2 comments/ 16833 views/ 3 favorites By His Command By: sirhugs "Mostly I'd just like a relationship between equals, with a man of a similar age," Sandra sighed, "But all the men in their fifties seem to be obsessed with women young enough to be their daughters, or at least their daughter's friends." She chuckled dryly. "Even women over 40 seem to be getting caught up in this whole cougar thing. I just don't get it. Except, as a result, I am literally not getting IT. I like to pretend that I can turn my sex drive on and off, but the truth is, I want a man. Not just to fuck, of course. I want a mature guy who floats my boat with his brain as well as his body. One who appreciates a sense of humour, good food, a nice glass of wine, theatre, travelling... I guess I really do want it all, don't I?" Her laugh was richer as she swirled the red wine in her glass and looked across the restaurant table at her lifelong girlfriend, Lilly. They had met on the playground in preschool. They shared their first scraped knees, their first double dates in Jimmy Walsh's dad's old Buick... they had lost their virginities together, twenty feet apart in Old Man Willet's barn one sunny summer afternoon. Neither had been convinced that they were "ready", but neither wanted to look afraid in front of the other either. After graduation, Lilly had moved across the country. Now, newly widowed, she had moved home to care for her elderly parents. She was content in this, because her husband had left her well off. She had enjoyed all the sorts of things which Sandra longed for, and knew she could find more. This brief respite was just for refuelling. Sandra had also enjoyed life, marrying early and raising two fine sons, until her husband had traded her in on a newer model. He was now on his third, or fourth, who counted, trophy wife, one about every five years, all in their early twenties. Sandra had returned to school after the divorce, and owned her own financial consulting company, mostly doing stock valuations for mergers and acquisitions, something which shocked family members who assumed she sold life insurance to little old ladies. She was wealthy, had travelled together with Lilly and other friends, socialized for business, but had never met a man who could please her. Most were intimidated by her success. "Well, if you're serious," Lilly replied, "I might know just the man, except he lives in Cincinnati." Sandra's face went from excitement to despair in the pause between the clauses. "But he travels a lot," Lilly explained. "He does risk management consulting for hospitals. Our local hospital is on his list, and he visits a couple of times a year. In fact, he's here at the end of the week. I can suggest he stay the weekend and you can come over for dinner and meet him." "Is he staying with you?" Sandra asked, her tone of voice implying a deeper issue. Lilly chuckled, sipped her wine. "Yes, but not like you seem to think. Spencer was a dear friend of my late husband and when Clark died, Spencer sort of offered to fill the void, but..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes focused down on her hands, which busily swirled her wine glass. She could not look Sandra in the eye. "What? Come on – no secrets between us, remember." "I told him I just wasn't ready." Lilly still spoke uncharacteristically softly. "So, he'd wait, I'm sure," Sandra knew there had to be more to the story. She also knew sometimes Lilly just had to be allowed to tell it in her own way. "Well, a little problem. He's sort of married." "Sort of? I thought either you're married or you aren't." This made Lilly laugh so hard that other restaurant patrons looked at her strangely. "Sandra, after the way your husband behaved, how can you be so innocent? Marriage comes in many flavours. In Spencer's case, there were kids. He travels so much, that over the years he and his wife just grew apart. After a while, they came to an understanding – what he does in other area codes doesn't count, as long as she doesn't hear about it. He knows she sees other men while he's away, but she's discrete. They could still show up at the country club together with heads held high. He always assumed once the last child left, they would quietly end the farce, except now she's fighting cancer, so he doesn't dare leave her until that's resolved. The kids would never forgive him. Besides, he's not that sort of cruel guy." For some reason Sandra could not fathom, that last line made Lilly chuckle. "So that still doesn't explain why not you." "Yeah. Well, there is one other thing. You know how I said marriage comes in many flavours? So does sex. I like my plain vanilla, and Spencer likes all the tastes of Baskin Robbins, then some." Sandra's eyes flew wide open. "What do you mean?" "I mean he's more than just a little bit kinky. And that Spencer is not that kind of cruel - implying he is certain sorts of cruel? " "So why do you think that would interest me any more than you?" Sandra said as she blushed. Lilly laughed from her belly once more. "I hope you don't play poker with that face. Remember, I've know you since before you French kissed Billy Wells in the science storage closet. I think I realized even before you did that vanilla would never be enough for you. I said Spencer is not the kind of cruel to abandon his sick wife - but I do think he likes games that might involve domination. Not sure what sort, whether it's just spanking, or whether it's full out whips and chains. Never asked. I cry if I break a nail, so that has no appeal to me. You've always been tougher stuff. Sure, maybe you tried to pretend and live out some version of the great American dream, but by now, I'm betting that you are ready to explore your fantasies. I hope so, it would be good for you." By the time Lilly finished her speech, Sandra was staring into her wine glass, her face flushed warm. "Try it. You might like it. If you don't, you don't need to continue," Lilly added. Sandra turned even redder, the blush spreading down her chest into her décolletage, the exposed tops of her full breasts glowing hot. "Ohhhh," Lilly realized. "I get it. You're afraid you'll like it TOO much." This time both women laughed, until the manager came and asked if everything was all right. The spell broken, the two women finished their drinks, paid, and left. Over the next few days, Sandra tried very hard not to think of Lilly's friend Spencer. She nonetheless found herself wondering if he resembled Spencer Tracy. Lilly's husband Clark had always joked that he was named after Clark Gable, not Clark Kent. "Less powerful, but better looking," Lilly would say if she was nearby "He'd be about the right age for his mother to have had long smouldering thoughts about THAT Spencer – not as gorgeous as Clark Gable, but rugged, manly, confident, capable – the sort of man who would care for a woman, but respect her as well." Sandra told her reflection in the mirror one morning, applying makeup wearing just a camisole and matching panties. As she looked down to pick up her mascara, she noticed that the stiffness of her nipples was tenting the front of her top. "Good thing Spencer's not here to see," she found herself giggling. She had not giggled so girlishly in a decade. "And he never will be here, so stop acting like a schoolgirl." She finished dressing and went to work, but in her meetings, she found her mind wandering