"Very good. Once we're in I want you to go ahead and shower while I set up the playroom. When you're done I'll get you settled before I take my turn washing, all right?"
"Ahm, yes sir, but I do have a request."
Yan has already taken his key out and is mid-way into unlocking the door, but my words stop him short and he turns back to me, clearly surprised. It is very unusual of me to make any requests at the start of a session and I see something like annoyance cross his face, but a moment later it's gone, replaced by quick amusement.
"Well, well, well you are full of surprises today, darling… What is it that you'd like to ask?
I hesitate for only a second before speaking up.
"Sir, along with the toys I brought for us there's also my gift for your birthday. My request is that you wait with opening it until after you've had your shower, and that you have me in such a position that I can see your face when you open it. Would you do that for me, sir?"
Yan breathes in and then exhales slowly, and a moment later takes my face in both his palms and bends down to kiss me lightly on my lips.
"You, my darling, are an assertive little subbie… lucky for you that I like it. Yes, I promise I won't open your gift until we're both ready to really start playing, and that you'll be able to watch my face when I do. All right?"
I smile my gratitude back to him. "Yes sir. Thank you."
"You're welcome darling. Now, let the games begin!" He says, opens Rye's door with flourish and holds it for me to walk in before him. I do so feeling the butterflies growing ever restless in my belly and stop only to remove my work sneakers and leave them by the door — I know how Rye insists on this — before taking my toiletries out of the trolley and turning to my right to walk the few steps across the small living space and into the tiny bathroom.
I get the shower running before stripping out of my soiled, smelly kitchen attire, and by the time I step under the spray it is hot and perfect, and I sigh my pleasure. I love the shower here. Though, on second thought, it just might be that what I like most about it is the playroom that awaits me when I'm done…
While I know Yan won't mind me taking my time since it would give him a few more minutes to plan and prepare, I am too anxious and too needy to stall. After brushing my teeth I make quick work of shampooing and conditioning my long, straight, jet-black and silver-streaked hair, and then take care with shaving myself to be smooth everywhere save for the thick triangle of dark curls over my pubis, which Yan wouldn't let me remove. "I want you to look like a woman, not like a child" he reprimanded me on that one time that I went completely bald wanting to surprise and please him, and even though he didn't punish me for it, saying he did appreciate the thought behind the gesture, I'd learned my lesson well.
I use my washcloth to lather up the gentle shower gel and get rid of the last of the kitchen stink that still clings to me, enjoying the rough texture scrubbing all over me and thinking of Yan's appreciation of the tingling pinkish hue it would leave behind on my olive-toned skin. I linger a little more than I have to around my full, soft breasts, fondling them and tweaking my dusky-brown nipples into tight little buds. I hope he clamps them tonight. I feel my heartbeat pick up at the thought. I brought my favorite pair of clamps for us, the beautiful ones that look almost like jewelry and hurt just right…
Last but not least, after shutting down the water I rub my fragrance-free body oil onto my still-damp skin, taking extra pleasure in massaging it over my large, dark, puffy outer labia and my softly rounded ass, sliding my lubricated fingers up and down my crack, getting it gleaming and ready. I used to buy aromatic oils until Yan told me to look for a scent-free brand, saying while he loved how soft it made my skin he wanted to smell me, not the product. I was terribly embarrassed at first, but soon learned the benefits of having him find his pleasure in making my pussy as wet and fragrant as he liked it to be… I let the oil seep in and soften me all over for a couple minutes before tap-drying myself with the towel.
Taking the time to prepare my body for Yan's pleasure has this bonus effect of charging me up as well; There's something about that deliberate effort to ready myself for a session with my Dom so that he'd really want me bad… it's almost like a sacrificial ritual that I go through before offering myself to him, and it makes me feel sexy as hell.
Ooooohhhh I can't wait!
