Intimate (2 page)

Now, spread your legs for me… just let your knees fall gently open because I want you to be completely relaxed.

Steffie was into the BDSM lifestyle, and maybe that’s why I’m sharing her story with you. When I met her she was like a beautiful flower deprived of sunlight – she had lost herself in a series of short meaningless relationships and forgot that secret part of her that was aroused – that erotic flame that flickered because she had tried to be every man’s fantasy instead of living the fantasy that compelled her – that made her complete.

Maybe you can relate, right? Maybe you’re nodding your head right now. I can’t see you in the shadows, but I sense some sympathetic understanding for Steffie’s plight. I guess a lot of ladies lose themselves by trying too hard to be what someone else wants them to be.

The first time I told Steffie to touch herself she was laying on my bed with her legs spread, and a blindfold tied tight across her eyes. It was a warm summer’s afternoon and the windows were open. A gentle breeze came drifting off the ocean and I could smell the salt in the air.

Steffie was lying with her hands clenched into anxious little fists beside her. Her legs were wide apart and she was wearing white lingerie; stockings that ended above her knees and then a corset cinched tight so that it lifted her breasts and her nipples peaked like hard little berries above the lace trim of the cups. White lace suspender ribbons connected the top of the stockings to the bottom of the lingerie.

She wore no panties – but Steffie never wore panties.

It was a rule of mine.

I think the blindfold made those early submissive sessions we shared easier for her. The darkness – the sense of detachment seemed to make it easier for her to react and respond to my commands. It was like a thin veil between us that freed her to be pliant and responsive. I guess it’s a little like our situation right now – the place you and I find ourselves. We’re alone together, but that shroud of darkness between where you are and where I’m standing watching and talking to you… it’s a comfort maybe – just enough anonymity for you to feel comfortable touching yourself, trailing your fingers over the soft creamy flesh of your inner thigh…

The darkness gives us all that freedom, don’t you think?

Steffie was lying with her lips moist and parted, frowning just a little to get a sense of where I was, what I was doing. I prowled around the bed for a long time, drinking in the erotic fantasy of her; she was quivering with that rare kind of sexual anticipation that seemed to heighten all her senses, made her skin come alive to my every touch. I leaned over the bed and trailed a line of wet kisses down the soft exposed flesh of her throat and drew one of her nipples between my teeth.

Steffie gasped – a sigh of pent up breath that turned into a groan.

“Touch yourself,”
I told her.
“I want to watch you pleasure yourself. I want to know what arouses you. Show me.”

For an instant she hesitated, and then one of her hands came tentatively from her side, across the flat taut muscles of her abdomen and dipped deliciously between the folds of her pussy.

It was an erotic moment I will never forget. The air seemed to crackle with sensual energy. For all it’s simplicity, the act of Steffie slowly sliding one of her fingers between the glistening folds of her sex was something that stays clearly with me to this day.

I watched, mesmerized – not the actual way she moved her fingers, but rather the way her body responded. That was what intrigued me. That was what held me utterly mesmerized. It began with her breathing – the sudden tightness of each inhalation as her fingers became slick with the rising heat of her desire, and then brushed, light as butterfly wings, across the jutting button of her clit. The breath seized in her throat and her mouth fell open into a long throaty moan. I watched her face, and even behind the blindfold I sensed her eyes were screwed tightly shut.

“Keep touching yourself,”
I insisted. The sound of my own voice in my ears was suddenly thick with my own need.
“Make yourself cum for me.”

Steffie trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and her head turned to the side as if she had drawn all the air from around her. A rising bloom of color rose up across her chest like a blush and then her knees bent and raised, and her hips began to undulate, lifting off the bed in a slow erotic private dance.

I brushed the tips of my fingers over the lace of her corset and then the palm of my hand finally reached the exposed tanned flesh of her thigh. Steffie flinched as though the sensitive skin had been electrocuted, and the flurried touch of her fingers became more frantic – more primal… as though she had given herself over to raw instincts as old as time itself. Reason and inhibition slipped away. Steffie’s breathing became hoarse explosive gasps. Her whole body began to writhe and the air in the bedroom became scented by the musky natural aroma of her excitement.

When Steffie came at last, it was with two of her own finger thrust deep inside herself while her other hand plucked at one of her nipples. She came hard, in three distinctive gasps of breath, each one torn from her throat as the grip of her orgasm clenched and then reluctantly released, washing over her like waves on a beach, exhausted and spent, drawn back into the dark depths of the ocean with the beach washed clean.

“Taste,”
I told her.

Without hesitating, Steffie drew her fingers to her mouth and painted the wetness of herself across her lips like glossy lipstick. She sucked her finger clean and went limp on the tangled sheets, her skin glistening with the sheen of her perspiration, her hair damp at her brow.

I told her she was beautiful and then cupped my hand over the mound of her pussy. Steffie groaned because she knew what would come next. What I was about to take from her.

Should I go on? Should I keep telling you about Steffie and that afternoon we spent together?

I feel like I’m neglecting you, and I don’t want that to happen. In fact, I want you to be aroused in the same way that Steffie was.

Would you touch yourself for me now?

Do you want to?

Do it for me.

I want to watch you, just like I watched Steffie on my bed.

I really do.

I need you to feel what she felt, experience the exact same sensations of intimate privacy, sharing the moment with someone who wants only to sense the joy of your pleasure.

Intimacy and seduction.

In the meantime I will sit here in silence for a few moments and watch your face, see your mouth fall open in a tiny breathless gasp as your fingers brush across the secret heat of your pussy.

I won’t say a word. I won’t interrupt.

Be a good girl for me
…
touch yourself while I watch
– and then we can continue.

