1 comments/ 19803 views/ 1 favorites R: The Second Installment By: writer895 Richard and I lay on our sides in my hotel bed looking at each other. He ran his fingertips over my chest and I realized all over again how nervous I was. I looked over at the briefcase and canvass garment bag he had left near the door. My dad used the same bag. "So no axe in there?" I smiled at him, but I wasn't totally unserious. He laughed and shook his head. "I'm happy you agreed to meet me. And no, I'm truly, definitely not planning on murdering you." I sat up and turned away from him, perching on the edge of the bed. I pulled a pillow in front of me and crossed my arms over it. "I still don't know what I want. To do, I mean. But thanks for the reassurance on the murder front." "Did you like what we just did?" He was lying on his back, his hands clasped under his head, legs casually crossed at the ankles. I found his confidence relatively infuriating. We had spoken online, through email, on the phone, for a few months. We had long since resorted to using un-anonymous email, mine coming from my school account with my full name, his from a small Swiss asset management firm, with his initials and last name. We were both nicely Googleable. We shared a love of art; I had written on it, he had had his picture taken at openings and was starting a collection of drawings. We were both runners; we had even competed at the same 10K earlier in the year, before we began chatting online. He had gone to graduate school at the same school that I would be going to next year. I joked with him about the whole axe thing, because we had, after all, met through the internet, but really I was nervous about us having different expectations. About letting him down. And I couldn't understand why he wasn't, in some sense, nervous as well. I looked over my shoulder at him. He was so attractive. More attractive than I thought he could have been. "Of course I did." "Well that's a good start." He slid over and sat up next to me, bringing the sheet up with him and tucking it around me. "Look, I had to be here for a meeting today. I was planning on staying here tonight regardless. I've cleared the weekend. What we just did was fun. I do think you liked it too. I've made us reservations for an early dinner. Let's go and eat and talk exclusively about things that one really must do while fully clothed, and see how it goes." I was relieved, but also kind of excited to just spend time with him. We had agreed to do things the way we had because if we had met for coffee, I knew that I would have appeared uptight and freaked out and scared, and he thought that he wouldn't have felt comfortable being forceful enough to get me back to a hotel with him. Smiling slightly, I got up, wrapped in the sheet, and went over to put away my clothes that had been discarded on the floor. Tucking the bra and panties that I had been wearing under my arm, I pulled a simple dress out of the closet. "One more thing before we resort to being merely good conversationalists." He was now in front of me, blocking my way to the bathroom and bending over to get something out of the front pocket of his bag. "If you're going to spend your nights enlivening the early work hours of slightly older men, when they ask you what you are wearing, you should either lie or be wearing these." I pulled the bra and panties out of their thin cardboard envelope. They were exceptionally beautiful, but exceptionally dirty. They were made out of a shiny ivory taffeta, pleated in some places, and then trimmed with black lace. "Thank you," I said throatily. He was looking down at me from his nearly 6'4" height and I felt very vulnerable again. I looked up and him and cocked an eyebrow. "I mean, kind of eurotrashy. Very French prostitute put up in the Bristol. Very you." He wrinkled his mouth and his cheeks dimpled in a smile. "No no, they had other ones for that. If you've got a French prostitute surely suspenders should be involved. I thought these would be better suited for disguising an American ingénue. And anyway..." he playfully grabbed my previous undergarments from my arm, tossing them into the small waste bin next to the desk, "those are very repressed. Very you. And it's a credit to the rest of you that I found you the least bit interesting in spite of them." I shifted nervously in front of Richard, unsure of whether I was supposed to put the new underwear on in front of him and how these sort of teasing but definitely flirting quips were fitting into our friendly dinner plans. He answered my unease by reaching into his bag again, pulling out a stack of clothes, and walking back into the room. I darted into the bathroom and swung the door mostly shut. Dampening a washcloth, I sponged off the fine layer of sweat that had come from him touching me, and stopped to look at myself. My body, newly bare, didn't quite look like mine. My hairless pussy looked disconcertingly young, but it was still edged in moistness from what he had done to me—undoubtedly my most grown up activity so far. I sat on the edge of the tub and brushed out my hair, thinking back to how I had lain with my arms stretched above my head, untucking the sheets as I clung to them, my shoulder blades supporting most of my weight with my head thrown back and my legs open to his mouth. It was not an image I was used to thinking about myself in in any real sort of terms. I stood up and put on the bra and panties. At first it all seemed too tight, but as I adjusted, lifting the straps of the panties higher over my hips, pulling the band of the bra down lower over my rib cage in the back and altering the strap lengths, bending over, placing my breasts into the cups as I had seen girls do in the locker room at school, my body started