to Spencer, and each time, her breasts swelled. Finally, she rushed to the ladies room, to check how flushed she was. Fortunately, she still looked professional. After reapplying her lipstick, she could not resist quickly running her fingertips over her nipples. She felt her panties moisten just a bit. This continued until Wednesday, when Lilly called and invited Sandra to dinner Friday. Spencer of course would be there. Once again, Sandra found her mind wandering. Two days flew past in a blur. Perhaps some work got done, or not, she really neither knew nor cared. The party also was a blur for Sandra. Later, she would say it was like going to a carnival for the first time – a whirlwind of activity, people, sound and colour. All that she could recall clearly was the dashingly handsome mature man standing silently, like the stone in the rapids around which water flows, at the center of the party activity, yet never carried away. She found herself drawn to him. As she drew near, the rapids metaphor was replaced by one of a planetary system – he was the sun, she was just one of the planets in his orbit. "You must be Sandra," she would always recall his first words. "Lilly has told me a lot about you." Yet, in spite of that promising opening line, he offered Sandra no more attention than Jupiter offers any one of its 63 moons. They spoke, but she never had any recollection afterwards about what, just his deep confident voice, his assured manner, the sense that here was a man with absolute command of his world. He was not wearing a tuxedo, yet every time she thought back on the evening, that was what she imagined - him still, a martini glass in hand, sipping occasionally, dashing in black tie. Her panties had gotten moist in anticipation. The reality made them become soaking wet. She could feel her clit hum, her nipples stiffen. For some reason, she wished she was wearing a bustier. She knew that her breasts were her best weapon in the war of the sexes, and though she owned no exotic lingerie, just looking at Spencer made her ache to display herself erotically. When she got home that night Sandra was unable to sleep, her pulse was racing. Finally, she got up, tried reading a book, but eventually, wandered to her laptop and found herself cruising websites which sold corsets, bustiers, garters. She had never owned such exotic items, but found them exciting. As she browsed, she felt her nipples harden, just like when she looked at Spencer. In her mind, she was modelling her purchases for him, and then dropping to her knees to suck his cock. Except, she was shocked when in her fantasy, he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragged her away from his throbbing erection and sat on a chair. "You prefer me to blow you while you sit?" she dreamt of asking, smiling both in the fantasy and reality. She pictured him chuckling, his fingers still loosely, but manfully, holding a handful of her curls. "No," he would say. "First I want you across my lap." She gasped as she thought the words, and also in her fantasy. Her husband had never spanked her. No lover had touched her ass except to stroke it, always just a brief stop before sneaking a finger into her cunt, perhaps followed by using her ample but firm rear as a handhold while fucking. Only her father had spanked her about half a century ago. There had been nothing sensual about that – the first time she had really cried, he stopped, and never did it again. Her father's words, though, now had another meaning: "You're getting too old for this." Perhaps her father had depths she had never guessed. Maybe he had sensed something about his daughter which she was only discovering now, decades later. She found herself hoping that she was not once again too old to enjoy a good spanking. As Sandra pictured herself over Spencer's lap, a tingle ran to her extremities; a shiver down her spine; warmth radiated from her core to flush her breasts, stiffen her nipples. She felt her clit filling like a miniature cock with blood, begging for release. Sandra sprawled back in her comfy chair, legs wide open, and loosened the robe she had slipped on over the nakedness of her fitful sleep. She pictured Spencer watching her squirm, her naked breasts teasing his hungry eyes. No, that wasn't right. Spencer might feel that ache, but she knew instinctively that he would never show a hint of it in his face. Only the eventual stiffness of his cock would betray his excitement. Even then, she guessed, he would only fuck her as a reward. He would train her, she realized suddenly. "May I touch myself?" She heard her voice, though she was alone in her room. "Yes, I want to watch you cum." Sandra heard Spencer's calm confident voice in her imagination. "Take off your robe and touch yourself." Sandra slipped out of her robe, obeying, but left the cloth puddled beneath her on the chair. She chuckled about her own cautiousness, as she protected the upholstery from staining. Although her apartment was air conditioned, she felt as if there was a breeze chilling her skin. Her nipples hardened. She had yet to touch them, but already the anticipation caused moisture to seep out of her cunt, wetting her swollen lips and she began to feel dampness on the inside of her thighs. One hand caressed her belly, slowly, circling, each time getting closer until finally she touched her breasts. Her fingertips gently brushed the soft curves, caressing the undersides, and then cupping them, until, unable to restrain herself, she moaned. "Am I pleasing you?" she asked her imaginary Spencer. "Oh, you would know if you weren't," she pictured him saying."Continue." "But wouldn't you like to undress? How does this pleasure you if you aren't also touching yourself?" "I wish to just watch you submit, for you to totally want to share your pleasure with me, so that I own your very orgasm." The chill with which she imagined him speaking those words made her accept that all her life she had wanted a man to take her like this, to possess her, to make her truly his. Her husband had been too insecure. She needed a man like Spencer. Sandra's fingers found her nipples and tugged them firmly, causing another groan to echo in her room. Suddenly, she feared that it had been wrong to proceed so quickly, without first seeking permission. She knew that she only want to please Him, to never disappoint "Your pleasuring yourself pleases Me immensely, My dear," he said and she wondered whether He would be hard, just watching her. She smiled, finding reassurance in His imagined confident voice."Especially the way that you find pleasure in a bit of pain." Sandra admitted to herself for the first time that for her, pain was prelude to the greatest pleasure. She relaxed and immersed herself in her fantasy. She ached to belong to Spencer. She was so new to the domination world, if she even really belonged to it yet, as opposed to merely longing for it. She was, however, too deeply in thrall to recognize that submitting to an imaginary Master was somewhat silly. Only later would Sandra worry that Spencer might not actually want her obedience. Sure, Lilly had said he was kinky, but Sandra was not completely innocent – she knew that kink came in many flavours, and what if his did not match hers? Or what if he simply wasn't attracted to her? But these thoughts were not yet in Sandra's mind. Her brain was too totally consumed by