* * *

Arrogance isn’t arousing – it’s confronting. It’s crude. It substitutes the
connection
between a man and a woman – a Master and a submissive – and replaces intimacy with conceit. A man with an arrogant attitude towards women and their sexuality won’t make it as a Master… and won’t keep a submissive’s trust and loyalty for long.

Why?

Because in missing the essential emotional connection required for a healthy BDSM relationship, an arrogant Master usually thinks a submissive is a replaceable accessory to his will.

Does that make sense?

Put yourself in the shoes of a submissive who serves an arrogant man who is interested only in his own pleasure, his own satisfaction. Imagine shrinking away from your own desires and needs just when you want more than anything else to explore your sexuality and discover those aspects of the lifestyle that deeply resonate with you.

An arrogant Master thinks a submissive can be substituted – and if they can, then it was never a healthy relationship.

Sorry.
That wasn’t intended to be a rant, because I didn’t come here to lecture. I came here to tell you my intimate stories and to seduce you.

Forgive me.

I was just watching you from over here in the shadows, mesmerized by the way your eyebrows move and that erotic little thing your mouth does while you were touching yourself, and my mind drifted back to Steffie.

I was thinking about how we came together, and the terrible time she had searching for a man she could trust.

When we found each other, it was like fuel and fire – explosive.

That summer’s afternoon in my bedroom was the catalyst for the entire relationship that followed. Maybe that’s why I think of her so often at night – and why I can recall in such vivid detail each moment and every shared sensation as my hand that was cupped over her pussy began to gently massage, and Steffie began to grind herself against my palm.

I was hard – turned on by how easily Steffie had shed her inhibitions and was responding to my instructions and touch. Without instruction she rolled over on the bed and came up onto her hands and knees. I slid the blindfold from her eyes. Her bottom was the shape of a perfect love heart, the lace of the suspenders stretched tight over her flawless flesh. I flicked the retaining clips open between my thumb and forefinger and my breath came out as a low hungry growl. Steffie glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes solemn and enigmatic. She drew the pink tip of her tongue across her lips and then lowered her head until it was propped on a pillow. She arched her back and her knees came wide apart. I dropped to my haunches behind her and slowly – deliciously – drew my tongue up along the silken folds of her pussy. Steffie gasped and then clenched her body rigid. The taste of her on my tongue was warm like honey. I licked her again and again until she began to rock her hips and sway her body back to meet my touch.

Which was exactly when I stopped, rose to my feet, and then ran my hand, stiff as a paddle, across a cheek of her bottom. Steffie knew instinctively what was about to happen, and understood why I was punishing her.

She said she was sorry. She asked me to forgive her, making her eyes huge and tragic.

“Keep count,”
I said ominously.
“You should know better. I touch you how and when I want. It’s not for you to decide. You don’t set the agenda – you respond.”

I paddled her bottom with my hand until each cheek was burning bright red, and the crimson imprint of my fingers blazed across the pale skin.

By the eighth spank, Steffie wasn’t flinching any more, she was moaning softly into the pillow, stifling the raw sounds in the back of her throat and muffling her voice as she called out each slap. By the last stroke I was rubbing my hand tenderly across her flesh, salving the skin with caresses that had dipped between the juncture of her thighs and flicking my fingers across the pouting soft lips of her sex. The punishment had transformed into something deeply sensual and the wetness of her was an irresistible tease. I went to the window and drew the drapes, then stepped out of my jeans.

My cock felt as hard and hot as an iron bar drawn from the fires of a furnace. Steffie suddenly tensed. She lifted her face from the pillows and turned her head. Her hands made tight fists in the sheets as I slid myself slowly inside of her.

My fingers went to her hips and then I slid the palm of my hand up along the knotted ridges of her spine. Steffie arched her back. I dug my clawed hands into the soft flesh of her shoulders.

I can still remember the way Steffie moaned for those first few seconds that I was slowly sliding the length of my cock deep inside her; the way her whole body tensed, the slow undulation of her back and her hips as though internally she was adjusting and accommodating me. Then, when I was deep inside her, our bodies joined, she hung her head so that her hair fell forward across her face like a veil and she swayed there, braced on her hands and knees with her breasts spilling from out of the cups of her corset. I didn’t move for the longest time. I was savoring the sensations – the tight gripping feel of her pussy, the warmth and tautness of her. When I drew myself back and then thrust forward for the first time, we both groaned.

Suddenly the lines for me between sex and power blurred. Just moments before I was burning on pure lust and desire. Steffie was arched, spread, ready and very willing. But now, with myself deep inside her, I instinctively wanted more.
I wanted her to be a part of what happened next, not just a willing object for my own satisfaction.

You get that right? As a woman there must have been plenty of times in your life when the sex became just about the man – you were there but were forgotten as he grunted single-mindedly towards his own release. It’s a common complaint I hear a lot from women. So many other men just seem to rush towards their climax and disregard the lady…

Anyhow, in that moment with Steffie I suddenly realized. A door of understanding opened wide for me and I stepped through. Even in this most aggressive position, I didn’t want the sex to be for my pleasure –
somehow I had to draw out Steffie’s own orgasm.

We began to move together, her body rocking and responding to each measured thrust of my hips. I was trying to read her movements, trying to understand what felt good for her. Each deep lunge was met by a throaty groan, but the short teasing thrusts of my cock seemed to spark new flares of energy from her. I began to tease her with shorter, faster strokes. My hands fisted into the tangles of her hair and I pulled so that her face was lifted and her head thrown back. I could see a part of our reflection in the mirror. Her mouth was wide open, and her eyes screwed tightly shut. I could see the tremble in her tensed arms and the more urgent sway of her breasts and they kept beat with the rhythm of my hips.