Trisha and Tom Ch. 02: The Long Weekend

Trisha unclipped my cock and balls, and then I knelt in supplication to take her boots off. I kissed them, left then right, then eased the zippers and gently lifted her feet out. Lastly I planted a kiss on the bridge of each foot.

I then rose, and as Trisha turned away from me, I unclipped the necklace she wore. Finally we were both naked, ready for a long, soapy, gentle shower together.

The next morning we rose slowly, though still quite early, spending time in bed acclimatising to the day. We had plans for later but there was time for something else first. Mutually we decided to wait for breakfast and go for a swim.

After shrugging on the bare minimum to avoid arrest or public opprobrium, shorts for me, bikini for Trisha, we loaded ourselves in the car. We returned to the beach of yesterday, early enough to have it to ourselves. We stripped and sprinted into the surf, relishing the cold salty water. After catching a few waves we joined, cuddling each other and kissing deeply. I looked at Trisha and saw a beautiful woman, smart and sassy, especially because she was a bit dishevelled by the surf and sand.

Back at the house we showered and dressed, followed by a simple breakfast of coffee and toast.

Trisha pulled a simple white cotton sundress out of the wardrobe in her room. She put in on without a bra. Who was I to argue? She put on the boots and necklace from last night as well, and swept her hair up. She looked sexy and a bit arty all at once. I was limited in dress too. The jeans and shirt I had worn down would have to do. It didn't really worry me because I knew all eyes, including mine, would be on Trisha.

Although this wasn't the first time we had eaten out together it was the first time we had gone out as equals in the relationship. Last night had allowed some lines to be crossed: I was no longer the submissive waiting for his mistress to find him, as I had felt before, but instead I would serve Trisha when she needed to be dominant and when she didn't we would move as one.

The gallery we were visiting was about an hours drive so we set off straight after breakfast. On the trip we listened to pop music for a bit, rather than the jazz we have found useful, and then Trisha turned to me and asked "did you enjoy last night?"

"Yes, of course," I responded. "I have really enjoyed both our femdom sessions, but I would like just to make love to you, no toys, not a scene. Perhaps tonight?"

"Sounds like fun. How about we get slightly drunk at dinner and make out on the couch. Then we'll see what happens."

We pulled into the carpark of the gallery and moved through to the counter. As we viewed the landscape exhibition I couldn't help looking at Trisha's breasts, nipples evident in the cups of her dress. I looked admiringly as many others, mostly men but also some women, also admire Trisha. I had the satisfaction of knowing she that she chose me.

Lunch at the cafe, and a quick game of what would you do with whom, the two of us talking about the young and sexy waitstaff. I thought Trisha would ream the funky young wine waiter, hipster vulnerability on her radar for submissive men, while she picked the curvy hippy blond with long curly hair for me to eat out. "I bet her pubes are waxed. Nothing in the way of her pleasure" she expounded. Not my usual type, absolute opposite of Trisha, but after all it was a fun and meaningless fantasy.

We found another exhibition to view, one I wasn't aware of when I suggested the gallery. The exhibition space was below ground, cavern like, and with warnings about content. The work was erotic, sensual, moody. Large photographs depicting men and woman preparing for, having and recovering from sexual sessions. Deep in shadow, concealed, probing, kinky. Trisha and I spend many minutes looking at the details in the works. There is a development through the exhibition from the lightest and simplest photograph of a naked woman writhing in fallen leaves. The last image was one closest to our interests. An almost monochrome image of a dark room, a man standing against a wall, arms and legs spread, one short of the classic six red welts across his bottom, the red emphasised to give power to the woman. In silhouette a naked woman wielding a cane sets herself to deliver the last cut. We wondered what he has done or not done for such a punishment. Or perhaps he let her because he trusts her and she wants to hurt him.

I whisper to Trisha, telling her "one day you can do that to me. Once and only once, and only when you want to and I want you to."

"I am pleased and honoured by that. Maybe one day. Lets see where we go with this."

In the gift shop I purchased the catalogue for the shows we had seen. The landscape catalogue "Field and shore" would make a fine coffee table book, while the smaller, darker "Drawn/Trapped" would be our secret. On the way out, from the corner of my eye, I spied a print of the work we both loved.

I felt we were navigating our way through our burgeoning relationship. So far it had been two femdom nights, several lovely meals and a couple of nights together. What if it could be more?

I let that thought percolate a bit as we worked through to the shop, and it faded as we started to look though the photographs available. There is a copy of the one we love but it is expensive and Trisha demurs, telling me that she cannot do it.

While she goes to the bathroom I go back in and buy the photographic print, concealing it in the boot before Trisha gets back to the car. The trip back in uneventful and soon we are swimming in the pool, naked and carefree.

After a quick shower and into comfy clothes we ate a small and simple meal. We started on the wine, and as proposed the lights were lowered, more wine drunk and soon I was fingering Trisha while we french kissed on the lounge. She writhed under my attention. She stopped kissing long enough to utter "bedroom." We parted long enough to stagger in and strip, falling together and merging into missionary. I pumped and paused, pumped and paused, teasing her, going balls deep and pulling out to the crown. Sliding and stopping, slipping and sliding, stopping and moaning.

Trisha flipped me and rode me like she had our first night together. No teasing from her, she was looking for the finish line. We got there, crashing the ribbon together.

It was Monday, the day to head home. A swim, coffee, food at a cafe on the way, back early afternoon. Parting was bittersweet, knowing what I felt, what we had discussed, what we had done and what I thought our future would hold. I went home exhausted and very, very happy.

The following week, flushed with how well things were going, we were caught at work. It was late in the afternoon, most people having left, and the lift carrying us downstairs opened earlier than we expected because we were heavily involved in a french kiss. Unfortunately for us the General Manager's secretary, Sharni, was waiting for the lift. She beckoned us with a crooked finger, which we followed sheepishly. In hushed tones she confided that she was seeing someone from work, dropping a large hint that it was the General Manager himself, and telling us it was okay but to keep it private. This didn't mean we could go public at work but it did take away the worry that there might be really bad consequences if we were discovered.

Three weeks after the long weekend I gave Trisha the photograph, tastefully framed, as a birthday gift. I did it at dinner, just us, and not long before she tied me up, used her birthday candles to drip wax on my cock, balls and nipples, and ream me. She wore her birthday suit in all its glory for this celebration, naked but for a choker made from the orange ribbon I wrapped her present in, and for about fifteen minutes, a smallish dildo in a harness, most of that time spent impaling me. The promise of more to come.