first_meeting1-2

Archive-name: first_meeting1-2

Subject: REPOST: First Meeting [CR 119] 1/2 (cons, MF, MDom, Fsub, bd, sm)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

DISCLAIMERS: This story is written for an adult audience and contains graphic language and explicit sexual material. If you are underage, if it is illegal for you to possess such material in the jurisdiction in which you are reading this, or if adult sexuality of this type offends you, STOP READING NOW! This story is a work of fiction. Other than as specifically explained in the author's notes below, any resemblance to any person, real or fictitious, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintended.

Copyright [C-in-a-Circle Copyright Symbol] 1996, by MountainTop Productions. The material contained herein is intended for the personal use of the reader. Permission is hereby granted for duplication, without additions, changes, or omissions, for personal, non-profit use, provided that the entire contents of the disclaimers, copyright notice, and author's notes are included in the duplicated complete work or, if the work is segmented as part of the duplication, in each duplicated segment. All other rights are reserved, and making copies of this material or any portion thereof in any form for any purpose other than that for which permission has been granted is a violation of United States copyright laws. Permission for other uses may be granted, particularly if they will result in revenue to the author.

This story is a fictionalized account of the author's initial cyber-contacts and subsequent first real-time meeting with a submissive female. Names, dates, and places have been changed for the obvious reasons, but most of the first part is historically accurate and the remainder of the first-meeting scenario, while differing in details for literary reasons, essentially describes what actually happened. Aside from reflecting the author's personal philosophy with regard to D/s and BDSM, all other aspects of the characters of Robert and Lisa, and their activities as depicted in this work, are completely fictitious.

E-mail comments and feedback to Topspace4@aol.com are welcome, particularly from submissive female readers who are willing to discuss their reactions to the story itself and the narrator's point of view as expressed in the story.

First Meeting
by MountainTop

"Now what?" I thought to myself. "Am I really ready for this?"
Emotionally, there was no doubt. The way I instantly responded to his e-mail offering to meet made that crystal clear. But the rational side of my brain had reservations.
Despite my fantasies, which had evolved into a need that was at times almost gut-wrenching in its intensity, was I really ready to submit to a total stranger, a man I'd never met, never even talked to except through cyberspace? Was I ready to take that risk?
All right, I told my rational self, let's review the bidding. I started writing that fantasy about a submissive female, and I posted the first chapter, and this guy Robert sent me a complimentary message about it and asked if I would read something he had. He wanted my opinion, he said, because his story's narrator, the viewpoint character, was also a submissive female. So I said, sure, why not, and back came the first few chapters of this incredibly erotic story that punched every sexual fantasy button I've got and made me so hot I almost couldn't stand it. It even pushed buttons I hadn't known I had!
I picked a grammar nit in the first chapter, but after that I got so into his story that the only feedback I gave him was how hot it made me to read it. I guess I first cracked open the lid to this Pandora's Box I've created for myself when I told Robert I was frustrated because I wanted to try some things but my hubby wasn't interested in BDSM. All he did was commiserate with me; he never sent a wanna or anything else to suggest he had any real-life interest in a meeting.
I can't honestly say that Robert's story was the driving influence, but there's no question that it contributed to my having that first-ever session with a supposed dominant. What a fiasco! I really hadn't known what would happen, and my expectations certainly weren't very high, but it was so disappointing! Not only did this ‘dom' not really work me over, it was a totally asexual experience. There I was, all psyched up for major pleasure, and he didn't even suck my nipples, much less anything else.
That session was a real bummer, and I told Robert what had happened (or, more to the point, what hadn't happened) in my next message to him. I pushed the lid open quite a bit more when I told him again how much I loved his story and that I really wished I could experience some of what was in it. His reply arrived while I was online a couple of days later, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. "You can," he wrote, "have some of those experiences. I know what you want and need . . . so pick a Saturday and state your limits."
My heart went into adrenaline overdrive. Yes, I thought, he probably does know. He's read what I wrote, and I've certainly told him how I've reacted to what he sent me. So I kicked that lid wide open, kicked it so hard it almost came off its hinges, and my fingers flew over the keyboard. "Really???" I shot back. "That would be great! I'll let you know . . ."
It was only after I'd sent that response that my rational part got into it. "You don't know anything about this guy," it whispered to me. "He could be a real nut case. Are you really going to let him tie you up and torture you and fuck you six ways from Sunday? That's pretty much what you offered, you know."
"Not really," my emotional side countered. "I left myself an out, I only told him I'd let him know about when . . . and besides, I think I do know some things about him."
"Like what?"
"Well, I've read what he's written, and even though it gets me all cranked up it reads like a sane, responsible approach to domming and topping. I guess I'm willing to assume that he's written his own personal philosophy."
"What about the sex part? You're married, remember?"
"He did say something about limits. He knows I'm a BDSM novice, maybe I should just tell him that I don't know what limits to set and ask him to suggest some. That might give a clue as to where he's coming from."
"There's no guarantee he'll respect any limits once he's got you tied down and helpless," my rational brain warned.
"True, but let's see what he says and then decide."

