Fantasy One
Master and Servant
The silken blindfold cooled Fiona’s eyelids; her heart beating out a powerful cadence. Leather bindings cut into her wrists and ankles, winding across her body and snaking around her waist. More ropes held her legs akimbo.
How did I get here? Fiona asked herself. Tricky question, that one. Did she mean “here” as in stripped down to her slip and bound in the bedroom of a man who fascinated and frightened her at the same time? Or could it be that she wondered how she had evolved from Ms. Fiona Wilder, CPA and hopeless singleton to Marcelo’s preciosa , a woman who caught fire at the thought of giving over to his every desire.
No, she corrected herself, they are my desires. Marcelo made himself clear on that point. He had wined and dined her for months, putting ideas in her head that at first she found alarming. Their time together tonight wasn’t about what he wanted, but about how much she wanted to push herself. Thus far, Fiona had surprised herself with where she had allowed herself to go.
The night started with a light meal. Wine, an assortment of cheeses, artisan bread—a little snack to sate the need for food so no other physical needs interfered with the sexual appetite. Then, he took her hand and led her to the master bedroom. A darkened hallway led from the living room of his mid-town condo
She had allowed him to undress her. Taking his time, Marcelo unfastened the buttons down the front of her dress one at a time. The sleek fabric slipped over her shoulders and into a pile on the floor. Reaching beneath her slip, he slid her panties down her legs and pushed them aside with the dress. Fiona’s cheeks and ears heated at the sight of her white cotton underwear, embarrassed she hadn’t thought to buy something sexier, more sophisticated.
Marcelo freed her hair from the single pin that held it in a bun and cupped her face in his hands. His lips brushed against hers. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Do you remember what to say if you want me to stop?”
She looked into his cool blue eyes, studied the black waves along his hairline. Disbelief took hold of her very time she stopped to consider the stunning features of this man. How could someone so handsome want her? Plain, unremarkable Fiona. Ignoring the doubts that plagued her, she answered, “Strangelove.”
“That’s right.” He traced her cheekbones and jaw line with a fingertip. “If you feel at all frightened or uncomfortable, you say the word and we’ll stop.”
With great care, Marcelo set about tethering her to bronze rings that lined the wall of his bedroom. First, he hoisted her onto a barstool. Adjusting and readjusting her pose, he worked her into the perfect position: buttocks on the edge of the seat, legs and arms splayed wide open. Once satisfied, he secured various bindings, slings and clips to hold her immobilized.
Confronted with the reflection her half-naked body in the wall of mirrors across the room, her most private parts glaring back at her, she closed her eyes. Whether by design or as a reaction to her obvious discomfort, Marcelo gave her the luxury of a blindfold. Fiona relaxed a little, no longer aware of her brazen display.
And so, she found herself here, adrenaline coursing through her veins, cunt pounding a violent tattoo, dying to know what Marcelo would do next. Though she couldn’t tell what he see his movements, she could smell his fragrant skin and feel its heat shift around her. When warmth retreated and she knew he had left the room. Struggling to control a burst of panic, Fiona took several deep breaths, but for the life of her she couldn’t get that Stephen King book from her head. What if he didn’t come back? There was no way she could get free.
“Chelo?” she called to him, using his nickname.
Footsteps in the hall announced his arrival. “I’m here, preciosa . Don’t worry. I just ran to the kitchen for a few things.”
The bulk of his
Master and Servant
The silken blindfold cooled Fiona’s eyelids; her heart beating out a powerful cadence. Leather bindings cut into her wrists and ankles, winding across her body and snaking around her waist. More ropes held her legs akimbo.
How did I get here? Fiona asked herself. Tricky question, that one. Did she mean “here” as in stripped down to her slip and bound in the bedroom of a man who fascinated and frightened her at the same time? Or could it be that she wondered how she had evolved from Ms. Fiona Wilder, CPA and hopeless singleton to Marcelo’s preciosa , a woman who caught fire at the thought of giving over to his every desire.
No, she corrected herself, they are my desires. Marcelo made himself clear on that point. He had wined and dined her for months, putting ideas in her head that at first she found alarming. Their time together tonight wasn’t about what he wanted, but about how much she wanted to push herself. Thus far, Fiona had surprised herself with where she had allowed herself to go.
The night started with a light meal. Wine, an assortment of cheeses, artisan bread—a little snack to sate the need for food so no other physical needs interfered with the sexual appetite. Then, he took her hand and led her to the master bedroom. A darkened hallway led from the living room of his mid-town condo
She had allowed him to undress her. Taking his time, Marcelo unfastened the buttons down the front of her dress one at a time. The sleek fabric slipped over her shoulders and into a pile on the floor. Reaching beneath her slip, he slid her panties down her legs and pushed them aside with the dress. Fiona’s cheeks and ears heated at the sight of her white cotton underwear, embarrassed she hadn’t thought to buy something sexier, more sophisticated.
Marcelo freed her hair from the single pin that held it in a bun and cupped her face in his hands. His lips brushed against hers. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Do you remember what to say if you want me to stop?”
She looked into his cool blue eyes, studied the black waves along his hairline. Disbelief took hold of her very time she stopped to consider the stunning features of this man. How could someone so handsome want her? Plain, unremarkable Fiona. Ignoring the doubts that plagued her, she answered, “Strangelove.”
“That’s right.” He traced her cheekbones and jaw line with a fingertip. “If you feel at all frightened or uncomfortable, you say the word and we’ll stop.”
With great care, Marcelo set about tethering her to bronze rings that lined the wall of his bedroom. First, he hoisted her onto a barstool. Adjusting and readjusting her pose, he worked her into the perfect position: buttocks on the edge of the seat, legs and arms splayed wide open. Once satisfied, he secured various bindings, slings and clips to hold her immobilized.
Confronted with the reflection her half-naked body in the wall of mirrors across the room, her most private parts glaring back at her, she closed her eyes. Whether by design or as a reaction to her obvious discomfort, Marcelo gave her the luxury of a blindfold. Fiona relaxed a little, no longer aware of her brazen display.
And so, she found herself here, adrenaline coursing through her veins, cunt pounding a violent tattoo, dying to know what Marcelo would do next. Though she couldn’t tell what he see his movements, she could smell his fragrant skin and feel its heat shift around her. When warmth retreated and she knew he had left the room. Struggling to control a burst of panic, Fiona took several deep breaths, but for the life of her she couldn’t get that Stephen King book from her head. What if he didn’t come back? There was no way she could get free.
“Chelo?” she called to him, using his nickname.
Footsteps in the hall announced his arrival. “I’m here, preciosa . Don’t worry. I just ran to the kitchen for a few things.”
The bulk of his
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