Conversation

It isn't as though I hadn't spent hours pouring over every possible combination of outfits before packing and then rethinking and packing again. There are just a few pieces that can be expected to serve in more than one capacity. That's all.

And the little things that wind up taking up most of the room? Pretty much not allowed, remember? There are no nightgowns, no bathrobe. No panties. Only one extra pair of shoes, even higher heels than the ones I am wearing.

Not much in the way of makeup, because you don't like me to wear it. So a bottle of nail polish, a little mascara, a pair of tweezers (in case of emergency) some deodorant and a toothbrush cover my needs for this trip.

You are, for the most part, exceptionally lenient with me. You expect me to follow you without reservation, but you also expect me to be able to make most of my day-to-day decisions on my own. I've packed in accordance with my understanding of your desires for me, and while I will admit to more than my fair share of mistakes, I believe I have done the right thing this time. (On the other hand, I've been wrong before... and paid the price.)

I express this to you, and you take my hand and lead me to the parking lot. You put the suitcase into the truck, and help me up onto the seat. You go around to the driver's side while I lean over and unlock the door. You hop in, and after you make sure I'm securely belted in, we pull out of the parking spot. You haven't spoken since you got the suitcase, and I am now starting to feel as though I have made a major mistake. But you didn't tell me anything except to come. And my imagination is running away with me. Should I have asked for more information? Should I have requested a packing list? Did you expect me to try to anticipate any possible social situation?

I turn to you, tucking one leg under me on the seat. You are staring at the road, avoiding my eyes. I know your peripheral vision is good enough that you see me, but you don't turn your head, and you don't speak. I am suddenly so unsure - of everything - that although I know you hate it, my eyes fill with tears.

Finally, you reach for me. You pull me close and say, "You did well, little one." Of course, this just serves to open the floodgates, and within seconds I'm curled up on the seat with my head in your lap and your arm around me, weeping.

You hold me while we drive and I try to pull myself together so I can go and get the rental car. Soon enough the weeping stops, and I find myself with my head in your lap and your hand resting on my behind. We have been apart so long, and I have anticipated our reunion so much that I kiss you, through your jeans. You respond by caressing me, and I bring one hand up to open your zipper.

I open my mouth to tell you how much I've missed you, and you fill it with your fingers. I lick and suck them until there is no more taste of me, of us. When there is only the taste of you left, I look up at you and you smile. I do love your smile.

You pull your hand away, and take mine. We go to the baggage claim area, where mine is the only suitcase left. You retrieve it, and when you lift it you look at me strangely. "What?" I ask.

"Why is this so light?"

"Oh, you expected me to bring a lot of clothes?" I shrug and continue, " I thought I wouldn't be wearing any most of the time."

The days pass slowly, and I pack and unpack and repack my suitcase. The weather is likely to be unpredictable, so I try to plan for any eventuality, although I know that, in the end, I won't be wearing a quarter of the clothes I bring. I get the final list down, and the suitcase packed the night before I am supposed to leave. One more day in the office, and then to the airport.

Getting through security is always a pleasure. I don't know what it is about me, but I am always, always stopped. They go through my carry-on by hand, and once again I am glad that I had the presence of mind to pack the toys in the checked luggage. (Yes, they hand search that every time as well, but I don't have to stand there while they do it.) Once again they find absolutely nothing, (I really am quite boring) and they send me on my way.

I put my shoes back on and say a quick "Thank You" to the powers that be, as I am convinced each time I have to go through that they will take me back into that room, and search me. Difficult enough to have them go through the bags, and even more difficult to know ahead of time that they are going to do it, but the thought that they will take me in there and discover our secret... that bothers me. More than I have ever told you.

I make it to the gate, and onto the plane. I am so excited at the prospect of seeing you that there is no way I'm going to sleep tonight. The plane is half empty, so I have a row to myself. Once we are in the air and the seatbelt sign goes off, I put my feet up and lean back against the window. One of the flight attendants arrives, bringing both a pillow and a blanket. They are always so attentive at night.

I lean back and daydream about seeing you. In my mind, I walk into the room, and into your arms. I see your smile, and the slightly wicked look in your eyes that I have dreamed about for months. I dream up a little fantasy to get me through the flight, and the next thing I know we're landing.

