cariad
08-21-2006, 03:12 AM
“In two hundred yards you will have reached your destination” said the automated voice of the satellite navigation.
If only that voice knew she thought to herself. Looking at the displayed map she pulled over just before the final bend in the road, and nervously brushed her hair, again, and checked the lightest application of make-up which she was wearing, again. She reread his final instructions, although earlier in her trip she had amused herself by repeating the whole letter, word from word by memory. In just a few minutes for the first time she would be with the man who had written those words. The man whom she had first chatted to online, and then spent hours on the phone with. The man whom had become the centre of her universe.
“When you arrive at my house, park on the left hand side of drive next to my car. Once you have stopped the engine ring your friend to trigger the safe call you have arranged as we agreed. You will not be returning to your car until it is time for you to go home, so make sure you bring everything you need with you. Lock your car, put your bags on the doorstep and then ring the door bell. I will be waiting for you, but will give you enough time to put on the blindfold I sent you. I look forward to seeing you”
Inside the house he tried to relax as he waited for arrival. It had been nearly a year since they met in that chat room, and now they were to be in a real room together. But he could not, he paced the floor, anxiously running over every detail of the weekend again trying to find anything he had over looked. She had rung him, as he had requested when she was 5 miles away, she had to be nearly there now. He struggled not to peer through the window to spot her coming, but restrained himself, straining to hear the sound her engine pulling up onto his drive.
He made himself count to thirty before he opened the door. Why had he chosen such a high number, he hurried his count. And there she was. Looking just as she had in her photos, but on his doorstep and wearing the clothes he had sent her, wearing his blindfold as she held a small case and a handbag. What threw his remaining equilibrium though was her stance, perfectly balanced on her three inch heels, her feet slightly apart and head bowed, moving nothing. At that point his carefully made plans for the evening nearly went, but breathing deeply he kissed her cheek and whispered “welcome’. Having taken her bags and placed them just inside the door, he gently took her hand saying “there is a low step just in front of you, come in my dear”.
His hand gave her the support she needed. Support not so much to enter blind into a strange house, but to calm her souring emotions. Wrapping her fingers around his she stepped over where she assumed the threshold to be and continued into his house until she heard him whisper “stop”, and his hand was gone. The heavy wooden door, the last thing she had seen closed behind with a thud. And then silence.
Silence until she strained enough to hear the imprints of an occasional foot step on a thick carpet. Then came the instruction she had been expecting “hands behind your back please”. She felt him loosely tie her wrists together, the ribbon smooth and cool, holding her for him. He put an end of the ribbon into her fingers, reminding her that she only had to pull and the bow would undo and she would be free.
When he had chosen her outfit he had envisaged how she would look, how the soft dark leather corset would shape her, aid her posture and both conceal and present her breasts, how the silken fabric of the skirt would fall gracefully from her hips until it just covered her ankles; what he had not envisaged was how he would feel. The surge of pride that she had come to give herself to him, the amazement at the trust she so simply gave him.
She felt his hand run slowly and gently down her arm, her nerve endings standing to attention and then relaxing as his touch whispered to her. He sighed; “beautiful…”.
Finally collecting his wits, he led her across the room, and then bid her kneel. She had never appreciated before that carpet made a sound as it was crushed; she could follow his movements out of the room and onto a hard floor. She heard the fridge door open and close, a chinking of glass, the glissando of them being filled, and then his returning steps.
He thrilled to see she had not moved, his fear being that she would have panicked and undone the bow holding her wrists, but she was just as he had left her; her breathing slow and relaxed, her posture correct and also relaxed.
There was a creaking of leather, the sound of a glass being put down, and then she felt a hard cool smooth glass touch her lips. “Drink, my darling”. She parted her lips a little and felt cold liquid being offer to them so she could take a little, the glass then tilted away from her lips so she could swallow her favourite fruit cocktail.
How he wished he could have see her eyes smile as he watched her mouth curl upwards in recognition. Her easy but appreciative acknowledgment that he had remembered making him so grateful to himself that he had saved their early conversations when she had let the recipe slip. He offered her another sip, intoxicated by her presence and the power he was experiencing.
A ringing in her handbag broke the moment. Muttering silently to himself he went over to it and removed her phone, pressing the green button and holding it her ear. She was supposed to slip a code word into the short conversation was having with her trusted friend to indicate whether all was well or she needed help. Instead all she did was whisper the word, pause and then repeat it more confidently twice and then eagerly say good bye to her link to the outside world. She felt him stroke her head as he pressed the red button on the phone and return it to her bag.