lust. Eyes closed, Sandra was slumped in her chair, her whole body trembling as she imagined his touch - lips gently kissing her shoulder and then working along her neck. The images in her mind made the room spin. She could smell the scent he wore as the part - rugged, masculine, discrete. She had never felt so alive. As she arched her back, her breasts thrust upward under her hands, she wondered whether she could please Spencer. Had he liked what he saw when they had met? In his eyes, was she as beautiful as she felt at the moment, or as plain as she felt most days? Had she aroused him? She chuckled, twisting her nipples until she winced slightly. "Don't flatter yourself," she spoke into the empty room. "He certainly did not look aroused, he barely acknowledged that you are a woman. You'd be lucky if he wanted you." As these words hung in the air, she felt as if it was Spencer caressing her breasts. She rolled over, as if presenting her ass to his gaze. "It's not a small ass, but next to your tits, it's your best feature," she reminded herself. "Perhaps Spencer will smack it for you." She felt the blood flushing through her skin in a whole body blush. She had never felt so vulnerable, so needy. This, she realized was what true desire felt like. As she thought about passion, one hand found its way between her legs. Sandra knew with her rear in presentation position, Spencer would be able to see her excitement, patently obvious from the fullness of her swollen vulva. The wetness on her thighs was the most thrilling sensation Sandra had ever experienced. This made Sandra want to see Spencer even more, to submit to him, if he would have her. She dreamed of gazing into his eyes, searching for a hunger which she knew had to be there, but which he kept buried. She wanted to obey him until he could not resist showing a reaction to her evident arousal. Though she desperately wanted to play with her tits, she remained in her awkward tripod doggie style until she pulled her legs up under her body, her thighs mashed against her breasts. Her nipples drilled into her flesh like diamonds. Even with one arm trapped between her legs and belly, fingers half buried in her cunt, Sandra enjoyed the fresh taste of discomfort, imagining that it would please Spencer. She realized that she was wiggling her hips, presenting her ass more urgently to her imaginary Master. A shiver shook her spine as she longed for Spencer's touch, causing a fresh gush from her pussy. She bit her lower lip, stifling a scream. She lived in a solid new building, but still, some things she did not want to risk sharing with her neighbours. Her fingers touched her litmus she imagined Spencer rubbing his palms up and down her back, teasing her ass, lingering for just a moment on the wide point of her hips, allowing her to feel his warmth, praying that he would just run a finger between her cheeks, violate her ass just a bit, tip her over the edge. She knew that he would deny her that as long as possible, building the anticipation, running hands up her spine to her shoulders, caressing her flanks, keeping his touch light and teasing. Sandra's body trembled at her desire for Spencer's touch. She fantasized about the things he might make her do, things she had never done, but which she would do to show how much she wanted him. Wanted to submit to him. Her mind and body were reacting as if his fingers were really there. Her body was excited and relaxed at the same time. Her passion was building towards a climax as she imagined that it was Spencer's touch. At once soft and confident. Rather than her own fingers stroking her clit, thrusting up into her cavity. Sandra pictured Spencer's hand slapping firmly against her ass. The shock of the imaginary blow was real, making her gasp in surprise. She had never submitted in that way before, and now she was aching for it. The acceptance of her desire was sudden, and unexpected. She realized that not only did she want Spencer, but she wanted his discipline - for him to relax her first. The surprise would intensify the pain that brought the pleasure. She continued fingering herself as she pictured another blow landing, and another. Three spanks, without pause, before he rested his palm on her flesh. She wanted the reality, the feel of the warmth spreading over her ass. This desire excited her more than anything she had ever imagined. She knew she would revel in the sting and want more. She sensed that Spencer would deliver what she needed, his hand striking her tender flesh again and again, him knowing just when to pause, just how hard to hit, just how much Sandra could endure. The dream was so realistic that her ass actually began to throb as her cunt overheated, her moaning intensifying into groaning. She bit her lower lip again, stifling her desire to roar down to a whimper. She rolled over then, her back arched, her breasts thrust upward, aching for his touch, for him to taste them. She wondered if she would please him. Would he like what he saw when he looked at her naked body displayed like this, for his eyes only? Would he think she was beautiful? Would he become aroused, engorged? Would he want her as badly as she desired him? She imagined his touch as she contemplated these questions, her fingers substituting for his. By His Command Ch. 02 "May I buy you dinner..." Simple words, but enough to make Sandra's breathing stop, just for an instant. The ringing phone revived her, breaking the spell. She knew it was Spencer. She knew she agreed to dinner. But do not ask her what else was said. The entire time, she was too busy wondering whether Spencer knew of his magical effect upon her, whether he knew that she had masturbated thinking of being in his thrall, climaxing only upon his command. The rest of the day was also a blur. Sandra was tempted to touch her aching clit and tease her erect nipples while she showered, but resisted, sensing that Spencer would prefer the denial, that he would want her sexually on edge at dinner. Not that she thought the date would be more than dinner. Surely he would be a perfect gentleman - if only because that slight cruelty would make her want him more. Because they had agreed to meet at his hotel and walk to dinner at a nice fish restaurant nearby, she would not have time to go home after work. All day, she wore her shelf bra, which allowed her nipples to rub directly against the inside of her favourite red dress. Sandra knew that the red dress was a bit dressy for the office, but pleasing Spencer suddenly seemed like the most important thing. Besides which, her clients might pay more attention if they noticed her lush curvy body. "Great, but not so hot that it's distracting." she assessed herself in the mirror before heading downtown that morning. "Little will my clients know that I'm wearing a matching thong and that these aren't hose, but instead are stockings, held up by garters." She chuckled as she applied her lipstick, deep red, which perfectly matched the dress. "I wonder whether Spencer will get to find out. I hope he doesn't think that I'm a tramp if I succumb on the first date, but if things unfold that way, I won't be able to resist." Sandra winked at her reflection and giggled girlishly, feeling younger than she had in a decade. She slipped on her sensible shoes, carrying her heels in her oversized "magic carpet bag" and headed out. She worked, advising clients, but retained none of it. She did have a sense of great success, and if that day was a movie montage, it would have shown her sparkling, tossing her reddish hair flirtatiously, taking command of each situation, and bending mere mortals to her will. A client satisfaction survey would have been off the charts. And not one noticed the effect that the anticipation and friction was having on Sandra's nipples. She did though, and the electricity flowed from her breasts through her belly, warming her loins, until, by late in the day, the current was gushing out of her labia, wetness soaking her thong. She just hoped that her perfume masked the scent. Finally, her last appointment ended, and she gathered her possessions to head to Spencer's hotel. Fortunately, the stuffy British clinic manager did not glance inside her bag of tricks as she stuffed her laptop inside, because, she was shocked to notice, her nipple clamps and handcuffs were floating loosely on top of the other contents. 