It had been a month. A month since I felt his touch. A month since I felt his lips. A month since his voice in my ear sent chills down my spine.
I parked in the driveway and turned off my car. I dropped my keys getting out and only then, reaching to pick them up, did I realize my hands were shaking. God, I was excited. The proverbial kid at Christmas, so eager for the gifts he was about to give me.
I rang the bell and waited for him to answer.
He opened the door wearing dark denim jeans and a button down shirt the color of sunsets. He smiled and I felt my body clinch. “Hello Princess. Do come in.”
Fuck! His voice. Deep and somehow both soft and commanding at the same time. I stepped inside his layer and he closed the door behind me. The lamp in the corner was on, R&B that took me back to high school played softly on the soundbar. He moved up behind me, close, but didn’t touch me. I could feel his sexual energy like a phone on silent vibrating on the bed. “It’s good to see you again.” That’s what he said. What I heard was “I’m going to make you my slave.”, and I was okay with it. “Have a seat.”
I sat.
He looked at me and smiled and then went to the kitchen. He came back with a chilled glass of white for me and a bottle of water for himself. He did drink, but he always hydrated before our sessions.
He sat on the couch beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, but made sure not to touch me. He handed me the glass and settled back. His eyes took me in, starting from my hair, over my face, taking in the cut of my top and lingering on my cleavage, then down to my legs and the toes peeking out of my flipflops. “You just came from the gym.”
It wasn’t a question, and honestly, not that keen an observation. I always had my session with him after the gym. It made our time together both more intense and more relaxing. I smiled anyway and nodded. “Yes, sir, I did.”
He untwisted the cap of his bottle and took a sip. “I never asked,” he began. “What motivates you when you’re working out? What makes you push through that last rep?”
I thought about it. Fitness has always been something important to me. I played sports in school, I took dance lessons, even tried my hand at gymnastics when I was younger. It was just a part of me. I shrugged and took another sip of my wine.
He inclined his head to the side and gave me that look. The one that said I was disappointing him.
“I like pushing myself.” I offered. His expression remained. “I like the feeling of pushing past my limits, seeing what my body is capable of.”
He smiled. “I thought that was why you came to me.”
“It is.” I took another sip. “But when I workout, I’m pushing myself.”
He nodded. “I dig it.” That was his way of saying this particular topic was no longer interesting. “How did things go with your (insert boring cliche here)?”
I answered, knowing he was listening and that he really cared about the answer. We always spent the first few minutes of our session chatting. He enjoyed giving me the chance to vent or rant or just decompress. He encouraged me to verbally vomit and get it all out of my system. He said it made it easier for me to relax and be clear headed later.
So I talked and he listened and would make flirtatious comments and glance at my breasts or I’d catch his gaze lingering on my lips and then he’d pretend to have not been paying attention, driving me crazy, turning me on, making me want him more and more.
Just touch me already!
He slid closer, but still just out of reach. “You want me to touch you, don’t you.” He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair from my face without ever making contact with my skin.
Get out of my head! “Yes, sir.”
He leaned closer still, his face inches from mine. He licked his lips and I wanted them on me. “Be patient.” His breath caressed my skin and I wanted to slap him. Stop teasing me, damnit!
He stood and disappeared around the corner. I knew where he was headed. I heard the shower a moment later and finished my wine. He came and got me, taking the glass from my hand, leading me to the bathroom, still never touching me. Steam rose from the shower. He had laid out a towel and luffa and my preferred brand of body wash. A silk robe hung on the hook beside the shower door. A black box was wrapped in red ribbon and sat on the lid of the toilet.
“Don’t open it until you’re done.” he commanded, looking at the box. He left, closing the door behind him.
I undressed and showered. He liked me clean and fresh and smelling of lemons and vanilla. When I was done, I dried off, did my make-up, and opened the box.
A pair of black heels, a selection from one of the many pics he sent me throughout the month, asking if I liked them. It was the third pair he bought me.
