Meeting Miss Ma’am

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Amateur

“Sure” you texted me.

It was a simple, unvarnished word, but in this instance, laden miraculously with the stuff of utter elation.

I had arranged a trip out to the mountains on a pretext with the hope of seeing you for the first time. It was a very adult thing, I reflected on the flight over. I mean, there were various arrangements to be made, accommodations to be booked, wardrobe to be packed, etc. It wasn’t something done on a whim. It was queerly, automatically serious. And yet, the way it caused me to feel internally was entirely juvenile. To wit: I hit the gym, I was running 50 miles a week, I cut out drinking, ad absurdum. For so long none of it had mattered, but now I was desperate to impress you—whatever that meant.

The plan was that I’d go see friends in Denver and then take off for a couple of extra days in Vail—nominally for a ski trip. In truth, we had arranged to meet out there, have dinner and then… Then who knows, honestly. I had gone as far as my nerve would take me in even proposing the trip. But I had no idea what would happen. I just decided that whatever it was, I’d take a few days doing it. If it didn’t go well, I’d have a couple days to put myself together before returning home. If it did… Well, hell. I had no idea.

The days spent in Denver were tenuous, excruciating even. It was late fall and I celebrated Thanksgiving with my friends, did a winter summit on the front range and tried hard not to think about what was coming next.

Driving through the passes on my way to Vail, I was thankful that I had splurged on a Range Rover for my rental. The roads were a nightmare and everyone was stopping to chain up. The whole way I fretted that you wouldn’t be able to make it. I had proposed Vale because I thought it would be romantic, but now cursed the choice.

I got there in the mid afternoon and sent you another text to check that you were fine. You got back to me and said that yes, in fact, you were and actually had been there all day skiing with friends and would see me that night.

Friends? I had no idea what to expect. Had there been some miscommunication? Were they coming? Was she planning on rejoining them at some point? Were they other subs vying for her attention? Other dommes she wanted to share me with? My imagination was absolutely out of control. I took the lift to the hotel bar.

“Single malt. Neat.” To Hell with it, I needed it. I let the scotch take its effect. Had another and sipped it serenely while I quietly wondered if I could get away with a cigar without reeking still by dinner. I decided against it.

Finally the time came and I headed to the restaurant. Of course I didn’t know it, but it came highly recommended by friends and urbanspoon alike! I took one last glance at myself in the reflection of the car window before heading in. God I hoped I had got the dress right. I had gone classic with a high necked hunter green sweater with a quarter zip and shirt and loose tie underneath over cords and my favorite suede Varvatos shoes. In the lobby, I sighed in relief as the patrons were a good mix from tweed jackets all the way to just off the slopes.

I didn’t get much more chance to catch my bearings, though, because at that moment I heard you call out “Saint?”

I turned and there you were… A broad, unforced smile—the sort that warms people instantly—your cheeks still rosy from the day’s activity, and your hair flowed with a sort of wild ferocity and, was it, freedom?

“Hey!” I choked. It was the best I could manage.

You were radiant and swept over to me, casually wrapping one hand around the back of my neck while the other held your jacket draped over it. It was the sort of easy embrace long friends enjoy together and for you it was utterly natural.

The meal was a blur. I don’t know if it was the nerves or the conversation which just seemed to flow or the wine which did the same. I remember you remarked that you were enjoying yours and wondered how mine was. “Exceptional” I replied, but I’m not sure that I had even tasted it. We left, I tipped the waiter over-generously trying to appear magnanimous and at the same time kicking myself for being so vain. We walked the streets arm in arm and enjoyed the starlit night.

And we connected. These things defy description and explanation, but it was like our souls fit together as two hands held with woven fingers. And I looked down and, indeed, we were holding hands, yours over mine, and I couldn’t stop smiling. All o the sudden, without a word, we both stopped, turned to each other, and kissed. Your hand rose up to cup my cheek. Mine went to your waist to draw you closer. And when at last our lips parted we stood there still, embracing. The whole world seeming to fall silent as snow dusted our hair and eyelashes.

It was all too fast, but it seemed to make sense. I trusted you, whether or not I should. Could I trust my own instincts?