'Note to self -- if I do this again, book only female clients the days I see Spencer,' Sandra thought, chuckling, but then she realized that this whole situation had evolved so quickly that planning was impossible, and that expectations about the future were ridiculous. "Is something funny?" her pompous client asked. "I thought this was a rather serious subject." 'If only you knew,' Sandra thought, suddenly wondering if he liked to be tied up, but instead she said "I'm just pleased by how easy you are to work with." Her ear to ear grin made the Brit blush, and she guessed that perhaps his willy was becoming chubby, him thinking that she found him attractive but actually, it was of course thoughts of Spencer. Butterflies danced in her tummy as she smiled and thought about how sexuality could be a powerful business tool. 'I'll need to think about how I can use that,' she pondered while waiting for the elevator. As she descended, she turned her mind back to her idea that a female client to end a Spencer day would be better. She felt her nipples stiffening again at the thought. 'Why?' she wondered, ' would a gal seeing my excitement be better? Would it be any less embarrassing?' The feeling of dampness running down her bare thighs, coating the tops of her stockings, shouted "Yes." This time the shiver ran up her spine, starting in her clit, spreading through her groin, and then up through her body until she felt her brain tingle and her face flush. Sandra was glad then that she had not worn a conventional bra, because not only were her nipples rock hard, but she felt her areolae puffing out from the flesh of her tits, as if begging to be sucked, or clamped. She had experimented with nipple clamps with previous lovers, but none had really shared her interest. They had done it haphazardly, locking the teeth in place and then forgetting about them. "Nothing but vanilla fucking," she muttered out loud in disgust, suddenly glad that she was alone in the elevator. She gazed anxiously at the big red button marked STOP as if it might be a warning, and then wondering if it was a beacon. She felt her arm start to raise of its own volition, as her other hand touched her thigh and began slowly to rise up and caress her belly, that warm seat of her sensuality. Her finger even brushed against the button, the temptation to masturbate to climax was so compelling. Sandra had never been in such thrall. Only at the last instant did common sense prevail. Sandra managed to remind herself that it was rush hour, that hundreds, if not thousands, of people were still streaming out of the building, and that even in off hours, stopping the elevator would likely set off an alarm somewhere, and a repair person or rescue team would be dispatched. She snickered at the mental image of them prying the car doors open to find her huddled in a corner, dress up around her waist, tits spilling out, sobbing, not from fear but the aftermath of her greatest orgasm ever, leaving a puddle of her essence on the floor. So she didn't press the button. She contented herself with leaning back against the rear wall, her eyes shifting out of focus, her feet instinctively spreading into a more open stance. Before she reached the lobby, she had just enough time to give her left nipple a good tweak, and rub her clit briefly through the fabric of dress and thong, restraining herself from rubbing harder, fearing she would cause a stain on the front of her dress. Sandra was surprised to find that she was not solely focused on Spencer during this activity. Her earlier thoughts about women clients kept interrupting her efforts. Initially, this was based on the assumption that women would be less distracted by Sandra being sexually excited by plans with Spencer. But then Sandra realized women might be just as likely to notice Sandra's arousal, which forced Sandra to consider how they might react. The most surprising part of this thought process was that Sandra noticed that she got even wetter thinking about female clients -- particularly the younger, prettier ones - noticing her lingerie, appreciating how her nipples might press hard against her dress through a sheer bra. Sandra had always considered herself straight, but as she walked the underground pathway from the office building toward Spencer's hotel, she had to ask herself 'does this make me bi-curious or hetroflexible?' She chuckled and muttered out loud, "Does it really matter?" When some old businessman with exceptionally hairy ears turned in response and stared, she stuck her tongue out at him like a teenager, and skipped away with a spring in her step. Suddenly, Sandra felt sixteen again, with a whole world of possibilities -- sexual possibilities - open to her. This rejuvenation, she realized, was just the ticket. She floated towards Spencer's hotel in a daze, the fever gripping her. This wasn't Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, or Mary Tyler Moore conquering Minneapolis, this was a strong, mature woman who had climbed her own mountains, ready to give over control to a man. 'Imagine if Mary had shut up long enough for Lou Grant to bend her over his desk and spank her, and then take her from behind on his couch,' she chuckled to herself reassuring, covering up for her remaining fear that whatever Spencer had in mind would be far more extreme than even Sandra could picture at this early stage in her awakening. When she reached the hotel, Sandra realized that in her excitement, she had arrived early. She spotted a ladies room just off the lobby, and ducked inside, telling herself that she was going to check her lipstick. Instead, she found herself leaning against the cool marble panelling of the classic old hostelry, the scent of her sex wafting around her in a cloud. She carefully raised the hem of her skirt with one hand while her other fingers gently caressed her belly before sliding down her thigh and then up again to push her thong aside. Sandra was not totally in a trance. She remembered to pause and glance again to confirm that she was alone - no feet under any stall door. Still, she had to admit that the possibility of someone entering at any moment added to the thrill. Finally, her chest heaving with excitement, she touched her labia, triggering an instant flood. Her fingers pushed deeper, first one, then two, finally three, curling inside her slit, reaching up to caress her clit. With her