Read Online Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) by S.T. Prussing - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S.T. Prussing
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something. From the distance I’ve crawled already, I’m pretty sure we’ve left the living room. Since I don’t know the layout of his condo, I have no idea where he’s leading me. I hope it’s to the bedroom, though.
“You’re doing fine, Jennifer.”
Once again, he’s farther away. How big is his fucking condo, anyhow? Crawling slowly while blindfolded certainly screws up your sense of distance and direction. I plod onward.
“Stop now. We’re here. ”
I halt, remaining on all fours while I await his next instruction.
“Kneel,” he says, so I rise up onto my knees.
He grabs my nipples and pulls upward. It hurts, but not badly.
“Stand up.”
Pulled upward by my swelling nipples, I stand.
Still using my nipples to direct me, he turns me around in a half turn. When he lets go, the pain lingers for a moment, then disappears. Its absence is almost disappointing.
“Sit.”
Sitting down blindfolded is not as easy as it may sound. You have no idea what you’ll be sitting on, or how far down you need to go. Cautiously, I bend my legs and lower my butt until I feel what I’m pretty certain is his mattress under my backside. I smile. He’s taken me to his bedroom.
The material is soft and very smooth against my bare skin. Silk sheets, I think. The bed is probably already turned down. My smile widens.
“Take off my belt,” Sir commands.
Uh, oh. Just his belt? That snaps me right out of my fantasy of him taking me to bed. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what belts can be used for.
Carefully, I reach forward until I find his belt buckle. It takes me a moment to undo it, but at last I pull it free and then tug his belt free from his pants.
“Now my pants.”
A feeling of reliefs surges through me. It’s not just his belt. I bet he did that on purpose.
Feeling with my fingers, I discover his pants are fastened by a button. I’m a bit clumsy, but I get the button undone and then carefully lower his zipper—mustn’t damage anything behind that! I grab the sides of his pants and tug them down. He lifts one leg at a time so I can pull his pants off over his feet.
He takes the pants from my hands and moves away, probably folding them over a chair or hanging them up, I imagine. Or maybe he’s just making me wait.
“Take this,” he says, placing something into my hands.
Right away, I can feel that it’s cylindrical and made of smooth plastic. My imagination begins to run wild as I slide one hand toward the top. Nope, I was wrong. There’s a push nozzle at the top. This isn’t something he’s going to put inside me—I hope!
“What are you thinking right now?” Sir asks.
Shit. Busted! Of course, he knew exactly when to ask that question.
“I’m, uh, wondering what this is,” I say, telling him the truth, but not the entire truth.
He chuckles. “I’ll bet you’re thinking more than that, Jennifer.” His tone light, joking, so I know I’m not in any trouble.
I feel like asking him why he bothers to ask, since he’s taken up residence inside my head and knows what I’m thinking even before I do, but of course I don’t. To my relief, he doesn’t pursue the question.
“It’s massage lotion,” he says. “You and I are going to enjoy a nice massage . I’ll be getting, you’ll be giving.”
I feel the mattress sink underneath me as he climbs onto the bed. I hear a slight rustling as he settles into position. Suddenly, soft music begins to play—he must have a remote. It’s Eastern relaxation music, the kind with sitars and stuff. I have a CD like this at home—it’s called “Tranquility.”
“I’m ready,” Sir says. “Try not to make a mess.”
I guess the blindfold is staying on. Carefully, I feel for the middle of his back and squeeze a bunch of lotion out onto it. I begin massaging him.
His back and shoulders are smooth and well-muscled. Not huge like a bodybuilder or anything like that. More like an athlete of some kind. He told me he was fit, and he
“You’re doing fine, Jennifer.”
Once again, he’s farther away. How big is his fucking condo, anyhow? Crawling slowly while blindfolded certainly screws up your sense of distance and direction. I plod onward.
“Stop now. We’re here. ”
I halt, remaining on all fours while I await his next instruction.
“Kneel,” he says, so I rise up onto my knees.
He grabs my nipples and pulls upward. It hurts, but not badly.
“Stand up.”
Pulled upward by my swelling nipples, I stand.
Still using my nipples to direct me, he turns me around in a half turn. When he lets go, the pain lingers for a moment, then disappears. Its absence is almost disappointing.
“Sit.”
Sitting down blindfolded is not as easy as it may sound. You have no idea what you’ll be sitting on, or how far down you need to go. Cautiously, I bend my legs and lower my butt until I feel what I’m pretty certain is his mattress under my backside. I smile. He’s taken me to his bedroom.
The material is soft and very smooth against my bare skin. Silk sheets, I think. The bed is probably already turned down. My smile widens.
“Take off my belt,” Sir commands.
Uh, oh. Just his belt? That snaps me right out of my fantasy of him taking me to bed. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what belts can be used for.
Carefully, I reach forward until I find his belt buckle. It takes me a moment to undo it, but at last I pull it free and then tug his belt free from his pants.
“Now my pants.”
A feeling of reliefs surges through me. It’s not just his belt. I bet he did that on purpose.
Feeling with my fingers, I discover his pants are fastened by a button. I’m a bit clumsy, but I get the button undone and then carefully lower his zipper—mustn’t damage anything behind that! I grab the sides of his pants and tug them down. He lifts one leg at a time so I can pull his pants off over his feet.
He takes the pants from my hands and moves away, probably folding them over a chair or hanging them up, I imagine. Or maybe he’s just making me wait.
“Take this,” he says, placing something into my hands.
Right away, I can feel that it’s cylindrical and made of smooth plastic. My imagination begins to run wild as I slide one hand toward the top. Nope, I was wrong. There’s a push nozzle at the top. This isn’t something he’s going to put inside me—I hope!
“What are you thinking right now?” Sir asks.
Shit. Busted! Of course, he knew exactly when to ask that question.
“I’m, uh, wondering what this is,” I say, telling him the truth, but not the entire truth.
He chuckles. “I’ll bet you’re thinking more than that, Jennifer.” His tone light, joking, so I know I’m not in any trouble.
I feel like asking him why he bothers to ask, since he’s taken up residence inside my head and knows what I’m thinking even before I do, but of course I don’t. To my relief, he doesn’t pursue the question.
“It’s massage lotion,” he says. “You and I are going to enjoy a nice massage . I’ll be getting, you’ll be giving.”
I feel the mattress sink underneath me as he climbs onto the bed. I hear a slight rustling as he settles into position. Suddenly, soft music begins to play—he must have a remote. It’s Eastern relaxation music, the kind with sitars and stuff. I have a CD like this at home—it’s called “Tranquility.”
“I’m ready,” Sir says. “Try not to make a mess.”
I guess the blindfold is staying on. Carefully, I feel for the middle of his back and squeeze a bunch of lotion out onto it. I begin massaging him.
His back and shoulders are smooth and well-muscled. Not huge like a bodybuilder or anything like that. More like an athlete of some kind. He told me he was fit, and he
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