So I sent off my request, and he responded the next day. "I'm glad you asked," he wrote back. "There are three kinds of limits. I know you're new at this, and I don't mean to be pedantic, and I certainly don't want to scare you, or turn you off, but we ought to agree on these things before we get into play time. I take my Dom/Top responsibilities seriously, and I want you to enjoy our first session together."
"So far, so good," my rational part commented. "But then again, he hasn't really said anything yet."
"There's more to his message," my emotions retorted tartly. "Let him finish before you critique, ok?"
"The first set of limits," Robert's message continued, "controls the not-directly-sexual bd/ds/sm play. I know you don't want just a casual walk in the park, you want a more intense experience, but this will be our first meeting and I don't know how you'll react to different things. So I propose the following limits in this area: (1) No marks visible at the end of the session; (2) Use of safewords (I suggest the green-yellow-red-blue color-code scheme); (3) No blindfolding (to avoid panic and so I can watch your eyes); (4) No gags (to permit dialog and use of safewords); and (5) All restraints to be of the quick-release type."
"Sounds pretty vanilla," my emotional side grumbled. "How can it be intense with those limitations?"
"I'm sure he has that covered," my rational side responded. "He'd probably say something about creativity and ingenuity."
"The reason for having safewords," I read, "is simple. You will, believe me, be saying things like ‘Please don't' and ‘Oowww, I can't take any more' and ‘Please stop that'. I have to have an unambiguous way of knowing when you're just into the play and when you really mean it. I don't want to disappoint you by stopping too soon, but I don't want to push you too far, either."
That makes sense, I thought to myself. Robert knows what I want, but he can't possibly know how much, and everything he's written tells me he's more likely to be too cautious than too extreme.
"The second set of limits," Robert's e-mail went on, "is those on overt sexual activity. I assert, but cannot prove, that I have no STDs, have tested HIV-negative, and had a vasectomy twelve years ago. Nevertheless, for our first meeting, I propose to limit myself to hands, toys, and mouth, which rules out penile penetration of either vagina or anus. If I require you to perform oral sex during this first session, I will leave you the option of not having me cum in your mouth."
"That's a relief," my emotional side signaled. "I guess I was a little concerned about the sex part after all. But he's proposed a no-fuck rule, which I know is right even though I'll probably wish it were otherwise when I'm with him, and I can accept those other activities without feeling guilty."
"Yes," my rational part agreed, "if he'll stick to them. But what's the third category of limits? I can't think of any other areas to cover."
It was the final paragraph of Robert's message that finally convinced the rational me to go ahead and meet him. "The most important limit of all is time. The sine qua non essential ingredient of any D/s relationship is trust, and that includes the sub not having to worry about her ultimate safety and well-being. So set a reasonable time limit for the session, perhaps three or four hours so we don't have to rush things. If it will make you more comfortable, tell someone you know and trust that you'll be calling at a certain time. Tell that person what code word or phrase you'll say to let them know you're ok, and where you are and what to do if you don't call or don't say that code. If you decide to set something like this up, the only thing I want to know about those arrangements is what time you have to make the call."

I sent Robert a return e-mail suggesting the Saturday after Memorial Day. I told him I would meet him at seven-thirty and that I had to make my call by eleven. He wrote back a couple of days later. He gave me his last name and told me to come to the local Embassy Suites hotel and call him on the house phone when I arrived.
As the date got closer, I was an edgy combination of anticipation and trepidation. I really wanted an extraordinary experience, but, having made it clear I wanted to be abused, I was also a little nervous about what he might do to me.
Finally, the day arrived. I had a pretty good idea from his story of what he would want me to wear, so I tried to get as close to that as I could with what I had. The only thing I had gone out and bought was a pair of black thigh-hi stockings; my pumps with three-inch heels and the other clothes I already owned would have to do. Late in the afternoon, I took a long, relaxing bubble bath, shaved all the appropriate places, got dressed, and had a light snack. The butterflies were fluttering around in my tummy, so I was careful about what I ate. I had told my husband I would be out for the evening with a friend, and he had agreed to stay home with our daughter without asking any embarrassing questions.
I could feel myself getting more and more tense as I drove to the hotel where Robert was staying. By the time I had parked the car and walked into the lobby I could barely keep from visibly shaking. I picked up the house phone and asked for his room, and a few seconds later a deep voice answered, "Hello?"
"I'm here," I said breathlessly.
"I'll be right down," he responded, and I hung up the phone. My hand really was shaking at that point. I turned to face the elevators, and a minute or so later an older man came walking toward me. I felt a surge of excitement as I saw he was carrying a single perfect red rose. He had asked, in one of his e-mail messages, if I had read far enough in his story to have encountered a specific character, and now I knew why. The physical description of that character in his story matched, as I had hoped it would, Robert's actual appearance.
He walked up to me and said, quietly and confidently, "Good evening, lovely lady. It's both an honor and a pleasure to meet you in person." He handed me the rose, which I took with trembling fingers.
"Thank you," I replied, and he immediately sensed my nervousness.
"There's no hurry," he said casually. "Would you like something to help you relax? A glass of wine, perhaps? Do you like champagne?"
"I guess I am a little anxious," I told him. "That would be very nice. And I do like champagne."
He made a slight bow, then offered me his arm, which I took, and we walked slowly toward the lounge. The room was uncrowded, and he guided me to one of the banquette-style booths along the back wall. He handed me into one side of the booth, then slid in from the other side. He sat close to me, but not touching, and I was unsurprised when the waitress approached and he simply said, "The Dom, please." It was perfectly in character, based on his writing, for him to have made some preliminary advance arrangements, and I felt a warm glow of relief pass through me. If he was this much like what he had written, I told myself, I really had no reason to worry.

