Fuck! My heart is beating faster. I recognize this scene from his ad. How may I please you, Sir? His ad gave no indication of what was to follow, though. The not knowing is scary…but strangely exciting, too.
He continues his narrative. ‘“How may I please you, Sir?’ you ask. Without sight, your other senses are heightened. You hear my soft footsteps on the carpet as I walk closer to you. ‘Lift your head,’ I command, and you do so. I slip a soft blindfold over your eyes. You open your eyes, but the blackness remains the same—impenetrable.”
I remember now that his ad said he enjoyed blindfolding. My fear and my excitement grow.
“I order you remain on your knees and to strip down to your bra and panties. You obey with only the briefest hesitation.”
He pauses, giving me time to mentally disrobe. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m picturing myself in my sexiest black lace bra and black silk thong. I shiver, but I know it’s not from the cold.
“You sense me moving close to you, can feel that I’m only inches away. I run my finger softly across your cheek, and the touch makes you quiver. My finger continues its journey, moving ever so slowly down your neck and into the crevice between your breasts. It slides under the top of your bra. You moan as I pinch your nipple, which immediately grows hard.”
He’s very good at this, very good indeed. My nipples are growing hard.
“My finger moves downward, across your stomach, circling twice around your navel before moving farther down, to the top of your panties. You think I’m going to touch you in that special place…you want me to touch you there…but I don’t.”
Fuck. I do want him to touch me there. I can feel how wet I’ve suddenly become.
“Instead, I grab both your wrists and move them to my belt. I order you to take off my pants. Blindfolded, your fingers fumble with my belt, and then with the button of my pants. Finally, you get the button undone and you carefully pull down my zipper. You gently tug my pants down around my ankles, and then one at a time, over my shoeless feet. I grab your hair and lift you back up to a kneeling position. Then I make you wait.”
Fuck again! Wait for what?
“You sense movement from me, but have no idea what I’m doing. I order you to stick out your tongue. You hesitate for just a second, but then do as I have commanded.
“For a moment, nothing happens, but then you feel something soft and warm gently touching the top of your extended tongue. You think you know what it is, what you hope it is, until you feel the hard edge of my fingernail slide over your tongue. Disappointment surges through you—you had thought it was something else.”
Damn! Of course I thought it was something else. Amazingly, I wanted it to be his something else.
“I lift my finger from your tongue. Your tongue stretches forward, chasing my finger, wanting to maintain contact with my skin, but it can’t reach. You know better than to move from where you are kneeling, so you remain where you are, waiting.
“After a moment, warm skin touches your tongue again. This time, from the feel and taste, you know that it’s exactly what you want. I order you to lick it. Eagerly, you begin licking the head, using tiny, flicking motions, until I pull myself away.”
His tone changes. “What do you want, Jennifer?”
“I want to suck you!” I blurt out.
Holy shit! Where the hell did that come from?
“You can open your eyes,” he says.
I know that his story is over. Disappointment floods through me.
“Did you enjoy that, Jennifer?”
“Yes, I did,” I reply, trying to keep my voice neutral so he can’t tell just how much I enjoyed it.
He laughs knowingly. “Are you wet, Jennifer?”
Of course I’m fucking wet. “I think so,” I say. And his repeated use of my name is making me wetter.
He chuckles. “You think so?” he says, parroting me. “You’d better check. We want to be sure, don’t we? Touch yourself.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I slide my hand inside my pants and touch my lips. They’re very wet and slippery.
“Not just the outside,” he says. “Slide your finger inside.”
How the fuck does he know these things?!?! I dutifully slide my finger inside me. It feels really good, and I can’t stop a sigh from escaping my throat. Naturally, he hears my sigh.
“I think we have the answer to your question,” he says.
CHAPTER 6
Reluctantly, I pull my hand out of my pants. I’m not sure if we’ve answered the question completely, but Sir’s little demonstration has certainly provided a pretty good indication. I don’t masturbate often, but right now, I’d love to keep touching myself—it’s feeling really good. I don’t think I dare continue with him still on the phone, though. That would be giving him too much, too soon. I slide forward to the edge of the couch, ready to stand up.
“Would you like to keep touching yourself, Jennifer?”
How does he do this? How does he know exactly what to say, or what to ask, at exactly the right time? It’s like he’s living inside my head—or at least has a wide open window to look through. I let myself fall back against the cushions.
I struggle with how to answer his question. “Ummmm…”
“Remember, you mustn’t lie to me, Jennifer—unless you want all this to end right now.”
Shit! I’d almost forgotten about that. But maybe I should lie to him, maybe I should end all this right now, before it goes any further…before it gets any more dangerous. Something inside me rebels at the thought. I don’t want this to end—not yet, anyhow.
“Yes, Sir,” I say. “I would.” In for a penny, in for a pound, so I continue. “It felt really good.”
“Go ahead, then, Jennifer. I would enjoy listening to you.”
I told him honestly that I wanted to continue, but I’m not sure I want to do it with him listening. Too much, too soon, I remind myself.
“Is that an order, Sir?”