dress safely hiked up by the forearm attached to the hand exploring her quim, Sandra was able to use her other hand -- the one that had first lifted the hem - to pop her left tit out of the top of her dress. She proceeded to caress that mound, rubbing the underside in her palm, her fingers slowly moving up and around the curve which supported her erect nipple. Her thumb and forefinger flicked her clit with a matching tempo. If she had paused to realize, it was the beating of her heart which provided the music. Before long, her pulse was pounding in her ears like a big bass drum. She began tugging her exposed nipple, and grasped her clit, gently pulling it away from its nest, her eyes closed, imagining that it was Spencer's teeth toying with her womanhood. Somehow Sandra knew that he would nibble her most tender flesh, but that he would remain in control, building her pain as pleasure, but never cross the boundary so that the shock startled her out of the dream. He would hold her right on the edge, like touching her with a knife, building pressure, but never quite cutting her. "Unless he wants to taste my blood," Sandra snickered, not meaning to say it out loud. "What's gotten into you?" she asked her reflection in a nearby mirror. Just at that moment, Sandra heard the hinge squeak and noticed the washroom door begin to swing. She had the feeling that her senses were all heightened. 'I can't be turning into a vampire yet,' she thought, 'he hasn't even bitten me.' Luckily, she also had the sense to remove her hand from her pussy, drop her skirt, and tuck her boob back into the top of her dress as the new occupant entered the room. From the look that she received, though, the woman clearly knew something was up. Maybe it was the too nonchalant way Sandra leaned against the wall, or maybe the other woman had noticed the last tug to settle flesh into bra. Sandra felt her clit throb, aching for completion. She stared at the intruder, at first with resentment at the interruption, but then, she realized, with the same odd lust she had experienced when thinking about booking female clients before any future dates with Spencer. 'Maybe I am more curious than I thought,' she considered, the term 'heteroflexible' dancing in her brain. 'I know I really like men, but women can be sexy too.' The woman smiled across at Sandra, nervously, perhaps noticing some tiny hint of dishevelment which cued thoughts of just why Sandra was lingering in a hotel ladies room in the late afternoon, no sink running, no make up sprawled across the counter. Sandra wondered whether the woman could see through her. 'Just how transparent am I?' she thought as she returned the smile, feeling the corners of her own mouth curve upward just a bit extra into a grin. 'Not nervous though,' she self appraised. 'Cool. Confident. In control.' The stranger turned to the mirror, digging mascara out of her bag, leaning against the counter as she highlighted a fine pair of dark almond eyes. Sandra watched the reflection of this briefly, hoping not to make the woman nervous. Sandra knew that she was being watched at the same time as she was watching. To avoid staring, Sandra shifted her gaze downward. Suddenly, she realized that she was checking out the stranger's ass, which was a very fine ass indeed -- taut, pear shaped, clearly belonging to someone who kept in shape. 'Two perfect handfuls of ripe fruit,' Sandra felt tempted to say, but restrained herself. Which brought the thought of restraints into Sandra's mind. She pictured the woman manacled, spread-eagled, ready to be used, but not by Sandra, at least not first. Spencer would go first. If he allowed Sandra to play with another woman, it would ultimately be for his enjoyment. Sandra blinked breathlessly, even her adept brain overloaded by trying to process these new feelings. After decades trying to be a 'good girl', Sandra was finally admitting to herself that she was polyamorous and polymorphously perverse. Most of all though, she was coming to terms with her submissive nature. She sensed that even if she played a dominant role, it would be just that -- theatre, in itself an act of submission. But first, she had to breathe. The sound of air flowing in a gasp out of her slack jaw caught the attention of the other woman, who seemed to start to turn, but restrained herself, instead simply grinning at her reflection in the mirror. Sandra wondered whether she caught a tiny wink of recognition, as if between sisters of different mothers. It was just enough to break the spell and Sandra finally left the ladies' room, floating across the lobby in a daze to find the elevator up to Spencer's room for pre dinner drinks. Fortunately, at this hour, almost all the traffic was people coming down to the lobby, and she had a car to herself. Sandra was extra glad that she had stumbled blindly into an express car, so the journey was brief. She felt like it was impossible to breathe. Slumped back against the rear wall, one hand kneaded her breast, while the other gently caressed her belly, wanting to stroke her pussy, but not quite having the nerve. The breathless made Sandra wonder just what flavour of kink Spencer was, even before he had ever said anything about being dominant. With some men, Sandra realized, you just know. Would he want to tie a choker around her neck? Would he want to "collar" her in a symbolic gesture of ownership, like Sandra had read about on Literotica? 'Perhaps,' Sandra thought, 'he is into breath play.' If so, this elevator ride was a good start. That idea brought a grin to her face, just as the elevator slowed and the doors opened. Spencer of course had a corner room, slightly larger than most, but more significantly, discretely tucked away behind two columns, the door afforded privacy. Fortunately, she had no trouble finding it. 'I wonder if we'll make our dinner reservation?' she giggled to herself as she shimmied her dress into position and knocked on the door. Spencer was not dressed in a tuxedo -- that was just Sandra's imagination having got ahead of her. Still, he was a perfect old fashioned gentleman, just like the hero in some old black and white movie. 'Before romances were comedies,' Sandra thought to herself as she slowly admired Spencer's rugged handsomeness. 'When men weren't afraid to be men.' 