Senses

Untitled Part 1

       Echoing, my sleek black heels scuff against the hardwood floor. I balance myself, certain I'd fall in these ridiculous shoes. I wobble as I look at myself in the mirror, and I twirl my delicate hair around my finger and allow it to fall gently against my neck, soft auburn strands dancing against my skin. Sighing, I mumble "I can't believe I agreed to wear this", and I adjust my tight black bandage dress. Sir had made it clear that I was to wear this today, this breath-restricting dress and these silly high heels. I was so nervous to see him again, outside of our usual meeting place. We've met a few times at a quaint coffee shop to oversee our contract and expectations over the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked cookies. Meeting Sir today, however, would be so much different. His intense stare will be directed at me alone, his broad shoulders shadowing me alone, his hands reaching not for his cup, but for me. Alone. That's what I'll be. In the presence of this assertive, gorgeous albeit unnerving man. Just Sir and me. Alone.

       My mind races wildly, flashes of expectations and past experiences fleet through my brain like a storm. I peer at the grand clock standing in the corner of the room, and notice I have 30 minutes before I need to be at his feet. Sir would hate me being late, especially on our first session. As my thoughts continue to swirl around my mind, I suddenly remember "The Punishment Jar". Sir had mentioned it one day over coffee, and told me it was a way for me to choose my own punishment if I ever done something to displease him. I tried hard to imagine the various punishments he could offer: spanking, paddling, biting, whipping... That had to be it, surely? Imagining his hands marking their territory on my perky ass, my panties begin to moisten. It's time.       Sir lives three streets over, so I decide to walk due to the weather being gorgeous today. I begin my walk and immediately stumble in the shoes as I pass my front gate. I'm a woman that chooses practicality over femininity. Sneakers and jeans are my choice over anything, however Sir has forbidden me to wear anything of the sort when I am to see him. He described me as being his dolly, he chooses what clothes I wear, what makeup I put on and how I have my hair styled. My cheeks flush pink as a stranger helps me to my feet. I mumble "thank you" as I quickly shuffle away. Still stumbling slightly, I begin to become frustrated with this whole situation. I felt stupid, ridiculous. I felt the complete opposite of sexy, as though I had the grace of a foal learning to walk. As the bright sun beats down upon me, I feel my thighs beginning to stick together with sweat. My feet already swell in my shoes and I'd give anything to be back at home sipping lemonade, but I made a commitment. Turning the corner, I slowly scuff my way along the path and make my way to Sir's house. Once outside, I pause. I adjust my dress and hair. I take some deep breaths to calm my intense nerves, and shakily reach for the handle.       Stepping inside, away from the blistering heat of a mid-July day, the shade provides instant relief. The sensation of air-conditioning on hot skin was a dream, goosebumps arose and I shuddered slightly. I quickly scan the room and wonder if Sir is aware I have arrived, or maybe I will surprise him and give him a fright. The idea of this hulking man squealing because of a delicately framed woman startling him was too much for me to hold in. I released a giggle, and suddenly I heard him booming. "You are not to make a peep once you are inside these walls. I thought you understood?" The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, as I look around to find where the voice had come from. My eyes skimming across the room expecting to find him standing there. Nothing. Do I apologise into the empty room? Do I remain silent? If only I knew what I was supposed to do in these situations. As my nerves increase, my breathing and heart beat racing, I begin to recognise the smell inside the house. Cigars and toast. A weird combination of smells, but somewhat comforting nonetheless.       "Upstairs. Now", Sir ordered. Before I had time to think, my legs were already moving, as though he had some magical power over me. Stumbling again, I quickly reach out for the smooth banister and slowly climb the mountain of carpeted stairs. I manage to arrive at the upper floor without falling, though the dress pinning my legs together certainly made it difficult. I look around the landing, no pictures hang from the beige walls, no ornate decorations adorn any furniture. There is an indescribable lack of emotion here, it's confusing. I note the 5 white doors leading off from the landing, only one door left open a crack. A dim glow escapes the room and falls graciously upon the floor and opposite wall. I push the door open slowly, and gasp at what I see in the room before me. Chains. Whips. Stocks. Ties. Costumes. Masks. A bed, and what I can only assume is some sort of machine?       "Good grief..." I say under my breath. I'm astounded someone can have such a collection off... Items. Are they all regarded as toys? I wouldn't know. I've never done this before, and still unsure why I suddenly decided to try it with this man. I lift my slender arm and reach out to trace my fingers across a particular whip when the door slams shut behind me. "Don't you dare touch that", Sir growls, "and get on your knees". I spin around and see him standing there. Dressed all in black, he looks stunning. My mouth opens and I attempt to greet him, but he abruptly cuts me off. "Get on your fucking knees" he repeats, louder this time. Taken aback, I slowly sink to the floor and remember what he is expecting of me. I place my hands on the wooden floor and slowly crawl towards him with my head bowed. Softly, he clips a leather collar around my smooth neck and allows the chain to rattle against the floor as he begins to wrap it around his hand, inching me closer and closer to him. He breathes me in and sighs, and I can't help but get lost in his stare. His eyes dart across my face and body before he grins and walks me across the floor.       My knees thud into the floor, and pain begins to radiate across my kneecaps but he continues walking me. Upon a dark dresser, there stands a metal jar. He lifts it and removes the lid before ordering me to choose a punishment. I slowly pull out my punishment and I hand it to Sir. He smirks as he reads it, and places it upon the dresser. He walks me to the double bed, and pats it as my cue to clamber up onto it. I do so and immediately I'm flipped around and he drags me to the edge so that my head is dangling off the bed. I hear jingling, and realise he's pulling apart his leather belt before dropping his charcoal suit trousers and boxers. My mouth instantly fills with saliva at the sight of his cock springing out. "Good punishment choice, little one. Now open wide". I comply and open my mouth as wide as I can. Sir slowly slides himself past my full lips and gently brings himself back out again. He works himself into my mouth as my tongue massages him, then without warning, he rams himself into me. Over and over and over. With each brutal pump, I can feel him stretching my throat and my saliva spreading over my face and his member. Feeling my throat pressing against my collar as he shoves his cock into my drives me wild, he tastes so good. He stops pumping and slowly slides himself into my throat, and doesn't stop. I feel his soft skin pushing past my lips and tongue, the bulge in my neck causing the collar to squeeze against me. Sir holds himself in me, pressing hard with his balls pressing firmly against my nostrils. I can't breathe. There is no space left in my mouth for air to intrude or escape, and I begin clawing at him. With one swift motion, he grabs both my wrists and holds them in one strong hand, and grabs onto my chain with the other. He yanks me towards him further, and grips me. My legs thrash wildly against the sheets of the bed as I begin to see spots in my vision and the panic sets in. He grunts and releases me at the last moment, before repeating the process. When he finally decides to free me from his brutal throat fucking, I cough hard and splutter and gulp down giant breaths, awaiting whatever task he orders me.