Having no dryer around I use the towel on my hair and then brush it to a gleaming straight curtain before weaving it into a single thick, long braid that falls down to my mid-back. Yan loves my hair down, but in session always has me keep it plaited and out of the way. Finally I am ready. I take one more look at myself in the foggy mirror. I may not be twenty anymore, but for a fifty-one-year-old woman I look damn fine, if I do say so myself. Hearing it often enough from Yan, seeing the frank desire in his eyes, as well as in his hard dick, doesn't hurt either.
Smiling to myself knowingly I turn and then pause for a second to find my equilibrium, taking a few deep, even breaths. I focus my thoughts onto my husband, my Dom, who is readying the session for us while I prepare myself for him, and feel myself slipping effortlessly into that beautiful sub-mode that I love so much. Once I step out of the bathroom I am his to do with as he wishes. Feeling my folds heat and dampen a little at the thought, I turn the doorknob and open the door to step out, completely naked and glowing inside and out, into the living area.
Yan has been waiting for me in the leather recliner and stands up as I step out of the bathroom. The small room is dark save for a single dimmed side lamp tucked in the corner. We're only a few feet apart, and his shoulders rise and fall with his quick intake of air as he sees me standing there before him, ready for his use. He had pushed the low coffee table all the way to the side of the room and there's nothing between us except for the thick, chocolate-colored carpet.
Wordlessly I walk forward until I am two feet away from him, then stop and wait for his move, the long-practiced choreography pulling me even deeper into my role, and I know it has the same effect on him. Our eyes are locked together keeping us perfectly synced, feeding off of each other's excitement. Yan offers me his hands and I place both of mine in them and let him support me as I kneel down in front of him, sitting on my heels with my knees open comfortably to hip width. When he's sure I have gained my balance in this position he releases my hands, and I rest them on my spread thighs, palms up, chest open, shoulders low and back, head straight.
He walks slowly around me, taking me in from all directions. I love this part of our dance, even though it never fails to make me a little nervous. I can't help but feel small and helpless and ultra-feminine when I kneel naked at his feet and he looks down at me, looming large and strong and fully dressed above me, while I await his approval.
Completing his leisurely circle, Yan leans down and reaches out with his hand. When I place my fingers in it he helps me up and then into his arms for a slow, deep kiss. He shows me his approval with his touch that glides down my back, caressing over the swells of my ass and then up my sides over the soft outer curves of my breasts, before finally going back to my face and holding it steady while he makes slow love to my mouth.
Lifting his head after several long moments, he murmurs: "Darling, as always, you take my breath away. Come now, let's get you settled."
Chapter 4
He leads the way across the small, high-ceiling apartment. There is a sleeping loft built into the part of the flat just in front of us on the other side of the tiny entrance hall, its beams made of solid dark timber. To the innocent eye the area underneath the loft is Rye's workspace, furnished with a small hanging desk, a padded, straight-back iron chair and a custom-made cupboard tucked under the stairs to the loft. But to those who share his kink, this space is a hidden-in-plain-sight playground, just waiting to be put to good, hard use.
As we walk over I take in the arrangements Yan has already made for our session. The hanging desk had been folded up against the wall and the hidden doors on its bottom had
been opened wide, revealing its secret role as a mirror-backed toy cabinet. The old school-gym horse that usually hides under the hanging desk, supporting its weight, is revealed in all its glory - including the special metal fittings that were added in strategic places to allow for various bondage positions.
On top of the horse only a few of our toys had been laid out: the blindfold and the nipple clamps — ooohhh goodie! — several lengths of rope, as well as two red, chubby soft-wax candles, already burning and lending their soft glow to the otherwise darkened space. I had brought some other toys as well, but I know even if he planned to use any of them he wouldn't want to reveal all the details yet. He knows how I love the suspense.
Next to the flickering candles at the far end of the 2-feet-long-horse stands my gift, still wrapped and tied up in the red silk ribbon, and my breath hitches when my eyes caress it with a mix of pride and nerves.
Oh I hope he likes it!
Shit. I really, really hope that *I* like it.
Yan's fingers tickle down my spine to the small of my back and with that barest of touches he propels me forward to where the timber beams that support the sleeping loft create a perfect St. Andrew's Cross against the back wall. When I reach it I run my fingers appreciatively up the smooth, dark surface. The wood feels supple and warm to the touch, almost alive. I suppress the urge to kiss it.
