1 comments/ 2393 views/ 3 favorites Fish Out Of Water Ch. 02 By: CateJ I knew it as surely as I knew the earth was round and day followed night. Yes, people change in appearance over the years, I certainly had, but somehow on an innate level I knew it was him. His eyes met mine and for the first time in forever I felt fear. Fear that he would hate me for the woman I had become, fear that despite everything that had passed between us once, he would turn his back on me and destroy the only happy memories I held dear. Fear that I would disgust him... So I did what I always do in situations in which I didn’t feel in total control, I become Her, the Domina persona so seamlessly melded to the real me that I sometimes wonder if I am even me anymore. Striding forward I stood nose to nose with him and felt proud that he only shivered slightly at the intrusion, “Do you see anything of interest?” He swallowed, and stared into my eyes, my hazel irises shielded by my vivid jade green prescription contacts. He nodded and stepped back. Advancing I pinned him to the wall, our noses touching as I pressed my breasts against his chest, “Is there a reason that you are staring at me like you are about to review my performance?” He shook his head slowly, his frame seeming to tighten and lengthen, making him that vital inch taller than I. A seemingly subtle sign of dominance that I knew too well. Staring up at him, he just held my gaze, his slightly laboured breathing telling me that he found me attractive, intriguing, powerful; his body answering me when I yearned to hear his voice tell me. Still high from my demonstration, I was fuelled and desperate to fuck, yet seeing Max again after so long, and here of all places, had thrown me very much off tangent. Everything I had ever seen and done in the years since we’d parted seemed to swirl through my head along with memories of the man before me gently kissing me and telling me I was his sweet little kitten . In that instant I wanted to smack him senseless and kiss him better , make him feel every ounce of pain and hurt as vividly as I had when he left me. In that instant I longed to smack him to the point of bruising, then slowly lick him until he drowned in endorphins. Every sordid tainted image filtered into my brain seeming to play backwards, until all that I saw was the younger and more familiar Max rather than the man standing before me. I wanted to hold him, kiss him, hell, I wanted to feel his cock deep inside me, bringing me the same pleasure he had once brought me all those years ago. My body and my brain were slowly shutting down, overloaded. I had to get the fuck away from him, but my sadistic streak kept me pressed against him for just a few seconds more, “So you liked what you saw and you don’t have any questions?” He nodded and I realised that I couldn’t take any more. Stepping back, I looked him up and down, taking in the changes that had occurred since we’d last said goodbye. He had filled out, which I liked, his brown hair now slightly peppered with grey. Where once he had slouched, he now stood proud. I wondered what had happened in the years we’d been apart and what sense of purpose this man before me welded that my Max hadn’t possessed. Far too many questions that would never be answered; I had to end this insanity, “Then please get the fuck out of my way!” I turned and strode towards the staircase, intent on getting out as quickly as I could before I said or did something stupid. As I took the first step I felt his hand on my shoulder and I hissed, turning to face the man who should have been my happy ending. “I’m sorry.” Two words; two words uttered with such conviction and in such a familiar voice that my knees almost buckled. I glared at him, hating him for keeping me in his view yet desperate to hear more. I wanted to hear him tell me he loved me, words that I had yearned for back then but had never heard. I wanted to hear more apologies, desperate begging pleas for forgiveness for his leaving me when I’d needed him most. Staring up at him I cocked my head and gave him my patented scowl. “I’m sorry I stared at you. It’s just...” He looked so uncomfortable that I found the beginnings of a rare smile grace my lips. Obviously emboldened Obviously surprised by my abrupt change in demeanour he nervously barked a short laugh, which shot through my body like a bullet. Suddenly stumbling I quickly tried to grip the banister to steady myself but missed, my legs unsteady. I felt myself fall and as he caught me in unfamiliarly strong arms I felt myself melt into him, yearning for every ounce of that strength to envelop me, if only for a moment. Holding me close he stared down at me, his brown eyes sincere, “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” I shook my head, staring at him wide eyed and, frankly, afraid. I never allowed anyone to have the upper hand yet here I was, held safe in his arms and completely at his mercy. Not once in our history had Max ever been this assertive or, dare I say, masculine, but here we were, me prone in his arms and getting off on it! “I’m okay. Thank you. If you could just help me down to the door I can catch a taxi home.” He nodded and swept me up into his arms. Unbelievably he carried me down the stairs like the closing scene from “An Officer and a Gentleman”. My very own Romantic Hero. Every instinct in my body wanted to fight against him but my brain overruled, revelling in feeling so protected and yet so vulnerable. As he set me down on the pavementI held him tightly, desperate to cling to him like a vine and never let go, despite hating that vulnerable streak that only Max could force to the very surface. Shyly I couldn’t meet his eyes, and found myself reverting to my old ways, clenching my hands into fists and twisting away from him, trying to create distance. Staring out at the road, I searched for the yellow light of a taxi in the stygian blackness but it remained as dark as my soul. Breathing deeply I turned to Max and shrugged, “I’ll wait here. Thank you again for your help.” He tilted his head and stared at me, a look that seemed to strip each layer of skin from my bones. “I can’t explain it... it makes no sense...” I stared back and galvanised myself, standing as tall as I could and summoning every ounce of reserve I had. “I should explain I guess. I’m not normally this rude to women I’ve just met but you just remind me so strongly of someone I used to know...” Stunned I stood there, torn between hoping he recognised me and fearful that he had, “She must have been pretty impressive then.” He grinned at me and looked me up and down, rendering me useless, “She was... She most certainly was.” ... The cafe was nondescript, yet another white walled, green couched