to look different. When I stood up the transformation surprised me. My usual underwear just covered things. My bras concealed and flattened my chest. My panties came up high on my waist and low on my hips, squaring my middle. I had never thought about it that way before. In these my breasts sat high and rounded on top of the low cut cups. My torso and legs looked longer, my waist narrowed and hips curved. The panties weren't as stretchy as my normal ones were, and my pussy was tightly cupped. Just as he had cupped me earlier, I thought. I slipped into the dress, leaving the back open, and gathered my hair into a high ponytail. Slicking on a few coats of mascara and smudging some shiny smoky shadow into the creases of my eyes, I realized that I wanted to look nice for him. I didn't want to kiss him on the cheek at the end of the night and return to my room alone. As I started to wander towards thinking about what I did want to happen, there was a soft rap on the bathroom door and he slowly opened it, bringing the bowl, razor, and towel back into the bathroom. He dumped the water into the sink and turned towards me. "I'm just going to go downstairs and check in, drop my bag off with the desk." I looked up at him and was unsure about whether I wanted to be bold or not. "You look really pretty by the way. You are really pretty." He had started to turn away. "I don't want you to check into your room." It came out of my mouth without me really thinking about it. He turned back to me. "I'm worth what my firm has already charged our client for it. And anyway you're just presently charmed by my cunning good looks and lovely gifts. You might find me terribly boring over dinner and go off me forever." "Clearly I find your cunning-something-else attractive." I blushed at my own dirty joke and he laughed. He came up behind me and zipped my dress. We both noticed when his hands paused at the nape of my neck. "Come on, you're ready. I'm hungry. Let's go." I slid into my heels and grabbed a bag on the way out. He slipped my room key into his pocket and we descended the wide marble staircase together, separating to opposite banisters when we realized that we both knew people in the lobby bar. Sometimes the world is small. I gave him a brief look of panic. Two men came up to us; looking at me quizzically. Richard shook their hands and deftly steered them towards the main desk, telling them that he needed to check into his room but was late for dinner. A high school friend's parents were waving at me, and I went over to them to say hello. They asked where I was going to college and why I wasn't there yet (if I hadn't deferred, I would be in the early weeks of my first semester.) When they pressed me to join them for dinner, I declined and turned towards the main desk, gesturing at Richard. We met halfway across the lobby. The two men that had met him came up to me, shook my hand, and wished me a good gap year before returning to the bar. "You're a family friend. I'm being nice and taking you to dinner. You were kind enough to let me leave my bags in your room when mine wasn't ready earlier, although you're very lovely and I should try it on with you later when I go up to get my things." "I'm quite spoiled to be staying in such a nice hotel by myself, and we should join them for dinner because surely it's not appropriate for me to be alone with you in a strange city, even if you are an old friend." "You are quite spoiled really..." he teased. As we walked outside my phone rang. "And in very high demand," Richard said as I picked up the phone. It was my dad. I had asked him to call at this time. While I didn't really want him to know that I was letting strangers into my hotel room to do unspeakably filthy things to me, I also thought that, were I say being strangled or in the process of being chased around aforementioned hotel room with aforementioned axe, I would happily confess to all of it so long as someone was checking up on me. I spoke with my dad about my trip; Richard led me through the streets. I hung up just as we reached a small restaurant. He placed his hand in the hollow of my back as we walked up the steps and guided me inside. As we ate we talked about everything that had nothing to do with what I was nervous about. While we met on an internet chat site, specifically one devoted to the kinkier side of things, he had quickly figured out that I was young and had really no idea what I was interested in. He told me later that at the time all he knew was that he wasn't interested in that. He liked doing certain things and found it a lot simpler to find a girl who he knew was interested in that type of stuff rather than broach the subject with girls he met when really he wasn't interested in anything long term anyway. At the same time, we had clicked, and so we kept talking. We clicked in person, too, and found ourselves lingering over our food, then desert, then coffee. We had had very similar upbringings with difficult families that, nevertheless, loved us in a certain way, and even though we didn't talk about anything serious, it was evident that we had a shared understanding about things and hours passed easily. As we left the restaurant, I slipped my arm into his and he suggested going to get a drink. We sat down next to each other in a dark corner of a bar down the street. I didn't really know what to do. I wanted to go back to the hotel with him, to feel the things that I had felt earlier. But kissing him, even though I longed to feel his lips on mine again, seemed hard to maneuver. Even sitting he towered above me. Touching him seemed complicated. There were too many options, surely not all of which were equally cool. Our drinks came and after taking a sip of his