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Finally. It was the text she’d been waiting for.
~There’s a cafe in the hotel lobby~ she texted back. ~Do you know the one I mean?~
~I do. 6:00?~
~Make it 6:30.~
~What was that?~
~Miss! Yes, Miss.~
Emma smiled to herself and rolled her eyes. It was too easy, really. But that didn’t erase the little frisson she felt every time he called her Miss, or alluded to that secret, darker part of her.
~I’ll see you at 6:30, then. Do not be late.~
Emma checked the clock and made a few mental calculations as she pulled on her jacket and hurried out of her office. She would need every minute of that extra half-hour to get everything set up.
When Jack arrived at the coffee shop it was 6:25. He wasn’t a man usually known for his punctuality, but here he was, five minutes early. This girl did something to him. He looked around the space, trying to spot Emma’s dark hair and glasses in the crowded room. It was like Where’s Waldo for hipster academic types. He didn’t see her anywhere, though, and the minutes were ticking down. He checked his phone–6:31 pm and no message. Butterflies fluttered low in his stomach–she was never late. Was this a test?
~I’m here, where are you?~
A minute later the reply came through, and the butterflies really made themselves known.
~Go to the hotel desk. They’re holding something for you under the name David Robert Jones.~
He was about to respond when another message slipped in under that.
~Don’t ask any questions.~
When he gave the name at the desk, the concierge handed him a thick envelope of heavy, cream-colored paper without a second look. Not a Bowie fan, I guess, Jack thought to himself as he slid his finger under the flap and emptied the envelope’s contents into his hand. Out fell a plastic keycard and a piece of notepaper whose smooth stock matched the envelope. On it was written the number 403. There was nothing else on the card except a small x signed in the lower corner. As far as invitations went, it was simple, straightforward, and essentially irresistible. He walked quickly toward the elevator bank, the warmth of excitement and arousal coming upon him in a sudden wave that sent a shiver through his whole body. He moved in a kind of haze until he was suddenly in front of a door labeled 403. Before he could lose his nerve, he raised the keycard to the lock and turned the handle.
The room he walked into was softly lit, full of the quietly luxurious clean, anonymous lines that you pay extra for in a hotel. An enormous king-size bed with impossibly white sheets filled most of the room, and a dark couch faced the bed from the opposite wall. A soft hum of white noise in combination with the blank slate of the bed and the room and the dim glowing light made the whole thing feel very far from the crowded cafe he’d just left and the cold streets he’d taken to get there. The muffled sound of water running came from behind a door off the bedroom that was cracked barely open, light tracing its edges. As he stepped forward to investigate, a voice called out from behind it. Her voice.
“I’ll be out in a moment. You should make yourself comfortable.”
His breath caught, and his heart beat faster. He felt completely off guard, unsure of what the rules were or what might happen. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
Jack looked back at the room, evaluating his options. Surely getting into the bed would be too presumptuous? And he was fully clothed, shoes, coat, and all. Should he take anything off? Should he stand at attention and await instructions? Should he strip down fast to show her how eager and ready he was? He didn’t even know what to be ready for, although that didn’t stop a quick series of fantasies from flickering across his mind. Mmmm. So many possibilities. His arousal continued to grow, his cock getting harder against the tightness of his pants. Another good reason to get rid of his clothes. But no. He chose the most conservative option; he removed his coat (and only his coat), hung it in the closet, and sat on the couch, leaning back with a feigned appearance of casualness, as though this was something that he did every day. The whole time he kept looking at the lit-up bathroom door out of the corner of his eye. Time passed–minutes, maybe? Possibly only a few seconds? It was excruciating. He was about to say something, unsure whether he was supposed to or not, when the door opened.
Emma stepped out of the bathroom, where she had been ostensibly applying a perfect coat of red lipstick but realistically working up the nerve to start the scene. The vanity lights behind her put her curves on full display. The black satin pencil skirt, kitten heels, and bustier top she was wearing didn’t hurt, either. As she walked toward the couch, Jack stood and bowed his head like a Victorian gentleman would when a lady entered the room. She stopped just in front of him and reached out to raise his chin with a single finger. They stood eye to eye for a moment, each trying to read the other’s state of mind. Finally, poker oyna she raised an eyebrow and a small smile came to her lips.
