Part One: The Meeting with the Master
There were seven of us seated around the table in the private dining room of a swanky New York restaurant. I couldn't believe my good fortune; I had been invited to dinner with a bevy of celebrities. One was a writer and editor for a posh fashion magazine, along with his lovely, but simple blonde buxom wife. There was the rock star, brilliantly handsome even in his older age with his graying hair dyed a light blonde and the crinkles of his eyes giving his face a soft sympathetic look- he was joined by his very young brunette fashion model girlfriend. To cap it off, there was the photographer for the same posh fashion magazine, his two toned spiky hair contrasting with a brilliant purple suit; he was joined by his "friend", a quiet male whose pale face was obscured by heavy dark framed glasses. And then there was me, a struggling freelance writer.
We had already placed our orders for dinner and were enjoying an extremely expensive bottle of merlot when the waiter came over bearing a large arrangement of sunflowers.
"This is for the lady," said the waiter crisply, his foreign accent a harsh staccato. He pointed to me and set the flowers down on a serving table behind my chair. "There is a note," he said, pulling off the card and sliding it on the table in front of me.
I was instantly suspicious. Sunflowers are my favorite flower, but a whole bouquet would not be so easy to come by in the winter months, even in metropolitan New York. I fingered the note as I read it, clean black ink in a precise handwriting on stiff ecru parchment. "Come to the ladies room right away," it read.
"Excuse me," I said, nodding to my dinner companions. I didn't say anything about the message and I knew they were wondering what was going on.
The ladies room was extremely chic with an antechamber lined with plush floral couches. It should have surprised me that there was a man standing in the ladies room, but it was what he did and the suddenness of it all that made me stand there dumbfounded. He quickly came up to me as I pushed open the door, grabbed my hands together in one strong grip, and with his other hand, slipped a pair of handcuffs over my wrists, securing my hands together in front of me. I should have screamed, but I stood looking stupidly into his handsome face. I staggered backwards, my eyes never leaving his hard gaze, as I waited for him to grab me. He didn't.
"Now you may go back to your table, my lady," he said softly. He held the swinging door open for me. I didn't look back, but scurried back quickly to my table, my hands still bound awkwardly in front of me.
"You are not going to believe the 'freak-a-zoid' who attacked me in the bathroom," I exclaimed a little too loudly, holding my hands out like a trophy. It was deadly quiet I realized. My six dinner guests looked at me and then back at the chair that I had left. There was a man sitting in my chair. He sat back, languidly, looking at me expectantly, his fingertips touched together in an arc as if he were meditating. I could instantly see that he was very tall, his long legs stretched out in front of him as if he had been waiting hours for me. He was deadly beautiful for a man -- dark hair that curled a little at the nape of his neck; pale, almost translucent skin; dark eyes that blended in seamlessly with his wide pupils.
"Hello, Elizabeth," he said in a deep, unwavering voice.
Two words that sent chills down my arms. Who was this man?
He sat patiently, staring at me, either unaware or uncaring of the other eyes that flitted between him and me trying to understand the interchange. "I am your master, Elizabeth," he said simply, as if that was enough.
My mind raced. I now realized who he was - "Beau", or at least that's how I knew him as. I had met Beau on-line about a year ago in an animation/simulation program. The only Beau who I knew up until that day was a computer animated avatar and we had forged a very intense sadistic relationship based on sex and S&M ritual. I knew that there was a real person behind Beau, but now here he was, flesh and blood, sitting in front of me. He represented a year's worth of fantasies -- a make-believe world that I felt I controlled with a click of a button. I had no button to push now to make him go away.
He stood up abruptly, his eyes never leaving me, a look of intensity framing his serious face. He was dressed immaculately in a very stylish tailored black suit with a black silk shirt which left only a trace of his hairless chest exposed. He pulled the chair back from the table, and grasping my shoulder, maneuvered me into the chair.
"Please, sit down, my dear," he said so normally. I almost started to laugh hysterically from the absurdity of the whole situation.