he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him, leaving his palm splayed along the side of my hip. "I'm guessing by the slightly dazed look on your face and the fact that you haven't said anything since we left the restaurant that the ball's in my court?" I nodded. This was our game. It wasn't that I couldn't talk about or do things. I thought about stuff. I think that I think about stuff that most people don't think about. It's just that I can't really initiate talking about the stuff that I think about. He would take over and then once he asked the right questions I would spill out my answers in thorough detail. "Do you still want me to stay with you tonight?" I nodded again. He lifted his fingers and stroked once over my hip, very gently. "Have you thought about what you want?" I nodded again. He stroked up my side from just below my hip to my waist and back down again. He paused and looked down at me. Stroking again. "I want you to..." I turned inwards towards his chest, whispering and stumbling over the last words, "sleep with me." I was the only one of my friends who hadn't had sex yet. Almost everyone else had managed to lose it to someone from our high school or from another school in the city, or on vacation. On their living room couch, at a party in a spare room, after a dance. If it was planned, then only the boy involved realized that. It was very weird to be making this decision for myself. "Ok." He ran his fingertips over my leg, just above the knee along the hem of my dress. My head was still against his chest and I was softened enough by the drinks to find his hard chest and warmth and the softness of his clothes to be very alluring. "You understand, right?" Understood that at most we had the weekend. Understood that he—we both—had reservations about the age difference. Understood that he was the first person that I wanted to do this with but that for him I could be just one in a line of one night stands and flings. Understood that he was single because he didn't do clingy, and that I wasn't allowed to be clingy after. We had had stopping points in our "relationship." He was what girls call "emotionally unavailable." I was practical and thought the very serious, dating sort of relationships were a silly idea until one was essentially a real live grown up, ready to get married and all that stuff. We were never the online type of people who said that we loved each other, or mapped out futures. Today had been going past a stopping point. I hadn't even wanted to meet for a very long time. But he wanted me to understand that there were stopping points after this one. I nodded. He pulled the table closer to us, covering our laps and casting a shadow over our legs. "Anything else, or should we see how it goes?" He moved his fingers over to the other leg, and was now making small circles on the inside of my knee. I jerked a little, and again I whispered against his chest, "was there anything besides not an axe and underpants in your bag?" He leaned back and laughed loudly. I slipped my hand over his thigh under the table. "Yes." "Oh." "We've talked about a lot. Anything you want to happen, more importantly don't want to happen?" Now he was trailing his fingertips up and down the inside of my thigh and I couldn't answer. I was biting my lower lip and gripping the top of his leg, feeling myself become wetter and wetter. He knew. "You were so wet today..." I felt myself flush wildly in embarrassment. "No, it was good. I...you're lucky you got taken out to dinner." I laughed a little and pressed harder into his leg. "You can do anything." I didn't mean that, and he knew I didn't mean that. He leaned against me and dropped his lips to my ear. "So the other place..." He knew I didn't like the way some things sounded out loud. Now he was running his lips over the outline of my ear, fingers still circling up the inside of my thigh. My eyes slid closed and I rested myself against him and I could only moan softly in assent. "You did seem very small," he whispered again and I nuzzled into him, smelling him. Thinking about earlier and the gap between my fingertips when I held him. How my jaw had hurt. Thinking about how I had told him about wanting to be stretched and to have more than one thing in me and to be held open. And how now I was deciding to make it all come true. "Clamps again," My body became taut. He replaced his stroking with his other hand and wrapped his other arm tightly around my back. "Crop." Pause. "Whip." Pause and his fingers are splayed, rubbing the insides of both my upper thighs. My legs are shaking and I reach across his arm, grasping him just above the elbow to try to control how far up he touches me. "Wax" His bicep swells in my hand and he's running his knuckles over the panties he bought me. I feel how swollen I am and the moisture filling me. I moaned against him. "Oh, God," he whispered but his voice was tinged with something else now. It was gruffer and strained. "Blindfold? Ties?" His composure's regained but still he's running his hand over the panties and the soft flesh where it's swelled over the edges. I swallow hard and can just force it out of my mostly closed lips. Low and barely audible even to him above the music in the background. "Yes Master." He stopped stroking when I said that. A little surprised. I didn't call him that. We weren't into that, really. I had said that I wasn't. I was a little surprised that it came out. Now he tightened a little. And then he stood and pulled me up with him and led me outside. We were walking faster than we had before. Everything seemed sharper and more immediate now that we were out of the smoky, loud darkness of the bar. I began to worry, panic even, about what I had committed myself to and what would happen tonight. My face had