“I said you should make yourself comfortable. You don’t look that comfortable.”
“Yes, Miss. I mean, no, Miss. I was just waiting for you.”
“How very considerate. What a thoughtful boy.”
“Well then. I’m here now. So I think you should take off some of those terribly uncomfortable clothes. You can start with your shoes and your shirt.”
She sat back on the couch and crossed her legs, fixing him with a very attentive stare. He knelt down to untie the laces on his black boots, feeling exposed and observed. Once his shoes were neatly lined up by the bed, he stood again and looked at her.
“What are you waiting for? Your shirt now.”
He was used to undressing for lovers, for partners, but this felt different. This was no jokey strip-tease, nor the breathless pull of fabric over limbs that comes in the heat of a moment. With every button he undid, he felt her gaze hotter on his skin. When he reached the bottom button, his hands moved down to the next fastener on his pants of their own volition, his body betraying his desire.
“Oh no no,” she said, smiling–a cruel, sweet smile–“I don’t think so.”
She stood and walked toward him, the smile still playing on her lips. She reached out and ran her fingernails down his chest, the pressure just slightly more than he was expecting. Her nails were painted a red so dark it was almost black and they left lighter red trails across his skin. The quick skip of pain was electric.
“We’re going at my pace, boy. Do you understand? Can you do that?”
“If you’re good, I promise that you won’t be disappointed when we’re done. Can you be obedient? Do you want to be good?”
“I do, Miss.”
“I can be good. I want to be obedient. I won’t disappoint you, Miss.”
“I hope not. Or else I might have to punish you.”
As she said the word “punish,” her nails skated lightly over his nipples, offering the suggestion of less-gentle possibilities.
“Oh, yes, Miss. I understand.”
“Well then. On your knees.”
He looked at her in confusion. “Did I displease you, Miss?”
“Not at all. I just like look of you down there. On your knees and put your hands behind your back.”
She watched as he lowered himself to the ground, his eyes on hers. He brought his hands behind his back and sat there, waiting for her next command.
“Good boy,” she purred. She came very close to him, gazing down to the space where his face lined up with her hips. “Yes, I think this is the perfect position for you. Would you like to help me get a little more comfortable now?”
“Yes please, Miss.”
“I’d like you to help me take off this skirt.”
He moved to reach his hands from behind his back toward her waist. Before he could touch her, her hand flew out and caressed his head. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled tight, exposing his throat.
“Oh no, you misunderstand me. Keep your hands behind your back.” She leaned down and spoke in a low hum into his ear. “I want you to use that pretty, slutty little mouth.”
Her words and the warm vibration of her voice by his temple sent another rich wave through his body, with the echoes throbbing through his groin. She used her grip on his hair to pull his face right up to the soft, cool fabric of her skirt, his nose tracing the curve of her thigh to the zipper pull. She wiggled her hips a little, the satin rough and then soft against the bristles of his unshaven face. He leaned into the warmth of her body, inhaling deeply to catch the smell of her, delicate and dark and hidden under the layers of clothes and persona.
“Mmmm. Do you like that, you little pervert?” She grasped his hair again and pulled his face away. “Do you like having your face buried there between my legs?”
His breath was pleasantly constricted by the way she held his head, just enough so that when he tried to answer what came out was a kind of moan, not the words he’d meant to form. “What was that, boy? I want to hear you say it. I need you to tell me.”
“Yes, Miss, yes, Mistress. I like it very much. I want to please you.” He pressed his face back against the spot where her legs met under the fabric.
“Then why haven’t you done what I asked? I don’t like having to repeat myself.” She released his hair and looked down at him expectantly.
“I am sorry, Miss.” He bared his teeth and took the zipper pull between them, bending slowly to pull it down along her leg, his hands clasped demurely behind him the whole time. As he came to the end of the zip, the skirt loosened around her body, but stayed clinging to her curves. He looked up at her, unsure how to proceed, but she simply raised an eyebrow. Bending even further toward the floor, he grasped the hem of her skirt in his teeth, tugging hesitantly. The smooth fabric slid off cleanly, pooling around her feet. She stepped out of it, and he looked up to see if he had pleased her. His eyes were distracted before they canlı poker oyna reached her face, however, by the pale skin between the tops of her thigh-high stockings and the bottom of her garter belt. Then there was the matter of the clearly visible damp spot spreading across her panties. And all of this just inches from his face.