franchise. As Max hauled me through the open doors, I heaved the air into my lungs, caffeine and cake and immediately felt at home. You know what I mean, you’ve been there. Each menu the same, the scent, the pressure of getting your order right without disdain from your barisata. The power of the ubiquitous coffee shop. Dark woods, clean lines and me, the Arch Deaconess of pain in its midst. The irony did not elude me, from Land’s End to John O’Groats, the coffee shop was the same. It was only me who tainted its sterile surroundings. My fragrant Je ne sais quoi taint fulling the nostrils of the unyet suspecting patrons. The art-deco clock hanging behind the cash register showed it was now past midnight. Sitting opposite my first and only love in an all night coffee shop in Cornwall wasn’t exactly where I thought I’d be but symbiotically it was where I ended up . Max refused to leave me as I waited for a cab and because fate is a bitch, no taxi appeared in the 40 minutes we waited. After only 10 minutes standing in the chilly seaside air, he had chivalrously given me his coat. Despite my inner bitch protesting, I was too cold and too grateful to vocally protest. In silence we stood side by side until Max finally took my frozen hand and tugged me off down the road. I was numb to the point that it took a few seconds for me to realise his intentions. I then revelled in the warmth of his touch for another long, magical moment before I pulled back, “What the hell are you doing?” He looked back and shook his head cheerfully, “Come on! It’s freezing cold and I don’t know about you but I need a cup of tea. Don’t be a diva!” I couldn’t help it, I laughed, a deep hearty laugh with a snort at the end. I rarely laugh anymore but I’ve always snorted (So much so that Sarah dubbed me Miss Piggy in my youth). Max stilled at the sound and stared at me, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. My skin prickled at his interrogation and I glared at him, “Did your Mother never tell you it’s rude to stare?” “She did frequently. But I can’t help it. You just seem so familiar somehow and let’s be honest, no-one else in here looks like you do!” The coffee shop could have been anywhere but I felt unique. And finding my Max, it felt somehow that we could have been anywhere, the highest end restaurant or any low rent cafe. Our outfits, our demeanours, our personas... nothing else mattered to me in that moment other than the man sitting opposite me, gazing at me with the same burning intensity that I echoed back. We could have been anyone, anywhere and yet, together, our combined energies seemed to ignite or surroundings. At least as far as I was concerned. I didn’t need to look around to know that people were staring. In London, no-one pays much attention to anyone else and I can wander through the dark streets dressed in my finest without a worry. To be fair, my Domina outfits of black leather and PVC are utterly tame transposed against the voluptuous sequins and lamés favoured by the drag queens who work near the club, their vibrant outfits made even more dazzling by their vast statures in the 8 inch platforms they favour. On more than one occasion I have relented to their incessant pleas to make me over and have then stood dazzled by the resulting image presented to me, the highly decorated colourful version of me that could have been. All shimmer and colour, my face a riot of sparkle and sequins and joy, I twirl, revelling in their delighted laughter and praise. ... Sitting in this Cornish cafe, I could have worn a showgirl costume of yellow feathers and turquoise sequins and still not been as conspicuous as I am now. But fuck them; I have worked too hard for too long to care what other people think. I know in my soul, that if I met their eyes, most would look at me with lust or admiration. Even those who viewed me with disdain would still want to fuck me. Why? Because I am now Her, and She is undeniable. “Can I ask you a question?” Pulled from my memories I focus on Max. A mug of tea sat before me, the swirls of steam curling up into the air and I clutched it, almost wincing as the heat of the ceramic met my icy skin. “This from the man who carried me down the stairs and practically abducted me from the pavement! Don’t get coy on me now!” He smiled and I felt my heart splinter a fraction, just a tiny chink in my hard won armour. “Do we know each other? Really?” I sipped my tea, and used the precious seconds to ponder my answer. To lie would be the best response for the both of us but the truth was a tantalising door into God knew what. “It depends. Do you frequent high end fetish clubs across the world?” Max gazed at me and slowly shook his head. “Have you ever paid £1000 to have a woman beat you into submission and lay prostate against her boots?” Again he shook that adorably familiar face. I leant forward and held his wide eyes. “Have you ever pleaded with a woman to take control of you, mind, body and soul and allowed yourself to feel the fulfilment of submission?” He sucked in a breath and I caught the infinitesimal movement of his head, answering no. Sitting back, I shrugged out of his coat, letting the already shocked patrons see the full extent of my neck to knee latex armour outfit. Considering the hour and the obvious fact that most of them were sobering up after a night out on the town, their gasps fed my ego and I finally felt comfortable in my new, alien environment. However pedestrian I truly knew it to be. “Well then my friend, if none of those situations ring true to you then it’s fair to say that we have never met.” Max sank back into his seat and regarded me, his eyes raking my face. It took everything to hold myself serene, to not let my emotions flicker into life but years of training paid off. “I can’t say I have ever done any of those things. So I must be wrong. Maybe you remind me of someone I’ve seen in a film or something...” I laughed, “I can only imagine the kind of films you watch!” Max laughed and sipped his tea, “I’m sure you could!" I shrugged and motioned to the waitress, ordering us both another mug of tea and two plates of toast. My stomach was churning, a frequent (and still unexpected and unwelcome) side effect of my “performances” and I needed to eat to calm it. She starred at me, her eyes fluttering from my face to my breasts and back. I raised a brow, ready to throw out a sarcastic aside when she surprised me, stuttering, “I... err... I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I... I love your outfit. You look like a superhero!” I almost choked on my tea in surprise. “Well thank you. Although I was channelling a Super Villain when I got dressed this evening.” She blushed and I caught a flash of myself in my early days, so wanting to be accepted. I smiled at her, the first true smile since I’d fallen into Sarah’s arms. “But as long as it’s super, it doesn’t matter right?” She smiled meekly, “I wish I could wear something like that. Look like you do.” I reached for her shaking hand and held her gaze, imploring her with my wide open eyes to focus solely on me, a trick I use all the time to guide my submissives. “You can my darling and you should. