When we arrived on the master suite level I took time to freshen up and stare at all the amenities in the huge master bath. The walk-in tiled shower was larger than my bedroom back home and had an assortment of showerheads at different levels. I was told he had a steam shower, whatever that was, around the corner. When I came back to the bedroom he took me by the hand and led me back to the elevator. “You must see my most favorite place.”
“I thought you said thatwas the media room. You already showed me that.”
“Well, yeah . . . I suppose this is my next favorite.”
We rode the elevator down and it opened to gray cement walls, painted a glossy white. It was decidedly cooler so I gathered we were subterranean.
“This is my garage.” We walked out of the elevator into a huge space, the size of a gymnasium, filled with cars, boats, jet skis, and motorcycles. He walked me around telling me about each toy, where he was when he saw it, purchased it, and all the places he’d played with it. The vintage Jag had been his first sports car and he’d driven it here from California, the huge dooley he used to tow his fifth wheel was now used exclusively for fishing, the Harley he’d had to lay down to avoid a drunk running a stop light, that he’d never bothered to repair as a reminder. He pointed to the long gouges on the crash bar and said he believed that bar was the reason he still had his legs. The room with the saddles came next; he’d had to sell his prized horses because he was too busy to play polo anymore, too busy to even ride. I remembered that mother had commented that the name Philip, meant lover of horses. Was she never wrong about these things? Then he took me to the far end of the garage and showed me his touring bike, the latest Harley Ultra Classic, fully equipped with a padded leather seat, backrest, and armrest for both the rider and his passenger.
“I just bought this one—in hopes that you would ride with me.” He looked at his watch and said, “We have four hours until we have to start getting ready for the show. Care to take a spin and I’ll show you some of Ballantyne?” I knew that was the area he lived in, rolling hills and lush meadows combined with new development and modern hitech medical facilities.
The hopeful look in his eyes couldn’t be denied, he was like a kid with a new toy, and although I had never been a big fan of motorcycles, I said, “Sure. I don’t have any boots with me, but I did bring some jeans.”
He flashed me a huge grin. “I didn’t know if you’d be game or not, but this morning I had this wild impulse, so I stopped at this little boutique before going to work and picked up a few things for you, hoping you’d be a sport and wear them for me. He unlocked a saddlebag on the bike and drew out a big purple bag. My heart flew to my throat.
“I got this wild idea and suddenly I just had to see you in these.” He pulled out a pair of long leather chaps, then a leather vest, and then a leather jacket. At the bottom of the bag he fished out a pair of strappy leather vamps with big clunky heels, more seductive than functional for sure.
I laughed out loud. If this was what my mother had conjured up, I had to hand it to her. Black leather was every man’s fantasy, and quite possibly the way to a man’s heart more than his stomach was. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” he said with a smile as he advanced on me and gave me a big kiss. “I would love to see you in this.” He held up the vest and I could see it was cinched at the waist like a corset but had cut-outs for the breasts above the stays. “You are kidding. I can’t wear that out in public!”
He held it up by the front laces. “You put this on first, and when we ride, you wear this over it.” In his other hand he had a lightweight leather jacket that zipped up the front. The leather was as soft and formless as velvet and I knew it had to have cost a pretty penny. My mother may have enticed him into that shop, but no way had she imagined me in that vest.
“C’mon, there’s a bathroom right here,” he said, pointing to the door behind us, let’s go for a ride. I’ll run upstairs and get changed and meet you back here.” He jiggled the bag, now crammed with all the leather goods.
“Uh, I need my jeans. Unless of course, you were planning on my wearing only the chaps.”
His eyes went wide and a glint slammed into each. “Oh yeah! What a sight that would be. Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm.” He shivered, he actually shivered, and it did my heart good. “But let’s save that for later, when it’s just us. Right now I’ve got to stop thinking about the combination of the chaps with nothing underneath and that vest or I’ll never be able to get my own jeans on. C’mon let’s go upstairs and change. I’ll get dressed in one of the guest suites; you can use the one in the master suite. Your suitcase should already be unpacked and all your things put away in one of the master closets.”
“Put away?”
“Oh, I hope you don’t mind. The maids usually unpack for company.”
“Oh . . . well . . . no. I’m just not used to people unpacking for me. I brought some of that underwear you sent. I felt myself blush at the thought of a maid putting them away. “Good thing I didn’t bring my collection of dildos,” I teased.
He laughed. “Remind me later, and I’ll show you mine.” The wicked gleam in his eye made my temperature spike.
He took my hand in his and with the purple bag in the other we walked over to the elevator, his eyes never leaving mine. “I have some vintage glass ones from the late 1800s.”
I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
“Don’t you ever . . . miss the privacy?”
“Privacy?”
“You know, not having everyone know your business. Not having strangers in your house judging you by your, ah . . . collections?”
He laughed. “The last thing I worry about is my staff talking about my active social life.”
“Well, yeah. You’re a man. It’s not frowned on for you to be ‘active.’”
He patted my bottom as we exited the elevator. “It’s not frowned on for you to be ‘active’ either. Women have been liberated, or didn’t you get the newsletter?”