She watched him take in the mess of lace and ribbon and silk that had been revealed with the dramatic exit of her skirt. Her preparations seemed to be having the intended effect. Then there was the added bonus provided by the slippery feeling of the stockings rubbing against each other and the soft panties rubbing against her. She could feel her clit sending out little aching pulses from within that warm silky nest. She wasn’t sure whether a real dominatrix would be this wet at a time like this, but no one in the room seemed to be too mad about it.
“I think you like my outfit, boy.”
“I do like it, Miss.”
“I’m going to let you use your hands now. I want you to show me how much you like it. Show me how much you like kneeling here in front of me and obeying me.” She ran the pointed tip of one of her high-heeled shoes along the inside of his thigh, gently brushing it over the substantial bulge at his crotch.
His hands moved slowly around to the fly of his pants, slowly undid the button and slowly, slowly pulled down the zipper, the whole time watching to make sure this was what she wanted him to do. As his hand made contact with his impatiently waiting cock, he had to stifle a groan.
“That’s right, you filthy little thing. Show me how hard you are. Let me see it.”
He felt the heat of her eyes again as he knelt there, exposed and aching, his cock hot and needy in his hand. He was already tense nearly to bursting; it took all his concentration to stay calm and collected as he rubbed himself, trying to communicate the tangle of feelings inside him with each bold stroke.
She stared down at him, her gaze unreadable. The thick quiet of the room was disturbed only by the sound of his breathing, uneven with the strain of desire against control. The feeling of her—watching, judging, waiting—suffused his whole body with heat. His hand moved faster now, his grip tighter, and for a moment he thought this was it, he was going to come, kneeling there on the floor by her feet. His eyes fluttered closed as the sensation grew more intense, and he felt himself starting to slip. Then, without warning, she slapped him, not hard but sharply against his cheek. The tight sting of her hand was a shock to his whole system.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “You will not finish without my permission. Do not forget yourself, you horrible, dirty boy. I get to say when you come and when you don’t. Only me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress. I am sorry. I should have asked.”
“You certainly should. You should have begged. And you will, believe me. But now we have to start over,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “How disappointing. I hope that’s not all you have. I want to see you really hard. I want to see you so hard for me you can barely stand it. Get up.”
His head was racing now, his body confused and taut with the tingling of his denied orgasm. Her teasing stung, but it also made him even hotter. “I want you to sit there on the couch. Pull down your pants so I can see all of you. Then stop playing with your self, and pay attention.”
With smooth efficiency she unclipped her garter belt and pulled it down along with her soaked panties. The lacy tops of her stockings were now just inches from the slick cleft between her legs. He stared, transfixed, as she reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a slim, simple, cream-colored wand about 6 inches in length.
“Now that’s what I call hard,” she cooed, running the dildo over the tips of her hardened nipples where they strained the fabric of her top. She perched on the edge of the bed facing him on the couch and hitched her heels up to reveal the wet pinkness of her pussy.
“I’m going to enjoy this toy for a while now,” she told him. “Would you like to watch that? Do you want to see me make myself come, you sick, perverted boy? Would that help make you harder?”
He watched, struck speechless, as she stroked the toy down between her breasts, along her stomach, there to the soft wet place between her legs. He stared, transfixed, as the shaft grew slick and shining with moisture as she teased it up and down, around the entrance to her pussy.
“I asked you a question. Would you like to touch your little cock while you watch me fuck this nice hard toy?” The coarse words were crisp and clean coming out of her mouth, and the picture they painted made him moan in anticipation.
“Oh yes, Mistress, yes please, please let me.”
“And are you going to come?”
“No, no, I won’t. I promise I won’t come unless you let me. Unless you tell me to. I’ll be good.”
“You will. Or else.”
