You were shaking, not even sure you could go through with it. First meetings are always hard, but th
You were shaking, not even sure you could go through with it. First meetings are always hard, but this… this was different. We both knew, and had truly known from that first day we spoke, what you were. Though this was only a casual lunch in a safe, public place, we also both knew that I could do anything, anything at all to you, and you had spent a lot of time thinking about that. So much sat perched on the chasm between “want” and “don’t want.” You already were an owned little girl, and you were trembling to meet the Man who has already taken your heart and mind… You had prepared yourself exactly according to my instructions, which were specific. Everything from the shoes, to the sundress, to your hair and makeup was just a little “much” for a summer lunch… and you hoped that “just a little much” would be perfect in my eyes… that I would be pleased with what I saw… pleased with what was Mine. And the way I looked at you when I first saw you… appraising, appreciative, but assessing what I owned.. no man had ever seen you with those eyes. You knew My first words, “very good”, were not a comment on your appearance, but a reward for a task well done, for preparing yourself for Me. I saw your uncertainty mount toward a crest, a little more than I wanted to see in your eyes, your breath quickening… I knew how to take care of my girl, and so I had done something simple–I smiled. And you let go… you melted and all your uncertainty became simple joy. Your smile held all the promise of that first flower in the spring, and I could not help myself; I told you you were beautiful, took your hand, and led you inside. Standing for the table, you felt me close behind you, my hand tracing the side of your body, the sway of your hip into the long, lean line of your thigh. Gentle touches, certainly too familiar for a man you just met, but it felt right. I was not simply a man to you… Then my right hand lower…. lower… to the edge of your dress, and a light touch on bare skin. Now, back up with a little pressure, lifting the dress but an inch… you felt your heart pounding in your chest… hammering… your breathing shallow gasps. I paused, stroking your skin on the outside of your leg… right there… and waited. If anyone was watching (they were), they would not have thought this too familiar, too forward except for your reaction… it is always your reaction that is interesting to me, girl… it is always you that is most interesting to me. I stepped closer to you and you felt my body behind you… comforting. After a moment, my right hand moved… moved around to the back of your thigh.. right where the dress ended… halfway to your knee… Now my finger, maybe two fingers…the back middle of your right thigh…. and up… up… lifting the dress… now between your legs, my touch on your inner left thigh… and higher… up… you knew the exact moment I found your wetness… still a hand’s breadth from your little cunt… you had dripped down your leg already… you felt your skin slick as I continued to move higher… to what was Mine. And then, I felt you–I felt you instinctively pull away–Only the slightest start, but I knew my girl, and you immediately found my left hand on your shoulder. Not holding, not controlling, but comforting… the same touch you would use to reassure a skittish horse about to bolt, for, in that moment, that is what you were… a scared animal. You felt that hand… that weight on your shoulder… and you remembered. You remembered what you were and Who you belonged to, and, without you willing it, the most amazing thing happened–your legs parted. Only a fraction of an inch, but they spread… for Me… your body knew… and I continued higher… closer… then I was there… a single stroke starting at your clit… firm pressure parting your lips (how you wished in that moment I had pressed deeper)… back to your ass, and that little tilt of your hips, begging for more pressure, spoke volumes… It said everything. Only that one touch, but it was all you could do to stand still, not collapse, to not hold me for support, but you were a good girl. All that was left was for me to gently slide my middle finger, dripping with your wetness, between your lips for just an instant… We were in public, after all… my hand still on your shoulder, my body pressing into yours from behind… you sucked so gently, your tongue stroking my finger inside your mouth as you tasted yourself on my skin… You don’t remember the maitre d’ coming for us, taking us to the table. In fact, you remember so little from that afternoon… only that it was a very long lunch, and, when we left, the wet spot on your dress said all that was left to be said. It was a very long lunch, and it was the beginning of everything… -- source link
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