Every time I do this, I think I am searching for something. I’m not quite sure what it is—catharsis, revelation, sudden insight. Or just pleasure beyond what I normally experience, pleasure that gets taken from fantasy scenarios turned into reality. Or maybe simply trying to decide, am I meant to do this? Is it interest for the sake of kinkiness or do I have some difficult to explain inner desire for submission that I’m finally allowing myself to explore?
I’m still not sure I have figured it out. But, another hotel room, a different dom. The room was a lot less obvious, small, quiet, the sort of hidden hotel that apparently people actually stayed at, you know, tourists and such. (In which case, I am feeling quite sorry for whoever had the room next door.)
He was very experienced, and strict, he told me. After the scene, he said I’d be too tired for snark, too tired for the giggling and smirk that hung on my lips when he began teaching me the basic discipline.
I had to relearn it all—standing, with my ankles together, my back straight, arms pressed at my thighs, my eyes fixed straight ahead, not to speak unless spoken to (and only to answer “yes sir” and “thank you sir”). He sat at the chair with his hand propped on the table and his chin (periphery vision—I wasn’t supposed to look at him unless given permission to). The silence in the room stretched while I struggled to stay still and not laugh. He said I’d learn, soon, to stop.
He gave me instructions on exactly how to undress. First, the boots, right one first, then the left, as quickly and without fuss as possible. Lined up neatly in front of me while I resumed the standing position. And, how could I forget, the camera. Him being a photographer, and me being the narcissistic, self obsessed and aesthetic adoring girl that I am, I was more than happy to agree to a combined photoshoot scene. I couldn’t see it directly, but caught the whirl of the shutter, the blinding whiteness of the flash.
Next, my socks, and jeans (unbutton first, then unzip, then take off and fold neatly on top of the socks). My sweater, the delicate silver keys that hung around my neck. There was a breeze that brushed against my exposed skin, and as he told me to take off my shirt and fold it on top of the next item, I became quite aware of the image I must have made. Next, the bra, and I felt a tremble inside as I slipped the black straps off my shoulders and set it on top of the perfect pile, aware of the tender pink of my nipples, already perked and sensitive, scared of the next item on the list as he maintained the silence in between each order. But then I took off my panties, without complain and set it on top of the pile, standing back with my back straight, too aware of the eye of the camera more then him, lifting my neck and head, sucking in my stomach and in my mind thoughts running, naked in front of a near stranger who had yet to move from his seat.
I breathed, wondering when he would change things, when his hand would graze my body or perhaps jerk my hair. But, there was a lot more to learn before then. There was standing with my hands clasped before my head, like a prisoner awaiting execution, and my legs spread. The camera snapped. Kneeling, with my knees hips width distance, digging into the carpet with my hands behind my head. “Do you feel anything other than just silly just now?” He asked, while I faced a different wall.
I breathed. “Yes sir.”
“What do you feel?”
“Slightly turned on, sir.” I still couldn’t say it without a smile, a private joke with myself.
“Stand up. Faster.” I did, and turned to face him, as per instruction.
Finally—the thrill of his touch, his finger that lightly chased from the center of my collar bone, cold and light down the center of my body, pausing just above my hips, and the same line drawn down my back. Just that, one finger that was not aggressive or forceful, and I already felt myself breathing differently, pleading silently for more.
“Spread your legs.” I did as I was told. His finger thrust into my cunt, not at all tender, this time, eliciting a gasp that didn’t stop as it fucked me, digging deep and fast while I tried hard to maintain my composure. Ah, do you know what a proper finger fucking can do? A single digit that reach spots and enflame desire like nothing else, while I panted and wanted him to never stop, and a cock to replace it, a cock in my mouth.
It wouldn’t take too long before he delivered just that—but not before punishing me for the still not yet stifled sassy disrespect in the form of eyes that won’t stay still, hands that forget to resume their proper position.
To be continued, of course.