“I need to do a few things in the kitchen my dear, please wait here for me.” The sound of the leather creaking again as he stood up, a soft click as he turned the cd player on, and then the enveloping of Elgar’s cello concerto holding her within her thoughts as he reluctantly left her for a while.
As she sat at the dining room table, the gentle scent of a candle setting the scene for her, she opened her mouth each time she felt the hard metal of the fork touch her lower lip, accepting the food he offered her. She had instantly recognised what he was feeding her. They had chatted about food many times, and this was the only savoury dish he claimed he could reliably make, and it was sumptuous. Whether it really was the food served to the God’s which is how seemed to be at the time she would never really know, but it was perfect. Warm rich flavours teasing her senses, each morsel offered as she was ready, the occasional sip of a deep and mellow wine sending her head spinning more than any alcohol ever could. Then the cool desert, sweet and slightly tangy, sometimes soft, sometimes crisp. Only once did a little fall from the spoon onto her breast, the imprint of his finger where he had wiped it from her burning and calling to the essence of who she was.
After dinner, as she sat on the floor by his feet, her head resting on his thigh it seemed to both as though they were outside of the world, in place time had forgotten. They talked about everything. About philosophies and elephants, about music and rivers, about their pasts and about their dreams for the future. Just occasionally, seemingly when she was least expecting it, he would caress her. Sometimes her arm, sometimes her face or neck, and sometimes the swell of one of her breasts. Each time so tender, and so short. The evening was infinite but gone so soon.
He led her into the bathroom and untied her hands, and guided her, telling her where everything was, including what he wished her to wear to bed. Asking her to close her eyes he removed her blindfold. Keeping both the ribbon and blindfold he requested that she did not open her eyes he closed the door behind him. Later she would ask herself why it did not occur to her open them, but the thought did not pass her mind. Carefully feeling her way around the strange room, the texture, temperature and shape of each item so sharply defined in her dark world she soon prepared herself for bed. Breathing deeply as she loosened the ties on her corset and stepping out of her skirt as it rustled to the ground. She did her best to fold the skirt and corset and put them to one side, and then she felt over to where he had left what he wanted her to wear. Her imagination went in all directions, but never to the correct place. Standing naked, her fingers touched a slightly hard fabric, and lots of it. As she picked it up she recognised the feel of crisp cotton. Chuckling to herself, she struggled to make sense of the garment, if only there had been a little less fabric. Finally she found the top and the sleeves, and identified the back by the label, and slipped it over her head. She ran her hands over her clad body and realized that with the exception of square neckline she was completely covered. Surprised, and not sure if she was pleased or not, so contrary to her expectations. Even her arms were covered. She called to say that she was finished.
As he had heard her preparing herself for bed he had struggled with what he had given her to wear, he would so much have liked to have had her come out of the bathroom naked and present herself to him. He even considered changing his plans there and then, the thought of her unclad and so close was tormenting him, but clinging to his original plan he waited. And when following her call he entered the bathroom and saw her modestly covered and un-requested kneeling for him he was pleased that he had. This was so perfect; he was right to let them both savour each step.
He bent and kissed her forehead, whispering “thank you darling”;taking her hand and helping her to her feet. She was now so comfortable being led that she followed him easily, stopping where he indicated, and after he had pushed something against the back of her legs, at his word, she sat on it. He once again lovingly wrapped and tied the ribbon loosely around her wrists. She could not interpret what she heard, but knew exactly what he was doing when the brush touched the top of her head.
“Count 100 strokes, my dear” he whispered, with just the smallest of chuckles in his voice. Purring she counted aloud. There was not a nerve in her body or a cell in her brain which was not tingling and crying out for him, crying out to be for all they had ever talked about and imagined. “…99...100... Thank you, Sir.” She heard the soft thud of the hair brush being put down and his hand running over her hair giving it the 101st stroke.