Somehow, we made it back to my rental, but we didn’t get very far. I was pressed antalya escort up against the cold driver’s side window as you climbed on top of me, holding me by the knot of my tie and kissing me voraciously. Time stopped as we steamed up the windows like a couple of high school kids. We might have stayed there forever, if that police officer hadn’t come by, knocking on the window and telling us to “Move along…”

“I want to see this fancy hotel room of yours,” you grinned.

You lead me unabashedly through the lobby, leading me by the balls at a quick pace, a devious smirk etched on your face. The concierge blushed. The clerks giggled. One just stared as though with the voracious lust of a starved dog before a steak. You shot her a look that said, “Mine, bitch!” and we got into the elevator.

Finally I stumbled to the door of the suite I had rented and began fumbling for the keycard while you groped me from behind, biting at my neck and probing at my ass obscenely.

At last the blasted light on the door handle went green and I hear the latch release in a sort of orgasm all of its own, a lewd foreshadowing of what I could hardly believe may lay ahead. You wasted no time pushing me towards the bed and I fell on it readily, grinning ear to ear as you climbed on top of me, kissing me salaciously—more tongue than lips. You reached down and pulled my sweater up over my head, but not all the way off, leaving my arms tangled in it above my head. From there you move quickly and ruthlessly, taking my tie and using it to tie me by the neck to the backboard of the bed.

“I didn’t come completely unprepared,” you said, pulling two pairs of handcuffs from your purse. You continued to undress me, pulling off my sweater, unbuttoning my shirt and removing it, loosing my belt and whipping me with it a couple of times, tantalizingly. When I was completely naked, you bent my legs back and cuffed each of my wrists to the corresponding ankle, leaving my ass open and exposed.

You sat back, looked at me and smiled. “Oh, I’m forgetting something!” you exclaimed and reached back into your purse to reveal a small role of duct tape. “A girl should never leave home without it,” you proclaimed matter-of-factly. Then you stood up, pulled your pants down and removed your panties.

“I’m going to have to leave for a little bit, but you’ve been so good I’m going to leave you with a present when I go.” You balled up the panties and placed them in my open mouth, duct taping them in place like a gag. “Do you feel ok? Can you breathe?” I nodded my head eagerly. “Good. How do they taste, darling?” I mumbled something in obvious but unintelligible delight. “I know, baby,” you purred.

“Hmm, missing something…” you looked around the room for inspiration. “Ah, that will work!” you exclaimed, a figurative lusty red neon light bulb illuminating over your head. You got the ice bucket and placed and ice cube over one of my nipples, covering it then with a glass and then taping that in place to my chest, repeating on the other side.

“Not quite done…” you murmured under your breath, looking around again and then, “Aha!” In the bathroom, around the spa tub there were a couple dozen tea candles. You placed two column of them all the way down my abdomen to just where, when lit, I could feel their soft heat starting to singe my closely trimmed pubic hair. “That’s to make sure you’ll be good, try not to burn the hotel down.” You kissed my forehead, “I’ll be back my pet,” and then you put your jeans back on, grabbed my keys and left.

I never doubted that you would keep your word. I felt the weakness of that suspicion rise up and me and purged it, like a monk ridding himself of worldliness, and devoted myself to the task at which you had left me. Lie still. Such a simple thing, but like most things in our chaotic, cluttered, modern lives, overly complicated. My hips ached, cold water ran down me as the ice melted, I singed with wax every time I trembled. Like a child, my whole being was concentrated on lying still, just like you told me. And then, eventually, the trembling and aching and everything ceased and I achieved a moment of serenity.

The thing about serenity is this: It’s timeless. I didn’t know how long it lasted, but true peace always feels like eternity. That’s why it is so highly sought after, our souls desperately seek reunion with infinity.

And then, at some point, you returned.

I heard the door click and had a moment of panic which shattered my solace, my never quite in tact mind fragmenting in a million directions in that fractal second where there was a nearly boundless possibility of who, conceivably, could be coming through that door. But it was you. Of course it was. You hadn’t brought along a bunch of guys from a leather bar to prison rape me, you hadn’t brought friends to shame and humiliate me (well, at least not this time!). It was just you. Just you and a small suitcase that I could only guess the contents.

“Hello, slut,” you alanya escort said with a demonic grin, “did you miss me?”