gotten so hot and it felt cold outside. He felt me shiver and looked back at me and must have seen the fear cross my face. We stopped and he took off his jacket and wrapped it over my shoulders and pulled me against him. "We don't have to do this. Or we can do some if it. Or we can do what we did." I looked down at the ground. He stroked my cheek, lifting me up to him by the chin. Then I closed my eyes and his lips came down to meet mine again and we stayed like that for a long time as he stroked his tongue against mine and nibbled my lower lip. Eventually I rose up to meet him and was pressing the length of my body against him and pushing my lips into his, pulling his shoulders down to me. I got hot again and all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. I thought about what I had done for him, stretched out on my bed at home, rows of clothespins ringing my breasts, laying in a puddle of pain waiting for him to call me and loving how it made me feel, how it was impossible to think of anything else and how calm I got. I thought about what I had confessed to wanting, what he knew, fantasies of him tying me and binding a vibrator in me and turning it on and then hitting me, spanking, whipping until I was just a shaking, sobbing mess confused about whether it was a good feeling. Then I pulled away from him. "What if I can't? What if I'm awful or...I mean I have no idea what I'm doing. What if you try to spank me and I don't like it even though I thought I would. What if you leave me right after and I feel like shit about myself? What if it hurts?" "Shhh." Now he's hugging me. "I'll be gentle darling. I will." Then we both pause and realize we're idiots. "Ok well, that's not always the point, and it might be a little challenging..." He says in as valiant a voice as he can muster, "I promise to be gentle and that it won't hurt until it's supposed to." We both dissolve into laughter. "You said anything. But this is real now. And when we get to that, yellow. Red. And I'm not going to leave you." He takes my hand and we slowly finish the walk to the hotel. When we got upstairs he led me through the room to the tiny balcony overlooking the canal. I looked curiously up at him, to which he only answered, "We've got all night." Then I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes, so I just stare slightly down at his chest. His hands are along my hairline and around my ears. He pets along the sides of my head. He touches my neck in every way possible. When I move against him I can feel how hard he is and all I want to do is touch him, but every time I reach out he moves me away. His fingers run over eyelids, my cheekbones, my jaw. Down the length of my nose then back up over my eyebrows. He strokes my hair again. He touches my lips and teases me when I try to take his fingers into my mouth. Then he lets me and I suckle him and I want to be back on my knees in front of him again. I try and he holds me upright with his other arm. Eventually he runs his fingers lower over my body and slides his hands inside his jacket and around my waist and we kiss some more. I'm leaning back against the railing with his hair in my fingers or sometimes I group my fingertips at the base of his neck where I can just feel the tips of sparse hairs from his chest. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and feel how soft and thin his sweater is but how firm he is underneath. I normally feel rather awkward but he makes me feel small. R: The Second Installment Finally he pulls me back into the room and pushes his jacket off my shoulders. He lets me peel his sweater over his head. We work our way towards the bed. My back is to him and he unzips my dress, one hand pulling the zipper and the other trailing along my spine as it's exposed, feeling where no one has ever touched me before. I stop abruptly and clench my eyes and my fists and my toes in my shoes and all I can do is mumble a little in obscene pleasure before my mouth clenches too and I'm biting my lip. He slides his hands inside and rubs up and down the length of my back. Each stroke starts just below my waist, his hands are big enough to wrap around me tickling my sides as they go up over my ribs, mostly it's just very warm and every time he reaches the top he fans out over my shoulders reaching along my collarbone, pushing the dress a little further off my shoulders. Finally it falls and he steps around me and sits on the bed in front of me. I'm standing in the middle of my dress with my eyes still shut. He's holding my hands lightly. I start to shiver as I feel him looking at me. When I open my eyes and look down at myself it still doesn't seem like my body in the underwear he's bought me. Then he's reaching up and swirling over the mounds of my breasts pushed up above the bra. He inhales deeply. I reach for his jeans and he pulls away again. He runs his fingers down over my stomach, along the line where my panties start, around the sides of my waist. He catches my downcast eyes and tells me that I'm beautiful. Then he unhooks the bra and slides it off and pulls down the panties and holds me steady as I step out of them and my shoes and we kick all of it to the side. He keeps telling me that I'm beautiful when he puts one hand against the center of my chest for me to lean on and runs the other between my legs. It feels even odder without hair there. He keeps telling me that I'm beautiful when he reaches inside me, bringing some wet forward over my clit. More seeps around my lips and I have to put my hands on his shoulders to keep from falling over. He slides one finger in and out and it feels very good. Then two and it's tight but I sigh and start to beg softly for him. He tucks in a third fingertip and starts to just twist at my