Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1)

by Prussing, S. T.

  “That’s very nice, Jennifer. Very nice indeed.”

  I smile, but say nothing. He’ll know by my smile that I’m pleased with his compliment.

  I keep on rubbing his foot. After a few more moments, he places his other foot onto my lap and I switch my attention to it.

  Finally, he pulls his foot away.

  “That was wonderful, Jennifer. Come closer and get your reward.”

  Reward? Wondering what he has in mind, I crawl slowly forward, not wanting to crash into his legs or into the couch. When I feel his feet, I move my hands up his legs until they are resting on his thighs. His legs feel firmly muscled under the cloth of his pants.

  I remember how he was about to reward the woman at the end of the story he told me—with the taste of his cock. Is that the reward he has for me now? Am I ready to do that so soon? I think about how easily his finger slipped inside me a few minutes ago. Maybe I am.

  I wait there, on my knees, for his next command.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sir’s hand cups my chin. The sudden touch startles me, sending a quick shiver through my body. He tilts my head back. His touch is firm, yet somehow gentle. I wait with my lips slightly parted.

  He has to be studying my face now, I know. Where else could he be looking, holding my chin the way he is. Is he wondering if I’m worthy of the gift he’s about to present me? He said I had earned a reward—he wouldn’t go back on that, would he? Once again, I wish to hell I knew what he was thinking.

  Soft flesh gently brushes my lips. Another shiver shoots through me. It takes me a split second to realize I’m feeling his lips against mine. Sir is kissing me!

  He lets his lips linger softly against mine for a second or two, and then presses his mouth harder against mine. His tongue pushes against my lips, seeking entry, and I open my mouth to let him in. He tastes faintly of mint—he either brushed his teeth or used mouthwash before I arrived. I don’t know if it’s the blindfold, the firm hold he has on my chin, or the entire situation, but the kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. To say I’m seeing fireworks would barely be an exaggeration.

  His tongue probes the inside of my mouth, claiming it. My tongue responds by dancing with his. I want to reach up behind his head and press him even more tightly against my mouth, but I know that’s not my place and I manage to restrain myself.

  And then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Sir pulls his mouth away. The sense of loss is almost painful. I want to reach for him with my lips to continue this amazing kiss, but of course I do not. He still has a firm grip on my chin—I probably couldn’t move my head toward him even if I tried.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I say. “That was a wonderful reward.”

  The seconds click by—five, then ten, without him saying anything. He must be staring at me. God, I wish I could see his expression.

  I hear him blow out a deep breath.

  “Not bad,” he says. “Not bad at all.”

  Not bad? He’s got to be teasing me, right? Now I really want to see his face. Damn this blindfold!

  I sense movement in front of me. I think Sir is standing up. I wait, listening closely, trying to determine what he’s doing. I think he’s moved around behind me.

  My guess is confirmed when he begins unfastening my bra strap. When I feel it come undone, I hold my arms up above my head so he can lift the bra off me. I hear it land softly on the floor, probably tossed in the same place as the rest of my clothes.

  A moment later, his hands alight upon my shoulders. Leaning forward, he slides his hands slowly down my chest toward my breasts. His groin presses against the back of my head as his hands move lower. I can feel that he’s fully hard inside his pants. I smile, happy to have proof that I’m not the only one who’s responding here.

  His hands find my breasts, sliding around the outside and then underneath, cupping them. I sigh as he squeezes them firmly—once, twice, three times before letting go. He’s not done, though. His fingers begin lightly tracing circles on my breasts, moving closer and closer to my nipples with agonizing slowness. Finally, he circles my areolas twice, then grabs my already swollen nipples between his thumbs and fingers and pinches them. It feels like an electric current has suddenly shot through my breasts. I stifle a moan. He pinches harder, and this time the moan escapes. He pinches harder still, just at the threshold of where pleasure and pain intermix. I gasp.

  “These belong to me,” he says. To reinforce his claim, he pinches hard once again.

