vrijdag 19 juli 2013


Totally up my alley this one:
Ten by Caroline B.

She'd had an inclination that this was going to happen from the moment she'd read the schedule for the day. It would have been too much of a coincidence otherwise. Three of his colleagues pitching to a hundred and thirty of hers. She'd had a smaller inclination that it might happen when they'd talked earlier in the week. When he'd explained that he was giving part of a presentation on a bit of work he wanted to pick up. A pretty big bit of work.
And that even the professional him got nervous sometimes. With a group like that. He had no inclination at all. He knew she was in town. That they were planning to meet. But that she was busy Thursday and couldn't see him then.
And anyway, he had the pitch to think of and didn't need her kind of distraction. She watches him walk into the room. She's made sure he wouldn't see her until a little later. But sure that he'd know her when he did. It's strange to see him in work mode. Looking after the two girls he'd talked about a couple of days ago.
They'd talked enough about reality for her to know their names as soon as she saw them. And the other guy. The guy who did the numbers. Looking just as grey as he'd described him. She chats to a couple of the men at her table. A bit of catching up time before the meat of the afternoon. Pouring water for each other, making sure they have the best sweets on their bit of the table.
Ribbing each other in the way that old friends do.

And out of the corner of her eye, she watches him swaying out of his comfort zone. Different to the him she usually saw. The puppy. The submissive. The one who liked to play online. The one she was meeting for coffee tomorrow afternoon. But still the him he was for work and not the him he was for her. The room looks vast when he glances across it. Having people at tables rather than in rows always made these things appear bigger.

There seems more of them than he'd expected. He takes his jacket off, then puts it on again. The heat's stifling, but he couldn't stand in shirt sleeves and deliver this stuff. She watches his indecision. Adores his hesitations. Smiles when she sees him clicking a pen he holds down at his side. Putting his nervousness just out of sight of the room. She likes noticing the parts of him that no-one's ever meant to see.
He notices her first when the host steps up to open the afternoon. Making apologies for a dismal lunch and promises for a perfect dinner later. A couple of little in jokes that go right over his head but catch the attention of the room. And when she catches his attention and locks his eyes for a second, he realises straight away. That although she was laughing at the in jokes, she was there in her other mode too.
Three things run through his head; why she hadn't come over to say hello, why she'd not told him where she'd actually be on Thursday afternoon. And how the hell he was going to get through the next hour with her there. Watching him. She winks at him. Straight at him. Gives him a rush that isn't about fear or nerves or wanting anything other than for him to get it right.

That he has a friend in the room. They're not the easiest of audiences. Tigers, some of them. Some of them like to wrestle. Some of them are arrogant. Some generally disinterested in most things apart from themselves. He speaks last. Brightens things up right after the grey numbers guy has dulled them a little. He gets a couple of laughs, and he looks pretty at ease once he's in flow. Then questions. She's tempted to ask something. Something thinly veiled about erections or submitting something. Something that no-one else would have noticed because no-one else would have expected. In much the same way that no-one would have expected this of him. But she doesn't. She let the others wrestle and preen and show their arrogance. She loves them sometimes, like naughty brothers. And sometimes, they irritate her.

 He fields them well. And then, as he looks over for her affirmation and sees her mouthing "Good Boy", she watches him blush a little and then melt a little. And then take his jacket off. They stay to chat. Mostly he stays to chat while the girls take the display down and the grey numbers guy carries stuff out to his car. He makes smalltalk with people who seem supportive of the idea, and he gives his contact details to those who ask for them. She scribbles a note on the back of her business card and passes it to him as they're shaking hands. "4.30. On the terrace. Alone."

She planned to skip the last session. To feign exhaustion and the need to snooze before changing for dinner. He'd have enough time to say goodbye to his colleagues. She'd have enough time to freshen up. And it would be another hour before anyone else would be around. So they'd be alone.
The waitress is bringing coffee over as she walks outside. They both thank her, and they both try to make her hurry so they could catch as much time together as possible. How hard can it be, really, to bring over two coffees and put them on a table?

 She stays standing until the waitress is back inside and then tells him "Come here." She holds him for a moment too long. Tells him she was proud of him. That she'd wanted to tell someone but there was no-one to tell. But that she was, and that he was great. And that she'd enjoyed seeing the other him. He laughs a little. Tells her he'd never expected that she'd be there.
That he hadn't realised that was what she was in town for. That it had felt like some kind of mind fuck at first.
She curls her fingers round the back of his hair. Tells him she couldn't have set the afternoon up as well as that just to tease him. But that she was glad it had. And glad they had this secret. That it had made her want to fuck him. And to fuck with him more. She curls her foot around his leg and asks him to light a cigarette for her. Takes it from him and lightly blows smoke in his direction. So he can almost taste what he'd been missing. And then she asks him about the other thing he'd been missing too.

 "So. Ten days?"
He doesn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. Just nods and squirms.
"Are you saying yes?" "Yes." "Miss."
She hadn't been sure that it was real. That he'd really kept up with the denial. She'd known that she'd be able to tell as soon as they spoke about it. And she could. And it was. And he had. The squirming was unmistakable.
"Do you want me to take you to my room and make you cum right now. Here. This afternoon?"
He did. He hadn't wanted to until right at that moment. He'd wanted to prove something to himself and to go for much longer. But now he wanted to. He needed to, actually. He'd taken to doubting every night that he'd make it through another day. And now it was more difficult than ever.
"Yes. Miss. Please."
She points to her ear. Tells him to beg. He gives her some garbled nonsense about needing to cum and it being needing not wanting and not being able to wait now and wanting her to see him and wanting to feel slutty and dirty and totally in her hands. And she isn't really listening because she'd already decided two hours ago.