entrance while dropping his other hand down to rub my clit and distract me from the stretching. I think about how silly I've been all those nights when I thought I couldn't want anything as much as him but then I realize how much that pales to right now. He lays me down and I'm not even thinking about how I'm naked or how I look or if I'm nervous. It's all there somewhere at the back of my mind but all I can do is reach for him. Finally I catch his belt and he's reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom. And then his belt is off and I've undone his jeans and I'm trying frantically to push them down and off him with my feet and I'm completely unable to undo his shirt buttons. He helps and we're both naked. And I can run my hands over the width of his chest but always I'm tugging at his sides trying to get him over me, or reaching down to stroke his shaft and feel how hard it is but how soft his skin is there and thinking for the umpteenth time what I've been thinking all evening, which is surely this—he—shouldn't be happening to me. I open the condom wrapper and find him and put it on him, but then I realize that I've done it wrong. It breaks my frenzy. I feel stupid and try to fix it. "It's alright. You're alright. Shh, wait." He gets up and grabs another from his bag. He places it on the head of his cock and when I reach for him he guides my hand as I unroll it. His fingers are back inside me spreading me, with my hands in his hair and his mouth all over his face and neck and breasts. He slips one arm under me, cradling my neck. With the other hand he guides his cock against my pussy, rubbing my wetness against both of us, rubbing the head of his cock in circles around my clit. Finally he places himself at my entrance, pushing a little inside me, and pushes my legs open and flat. Then he strokes my side and kisses me again. I bury my head in his neck as he slowly sinks inside me. At first he doesn't get very far and I think we're both nervous that I'm intact and he'll have to break me. But he's able to slowly sink in. There's a lot of pressure and it doesn't quite feel like I thought it would. He pauses deep inside me, gasping a little. "Fuck you're tight." He works his thumb in between us and starts to rub my clit again. My pussy clenches hard. It burns a lot and I whimper lightly. He moans too. "Are you ok?" I look up at him. His jaw is clenched tight. "Uh huh," is all I can manage. It doesn't feel good at all but I still want it to be happening. He moves his hips back slightly, and it burns again. Then he pushes back and the pressure builds. I dig my nails into his back. Slowly it stops burning, and the pressure becomes less unpleasant. Eventually he stops rubbing me, putting both arms around me so that he can lengthen his strokes. For a while it's still uncomfortable, but then gradually it starts to feel sort of okay, and I break my grip on his sides. I look up from his neck just long enough to see him look down at me and mash one more kiss into my lips before his head goes back and he strains and pumps a few times deeply into me. As he comes he grunts out "Mine." When he pulls out it burns once more, but soon he's back next to me, stroking my tummy and laying the gentlest kisses on my face. While it surprised me as much as my earlier outburst must have surprised him, I think about how much I do want to be his. We get up and he leads me into the bathroom. We step into the shower together and rinse each other. I feel dazed, lightheaded and blown open between my legs. I only want to be close to him and feel like I need him touching me. We don't speak until I'm wrapped in a huge white towel and he's wearing a fluffy robe and we've walked back into the bedroom. He picks up his bag and places it on the bed. "I think we should try this now. While you're like this. I think it will make it easier." He looks down at me. I'm standing next to him. The fear comes back and all I can do is take his arm with both my hands. He unzips the main compartment of the bag. I see flashes of light colored dress shirts a he pushes them aside, but then it's all dark. He withdraws his promises: a rolled up silk tie, a riding crop, a whip, the graduated butt plug that I had told him excited me when he showed me an online store, two small candles. He takes out dopp kit and pulls out a matchbook and a new tube of lubricant and more condoms. I sigh loudly when he place the lube next to the plug. "I know darling. I know you want it. We will." Lastly he lays and airline sleep mask out on the bedside table next to everything else. He goes to the closet and gets a heavy wooden trouser hanger, with its two gold clips. Then he tells me to go look at it all. I run my fingers through the flogger tails. I remove the butt plug from its case and hold it up. The first bulb is oblong, then there are three more rings, each getting wider and more doughnut-like, with a slight indentation after each and then a deep slope to a flared base. When I saw it online, I had fantasized about being fucked with the first bulb. It didn't seem very intimidating. I was curious about what it would feel like. But then I had wanted the challenge of being asked to take larger and larger. I had once told him that, while I was sure I would never do it, pictures of women bound in slings and hugely opened turned me on. Lastly I felt the seams of the clips on the hangers. They were currently impossibly tight. Much tighter than the clothespins I had used on myself or the flat, plastic hangers I had tried a few times at home. The whole time he is behind me, stroking my shoulders comfortingly. "I wasn't sure about these as clamps earlier. Was it too much?" "It hurt." I mumbled. "I want to clamp your nipples. It will be worse than your pussy