  This time, I swallow my gasp.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “They belong to you.”

  He seems to know how close he came to hurting me, because he’s now gently caressing my breasts and nipples. It feels absolutely divine.

  I relish the pleasure for a few moments and then press my head back against his erection.

  “And who does that belong to?” I ask.

  He laughs. “It belongs to me, Jennifer.” He gives my nipples a firm tweak. “But if you’re a good girl, I may share it with you now and then.”

  I find myself hoping he shares it with me often. I smile.

  He lets go of my nipples and I feel him stepping away from me. A sudden emptiness steals over me. Where is he going? I want him here, touching me, using my body for his pleasure.

  “Crawl to me,” he says. His voice now comes from across the room.

  I obediently drop back to my hands and knees and begin crawling toward the sound of his voice.

  “Keep coming,” he says, his voice farther away again and now a little bit to my right.

  I’ve either veered off course, or he’s moved to the side. I adjust my course and continue crawling. This is very nerve-wracking, knowing I could crash into something at any moment. I don’t hesitate, though. I don’t want to disappoint him. And if I can’t trust him with this simple thing, how can I trust him with other things he may have planned?

  “That’s it, my pet. Keep coming.”

  He’s moved farther away again. The “my pet” rings in my ears as sweetly as any compliment I’ve ever received. I wonder if he was sensing my anxiety about crashing into something. From the distance I’ve crawled already, I’m pretty sure we’ve left the living room. Since I don’t know the layout of his condo, I have no idea where he’s leading me. I hope it’s to the bedroom, though.

  “You’re doing fine, Jennifer.”

  Once again, he’s farther away. How big is his fucking condo, anyhow? Crawling slowly while blindfolded certainly screws up your sense of distance and direction. I plod onward.

  “Stop now. We’re here.”

  I halt, remaining on all fours while I await his next instruction.

  “Kneel,” he says, so I rise up onto my knees.

  He grabs my nipples and pulls upward. It hurts, but not badly.

  “Stand up.”

  Pulled upward by my swelling nipples, I stand.

  Still using my nipples to direct me, he turns me around in a half turn. When he lets go, the pain lingers for a moment, then disappears. Its absence is almost disappointing.

  “Sit.”

  Sitting down blindfolded is not as easy as it may sound. You have no idea what you’ll be sitting on, or how far down you need to go. Cautiously, I bend my legs and lower my butt until I feel what I’m pretty certain is his mattress under my backside. I smile. He’s taken me to his bedroom.

  The material is soft and very smooth against my bare skin. Silk sheets, I think. The bed is probably already turned down. My smile widens.

  “Take off my belt,” Sir commands.

  Uh, oh. Just his belt? That snaps me right out of my fantasy of him taking me to bed. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what belts can be used for.

  Carefully, I reach forward until I find his belt buckle. It takes me a moment to undo it, but at last I pull it free and then tug his belt free from his pants.

  “Now my pants.”

  A feeling of reliefs surges through me. It’s not jus
t his belt. I bet he did that on purpose.

  Feeling with my fingers, I discover his pants are fastened by a button. I’m a bit clumsy, but I get the button undone and then carefully lower his zipper—mustn’t damage anything behind that! I grab the sides of his pants and tug them down. He lifts one leg at a time so I can pull his pants off over his feet.

  He takes the pants from my hands and moves away, probably folding them over a chair or hanging them up, I imagine. Or maybe he’s just making me wait.

  “Take this,” he says, placing something into my hands.

  Right away, I can feel that it’s cylindrical and made of smooth plastic. My imagination begins to run wild as I slide one hand toward the top. Nope, I was wrong. There’s a push nozzle at the top. This isn’t something he’s going to put inside me—I hope!

  “What are you thinking right now?” Sir asks.

  Shit. Busted! Of course, he knew exactly when to ask that question.

  “I’m, uh, wondering what this is,” I say, telling him the truth, but not the entire truth.