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you, only what you think of you. Be brave, be bold, be you. Nothing else matters.” She nodded and started to turn away to place my order, “One more thing though darling...” She whipped around, rapt for my next words. “If you venture into PVC, make sure you liberally apply baby powder first as it’s a bitch to get in or out of!” Max choked out a laugh as our waitress grinned and darted away. “That may have been the first honest thing you’ve said tonight.” I scowled at him. “You think I’ve lied to you? I wasn’t aware we’ve discussed anything pertinent?” He shook his head, “I’m not saying you’ve lied... but watching you interact with the waitress... you seemed like a different person from the woman I’ve been talking to. More genuine, more real. Like that was the real you and the you I’ve been talking to is a character. It’s not a knock, just an observation.” “Maybe you just haven’t asked me the right questions. Have you considered that?” He smiled, an honest smile sparking in his eyes. “You don’t like to lose do you?” “Haven’t so far so why start now! So ask me... I can tell you are dying to. Based on the lack of taxis in this backwards town I am at your mercy... for now.” ... I finally crept back to Sarah’s just after six, my shoes in my hand, my breath held as I silently padded into the flat. My mind was awhirl, foremost in my head the fact that I had to strip all traces of Her from my body before Sarah woke. Unlike Max who had wavered blindly before asking me the questions he wanted to, Sarah would take one look at me like this and move in for the kill. I’d be lying if I said that a major part of me didn’t want that; I needed to share my life with someone other than Jules but my relationship with Sarah was still so new that I couldn’t risk it. Even knowing her ‘literary’ secrets as I did; maybe one day but not now. Elvis snuffled around my ankles and I tickled his ears, grateful for the welcome. Sneaking around was second nature and I was soon enough myself again, my secret self hidden once again in my suitcase as I padded to the kitchen to fill the kettle. Waiting for it to boil I stared out of the window, focusing on the sea before me. Infinite, majestic, unparalleled in its ability to rage and still. As a child I had been fascinated by nature; my Father had loved to regale me with facts about the world around me. “Remember Katie, people make wars but Nature... nature is stronger than that. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis... Mother Nature shouldn’t be messed with. Nature can be far more destructive than man could ever dream of. You must always respect the world around you.” He had passed when I was in my teens, and was still probably part of the reason I held people at least arm’s length, yet I always remembered his musings. Along the way I’d revised them to fit my own ends; nature now was less about the elements and more about people but it remained true. There were things out there stronger than you or me; lusts, passions, peccadilloes, and persuasions, the secrets that drive a man to slake his lusts, and the secrets that keep me in work. ... Settling on the pullout bed I blew on my tea and had a Humphrey Bogart moment, of all the bars in all the world, Max had to walk into mine. Over the course of the evening I had learnt much about him. Now married with a small child, he worked for the Royal Mail as an administration drone and hated it. He adored his daughter, somewhat liked his wife and stayed up to the early hours each night writing what he hoped would be the next great novel. At that I now scoffed, remembering his adoration of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” and never understanding the appeal of a tale about such spoilt brats. At such moments he’d stared at me and I then shrugged, reminding him of the fact that apparently we all have a novel inside us. He’d smile and I recalled how I’d sat beside him years before as he typed, his face scrunched up in concentration as he toiled created his magnum opus, fuelled beyond everything else in his desire to write, to create something greater than he believed himself to be. I would watch him, fascinated, aroused and mildly disgruntled at being so universally ignored but then he would include me, asking me for the right word or spelling. In those moments, I felt more a part of him than when we made love, linked to him on a different level. My body, I have since learnt painfully, can belong to anyone for the right price but only Max could engage my mind. Aside from Jules and now Sarah, no-one else really talks to me, or seems to care that I have feelings or a brain. For each of those quiet moments when he would blink at me, including me on his journey, I felt part of something greater. Something I believed would last forever. Nothing does sadly but seeing him here now, talking to him as I once used to, I almost felt the frozen shards of my hardened heart begin to thaw with the glow of something familiar. Of course, he had no idea now what I was thinking, of who I truly was but as he kept talking I assumed he found me interested; which of course, I was. As the hours passed and I slowly relaxed I found myself offering tentative glimpses into my world. When he asked me what I did I found no reason to lie. His shock was palpable. I’d smiled and asked him why it should be a surprise considering what he’d seen me earlier do. Why the teasing of one man in a back street pub should be acceptable whilst the flagellation of another with a whip as his limbs strained beneath his bonds should not. He’d stared at me, his mouth open and his breathing growing rapidly heavier. ... The sun began its ascent and Max paid our bill. I smiled at my waitress, winking as she waved goodbye. Slowly we walked down the road , the scattered streetlights throwing lightness onto certain spectrums of the asphalt road and shrouded others in darkenss. No cars passed at all, our journey together heralded by the spluttering streetlights alone. For a second, I yearned for London, its eclectic ambiance shrouded in the bright lights, no shadows visible as neon after neon shrouded our bodies with whiter than white light. No-one is invisible there, everyone spotlighted by the brightness of the stores, bars and streetlights. And the noise. London