lips." "I know." I looked up at him. I had trouble explaining even to him why this was what I wanted. "Off or on?" Earlier he had removed the clips from the hanger. "On." "You know you can stop it whenever you want." He gestured towards the tie and mask, together on the table. "What about those?" I didn't understand why I was letting—almost asking—him to inflict extreme levels of pain on me, pain that I knew would quite possibly be unbearable for me, but at the same time what I was really scared of was being tied and blindfolded. "Umm." "That's alright. I won't even use everything tonight. We have all weekend. Let me know when you decide, either way." I was so happy that he had decided to stay the weekend. We had never even discussed it. Even before, when he was inside me, I was worried that it wasn't very good and that he would surely leave tomorrow morning. I responded by laying down, still wrapped in the towel, my knees bent up. "I know I didn't mean anything, but...you know. Anything." "I know." He said back. And then we had started. First he picked up the flogger. He opened my towel and ran the tails all over my front, over my breasts, even over my face, letting me smell the leather. Then the crop. He tapped me with it, flicking my nipples, never hard, never hurting. He stood at the bottom of the bed and spread my legs, running the crop over my pussy, up and down between my legs. The black triangular leather head looked interesting against my very white skin. He flipped it around. There was a silver cap on top, smooth and rounded, which he rubbed around my clit until I was soaking again and mewling for him not to stop. "You won't get that for a long time," he said. Then he quickly flicked the crop around and delivered my first—and only—serious blow of the night. A quick, sharp smack to the top of my pussy, right where my lips met, that completely broke my arousal. My eyes jolted open and I lay stunned and rigid. "Do you want to stop?" I was silent for a long time. He put the crop down and sat on the bed near me, petting me. Stroking the skin he had pinkened. I hadn't liked the smack. It didn't feel good. I suppose I knew it would hurt, but I also thought that it would be like other things we had tried, where it hurt but it had also made want for more. This didn't. But I didn't want to stop, either. I shook my head. "Come over my lap." Gingerly getting up, I arranged myself over his terryclothed lap, butt in the air. The blood rushed to my head and I might have preferred another position, but I wasn't sure how to say anything so I didn't. He started by running his hand over my bottom. Before I could even think of the things that I really wanted, I heard the lube pop open and felt coldness against my hole. I tightened up instinctively. "You have to relax." He wound one finger around and around my hole. I tried to focus on easing my clenching, and soon he had slid in. This too burned and I tightened once more. He continuously murmured at me to relax under his breath. It never completely stopped burning, but soon there was a delicious tingling going all up and down from my clit and spreading out. He was also starting to harden underneath me. He picked up the plug and I felt the first bulb against my slippery hole. While it went in easily, this was bigger, and as it descended into me I felt myself close up around it. I wiggled my bottom, trying to get him to pump the plug in and out of me. Instead he slapped me lightly across my bottom until I felt flushed from the top of my thighs to my lower back. Then he removed the plug and helped me stand. I stumbled to my knees in front of him and started to stroke his cock. He threw me a pillow to slide under my knees, "Just a little bit." This time he guided me more, telling me when to suck and when to relax my mouth and let him thrust into me. He showed me how hard to grip and where to touch and lick him. Then he pulled my head away and pulled me up. I sat down next to him. I was getting tired and let my head fall against his shoulder. "Will you hurt me?" I had tried to think of a better way of putting it, but ultimately that's what it was. He started tenderly stroking and kissing my neck and face, and I handed him the blindfold and tie. He nodded, smiled a half smile, reminded me that I could stop or slow things down for the last time, and then covered my eyes and tied my hands above my head. He also told me to be completely silent no matter what, that the only noise I was allowed to make was to say yellow or red. He went back to touching me lightly. He even let me suck him, reaching up and leaving my mouth slack as he stood next to the bed and moved my head against him by the back of my hair. He pulled away and next I felt him below me, with his fingers in me, everywhere in me. Then he stopped and took a deep breath and quickly he had pinched one of my already hard nipples and began slowly, slowly allowing the tight vise of the hanger to close around it. I knew from trying it myself that the only thing worse than this would be if he had allowed the clip to quickly snap close. I almost screamed out but the pain was so intense that even my scream stuck in my throat. Then I felt him twisting and pulling as he aligned the second clamp, and I was sure my nipple was being crushed. When he grasped the second and slowly closed the other clamp on it, the pain exploded again, but tenfold. I could only gasp for breath and wait for the horrible crashing pain to subside to what I hoped would come. Then it did; instead of hammering around me the pain just seeped through me. Everything became fuzzy and I couldn't think. I vaguely felt him touching me. I heard him leave my side, and worried briefly until I felt him return and then felt something being very gently