First Night

© Copyright 2016, Osthanes

Author's Note:

I intensely loathe disclaimers and I am of the opinion that they are almost always neither necessary nor helpful. However, because I tend to love to write about certain subjects that often include themes involving power exchange, I feel the need to at least make a brief statement regarding why I write what I do.

I write for the purposes that many authors do -- perhaps even for the same reasons you who are reading this right now, write, yourself. I write in order to take a pause from so-called "reality" every once in a while, and enter a world where anything is possible. I have always been fascinated with how the right combination of letters in the right order can be powerful in ways neither the author nor reader can ever fully understand. To make a long story short, I write because I love it. And the more I do, the more I want to.

As you can probably guess, I write mostly in the realm of erotic fiction, especially the more "kinky" aspects of it. This includes the themes of dominance and submission, and what some incorrectly refer to as "sadism" and "masochism."

I would briefly like to state two important points, so as to leave no question about my opinions and intentions. First (standard disclaimer here): While a writer cannot avoid drawing upon personal experience, that does not mean what you are about to read is anything but a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental, accidental, or outside the realm of the author's conscious mind. Second, you and your partner(s) are of course free to enact any fantasies you wish in "real life." It is the author's opinion that such play (or such a lifestyle as some may choose to live 24/7, should always be done safely, sanely, and consensually.

You will probably realize very soon, that what is written above, is probably not necessary for the following story. But in case I bring you along on an adventure in the future and we find ourselves in more treacherous waters, rest assured that I, too, believe that some fantasies are best experienced in the magickal realm we choose to enter on occasion, and left behind when we emerge back to the mortal plane...

Most of all, I hope you enjoy taking this brief journey with me and you have as much fun reading this, as I did writing it.

... OK, I agree, that was way too long for an Author's Note!

And yes -- while I use the first and second person singular in this narrative, "I" and "you" are assumed to be persons at least 18 years of age!

Osthanes

February 10, 2016

Did I go too far?

Your back is to me. Your forearms lean against the rail, the half empty champagne flute is cradled between your hands, gently suspended two stories above the street below. You are leaning over ever so slightly, your form still only slightly obscured by the white terry-cloth covering you from just above your pale mid thigh.

The night is still, eerily silent. The world is on pause; it seems that you are, as well. I make out no sensation other than the cool early spring air against my naked skin, and the faint sound of the bubbles from my own glass. I vulgarly finish it with two gulps, immediately angry with myself for not savoring the elegant Pol Roger reserve that I chilled for this very special evening. But something in between frustration and panic has engulfed me. I stand there, motionless, the only additional sensation now the champagne burning my throat. I stare at your light brown auburn waves, falling down to just above your shoulders, and can only imagine what is inside that amazing head of yours. I can't help thinking I did something wrong. But, what?

My thoughts drift back to the events of the evening, searching for an answer ...

* * *

I arrive early to your apartment. I have a key, but you almost always leave the door unlocked and have done so today. I arrive with plenty of time to prepare for the evening, plenty of time to go through everything meticulously once, then twice ... then a third time. I wonder if your are as anxious as I am about what is to occur. Is anxious the right word? I am not even sure of that. The sensation is indescribable ... and maddening. I know you are looking forward to it as much as I am, and the excitement in the anticipation is incredible, the closer the moment comes. On my end, my mind fluctuates between complete control and confidence to panic in an instant. I want so much to fulfill every desire you have but occasionally there is a little voice inside who says what if she's disappointed? That thought is almost too hard to bear for an instant. My ears begin to ring and- for a moment- I am paralyzed, staring at the doorknob ... I awake to the distant sound of someone coming up your steps. My heart starts beating faster when I hear the sound gradually become louder, and now I know they are your footfalls on the stairs just outside your apartment that takes up the entire 3^rd floor.