is a cacophony of cabs and cars, people and clubs, yet here, even the noisiest of bars barely registered to me. We walked slowly , not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from each other. He’d stopped , pulling me back as I moved forwards. I slowly spun into his arms. Fish Out Of Water Ch. 02 We proceeded to bump our noses and he held me tight, his breath washing over my face. I’d wanted to kiss him, to thrust my tongue between his lips and drown myself in his taste, while stopping any more words that gave me foolish hope. Based on the pulsing of the vein in his jaw he was contemplating similar thoughts, yet he held himself in check, reminding me that I did not truly know this man, only the ghost of his past. And as he spoke, the words filtered into my brain and cemented my understanding. Max wanted me to break him. He’d asked politely, almost imploringly, but the truth was as evident as the shaking of my hand as I held the cooling mug of tea. He loved his wife, he was almost happy, but he’d always felt there was something more. His trip tonight to the club wasn’t his first, but it was the first time he’d seen anything (or anyone) which gave him a reason to hope. Watching me tease and torment that man on the bed upstairs had wakened his lust and also made him jealous of the prone focus the almost pathological focus of the man harbouring my attention, the man reaping the rewards of all my years of learning. Every strikes, every stroke, every word. He absorbed me, my body cocooning him in the extent of my experiences. . Max, though, wanted even more. He wanted to be taken further, wanted the harsh slap of skin on skin, the sharp bite of teeth, the harsh penetration of a dildo into his arse. He wanted absolution, via handing himself over to someone more skilled than he, to take him further than he could yet comprehend. I’d stared at him, his pupils huge as he whispered dark words into the early morning light. He wanted to be fucked, pushed, tormented and teased. He needed to be bound by the control he’d seen me demonstrate, and he’d asked me if I would help him. Ordinarily I would have agreed to a price and whisked him off to the nearest hotel room, but this was Max. I wanted more than anything to give him what he needed, but I also wondered if I was the right woman for this particular job. I knew that I could help him, could breach his sphincter with only the merest hint of pain before driving him to the heady heights of orgasm, knew I could lash his body without breaking the skin, knew I was capable of giving him what he desired. She could do all of that and more. But here, standing close to my long lost love, I suddenly lost my confidence. Could I hurt him, even knowing that he needed it, sought it? He’d shaken his head softly and laughed, apologising for being so blatant. I’d shrugged telling him it was okay and as the yellow light of an open cab came into view I’d almost leapt into the road to flag it down. Max had hugged me awkwardly and as I settled into the car he pressed a napkin into my hand, his number inked indelibly upon it in his familiar scrawl. “Please... Think about it.” As the taxi drove off, the light and life in his eyes burnt into my brain, Max’s hope burning brighter than the morning sun. In the 48 hours since we said goodbye I have rehashed our conversation at least a thousand times. I recalled his face as he asked me to give him what he wanted, as he asked me if we knew each other. I’ve imagined what I would do to him, even down here, with such a limited selection of toys and tools at my disposal. The napkin is now in tatters, scrunched into a ball under my hands yet his number is tattooed into my memory. Even Sarah, running on fumes after an 18 hour shift, noticed my mood. She probed and poked, trying to get me to open up before finally giving up (Or so I thought). Forcing me to tart myself up, however generically and uncomfortably, for a night on the town, she’d dragged me off to meet some of her friends at a local bar, methodically proceeding to get me drunk. Not as drunk as she was by night’s end, thank heavens, but drunk enough for me to tell her I’d met Max. She’d leapt up, punching the air like a lunatic before hugging me hard, telling me it was fate in action. I’d told her that he was now happily married but she slurred something about Brad and Jen and Angelina and knocked back my vodka and tonic before yelling out for another. She was so drunk I was worried, but as she ran out onto the dance floor and grabbed the nearest body to cling to, I saw the joy in her face and relaxed. She would most likely end up puking in the cab home but for now she was flying high, happy that I was happy. In her alcohol-fuelled bliss she could not realise that meeting Max again was tearing me apart. As expected, by dawn’s early light Sarah was a mess; quite possibly the world’s worst hangover. She lay pale and miserable on the sofa as I took Elvis out for his morning ablutions. Wandering along the road, the brisk air filling my lungs and no longer feeling like I had been poisoned, I asked myself a series of questions. Did I want to make Max happy? (Yes). Did I want to do this to him, for him? (Yes). Could I do for him what I’d done for countless others, men and women who meant less to me than lint? (Yes). Why was I dragging my heels? (Fear; fear of failure, fear of recognition, fear of falling). Elvis yowled and began turning in the ubiquitous circles I’d begun to understand meant release and I smiled. It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, the world would keep on turning. At best, Max would find his pleasure and I would get to make him happy one last time. At worst, he would recognise me, or perhaps find me lacking, and either way I could just jump on the Night Riviera back to Jules. Elvis squatted and I pulled the baggie out of my pocket along with my phone, preparing for the inevitable. ... “So now is a good time to discuss boundaries... Is there anything you absolutely do not want me to do to you?” Max craned his neck to stare at me, his eyes following me as I endlessly paced the hotel room. He was naked, arms and ankles tethered to the headboard at either end of the explicitably requested sleighbed by a pair of Ann Summers faux fur handcuffs, purchased in town, and some bungee cords I’d picked up the day before from the local service station. As me, I would have revelled in undressing him, taking my time to trace each inch of skin as he bared it it was unveiled to me, tasting him and licking up the fragrant desire as it rippled from his body. As me, I would have latched onto his nipples, knowing how sensitive he was there and laved him as I’d done a hundred times before, then slowly kissing down to his pulsing