He pushed the chair under the table for me, as if he were just a gentleman seating his dinner date. He stood behind my chair, which unnerved me; I couldn't look up to see him without twisting all the way around and I couldn't look at anyone else at the table, for fear that I would start crying or laughing like a crazy person. So I stared at a spot on the table cloth.
Beau leaned over the right side of my chair. I could barely see his face at my side. His finger, long, thin, and hairless, reached out to stroke my cheek, stopping under my chin to grasp it in a vise between his finger and thumb. He was not hurting me, but I could feel the strength in his grip, the reminder of power beneath his gentleness.
"I am your master, Elizabeth and you will obey me. Will you submit to me?" He stopped waiting for me. I nodded, my brain whirling. He stood for a moment. "Answer me," he said, the calmness in his deep voice similar to the power beneath his fingers.
"Yes, my lord," I said quietly. It was what he wanted to hear. It was the game, I thought. We are playing the game. However, instead of our game being played out in a computer simulation in the privacy of my office, it was now being enacted for the world to see -- or if not the world, then a group of six strangers who might have represented the entire world to me at that moment. My face flushed with the shame of thinking what these people must be thinking. The quietness at the table was unnerving. I could feel the heat of their stares on me.
"Your hands are bound with these handcuffs," he said. "You will wear them for me. You will keep them on as you eat your dinner. You will keep them on until I say that you may take them off."
"And if I refuse?" I snapped. I was getting over my initial surprise and fear; defiance was starting to creep into my soul. I forced my eyes sideways to stare at him.
"Then I will punish you," he said simply, his face or voice showing no emotion.
I knew what that punishment would be. He had his favorites -- turning me over his knee and spanking me; tying me to hooks and flaying my backside with leather straps; other punishments, all designed to hurt. But that was cyber sex, I thought. This was reality. Would he really do those things to me? Could he really hurt me? I thought so, and the reality of it all made me shudder so hard that I shook visibly under his grip.
"You will be rewarded if you obey me, my dear." His fingers left my face and he reached around and pulled out a lovely grey silk lined necklace case. He snapped the case open to reveal luminous white pearls. "Mikimoto pearls, my dear," he said, pulling the strand out in front of my eyes. "Only the best." He laid the pearls against my face and I could feel the coolness of the pearls contrasting with the heat of his skin.
He set down the pearls in the case, closing them, and laid the case next to my fork. On the other side, he laid a red silk ribbon with a small key attached. "You have free will, my dear. You will choose."
He stepped back from the chair as I stared at the two. I looked over my shoulder and he was gone. Poof. The door to the private dining room was open and now, waiters were starting to come in, their arms laden with trays of steaming dinners.
I watched absently as my dinner was placed in front of me, the waiters artfully lining the backs of the chairs to pull off the metal warmers all at one time. The moment should have been met with polite oohs and ahhs over the gastronomic delight in front of us, but the table was remarkable silent, all trying to digest the full meal of drama which had erupted before them.
I sat miserably staring at my steaming potatoes and glazed filet. I tried to raise my hand to grasp my napkin to cover my lap, but it was choreography of cacophony in artfully trying to maneuver my two hands together without knocking something over. With a loud sigh, I grabbed the ribbon in my left hand, trying to slide the key into the tiny keyhole with my right.
"What are you doing?" said the rock star in a tight whisper; he was sitting across the table from me. It was the first thing that the others had said the entire time. All six eyes watched me in my struggles.
"I am going to eat my dinner," I said very loudly, in what I hoped was a light-hearted, joking tone. I squeezed out a fake smile that invited everyone to continue, and they did. The table erupted with conversation like a dam had been cut loose. No one said anything about what had just happened.
I saw the man from the bathroom standing at the doorway, his handsome face plainly pained at my actions.
"Hey, 'freak-a-zoid," I yelled, holding up the handcuffs. "Why don't you take these back to your boss for me."
He came around the table, his eyes downcast, taking the handcuffs slowly. "Are you sure that you do not want to reconsider?" he said gently. "He is in love with you. Do you know this?" he asked this, as if he did not expect an answer. "I have never seen him before like this."