The waitress returned carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne tulips. She was followed by two other servers, one carrying an ice bucket for the wine and the other bearing two dessert plates and a small bowl of plump, ripe strawberries. The wine was excellent, and I said so. He smiled and said that, in addition to the appropriateness of the name, cheap champagne always gave him a headache. The berries were a wonderful accompaniment, sweet and juicy; more than once I had to grab for a napkin as the juice ran down my chin. We laughed, about that and other things, and after a half hour of small talk I was completely comfortable in his company.
He brought me back to the purpose of our meeting when he lifted his glass in my direction and said, "Carpe diem. Are you ready to go upstairs?"
My heart fluttered, but I nodded yes without speaking. He sipped his champagne, of which he had drunk only sparingly; I had had more than he did. Then he looked closely at me and said, "There are two more items before we go. First, I think it might be a good idea for me to avoid using your real name while you're in sub space. Is there a name you would like to be called? You named the woman in your story ‘Alison'; would that name suit you?"
I almost giggled out loud when he used the phrase ‘sub space'; I had flashed immediately to Star Trek. Then, as he continued, I understood what he meant, and paused to seriously consider his question. It was time to begin turning my fantasies into reality, and I thought about how I had identified with the female character narrating his story. So after a few moments I answered, very quietly, "It won't bother me if you use my real name. But, if you insist that I choose another name, then if it would please you, I would like to be called ‘Karen'."
"I don't insist," he responded gravely, "and I know you will fulfill her destiny. Now the second matter - do you understand the safeword system we will be using?"
"I think so," I told him. "Green means I want more, or more intensely, whatever you are doing. Yellow means no more intensity, keep it at the current level. Red means stop whatever you're doing, at least for a while, and blue means stop the entire session, stop everything immediately."
"You've got it exactly right," he said. "Shall we go find lots of green?"
I was truly ready then, all doubts and reservations put to rest. "To borrow a phrase from your story," I told him, "what are we waiting for?"