  He chuckles. “I’ll bet you’re thinking more than that, Jennifer.” His tone light, joking, so I know I’m not in any trouble.

  I feel like asking him why he bothers to ask, since he’s taken up residence inside my head and knows what I’m thinking even before I do, but of course I don’t. To my relief, he doesn’t pursue the question.

  “It’s massage lotion,” he says. “You and I are going to enjoy a nice massage. I’ll be getting, you’ll be giving.”

  I feel the mattress sink underneath me as he climbs onto the bed. I hear a slight rustling as he settles into position. Suddenly, soft music begins to play—he must have a remote. It’s Eastern relaxation music, the kind with sitars and stuff. I have a CD like this at home—it’s called “Tranquility.”

  “I’m ready,” Sir says. “Try not to make a mess.”

  I guess the blindfold is staying on. Carefully, I feel for the middle of his back and squeeze a bunch of lotion out onto it. I begin massaging him.

  His back and shoulders are smooth and well-muscled. Not huge like a bodybuilder or anything like that. More like an athlete of some kind. He told me he was fit, and he certainly feels like he is. I work his upper body for what seems like an adequate amount of time, then shift lower down on the bed so I can do his butt and legs. Sir hasn’t said a word the whole time, but I’ve heard a few soft sighs, so I know I’m doing at least an okay job.

  This all may sound a bit one-sided or even selfish to some—him lying there and enjoying the fruits of my labor—but I actually think I’m getting the better part of the deal. He’s just passively lying there, while I’m getting to explore his sexy body at my leisure. And trust me, I’m loving it. His contented sighs are icing on the cake.

  I’m definitely starting to get a better understanding of this dominant/submissive stuff—we’re both getting what we want and need.

  Sir’s legs and butt are even more tightly muscled than the rest of him. He’s obviously a runner or a bike rider or something. I’m particularly enjoying kneading the firm, rounded muscles of his butt. I begin imagining what they must look like in a pair of running shorts. If we ever go for a run together, I’ll have to make sure to let him forge ahead of me now and then, just for the view.

  Finally, the relaxation music stops and Sir calls the massage to an end.

  “Very nice,” he says.

  I feel him move on the bed and then he kisses me quickly on the lips. Before I can respond, his lips are gone.

  “Thank you, Sir. I aim to please.”

  “Yes,” he says, chuckling. “I can see that you do. Lie down on your back.”

  Restraining my smile, I stretch out on the bed. My self-consciousness at being nearly naked and not knowing when or where he’s looking has mostly disappeared. I hope he’s taking a long, admiring look rather than searching for flaws—that would mean all my exercising is finally paying off.

  I feel the mattress shift, telling me he’s moving. One of his legs brushes mine, and then he settles down atop my hips. I’m pretty sure he’s sitting on his knees, letting just enough weight press down on me to let me know he’s there.

  His hands find my breasts and begin squeezing and kneading them. I guess this is my massage.

  He plays silently with my breasts for a few moments. It feels wonderful.

  “For what I have in mind next,” he says finally, “we need to get me nice and slippery. Do you have any ideas how we might accomplish that, Jennifer?”

  I definitely was not expecting that question. I think quickly.

  “Well, we could use the massage lotion,” I say. “It’s pretty slippery.”

  “Yes, we could do that.”

  I decide to be bold. I sense that it will be okay right now.

  “Or we could use my saliva.”

  “Mmmmm… I think I like that idea even better.”

  I feel him move up the bed until his knees are right under my arms. He slides a pillow beneath my head.

  “Go ahead,” he says, touching the head of his cock to my lips. “Get it nice and wet.”

  I reach out and grab the base of his cock with my right hand, cupping his balls in my left. He’s rock hard—and big, too. I kiss the soft head and then open my mouth and wrap my lips around him.

  I slide my lips slowly up and down his shaft. I love the way it fills my mouth. Remembering my assignment, I generate as much saliva as I can.