“No, Jennifer, it is not. We’ve not yet entered into an agreement where you have to obey my commands, so it would be foolish for me to give you any. It was merely an offer for you to continue enjoying yourself. I will admit, though, it would please me greatly if you did—and if you allowed me to share in it by listening.”
Please him greatly. Those are key words, I know. I do love to please, and I’m discovering that I really like to please him. And I’m pretty sure he knows that. Damn, he’s good at this!
“Okay,” I say. “What should I do?”
“Just do what comes naturally, Jennifer. Forget that I’m even here.”
Forget that he’s here? There’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell I could do that. Even so, I slide my right hand under my waistband.
“If I may make a suggestion, though,” Sir says. “It might be easier if you took off your pants.”
He’s right. It would be much easier. I find myself mildly disappointed that it was only a suggestion and not a command, but I quickly tug off my pants and then walk into the bedroom. Stretching out on my bed, I slip my hand back inside my panties. As I touch myself again, I realize he’s controlling me even without giving me orders, but so what? My fingers are moving in small, circular motions atop my slippery lips, and it feels wonderful.
I smile. I’m not sure if it’s from the realization that he’s still controlling me or from the delicious sensations beginning to radiate out from my groin, and frankly, right now I don’t really give a damn.
I’m so used to him being inside my head that I’m expecting some kind of comment from him, but he remains silent. I wonder if he’s playing with himself while he listens to me. Part of me hopes so—I find the image amazingly arousing. I imagine him standing over me, smiling and stroking himself while he watches me pleasure myself. My heart is racing now and my breathing is becoming more and more rapid. I’m certain he can hear it—and I’m equally certain he’s enjoying it.
My fingers center in on my swollen cli
t and my pleasure grows tenfold. Still moving my hand in tiny, rapid circles, I increase the pressure. My excitement mounts. My breathing is now a series of quick, sharp gasps as my orgasm wells up inside me. I try to control it, to prolong the pleasure, but there’s no stopping it. Waves of almost unbearable pleasure shoot through my entire body as my orgasm engulfs me.
A minute or two passes as I slowly regain control of my brain and my body. I realize I still have the phone pressed against my ear. I’m mortified—I can’t believe I let him listen to that! I had enough trouble talking to him before—I have no idea what to say to him now. Maybe I should just hang up and avoid any further embarrassment. Before I can decide what to do, I hear his voice in my ear.
“That was wonderful, Jennifer,” he says. “I trust you enjoyed it as much as I did.”
Even physically sated, hearing him speak my name sends a little thrill through me. I’m pretty sure I enjoyed what just happened way more than he did. But maybe not. I have no real idea what goes on inside his head while he does this kind of thing. Maybe he came, too—I was so lost in my orgasm that I wouldn’t have heard him if he did. I’m not sure if the thought of him cumming along with me makes me feel better or worse.
“I think that’s probably enough for today,” he continues. “You need to let all this soak in, to think about everything that happened and to decide how you feel about it. I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions.”
Damn right I have questions. None that I can put into words right now, but all kinds of half-formed ideas are buzzing around in my head. Letting it all soak in is a very good idea—unless I can somehow blank it all out and pretend it never happened. That might be an even better idea.
“I think that’s probably wise,” I say. “This was, uh…interesting. I’m not sure I can put my feelings into words right now. It’s a lot to absorb.”
“Yes, it is. But you’ll do fine, Jennifer. I have faith in you.”
I’m glad one of us does, I think to myself.
“Call me this time tomorrow morning,” he says. “We’ll talk about it.”
I’m not sure I want to talk about it, but I don’t have to decide that right now. I take the easy way out.
“Yes, Sir,” I say.
I hear the phone click in my ear. Just like that, he’s gone…without even a goodbye. Suddenly I feel terribly empty.
I think I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER 7
I let my phone drop to my pillow and push myself up off the bed. My legs are still a bit wobbly from the strength of my orgasm. God, that was amazing—like nothing I’ve ever experienced, even with a man inside me. Especially with a man inside me, I remind myself.
I pace absently around my apartment, letting the strength return to my legs and allowing my brain to clear. So many things I need think about. I try to remember details from the beginning of our call, but they are hidden in the fog of the final part. A smile curves my lips as I recall my orgasm one more time. Even if I never speak to Sir again, it was worth it—well worth it.
Will I speak to him again? That’s what I need to decide. He’s left the next step up to me. If I don’t call him tomorrow, then it’s over, and everything returns to normal. If I do call him, we move forward. What we’ll be moving forward to, I have no real idea. Like he said, I have a lot to think about.
I’d better get started.
I return to the bedroom and sit down at my desk. Of all the places in my home, it’s where I think the best. I leave my computer off, though. I don’t want to be distracted. I don’t even turn any music on.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I allow my thoughts to drift back to our conversation.
As I try to replay our talk in my mind, one thing becomes readily apparent. He was always at least one step ahead of me. I remember how often I felt like he was inside my head, knowing what I was thinking, what I was feeling, even what I was doing. He’s obviously incredibly perceptive, more perceptive than anyone I’ve ever known.