There was something about what he said. Maybe it was the embarrassment of having my lover show up, like a hidden dirty magazine suddenly revealed. Maybe it was the shame of having even been involved in a cyber relationship of that kind. Whatever it was, my defiance flared like a match igniting dry kindling. Who was he to just come here? How dare he order me to submit to him? I may have played the game more than willingly on-line, but this was my life, I thought.
I grabbed the grey case and pulled the strand of pearls out. "How much do you think these things are worth?" I asked loudly to the table. The buxom blond on my left fingered them as if she could divine their worth from her fingertips.
"Well, they're real, I think" she said authoritatively.
"I'd guess about five grand," said the rock star. "I bought my ex a strand about five years ago. I'm sure they're gone up since then."
They were beautiful in the light. I could see each round bud shimmer in the crystal light of the chandelier. "I bet they're worth at least ten grand," I said expansively, swinging the pearls around so that everyone could see them hanging. I pulled over my full glass of merlot and plunked the pearls into the wine. Everyone gasped.
"Take this back to your boss with the handcuffs," I said haughtily, holding the full glass out to him. He took the glass quickly and scurried out the door.
I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach. Pearls are porous. I knew the dark red wine would stain those pearls, probably beyond repair. And they were real -- that I knew. He would be mad, not just mad but furious. I had ruined his gift, a really expensive gift. I felt supremely sad that I had done this -- sad and afraid. My stomach churned with fear as I pulled a forkful of potatoes into my mouth, as if my brazen act did not concern me.
I looked up to see him staring darkly at me from the doorway, I set my trembling fork down and held my hands tightly in my lap to stay myself from fleeing out into the street to my freedom.
He crossed over to my side. He had the glass of merlot in his hand. Everyone was quiet again. He took the pearls out of the glass and dashed them against the tablecloth, the vivid red spattering the white tablecloth like blood.
"Those were real, you know," he said, his quiet voice belying the rage that I knew was boiling over inside of him. "They were worth about $8,000."
"I guessed about $10,000," I said with a nonchalance that surprised even myself.
"Your dinner is over, Elizabeth. You will come with me," he said. His voice was tight with his anger, his lips pressed together as if something might erupt.
"I don't think so. I'd like to finish my dinner." I grabbed my fork in a grip as if maybe I could protect myself with it. I looked up at him with as much sass as I could muster and speared a piece of tenderloin, shoving it into my mouth. I also realized that I would have to chew and swallow the meat, a move which almost made me gag as my throat tightened with the stress of my predicament.
"You will come right now, unless you would like to make a spectacle of yourself," he said in a warning tone. "I will not hesitate to lift your skirts right here at this table and paddle your spoiled behind."
I don't know what possessed me to do it. I had felt supremely remorseful for the pearls, although I was almost sure that an apology would not diffuse the situation. It was the redhead in me.
"I am not so submissive in real life," I said haughtily and swirled my finger around the glaze lining my plate, my eyes glaring at him in defiance, as I slowly sucked the sweetness off the tip. It was a move that would have made any man hot. It succeeded with him, although not the right heat.
In a swift move, he had unhooked his belt buckle and had pulled the belt through the loops. It was slow motion; I couldn't move. I couldn't stand up because he was right beside me. I stared in horror as he coiled the leather around his right hand, using his left hand to grab my arm and pull me from my chair. I looked quickly around for help. Surely these people would not allow this. Surely one of them would stand up and say "no." But I couldn't meet eyes with any of them, save for the rock star who narrowed his eyes with a sympathetic glimmer, his glance darting between me and Beau.