"Turn around."
His calm, low, commanding voice sends sweet chills down my back. I turn my back to the cross and watch silently as Yan picks up one length of rope, and I give him my right wrist when he steps closer. He works with practiced ease, making sure my bonds are solid and comfortable when he attaches my wrist to the top iron fitting. My left wrist and both of my ankles follow and in short order I am fully tied up, spread out against the cross, feeling the familiar calm settle over me. I love being bound by him.
Yan takes a step back to admire me with a satisfied quirk of his lips, and then reaches around to pick up the blindfold from the horse. When he sees the protest rising on my lips he silences me with a stern look before covering my eyes and gently adjusting the strap around my head.
"Shhh… quiet darling. I remember my promise and I will keep it; but for now I want you blindfolded."
I mumble "Yes sir. Sorry sir." and feel the soft, reassuring caress of his knuckles against my lower lip and my chin, followed by his low mumble close to my ear:
"It’s alright, love. Now, is it too cold in here for you?"
I smile behind my blindfold. My goosebumps and my erect nipples and the small shivers running along my spine have absolutely nothing to do with the room temperature, which is actually nice and comfortable. This roof apartment had soaked up the sun's warmth throughout the day, and the dropping temperatures outside are kept at bay by the closed windows.
"No sir, it's perfect."
I hear his soft chuckle and another brush of his fingers along both my temples, tucking the few strands that have escaped my braid behind my ears.
"Good. I'm going to take my shower. I won't be long. In the meantime I want you to guess how I am going to enjoy you tonight…" He lets his hands trail down my naked torso, tracing my curves lightly, and then leans in for a soft kiss before withdrawing altogether. I hear him pad over to the bathroom, hear the door open and close, and then the water starts running.
Alone with my thoughts, bound and blindfolded, my mind focuses on the sensations coursing through my body. The slight stretch of my limbs feels fantastic, opening my chest and my belly and allowing for deep, full breaths, creating a surge of oxygen that is almost intoxicating. My ass is pressed to the smooth hardwood behind me and I wiggle it slightly, thinking how good it would feel to bump and press against it if Yan decided to fuck me in this position.
The thought makes my pussy swell and moisten, and that sensation in turn makes me think of the sight I make for my husband, spread out and aroused as I am. If he were to look at the apex of my thighs — which I'm sure he will, soon! — he'd see my brownish-red, prominent inner lips, already gleaming with a sheer film of moisture, peeking out of my fleshy outer folds. I feel my pussy twitch involuntarily at the thought. He loves playing with my pussy; loves licking and sucking and nibbling on it, loves fingering and spanking it, loves making it so wet that my juices run down my thighs, hurting it so good that I can't tell if it's pleasure or pain and all I can do is beg him for more…
I’m breathing heavily now, my blood is rushing in my ears and I am so focused internally that I don't even notice the water had stopped and the bathroom door had opened and closed. But suddenly I sense Yan’s presence next to me, smell the scent of his hot, damp body just a fraction of a moment before his fingers touch my face and I suck in a startled breath that turns into a whimper when one hand slides back to bury itself in the hair gathered at my nape, and the other lifts my face up to accept his thorough kiss.
He's close enough for the hairs on his chest to tickle my nipples and I arch my back, straining for more. He grins into our kiss and allows it, but makes me work for it, standing his ground so that I need to extend my arch further to rub myself up and down, and even so I cannot get the full skin-to-skin touch that I crave, but only tease my own nipples a little harder. I feel a slow-burning ache start spreading deep down in my belly towards my loins.
Lord, we haven't even started and already I'm aching for him.
Yan takes his time kissing me, undeterred by my obvious need, until finally he withdraws and then carefully tugs at the strap behind my head to remove my blindfold. I blink a couple of times, quickly adjusting to the dim candle light as I look up to his face, and I feel my heart expand inside my chest. The creases that decorate his forehead, his eyes and his mouth, laughter lines and worry lines, make it all that much dearer to me. I feel so entitled to have shared all those times with him. My gratitude swells in me, making my eyes glisten.