Leaning over he kissed her cheek, put his hand under her arm and whispered “bedtime”. Guiding her up and along the side of the bed, pulling the bedding back, he fought the urge once again, but turned her body helping her into his bed. His eyes lingering, caressing, he walked around to the other side and took his place beside her; enclosing them both in the soft cocoon and holding her to himself, he slide his hand inside her nightdress, held her nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it as far as it would go. “Tomorrow darling, tomorrow…”
If only that voice knew she thought to herself. Looking at the displayed map she pulled over just before the final bend in the road, and nervously brushed her hair, again, and checked the lightest application of make-up which she was wearing, again. She reread his final instructions, although earlier in her trip she had amused herself by repeating the whole letter, word from word by memory. In just a few minutes for the first time she would be with the man who had written those words. The man whom she had first chatted to online, and then spent hours on the phone with. The man whom had become the centre of her universe.
“When you arrive at my house, park on the left hand side of drive next to my car. Once you have stopped the engine ring your friend to trigger the safe call you have arranged as we agreed. You will not be returning to your car until it is time for you to go home, so make sure you bring everything you need with you. Lock your car, put your bags on the doorstep and then ring the door bell. I will be waiting for you, but will give you enough time to put on the blindfold I sent you. I look forward to seeing you”
Inside the house he tried to relax as he waited for arrival. It had been nearly a year since they met in that chat room, and now they were to be in a real room together. But he could not, he paced the floor, anxiously running over every detail of the weekend again trying to find anything he had over looked. She had rung him, as he had requested when she was 5 miles away, she had to be nearly there now. He struggled not to peer through the window to spot her coming, but restrained himself, straining to hear the sound her engine pulling up onto his drive.
He made himself count to thirty before he opened the door. Why had he chosen such a high number, he hurried his count. And there she was. Looking just as she had in her photos, but on his doorstep and wearing the clothes he had sent her, wearing his blindfold as she held a small case and a handbag. What threw his remaining equilibrium though was her stance, perfectly balanced on her three inch heels, her feet slightly apart and head bowed, moving nothing. At that point his carefully made plans for the evening nearly went, but breathing deeply he kissed her cheek and whispered “welcome’. Having taken her bags and placed them just inside the door, he gently took her hand saying “there is a low step just in front of you, come in my dear”.
His hand gave her the support she needed. Support not so much to enter blind into a strange house, but to calm her souring emotions. Wrapping her fingers around his she stepped over where she assumed the threshold to be and continued into his house until she heard him whisper “stop”, and his hand was gone. The heavy wooden door, the last thing she had seen closed behind with a thud. And then silence.
Silence until she strained enough to hear the imprints of an occasional foot step on a thick carpet. Then came the instruction she had been expecting “hands behind your back please”. She felt him loosely tie her wrists together, the ribbon smooth and cool, holding her for him. He put an end of the ribbon into her fingers, reminding her that she only had to pull and the bow would undo and she would be free.
When he had chosen her outfit he had envisaged how she would look, how the soft dark leather corset would shape her, aid her posture and both conceal and present her breasts, how the silken fabric of the skirt would fall gracefully from her hips until it just covered her ankles; what he had not envisaged was how he would feel. The surge of pride that she had come to give herself to him, the amazement at the trust she so simply gave him.
She felt his hand run slowly and gently down her arm, her nerve endings standing to attention and then relaxing as his touch whispered to her. He sighed; “beautiful…”.
Finally collecting his wits, he led her across the room, and then bid her kneel. She had never appreciated before that carpet made a sound as it was crushed; she could follow his movements out of the room and onto a hard floor. She heard the fridge door open and close, a chinking of glass, the glissando of them being filled, and then his returning steps.
He thrilled to see she had not moved, his fear being that she would have panicked and undone the bow holding her wrists, but she was just as he had left her; her breathing slow and relaxed, her posture correct and also relaxed.
There was a creaking of leather, the sound of a glass being put down, and then she felt a hard cool smooth glass touch her lips. “Drink, my darling”. She parted her lips a little and felt cold liquid being offer to them so she could take a little, the glass then tilted away from her lips so she could swallow her favourite fruit cocktail.
How he wished he could have see her eyes smile as he watched her mouth curl upwards in recognition. Her easy but appreciative acknowledgment that he had remembered making him so grateful to himself that he had saved their early conversations when she had let the recipe slip. He offered her another sip, intoxicated by her presence and the power he was experiencing.
A ringing in her handbag broke the moment. Muttering silently to himself he went over to it and removed her phone, pressing the green button and holding it her ear. She was supposed to slip a code word into the short conversation was having with her trusted friend to indicate whether all was well or she needed help. Instead all she did was whisper the word, pause and then repeat it more confidently twice and then eagerly say good bye to her link to the outside world. She felt him stroke her head as he pressed the red button on the phone and return it to her bag.
