"You don't want to do that."
But I did. Thick sweat coated the clear, glass bottle. When I pressed the icy bottle of water against the side of Kristen's neck, moisture dribbled onto her skin, running a short distance down her back just under the collar. I turned the bottle and pressed again, this time staying long enough to leave a red mark, like a soft hickey.
"I told you," she said. "You don't want to do that." Kristen faced the crowd of dancers, standing just to the left and in front of me. It was crowded. The music was loud. Our conversation limited.
Again, I touched her with the bottle; the glass still cold and wet as it glided across the nape of her neck.
"Ok. That's it!" She turned to face me, eyes glaring. "Come with me," she ordered. She grabbed my hand, as I set my drink down, leading me towards an unknown destination, weaving between the other patrons, making for a difficult journey.
I met Kristen a few days earlier when I had first worn my new black leather biker jacket. She had invited me to stay with her that night. That one night stand turned into something more. What, exactly, I was not sure. Nevertheless, we continued to see each other. I did not realize that wearing such attire would appeal to certain communities.
Apparently she did.
Kristen had explained that my jacket was a symbol to the leather community. People, who were into S/M, bondage, and the like, recognized the wearing of any kind of leather. Kind of an unspoken law, I guess.
Well, I thought, what the hell. I would be interested in trying something once, twice if I liked it.
When we arrived at the door leading to the women's bathroom, I could only imagine what was in store. Forging ahead, Kristen straight-armed the door open, with me in tow. Walking into the middle of the room, she went towards an empty stall and pulled me into it.
"I warned you."
She removed her two-inch wide leather belt and handed it to me. I stood there, excited, yet I tried to appear nonchalant. Kristen was very exact as she explained the finer points of what she wanted from me. I was to flail upon her body with the belt that lay in my hands.
I watched as she slowly removed her leather jacket and deliberately hung it on the hook on the back of the stall door. I held my breath as she nimbly unbuttoned her white satin blouse and hung it over her jacket.
Kristen turned around and positioned herself as she straddled the commode. Leaning over to hold the window ledge for support, I stared at her full round milky white breasts. Her back, bare and awaiting contact. I ran my hand, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the downy softness of the fine hairs that covered a small area just above her smooth white cheeks.
Her black leather belt felt heavy in my hands. Folding it in half, I held the two ends together as I raised it overhead. The big silver buckle felt ice cold as it touched my wrist. Hesitating for only a moment, I lifted the belt overhead and brought the strap down onto her left shoulder blade, placed exactly where she wanted. She flinched slightly. The slap of leather against bare skin turned me on.
"Whatever you do, don't hit my spine."
I knew it could be painful if I made contact with the vertebrae, so I stayed away.
Again, I raised my hand and slapped the leather against her back. The sound resonated against the walls. I felt a surge of power as I continued. It felt good. At the same time, it felt strange to beat somebody because they wanted it.
I worked up a sweat. I switched the belt from left to right as I dried my hands along the side of my jeans. Putting the belt back into my right hand, I raised the belt and brought it down again.
My heart pumped hard against my chest, each breath quick. My crotch was wet. Drips of sweat fell from my forehead, landing on the bare skin that was red from the strokes of leather. My strokes. My head felt light; adrenalin raced through my soul.
Repeatedly, I lifted the looped belt and brought it down on her back, harder and harder each time, only to hear a heavy sigh or deep moan.
"Don't stop."
I had no intention of stopping.
