Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) (8 page)

“Nervous. Excited.”

“Let’s see just how excited you are,” he says. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I drop down onto all fours, wondering what’s coming next.

“Spread your knees a bit farther apart,” Sir commands.

I do as I’m bid, widening the space between my knees. I feel his hand on my ass, gently caressing the bare skin. It feels wonderful.

“You have a nice ass, Jennifer.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m
going to gets lots of enjoyment from it in the future,” he says as his hand slides lower, moving between my legs.

His fingers push my thong aside and find my lips. They’re
soaking wet and slippery. He pushes a finger against the opening, and without the least bit of resistance, slips inside me.

A soft moan escapes my throat. I can’t believe how wet I am already. My mind may still be feeling nervous, but apparently my body is one hundred
and ten percent excited.

“I guess we have our answer to the excitement question,” Sir says as he moves his finger gently inside me, sending tiny ripples of pleasure through me with each movement.
Before I can even push back against him, he pulls his finger out. I want to protest, but know that’s not my place. I stifle any sound.

“This is a very good sign,” he says. “
For you to be so wet before I’ve even touched you is a very good sign indeed.”

I completely agree, but I don’t say anything. I remain on my hands and knees, waiting.

I sense him moving away from me. When he speaks next, his voice comes from across the room.

“Crawl to the sound of my voice,” he tells me.

Feeling self-conscious to be crawling like this in front of him, I nevertheless do as he orders, moving awkwardly across the carpet. This is not at all what I was expecting, to be crawling around on the floor. I’m glad the carpet is so soft and clean. I wish I could see the expression on his face as he watches me. I hope he’s pleased.

“Just a bit farther,” Sir says, giving me another chance to locate his voice. “Good. Stop there.”

I stop crawling, remaining on all fours while I await his next command.

“Reach forward along the floor, Jennifer. You’ll feel my shoes. Take them off.”

I sit back on my knees and slide my hands slowly forward along the carpet. When I feel one of his shoes, I explore the top of it with my fingers, searching for the laces. There aren’t any. He’s wearing loafers of some kind, which makes things easy. I wonder if he chose them on purpose, out of consideration for my first time doing this. It’s a nice thought, but it doesn’t really matter. I pull the shoe off his foot, then find his other shoe and remove it as well.

“Let’s see how good
you are with your hands, my pet. Massage my foot.” He places one of his feet onto my lap.

I like the sound of “my pet.” I feel a little bit like a pet,
the way I’ve been crawling around. The feeling is not all unpleasant.

I begin kneading his foot, using my fingers on the sole of his foot and my thumbs on the top.
I’ve enjoyed getting foot massages in the past, so I know how good they can feel. I want this to be his best foot massage ever, so I concentrate completely on what I’m doing, trying to use just the right amount of pressure. Since I can’t see anything, it’s not hard to give his foot my full attention. Right now, his foot is pretty much my entire world. I’m so focused on my task that I’m almost surprised when I hear Sir’s voice.

“That’s very nice, Jennifer.
Very nice indeed.”

I s
mile, but say nothing. He’ll know by my smile that I’m pleased with his compliment.

I keep on rubbing his foo
t. After a few more moments, he places his other foot onto my lap and I switch my attention to it.

Finally, he pulls his foot away.

“That was wonderful, Jennifer. Come closer and get your reward.”

Reward?
Wondering what he has in mind, I crawl slowly forward, not wanting to crash into his legs or into the couch. When I feel his feet, I move my hands up his legs until they are resting on his thighs. His legs feel firmly muscled under the cloth of his pants.

I remember how he was about to reward the woman at the end of
the story he told me—with the taste of his cock. Is that the reward he has for me now? Am I ready to do that so soon? I think about how easily his finger slipped inside me a few minutes ago. Maybe I am.

I wait there, on my knees, for his next command.

CHAPTER 12

Sir’s hand cups my chin. The sudden touch startles me, sending a quick shiver through my body. He tilts my head back. His touch is firm, yet somehow gentle. I wait with my lips slightly parted.