Aside from my arm through his while walking, and his helping me into and out of the booth, Robert hadn't touched me except for his eyes. He had watched me appraisingly, and looked me up and down in a curious, non-leering way, but that was all. As we stood in the elevator, though, that started to change. His gaze became frankly appreciative, and he took both my hands firmly in his right hand and slid his left across my leather skirt-covered behind. I felt a small tingle of anticipation, and I pushed my backside firmly into his hand. He smiled again, then dropped his hands to his sides as the elevator came to a stop. He had promised me total discretion, and he apparently meant it; there was no way to know who might be on the other side of those doors when they opened. It was another nail in the coffin of wariness; he was doing a very good job of gaining my complete trust and confidence.
As it turned out, the elevator opened onto an empty hallway, and Robert led me down the corridor to the door to his suite. He quickly but calmly unlocked the door and gestured for me to precede him, then turned and double-locked the door after we were inside. He took me over to a chair with wooden arms and an upholstered seat that was standing in the middle of the suite's living room, had me face the chair, and said, quietly but with an unmistakable air of authority, "Bend over and put your hands on the chair arms."
I complied immediately, and he slid his hand up my nylon-covered thighs and under the short black leather skirt. When he reached the tops of the thigh-hi's, he stopped, said, "Very good, Lisa," and lifted my skirt up around my waist. He ran his hand slowly over my panty-covered ass cheeks, squeezing gently through the black silk bikini. When he didn't say anything, I knew he was disappointed, and I felt badly about that. I had known he'd prefer a thong, but I didn't own any. Then I smiled inwardly as I realized the implications of that thought. Here I was, bent over but completely unrestrained except for his command, and I was feeling badly that I hadn't met his expectations. I was entering sub space, that was for sure.
My attention snapped back to what he was doing when he pulled my bikini panties down around my ankles. He had me step out of them and then spread my legs farther apart, putting about two feet of space between my feet. He put his right hand in the small of my back, and as he lightly caressed my now-naked ass he asked quietly, "Do you bruise easily, Lisa?"
Oh, God, I thought frantically, he's going to spank me for not wearing the right underwear. "No, Master," I answered, and I could hear the quaver in my voice.
"Very well," he said, and his hand slapped down right in the middle of my left ass cheek.
"Ohhhh," I squeaked. He hadn't hit me that hard, but it did sting a little. He didn't say anything, he just repeated that action on the other cheek. He kept going, alternating sides, gradually increasing the strength of his swats. After the fourth or fifth swat, I was panting out a little "Oooohhhh" after each one, and I could feel my behind getting warm as the smarting increased from the repeated blows. By the time he had given me a total of twenty, ten on each side, I was close to tears, but I noted, in that hidden-away corner of my mind, that I had kept hold of the chair arms and I was actually thrusting my butt backwards to meet his spanks.
After the last swat, he ran his fingertips gently over my ass cheeks, then slid his hand down along my crack and between my legs to the bottom of my pussy slit. He probed gently upward, and I felt his finger slide through wetness. Amazing, came the thought from that hidden corner, and the main part of my brain enthusiastically agreed. Despite all my fantasizing, I hadn't really known if I would react that way to the real thing.
He leaned over next to my ear and whispered, "Do you know why I punished you, Lisa?"
"Yes, Master," I replied. "I was not wearing appropriate underwear."
"That's right," he confirmed. "None at all would have been better."
"You won't be happy with my bra, either," I blurted out, then hung my head in submission.
"Really?" he replied with a chuckle. "Let's see. Stand up and remove your skirt and blouse."
He stood back, arms folded across his chest, as I straightened up and unbuttoned my blouse. I slipped it off, revealing my best black push-up bra, then unfastened my skirt, let it drop to the floor, and stepped out of it to stand directly in front of him. He looked down at my chest, raised his eyebrows, and said, quietly but firmly, "You're right, it's unacceptable. Take it off."
"Yes, Master," I responded, and reached behind my back to unhook it. I let the straps slide down my arms, then tossed it behind me on top of the skirt. I lifted my chest, almost daring him to say something uncomplimentary about my twin beauties. I may have had the wrong bra, I thought defiantly, but I've got the right tits, firm and round and tipped with wonderfully sensitive nipples.
As Robert reached into a black rectangular case sitting on the floor, the kind airline pilots use, he said, "Put your hands out in front of you." I raised my arms, and he brought out two black leather wrist cuffs. He fastened them around my wrists, then said, "Hands behind your back." I complied and he showed me an openable link of chain that could be screwed shut, then used it to hook the cuffs closely together.
After he finished hooking my wrists together he stood silently in front of me, moving his eyes between my face and my breasts. As the silence stretched, I got fidgety, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. I knew he was going to do something to my breasts, and I wanted him to just get on with it.
"Stand still!" he commanded. I stopped moving, and he continued, "What am I going to do, Lisa, and why?"
"You are going to punish my breasts, Master, because I was wearing an unacceptable bra." My response was not just part of a script; by that point I really was the Karen of his story, and I knew what he wanted, and I wanted to please him.
"Yes, that's right. I can see I'm going to have to take you shopping." He reached out and gently stroked the fullness of my right breast, then slid his thumb back and forth over the nipple. It had been semi-erect ever since the spanking; now it stood up to full attention in response to his touch. My other nipple popped up without being touched at all, and I felt another tingle in my loins.
He reached again into his case, took out a handful of rubber bands, and slipped them over his wrist. Then he grasped my breast firmly and slid the bands, one by one, back over his wrist and hand and over my breast to the chest wall. The first one had almost no effect, in fact it didn't really want to stay in place, but the cumulative effect of several of them was considerable. The base of my breast was compressed to a smaller and smaller diameter as more bands were added, and the globe itself became harder and more sensitive as its base was constricted.
He banded my other breast the same way, and I could feel the pressure building inside them from the blood trapped by the bands. They were starting to change color, and I almost jumped when he ran his fingers over their now highly-sensitive surfaces.
He captured each engorged nipple between a thumb and the side of a forefinger, holding them lightly, and asked, "Are you wearing anything else that you think I'll find unacceptable, Lisa?"
"Yes, Master, my shoes," I replied.
"What is unacceptable about your shoes, Lisa?"
"The heels are too low for your pleasure, Master," I whispered.
"Don't scream," he warned me. "Use your safewords if you have to." Then he slowly started squeezing my nipples between his thumbs and fingers. At first it was just pressure, steadily increasing, but in fewer than fifteen seconds the pressure turned to pain. The hurt climbed steadily as he kept increasing the pressure, from a mild discomfort to twin spikes of agony; my wrists tugged at their restraint and I rose up on my toes in a futile effort to lessen the pain. Just as I was trying to decide whether to say ‘yellow' or ‘red', he stopped increasing the pressure, and he held the pain at that barely-tolerable level.
"Oooowwwww, Master, that really hurts," I moaned.
"It's supposed to," he replied sardonically. Then he abruptly released my nipples, and I almost fell over from the sudden relief.
His hands shot out instantly to steady me, and I whispered, "Thank you, Master."
He didn't answer in words, he just reached down and swiped his finger through my pussy slit. It came away glistening with wetness, and he held it up to show me my own juices. He sniffed at his finger, then tasted just a drop. "Ahhh, delicious," he said warmly. "Do you know what you taste like, Lisa?"
"Not really, Master," I answered, and it was true; I had never really tasted myself, even when masturbating.
"Then here, taste," he said, and he moved his finger toward my mouth. I opened without hesitation, then closed my lips around his finger and ran my tongue along its length. My juices had a musky flavor; I decided I liked it.
When I had finished cleaning his finger, he withdrew it and then bent his head slowly toward my left breast. He licked lightly all around the aureole, then took the nipple into his mouth. He flicked his tongue back and forth over it, then closed his lips tightly and sucked. With the rubber bands still in place, both the nipple and the surrounding skin were super-sensitive, and I actually felt my clit rise up out of its sheath as the tingle spread across my body.
He repeated that treatment on my other breast, and as he sucked he again ran his finger up my slit. I groaned when he stopped just short of my clit; I was really getting turned on. He was playing me like a virtuoso with a Strad, and I was starting to get eager for the final movement of his concerto. I realized I was trembling again, and this time it was strictly anticipation.