One more flight, and then we'll be together. I keep telling myself that as I sit in the airport waiting to board. (I hate the airport in Detroit.) It seems to take forever, but finally they get us on the plane. As we wait to take off, I go over the route from the rental agency to the place you and I are to meet one more time. It isn't a long flight, and soon enough we're getting ready to land. Of course, I am getting more nervous with each passing second, and by the time we taxi to the gate I'm not sure it will be safe for me to get behind the wheel. I can only hope getting my suitcase and making my way to the rental place will give me enough time for my hands to stop shaking.

I grab my carry-on and leave the plane, headed for the baggage claim area. I know I need to find my suitcase, and then I plan to get some coffee before trying to convince the rental people to trust me with a car.

I pass the security checkpoint with the rest of the passengers and we all start down the ramp toward our luggage and our destinations.

As we crowd into the hallway leading to the baggage claim, I feel someone touch my arm. I look up, and see your smile. You lead me into a doorway, back me into a corner. You reach out and take my hands in one of yours, and lift them above my head, pinning me against the wall. You lean down, and kiss me. And then you put your other arm around me to keep me from falling, because I'm shaking so much I can't stand by myself. You hug me, and I whisper in your ear just how glad I am to see you. You move one hand under my skirt and slide your fingers between my legs. You smile down at me and say, "I noticed."

You call, or write, or email. You send me a set of dates, one marked "Arrive" and one "Depart", and the name of a city. You add the name of a building, and leave the remainder to me.

I immediately start researching air fares, and rental cars. You didn't mention meeting me, and gave me the information I need to find you, so I must assume I will need a car. I look up the city, and get directions from the airport. I begin to plan what I'll bring.

I find the right fare, for a flight that gets me where I need to be early enough in the day, and allows me to leave late on my departure date. I reserve a rental car for the duration of the trip.

And then I try to concentrate on the work in front of me. For a while, anyway.

A lock and key. A leash. A bright pink sweater. A tiny, tiny black skirt. High heels.

And perhaps a few surprises. Lots of beach, some playtime, a little bit of playing in traffic.

Should be interesting.

Thank you for keeping my mind (and body) occupied over the holidays.

Good evening.

My friend has suddenly come down with the plague, so I went out by myself today. It is damned cold out there. And really windy. Especially up on top of Maori Point and at the overlook on Sharp Park road. (yes, I went to a number of places today.)

Got a few decent pictures, but it is really hard to photograph yourself. And it is just plain impossible to take a decent picture of your own behind. Cannot be done. At least not without more equipment than I have available to me.

Is a portion of the reason for this particular assignment to make me more comfortable with public nudity? Because it is kind of working, although I would give my right arm to know how long the guy in the green truck was there before I saw him. I do have to tell you, though. I didn't panic. And I didn't run, and I didn't immediately erase all the photos I had already taken. (I did, however, think about all of the above.)

I just sat down on the bench and proceeded to take some typical touristy photos of the beach and the high school. And I stayed for a few minutes, then got into the car and calmly drove away.

I have looked at the pictures. And if I didn't worship the ground you walk on before, I certainly do now. You are beyond any doubt the kindest man God ever created. And please never make me look at pictures of myself again after this. Pretty please?

I'll email them to you when you get home. Don't really think you want them coming where you are now.

Hope you are having a wonderful time, and remember the hugs from me. I'll be going out again tomorrow, and on Tuesday I break out the really, really short skirt. Wish me luck.

I put my hands on the back of the bench, and you take them and place them on the seat. You have me standing with my behind in the air, and you brush off the bench next to me and sit down. "Look at me," you say.

I start to lift my head, and you tell me not to move it - I am just to move my eyes to meet yours. You look at me and smile sweetly. You reach over and unbutton my coat, and then open an additional button on my blouse. Then you put your arm up on the back of the bench and you lean over and whisper in my ear.

"So you think it is amusing to stuff snow down the back of my coat, and then to bounce snowballs off my chest, do you?"

