was swept into a messy bun and a few curly tendrils hung free. I’d opted for light makeup accentuated by a seductive ruby red lipstick.
After looking me over from head to toe, he produced the most exquisite smile I’d ever seen. It seemed he approved. He reached for a hand and, without exchanging a single word, I took his in mine. It seemed different from any hand I’d held and I shivered as we touched. My small hand was lost in his and I enjoyed the thrill of my physical reaction.
He led me through the bar to a table at the back of the restaurant. The music was muffled there but the rhythm was alluring and we would be able to hear each other speak. He looked into my eyes and said only one word, “Sit.” Instinctively, I did as commanded, and sat facing him.
After another moment of silence, he spoke again. “My name is Bryant. For months I have watched you here.” Holding my hand, he continued in a matter-of-fact manner, “You’ve been in the company of so many men and yet you always seem uninterested. I see a beautiful creature, who has not found her way to be what she was meant to be.”
“Found my way, where?” I was equally intrigued and confused.
“You have not found your path to becoming what you were meant to be,” he said. “Maybe I am the one, or maybe I’m not, but I could be your answer.”
I was confused but wanted to understand his words. Mostly I was interested in what he saw in me. Desperate to quit searching for answers, I was entertaining the possibility that, for some reason, he actually might know them. My head began to swim with so many maybes, so many questions. He seemed sure of himself, yet without overbearing tones. Was he looking for a cheap thrill? Or was it more?
“I understood what you were meant to be from the first moment I saw you. I watched to see if you knew it also.”
“Then, by all means, indulge me,” I said. “Tell me what I am, where I belong, since you claim to have all the answers.”
Truthfully, I thought it impossible that a stranger could understand what my heart had spent a lifetime trying to figure out; a lifetime of searching with little success.
Yet, we talked until we were the last remaining customers. He spoke for hours about the lifestyle that he lived. A lifestyle based on dominance and submission. He spoke clearly, elegantly, and slowly as he gently held my hand. He allowed me enough time to process the information and to develop questions.
“Although often misunderstood,” he said, “it is the most loving, nurturing, intimate form of human contact and play. A lifestyle where relationships are based on trust between a Dominant and his submissive. Trust forged by love and by submission. The Dominant is as much a slave of the sub as vice versa. Without her, he has no existence.”
Once I started asking questions, they poured out. It was like my soul opened up and twenty-five years of doubts and insecurities all came out in the form of questions. A few times I blushed at the speed with which I put my queries but he clearly recognized my insecurity. In those exact moments, he’d place his hand again on mine, letting me know that it was okay, reassuring me that I was safe. His touch also sent vibes of arousal through my body. My pussy became very wet.
I’d wasted so much time dissecting my disappointment at mainstream sex, being hurt by the disappointment in a lover’s eyes, and silently crying alone in my car. I wore my loneliness like body armor. As he explained domination and submission, I felt the armor melt. He warned I had much to learn. One of the hardest things, he said, was to be strong enough to submit unconditionally, to be consensually bound to a Master.
He said submitting was to give of one’s self. The Master had to know there was nothing in the world his submissive would not do for his happiness, that she would be loyal and honest at all times. For a Master, nothing in the world mattered other than looking into his submissive’s eyes and knowing she felt loved, safe and fulfilled. He explained that a Master must know that every need is met, every doubt erased. Nothing was more important than communication and trust between the two.
No decisions or plans were made that night. We simply enjoyed the conversation — and the undeniable growing sexual tension. When the restaurant bar closed, he held out his hand. Again I accepted without hesitation. And he booked a room in the hotel next to the restaurant.
Have I lost my mind? We’d only just met and I didn’t know anything about him. However, one thing I knew for sure: there was nowhere on Earth I would rather be at that very moment…
Room service delivered my favorite top shelf tequila. He really had been watching and studying. He poured two drinks and led me to the sofa by the fireplace. I tried to appear nonchalant, but I finished my drink too quickly. He took my glass, looking deep into my eyes. My body responded as our hands touched.
“Please, undress. I want to see you. Make sure you do it slowly. I want to enjoy every nuance, every movement, and every last curve.”
Without hesitation, I did as he asked. Standing naked before him, I had never felt more womanly. His eyes drank in my naked body, highlighted by the flickering flames in the fireplace. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt beautiful. I felt desired. Most of all, I somehow felt safe.
He reached forward and ran his hands down my body. He released my hair from my bun and hungrily kissed my neck. Kissing is not an adequate description; his mouth made love to my neck.
“You were meant to be mine. You must be mine. I need you.”
I trembled and my mind raced as he spoke. I was speechless, wanting his words to be true.
That night he took me in a way I’d never experienced. He expertly guided me; every touch had a purpose, every sound had a meaning. Every whispered declaration of need brought an unexplainable response that was so foreign to me.
He did not issue commands, nor did he make demands. He quite simply introduced me to passion and left me aching for more. His presence made my heart race, my insides melt, and his touch left me quivering. He kissed down my body like he was starving, his tongue dipping and swirling around my navel. I yearned for him to touch me. I was desperate to feel his tongue on my wet, swollen labia, flicking my clit, claiming my pussy.
Mentally, I begged him to fuck me, to make me his. As if reading my mind, he trailed his fingers like feathers up my inner thighs and teased my wet slit. In a positive, assured tone, he told me to spread my legs. Again, without hesitation I obeyed. Grinning, he asked if I would trust him to do something that I would really enjoy. I quickly agreed.
Holy hell, have I lost my mind? What has this man done to me?
“Close your eyes and be still.”
I could not resist him. Nor did I want to. I closed my eyes and waited. Then I felt a silky material cover my eyes. He tied it behind my head and I wondered if he could sense my heart racing. He could probably hear it. I was instructed to lie back, trust him — and enjoy.