Continued in Part 2 . . .

Path: news.demon.co.uk!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!arclight.uoregon.edu!usenet.eel.ufl.edu!spool.mu.edu!newspump.sol.net!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!cs.utexas.edu!howland.erols.net!news-peer.gsl.net!news.gsl.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: topspace4@aol.com (Topspace4) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: REPOST: First Meeting [CR 119] 2/2 (cons, MF, MDom, Fsub, bd, sm) Date: 25 Sep 1996 19:39:09 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 358 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <52cfqt$m6s@newsbf02.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com X-Newsreader: AOL Offline Reader

This story is written for an adult audience and contains graphic language and explicit sexual material. If you are underage, if it is illegal for you to possess such material in the jurisdiction in which you are reading this, or if adult sexuality of this type offends you, STOP READING NOW!

This story is a work of fiction. Other than as specifically explained in the author's notes below, any resemblance to any person, real or fictitious, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintended.

Part 2 . . .
Robert unhooked my wrists, then sat comfortably on the couch and smoked a leisurely cigarette while I sat in front of him on the armchair with a towel under me and removed the rubber bands from my breasts. He had sent me into the bathroom to get the towel, and it was a good thing he had. I had never before gotten so much stimulation from touching myself, and my juices were flowing freely. When I finished, he told me to stand up and move to the center of the room. He reconnected my wrists behind my back and then reached into his case and held something up for me to see. "I assume you know what this is," he said lightly.
Did I ever! It was a butt plug, a big one; what it gave up in length it more than made up for in thickness. It was only about five inches long, but from the rounded end it grew to about two inches in diameter right before the narrow neck leading to the T-shaped base. That Robert would have a toy like that with him was absolutely no surprise. I had told him in one e-mail that I had a plug up my butt while reading his story and intended to keep it in me all night, and in another message I had asked him about dilators and anal fisting. You wanted intense, I said to myself, well, now you'll have it!
He reached into the case again and brought out a tube labeled AnalEse. "This is a water-soluble lubricant," he told me, "especially made for this purpose. It also contains a very mild anesthetic. Now bend over and grab your ankles." I did so, but slowly; that plug was quite a bit bigger than anything I'd used before, and I was a little worried about whether I could take it.
Robert lubed both the plug and his middle finger, set the plug down, and very lightly touched his fingertip to my anal pucker. I made a special effort to relax; I knew his finger wouldn't be any problem. He waited patiently until he felt the opening ease a bit, then thrust his finger into me abruptly. I gasped, but he held me steady with his other hand and I relaxed again as he worked his finger around inside me. I felt the familiar pleasant sensation of fullness, and I was disappointed when he pulled his finger out. But he immediately picked up the plug and placed it at the point of attack, so all I could do was try again to relax and accept it.
He started a firm, steady pressure, and the plug slowly slid up my ass. I could feel myself stretching, but nothing came close to tearing and in just a few seconds it was firmly seated. My sphincter closed around its neck, and I knew the plug wouldn't come out without being pulled. If I had felt full before, the fat plug produced a much more stronger sensation. I sighed softly, then straightened up at his direction.
"I'm going to string you up by your wrists now," Robert told me matter-of-factly.
I looked around the room and wondered how that was possible. I had as much as told him this was one of my favorite fantasies, but I had put it out of my mind as soon as I knew we would be playing in a hotel. There were no ceiling hooks he could use, or anything else that I could see.
I followed along as he took me by the arm and led me to the doorway between the living room and the bedroom. When we got there, I saw that he had used two door-stops to hold the door in position halfway open.
He unhooked my wrists, repositioned them in front of me with the palms together, and rehooked them. Then he stood me with my back to the door, facing into the living room, and told me to raise my arms up over my head.
I did so, still mystified, and I heard two distinct clicks as he attached a pair of double-ended snap bolts to the link holding my wrists together. Each snap bolt had a length of rope attached, and he threw the ropes over the top of the door behind me. Then he walked around the door and I felt the ropes tighten, pulling my wrists up until my body was fairly taut. He wound one rope around the doorknob on the bedroom side and knotted it, then looped the other around the center hinge on the other edge of the door and knotted it also. ‘Brilliant!' my rational mind whispered triumphantly. ‘What did I tell you about creativity?'
Robert came back around the door and looked over his handiwork, then said, "Bend your knees. Let your arms take your weight." I did so, and the ropes stretched a bit, but I didn't move downward very far at all.
"Good," he said approvingly. "You can stand up now. I wanted you to know that you can let yourself go without worrying about falling and hurting yourself."
I smiled inside at his phrasing, because I knew he intended to hurt me himself. Yet his demonstration of my safety was reassuring; once again he had given me every reason to trust him. "Thank you, Master, for letting me know that," I told him.
He smiled and said, "Just hang out there for a moment while I get some things." This time I smiled outwardly at his play on words, and he chuckled as he walked back across the living room to his case on the floor. He returned carrying two unusual-looking clamps, and my eyes widened in recognition. He had sent me a message once in which he told me that the clamps he had described in a particular chapter of his story were real. Now he had proven his statement. He said, "You recognize these, don't you?"
