It’s really hard to write this up amidst family dynamics and wrapping gifts and visiting old haunts in my hometown – so this is just a very small snippet of the beginning of what happened between DateDyke and I yesterday. More to come.
She answered the hotel room door wearing a black vintage lingerie slip, black stockings, black knee high heeled boots. Grinning.
Oh, my god. Stunning.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I said, laughing.
“Get yourself some champagne, and refill my glass. I’d like an orange slice too.”
I picked her champagne flute up from the dresser. It hummed a little in my hand, that sound of glass vibrating. Refilled hers. Poured mine. There was a glass dildo in the ice bucket, buried. Brought her an orange from the bowl of strawberries and orange slices, she took it from my fingers with her mouth.
It was my first act of servitude.
I leaned on the edge of the desk, and she said, “Umm, no, I’d like you right here,” and pointed. I sat on the edge of the bed, near her chair.
“So there were some things you were supposed to do,” she said a bit later, taking the empty champagne flute from my hand and pressing her thigh against mine, coming close, hand on the back of my neck where I’d just cut my hair short. “What were they?” she murmured. “Can you recite them for me?”
“I texted you when I landed.”
“Very good,” she murmured. I got a kiss as a reward. She kept her mouth so close I could feel her breath.
“I told you what time I need to be back at the airport.”
“Very good.” Another soft, soft kiss.
“I brought my camera.”
“Did you? Good. In a minute I want you to get it out and ready for me. What else?”
“I wore briefs, a tie and … my cock.”
“Very, very good.”
“Um … ”
Her lips brushed my jaw, my neck, my mouth. I couldn’t concentrate. I held my hands gently on the curves of her hips and wanted to twist her down behind me, throw her on the bed. I restrained. Every moment I restrained my impulses. I held my body on tight reigns, which created a swirl of energy, of reeling. Restrained, restrained, restrained.
What was the last thing I was supposed to do?
“I haven’t … gotten off … since Wednesday.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Very good. Oh, I’m very, very happy about that. Your balls must be so heavy … ” she kissed me again. Deeper. Her hand on my cock. “Now get that camera out.” I crossed the room and did. She played with the settings, took a few test shots, then set it down, took hold of my tie. “I’d like you here now,” she pulled, “kneeling on the floor in front of me.”
I sank to my knees, still fully clothed. Black boots freshly polished, jeans, black leather belt, white tee shirt, white button down, dark gray silk tie.
I kept my knees splayed without really realizing – my impulse, wearing a cock, and also more comfortable for my boots that way.
She noticed. “Oh, I like the way you did that.” Kissing me. Her hands down my belly onto my cock, rubbing. I inhaled sharply. Her mouth was luscious, soft, subtle. I struggled for composure. I wanted my hands on her body, wanted to feel her thighs, peel away her stockings.
“What,” she asked, reading something – hesitation? resistance? – in me.
“I am … not pouncing on you.”
“Oh that is very much not allowed.”
“I know.” I swallowed. “I just, want you to notice precisely how much I am not pouncing on you.”
She smiled. “Good boy,” she said. “I know that must be hard for you,” and she took hold of my forearm. “Unbutton those cuffs,” she said. Boyish, I felt so boyish. Not even butch, but like a teenage boy, eager, willing to learn, desperate to please. I began unbuttoning, kneeling in front of her, watching her face as she watched me, fingers suddenly fumbling. I looked at her. Noticed her hands, small, cute. I bet she could fist me. Her skin was so soft, so soft, and I could see her thighs where her stockings ended, could see on garter. I’d felt a harness under that slip, too, when she’d allowed me briefly, at the door, to feel her ass.
I finished the second wrist and raised my hands into her lap, offered them to her, open palmed.
“Beautiful,” she said. “You know what it’s like to have someone offer their wrists to you.”
I nodded. “Yes.” Barely a whisper.
“I like your new tattoo,” she said, touching it. She cuffed me, both wrists, leather cuffs with silver buckles, and tested the tension. I watched. “Something that we talked about, when we were planning this, is that I wanted you to suck my femme cock, do you remember that?”
“I have really been looking forward to that.” She pulled my hands behind my back and linked them together. “I don’t trust your hands on your own. You’re gonna have to keep them there for a while. Now, stay there. Don’t move, do you understand?”
On my knees, facing the chair. Arms cuffed together behind my back. I could hear her rustling around the room. I struggled against the cuffs, just to see how far I could pull, how it would feel. I love the pressure on my wrists.
I kept my head low, shoulders pulled back by my wrists pulled together. She re-appeared, cock under her black silk slip, at the edge, next to the lace, hard and bobbing, nudging at the hemline.
My mouth salivated. I looked up at her, tried not to wonder about my gag reflex, and kissed it.