Even after almost three years, the anticipation of seeing you never fails to arouse my excitement- a feeling I sometimes hide out of a foolish fear that you would discover how much power you have over me, and end up with the ever elusive "upper hand." That fear never bothered me, because I knew you had it all along. I just sometimes needed to create the façade out of the worry that having such a power would make you see me as somehow a little less valuable. Such thoughts fostered my own dark fantasies of abandonment, when I was not able to suppress them.

The doorknob turns, the wooden frame of the door makes its usual rustling-bumping sound and the opens. There you are. You are looking so incredibly sexy at that moment. Just standing there in your skirt suit, your hair slightly tousled, your lovely but tired eyes looking at me, after yet another incredibly long day at the hospital. It is a scene I have known too many times: long hours, skipping meals, even skipping showers, skipping ... who even knows what else?

"Hello."

You manage to muster the greeting with a cheery disposition and a smile, with an effort I can almost feel takes all of your strength.

I do not speak, but walk towards you slowly, as if controlled by an unseen force. I lightly caress each your cheeks, and then press my lips against yours. With the softest of movements my tongue glides between your lips and I am able to open your slightly resistant mouth. I slide my right hand behind your neck, and slowly up the back of your head, gently taking a grip of your thick light auburn hair. Kissing has always been the single most erotic act in my opinion. There is nothing more intimate, nothing more stimulating. But, with you, I am taken to another level, another world, when our lips meet. Again my insecurity keeps me from telling you this, despite there being no rational reason why.

I am hard in seconds. As much as kissing turns me on, no one has ever been able to do that to me. Not in an instant. It happens always like that when my lips meet yours. At that moment I am obsessed with the desire to rip off your suit and take you right then and there- before you can even close the door behind you. But I restrain myself, gently releasing your mouth from mine and embracing you tightly. There is a faint floral scent from your perfume mixed with the natural oil from your unwashed hair- your personal signature, stimulating every ancient instinct buried in my soul.

I know you don't feel sexy at that moment, and I know you would never believe how perfect and beautiful you are to me. I know that nothing that I would say would change your mind. Nothing would let you know the truth: there is no one more attractive to me in the world.

This is the moment of anticipation for me, and I know, for you, as well. I wonder if you will back out, if you don't feel ready, or want to postpone. We had discussed this moment at length: your submission to me, for the evening. You were the one who insisted it be full submission, with no questions asked, no pauses ... no safeword. I know you trust me. Yet, this kind of submission takes bravery, and I admire you for that, among many other things.

My hand grips your hair, with slightly more force and my lips move closely to your left ear. You feel the warmth of my breath on your neck as I whisper are you ready? And for the first time that day, I see a faint smile and without hesitation hear you say the word I have been waiting for: yes.

* * *

I slowly detach myself from your embrace and walk behind you to close the door. Slowly, but only somewhat forcefully I take the briefcase from your hand and your other bag from off your shoulder. I put them down and walk before you.

"Take off your suit."

My words are calm, almost soft, but the tone is slightly different in a way you can't quite put your finger on. I watch in silence as you remove your sport coat, slip off your heels, unzip your skirt from the side and push it to the floor, exposing your bare pale thighs. You unbutton your white blouse and let it fall to the floor behind you, obediently putting your hands to the side and looking straight ahead, awaiting your next order.

I pause to take in the view. Your body has always aroused and fascinated me and I can never get enough of admiring your beauty. Your pale skin and scattered freckles contrast with your gray lace panties and bra. Your full smooth thighs and hips tapering up to up your narrow abdomen, that slight protrusion from the base of your pubis to your navel up to the most perfect symmetrical breasts, still hidden from me at the moment.

"Remove your bra"

You reach behind your back and release the clasp, allowing your bra to fall to your feet in front of you. You always make comments to me about how your breasts are small, which often causes me to be angry- I am that way whenever you denigrate yourself, which you do too much of. The truth is at that moment I am staring at two perfectly shaped symmetrical breasts in the world. In fact I have to restrain myself from groping you, burying my face in your chest, putting your pale, erect nipples in my mouth. I wonder if the look on my face makes it obvious. The truth is, I don't want you to even sense that such a thing is possible- that I might lose control at that moment. I decide to add some insurance.