I'm having a little trouble meeting your eyes, and I am biting the inside of my cheek trying not to smile, because we both know that, right now, yes, I do think it is amusing. In fact, I think it is pretty close to the most fun I've had all day. But I also think that you might not agree, so I'm trying really hard not to laugh. Of course, standing here with my ass in the air isn't helping with that. The position is pretty rediculous, and I point out to you that it isn't helping me remain serious about the conversation.

"Ah, but if I let you sit down that gentleman will have to look elsewhere for his amusement this afternoon," you reply. I start to turn my head, but you swiftly (but gently) ensure that I will continue to look directly at you.

Now I am starting to get uncomfortable. It has been more than a few minutes, and there is evidently an audience I hadn't anticipated. I've gone from trying to keep from laughing to a nervous giggle. And you show no sign of being ready to move.

You slip your arm off the back of the bench, and reach into my blouse. Your fingers are icy, and as you touch my nipple, I jump. You smile, finally, and take it between your thumb and forefinger. You close your fingers on it, softly and then with more pressure. You pinch, and pull, and bring my breast out of my blouse into the cold air. You keep smiling, and now I am smiling again too.

You close your hand around my breast, and kiss me on the cheek. You get up from the bench and pull me up as well. You bring your other hand up and drop a snowball inside my blouse. "Well, now I guess we're even."

You take my hand and lead me back to the truck. You take me back to the room, and as we go inside you tell me to take everything off, as it will be much easier to warm up without all those pesky clothes on. Turns out you're right again.

In fact, every time you touch someplace new with those icy fingers I feel just a little bit more warm. And by the time you slip them between my legs and inside me, I've forgotten all about the cold.

Something strange today... I was so distracted while preparing dinner that I managed to cut myself *twice* without noticing until hours later. I couldn't figure out why my thumb was still sore after all these hours. (it gets sore when I peel potatoes) Turns out, there are two cuts across it. And I didn't even notice.

Oh well. I guess I had better pay more attention to what I'm doing with the knife from now on.

Of course, bending over puts me off balance, and I start to fall. You wrap your arms around me, and I throw mine around your neck, the combination keeping me on my feet. I see the smirk on your face - you're enjoying watching me struggle with the snow. And I still have snow in my hand. For the moment.

You jump nicely when the snow hits the back of your neck. Of course, this means that you let go of me, and I wind up on my behind in the snow, but that just makes it easier to reach the next handfull. I scoop it up, and throw, missing your face but hitting you in the chest.

You brush the snow off your coat, and reach out to help me up. I'm still feeling pretty playful, and I start to giggle at the sight of you partially covered in snow. You smile, and I think you're amused. And perhaps you are, but you aren't about to let me get away with pelting you with snowballs. Not today, anyway.

You put your arm around my waist, and we start walking more quickly. I'm having some trouble with the pace, because I keep losing my balance in the snow, and you end up half dragging, half carrying me to a nearby bench. "Bend over," you say. I just look at you, not quite sure I heard you correctly.

You apply increasingly firm pressure to the back of my shoulder as you repeat, "I said, bend over, Slut."

Winter has arrived. It may not have been a particularly white holiday season, but the new year appears to be making up for it. I haven't seen this much snow in over a decade. (Living in San Francisco will do that for you.)

I don't know how we came together, or why, but it doesn't matter. I am beside you.

You, always looking out for my best interests, made certain that I had boots. My wonderfully warm feet thank you. I still need to hang on to your arm in the snow, because the heels are higher than I feel comfortable with, but I am warm, and I know you care.

Of course, this doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying the snow. I do love playing in it, and have visited snow on a number of occasions. But now I'm right in the middle of it. Snow as far as the eye can see. A whole park, covered in white.

We walk. Or rather, we stroll, because the combination of high heels and snow means that I am not in a hurry. In fact, I have already slipped more than once, and we have slowed down so much we are nearly standing still. But I'm feeling playful, and I'm nice and warm in my heavy coat and my boots, and so I bend over and scoop up a handful of snow.

See 12/19/2003.

Still applies.

It's beginning to look a lot like the holiday season around here. Light displays everywhere. It appears as if there is some competition going on in our small coastal town. One person on a block puts up a few lights. Two doors down, the neighbors put up twice as many. Well, we can't have that... first family puts up an additional mass lighting display. And so on. There are houses in town that appear to be made up entirely of Christmas decorations.

