Getting back into your car, your eyes pierced me again. “You have one hour to text me, I suggest you get moving. That phone isn’t going to charge itself and it’s a long hike to the other side of the park.”
With that, simple yet direct command you started your car and backed out of your parking place.
My girls all cackled in my ears like harpies, as they ran to ask me about the mysterious man I had just kissed in broad daylight. Their swirling questions all jumbled in my head, all I could discern, was the authority masked is calm playfulness, that was your command.
“One hour.” I said out loud gathering my wits. “Sorry girls but I have to bounce.”
I ran the mile and a half back to my car, branches grazing my face and pulling down my hair. Not thinking about anything save the need to charge my phone.
As I swung the door open and collapsed in the driver’s seat, I fumbled with the charger to plug it in and begged the power flow to move the percentage bar enough to turn on the device I know was beginning to understand was my new leash.
Opening my contacts and typing in the number you had handed me, it occurred to me for the first time since walking up to your car that I didn’t know your name.
For the empty entry space, I simply typed, Master. As I hit the enter button I smiled. That kiss was unbelievable.
In a matter of minutes the unmistakable dweedle of an incoming text message rang out against the sweet silence of my sun warmed car.
“Are you there?” was all it said.
My breath caught, how could you foresee me beating your deadline by almost ten minutes?
Typing back my hands shook, “I am.”
“Drive to the bar 5 miles north of the park, let your hair down, fix your make-up and leave your friends.”
“As you wish.” Was my response as I looked in my visor mirror to tend to my looks, before starting my car.
The bar was a little hole in the wall. Not more than a shack on the side of the highway, and yet it was packed.
It was ladies night , All the girls I work with who have teased me, used me, flirted with me in a drunken stupor, or begged me to “take better care of my appearance” (the polite co-worker version of you look old and frumpy) were there.
I searched the faceless crowd for those intense eyes and found them peering at me from a distance. Trying to make it from the door to the back wall was hard enough, but every other step was met by an acquaintance from work calling my name, hugging me drunkenly, or simply fist bumping me on the way by.
My friend ( for lack of a more appropriate term) comes in to say hello and have a few shots at other expense, and immediately comes up behind me for a traditional hug.
After her usual distracting drama filled explanation of how life is unfair and at 23 she feels 80, she bums a few dollar bills off of one of the other girls to attack the jukebox with her idea of fun girl night music.
Looking at you from still too far away, my eyes both apologetic for subjecting you to high levels of intoxicated estrogen, and hopeful you will forgive my inability to navigate the crowd at greater speed, I timidly mouth the word please, asking permission to join them for a brief interlude. As to not offend the co-workers I have to deal with 42 plus hours of my week.
You respond with the slightest of nods.
Her first selection, had yet to trump the already annoying nonsense that rang out through the speakers, when my work friend ran to my side jigging her excessive size in pride.
“I played our song first, but you have to sing it for us.” Almost yelling for everyone to hear. Chairs turned and female voices of every octave rang out in agreement of the announcement that I should, nay would be, singing.
Turning toward you for approval, hands pressed together in prayer like fashion I mouthed the words, “Please, Master?”
A gesture of your hand gives me permission to proceed.
The familiar first bars of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Give me one reason’ break the chatter behind me. As the lyrics begin, my voice joins my hips in rhythmic time, barley audible once the hoots and hollers of “Go ahead, Girl” break out from the peanut gallery.
Two more female co-workers take turn freak dancing each other and occasionally me as I continue my song. As you, quiet and reserved watch me from your spot against the wall, And make mental note of the instance you both enjoy and reserve for later punishment.
Immediately following Tracy Chapman’s soulful, yet erotic song, comes Flo Rida’s ‘Low’. Bouncing, and admitting all blushing a bit, I make the mistake of not asking you this time but merely letting the shot someone bought slide down my throat with the burn of excitement and the challenge of out dancing a big girl in a stripper song.
My ass twitched and twerked, as I used a bar stool as my substitute pole. Dropping to the floor and back up in the obviously deviant and sexual manner, not noticing your eyebrows raise, or your right hand touch your lips in that manner that says you are both intrigued and irritated.
As the song ended I heard your voice, a simple soft, and yet stern, “Come here.”
“You summoned.” I said still somewhat out of breath from the core workout the last activity had provided.
“Tell your friends goodnight, we are leaving.”
Hearing the tone in your voice and seeing the shade your bright eyes had become, I knew to obey. Gathering my things, I turned to say my farewells.
Amid the whines and grumbles, you place your hand on the small of my back lightly guiding me to the door.
As the glass realigns itself behind us, You hand me a hotel key. “I hope you didn’t expect to get away with that display, there will be a price.”
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”
“I will follow you to our rendezvous, you will receive your punishment there.”
“As you wish.”
A short drive later we were in a hotel lobby, heading toward the elevator when you stopped me.
The black bag in your grasp was screaming zipper full.
“See the lobby restroom right there?”
Lifting my face to look me in the eye, ” You are to enter that restroom, replace your panties with the remote butterfly and return to me, you have 3 minutes.”
Wasting none of my allotted time, I excuse my self as to not draw un needed attention from the families checking in and fulfill my task. returning to your side I place the small one button remote in your hand and we board the elevator together.
As the first stomach fluttering jolt of the elevators rise fades you turn to me with fire behind those piercing eyes. ” I will ask, you will answer, What did you do wrong this evening?”
Hesitation, which lead to a push of the button in your hand, a shock of vibration in a slow pulse hit my already moist center as you firmly asked if you were required to repeat yourself.
“No, Master.” I said attempting to hold steady breaths between pulses. ” I failed to gain permission before my shot of fireball. Master, I’m sorry.”
Another push of the button and the pulses speed up. “And?”
A small whimper escapes my lips as the waves of vibration hit in their new rhythm. “And I danced to the second song without your approval, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Another push of the button and the pulses change again this time to an erotic pattern similar to that of a fearful heartbeat. Light whispered moans flow from my lips as my back leans to the elevator wall for added support, and my hands grasp the chrome colored railing.
“Did I say you could lean? Stand up.”
“Yes, yes Master.” I reply, my breaths now uncontrollably jagged and heavy.
The ding, signaling we had reached the desired floor rang out, and the doors slowly parted.
As you step out you hand me the key, you will walk in pace with me, not missing a single step until we are safely behind the doors of our room.” Pushing the button yet again the pulse changed into a constant stream of vibration, making my breath catch for a moment.”Am I understood?”
A lip biting nod and a breathless, “Master.”
Walking when every muscle of your sexually charged body is screaming in pleasure is difficult, but I managed. With each step the butterflies wings brushed my inner thighs,and its head teased my clit while the small probe teased endlessly with it’s constant vibration. Somehow I managed to match you step for step.
As the door to our room opened you motion me inside. Once there I fall to my knees. “Master, Please. Please may I cum.” I beg as the door shuts behind you.
“You may not.”
Shivers shoot through my body as the remote torture continues, “What is your will m’lord.” I ask holding my release with nothing but sheer willpower.
“I want you naked on that bed, Velcro strapped and compliant.”
As I tremble toward the bed, you add, “Face up, Leave the butterfly where it is.”
“As you command, m’lord.”
Positioning my self, spread eagle wearing not but the black Velcro cuffs around my wrists and ankles and the Venus butterfly that was still on it’s highest stetting, I awaited your arrival at the bedside.
My hips grinding, body trembling, wanting so badly to release the ecstasy building inside me. Then the crack of plastic against flesh, as the ruler in you hand made contact with my inner thigh.
The sting of pleasurable pain, like a flash of lightening against of otherwise black night sky, was over as soon as it began.