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She followed him a few steps to the appointed spot, and waited. He reached the chair across the room, turned to look at her, and, seeing her anxiety, smiled and walked back to her. Standing very close—very close now—his nose almost touching hers like two children playing a game, he reached out and chastely caressed the side of her face, feeling her shape under her hair, watching her eyes close as she melted into his touch. “Are you ok?” That question again, but this time met with a confident smile and a quick nod. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You just give the word and everything stops—you have nothing to worry about. Ok?”
“Yes, I know. I know.” The first words she’d spoken since walking in the room, and that would be her last coherent thought for a while. She closed her eyes, smiled, and, when she opened them, he saw just a hint of a challenge, that fire, in her eyes. Answering with his own half-smile he walked back to the chair, sat, and simply watched her.
She quickly grew uncomfortable and fidgety. No man had ever looked at her so openly, with such confident eyes, and she knew what he knew—that she was his. “Stand still and don’t move.” She didn’t realize she had been moving, but she froze. The minutes grew longer, but he did not speak again. After some time, he got up, walked across the room and she heard ice clinking in a glass. No, there was nothing erotic here (she realized she had pouted a little at the realization and was relieved he hadn’t seen)—a corked came out of a bottle and she heard a drink being poured in the glass. He returned to his chair, now sipping his drink, and just sat. And watched.
“Undress. Slowly.” She had been expecting this, so there was no hesitation. She wasn’t sure where to look; as she looked in his eyes she could read nothing, but she couldn’t find another spot to hold her attention. She unzipped the dress, slowly pulled it over her head, and took a half step to drop it on the bed before she was interrupted again by his voice. A simple statement of fact: “I did not tell you to move,” with no emotion whatsoever. She nodded her assent and simply dropped the dress on the floor, now standing in front of him in the bra and panties that she had spent so much time picking for him. “Continue.” A moment later the bra joined the dress on the floor, and she reached down to slip the shoes off. “No. Leave those, but turn around.” She knew what he wanted without having it explained; she turned, presented her back to him, slowly and sensually bent from the waist, and ever so slowly lowered that last shred of lace down the long lines of her straightened legs.
She forgot her nerves a bit in that moment, and, reveling in her sexuality, in her sheer sluttiness, she held the pose, bent, for just a moment before pulling herself to her full height. “Good girl. Very nice. Now turn around and show me what is mine.” Obediently (for there was truly no other choice), she turned around, moved her right foot so her legs were spread just enough that all modesty was gone, put her hands behind her head and arched her back, presenting her chest to him. She could read no trace of emotion on his face as he sat, sat and waited, sat and sipped his drink, simply looking at what was his. She had been undressed with men before, but she realized she had never truly been naked, had never been seen as she was now.
The longer he sat, and the longer she waited, the more nervous she became. Finally, he rose, carrying his drink, and walked past her. She had a brief thought, perhaps it was more properly a hope, of ice, but that was not to be as she heard the glass touch the table beside the bed. Standing beside her, almost casually, he trailed his fingers from her hip, up her ribs, and traced the contours of her right breast, just avoiding touching her nipple. His fingers were a little damp and cold from the glass, but that was not why she shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her chest, as he stepped around behind her, appraising her like a racehorse. He stroked her hair, pulled it back over her shoulders, and let his hand wander down her back, to her hip, squeezing her ass in a way that almost made her giggle.
She felt him close behind her, the roughness of his clothing against her skin, and his lips on her ear, just touching, then kissing very lightly. “You are mine now girl. Mine.” She said nothing, but fell back into him as she held her pose. His hand around her body, one stroking her from chin to collarbone, playing with the delicate lines of her exposed throat as she tilted her head back in submission. His other hand, fingers on her inner thigh, finding her wetness so far down her leg. She could feel the moment when his fingers slipped, and heard him laugh softly in her hear. Yes, he knew, but he had always known. He had always known the words, the ways to touch her mind and heart, and now her body responded with just as much fire and hunger. Without warning, his hand tight around her throat, bringing tears to her eyes as his fingers slipped between her pussy lips. His rough grasp on her throat as he pulled her head to the side and bit down, hard, on her shoulder. She cried out as she wondered if he had just drawn blood—there was no question of a bruise tomorrow.
His fingers, now dripping wet, were roughly shoved into her mouth and she sucked, sucked, and would not let go of them until they were pulled from her mouth. With that hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair and cranked her head back, kissing her full on the mouth, his tongue in her mouth as he tasted her. She could feel his hunger, and sensed that he was hovering on the edge of control—she’d never seen a man this excited, this incensed, by the taste of her pussy and she was reminded, once again, that she had never experienced anything like this before.
He stepped around in front of her and she still stood there, obediently, waiting, arms behind her head to expose her body in submission to him. He stood there, and she was pleased to see him a little breathless with desire, just looking at her. He reached behind her with his left hand, took a handful of her hair and lowered her to kneel in front of him. Holding onto her hair, he explored her mouth with his right hand. She was not simply sucking his fingers, as he probed, explored, and pushed two, then three of them into her mouth. She was certain his cock was coming next, and she could feel her pussy tighten at the thought—she knew, beyond a doubt, if he told her to beg to suck his cock she would. And what kind of girl did that? Kneeling in front of a man she just met, naked, literally begging to suck his cock? What had he already made her, and how much more was to come?
And she would have, but it was not to be. His fingers in her mouth became more gentle as he allowed her to suck, to show him how she would please him, to show him what she wanted more than anything right now. But it was not to be. “Why are you here?”
The question hit her with surprise, perhaps the last thing she was expecting. She knew he saw the uncertainty on her face as she struggled to make the words, but she found them: “because I am yours.” He slapped her, very, very gently but there was no doubt—there was no doubt at all as to his meaning. “Because I am yours, Sir,” she corrected herself.
“Good girl. Good girl. And what do you want?”
“I want to be your good girl. I want to please you, to make you happy. I want to be such a good little girl for you.”
Pleased with her answer, he caressed the side of her face a moment, gazing down into her eyes as she read adoration, pride, and, yes, love in his eyes. He lifted her by the chin, not gently as his fingers hurt her jaw, and held her, standing, before him. He gently and tenderly kissed her lips before his hand closed around her throat and he led her, half stumbling but held firm in his grasp, to the bed.
The force of the blow caught her completely by surprise. A sound, somewhere between a bark and a yelp, escaped her lips as her entire body rang from the jarring impact of his hand on her ass and one of her long-standing questions was just answered—yes, a single swat to the ass could really hurt. She scrunched her eyes to hold back the tears, and, in that moment, she hated the calm in his voice as he patiently, emotionlessly repeated his question. She thought back over the events of the day that had led her here.