I had met her a few times before. Kinky parties, a coffee date. I knew what her tits felt like in my hands. I knew her groan when I slapped them hard. I knew her blush, I knew her laugh.
I’d made her laugh. I think that was why she trusted me.
I had told her to wait for me at a nearby train station. She was there, waiting with her eyes closed like I’d told her. It’s a quiet station, only one line goes through here, and it was empty already. Except for her. Except for me.
I walked up to her, not hiding my footsteps. I didn’t speak. I just looked at her for a while. She got visibly nervous just standing there. She could guess it was me, but she couldn’t be sure, not with her eyes closed.
I considered my first move. Touch. More intimately than she expected. Get right through her boundaries. I wet my finger and touched it to her lips. She startled, shocked, almost took a step back but restrained herself. Good girl.
I told her to open her eyes, then walked her back to my place. I don’t even remember what we talked about on the way. Insignificant things. I let her go up the stairs ahead of me so I could watch her ass. In front of my door I had her stop so I could grope her a bit; she wore a leather miniskirt, giving me plenty of access. She looked nervous but she sounded excited, chattering away.
Once we were inside I hung up my coat and interrupted her with one word: “Strip.”
She was silenced, taken aback. I could guess at her thoughts. Weren’t we going to talk a bit first, get comfortable? Weren’t we going to sit down and maybe have a drink? Wasn’t I going to welcome her, play the good host? What about her outfit, wasn’t I going to look at it, compliment it?
I made it clear that I’d be having none of that. “You have ten seconds.” And I started counting.
She was down to her bra and panties at six. She looked at me questioningly. They always hesitate a bit, at this point. I don’t. “Seven,” I said.
She made it. At ten she was standing naked, surrounded by a mess of discarded clothing. Untidy girl. Not good. She had her tits thrust out, probably proud of them. For good reason, too. Nice ones. Chewy nipples. Tits out, but she had one hand covering her cunt. Good. I like shyness and modesty in girls, makes it so much easier to humiliate them. I took her by that arm and led her to the bedroom.
I have a large leather chair there, with wooden armrests that have enough space underneath them for, say, a girl’s legs to go through. I maneuvered her into the chair with her legs spread obscenely wide so they could go under the armrests, then started tying her. Arms first, behind the chair’s back. I did the arms first so she couldn’t cover up when I knelt down to tie her ankles under the chair. Having my face inches from her widely spread crotch while I was fiddling with the ropes was always a nice way to start the more intimate part of the evening.
I got up and walked around her a few times, observing my captured prey. I let my hand trail down her hair, along her jaw, over her shoulders. Not comfortingly or sexually. Just touch, absentmindedly touching what was now mine. She looked up at me entranced, expectant.
Just as she seemed to be about to speak, I stopped in front of her and knelt down so I could look her in the eyes at her level.
“So,” I said. “Does anyone else know… where you are?”
Her eyes went wide and I could see the color drain from her cheeks.
That told me enough.
There is nothing hotter than implication.
Sweetheart just hates hates hates time out.
Filed under: moves I kinda wanna learn.
I’m sure you will be grateful to learn that The Institute, as part of its public outreach program, has begun releasing certain forms and documents used as part of its daily work to the public under an open license. Through this new channel, they hope to collaborate and share with like-minded practitioners and organizations, and provide both the hobbyist and the professional with resources they need for our shared challenges. You can now download the first such document, the standard short-schedule intake form 899-72, with the Institute’s blessing.
(Also, if you’re the kind of person who likes to play with git, contributions will be considered.)
Um yeah squirming forever.
How many people have I had sex with this year? Three since January.
After dinner, I had my little slave strip on top of the coffee table for everyone to enjoy. Then — once we plugged up her ears and covered her up with a hood — we set about amusing ourselves with inspecting and tormenting her little body like the piece of property that she is.
Oh my goodness.