How did I ever get so lucky?
He steps back and reaches for the wrapped box while my eyes follow his smooth movements. What a magnificent fifty-three-year-old specimen, I think to myself. He wears only a towel, wrapped low around his hips and hiding his thighs from my gaze, stopping just above his knees. His large frame is solid and somewhat on the thick side, the excess twenty pounds that he'd gained over the years spread evenly all over. My very own grizzly bear, I grin contently to myself. His light-brown skin is a shade darker than my own, and curls dust his chest, forearms and legs — once dark, but now sprinkled with silver, just like the short crop he keeps on his head.
He catches me ogling him and his eyes — his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes — laugh back at me.
"Enjoying the view, darling?"
I smile and nod, feeling inexplicably shy, and his grin deepens - and then fades away when his eyes start sliding slowly down my bound, stretched-out form, and I see his mood change right in front of me, his face tightening with his rising need, his nostrils flaring.
"Me too."
I gulp and watch his gaze travel slowly back up until he meets my eyes. "Shall I open my gift now, my darling?"
"Yes please, sir. I hope you like it."
My voice quivers slightly and he quirks an eyebrow mildly as if to say, what's there not to like? and pauses just for a moment before tugging on the free tail of the pretty bow, the silk succumbing immediately to his touch. The tie glides loose and the ribbon slinks down to the floor at his feet. I feel the tremors return.
He grips the small box in his left hand and uses his right to find the diagonal crease in the wrapping paper and promptly rip it apart, revealing the plain cardboard box below. I see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, and realize he’d probably misinterpreted my nerves to mean I had deviated from our birthday tradition, and is glad to be proven wrong.
Letting the torn wrapping paper float to the floor behind him he takes a half-step forward so that we're very close, and with his eyes locked with mine he slowly opens the box. I hold my breath. The lid is open but he still hasn't looked down, instead focusing on
the way my eyes widen, my pupils dilate and my throat convulses as I try to swallow over the sudden dryness in my mouth.
Tilting his head, he considers me for another fraction of a moment before dropping his gaze down to the open box he's still holding between us, and I watch as, like in slow-motion, his lips part with his sharp intake of air and then close and press thinly, his fingers tightening around the box. I see his Adam's apple work once, before he raises his slightly-shocked eyes back to mine.
"Are you sure, Nadya?"
His voice comes out gruff, and his calling me by my given name rather than by my pet name is a sure sign of his meaning. He wants to know this is a completely free choice.
I nod and then find my voice and answer as steadily as I can. "Yes. I'm sure."
With fingers that aren't perfectly steady he pulls out the small, classic ball gag from the box and absently puts the box back on the horse, his focus solely on the toy in his hand.
It's been on his wish list forever.
It's been on my hard limits list just as long.
Chapter 5
It happened decades ago, before I even met Yan. I was a naive girl, innocent and trusting and longing for attention, and head over heels in love with a young man. He was several years my senior, very much ‘a man of the world’ - at least to my adoring eyes. Fresh out of university, he was back at the village, ready to step in and resurrect the family business, which had all but gone under when his father passed away.
With his tall and dark good looks and his easy, confident smile, I thought him more handsome than any movie star. I, on the other hand, was just coming out of that awful ugly-duckling phase so many teen girls go through. My body had already transformed into that of a woman, while my mind was desperately trying to catch up with what it all meant. But our traditional society simply forbade talking about it, which left me fumbling in the dark, trying to come up with my own answers as I went.
Maybe if my mother had been alive, it would have been different. But she died during childbirth when I was ten years old, along with my would-be long-awaited baby brother. My father, bless his soul, had done his best keeping the world from crumbling completely around me, and had held his own grief at bay to help me work through mine. Even when he remarried, taking our recently widowed neighbor - who was several years his senior - as his second wife, I felt he was doing it as much for me, for providing me a semblance of ‘family’, as for himself.
The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set) Page 12