“I need to do a few things in the kitchen my dear, please wait here for me.” The sound of the leather creaking again as he stood up, a soft click as he turned the cd player on, and then the enveloping of Elgar’s cello concerto holding her within her thoughts as he reluctantly left her for a while.
As she sat at the dining room table, the gentle scent of a candle setting the scene for her, she opened her mouth each time she felt the hard metal of the fork touch her lower lip, accepting the food he offered her. She had instantly recognised what he was feeding her. They had chatted about food many times, and this was the only savoury dish he claimed he could reliably make, and it was sumptuous. Whether it really was the food served to the God’s which is how seemed to be at the time she would never really know, but it was perfect. Warm rich flavours teasing her senses, each morsel offered as she was ready, the occasional sip of a deep and mellow wine sending her head spinning more than any alcohol ever could. Then the cool desert, sweet and slightly tangy, sometimes soft, sometimes crisp. Only once did a little fall from the spoon onto her breast, the imprint of his finger where he had wiped it from her burning and calling to the essence of who she was.
After dinner, as she sat on the floor by his feet, her head resting on his thigh it seemed to both as though they were outside of the world, in place time had forgotten. They talked about everything. About philosophies and elephants, about music and rivers, about their pasts and about their dreams for the future. Just occasionally, seemingly when she was least expecting it, he would caress her. Sometimes her arm, sometimes her face or neck, and sometimes the swell of one of her breasts. Each time so tender, and so short. The evening was infinite but gone so soon.
He led her into the bathroom and untied her hands, and guided her, telling her where everything was, including what he wished her to wear to bed. Asking her to close her eyes he removed her blindfold. Keeping both the ribbon and blindfold he requested that she did not open her eyes he closed the door behind him. Later she would ask herself why it did not occur to her open them, but the thought did not pass her mind. Carefully feeling her way around the strange room, the texture, temperature and shape of each item so sharply defined in her dark world she soon prepared herself for bed. Breathing deeply as she loosened the ties on her corset and stepping out of her skirt as it rustled to the ground. She did her best to fold the skirt and corset and put them to one side, and then she felt over to where he had left what he wanted her to wear. Her imagination went in all directions, but never to the correct place. Standing naked, her fingers touched a slightly hard fabric, and lots of it. As she picked it up she recognised the feel of crisp cotton. Chuckling to herself, she struggled to make sense of the garment, if only there had been a little less fabric. Finally she found the top and the sleeves, and identified the back by the label, and slipped it over her head. She ran her hands over her clad body and realized that with the exception of square neckline she was completely covered. Surprised, and not sure if she was pleased or not, so contrary to her expectations. Even her arms were covered. She called to say that she was finished.
As he had heard her preparing herself for bed he had struggled with what he had given her to wear, he would so much have liked to have had her come out of the bathroom naked and present herself to him. He even considered changing his plans there and then, the thought of her unclad and so close was tormenting him, but clinging to his original plan he waited. And when following her call he entered the bathroom and saw her modestly covered and un-requested kneeling for him he was pleased that he had. This was so perfect; he was right to let them both savour each step.
He bent and kissed her forehead, whispering “thank you darling”;taking her hand and helping her to her feet. She was now so comfortable being led that she followed him easily, stopping where he indicated, and after he had pushed something against the back of her legs, at his word, she sat on it. He once again lovingly wrapped and tied the ribbon loosely around her wrists. She could not interpret what she heard, but knew exactly what he was doing when the brush touched the top of her head.
“Count 100 strokes, my dear” he whispered, with just the smallest of chuckles in his voice. Purring she counted aloud. There was not a nerve in her body or a cell in her brain which was not tingling and crying out for him, crying out to be for all they had ever talked about and imagined. “…99...100... Thank you, Sir.” She heard the soft thud of the hair brush being put down and his hand running over her hair giving it the 101st stroke.
Leaning over he kissed her cheek, put his hand under her arm and whispered “bedtime”. Guiding her up and along the side of the bed, pulling the bedding back, he fought the urge once again, but turned her body helping her into his bed. His eyes lingering, caressing, he walked around to the other side and took his place beside her; enclosing them both in the soft cocoon and holding her to himself, he slide his hand inside her nightdress, held her nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it as far as it would go. “Tomorrow darling, tomorrow…”