My "master" was stronger than he looked and I could not break out of his firm grasp. I dug my heels in trying to find leverage to resist, but my high heels were not the best defense and I actually fell forward into his chest. He held me there a moment as we traveled a few more feet to an empty table where he slammed me facedown onto the surface. He held my hands tightly in the small of my back and almost effortlessly, he had pulled up my long black skirt tucking it under my hands and pulling my panty hose and panties down to my knees. I could feel the cool air on my backside and realized with much shame that the entire party at the table was now viewing my naked bottom and would witness the entire whipping that I would be getting. I was now screaming, partly from rage, partly from fear, trying to twist out of the grip that he had on me. I screamed through the first few blows; Beau was remarkable quiet, but I could feel his rage pouring out with each lash. I stopped completely still, hoping my quietness would stop him. He didn't, however. He was methodically spanking me with the belt, not as hard as the first blows, but with a precision that guaranteed that it would not be over quickly. The white tablecloth bunched up under my face, tears sliding down my cheek creating a dark spot on the white. I tried to stare at something, anything that would take my mind off the hopeless pain that was spreading all along my backside. I was now sobbing and any shreds I had of foolish pride were now gone. "Please, please," I whimpered pathetically. "Please stop."
He continued, as if to punish me further by making me beg. "I'm sorry," I heaved out, snot running down my nose in a very unladylike fashion. "Please, Beau, I am sorry that I ruined your pearls."
Suddenly he stopped, releasing my arms, turning me around and pulling me up into a tight embrace against his chest. I rebelled. "No," I screamed, trying to twist away. I was angry at him, humiliated and I felt confused by his comforting. I would have rather that he had left me a miserable heap on the table than to hold me. He was stroking my head, smoothing my hair, and making soft, shushing sounds. My skirt was still bunched awkwardly around my waist and my panties and panty hose dropped down to my ankles when I stood up, but I laid against his chest as my chirping, hiccupping cries diminished until I could hear the soft thumping of his heart.
"You will obey me, my dear," he said, his deep resonant voice echoing through his chest walls. I nodded, unspent sobs racking my body, but he seemed unsatisfied with that. "Answer me," he said firmly.
"Yes, I will," I said breaking into a fresh torrent of tears.
He left me for a moment, walking back to my chair to grab my pocketbook and the string of pearls. I quickly tried to pull my panties and hose up under my skirt without exposing myself. I covered my face in my hands, unable to look at anyone, as if I could disappear on the spot. He tucked me up under his arm and propelled me forward, out of the restaurant, away from the hundreds of staring eyes. The man from the bathroom held the door open to a limousine and I slid into a seat next to Beau, once again burying my head into the soft silk of his shirt which was now freshly wet with my tears.
Part Two: The Limo Ride
I had composed myself since that horrible whipping and had pulled myself away from my master's chest. I looked out of the limousine window as lights rushed by. I could tell that we were leaving the city.
"Where are we going?" I asked, instantly alarmed. I didn't know if Beau was still angry about my ruining his $8,000 strand of pearls. I had a nightmare of him strangling me, the pink pearls wrapped tightly around my neck.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "I am not going to hurt you. I will take you back to your hotel room."
This did little to encourage me as I knew that my hotel room was one of the lights off in the distance.
Beau hit a button next to a square speaker on the side of the window. A man's voice answered. I thought it was the same man who was in the ladies room earlier. "Roberto, hand me the warmer, please."
There was a solid panel in front of us that compartmentalized the back of the limo cutting it off from the driver. The panel electronically moved down and a glass window appeared. Roberto, the man I recognized from the restaurant, slid the window to the side and handed through an aluminum looking small soft cooler. Beau slid forward taking it and without a word, the window was closed and the panel slid back up into place.
We were now alone again. The back of the limo was like a compartment with two long plush beige leather bench seats facing each other. There was a panel that looked to be a television screen that could be flipped down off the ceiling and two compartments on either side of the seats. Beau reached into one of these pulling out two wine glasses.
"Would you care for some wine, my dear?" He pulled out a bottle of red wine which had already been uncorked and poured a glass, which he nudged in my direction. I felt my stomach cramp, the sloshing red wine a reminder of my mistake with the pearls. I shook my head numbly. "Water, then?" he asked gently. I nodded.
He replaced the second wine glass back into the cabinet and pulled out a heavy large tumbler. He opened another compartment and scooped out a few ice cubes and a bottle of water which he poured carefully into the glass. Instead of handing the glass directly to me, he patted the seat facing us in front of him. "Please sit here, my dear." It was a command, not a request. My bottom was still burning from my punishment and I was quick to comply to avoid angering him further. I sat back nervously as he handed me the cold glass, watching me intently as I sipped the ice water.