"Close your eyes."

I notice that faint smile again, as you obediently do as I order. Is it your recognition of my lust as I stared at your almost nude figure? Or is it the satisfaction at hearing another order from me, and enjoying it?

If I hadn't realized it all along, I know it perfectly at that moment. While you were to submit yourself to my will and pleasure that evening, it would me wracking his brain with nervous tension wanting to make sure I do everything right to please you ... in a way you are in complete control and I am a pawn in your game. A more than willing pawn, but still ...

For some reason, most of my anxiety leaves me at that moment and I begin to enter the "zone" I need to be in. I pause again to take in your figure, moving slightly to the left I have a view of your backside in the full length mirror, behind you. You once told me your apartment was a former dance studio or something, I forget the specifics, but appreciated that fact more than ever at that moment.

I can't say that I have favorites, but I will say that some of your undergarments show off your body in amazing ways. You are wearing one of my favorites tonight: Dark grey, lace with ruffles on the waistband, and tapering down the front, and a full back covering, but almost fully transparent material, tightly adhering to your skin. It is funny how I always want nothing more than to remove all of your clothing, and yet a certain pair of panties on you can drive me close to insanity. Like the time I slid my hands down the back of your jeans while kissing you, and felt the fabric from your white g-string I didn't know you were wearing- the little surprises like that always got me going- making me even more turned on by you.

I recall a while ago when we were going through a more difficult time. Every time I saw you, you would be wearing the most simple pair of comfortable spandex or cotton panties. Not that it ever mattered to me -- you were always so sexy in my eyes. I just couldn't help but let my mind wander to your choice of undergarment symbolizing something more. As if you were subtly telling me you no longer were interested in trying to turn me on, or perhaps had grown bored of me. The fact is the reason was likely just as you had told me at the time: you were simply overworked and exhausted. During that time, you had seemed disinterested in exploring any erotic boundaries, either, and we had fallen into a pattern of what some refer to as "vanilla" sex ... that is, when any sex at all even occurred. I was disappointed, but did not want to tell you, because you meant so much to me. I would have gladly given up the "lifestyle" or any "kink" if needed to in order to stay by your side. I also didn't want to insult you into thinking you were not naturally the sexiest woman on earth, even without your interest in alternative sex play. I suppose that's why such a simple thing as your choice in undergarments that evening, meant so much.

"Slide off your panties. Slowly"

I notice that smile again as you hook your thumbs into each side of the waistband. I appreciate how slowly you slide them down off of your hips and carry them down to your ankles. You pause for a moment, showing off your flexibility, your hands around your ankles, legs straight, and your phenomenally perfect round backside now bare. You slowly rise again, pushing your hair off your face and letting it fall to just over your shoulders. You then return to your prior posture legs remaining straight, feel together, arms at your side, chin up, and shoulders back. Obediently you have kept your eyes closed.

"Pull your hair back."

You do as you are told and feel my presence behind you, the cloth against your face, covering your eyes, the sound of the fabric's friction as I tie it tightly behind your head, under your hair. You open your eyes and I know you can see no more than the faintest beads of dull light, and nothing more ... of course I tried it on, myself, to make sure.

"Hands to your sides."

There is a little edge to that order, something subtle in the tone, again, but it makes you smile a little, again.

"Legs apart."

Again, a calm statement, but slightly more firm. You obey, separating your legs with about a foot and a half between your feet.

"Further."

You widen your legs, more, about 3 feet, and hear nothing, assuming I am satisfied.

"Hands on your head."

You put your hands to the back of your head, and your elbows back, not needing me to give that order. You hear nothing for what seems like a few minutes. You assume correctly that I am admiring your figure, and appreciating your obedience. I know that this pose is not comfortable, and that you must feel objectified- to say the least. But I know you like that sometimes, as well.