I grunted and nodded enthusiastically, but winced as a fresh coat of hot wax spilled all over my torso. You chuckled and bent over to blow out the candles, but still dumped the excess wax on the soft, exposed portions of my flesh. You removed the glasses—the keenest indication of the time lapsed was that there was hardly anything left of the cubes—and licked my chest dry, affectionately.

There was a gas fireplace in the room and you went and lit it, placed the candles around the room and relit them and dimmed the lights before finally taking off your coat and returning to remove the panty gag from my mouth. You kissed me tenderly and said, “You look parched, should I order in room service?”

“Of course!” I said.

“Champagne?”

“What else?”

I laid in bound silence as you picked up the room phone and ordered. Casual as a Saturday morning you walked over to the full length mirror and put your hair up, then stripping off your clothes to reveal a shiny latex corset and latex, zippered panties. You looked over at me and saw the beginning stages of arousal and said, “Oh, honey, no no no no no… Not yet.”

You slinked over to me with feline seductiveness and opened up your suitcase—a veritable menagerie of kink, as it turned out, and fished out a chastity device which you fastened to me with an almost professional precision.

Room service knocked at the door and you glided over, donning a robe in the same fluid motion. If he had come one step further around the corner, the porter would have seen me tied up there. But he didn’t. I even (rather adventurously I thought!) called out to you, “there’s cash in my wallet, dear.” He opened the bottle with an almighty pop to which you said “Oh my…” with a teasing, seductive raise of your eyebrow. You tipped him and he left, never knowing the difference, or, if he did, at least being professional about it.

You brought the bottle over to the bed and laid down next to me, and poured a glass. You sipped delicately and softly rubbed your finger in a circle on my temple. “A gentleman waits, does he not?” you toyed.

“Of course,” I said, smiling.

I watched you, enraptured by your calm elegance and dazzling presence, as you finished the flute and poured again. “Darling, would you care for some?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you think you deserve it?”

I had no idea how to answer. “Everything I have is nothing I deserve, nothing I don’t have is something I require.”

“But what do you want,” you said, your voice lowered to a register where sexuality dripped off of every seductive curve of the soundwave, running your fingers lightly across my chest.

I took a deep breath and struggled to swallow, my throat beyond dry, “I wish only to serve and please you.”

“Good boy. I think you mean it, too.” You propped yourself back up and took a long sip of the champagne, and then lowered yourself to me again and gave it to me with your mouth. “I will always take care of you, so long as you remember your place,” you said between sips. And in such a fashion, we finished the second glass.

“There, that’s better now, isn’t it?” you whispered as you crawled to a position between my legs. “How about desert, then?” Delicately you began kissing and licking and eventually sucking lightly all over my thighs, buttocks, stomach, balls and prostate. But my gasps and sighs and whimpers were beyond what you cared to hear from me at that moment, and so you reached into your suitcase again and produced a black rubber two-way dildo gag. That’s what I got for not being able to bear it in silence, and so I began to choke and gag quietly on the unfamiliar feeling gag in my mouth.

You toyed with me more, performing fellatio on the dildo portion, gliding up and down its entirety with little or no effort while your eyes gleamed at me while I struggled. My cock throbbed against the chastity device and started to leak.

You reached into the suitcase again, this time to fetch a pair of latex gloves which you slipped on and oiled.

“Saint,” you said almost as a doctor addresses her patient, “has anyone ever fucked your ass before?” I shook my head that I hadn’t. Your middle finger twirled in circles around my anus. “And do you want to give this to me?” you continued. Again, I nodded excitedly, choking my throat on the tie which fixed me to the bed. “Are you sure? Because, you know, we don’t have to…” your voice trailed off and you adjusted your weight onto your opposite arm in such a way that your breasts seemed like they might pop out of your bodice at any moment. I groaned. You toyed with me. “And what will you give me in return for taking your ass’s virginity for you?”

I whimpered. I had no idea what to say and, even if I did, would not be able to. You leaned in close so that we were eye to eye. Your tone dropped, you were alanya rus escort dead serious: “I will now be your mistress. I don’t want your life, but your heart, your cock and this ass will belong to me. You will serve no others unless I direct it. You will love no others as you love me. And I promise,” you hovered over me, your finger still on my anus, you pulled out the gag for just a moment and lowered your face to mine until our lips just a centimeter apart, “as you are devoted to me, so I will devote myself to you.”