"Thank you," I said meekly.
When I had finished, he took the glass from my hand, resting it in a cup holder, and then unzipped the cooler, pulling something into his hand. In a quick move, he knelt over me, his knees resting on either side of me. I instantly cringed, turning my face away from him. I could feel his fingers under my chin and then a warm softness caressing my cheek. It was a warm, wet soft towel; that what was in the warming bag, I thought. What a strange luxury. My master patiently wiped my face gently. I opened my eyes and could see the black on the cloth -- my mascara which was probably all over my face. What I mess I must look like! My face felt puffy and bloated and I could only imagine what I must look like to him.
I opened my eyes and regarded him as he patiently wiped my face. His eyes were luminous and wet, large pools of deep brown, almost black and I could see my reflection in his pupils. His skin was fair, but up close I could see a few brown freckles that graced his face, a shadow of black emerging from his jaw line. My hands rested awkwardly in my lap, my fingers clasping my legs, my arms pinned by his arms on either side of me. His hair was soft and wavy and I had to fight an urge to smooth back a stray curl that hung down his forehead. It was a strangely intimate situation and as I stared into his eyes, I felt a strange burning sensation coursing through my body. I wanted to hate this man. Anger, shame, pain all twisted in my stomach, but as I gazed into his eyes, I felt a peace settle into me. I sat back and tried to relax my body under his ministrations.
He sat back, apparently satisfied with his progress and folded up the dirty cloth, setting it to the side.
"Take off your panties and panty hose, Elizabeth," he said, looking hard at me.
So, here it comes, I thought. I knew that he would force me to have sex with him. Keeping my skirt down, I slid off my heels and gingerly pulled down my hose and panties, crumpling them into a ball on the floor. I could not look at him.
"Take off your blouse and your bra, Elizabeth." He might have been giving me directions for making a casserole, he was so emotionless. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned the blouse, taking my time with each button. He did not seem to care. I wished that he would have torn the blouse off of me. I wanted him to be angry. It would have been easier for him to rape me forcefully. But this was his control. He was forcing me to submit to him, punishing me beyond any physical punishment that he could have thought of. My bra was plain and I had a moment of regret as I unhooked it, that maybe he thought me plain as well. I wanted to cover my naked breasts with my hands, but my last vestiges of pride and defiance allowed me the courage to keep my trembling hands by my side.
"Look at me," he ordered.
This was the hardest. I could not meet his steely stare, trying instead to focus on anything else -- his dark, furry eyebrows, a rise above his hard cheekbones- anything but those cold eyes. His eyes finally locked with mine and I could see him peruse my body, his glare burning my skin, flicking over the pale pink nipples, causing them to harden as if he had touched them.
"Lift up your skirt and spread your legs for me," he said calmly.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to comply, lifting my skirt up and spreading my legs open a little, and then a little wider. He moved forward suddenly, grabbing under my legs and sliding me to the edge of the seat, forcing each of my legs over his knees, spreading me open. I tensed, waiting for him to invade me, but he stopped, making his visual inspection of me, raping me with his eyes. I fought hard against the emotions curling up inside me. Tears welled in my eyes and I squeezed them tight, determined to shut my eyes against the nightmare. I felt his hands move gently up my legs and I waited, quivering, for him to touch me there. But he stopped and even with my eyes shut tight, I could feel the heat of his stare, my pussy growing hot and wet with the anticipation, waiting for his hands to leave my legs. I was scared, but my body was rebelling, the submission of my body laid open to his will, pulling me into a state of longing. This was a man whom I had been intimate with for over a year, if only through words -- a distant voice on the other side of a computer screen. Yet, here he was tonight, a stranger to me. The conflicts of my feelings were overwhelming me. I had trusted this person, allowed his access to my most intimate thoughts and although we had both been playing a part, there had been a real part of me involved. Involuntarily, my hands reached up to grab his hands. He must have thought that I was trying to hold him back, to fight him off.