But they put me in mind of seeing you in the winter. Cold, snowy nights. Long walks, and the occasional snowball.

Just how long would you spank me for that?

It is funny. I have finished (finally) the quilt square, and suddenly all I am seeing when I close my eyes are cats in collars. (and with leashes, but that's another post entirely.) I have even had a passing thought of making myself a new quilt with a cat in the center surrounded by cat toys and accessories. And, of course, with a lovely collar and a leash leading to one corner of the quilt.

Perhaps one day I'll make it. For now, I am going to concentrate on the task at hand. Getting presents wrapped and under the tree. (One thing at a time, right?) Maria will have at least a decent Christmas. Although he is not speaking to me at this point. I think he believes the silent treatment will work again. (yes, it has in the past, and yes, I know just how dumb it is to fall for it.)

So I am unsure exactly what the holiday will be like, but all I can do is try, right? At least there will be some gifts and a few nice treats for dinner. After that, it is anyone's guess.

I am going to skip the big deal Christmas Eve this year, I think. I might put together a little something, but going all out and trying to create the sort of thing Mom used to do is just a bit too much for me this time. Perhaps next year we will have people who are willing to visit us, and we can do something then.

Or maybe next year we will just say the heck with it all, and head back east to visit people over the holidays.

What is it that makes us return time and time again to something that disturbs us? Is it the same thing that makes people slow down to see an accident on the freeway? But if it is something that you're personally involved with in some way, shouldn't you want to avoid the messy details?

I certainly think that I would. On the other hand, I have a certain fascination with a website you frequent. So maybe it is understandable, in a way.

Still, it gets a bit old to hear things that can only have come from here when I get back to the house.

And it makes me just a bit angry to feel the need to censor myself because of it. (and yes, this blog is heavily censored. Believe it or not.)

I suppose I will just have to continue to praise your attributes and technique here, and discuss other things elsewhere. By the way, both are excellent.

I fell asleep on the BART train this morning. Not unusual, except that this time when I dreamed of you, it was of you sitting on my face and sucking on my clit...

I sincerely hope my face wasn't as red when I woke up as it felt.

I started to write something here, and then thought better of it. It is funny that I feel so free to write stories about just how wonderful you feel inside me, and how good you taste, and how much I want to make you cum in my mouth, and yet I can't write about everyday things unless I hide them in the other blog.

So I guess I will have to write in both places today. Something about how I look forward to talking to you, to seeing you. Even when it is only in my mind's eye, I see you. I see your smile when I start to squirm because you've said something that has me wriggling in anticipation. I hear you chuckle when it becomes obvious that I'm not going to have to use the vibrator at all... you've pushed me over the edge with your words. I see you scowl when I tell you something has gone wrong during my day, and I feel you hold me (you always find a way to make me feel you when I really need it) when I am lost or unhappy.

I can't begin to express how good it is to know that you are watching out for me, and that you'll let me know before I make any more huge mistakes. Knowing I belong to you makes it easier for me to do the things I have to do, even when they are new and frightening. Understanding that you will hold my hand over the rough spots makes them seem easier to tackle in the first place.

You really are beautiful.

By the way,
I hope you liked the cat. I think turning the leash into my initial worked.

I think today I will write about your thigh. Your right thigh. I'm exceptionally fond of it, and the way it joins your body in that nice, soft fold of flesh. I love to run my fingers up there, following the line of the joint. Your skin is so soft, and you are so sweet-smelling, that I can't help wanting to trace the line with my tongue. You taste as good as you smell. Did you know that? You do. And I love seeing the way my hair drapes across you as I lick and nuzzle you. I like watching what you do with it. And I hate washing it afterwards, because it smells like you.

And now I have to get some work done. Damn.

I am about ready to start getting out the Christmas ornaments, thanks to you. You remind me of the things that are important, even when it might be more convenient for me to forget. You insist that I take care of myself, even though you know I am usually last on my list. You care about me, and about the people I love. You encourage me to have friends, to have fun, to be happy.

If you ever for a moment wonder if I will be yours forever, read that last paragraph one more time.