  Much too soon, he pulls out of my mouth. I can’t see it, of course, but I bet his cock is glistening with my saliva.

  His hands return to my breasts.

  “You have beautiful tits,” he says.

  I’m beaming inside. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “It would be a shame not to make full use of them.” He gives my cleavage a long, wet lick. “I’m going to fuck your tits, Jennifer.”

  I’m trying to picture what he means by that when he takes my wrists and places my hands on the sides of my breasts.

  “Hold them together,” he orders.

  I do as he says, pushing my breasts together. A moment later, I feel his cock slip up between them. Covered with my saliva, it slides easily over my skin as he thrusts up and down, just as if he was fucking me. Damn, this is something I wish I could watch!

  The feeling of his hard, slippery cock sliding between my breasts is awesome. I push them even more tightly together, to give him more friction and to make him hit my sensitive nipples. His breathing begins coming in sharper and sharper gasps. My own breathing is mirroring his, even though I’m pretty much just lying here. This whole thing is driving me wild.

  Trying to picture what’s happening in my mind, an idea comes to me. I bend my neck forward and stick out my tongue. Every time he thrusts upward, his cock head hits my wet tongue. I’m not worried about taking the initiative without asking permission—he told me to get him slippery. If he says anything, I’ll just say I’m continuing to do as he ordered.

  He doesn’t say anything, though. He just keeps fucking my breasts.

  Finally, he gives an extra powerful thrust and lets out a loud groan. I feel his warm, slippery seed splash against my chin and neck. He thrusts more slowly now, four or five more times. With each thrust, I feel another stream of cum land on my skin. If the amount of it is any measure of his enjoyment, then he’s one happy guy.

  He moves back, sitting on my hips once again. This time, he’s letting a little more of his weight press down onto me, but still not enough to be uncomfortable.

  “You look incredibly sexy right now,” he says.

  Huh? Sexy? That’s the last thing I expected to hear with his junk dripping all over me.

  “The blindfold, your chin and neck bathed in my cum, and that little satisfied smile on your face,” he continues.

  I hadn’t realized I was smiling, but I’m not surprised. I came here to please him, and obviously I’ve succeeded.

  I feel his weight shift again. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead and t
hen eases himself off me. The mattress rises underneath me and I realize he’s not only climbed off me, he’s climbed off the bed as well.

  I lay there, wondering what I’m supposed to do now. He hasn’t given me any instructions, so I don’t move.

  I hear water running in the bathroom. He must be cleaning himself off. What about me? I’m sure I’ve got a lot more cum on me than he does. I touch my chest with my fingers. The cum is beginning to turn sticky.

  The water shuts off. I expect to hear or at least sense him coming back to me, but instead I hear a drawer slide open and then closed across the room. Finally, he sits down on the bed beside me, down near my knees.

  “Take off your panties,” he commands.

  I guess he’s not here to help me clean off. I reach down and pull off my thong, bringing my legs up toward my chest so I can pull it over my ankles. I drop the thong onto the bed.

  “Open your legs,” he says.

  I dutifully spread my legs. Seconds pass with no sound from Sir. For the first time in a while, I’m feeling vulnerable and exposed. Why won’t he say something? Or do something? Waiting like this, with my most private parts spread open before him, is torture.

  How long this goes on, I’m not sure. It feels like many minutes, but it’s probably only a minute or two at most. I know he’s doing this on purpose, building the suspense, and it’s definitely working. There’s nothing going on—I’m lying here perfectly still—yet my heart rate is climbing.

  Finally, he moves, positioning himself between my legs with his knees pressed against the inside of my knees. I couldn’t close my legs now even if I wanted to.

  A low hum breaks the silence. It takes me a moment to identify the sound. I think he’s just turned on a vibrator. At least, I hope it’s a vibrator, because it could also be an electric shaver. My first guess is confirmed when he touches it to the inside of my thigh.