"Yes, Master, You told me to read about them, and I did."
"Very good," he told me. "Now you can learn about them for real."
He manipulated the shaft on one of them, and, just as he had described in his story, what appeared to be solid metal was really a series of disks held together magnetically. He removed several of the disks, then held the clamp out sideways and brought it to my right nipple. I saw the set-screw that could keep the clamp from fully closing, but it appeared to be all the way out, and I shivered at the thought of how that clamp was going to feel.
He slowly allowed the clamp to close at the base of my nipple, watching me carefully to gauge my reaction. When I groaned and winced at the pain, he stopped the clamp and twisted the set-screw to hold it in that position. When he let go of the clamp, though, it swung down, pulled by gravity, again just as he had written, and it twisted my nipple a quarter-turn as it did so.
I gasped again at this additional pain, but he merely repeated the procedure with the second clamp on my other nipple. This time the twist was in the opposite direction, but the result was the same. "How do you feel?" he asked me.
I had to think about that for a moment. My nipples hurt, that was a given, but I felt wetter than ever and my clit was becoming more insistent about needing attention. "I think my body is confused," I finally answered. "They hurt, but I'm really horny too."
He reached up and let one of the disks he had removed snap onto each of the clamps, and the added weight, though slight, was enough to make me groan again. "That's confused, Master," he corrected mildly.
"Yes, Master, of course, I'm very sorry," I babbled. He reached down with one hand and stroked up my pussy slit, and without thinking I thrust my pelvis forward so his finger bumped my stiff clit. "Aaahhhhh," I moaned as the tingle in my groin intensified with the contact.
"Naughty, naughty," he chided, and snapped another weight onto each clamp. He alternated sliding his finger up my slit and over my clit with adding more weights to the clamps, and I alternately moaned and groaned as he did so. By the time he got all the weights attached I was writhing in frustration. My body really was confused, with the butt plug, the clamps, and my clit all sending conflicting messages, but I was so close to cumming I could taste it, and I was sure it would be an orgasm of monumental proportions if he would only let me go over the top. My last shreds of dignity went by the wayside, and I begged shamelessly for release.
He stood there and let me run my mouth, and when I finally realized he wasn't going to respond to my pleading I quieted myself and hung my head in submissive frustration. Then he said, very quietly, "You seem to have forgotten why you are here, so I will remind you. You are here for my pleasure, not yours, and you must learn to be less selfish. Turn around and face the door."
Oh oh, I thought, now what? I got the answer soon enough, when he swung his arm back and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the tails of a cat heading for my ass. The heat from his earlier spanking had all but disappeared, but even though I somehow knew he wasn't swinging full force, the sharp stings of the cat landing across my butt made me cry out briefly.
"Do you have something to say?" he asked me, and I knew he was asking if I wanted to safeword out of this predicament. I hesitated, mulling it over, and decided not to, not yet.
"No, Master," I whispered.
His reply was another swing of the cat, and this time I bit my lip and kept quiet. He gave me two more, one across the backs of my upper thighs between the tops of the stockings and the creases where my cheeks meet my legs, and the other on my butt again. Then he told me to turn back around and face him, and I slowly did so.
"I will give you an opportunity to restate your request," he told me. "If you were to say, for example, that you wanted to present me with the pleasure of seeing and hearing you cum as a tribute to my mastery, I might be more inclined to listen."
I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of that approach before, then started telling him, very quietly and in slightly different words, essentially what he had suggested. As I spoke, he once again fingered my clit, and I got even closer to cumming, if that was possible. I was so hot I would have done just about anything, and my words sped up and became louder and more graphic as I told him in no uncertain terms how appreciative I would be to him afterwards if he would only accept my humble gift.
"I will accept your offer," he finally told me, "on one condition.
You must first ask me to release the set-screws and tighten the clamps completely."
Oh, shit, I thought to myself. My nipples are really hurting, and I don't know if I can take much more. But I'm so damned horny, and I can always safeword, so . . .
"Please, Master, tighten the clamps all the way," I whispered. He did, very quickly, and the stabbing pain increased sharply. But before I could cry out, or safeword, or anything, his hand was back to my pussy and he was stroking my clit again. The pain dimmed as I rose swiftly toward the mountain-top, and I said hoarsely, "I'm going to cum for you now, Master, and I don't know if I can keep quiet."
"That's all right," he told me. "People will recognize that kind of noise; you can shake the whole building down for all I care." He slid his finger even faster, and I blasted off for heaven. My eyes closed, my hips bucked against the door, my knees weakened, and I wailed and blubbered through the most fantastic orgasm I'd ever had. Wave after wave of indescribably delicious sensation washed over me, and it was much more powerful than anything I'd previously known.
Right at the peak of that glorious feeling he took one of the clamps off and covered my nipple with his mouth, and I sailed even higher as his tongue bathed the soreness into oblivion. As though from a great distance, I felt him remove the other clamp and shift his mouth to that breast, prolonging the exquisite ecstasy of my long-overdue release.