I stepped into them, dawned the robe, and went to him.
You wouldn’t think it was a dungeon. There was a standing mirror in one corner, a coffee table dead center, a lounge chair opposite it, and a night stand beside that. All elegant pieces made of hardwood and leathers and covered in polished epoxy. But I knew better. The mirror transformed into a St. Andrews Cross, the chair had locking spreader arms and restraints along the back and bottom and I knew from experience about the fuck machine in the locked drawer at its base.
The nightstand somehow became a pillory and the coffee table… well… the coffee table was Pandora’s Box. It was a toy chest, a spanking bench, breeding horse and a sex sling all in one.
That’s what he did for a living, made the world’s most discreet BDSM furniture. And he was really good at what he did.
He was seated in the lounge chair. His jeans and shirt were gone. His boxer briefs were dark blue and didn’t hide his erection one bit.
I stepped into position, just on the other side of the coffee table and awaited his instructions.
He stood and came towards me, walking in a slow tight circle around me. He leaned close and smelled my skin. “How do they fit?” he asked, his breath on my neck.
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good answer.” He circled in front of me, standing so close his shaft brushed against my thigh. He looked at me and smiled. “I want to tell you how stunning you look, but I don’t want you to think it’s a statement born of lust.” His hand caressed my face and his thumb traced my lower lip. I wanted to suck it. “I want to tell you you’re beautiful, but I don’t want you to think its a statement born of desire.” His other hand slid up my arm and to my neck before cupping my chin and gently tilting my head towards his. God he was so close. Even through the robe, I could feel his heat. “I want to tell you all the things I see when I look at you, but it doesn’t matter what I see.”
He stepped back. “Reveal.”
I untied the robe and let it fall to the hardwood floor. He took a deep breath and looked at my body.
The first time we did this, I covered myself with my arms. He made me put the robe back on, sat with me, and asked me why I did it. “I told him I was nervous and maybe feeling insecure.” He made me list all the parts of my body I didn’t like, got on his knees between my legs, opened the robe, and kissed every part I had mentioned.
Then he ate my pussy for almost an over and made me squirt all over his face. But that’s another story.
He moved behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me towards the mirror. “What do you see?”
I looked at myself and found an appreciation I didn’t have before him. Don’t get me wrong, I liked my figure and worked hard to stay in shape, but there’s always something that you wished was different, right? That one mole, or that slight discoloration, or the height of your naval.
But I didn’t see that anymore. “I see me, sir. The good and the bad. Just me. All of me.”
His fingers slid from my shoulders down my arms and to my waist. “And what are you?”
“I am yours.”
He hugged me tight and kissed my neck and pulled the flesh between his teeth. I melted in his embrace, his skin against mine, his throbbing shaft finding purchase between my ass cheeks. He turned me and kissed me and that alone was almost enough. His hands slid down my back, squeezing and massaging as they went, until he cupped my ass, spread my open and gently grazed my pussy. I was so wet for him. So eager to please and obey.
His kisses softened and he stepped away and left me standing on shaky legs.
“Shall we negotiate?” he asked, sucking the finger that had slid inside me.
“Yes, sir.” I answered.
“What do you desire?”
“Release.”
“What do you offer?” he asked.
“My all.”
“Do you consent to my control?”
“I do.”
“Do you consent to my demands?”
“I do.”
“Do you give yourself freely and willingly?”
“I do.”
“How can I use you?”
“However you want, Sir.”
“What part of you can I enjoy?”
“All of me, Sir.”
“How much of you can I enjoy?”
“As much as you want, Sir.”
He stepped close and took my hand. “Consent has been offered. Consent has been accepted. So end the negotiations.” He stepped closer still, pulled me towards him, and kissed my forehead gently. Then he pulled back and looked deeply into my eyes. “On your knees.”
And so we began.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/xa0c3g/monthly_session