“Well yeah, we’ve been liberated, but who wants everyone to know that they’re into whips and chains, and blindfolds?”
“You’re into whips and chains and blindfolds? Somehow that surprises me.” He feigned a look of shock but then his emerging smile gave him away.
“I’m not,” I said exasperated. “But I thought you were.”
“I’m into anything you need me to be into,” he said as he raised his right hand and snapped an imaginary whip. Except pain, I’m really not into that scene.” He gave me a raisedeyebrow, “Unless you disobey me,” he added. “But then, you aren’t planning on disobeying me, are you?” The heat in his eyes as he stared into mine nearly swamped me. I managed to shake my head.
“Good. If you were into pain, you’d tell me wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” Then I slapped his arm. “But no, I am not into pain. But I think right now I’m getting into leather,” I said as I walked into the guest suite.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me close, then gave me a kiss that made my knees wobble.
“You get into the leather, and I’ll do my best to get you out of it. How’s that for me doing my part?”
“Helpful. That would be quite helpful.” I almost didn’t recognize my voice, it had become so sultry. He was arousing me just by his words, both naughty and nice. I pulled the outfit out of the bag and shook it. “Actually, looking at these chaps and this vest, even if I were to get into this outfit, I’d still be out of it.”
He laughed and kissed my cheek. “There’s a method to my madness. See you in a few minutes.”
I was impressed with his ability to handle such a big bike and after several minutes of absolute terror as he raced down the driveway and eased into the afternoon traffic, I finally began to relax. I actually sat back and listened as he spoke to me through the headset and headphones built into the helmets. We drove through the Ballantyne area, which all seemed fairly new to me, and he told me which developments he’d had a hand in financing. We raced up bou
levards where azalea bushes were in full bloom and ran through avenues where dogwood petals were blowing all over the place, like huge snowflakes pelting us. It was a beautiful day and as he stayed mostly in the rural areas and off the main roads, it was a lovely ride. I didn’t even know when we were close to his home until we were back in the driveway, since we’d approached from a different direction.
Roaring back into the garage he slowed and then backed the bike into its slot. Still sitting on the bike, he brought the kickstand down with his heel and bringing one leg up in front of him to clear the fuel tank, he leaned off. Taking off his helmet and looping the strap over the handlebar he looked over at me. I put my hand out for him to help me off, but he ignored it and instead helped me off with my helmet. After he put both his and mine on a shelf, I put my hand out again, but this time he took it in his and instead of levering me off with it, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. Using his other hand, he reached in and unzipped my jacket.
Before I knew what he was up to, he had it off my shoulders and down my arms where it slid completely off and to the floor of the garage. I sat on his bike, my breasts poking through the holes of the vest. A nice piece of leatherwork, it had stays to keep my posture erect and underwires sewn into the bottom of the large leather holes to force my breasts up and out—my entire breasts. I will never forget the look of lust in his eyes as they caressed me. I felt like Venus incarnate. In leather.
“Good God you’re hot. What a fine set of tits.” His half-gloved hands moved in and began cupping my breasts, sending heat waves surging though me. The texture of his bare fingertips combined with the texture of the soft leather on his knuckles and palms was intriguingly sensual. His mouth moved in and descended to my jaw. Following the line, he kissed my throat and my neck while his fingers kneaded and gripped, hefted and caressed and then pulled and plucked.
“What is the point of this vest, it covers nothing,” I breathed.
He groaned and whispered against my collarbone, “It displays you, for me. It lets you know that your tits are what I want to see, what I want you to show me. It tells you that’s where my eyes are going to be focused. If I were big time into bondage, and wanted to take you clubbing, it would tell everyone that I had bought this for you and that I made you wear it because I wanted them to see your tits, too. But I’m not into the club scene anymore, and these belong to me.” Heat coiled through me at his words and I felt my vagina flooding with moisture. “Only me.”
He bent his head and took the nipple he’d been worrying with his thumb into his mouth and suckled it. The jolt of heat that flowed through me like wildfire almost made the bike rock off its stand. Then still sucking my nipple into his mouth, he lifted me off the bike and walked me backward until I was leaning against the wall. He let go of my nipple and it released with a popping sound. I felt his hand behind me as he opened the door I was leaning on. “Go in there, and take off those jeans. But leave the chaps on. And no underwear.”
“But . . . what if someone sees . . .”
“No one will see. Just do it,” he said gruffly as he gently pushed me inside and closed the door.
How did he know no one would see, I wondered. The big bay doors were all open—all six of them. The driveway was just beyond the last one and I had seen the corner of the house from the seat of the bike. Besides, I’d seen the landscapers working in that area not more than an hour ago.
“I don’t hear any movement. Do I have to come in there?” He had his master’s voice in place and I knew not to challenge him. If I disobeyed, he’d only make things worse. But I didn’t want to disobey him. I was so wet I could hardly stand it.
“No, I’m doing it.” I said.
I removed my jeans and underwear. The room I was in was a bathroom of sorts as well as a storage room and only had a mirror over the sink. So while I couldn’t see my nakedness below the waist, I could see my breasts jutting out—one nipple still wet and elongated, while the other, still hard wasn’t nearly as long. I looked down and saw my shaved mons framed by the black leather of the chaps. And I was overwhelmed at how turned on I was.