When the sensations had faded to a warm glow of contentment Robert slid his arm around my waist for support and then reached up and unhooked the snap bolts from my wrist restraint. I slumped against him and he half-carried me as I staggered over to the bed. He laid me down gently, and I sighed as my weight came off my shaky legs.
I must have dozed for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes again Robert was sitting next to the bed in the chair that had been in the living room. He sat comfortably, still completely dressed, smoking as he watched me, and even though his face was placid there was a definite gleam in his eyes. I stretched languorously, raising my still-connected wrists above my head, then turned to face him and said, as sincerely as I knew how, "Thank you, Master. That was an incredible experience."
"Your gift gave me great pleasure," he told me seriously. "Now roll over and get up on your knees. It's time to remove your butt plug."
"What time is it, Master?" I asked him, suddenly aware of the impending deadline I had imposed.
"A few minutes before ten," he replied.
"You're kidding!" I was so startled I omitted the honorific, but he let that pass without comment. Was it possible? Had it been less that two hours since he had brought me to his room? I was completely flabbergasted by the idea that he could, knowing so little about me, have taken me to such heights in only an hour and a half.
"No, I'm not kidding. And now it's my turn, so do as I said."
"Please, Master, may I keep it in? I really like the feeling of having it there. Unless you want to fuck me back there . . ."
A long series of expressions crossed his face in just a few seconds. Then he said, very quietly, "I'm tempted, but I won't do that. I promised to respect your limits, and I will."
"I don't care about those limits," I answered forcefully. "You gave me what I wanted and needed, and I meant everything I said a few minutes ago. I want to feel you inside me, any way you want me, I am totally and completely yours . . ."
He was shaking his head slowly from side to side as I spoke, and then he responded, very soberly, "But I care, Lisa. It's not that I don't want you; I do, very much. But you're on an emotional high right now, and part of my role is to protect you, even from yourself. I won't let you do something you may regret in the cold harsh light of morning."
"I heard it, but I still can't believe it," my rational side whispered inside me. "He's really going to respect the limits."
"I knew I'd regret setting those limits," my emotions chimed in.
I hushed the warring factions in my head as Robert continued, "The definition of success for a first meeting is that both parties enjoyed themselves and both parties wanted things to go further. By that definition, this has already been a raging success."
"But Master," I protested, "you haven't cum yet. At least let me give you that pleasure."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked me, still serious. "It isn't necessary, you know. Putting you into orbit was an unbelievable high for me. I don't want you to feel insulted, but after that, having sex would be almost anti-climactic."
That statement didn't really surprise me, and I certainly wasn't offended by it. I could well imagine the satisfaction he had felt when I screamed out the glory of my multiple crashing orgasms. And he was right, I was on an emotional binge, pumped on adrenaline and the afterglow of a truly satisfying experience. Nevertheless, I was determined to give him the physical and psychological pleasure of a sexual release.
"Yes, I really want to do that," I told him. Please, Master, stand up and let me undress you." So he did, and I did, and he unhooked my wrists, and he laid down on the bed, and I ran my fingers lovingly through the grey thatch on his chest.
"Now you just relax," I whispered in his ear, "and relive, in your mind's eye, all the terrific things that have happened this evening. I'll do all the work." I slid my hand down toward his crotch and felt his cock rise up to meet it, thick, not too long, the circumcised glans smooth beneath my fingers. He slipped one arm around my shoulder and moved his other hand to my breasts; they were still more than a little sore, but his gentle caresses felt wonderfully soothing, almost comforting.
I started lightly stroking up and down his erection, pausing every so often to gently cup his balls in my palm. It didn't take long for his breathing to start to quicken, and his eyes closed as he continued to caress my upper body from both directions. I blew gently into his ear, then ran my tongue around it, and I felt his body shiver and his cock twitch. His breathing became shallow and more rapid as I whispered how much I had enjoyed everything he had done, telling him in specific detail how each touch and hurt had affected me.
His body surged as I started to describe my cumming, and I knew he was very close to cumming himself. So I said, "Think about how I came, and please cum in my mouth," and before he could say or do anything I had slithered down his torso and slipped my lips over the engorged knob of his cock. He moaned in delight as I continued to stroke him with my hand while taking him deeper and deeper into my mouth, and when his cock bumped the top of my throat he came in a pulsing rush of hot, sweet cum-cream.
I backed my mouth off a little and cupped his balls as his spend coated my tongue. His spasms were strong, but there wasn't much volume, probably because of his vasectomy, so I just let my mouth fill up. When he had finished spurting, I raised my head, swung my body around, held his face tenderly between my hands to be sure he was watching, and swallowed several times. He smiled his appreciation and reached up to stroke my cheek as I licked my lips and grinned down at him.
"Thank you, Master. That was delicious."
"You're more than welcome, Lisa. Your additional gifts were most enjoyable."
I flushed at his compliments, and I felt a strong sense of pride and accomplishment. I had turned some of my most intense fantasies into marvelous reality, and the only bad part was, I couldn't tell anybody!