He has to be studying my face now, I know. Where else could he be looking, holding my chin the way he is.
Is he wondering if I’m worthy of the gift he’s about to present me? He said I had earned a reward—he wouldn’t go back on that, would he? Once again, I wish to hell I knew what he was thinking.

Soft flesh gently
brushes my lips. Another shiver shoots through me. It takes me a split second to realize I’m feeling his lips against mine. Sir is kissing me!

He lets his lips linger softly against mine for a second or two,
and then presses his mouth harder against mine. His tongue pushes against my lips, seeking entry, and I open my mouth to let him in. He tastes faintly of mint—he either brushed his teeth or used mouthwash before I arrived. I don’t know if it’s the blindfold, the firm hold he has on my chin, or the entire situation, but the kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. To say I’m seeing fireworks would barely be an exaggeration.

His tongue probes the inside of my mouth, claiming it. My tongue responds by dancing with his. I want to reach up behind his head and press him even more tightly against my mouth, but I know that’s not my place and I manage to restrain myself.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Sir pulls his mouth away. The sense of loss is almost painful. I want to reach for him with my lips to continue this amazing kiss, but of course I do not. He still has a firm grip on my chin—I probably couldn’t move my head toward him even if I tried.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say. “That was a wonderful reward.”

The seconds click by—five, then ten, without him saying anything. He must be staring at me. God, I wish I could see his expression.

I hear him blow out a deep breath.

“Not bad,” he says. “Not bad at all.”

Not bad?
He’s got to be teasing me, right? Now I really want to see his face. Damn this blindfold!

I sense movement in front of me. I think Sir is standing up. I wait, listening closely, trying to determine what he’s doing. I think he’s moved around behind me.

My guess is confirmed when he begins unfastening my bra strap. When I feel it come undone, I hold my arms up above my head so he can lift the bra off me. I hear it land softly on the floor, probably tossed in the same place as the rest of my clothes.

A moment later, his hands alight upon my shoulders. Leaning forward, he slides his hands slowly down my chest toward my breasts. His groin presses against the back of my head as his hands move lower. I can feel that he’s fully hard inside his pants. I smile, happy to have proof that I’m not the only one
who’s responding here.

His hands find my breasts, sliding around the outside and then underneath,
cupping them. I sigh as he squeezes them firmly—once, twice, three times before letting go. He’s not done, though. His fingers begin lightly tracing circles on my breasts, moving closer and closer to my nipples with agonizing slowness. Finally, he circles my areolas twice, then grabs my already swollen nipples between his thumbs and fingers and pinches them. It feels like an electric current has suddenly shot through my breasts. I stifle a moan. He pinches harder, and this time the moan escapes. He pinches harder still, just at the threshold of where pleasure and pain intermix. I gasp.

“These belong to me,” he says. To reinforce his claim, he pinches hard once again.

This time, I swallow my gasp.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “They belong to you.”

He seems to know how close he came to hurting me, because he’s now gently caressing my breasts and nipples. It feels absolutely divine.

I relish the pleasure for a few moments and then press my head back against his
erection.

“And who does that belong to?” I ask.

He laughs. “It belongs to me, Jennifer.” He gives my nipples a firm tweak. “But if you’re a good girl, I may share it with you now and then.”

I find myself hoping he shares it with me often. I smile.

He lets go of my nipples and I feel him stepping away from me. A sudden emptiness steals over me. Where is he going? I want him here, touching me, using my body for his pleasure.

“Crawl to me,” he says
. His voice now comes from across the room.

I obediently drop back to my hands and knees and begin crawling toward the sound of his voice.

“Keep coming,” he says, his voice farther away again and now a little bit to my right.

I’ve either veered off course, or he’s moved to the side. I adjust my course and continue crawling.
This is very nerve-wracking, knowing I could crash into something at any moment. I don’t hesitate, though. I don’t want to disappoint him. And if I can’t trust him with this simple thing, how can I trust him with other things he may have planned?

“That’s it, my pet. Keep coming.”

He’s moved farther away again. The “my pet” rings in my ears as sweetly as any compliment I’ve ever received. I wonder if he was sensing my anxiety about crashing into 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.