"I am not going to rape you, Elizabeth," he said softly in his defense. "You must want me."
I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face had softened and there was something vulnerable in his eyes as he sat there looking at me.
"Do you want me?" he said quietly. The firmness was gone from his voice and I sensed hesitation. His eyes flickered and I saw it in an instant. He was in love with me.
"Tell me that you want me to make love to you."
I knew that I could hurt him. I knew at that moment that I could have said "no," that I could have railed against him, cursed him, battered him with my anger and he would have let me go. I could have whipped him as he had punished me, flaying his soul with a word. My defiance boiled up inside me. Fight him, it said. Hurt him.
He sat patiently looking at me, the flicker of hesitation gone. His hands lay firmly on my legs. My mind screamed against him, but my body wanted his touch; just a fingertip would have sufficed my need.
"Yes," I said quietly.
'Yes, what my dear?" He was going to make me work for it. He was the master and I would submit to him, not the other way around.
"Yes, my lord. I want you to make love to me."
This was the contrition that he demanded. He moved his thumb up over my vagina, trailing the hot wetness over my clit, like a hot knife through warm butter. I gasped, my arms wrapped around his wrists as he fingered my pussy, sliding in with his forefinger, his thumb drawing slow circles over my clit, like a raw nerve exposed. I was so hot that I could have come instantly, and sensing my need, he would hold back, taking me to the edge and bringing me back until I was close to screaming.
He stopped, carefully sliding me sideways on the bench seat until I was lying flat. He sat back in his seat and took off his jacket, slowly unbuttoning his cufflinks and buttons, sliding out of his shirt. His chest was taunt, not overly muscular, his pale skin covered with a small amount of downy dark hair around his nipples, leading in a line down his stomach. His nipples were small, dark, and hard, like the color of a brown berry. He kicked off his shoes, undid his belt buckle, and slid his pants off slowly. He had on black underwear as well, a cotton bikini that did little to camouflage his desire. He slid those off as well; his body was as beautiful as his face, perfectly formed.
I still had my skirt bunched up around my waist, so I slid it off. Now we were both naked and I had a moment's hesitation as I remembered where I was -- in a car with at least two other people in the front, Roberto and the driver. And here we were both naked, but somehow that didn't bother me. I assumed that we would not be disturbed.
Beau knelt beside me on the floorboard, leaning over to playfully suck my nipples, first one, then the other, sending pulses of desire down my body. I ran my fingers through his hair, as if to give approval to his playfulness. He sucked at my nipples until they were hardened buds and then started kissing down my stomach. I knew where he was going and I felt a combination of tenseness and ecstasy. His hands spread my legs apart and he paused for a moment, looking at my pussy intently, his fingers rubbing casually over my clit, as if he were plotting strategy. Then he leaned in, his warm mouth covering me, his tongue licking, slow and hard at first, then rapidly flicking. I moaned, concentrating on the feeling of his warm, wet tongue on my secret place- like a bird rapidly beating its wings against a glass window. He continued, sucking hard and then flicking. His fingers fucked me, first one finger gingerly pushing and then two fingers, harder. It was when his thumb brushed over my asshole, the tip pushing gently inside me that, that I felt myself coming hard. I gasped, drawing my legs up, my hands grabbing his head as he continued to suck me beyond my limit, not stopping, sending spasms of intensity coursing through me.
"No, No," I moaned. "Stop. I can't take it."
He sat up grinning. He leaned up to kiss me and I could taste myself, heavy and thick on his tongue as it pushed into my mouth. My fingers wrapped fiercely around his cock, which was hard and pulsating. I ran my thumb over the tip which was already wet with desire, rubbing the pre-cum down the shaft. I thought that he would want me to return the favor, and I moved to lean over to take his cock in my mouth, but he pushed me back into the soft leather, mounting me with ferocity, sliding hard into my soaking wet pussy. He fucked me hard, arching his back so that he could look down on me as he fucked me. I grabbed his hard, tight ass, pulling him forcefully into me. He pushed my left leg up, angling it against the seat, so that I was spread wide open.