"Ten minutes. Room 43."
She throws the cigarette on the floor and crushes it too heavily. She kisses him on the forehead and brushes his cheek with the back of her hand. "Ten minutes."
He'd seen the dress, and the shoes, on a photograph. But whenever they'd talked online, she'd always looked pretty ordinary really. Just t-shirts and jumpers thrown on after work for hanging around in at home.
So when she opens the door and he sees it for real, and sees her differently, he's blown away for a second. So much so that he wants to kneel for her right in that moment. In the doorway. Before she even has him inside. She gets him inside.
And then she looks him and she looks at the floor as she watches him just sort of collapse in front of her. In his suit and his tie with his pile of papers still in his hands.

She watches the everyday him becoming the submissive him in the slightest of moments.
She watches him becoming hers.

She takes the papers from him. Puts them on the desk. Puts his jacket over the chair. She stands behind him to unfasten his tie as he watches himself in the mirror by the door. She unbuttons his shirt. Sees his heart pounding through his chest, but pretends not to notice.

"Give me your belt." He's shaking as he removes it and passes it to her. "Take everything else off now." He almost falls over himself standing up, which makes her laugh at him. But not the lovely laughter that they've had before when they've been sharing secrets. Not laughing with him, but laughing at him. And he wants that. A part of him wants to be laughed at and shamed for this ridiculous game he'd stumbled into with her. He watches her playing with his belt. Flexing it in half and cracking the two halves together. He kind of knows what's coming. He's still folding his trousers when she stops laughing and sits down on the edge of the bed.

 "When I asked you, downstairs, whether you wanted to cum, what do you think a decent submissive would have said?" He reddens as he looks around at her. He knows there's an answer she's expecting, but he isn't quite sure what it is. "I'm not sure, Miss."
"Do you think he might have remembered that pleasing me was far more important?" She stops him short.
There. In that moment.
Folding his clothes didn't matter any more. Not fucking this up did matter. It mattered more than he really thought it ought to. When he gave himself a moment to think about it.
"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please can I help you to cum instead?" She looks at him with disgust.
 "Don't dare to talk about my orgasms when you're standing there above me. Don't dare. Get on your knees, get here and get here quickly."
It's all fumbly and untidy at first, the crawling. She tells him that as she's laughing again. Laughing at him attempting the game. And then as he reaches her, she hits him across the face. Hard enough for it to sting.
"I've put so much time into re-focussing you. Into teaching you that your pleasure doesn't matter. And when it comes to it you're just as slutty as you were 10 days ago. You've learned nothing, have you?" "No. Miss. I'm useless at this. I'm so sorry."
"And now I'm going to have to punish you, aren't I? With this lovely belt that the man you were an hour ago wears to hold his trousers up? I'm going to have to do this because you need to start learning a bit faster."
"Over the bed." "And stick your arse in the air so I know you're not fucking the mattress." The awkwardness of it amuses her a little. That this was so unexpected for him, so quickly arranged.
No time for the nervousness of a little meeting in a coffee shop the following day. No real preparation. He isn't prepared for the sting either. As she hits him with the belt the first time, he almost collapses sideways. He rights himself and locks his position better. Holds himself still. Wants to get this bit right at least.

He loses count of the strokes, but he feels each one getting harder. Grinds his mouth onto the bed to muffle his noise. As she strikes him, she reminds him why she's doing it. That he's supposed to be learning. That submission isn't about playing silly games with his cock. That this was supposed to be about re-focussing things.

She tells him she's at eight strokes. That there are two more. On the ninth, she asks him why she's going to ten. He hasn't got a clue. Not a clue, because he doesn't see the significance of numbers, and because he's pretty lost in just submitting to whatever she needs to give him.
"Have you realised yet?"
Right before the tenth.
She pulls his hair to get his head out from the bedclothes. Asks him to tell her why there are ten.
He still doesn't know. She gives him the last one anyway.

She wants to hold him. To comfort him. To thank him, almost, for taking it for her. But she knows that isn't what he needs.
 "You still don't know, do you? Why there were ten?"
He shakes his head. She moves him around so he's sitting. So he can feel the first little sting of not being able to sit properly for days.
He looks a little vulnerable. A little huggable. A little boyish and a little scared.
She looks at his cock. Still twitching for her. Still almost hard. She touches it, very lightly.
"Do you think this might be why there were ten?" He looks puzzled.
 "That I've wasted ten days trying to focus you?" "That you've not learned a thing?"
It dawns on him. It makes sense now.
"Oh Miss. I'm sorry. I am sorry."
She smiles. As kindly as she can smile when she's delivering something like this. "And you know that means I have to start all over again with you, don't you? A new Day One tomorrow."

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When I was a 12 year old I started writing erotic stories, I shared them with my classmates and soon I was writing them daily, even getting payed for them. And I am back...
English is not my native, so forgive my poor vocabulary, I want to share my stories with you, they are based on part truth, part virtual adventures and my fantasies, hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them...
Often someone emails me a story, I will share them too and mention the writer on top of the story.