'And knew how to use a riding crop,' a strange girlish voice Sandra barely recognized as her own bubbled in the back of her brain. She could barely restrain herself from saying 'Shut up!' out loud. Apparently she did give her head a little shake because as he handed her a perfectly chilled glass of white wine, Spencer asked, "Is everything all right?" "It's like a dream," Sandra said, though to her, the voice seemed like it came from far away. "I feel like Alice, through the looking glass." "Oh, no giant talking rabbits here, my dear," Spencer chuckled as he walked over to the windows, high above Sandra's city. Though he was the stranger here, to Sandra, he looked like the king of all he surveyed. Where once she had felt cold and empty inside, just glancing at him, pretending to admire the view outside, she felt filled with heat. It started in her belly, and spread like fire exploding out of a furnace, radiating into her loins. Her thighs tingled like they did at the beach. Her vulva throbbed. She could feel her clit grow stiff. Her nipples were harder than she could ever remember. As she pretended to look out over the city, Sandra's mind wandered back to how she had felt as a young woman just discovering the thrill of sex. Tonight, she was even more anxiously excited, more frightened, but also more ready than ever. She took a sip of wine to avoid chewing her lip - a habit, she recalled, of her nervous girlhood. Each breath seemed to take five minutes. Spencer just let the tension build, never looking directly at Sandra, but watching her reflection in the window glass. His eyes never rested for long on her body, never acknowledged her excitement. "I think I love your city most at night," he finally said. "Mine has the middle American rust belt dullness. Your city shines." What Sandra heard in these words was "you shine", which just made her feel more of a glow. She ached for Spencer to turn, lean over and press his lips to hers, though she knew that letting the anticipation build simply would make it better. Instead, he put his glass down, and brushed his fingers through her hair gently, so lightly that it was almost like a breeze, but also, Sandra reflected later, so casually that it reflected his total confidence, and his claiming ownership of her. It was as if he was saying, 'Since you belong to me, I can touch you however I wish. And at this moment, this is what I wish. But make no mistake. If I wish to touch you harshly, I can and I will. Because you obey my will.' Sandra understood all this as soon as Spencer touched her, even without articulating it until later. Right then, looking out the window, she could barely breathe. Feeling this entire new reality opening before her was as thrilling and frightening as puberty. But the fear faded quickly, because Sandra knew that she had Spencer to guide her through it. In the elevator headed down for dinner, Spencer stood just close enough that Sandra could feel their personal space mingling, yet he never touched her. She had to wonder whether she had merely imagined his hand lingering on her back as he guided her out of his room. She had expected that her obvious arousal would have encouraged him to take her right there -- his bed seemed to talk to her. He had simply said "It's time to go eat." She had wanted to beg him to eat her, but instead accepted his instruction. If anybody had asked Sandra later about dinner, she would only have been able to laugh and respond vaguely. Perhaps she might say "It passed by smoothly, but way too quickly. The food was delicious, the banter was light." In truth, Sandra could barely recall eating. The perfectly cooked flaky whitefish might as well have been cardboard. Spencer's charm was delicious enough for her. They drank a crisp Riesling, but it could have been water, or turpentine. The warm chocolate torte topped with strawberries competed with the heat flushing Sandra's loins, and lost. If Spencer had led her into the men's room, she would have blown him right there. In fact, if he had dragged her up onto the table, ripped her dress off and fucked her until she cried, she would have been unable to resist. She was enchanted by this calm confident man. To most of the world, he might appear human, but for Sandra, he was suddenly a giant dwarf star, his gravity pulling her ever closer into his orbit. By His Command Ch. 02 If there was a trick to his conjuring, it was simply that for two hours, he acted as if Sandra was the entire world. Most men might have conducted a lingering appraisal of the young nubile Asian waitress in the short black skirt, with the unrestrained bosom trying to burst out of her tailored white shirt. Even Sandra found herself speculating what the young woman tasted like. Yet Spencer only glanced up politely for the brief instants required for politeness. When he ordered for both of them, he looked directly at his date, his finger indicating the choices, his face informing Sandra that though he was asking her concurrence, no objection was permitted. Though they must have talked about many subjects, Sandra had no recollection of details. The meal flew past, like a time lapse montage in a British romance movie. At first, this lack of memory worried Sandra, but later she realized that it showed how comfortable the fit was -- details no longer mattered. When time came for dessert, Sandra was all prepared to stick to her diet, until Spencer very softly said to her, before the waitress arrived, "I want to watch you eat chocolate cake while I drink a cognac. I want to see some chocolaty icing on your lower lip, and the tip of your tongue slowly poke out of your mouth and roll luxuriously along that beautiful red painted ledge, until the dollop rests right on the tip, and then you hold your mouth half open, your hunger obvious to anyone watching, but the true desire known only to us. "Forgive me, Sir," Sandra heard herself say, "but what desire is that?" Spencer chuckled softly, whether at Sandra's naiveté or at her easy adoption of the honorific Sir. "Why, your desire to please me in any way that I wish, of course," he chuckled in response. Before the waitress arrived, Sandra only had time to gasp, "Yes, Sir." She knew that her nipples had to be visible. They had never felt this hard. Her belly was stiff. She could barely breathe. She focused her gaze on Spencer as he ordered. He did not stare at Sandra's chest, but Sandra would have bet that the waitress did. 'I wonder if she's as wet as I am?' she heard herself think, knowing that later, in bed, she would picture the waitress as she touched her clit. With any luck, in Spencer's bed. Afterwards, Sandra had a more vivid recollection of how manly Spencer looked, hefting his snifter, sampling the bouquet of his drink, and swirling a mouthful into his cheek than she did of complying with his instructions. Much later, the memory was of the unbelievable richness of the chocolate, not just because the restaurant served premium desserts, but also because her senses were opened up like flower petals feeling the sun on their first dawn of spring. 'Hello, world,' Sandra thought.' This is what living is really like, more than just existing, but instead, truly experiencing the richness that life has to offer.' Though she had no clear recollection of it later, or thought she was inventing memories, as she licked her lips, Sandra imagined Spencer's heart racing, but then slowing as blood flowed to his loins, and his cock -- she pictured a thick, womb filling organ- surged with excitement. She had to resist reaching under the table and pawing his groin to find out. Her fear that she was wrong -- that her behaviour failed to thrill him -- held her back as much as her knowledge that he wanted her to obey, and he had not given her permission to fondle his manhood. It was not just her imagination though that his eyes bored in on her, glistening brightly in the candlelight, to tell to anybody that he was enthralled by his new found woman. For, though no one had said as much, from this moment, they both understood without either saying it aloud, that Sandra was his -- his for the taking; his for the training; his for the pain; his for the pleasure. At some point while Sandra indulged her own renewed appetites, for cake and more, the waitress must have brought the bill, because the next thing Sandra knew, her plate was empty and Spencer was rising, stepping behind her seat to ease it out from the table. 