cock, before gently taking him into my mouth and welcoming him home. But I wasn’t me now, I was Her. “Please... do everything. I want you to... please.” As he’d stripped, he’d shyly asked me what he should call me and I’d hesitated. Normally I insist on Mistress but everything about this situation threw me off my game. I’d asked him what he wanted to call me and he’d stared, his torso bare and his hands on his fly. “Mia” he’d whispered, “You look like Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction.” I smiled and motioned for him to fully undress. I leant over him prone, aroused body on the double bed, straddling him to better fit his bonds. He’d struggled a little but I’d hushed him, telling him to trust me, that I wouldn’t hurt him more than he could handle. He’d smiled up at me and I bent to brush my lips over his face, gently sucking the tip of his tongue. I’d wanted to do more, to cup his face in my hands and properly kiss him, to strip the trench coat from my body and sink down onto his hard cock, already burnished with his desire. Never had vanilla sex excited me so much, certainly never to this fevered state in which I found myself. Yet I stepped back, preferring to pace the short length of this pedestrian chain hotel room. “What about fucking Max? Can I sit on your face? Would you let me ride that glorious erection until I come all over you?” He sucked in a breath while I held mine. It didn’t really matter, as I rarely screwed my subs anymore, but I wanted, I needed, to hear him say it. Usually my married clients didn’t give a shit about their wives, giving me free reign to do as I wished (Not that I did, but boundaries needed to be set). Max, however, trembled and I moved towards him, wondering if his restraints were too tight. Holding his wrist he sobbed, “I love my wife... I do. But I need this... for me. I.. I can’t explain it...” I smoothed his hair from his forehead and smiled, pleased that he was struggling as much as I was. However far apart our true struggles may have come from. “It’s okay Max. I understand. But this is about you; and me. It’s about what I can give you that she can’t. And it’s not her fault at all, or yours. Maybe after this you can talk to her more openly about what you need.” His eyes seemed huge in his face as he nodded, but we both knew that conversation would never happen. As brave as he’d been asking me to peg him, asking the mother of his child to do so was a very different conversation. He shook as I traced my fingers down his sternum and spread them to flutter against his beaded nipples. As expected, he groaned lustily as I rubbed the tiny nubs, using my experience of his body against him. I stroked and rubbed, pulled and pinched, before continuing my leisurely journey down to his stomach, tracing each inch of his body with my finger tips, lulling him into a relaxed dreamlike state. I stroked him everywhere but his cock, massaging his thighs and calves with firm practised strokes, tickling the soles of his feet, massaging his shoulders as he bucked and writhed beneath me. Standing, I removed my trench coat , baring my body to his glazed gaze .wide irised gaze. I heard his intake of breath as he perused my body, knowing I’d dressed exactly as he desired, without him having to request it. Thigh high stockings, a tiny black lace thong and a demi cup bra pushing my breasts all invited my audience of one. Max hissed as he ogled the stockings and once again, I wanted to smile at my nerve for playing him like a violin. As much as I adored him and desired him, Max was a generic man. Everything presented to him as a gift when in truth, I as a woman should be able to wear anything an still bring him to his knees. “Turn for me Max.” He stared, his eyes never leaving my lower body as I moved closer. The bungee cords were drawn taut but still had enough give to allow him to move onto his stomach. He shook his head slightly as I forced him over, his head whipping around to focus once again on me. He moaned as his erection hit the mattress and based on the series of wriggles he was enjoying the sensation as much as the view. I straddled his waist and continued my massage, purposefully gripping him his outer thighs with my own, 10 denier stocking clad as I slid down to sit on his buttocks. He sighed with pleasure as I reached to fill my palm with unscented oil, and proceeded to work the muscles in his back, pressing down hard and digging my thumbs into his spine. He moved lower, surprising me by rearing up and unseating me. I slid my oiled fingers around to pluck his nipples again, delighting in his sobs of pleasure. “Please suck my nipples... please!” My right hand struck his buttock at the exact second my fingers pinched his nipple. He yelped and I covered his body with my own, sliding my oiled hands down over his stomach. I felt his cock head brush my hands and slowly circled him, touching him far too lightly to have any effect. Max tried to press against me, to increase the pressure, but couldn’t, leaving him completely at my mercy. “You don’t give me instructions Max, not even when you say please. Begging won’t work here. Do you understand me?” “Yes Mia.” I returned to stroking his back, moving down to tickle the sensitive skin on his sides, then across to his buttocks. He sighed as I dug my thumbs into his cheeks, pulling them apart roughly before gripping each in my palms. Again and again I massaged his ass, kneading and digging harder on each rotation until I was certain he’d beg me to stop but he didn’t. With each stroke, Max seemed to purr, my touches drawing coos and sighs from his lips. His skin was pink, warm from my ministrations. I cracked my hand down, delighting as the shade morphed into a deeper red. Max trembled but still made no sound and I spanked him again, alternating between his cheeks until both were equally crimson. After 8 strikes on each, Max was rapidly huffing air into his lungs and I stood, pulling him up onto all fours by his hips. His face was flushed, his lips pursed as he stared up at me, but there was no anger on his face, only pleasure. Kneeling I kissed him, gently nibbling his lips as I told him how good he was, how pretty his ass looked with my hand prints on them. Max sobbed and I stole the opportunity to press my tongue into his mouth, excited when his tangled with mine in reply. We shared wet firm strokes as we tasted each other, our heated breath mingling as his unique flavour permeated my senses. In another time, a kiss like that would have been the prelude to Max removing my clothes and feasting on my body before burying himself inside me, a memory that still ranked as one of my all time favourites. Pulling back I reminded myself that this time the roles were reversed and that before we parted, I would be buried deep inside him. I cupped his face and he nuzzled into my hand, his lower body pressing into the mattress. “Did you like me spanking you Max?” I felt him nod and gripped his chin to make him meet my gaze. “Words Max; you’re the writer. Use your words when I ask you a question. Did you like being spanked?” “I did. It hurt... at first. But then it didn’t. It felt warm and tingly...