I opened the door very slowly, looking all around, making sure he was the only one in the garage. He had closed all the bay doors but one, the far one. And I thought I knew why. The thrill of discovery, of being seen semi-naked, was a heady one and I’m sure he knew it would bother me. Greatly.
“Let me see you,” he said and I opened the door a bit wider and stepped around it.
His long drawn in breath was all I needed to hear to boost my confidence. His murmured, “Lovely, lovely, lovely,” made my heart soar.
After a few minutes in which I watched his eyes practically devour me, he said, “Come over here and get back on the bike.”
I walked over to where he stood, ready to assist me. And I realized that in order to sit on the bike, I would have to straddle it, my legs spread wide. I looked into his face and saw his grin. That was exactly what he wanted. He grabbed me under my arms and effortlessly lifted me into the passenger seat. Then he got on backward, on the driver’s seat, and propped his chin on the backrest, staring.
I felt liquid heat pooling and slicking me. He saw it. “Mmmmm. Beautiful.”
I whimpered.
“Take your fingers and spread your lips for me. Then say ‘Philip, please look at my vagina.’”
I gulped and tried to swallow. It took a few moments, as my throat was suddenly dry. I looked at his face, met his eyes and saw his brow go up as if to say, Well, what are you waiting for?
I slowly moved my hands down and fingered my lips, but they were so slick I had a hard time gripping them. He chuckled.
Finally I managed to press each lip flat and opened myself to his gaze.
Slowly, ever so slowly his gaze lifted and again, his eyebrow shot up.
“P-Philip, please l-look at my vagina.”
“How long would you like me to look at your vagina?” he asked and I was stunned by the question. This was one of the headiest sexual encounters I had ever had. The look he was giving me affirmed me as a woman, a woman he found incredibly attractive. A woman he clearly desired to mate with, a woman I knew he couldn’t wait to fuck. I was torn between wanting to say forever and wanting to say that’s enough, you can stop looking right now.
“I’ll tell you what, while you decide, I’m going to touch you and put my fingers inside you.” He reached over and with his index finger he flicked my clitoris back and forth. By now it was swollen and I knew it was so obvious a target it would be hard to miss. I had done as Oprah’s guest had suggested on one of her shows, I’d used a mirror a few years back and had gotten intimately acquainted with my vajayjay.I knew what my clitoris looked like when I was aroused. I knew it was prominent . . . and dusky pink, with a pulse all its own. And now he knew it too. I moaned and then sighed as he continued to lightly stroke my clit, changing off to his thumb so he could cover more area and press it up from the underside. I gasped and closed my eyes, my head falling back. Then I felt his fingers grip my nipple and tug on it. It felt wonderful and I couldn’t believe I was enjoying being displayed as blatantly as I was, both top and bottom. I heard a sound and lifted an eyelid to make sure we were still alone. “What was that?” I asked in a panic.
“Me, pulling down my zipper. There’s no room for my cock in these tight jeans, especially now, with this cock stiffening sight right before my eyes.”
I smiled up at him and he smiled back. Then I felt his finger enter me. I was so wet he made sloshing noises shoving it in and pushing it in and out of me. Then he joined it with another. He fucked me with his fingers while his thumb made circles on my clit and his eyes watched the show. His left hand moved back and forth tweaking first one nipple and then the next, over and over again, pinching harder. “Ask me if you can come, and beg me to watch.”
“Philip, please may I come, and please will you watch me?”
“Do you want me to watch you come, sweetheart?” And he added another fing
er and pressed his thumb into my clit a little harder.
“Yes, Please. I want you to watch me . . uh . . uh . . aarrgh . . .” and I shattered. I could feel my vagina clenching and unclenching and he pulled his fingers out to watch the show as my pussy convulsed and wept for him.
When I was able to open my eyes, he was looking down at me and smiling. It was a moment set in time, the moment we both knew he owned my heart; he already owned my body. I was his now, totally. And I knew that now he was going to finally show me how much he loved me.
He helped me up from the unbelievably uncomfortable slump I had slid into and put me on my knees on his seat, kneeling sideways. “Stay there,” he said as he walked around to the other side and dragged a low tool rack on wheels over in front of me. I watched as he used the side of his boot to lock the wheels in place at the bottom. He leaned in to kiss me and then he took my hands and placed them flat on the top of the tool chest. I was now on all fours, my knees on his bike seat, splayed wide and my torso leaning over the top of the tool chest, my breasts hanging down. He squeezed them and feigned milking the tips as a perverse humiliating joke before walking back to stand behind me. I could see him over my shoulder as he stooped to examine me, his fingers prodding and testing. He stood back and stared, saying nothing. I felt ashamed to be in this position, allowing him to look at every secret part of me. I was bothered by the fact that I couldn’t even see his face while he did it. It seemed dirtier somehow because I couldn’t. I knew from reading that Maxim magazine I’d bought that this was referred to as the “present position.” A woman in this position presented everything she owned. And apparently men who were into bondage preferred this position above all others for its humiliation factor.
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 26
