In
my post two weeks ago, I talked about the difficulty I sometimes have
distinguishing between actual experiences and the stories they have
inspired. Here’s a bit from the story Reunion that I mentioned in
that post. It’s based quite closely on real events. I could swear
my Master has actually seen me in my corset, but he claims that I’m
mistaken.
In
any case, re-reading this never fails to get me wet ... a full twenty
years after that rendezvous.
The
tale was originally published in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s anthology
Do
Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories.
You can read the entire story for free on
my website. In case you’ve never visited, I have dozens
of free stories available, all neatly classified.
This
hotel is more than a hundred years old. I selected it deliberately,
hoping that it might offer some Victorian style, but the room is
fairly ordinary –
no four-poster bed, no fireplace, no curtain fastenings that might
serve double duty as attachment points for bonds.
There
is, however, a fine wing-back chair next to the window, with a
footstool. My master tosses his backpack in the corner and settles
himself into the chair. He grins at me, and butterflies swoop through
my stomach. “Well, Sarah. Alone at last.”
I
stand on the other side of the room, the bed between us, clutching my
bag. What I really want to do is to rush over and kneel at his feet.
I can’t move, though. It seems as though I’m in a dream, rooted
to the spot. Hardly surprising. I’ve dreamed about this meeting for
months.
How
shall we start, then? Should I strip? The last time we were in a
hotel room together, years ago, he bound me to the desk chair with my
stockings. The time before, he unscrewed the post from the fake
colonial bed and fucked me with it until my screams brought the hotel
management knocking on the door. But that was in another life,
before I misread my master’s heart and chose a different partner.
“So,
what do you have in your bag?” he asks finally, after watching me
squirm for long moments.
“I
have the corset.” I’d purchased it for myself, thinking to please
him, knowing that there was no way he would ever buy me one.
“Good.
And the other things that I told you to bring?”
“I
have the ruler, the rope, the alligator clips, and the timer.” I
remove the items one by one, arraying them on the bed for his
inspection. Without announcing it, I take out a package of condoms
and place it on the bedside table. His eyebrows arch in a silent
question, but he just nods.
“I’m
sorry, but I couldn’t find a rug beater, or the switches. It’s
too late in the year; the trees are too brittle. Anyway, I wouldn’t
have been able to carry them...”
“No
excuses!” He sounds stern but I can see a smile twitching at the
corner of his full lips. “I’m sure that you know better than to
disobey me. We’ll see about your punishment later.”
He
settles back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Right
now, I want to see you in your corset.”
I
carefully extract the gorgeous black satin garment from its tissue
paper wrapping. My master looks relaxed, but I know he’s not
missing any detail as I pull my jersey over my head and attack the
buttons at my waist. Of course I’m not wearing a bra. My nipples
feel hot, as if illuminated by a spotlight. They seem to scream “look
at me, see how stiff I am”.
My
rayon skirt pools around my ankles and then I’m naked in front of
him for the first time in nearly two decades. His eyes widen but he
doesn’t say a word.
“Why
don’t you close your eyes while I put it on? It’s rather an
awkward process. And I want you to get the full effect.”
“You
can’t hide anything from me, Sarah,” he says, but still, he turns
to look out the window while I struggle with the clasps and laces.
My
fingers don’t work at all, I’m so nervous. I know he’s getting
impatient, yet I can’t seem to reach the last hooks. I suck in my
stomach, worried that I’ve gained weight and I won’t be able to
fasten the thing, but finally, I manage.
The
boned curves press into my flesh. I move a bit stiffly, my breathing
shallow so that I don’t burst open the hooks. The corset elevates
and separates my breasts; they spill lushly over the top of the
garment. Meanwhile, I can feel my bare buttocks bulbing out behind.
“Okay
–
I’m ready.”
My
master leans forward, eager, his smile baring sharp white teeth.
“Very nice. Come over here.”
Stumbling
a bit in my high heels, I circle the bed and stand in front of him.
“Very
nice indeed. Walk around for me, Sarah. Let’s see more of your tits
and your ass.”
His
mocking, lecherous tone thrills me. I’m terribly embarrassed, but I
love showing off for him, and he knows it. My pussy swells and
moistens. My nipples harden further, so painfully sensitive that one
touch might send me into orgasm. He doesn’t touch me, though. He
just watches, while I strut back and forth in front of him, swinging
my hips.
I
notice the seaweed scent, rising from between my dampened thighs. I’m
close enough to him. I know he can smell it to. I don’t dare to
look at his face. Instead I hold my head high as he taught me,
imagining that I’m wearing the collar he once promised me.
I
feel his hot eyes ranging over my body, and I rejoice, knowing that I
please him, that he’s as aroused as I am. And all at once I’m
awed by the power of our complementary fantasies. I want him to
watch me; he has flown three thousand miles to do just that. He
nourishes all my perverse notions, rewarding me for being the
outrageous slut that I secretly am, the submissive, devoted wanton
that he recognized in me, long years ago.
“Bend
over,” he says, his voice gruff with lust. I know exactly what he
wants. I stand with my back to him, between the chair and the
ottoman. I bend at the waist, presenting my ass to his gaze, holding
the stool for support. He leans closer, but for a long time he still
doesn’t touch me.
His
gaze traces paths across my bare skin. I swear I can tell when his
eyes linger on the pale globes, or probe more deeply into the shadows
between them. This inspection excites me beyond belief. I know that
he’ll touch me, sooner or later. I think that I’ll die if he
doesn’t do it soon.
****