“ “Did it make you feel naughty Max? Like a bad boy being punished?” He closed his eyes, “It does Mia. And I loved it. I loved feeling naughty even though I know I’m not really.” I returned to the bed, settling into the space between his thighs and gently rubbed oil into his ass. I’d hit him hard but not enough to leave a mark. “Oh I don’t know Max. Asking a woman you just met in a sex club to fuck your ass is pretty naughty.” ... I stroked my finger between his cheeks as I spoke and he bucked as I made contact with his ass hole. Pouring more oil directly onto his skin, I continued my massage, far more intimately this time as the oil slid down to his balls and thighs. Slipping my hands between his thighs I stroked his cock, pressing it back against his stomach as my palm rubbed his length with firm strokes. His murmurs increased as I cupped his balls, gently squeezing the heavy sac in tandem with my strokes. Max spread his thighs wider to allow me freer reign over his body and in turn, spread his cheeks apart enough to allow my tongue to lick his crease. Everything seemed to stop in that moment, his pleasure my only focus. It’s happened before, men who think they want a rim job freak out the second a tongue flicks them. Not Max. His body seemed to swoon as I laved him, small circles directly where he wanted them most before returning to long lavish licks down to his balls, all the while continuing to stroke and tease him with my hands. He grunted and pressed back into me, wanting more than my gentle teasing, but remaining wordless. I imagined it cost him not to plead for more lest I stop. His balls were full and a few more strokes would set him off but he’d been brave enough to tell me on the phone what he wanted and I’d made a promise to give me what he wanted. Letting go of his dick, I stroked his trembling thighs and pulled his cheeks further apart, blowing air all over and around his exposed anus. Max shivered and I kissed him, a slow series of butterfly kisses over his heated skin. He moaned and his shoulders sagged as his head hit the pillows even as he continued thrusting back his exposed anus back into my mouth . “Does that feel good Max?” His muffled response was in the affirmative. I gave his tightened balls a quick tug and grinned as his head flew up, twisting to glare at me, “Oh please Max! That didn’t hurt you!” His expression calmed as I squeezed him again gently, returning to the slow seduction he blatantly preferred, “Remember Max, you gave me permission to do whatever I felt you needed, including inflicting pain if I thought it necessary. Whatever happens, you allowed it to happen... Never without your consent.” He nodded and barked out a breath as I slowly breached his anus with my index finger, “ And I could hurt you Max.” His body fought against the intrusion momentarily before loosening, my finger slowly corkscrewing into him, “I could hurt you in a variety of ways Max, but I don’t think that’s what you really need. You don’t need pain Max, you need to feel like a bad boy, a naughty boy... a dirty boy.” He whimpered as I added a second finger to the first, my oiled digits thrusting rhythmically into his arse, “Am I right Max? Do you want to feel dirty?” “God yes! Please... Oh Mia, please fuck my arse. I shouldn’t want you to but it’s something I’ve wanted for years. I want to be fucked like the dirty boy I am!” ... He sobbed as I frigged him, pushing my fingers deep, feeling his anus tight against me. Pressing deep I felt my fingertips rub his prostate and heard his howl of pleasure ripple through the air. Again and again, I stared at the supple skin of his back as I fucked him, my fingers rough against his sensitive flesh and his sighs of pleasure told me I was on the right track. I’d caused pain before, too many times, but now, in this generic room, Max prone and trusting beneath me, every trick left my memory, my body so synched with his I couldn’t function beyond this moment. “You never answered me Max. Would you let me fuck you hard? Ride your mouth? Bury you inside me?” He hissed as I rubbed the rough skin of his prostate, my other hand squeezing his full balls, “Everything Mia... Everything!” ... Unbuckling the dildo, I slid it to the floor. Max was out for the count. Even by my warped standards it had been tame, but never had I felt such a connection. As I’d thrust into him, every wince and hiss had boiled my blood, my body angling to hit him in the perfect spot. Again and again, I’d entered his body, breaching him, holding him tight, angling my phallus to strike him at the perfect angle. He’d screamed at first, his voice a garbled huff before he calmed himself, begging me to take him harder and deeper. My fingers had left marks on his skin, a schoolboy error, as I’d repeatedly entered him. The strap on was a favourite, a full size phallus complete with a small-ish dildo that hit my overheated pussy in just the right places. I’d fucked him, feeling the pressure against my slit, filling my cunt and imagined the vast pressure inside him as I thrust. Over and over, I pressed, pushing harder and deeper as his cries of pleasure echoed throughout the room. He bucked, crying out, his ass hitched up towards me. I stroked him, gripping his cock in my hands as I pummelled his butt, drawing his orgasm from his body before pressing down on his perineum to slow him down. Over and over, I pushed him to the edge, urged him to plead for his release before starting all over again, my stocking clad thighs pressing hard, forcing his thighs tight against the intrusion of my cock. Max cried out, pleaded for more, for release, for redemption but all I saw was mist before my eyes. I couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t break him fully despite his pleas. Whatever happened, I had to send him back to his wife intact, yet every ounce of me wanted to bite him, mark him as my own. Gripping his haunches, I pulled him up, fucking him deep and hard, my thighs shaking as I entered his body. My breath hitched, his seemed to scream out of his throat on a whimper and as I fisted his cock tightly in my hand and felt him spill against my skin for the final time, I rocked luxuriously against him, riding him hard as he gushed into my palm. He screamed out, shouting out my ‘false’ name as the heat shimmered from his skin. Ordinarily, I’d withdraw and leave, but I pressed deep, covering his body with my own as he trembled, his arse twitching hard enough to force the dildo to rock against my turgid clit. His cries of pleasure rippled throughout my skin, my pussy clutching the plastic hard as I yearned for the feel of his flesh. I needed to flip him onto his back and drive myself to completion but he hadn’t allowed it, my body had driven him to the ultimate goal but I waited, silently hoping he’d give me my own absolution. Fish Out Of Water Ch. 02 He didn’t. ... He was so tentative I wanted to hug him, “Can I maybe see you again Mia? I could meet you in London the next time I’m there...?” “And why would you want to meet me again Max? Didn’t we explore everything you asked for on the phone?” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, “We did. You did everything I could ever have imagined. And more. I loved it. And... I... I don’t know what to say...” “Can I try to answer for you Max?” “You’ve read my mind perfectly so far tonight Mia so be my guest!” I laughed as he grinned sleepily up at me, “You loved it so much you’re already thinking about it again. Only this time you want to go even further. You’re thinking about being spanked with a paddle or a flogger, of being taken harder, deeper, longer.” His eyes shone bright as his cock began to stir. “The thing is Max, tonight was perfect. It was exactly what you wanted. What you needed. If we met again, it wouldn’t feel the same, we’d just be trying to push boundaries that aren’t there. You don’t need more, you just need exactly what you had. And if you explained what you want to your wife, I’m certain she could give you exactly what I did.” Max scowled as I stood and slipped into my coat, “You’ve never met my wife!” I laughed as I placed my toys back into my bag, “No I haven’t Max, but I’ve met a lot of other wives and trust me, women are a lot more open to this sort of experience than you’d think. They may not want you to do it to them but turnaround is fair play!” He grinned then sobered as I took a final glance around the room, my hand poised on the door handle, “So that’s a definite no to seeing you again? There’s nothing I can say to convince you?” I shook my head, “Definitely a onetime only deal Max. But I loved it, loved giving you one night of being the dirty boy. Thank you for trusting me to take care of you. You’ll never truly know what that meant to me.” “If this is all we ever have then I just want to say thank you. For being you and for giving me the best experience of my life. From the very second I first laid eyes on you, I knew you would change me, and you did. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” I blew him a kiss and grinned, pulling the door closed behind me. Nothing in all my years of debauchery and pain had ever made me feel as enlightened as the few hours that had just passed. I hadn’t reached the levels of orgasm that I knew I could, but feeling Max shatter around me; I felt bigger and brighter than I’d ever previously felt. More satiated, more complete. As if on some cosmic level, I was finally accomplishing what I was meant to do. Warm and calm and safe I turned to him , his body weak on the generic hotel bed. His breath calmed and I gazed once more on the firm yet hairy chest, leading down to the slackened cock that had once brought me hours of pleasure . His now unbound wrists sat heavy against his sides and I prayed that the lotion I’d massaged in would cover the marks I’d wrought. Despite everything, I wanted him to enjoy this night, and never have to explain himself; at least not until he was ready. I blew him a kiss, brave in my knowledge that he was unable to focus on me. I walked, my legs wobbly, knowing intrinsically that I was walking away from my destiny, that on some level, this man held the key to Kate, had the ability to wrench me apart from the persona I had so unwittingly become. I yearned to stay, to kiss his welts, to sooth his aches. To lavish his aching body with my mouth, my hands, my weeping body. Yet he’d never allowed it and despite my wants, I would never make another yield to me on such a level. “Never take more than they request Kate. Never push for more than they can give.” Jules’ words echoed in my ears as I slowly moved towards the door, Max’s body lurching slowly towards sleep, “You are not the end Kate, you are merely the means. You give them what they need but not necessarily what they want. And the sooner you realise that, the saner you will be. You can’t hold yourself accountable” I stared back, drinking Max in, remembering the times we’d wrapped around each other, so deeply entwined you couldn’t tell one from the other. His body buried so deep inside me, I couldn’t breathe from the sensation of fullness. And I recalled the times he’d sent me away, fearful his flatmate would find me there, unwilling to explain my presence. How he’d laughed as his friends had refereed to me as his girlfriend, how he’d pleaded with them to never tell his one true love about his shameful secret. His little faerie of a girl may have ignited him then, but I had truly set him on fire tonight. No shame, no fear. He asked and I had answered. He may have felt ashamed of me then, and maybe, his angst had set me headlong onto the path I strode now, but nonetheless, together Max and I had shared something deeply fulfilling tonight, something that had undoubtedly changed us both. I would never be that delicate softly spoken wisp of a girl again and I doubted Max would be able to meekly plead softly for what he wanted. We had both changed beyond merit, the years since we parted making us strangers to the people we once were but bringing us closer to the ones we should be. That he would never know it was me who gave him absolution, gave him the absolute pleasure he desired, well it stung. I’m not so proud to concede I wanted his praise. But on another level, I was able to finally give him what he needed, however ashamed or confused he was back them. Max may never have thanked me, knowing me as Kate, the girl he threw away, but I knew. Holding myself taller than ever, I turned to him ,naked, resplendent and almost asleep on the bed. “Just remember Max.. if you don’t ask... you’ll never get. God bless.” As the door hit the frame, I could have sworn I heard him say “Thank you Kate.” ... Sarah cried as I packed; begged me to stay a little longer, promised to take some more leave from work. Even Elvis seemed to beg, his delightfully squashed face looking even more determined than usual. I smiled, petting him and hugging her, promising to return soon. I repeated my new mantra “I am not running away... I am not running away.” But I was. I’d fled here at the behest of Jules, the only person I trusted, and