rubbed into me. He went up over my chest, being careful not to disturb the clips, and then more firmly down over my stomach and over my pussy. When he began to circle my clit I allowed my eyes to slip closed behind the blindfold and there wasn't anymore pain at all. All I felt was a lovely tingly heat coming from the clamps. Instantly it stopped and was replaced by a sharp stinging on my stomach. When I tried to move away from it the weight of the hanger connected to the clips sent further waves of pain through me. The stings were unevenly spaced, sometimes brief and intense and spaced out, other times more continuous. They moved from my stomach up over my chest. I gasped each time I was stung near where the clamps gripped my nipples. It took a while to realize that it was the wax. Then as soon as I understood what was happening a second source of the stinging hit the top of my pussy and down over my pussy lips. I jerked hard and then stars erupted behind the blindfold as the hanger on my nipples jarred again. Remembering the second candle, it registered that he was using both on me at the same time. The stings slowly turned to a warming feeling and then stopped. Left with just the clips on my nipples and no other distractions, I started to become extremely uncomfortable. Richard had returned to gently touching me, but even so my discomfort became evident from my whimpering and trying to shift away from the feeling of the clamps, which at this point was mostly a dull, almost numb but ultimately profound aching. I tried to take it; a part of me even wanted more. I liked that I had become completely paralyzed, completely unable to think straight or at all. But another part of me started to panic and could only focus on the livid tentacles of pain that were shooting throughout my body. "Maybe...maybe...I think yellow." "Off?" "Yeah..." I could barely choke it out. When he took them off, they clung stickily to my skin and pinched where the wax had dripped over them. I squeaked and squirmed and finally quieted under his gentle kneading. Thankfully I had a break while he went about peeling the wax from me. I could feel him lifting it off in large sections; my skin underneath felt cold and a bit raw. For the first time I realized that I was clutching tightly to the knots that bound my wrists, my toes were curled, and my head was tilted back, pressed firmly into the pillows. I hadn't taken a solid breath since the clamps had cut into me. Allowing myself to relax for the first time since he had bound me, I crumpled into the sheets and closed my eyes again beneath the blindfold. I'd never describe myself as a terribly introspective person, but it struck me that, even though being bound had frightened me at first, I now loved the way it made me feel. I loved the way the night had progressed. I had been afraid that all the things that I had fantasized about for years would never come true, and now they were. But I hadn't had to take responsibility for wanting them. By tying me, he had made it simply happen. Behind the blindfold I even worried less about what I looked like; I was unable to try to read his face, and when I would feel him touching me I was less scared, and really only grateful that he wasn't not touching me. "Do you need a break?" I grunted affirmatively, and felt my wrists being untied. He lifted the blindfold from my eyes and I realized the lights had been turned off, leaving only the spotlights on the terrace and the bathroom lights to illuminate the room. Again we were on our sides, facing each other, as we had been earlier in the day. This time, though, I had none of the desire for distance that I had had earlier. I slid over into his arms, burying my head under his chin. My nipples still hurt when they rubbed up against his chest. We stayed like that for a while. "Did you like that?" I nodded languidly and lifted my leg over his hip, entwining my other foot with his calf, but I started to worry about doing that, about feeling like I wanted to be close to him, about my belief that that was a relationship-y thing to do and he wasn't into that and maybe it would annoy him. I stopped worrying when I felt the head of his hardening cock pushing into my stomach. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer to him, and dropped his hand between my legs and pulled some of the moisture from inside of me out, spreading it around the entrance to my pussy and rubbing over my clit until I had settled even more tightly into the space under his neck and was rubbing my hips back into his fingers. Then he stopped, reaching for another condom from the bedside table. He pushed me flat on my back and covered me, pushing slowly into me and starting to thrust. This time it was only a little uncomfortable at first, and soon it merely felt good. I wrapped my legs around his hips and tried to find a rhythm with him. Just as I felt I was figuring it out, though, he had pulled out of me completely and was sitting up between my legs. I wanted him back inside me so badly, but as I tried to pull him back down to me he reached for the lube and his fingers started rubbing around my ass again. I tried to relax and his finger slipped in easily. Then he added another and I grabbed the pillow to muffle myself. When I began to push back he added a third. "Be helpful and pass me that pillow, darling." I peeked out at him from behind the pillow and he reach out to grab it, smiling slightly. "A few more, please." I handed him two more pillows from behind me, the movement making his fingers twist inside me and sending chilly, delightful feelings all throughout my pelvis while at the same time aggravating my still sore nipples. I pulled the last pillow down and underneath my head as he withdrew his fingers from