'Such a perfect nasty gentleman.' Sandra snickered to herself, 'unlike his date, who wants to lick those last crumbs off her plate, and then lick his hard cock, bathing it in cake.' Though at the moment Sandra did not realize she was doing it, later she clearly recalled a very large bulge in Spencer's pants -- had she actually seen that, or was it a memory invented for her masturbatory pleasure? She was fairly sure when she lay on her bed naked, fingers deep within, thumb strumming her clit, that he had not really pressed his hardness deep into the crevice of her ass cheeks as she rose from the table, but she wanted him so badly to show this aggression, this desire, this approval, that she could never be certain what was real and what was imagined. The walk to the hotel seemed like flying. Sandra had no recollection of her feet touching the sidewalk. All she remembered was the feeling of Spencer's hand on her elbow, gentle, yet confident, guiding and protecting her on their journey. Her mind was on automatic pilot, overwhelmed by passion and confusion giving way to clarity. Never one to believe in whirlwind decision, Sandra suddenly found herself not falling in love, but fallen, with a virtual stranger. She had never before been so ready to finish a date by going up a hotel elevator and jumping onto a bed. 'More likely being tied to the bed,' Sandra reflected, 'after he bends me over and fucks me from behind.' She wondered whether he would fuck her ass - something she had never enjoyed, but now knew would be a fresh, exciting experience. That thought featured prominently later in her fantasies, her sphincter ring begging for penetration until she found a thick pillar candle with which to fill herself. At first, she started with a thin taper, thinking she would need to stretch her flesh, but it eased itself in so smoothly that she risked the fatter object, wishing the whole time that it was Spencer's cock. As Sandra wondered how Spencer's pulsating meat could best fill her up, they reached the marquee of the hotel, and Spencer stopped. Sandra assumed that this was just a pause to be polite, that he was about to turn to her and invite her in. She wondered whether he would suggest a nightcap in the lobby bar, but then realized Spencer would just take what he wanted, and she hoped that it was her he wanted, upstairs in his room, flung across his bed, her dress up around her waist, her tits spilling out of the bra, his hardness ramming into her ready wetness...the images cascaded rapidly through her mind, not quite getting to the inevitable moment when he exploded within her, painting her womb with his seed. She knew that was how this had to end -- him in control, her total surrender. She noticed the discrete tilt of his manly jaw, the nod of the head at the doorman. The limousine sliding into place behind her meant nothing to her. Her attention was locked on this beautiful manly man before her. He closed the gap between them. His hand brushed inside his jacket as the other grasped her shoulder. He lowered his face to hers. The kiss was exquisite. Sandra felt the same way she had the first time she saw Rick kiss Ilsa in Casablanca. Movie kisses seem always to benefit from slow motion, but Sandra would swear that time stood still when Spencer kissed her. She was so enraptured that she barely felt when Spencer's fingers brushed lightly along her cleavage, pushing the cup of her bra open. The gasp of cool air hardened her nipple. She found herself not caring who might see this public intimacy. Sandra prayed that he would palm her mound, pull on her aching nub. She felt a fresh flood of wetness flowing onto her thighs as her pelvis tilted upward, pressing her belly against Spencer's groin. The only solution, Sandra's executive brain finally informed her, was for Spencer to throw her into the back of that limo, and fuck her as it cruised the downtown of her city. When Sandra felt the strange scraping feeling along the tender slope of her tit, she thought at first that Spencer was scratching her with a sharp edge of a thumbnail, some sort of sadistic tease. She smiled at the possibility, the inherent promise of more pain to follow, and quivered thinking about the pleasure which that could bring her. She was teetering on the brink of orgasm standing on the sidewalk, the doorman a few feet away. Except then she felt a foreign object sticking to her damp breast, held in place by the bra cup as Spencer withdrew his fingers as swiftly as he had invaded. Again, her intellect poked itself to the forefront, identifying the size shape and texture of a business card. Spencer patted her tit gently, hefting it just slightly, Sandra felt his thumb roll along the nipple, the sensation dulled by layers of dress, bra and cardboard. He raised his head, mouth still mere inches from her lips. "When you get home, masturbate and email me all the details. I'll keep in touch, and see you next time I'm in town." Suddenly, he was gone, like a dream. Afterwards, Sandra saw him striding purposefully up the stairs, but had no way to know whether she actually watched that before the doorman steered her into the limo. It took all of Sandra's willpower not to pleasure herself on the limo ride home. The ride was brief, but the built up sexual tension was so intense that she could have climaxed on the short journey. Sandra was off in her own world, not caring about the driver, or how wet her seat might be. She even tried to rationalize to herself that as long as she repeated the masturbatory fun at home, she really would be obeying Spencer. She did resist though, satisfying herself with slowing caressing her boobs from the outside of her dress, occasionally rubbing a hand down along her belly, teasing herself by seeing how close to her slit she dared to dip, knowing very well that once she touched her clit, even accidentally through layers of clothing, she would explode, but that she also would not stop there. She easily imagined her hips rising up off the seat, her hem up to her waist, panties on the floor of the vehicle, left hand stretching her cunt open; right hand thrusting deep, alternating with fingers dancing in just the right spots. The car glided up to Sandra's building while she was still lost in her own world. The driver opened the door. The doorman guided her to the elevator without a word, as if he knew she was incapable of speech. Unlike the vertical trips to visit Spencer, this ride seemed instantaneous. The first glitch in Sandra's evening came when she fumbled to open her apartment door. "You're as besotted as a drunken schoolgirl," she said out loud in the empty hallway as she bent to pick up her keys from the floor, "and talking to yourself." She licked off her shoes and unzipped her dress as soon as she stepped inside, walking into her apartment dressed only in lingerie. She stood before her windows, arms spread wide, admiring her city, feeling like it was hers to command, just as she was Spencer's. Her hands wandered over her flesh, the movements duplicating her actions in the limo. "I could climax right here," she realized, thinking out loud again. "but should I? Spencer should have given me better instructions." She shook her hair around her face. "No. That's not fair. Spencer did just what he wanted, and he's the Master." As she spoke, a fingernail brushed along the edge of her panties; a shiver rocketed up her spine and fluids leaked onto her