I wanted Robert to relax for a while after cumming, but after a few minutes of snuggling and cuddling he turned to me and said, very gently, "It's time, Lisa."
"I was afraid of that," I replied. "Do you mind if I make my call from here?"
"That kind of defeats the purpose," he said, grinning, "but if you feel safe enough to do it, sure, go ahead."
"Believe me when I say this, Robert, I have never felt safer in my entire life. Is it all right if I make two calls?"
"You can make as many calls as you want. Who besides your safe-friend do you want to call?"
"I want to call home, Robert, to say I won't be there until morning. I want to sleep with you."
Again the gamut of expressions across his face, and again he shook his head negatively. "There's nothing I'd like more," he told me, but, for the same reasons I gave you earlier, I won't let you do it. When you're alone, after you've had a chance to sort through everything we've done, you can define different limits for the next time we're together. You do want me to visit again, don't you?"
"Of course I do," I answered, and I was completely unsurprised to find myself wiping away a tear from the corner of my eye. "You're an incredible person, Robert, and I want you to visit as often as you can. Are you really going to take me shopping?"
"That wouldn't be very discreet. But I will send you out shopping, and pay for whatever you buy. Now make your call, Lisa, before the cops come to break down the door."
So I did. I dialed the phone, listened to it ring, and when my friend answered I said, "Hi, it's me . . . yes, everything's fine, wonderful, in fact . . . yes, Saskatoon . . . yes, and thanks for helping me out with this . . . see ya, bye."
While I was on the phone, Robert had gotten up and slipped into his shirt and slacks. Now he helped me round up my clothes and get back into them, his hands lightly touching me all over as though reluctant to see me leave. He again offered to take out the butt plug, and I again insisted on keeping it in; it reminded me, I told him, of the wonderful time we had together. I kissed him good night, the first time we had really kissed, a long, lingering farewell with more than a hint of promise for the future. When I left his room, I had a glow on my face, a twinkle in my eyes, and a spring in my step I hadn't felt in years. I sang and hummed happily to myself all the way home.

Last modified (12/24/96 14:15:41) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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