me. Quickly wiping them on the discarded towel, he lifted my hips and stacked the pillows under me. I watched him grab the lube again and for the first time in a while that night all my nervousness returned to me. He spread lube over his cock. Seeing it now, hugely hard, glistening, standing away from his body, made me want him even more. I felt the coolness of the lube tip against my butt and then even more gel being spread around me and squirted inside of me. He kneeled in front of me and pulled my calves up over his shoulders. I felt the head of his cock at my hole and bit my bottom lip as I looked up at him. I tried to reach him but couldn't, so I left my hands flat at my sides. He grabbed my hips and slowly started to open me. At first it felt amazing. My whole pussy throbbed with the feeling of being opened, and seeing his long body hover above me, imagining what we looked like, me smaller and prone in front of him as he lurched over me, sliding himself into me, controlling my body for his pleasure, clouded my mind with lust. Then it felt like I was being stabbed. It hurt deep inside of me, sharp and localized and while I was trying to remain silent I couldn't help but grunt a little. He stopped abruptly and told me to relax, letting my body accommodate him. He reached around my legs and rubbed my clit a little, and slid a thumb absentmindedly into my pussy. "You want this." R: The Second Installment "I know," was all I could whisper back. Then he was holding my hips again, sliding slowly out of me and all the good feelings returned. He slid in again only shallower, then out, again and again slowly but a little deeper each time. I still couldn't decide whether I was uncomfortable or if this was the best feeling I had ever experienced, but then I realized that I couldn't even really think at all. I let myself feel him and see him with his head lifted back, and the veins in his neck, and how deep clefts in the sides of his stomach defined his muscles with each thrust and how he was starting to shine with effort along his shoulders and how he was so beautiful and again how this shouldn't possibly be happening to me. "Brace yourself against the headboard." He whispered it out but it was almost a groan too. I reached over my head and placed my palms against the headboard. Then he released my hip with one of his hands and started winding it around my clit again. This time he was more deliberate and I was so wet and excited that quickly my back had arched and my head was thrown back. I wanted to sigh and moan and whimper in pleasure, to yell out because now my toes were curled and my calves and hamstrings had tightened around his shoulder, or to beg him to grab me and fuck me harder or just never to stop making me feel like this, and I wasn't sure what was going to come out as my mouth opened and my chest clamped down, but whatever it was caught in my throat as I came. The clenching in the rest of my body seemed heightened by the fact that my ass was held open by his cock. It lasted forever and even as I finally collapsed and felt him grab my hips again and pull me all the way down on him and thrust into me hard a few times before locking against me I was still in a haze. I could feel a heart beat hammering but I wasn't sure if it was his or mine. "Please take it out..." The stabbing feelings had come back. He withdrew and I rolled over onto my side away from him. I curled up and was shaking a little. He collapsed next to me. "That wasn't as gentle as I had intended...I didn't hurt you, did I?" He had reached out to stroke my arm. I shook my head. I didn't even want to admit to him how much I had liked something so dirty. His breathing slowed quickly and soon he was up, wiping himself off and lifting my leg to slide the towel between my legs and stem the flow of lube and my wetness. I didn't know what he wanted. I wanted to sleep but would have done anything to please him at that point. He started to gather his things and put his clothes back on, and then anxiousness filled me through my veins. I was sure that he would, after all, leave me. I wanted to beg him to stay, but couldn't bring myself to do it and steeled against the idea of spending the rest of the night alone in our rumpled dampened sheets, feeling how open I was because of him. He swiftly dumped the contents of the night table back into the bag and shoved it, along with my discarded clothes, into the closet. I watched him silently, still curled on my side, and had to fight back a tear as it formed. Then he went to the dresser and opened and closed a few drawers before throwing a pair of pajama pants and an old school sweatshirt at me. He came over and kneeled beside me and ran his fingertips over my cheek. "I think we've made too much of a mess of your bed. Let's go use mine." I nodded and sat up and as I slid the sweatshirt over my head I wiped the tear out of my eye, only it had changed to one of relief and gratitude. As I pulled on my pajama pants he dropped a pair of terrycloth hotel slippers at my feet. He pocketed my key again and turned off the bathroom lights as we left. The way up to his room was quiet and empty, and though I staggered slightly in the bright lights of the hallway he was solid and firm and guided me with his arm around me. When we got to his room we peeled back the freshly turned down sheets and I collapsed into the soft, cool pillows. He took off his shoes and clothes and slid into bed next to me, wearing just his boxers. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and he pulled the covers up over us, tucking them around me. I lay on my stomach and faced him, and he lay close to me on his side, rubbing my back with his big, warm hand and murmuring into my ear and against my hair as I fell asleep.