"Do you like this?" he said through clinched teeth. "Tell me that you want me to fuck you hard."
"Oh yes," I said breathlessly, running my hands from his ass, up his back, raking my fingernails lightly over his shoulders. "Oh God, yes. Fuck me hard. Do it."
He continued, sweat breaking out on his face, tiny trickles dampening his thick black locks. His eyes were hard, intense, glazed with passion. He moved inside me, grinding against my pelvis, the dark curls that surrounded the base of his cock tickling my clit. Suddenly he pulled out and knelt on the floorboard, his cock glistening, standing up angrily against his pale stomach.
"Turn over, my dear." he said gently.
I set my shaking leg down gently and turned over quickly onto my stomach, watching him carefully as I laid my cheek against the warm leather seat, unsure of what he wanted. He sat back on the opposite seat and pulled my body in an angle, my waist bending over the edge of the seat until I was kneeling on the floorboard. He ran his hand up over my back and then down over my buttocks, his fingers moving up between my legs to rub the wetness there, making sure that I was ready for him.
He moved gently up against me, grabbing my shoulder with his left hand, his right hand guiding his hard cock inside me, slowly penetrating me. He moved gently into me and I could feel the full length of his cock filling me. He pushed slowly, in and out, and I tried to reach behind to touch him, but I could only grace his hip. He began moving more quickly, his hands firmly grasping my hips, pulling me towards him.
"Oooh," I moaned. He was thrusting hard now, ramming me with his hips. His cock felt larger somehow, harder, the tip jutting fiercely into the back of my vagina. It hurt, but with a pain that was not necessarily unbearable, but dominating, creating a sense of pleasure that enveloped me in the pain. His hand grasped at my neck, his thumb hard against my head as if all his energy were contained there. I bit my lip, my teeth hard and fast against my skin, holding back a cry. I squeezed my eyes tight, concentrating on the force of him moving against me. With every thrust, it was as if he were punishing me like the whipping, conquering me. I could feel the intensity building, his body tensing, his passion moving down through him. He groaned and I could feel him come deep inside me, his body trembling, his shaking hands grasping my hips as he continued to push, then stopping still.
He leaned over my back, one elbow on the seat, careful not to put his full weight on me. His now limp penis slipped gently out, leaving a hollow feeling inside me. His right hand stroked up my back, smoothing back my hair which was plastered against my wet temple. His fingers caressed my forehead, circling, and then he leaned over, and planted a firm kiss on the area that he had rubbed. He rose stiffly and sat back on the opposite seat, watching me intently.
"Come here, my dear," he said, gesturing with his hand.
I turned on my knees and crawled into his lap, his arms enveloping me, pulling me up onto his legs. I curled up there, my head resting against his sweat drenched chest, my head tucked down below his chin, so that I could not see his face but could breathe in the smell of his musky cologne mixed with his own smell. I wondered about the man that I held onto. I felt strange, as I now knew him intimately, yet didn't know him at all. I had experienced his anger, his coldness, his passion, and now his love. All of these emotions melded together in a murky soup that was drowning my heart. I desperately wanted to trust this man, and now my mind reeled with thoughts of what the next days would bring. We had enacted our fantasy, once a dispassionate charade on a computer screen, now brought to life. But there was never an "ever after" with our fantasy. Time and time again, it was the same role-play. There was never a place in that fantasy computer world for work, mundane chores, the drudgeries of real life. When it was time, we said our goodbyes and returned back to our reality, exiting out of the game, shutting down our computer screen. Maybe it would be that way tonight.
Beau sat quietly holding me for minutes. I could see a glare out of the limo window- lights from the city. We were returning back.
"We should get dressed," he said quietly.
We slipped our clothes on silently and when we were finished, he pulled me back into his arms. We were entering the city; the streets were now mostly deserted, blackness punctuated by the shiny overhang of the streetlights. There was a quiet peace between us, an unspoken promise. Maybe there is hope in a fantasy coming true.