At that moment, you plunged your middle two fingers into my ass and waited only for a moment while my head jerked back in a gasp before you pressed your face to mine in a deep, unrelenting kiss. When we finally separated, both struggling to fill our lungs, you immediately replaced my gag and took to the task of fucking me thoroughly. It was so much to take, but you cooed at me to hush and relax and take it like a good little boy. You patiently explained what you were doing the whole time, that you were getting me ready for my big moment, the big surprise—although at this point the surprise would be minimal.

You continued to work while I was bound helplessly, my awareness of the pain in my joints finally returning to me, but strangely with a certain joyfulness that compounded the sensation.

“I can’t believe what a good, eager little ass you have, are you sure you’ve never had it fucked before?” I hadn’t. You had four fingers in me at that point. Well lubed, the slid in and out almost effortlessly, with ass squeezing on each backstroke. “I wonder… I want you to take a breath and really relax, I mean REALLY relax, ok.” I did as you directed, and you watched my resilient eyes as you slid your entire hand in.”

“Fuck” you muttered and slid the hand back out with an enormous, disgusting but kinky slurping sound. You went to your bag again, pulling of your gloves and producing a large, veiny rubber strapon which you dutifully covered with a massive condom and lubed generously. Your mouth twisted in the snarl of intense lust that was about to be satisfied and growled the erotic obvious: “I’m gonna fuck your ass, you little slut!”

And oh, did you fuck me… You pounded me hard. When I groaned you dug your nails into my chest till it bled, when I tried to scream you’d slap me hard across the face. You found your rhythm and really started to drive it home. I studied intently the bounce of your breast against the corset each time you slammed into me, I tried to swallow the fire in your eyes into my soul and be consumed by your lust. You grunted and screamed to a climax of your own while my ass throbbed and my stomach glistened with precum that leaked through the chastity device. You pushed the strapon to its utter limit, closed your eyes and gasped, then slowly pulled out.

Slurp.

You were breathing hard. You found the key to the handcuffs and released me, allowing me an ecstatic moment of stretching my sore legs and rubbing my wrists. “Get up, on your hands and knees facing the wall.” I obeyed. You took one of my hands and placed it in a grip around one of the rails in the headboard, cuffing me again before doing the other side. You attached weighted nipple clamps to me, wordlessly and came around to the side, leaning down with one hand softly rubbing my buttock and another holding my chin to where we were eye to eye and said “I haven’t even started yet.” You kiss me on the forehead and disappear behind me.

SLAP! Your bare hand against my ass. Fifteen heavy strokes and my ass was stinging.

“Hi there, Rosy,” you said playfully. I heard you go back to the suitcase and then return.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! A studded leather paddle, as I would later learn, was being employed on me. Twenty staggering strokes. The pain deafened my senses. For some reason, my ears were ringing, After the paddle, I didn’t know if I could take anymore. Sometimes it would catch my prostate or the back of my scrotum and I thought I might pass out. You were at my ear again. “I’m almost impressed, slut. But I won’t really know you’re mine until you bleed for me. Do you wish to continue?”

My nod was slow, exhausted, tearful, but genuine. Go on, I urged you, mentally. You nodded once and returned to the suitcase.

AH! Oh God, what the fuck was that? It felt like a fucking razor! AH! Again. AH!!

My screams were muffled and extinguished, of course, as they should have been. Honestly, I lost count. If I had been made to count, I would have failed, because sometime after three I reached Nirvana and I jolly well stayed there until my ass was striped. Next thing I knew, you were hushing me again, your soft hand rubbing my back and your cock gently pumping me.

I struggled to regain breath and composure. “Shhh now, it’s ok. I’m here, pet. Shhh. Quiet darling. That’s my good boy…”

I felt your hands reach down to undo my chastity device and then resume the pumping. You massaged my balls and then squeezed them to control me as I soon grew rock hard, my cock slapping against myself in concert with the pounding I was taking. And your fucking became at first insistent, then rapid, then furious. You screamed my name and cursed in ecstasy and then finally fell away from me, giggling. Beneath my gag, I panted.

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