found another person who loved me with the same intensity, Sarah. I wouldn’t leave it so long again, especially now she knew the whole story. The morning after Max, I’d crept home and she was awake, pottering around in her robe like an anxious mother hen. One look at my tear streaked face and she was in full on warrior mode, determined to break whoever had made me cry. Never cross a trained Army Nurse who fences for relaxation. I had a brief vision of her piercing Max with her foil, her robe fluttering in the breeze. My brave warrior, my friend. After an age of calming her, I’d foolishly removed my coat and the real fun had begun. Her shock at my attire was almost comical and had I had the energy, I would have laughed. As it was I simply sagged beside her on her whiter than white sofa and sighed. Exhausted and bereft, I told her the truth. ... Every sordid, splendid juicy detail; not just of Max, but of my life. She didn’t even blink and I swear; she seemed to be enjoying it. Even when I changed into my suburban hell pyjamas, she sat, still, asking me the kind of questions that made me feel I was standing before a Hague Committee. I answered each one determined to not fear her responses. So I was some kind of freak, a sexual animal, hell bent of pushing the boundaries. Sarah watched me and didn’t seem to care. She never once questioned the things I’d done, never questioned my actions. She asked me how I’d gotten into this life and as I explained she’d smiled, accepting my words as true. I didn’t know what I needed but I knew I could give others what they desired, even if it left me wanting. Sarah had hugged me, her soft voice urging me to find my own peace and that was it. No anger, no vitriol, just acceptance. If anyone knew what it meant to sacrifice oneself to give another happiness it was her, and for the first time in years, I felt acceptance. Sitting on the overnight train to London, I felt the relief slowly embellish my skin. Back to Jules, back to the world I knew, yet Sarah’s acceptance and belief in me held me close. She didn’t find me broken or strange, and her bright-eyed gaze as I’d detailed some of my more extreme activities made me think she wasn’t as vanilla as I’d originally thought. No matter what came next, I had the skill and drive to make my partners yield to me, to give them the end result for which they yearned. Pain, passion, shame, absolution, pleasure, all of which She could give. And whilst She was the absolute, I was still me; Max had shown me that. I didn’t have to draw blood, or urge screams out into the air. I could still bring pleasure even at my lowest setting. He had shown me that I was still capable of feeling. ... “I think maybe you’re done Kate... maybe you’ve seen and done enough. I could be wrong but if what you’ve told me is true, maybe you’re ready to get out of this life. You cared about him, wanted him to be happy. You didn’t even break his skin! Shit Kate, you still love him! This life isn’t for you! I hate to say it; hate to let you go but I’m not insane. If you can feel what you did, feel anything ... then fuck! Maybe there’s even hope for me?!” I stared at Jules, hating him for saying it but knowing he was right. It wasn’t about pain or control or domination anymore. It was about something more for me, namely acceptance. Of belonging. I couldn’t keep chasing the next thrill, the next buzz; I’d be running forever. My evening with Max had proved that I was capable of emotion, of love. Maybe I was capable of being vanilla after all, of fitting in to the daylight hours, of being generic. I didn’t know because I’d never tried before. Content to lurk in the twilight hours and dole out my patented dark passion with aplomb, regardless of the vacumn it created in me. Jules hugged me, promising me he’d always be there for me but urging me to try a different path. We both cried, my tears foreign to me as I promised him I’d try. And Max... He never made contact, never came down to London to see me. Not that that he would have found me, even if he’d looked for Kate. I’d like to think I gave him what he wanted, made him brave enough to ask his wife to take him as I had. We’ll see. ... Monday I start work at his Office, as his new Office Manager; as me. Fate, as strong as Mother Nature in her worldly ways has offered me something I could never have imagined. Well fate and Totaljobs.com, thanks to Sarah. It seems the sea air agreed with me after all. Sea air, a best friend and the unwavering love of a bullish French bulldog. I can’t include Max just yet, I have no idea how he’ll react to my re-emergence into his life and as much as She wouldn’t care, I do and he has a wife and child to consider. I don’t even really want Max, not as a lover, although I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I didn’t yearn to ride him like a show pony. His words, our talks, those moments melded from weeks ago and years since. The remembrance of who I used to be; the girl I suppressed for too long. Being around Max, she floats to the surface and finally I feel that Kate is the powerful force, that She is no longer my guide. Whatever comes next I have to believe that I can handle it. If he wants me in his life, sexually or not, I can take it. I can prevail, no-one will ever rule me again. I can give and I can take and ultimately, whatever occurs is mine to decide. My pleasure is now on, my own. Sarah was over the moon to have a flat mate and Elvis welcomed me with a myriad of effusive sniffs. Maybe I can be vanilla, maybe I can’t. Perhaps control is part of my make-up and I’ll never be able to escape that part of me. But I should try. And if I can’t, I know of at least one man who’ll be open to my style of punishment. If I chose to seek him out. Maybe I will, or maybe I’ll try something different. Yesterday I went shopping with Sarah. She looks amazing in PVC and girl can weld a whip. Unsurprisingly she was nowhere near as shocked by our excursion as you’d imagine. Seeing her wide eyed admiration of her leather-clad form sent me headlong into a melee of memories, of Jules teaching me how to dress, how to stand. Of how beautiful I felt, how strong, how potent. Jules spent weeks yelling me into line but Sarah is instinctive. A confident woman, strong and proud in her own skin. Not needing a man in the least but honest enough to admit her own needs. After everything she has been through, she deserves to control her own life, to sate her own desires. And as someone who has made a very fine living from doling out pain and pleasure, I am the last person to steer her off course. She looks orgasmic and I tell her, frequently and with conviction. Those hill runs have turned her body into a work of art. And bitch brought her own talc. Baton passed.