With those words, she slid back, positioning herself along the end of the bed so he had a perfect view of her entire body. She could feel the smoothness of the sheets against internet casino her skin, the rasp of her stockings against the soft cotton. Every sensation was delicious—she was so high, so ready, she knew she’d have to take it slow. So she started with her hands, brushing over every part of her body, writhing as her fingers teased over her nipples through the smooth fabric of her top, over her shivering hips, her nails dragging gently along the tops of her thighs, down and then back up. She could feel the heat of herself, the aching impatience. With one hand she caressed her breasts while the other finally moved to the place where she needed to be touched so badly. Even though she had been reveling in her arousal for almost an hour, she was still a little shocked by the slick flesh there, this uncontrolled physical expression of her power and desire. She inhaled sharply as her fingers touched her clit for the first time. An answering groan came from the direction of the couch, and she was reminded that she was not alone—a fact that had wholly slipped her mind.
“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I completely forgot you were there with your little cock in your hand. I forgot to care about you and your pathetic hard-on. I was distracted by my nice wet pussy.” As she spoke, she continued to stroke herself, with a deliberateness that belied the rush she was feeling inside. “Oh yes, I’m so very, very wet. It feels so good to touch myself like that. Mmmm. It feels so good. I was squeezing my nipple with this hand–” she demonstrated “–and teasing my clit with this hand, and I really just forgot you even exist. How very rude.”
Her narration was punctuated by little sighs as her fingers continued their work. She was so wet it was almost impossible to keep her them out of her pussy—it was begging to be touched, penetrated, filled. And why should she wait?
“I’m putting a finger inside myself now,” she moaned. “And it feels incredible. I’m putting two fingers in. I’m moving them in and out and I’m rubbing my clit and I’m so wet and so hot, I need it, I need more.”
He was laid out on the couch now, his hand working furiously, his upper body propped up for the perfect view. A voice in the back of his head—her voice, always her voice—sternly reminded him to be careful and to be good and to be obedient and to control himself and to keep his promise and not to give in like a weak little fuckboy slut but with every passing second those reminders seemed less and less pressing, and other, stronger impulses took control.
She could tell from the sounds emanating from the couch the he was close, and she could tell from the delicious feeling building in her own body that she was, too, that it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. And she knew what she wanted. She picked up the slim, smooth dildo from the bed and brought it down between her thighs again.
“Now I’m going to fuck myself with this beautiful cock toy until I come. And you’re going to watch. And you’re going to keep your promise.” She moved it closer, so it rested just against the slippery opening. Just the pressure of it there nearly put her over the edge, the anticipation of it. “Oh I want it so bad, I can’t wait any more.” And with that she slid the toy into her pussy with one smooth, hard thrust, taking it up to the hilt, crying out with pleasure and joy at the long-awaited feeling of fullness.
Normally, she would have taken her time, savored the aching tug in her groin and the flickers of electricity that passed through her every time she moved, but she was already too far gone. With one hand she moved the shaft in and out, in and out, with a slow, exquisite, unflinching rhythm that matched some deeper echo in her body. With the fingers of her other hand, she massaged her clit in small, quick circles. Her heavy breathing gave over to ecstatic, uncontrolled moans, and in only moments, she was crying out, over and over, “I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming,” her whole body flushed and shaking. Eyes shut, head back, hands gripping the sheets at her sides–these are cliches for a reason.
After a long moment, she opened her eyes again and returned to the world around her. She pulled out the toy, groaning softly again at the friction against the tight, tingling flesh of her pussy. Feeling wild and warm and glowing, she finally turned to acknowledge her audience. Her eyes, however, were met with a very sorry sight.
Jack sat on the couch, his hands and thighs sticky with the incredible, violent orgasm he’d failed miserably to repress as he watched her touch herself. Seeing the movement of her hands, in and out, the arch of her back, the way her legs trembled–and even more, hearing those sounds, the sweet, uncontrolled sounds of her pleasure–his willpower was no match. The look on his face was half shame at his failure to keep his promise and half fear of what might happen because of his weakness, but he also couldn’t deny that it had been fucking amazing. The combination of power he felt in his voyeurism with the humiliation of being ignored and told what to do with the joy of giving her control was a cocktail unlike anything he’d ever felt before. And it had been too much to handle. Now he searched for the right way to atone for his failings, desperate to please her in some small way now that he had done the one thing he was not to do.
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