I wonder if he comes by it naturally, or if he’s had some training. Perhaps he’s a counselor or a therapist of some sort, trained to listen, trained to make inferences. That would explain his uncanny ability at least a little, and how he managed to keep leading me to where I apparently wanted to go. Or maybe there’s a “Dom school” somewhere, where they teach guys like him how to read and manipulate women like me. I’ve never thought of myself as submissive, though, nor would any of my friends or co-workers describe me that way. So I’m not really sure what “women like me” means.
My musings make me realize that I know almost nothing about Sir. I’ve told him a few things about me, but he hasn’t revealed anything about himself. I don’t know what he looks like or how old he is, or even his real name. From his voice, I can tell he’s not eighty or eighteen, but that’s about it. I replay our conversation again, in as much detail as I can recall, but come up with no specifics about him, no clues even. There’s nothing—he’s a ghost. A ghost who seems to be able to glide inside my head at will. That’s a scary thought, for sure—so why do I find it so enticing?
I’ve gleaned all I can, for now, anyhow. Maybe more thoughts will come to me after I’ve had time to let it all “soak in,” as Sir suggested. For now, I need to get busy, to allow my subconscious time to work, to see if it might produce anything my conscious mind has missed.
I start with a nice jog, three and a half miles winding through a lovely county park just a short distance from my home. It’s a beautiful day: blue sky dotted with cotton ball clouds, temperature hovering around seventy degrees, just the barest hint of a breeze. Plenty of people are out enjoying the park. Like me, some are exercising, walking or running along the gently sloping trails. Others are lounging about on the grassy fields, reading, listening to music, or just soaking up some sun. A few have picnics spread out on colorful blankets.
I pass a few regulars I recognize, and we exchange nods or quick hellos. My route takes me about thirty minutes to complete, give or take a few, and then I head for home, walking the last three blocks to cool down. The run was wonderful. Running almost always puts me into a “zone” of peaceful oblivion, and today was no exception. It’s not until I’m less than a block from my apartment that I realize I have not thought about Sir even once for over half an hour.
Finally, I feel like I’ve regained some control. But now I find myself wondering if any insights might have percolated up from my subconscious during my visit to the zone. I hope so.
Inside my apartment, I grab a bottle of water and a container of strawberry yogurt from the fridge and sit down at the kitchen table. I chug three or four gulps of water to take the edge off my thirst, then lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Breathing slow, deep breaths, I let my mind wander back to this morning’s conversation. I can recall pretty much all of it now, maybe not word for word, but where I can’t remember the exact words I can still recall the gist. Unfortunately, no new insights seem to have come along with my improved memory.
I’m not done, though. I have one more weapon in my arsenal.
Usually after my run I take a long shower, basking in the streams of hot water rushing down my body, but not today. Today, it’s going to be a bath—a nice, long, relaxing bubble bath.
Taking my yogurt with me, I head for the bathroom and start the tub filling, adding my favorite lavender scented bubble bath when the tub is about a third full. Bubbles immediately begin piling up where the water is pouring down into the tub, releasing their relaxing scent. I draw in a deep breath.
While I wait for the tub to fill, I finish my yogurt and then grab my bag of tealight candles from under the sink. I spread five or six atop each edge of the tub and three more at the end where my feet will be. When the water is almost deep enough, I light the candles on the far side and at the foot of the tub, then climb in. The temperature of the water is just about perfect, so I turn off the water, light the remaining candles, and settle down into the warm, welcoming pool of bubbles.
Closin
g my eyes, I lean my head back onto a small rubber pillow at the end of the tub and allow my mind to begin to drift. The combination of warm, bubbly water, soft flickering light behind my eyelids and fresh lavender scent filling my nostrils quickly relaxes me. For the third time today, my mind leaves my conscious control.
How long I remain that way, I’m not sure—no clocks or cell phones are allowed in the bathroom during bubble bath time—but when my brain returns to earth the water has cooled and most of the bubbles have burst or evaporated. I grab a loufa and quickly scrub my body, then stand up and rinse off under the shower.
I feel great, but I’m no closer to any decision about whether to call Sir tomorrow. That’s okay, though. I still have plenty of time to decide. At least my run and my bath provided plenty of distraction. The afternoon is half over, and I’m having dinner with Amanda tonight, which leaves me only a couple of hours to kill. Some cleaning and a good book should take care of that. If not, I can always go shopping. I have a feeling I just may need some sexy new underwear soon.
CHAPTER 8
Amanda and I decide to meet at Pompeii’s, an Italian place we both like. It’s nothing fancy, but the food is terrific and the prices are more than reasonable. As I walk through the double glass doors, I find Amanda sitting on a bench in the tiny waiting area. She bounds to her feet as soon as she sees me and greets me with a warm hug.
Amanda and I have been best buds since freshman year of high school and I love her like a sister. She’s a couple inches shorter than me, with shoulder length blond hair she’s always highlighting with different colors. Tonight, two thick streaks of bright pink frame the right side of her face. The color matches her pink and gray checked sweater almost exactly. She’s wearing black stretch pants and ankle high black leather boots which have a pink square on the outside of each ankle. Her fashion sense has always been more hip than mine—and sexier, too, I have to admit.
Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) Page 3