Not being able to see, amplified all of the other senses. I felt the warmth of his breath on my pussy. Greedily, his tongue explored my folds, licking and biting, devouring me. With every pass of his tongue, I spread my legs wider, raising my hips to meet his tongue. I mentally screamed for him to tug my clit with his teeth.
“Lie still,” he said. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
I managed to lie still and let him explore my body with his hands and mouth. Eventually, he seemed to sense that I was close to exploding with pleasure because he stopped licking and fingering my pussy. I heard him rise to stand in front of me.
“On your knees. Take me in your mouth. Be my slut.”
Slut? Did he really call me a slut? Yes, he did – and I like it. Have I gone mad?
Despite the barrage of internal questions, I again followed his request. He grasped one of my hands and guided me to the floor. I knelt on a pillow or cushion that he’d put there. He placed my hands on his firm thighs and I felt him rubbing the smooth head of his cock against my cheeks and along my lips. I parted my lips and licked.
When he pressed firmly against my lips, I parted them and took the head in my warm mouth. I licked and sucked the rubbery smooth helmet. I so desperately wanted to please him. He firmly held my head and pushed in more of his length. I gagged at first and that seemed to make his cock even harder. He moved his hips rhythmically, pushing his cock even deeper, and I really wanted him to fuck my mouth. I felt so sexy and, yes, slutty.
His cock pushed against the back of my throat and very soon he was sliding in and out. Saliva dripped from the corners of my lips and, even with my jaw desperately aching, I didn’t want to stop. His satisfaction meant more than anything.
I continued to deep throat him, moaning against his hard cock as he expertly pumped my mouth. He held my breasts and, with each thrust in and out of my dripping mouth, his grip intensified. When his cock began to swell, he twisted and pulled my sensitive nipples, each movement being firmer than the previous one. Sharp stinging sensations rippled through my body as he tweaked my nipples. It felt so good that I forgot my aching jaw.
After one last deep stroke, he removed his cock from my aching mouth. The emptiness was profound. I wished I could see the saliva covering his stiff, swollen cock. I frantically tried to rub my clit.
“Do not touch yourself unless I ask you,” he said. “I want you to lay back and spread your legs so I can admire the way your pussy is dripping for me.”
As instructed, I lay back, a pillow under my head. Then he was on top of me. Grabbing my wrists and putting them above my head, he told me not to move them, and let go. I had never felt this exposed. Nor had I ever felt so desired.
Hands and lips roamed my nakedness and little moans escaped my lips. Goosebumps covered my body and my nipples were so hard they throbbed. Without warning, he slid fingers in and out of my dripping pussy. Faster and faster he fingered me, stopping only to slide an additional finger inside. His thumb found my swollen, exposed clit and he pressed firmly, making small circles. I didn’t even recognize the noises coming from my mouth. Hungry, slutty sounds.
Hips bucking, I ground my clit against his very talented thumb. I was so close and, as I began to think I could stand it no longer, he whispered into my ear the sexiest words I’d ever heard.
“Do not cum until I say so.”
Finally, he slipped off the blindfold. I was shocked by the look of pure hunger in his eyes. No man had ever looked at me with so much desire. He withdrew his fingers from my swollen pussy and I felt the smooth mushroom shaped head press against my swollen hole. He pushed my legs back until my knees touched my ears, a position that totally exposed my pussy. I blushed but didn’t have time to dwell on it because he drove in, deep and hard.
His cock stretched my walls and he was fucking me, not making love. He pushed my legs even farther back, causing my pussy to press forward even more. He pummeled me. I never knew what it felt like to be ravished until then. Harder and harder; deeper and deeper. He was a machine and I was in heaven.
As my orgasm built, I pleaded to be fucked harder. I couldn’t get enough of him. My hands were still above my head and my legs in a position more suitable for a contortionist, but my mind was exploding with desire and my pussy was draining him with every stroke.
“Cum for me, my slut.”
Fuck, fuck, and fuck! He hadn’t finished the sentence before the years of pent up frustration culminated in the strongest orgasm of my life. Wave after wave tore through me, my body twisted and contorted. Clenching his cock so tightly, my pussy milked his orgasm. He tossed his head back, grunted, and his body convulsed while he filled my hole with spurts of hot cum.
When he’d finished, he pulled out and kissed me passionately. Lowering my legs, which now felt like jelly, he carried me to his bed. Naked and smelling of sex, I was lost in his arms, lost in his embrace. It was the night when my life changed.
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. The words he said next, would not have meant much twelve hours earlier, but now they meant the world. He kissed me again and said, “Tonight you were amazing. You were my good girl.”
That’s when the tears started to flow. Those tears were different, not tears of loneliness, but tears of deep relief. I was where I was meant to be. Still full of questions and needing answers. But I was his good girl and that’s all that mattered right then. Sleep found us quickly.
Next morning, I awoke alone, but the French doors leading to the patio were wide open. A soft breeze washed over my sensitive nipples. Then I noticed a stack of reading material and a handwritten note.
You are such a beautiful creature with so much to offer. Yet, you have so much to learn. Leaving you great reading material and you can ask questions over dinner tonight. You will find toiletries and a proper dress in the bathroom. I will pick you up at 19:00. Get busy reading. You might find you get some ideas of your own. Until tonight, be a good girl.
Sir
I smiled as I started to read the first article, already anticipating dinner. I rummaged until I found a notepad and pen for my questions. There was so much I wanted to know, but for the first time in a long time, I knew who to ask.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks: I’d just had sex and I didn’t think of it as obligatory. Nor did I feel empty or alone.
Okay, back to my reading.
Author’s note: A special place thanks to JWren for his editor’s eye and willingness to help polish the rough edges. Thank you.
