turning the water off, unwrapping a fresh bar of soap, and running it over my skin. It smells of verbena, and again I get to enjoy his hands covering every inch of me. He’s thorough, taking far more time than necessary. When he’s satisfied, he turns the water back on and rinses me just as meticulously before replacing the sprayer. It’s nice to be clean after such a long flight. He dries me off, and I still have my palms against the wall as he pulls his shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned and rolling up the sleeves.
“Better?” He’s standing behind me once again with his hands on my hips.
“Yes, sir.”
He grasps my wrists and tugs them down to the small of my back where he takes them in one hand. “Then let’s get started.”
He leads me back to the main room and over to the table. Patting the short end, he says “Up you go,” and releases me.
I press up onto the table, leaving my legs and feet dangling over the side. He unclips my hair and runs his fingers through it until it’s flowing down my back.
“I’ll be right back.” He touches my arm on his way past, and I watch him walk over to the chest of drawers and slide one open and shut. When he comes back, he’s got a pair of leather cuffs in his hand. They’re brown and well-used, so they’ll be comfortable and won’t chafe.
“Hands.”
I offer them to him, palms up, and he fastens the cuffs on my wrists smoothly. Yes, he’s well-practiced. When he’s finished, he grips my hipbones and scoots me back on the smooth table.
“Knees into your chest.”
I’m not sure what his game is, but I do as I’m asked. Still sitting, I bend my knees until my thighs are pressed against my torso and my feet are flat on the table. He comes to my side, wraps an arm around my waist, and cradles the back of my head in his other hand. “Back you go.”
Having the bare skin of his chest and forearms on mine is the most heavenly feeling. He’s warm and in good shape, more like from honest physical labor than spending hours in a gym. I like it, very much. I sink into his grasp, and he lays me back on the table. I’m pliant already, comfortable following his gentle instructions. Sometimes it takes me a while to acclimate to a Dom’s style, but this is easy. He slides my cuffed wrists over my head and clips them to an anchor point I can’t see. When he’s done, he takes a step back.
“Very nice.”
I have to agree. He has a very nice body I’m getting to admire more closely. I still haven’t been able to discern what the medal around his neck is, though.
He traces a path from my tethered wrists down to my shoulders and my ribcage before cupping my breasts, stroking his thumbs over my nipples again until they peak under his touch. I arch my back, pushing them into his hands.
“You like to be touched?”
“Yes, sir.”
He starts to knead at me. Gently at first, then harder, the sweet attentions of earlier left behind. I press my feet into the table.
“You’re a responsive little thing, aren’t you? You can close your eyes, kitten.”
Kitten! This just keeps getting better. I mewl to let him know I liked it and take advantage of his invitation. Thank god. Not that I don’t enjoy looking at him—on the contrary—but having my eyes closed makes it easier to behave and increases the intensity of the sensations. A win-win.
He works me over, and as he hasn’t demanded I be quiet or still, I give him cues when he’s done something I particularly enjoy: a groan here, a squirm there. He’s a fast learner, and it’s not long before I’m writhing under his attentions, careful to keep my feet flat on the table. He’s got me pretty riled up when he starts to hush me. I’m not surprised but only a little disappointed. Of course it’s not going be this easy. What fun would that be?
I calm under his gentling and open my eyes. He’s smiling down at me, a knowing, predatory smile. “You’re such a treat to watch. Beautiful. And this is only the
“Better?” He’s standing behind me once again with his hands on my hips.
“Yes, sir.”
He grasps my wrists and tugs them down to the small of my back where he takes them in one hand. “Then let’s get started.”
He leads me back to the main room and over to the table. Patting the short end, he says “Up you go,” and releases me.
I press up onto the table, leaving my legs and feet dangling over the side. He unclips my hair and runs his fingers through it until it’s flowing down my back.
“I’ll be right back.” He touches my arm on his way past, and I watch him walk over to the chest of drawers and slide one open and shut. When he comes back, he’s got a pair of leather cuffs in his hand. They’re brown and well-used, so they’ll be comfortable and won’t chafe.
“Hands.”
I offer them to him, palms up, and he fastens the cuffs on my wrists smoothly. Yes, he’s well-practiced. When he’s finished, he grips my hipbones and scoots me back on the smooth table.
“Knees into your chest.”
I’m not sure what his game is, but I do as I’m asked. Still sitting, I bend my knees until my thighs are pressed against my torso and my feet are flat on the table. He comes to my side, wraps an arm around my waist, and cradles the back of my head in his other hand. “Back you go.”
Having the bare skin of his chest and forearms on mine is the most heavenly feeling. He’s warm and in good shape, more like from honest physical labor than spending hours in a gym. I like it, very much. I sink into his grasp, and he lays me back on the table. I’m pliant already, comfortable following his gentle instructions. Sometimes it takes me a while to acclimate to a Dom’s style, but this is easy. He slides my cuffed wrists over my head and clips them to an anchor point I can’t see. When he’s done, he takes a step back.
“Very nice.”
I have to agree. He has a very nice body I’m getting to admire more closely. I still haven’t been able to discern what the medal around his neck is, though.
He traces a path from my tethered wrists down to my shoulders and my ribcage before cupping my breasts, stroking his thumbs over my nipples again until they peak under his touch. I arch my back, pushing them into his hands.
“You like to be touched?”
“Yes, sir.”
He starts to knead at me. Gently at first, then harder, the sweet attentions of earlier left behind. I press my feet into the table.
“You’re a responsive little thing, aren’t you? You can close your eyes, kitten.”
Kitten! This just keeps getting better. I mewl to let him know I liked it and take advantage of his invitation. Thank god. Not that I don’t enjoy looking at him—on the contrary—but having my eyes closed makes it easier to behave and increases the intensity of the sensations. A win-win.
He works me over, and as he hasn’t demanded I be quiet or still, I give him cues when he’s done something I particularly enjoy: a groan here, a squirm there. He’s a fast learner, and it’s not long before I’m writhing under his attentions, careful to keep my feet flat on the table. He’s got me pretty riled up when he starts to hush me. I’m not surprised but only a little disappointed. Of course it’s not going be this easy. What fun would that be?
I calm under his gentling and open my eyes. He’s smiling down at me, a knowing, predatory smile. “You’re such a treat to watch. Beautiful. And this is only the
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