I cannot resist touching your skin at that moment. You feel my hand caress the side of your left breast, lightly moving up to towards the middle, but stopping short of making contact with your sensitive erect nipple. You feel both of my hands on your skin now- lightly touching your neck, abdomen, again around your breasts. You can tell, I am intentionally avoiding your nipples. You are familiar with this game, I have played it many times with you- teasing you, making it all the more pleasurable when my hands and mouth finally do make contact where you want them. How long can I resist, you wonder? And so do I.

My hands explore further- but barely make contact. It is almost as if the palms and fingers of my hands are hovering just slightly above your skin, and you can feel the energy of their presence, despite the lack of physical contact. As always, a hand finds itself to your navel, and then below. You know how much I love your bright, pale, red natural curls. So many women wax it all off, these days, which I was never bothered by, but never especially sought out. You know how much I appreciate that you don't follow this trend. I never tire of the sight of your bright red tuft, contrasting against your smooth white skin.

You sense a hand behind your left knee, then sliding up the inside of your thigh, stopping just at that point where your thigh protrudes inward, the knuckles slightly brushing against your outer lips, which have just begun to moisten. I notice that you suddenly bite your lip.

I am about to ask, but then I realize. Ever self-conscious and always wanting to look your best for me, I know you feel less than clean, after such a long day. The truth is that I love the natural scent from underneath your arms and between your legs, which I suppose is a throwback to our ancestors, but my lust takes a back seat to your needs.

"Give me your hand."

I take your left wrist and gently lead you to the bathroom, then through the curtain separating the bathroom from your bedroom, where your enormous hot tub is half full. I have dimmed the two decorative lights suspended from the ceiling, and you can barely make out any light at all through your blindfold. I let go of your wrist and you hear the water begin to flow. The faint scent of lavender is in the air and you begin to feel the heat from the tub against your naked skin. The water stops and I take your wrist once again, not needing to instruct you to step in, as you easily do, even without sight. I slowly easy you into the tub, listening to you utter a light pleasurable moan.

"Is the water to your liking?"

"Yes."

"Good. Relax a short while and I will be back soon."

About 5 minutes later, I return and instruct you to sit up a bit in the tub. It's hard for me to resist running my hands all over you, but I settle for caressing your cheek and running my thumb along the edge of your mouth, which you proceed to devour without prompting. I slowly pull back and replace my thumb with the rim of a glass. You can pick up the scent of champagne bubbles before I slowly tilt the glass and you taste the chilled Pol Roger Brut. I then replace the glass with my lips and this time, I force my tongue deep into your mouth, an aggressive, almost violent kiss. As I kiss you my hand is pressed against your neck, almost causing you to choke. You begin to push your tongue now, into my mouth, challenging me, as if wanting me to be even more forceful. I put down the glass and press my tongue deeper into your throat, sliding a hand into the water, and between your legs. I continue to plunge my tongue in and out of the back of your throat, as I slide two fingers inside you and rub your clit with my thumb. It is not long before I feel the vibration of your moan throughout my tongue and lips, and feel your thighs squeeze tight around my wrist.

* * *

"Do you trust me?"

You are now standing in your bedroom, unable to see anything due to the low lighting. I have toweled you off and instructed you into your now default standing posture.

"Yes."

You are always quiet when we have played like this, before. It has always been amazing, but tonight we are taking a step beyond what we have done before, in a sense, our first night together; the first step into that great beyond. I had been waiting so long for us to get back here. We had started out so hot, so intense, experimenting immediately many erotic boundaries. We had even discussed moving this to more than just foreplay, to my taking more control in your life, setting structure that you desired, outside of the bedroom. I had longed to do that for as far back as I could remember. It was not because I was better than you- or even had the same amount of self discipline as you. It was because I saw your potential, where you did not ... I always knew you were limitless, you just needed the guidance to you show you the way.