thighs. "Think, Sandra," she instructed herself. "Bed or bath?" With a bob of her chin she picked the bed, striding purposefully to that room, throwing herself onto the mattress, the only light being the city's night time ambiance filtering through her window, spilling across the bed, bathing her in colour. Sandra thought of Spencer, wishing that he was there with her, that it was his fingers touching her nude flesh, showing her more of his secrets. Her hands followed along her curves; her imagination sparking tiny currents of energy as she thought about Spencer caressing her skin, gently but powerfully. She thought of how it might be the very first time they made love, Spencer kissing her, tongues touching, his strong hands owning her body, his touch like magic, awakening her after years of sleep. Laying on her back, her fingers lingered only briefly on her nipples before wandering down her tummy, tracing circles on her abdomen, moving ever closer to her honey pot. bend my knees slightly causing my pussy to become more accessible, with nothing to prevent my hand from finding it. She raised her knees slightly and moved them apart, to open her pussy wider, with nothing to prevent her fingers from entering it. She imagined that it was his hand between her thighs. She felt as if he belonged exactly where she was touching. He would be confident and strong, sliding along her flesh, his touch knowing just how to make her beg for release. Tears formed in the corners of Sandra's eyes as she confronted her love for this man who was almost a stranger, but they were a small price to pay for the wetness that flooded her linens around her loins. Sandra took her time, thinking always that it was Spencer making love to her. She knew he would know just how to please a woman by never rushing, working slowly and lovingly, showering her expertly with kisses, his fingers opening her flower, touching her labia like delicate petals, spreading them apart. Her hand moved deeper, caressing her swollen lips only in passing. Even that light touch made her hips rise from the mattress, fucking upwards against her fingers, trying to suck them deeper. She parted her knees wider, creating a better angle to sink her hand past the wrist, to fist fuck herself. "So...much...for delicate..." she chuckled out loud, wishing Spencer was here to hear her pleasure, to cause her delicious pain. Finally, she grasped her engorged clit between her thumb and forefinger, and gave it a powerful twist as she pulled it away from hits base. That alone made her climax harder than she ever had before. Sandra's orgasm was long and sustained, starting like a freight train exploding out of a long tunnel, and then spreading, more like an earthquake, tremors shaking her whole body. Without realizing it, Sandra began screaming out loud, and when she heard her own cries, what she heard was "Spencerrrrrr....." By His Command "Bend forward, reach for your toes," she imagined him commanding. She realized as she moved that this would present her ass to him from a fresh angle, begging again for his touch, his spanking. Just thinking about how that might feel made Sandra blush. She had never been so alive, so in touch with her desires. She turned around again, wishing that Spencer was there to see the swollen lips of her pussy poking out between her thighs. She felt the wetness drenching the inside of her legs almost to her knees, knew that if he was there, he would see it too. She knew she would feel no embarrassment, only the same exhilaration she felt as she ran her fingers lightly over her clit, afraid that a solid fondle would make her whole body explode. She wished she could see his face, see his reaction to her performance. Instead, catlike, she stretched her arms out in front of her, burying her face against her elbows, eyes closed, allowing herself to anticipate his hand striking her flesh, one blow and then another blow landing and another. Three strikes, in rapid succession, his hand slapping hard against her flesh. Each time he would pause, carefully aiming to strike touched a different area so that the warmth would spread over her ass in all directions. Sandra imagined it feeling better than any vanilla fucking she had ever experienced. She found herself relishing the thought of sting and wanting to experience the reality. For now though, she made due picturing his hand coming down again and again on her tender cheeks. Each time, just as she began to think it would be almost more than she could bear, she knew he would pause, allow the heat and the pain to build within make her throbbing flesh, and flow into her over heated cunt. Before the heat could fade entirely, his hand would come down again and he would spank her even harder than before. First, the spank would be on her right cheek, then her left cheek and then high on both her cheeks. Spencer would then strike low on the backs of her thighs. She imagined that occasionally, his fingers would brush against her labia teasing her just enough to make her crave more. In reality, Sandra's fingers fucked wrist deep into her wet cunt, her thumb flicking her clit to maintain the intensity, but never quite cause her to explode. She could feel her hard nipples almost cutting into the tender flesh of her thighs, and imagined the pain flowing from her ass to those points, flooding her loins, making her climax build urgently. She no longer tried to stifle her groans. With her ass on fire, if only in her brain, and her clit swollen and throbbing from her very real touching, she knew that she could not restrain her pleasure anymore. Still, she denied herself that release, practising to come only upon his command. She felt herself hanging over the edge of a cliff, waiting, until finally, she imagined he spoke a single word. "Now." Her fingers focussed directly to her clit, rubbing and stroking it. The imagined pain of the spanking and the pleasure of her very real touch mered into a wave of energy which tipped her off the cliff. She heard the scream before she realized that it was her making the noise. The heat built up in her loins surged through her whole body as her cunt spasmed around her fingers, her breathing ragged, panting, shock after shock racing through her sweat drenched flesh. Perhaps it was because the intensity was so great, much more than she had ever experienced before, but unlike most orgasms, it did not fade slowly. Instead, it ended just as definitely as hitting the canyon at the bottom of the cliff. She finally found the long sought after release of sleep, Sandra dreamed of Spencer lying beside her, comforting her as the pain faded, softly kissing her tears and nibbling on her neck. She dreamt of how safe she would feel in his arms as he held her close. The last words she thought she heard him say were "I love. You are mine." She slept with a grin, dreaming that she had pleased Him. The next morning, Sandra was still sleeping in the chair when the doorbell rang. She pulled her robe together, thinking for a single instant that it might be Spencer, arriving in answer to her dreams. Instead, it was the florist's delivery person, with a box containing three elegant long steam roses. The card inside read: "I enjoyed meeting you. Be careful of the thorns. I would not want you to bleed without me there to tend to your wounds. May I buy you dinner tonight? Spencer." Just then, the phone rang...