Don't get me wrong. I adore much more than just your mind. I love the way you feel, the way you touch me, the way you look at me. I love your smell, and your taste. I am fascinated and endlessly surprised by the way you think, and I have never felt so safe, comfortable, complete as I do when I am in your arms. And somehow, you manage to find a way to make me feel these things even when we cannot be together. You amaze me.

Well, tall, dark and best man I've ever met, I suppose I had better get back to the decorations, because they aren't going to get themselves out of their boxes while I sit here and daydream about how wonderful it would be to have you inside me right now. Sigh.

You continue to trace the garter along my thigh, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. you smile, and tell me that you think this one will do nicely. I think this means I'm getting off easy, and I try to slip back into my dress. "Oh, no," you say. "We still have a couple of things to try on."

I put on the second black one, and you have me turn around a couple of times before you reach for me. You touch the lace, and then you slide your hand down, rubbing me and then slipping one finger inside me. I reach for you, and you pull me close. We stand like this, you rubbing and teasing and filling me in turn, as my knees turn to jello and I attempt, without much success, to keep from moaning with pleasure. I love the way you touch me, and you are taking advantage of the fact that you know exactly where to go to get the reaction you want at any given time.

We hold one another long enough that the staff come by to see if we are okay. You reassure them, (I am far too embarrassed to speak at this point.) and we move on to the third item. The white one. I tell you that white is just not my color, that I have never believed I looked good in it, and that I had, in fact, had that opinion reinforced by statements from others. You remind me that it isn't other people's opinions I have to worry about, and that you haven't made a determination about the way I look in white yet. You'll let me know.

You fasten the white one around my hips, and spin me around so you can get a good look. "Not enough contrast." you say, and it comes back off and goes onto the hanger to be returned to the rack.

Finally, I get dressed and we leave the curtained area. You shoo me off to look at something while you go to the counter. In a few minutes, you come up behind me and grab me around the waist. I jump, just a little, and you laugh.

You hand me a huge bag, and tell me that I'm not to look inside. You do like to torment me with things like this. And believe me, it works. We leave the store and you lead me in the direction of a restaurant. When we are seated, you order a salad and some grilled chicken for me and the same for yourself. We eat, and talk, and I try to convince you to allow me to look inside the bag, or at least to give me a hint about what is in there. You decline, saying that I will find out soon enough.

After dinner we venture out into the parking lot. The rain has stopped, but the wind is as fierce as ever, and soon my dress is flying again. This time you allow me to move a bit faster, and I am only exposed for a few minutes before we get back to the truck.

We go directly back to the room, and you lock the door behind us. I am already peeling off my dress before you turn around. We fall into bed, and I start to kiss you. I start with your face, and work my way down to your throat, your shoulders, your chest. I lick and suck your nipples, and you push my head down toward your cock. I take it into my mouth, and sigh contentedly. I could do this forever, and you know it. I lick and suck and kiss you for a few minutes, while you explore my body with your fingers, and then you decide it is time for something completely different.

You spin me around, and pull me up to my knees. You enter me from behind, pulling my hips close to you as you fuck me hard and fast. I bury my face in the mattress, so you can barely hear me asking for more. But you know what I want, and you give it to me. Long and hard, fast and rough, you fill me over and over. When I feel that you are getting ready to cum, I ask if you will cum in my mouth, because I want to taste the two of us together. You smile, and we move into position. You allow me to slip your cock into my mouth, and then you fill my throat with your cum and my juices. I clean you off with my tongue, and we move into each other's arms.

I appreciate the fact that you want to hold me until I fall asleep, but I know that you are not comfortable falling asleep that way, so I suggest that you curl up on your side and get comfortable. I slip one arm under your neck, and the other around your waist. You hold my hand and I snuggle up next to your back and kiss the top of your shoulder. I put my head on the pillow, your scent in my nose, the taste of your cum on my lips, and we drift off together.

The phone rings. I open my eyes, and you're gone. I reach for the phone, and answer it. "Hello."
You say, "What the hell happened to you? You were supposed to be online an hour ago. Did you just get in to the room and collapse, or something? Were you even awake long enough to eat last night?"

I look over at the counter, and there are my bag of pretzels and Diet Dr. Pepper, unopened.

We wander past several other shops, and you lead me in to a small coffee place. We sit, and you order coffee for both of us. After the coffee has arrived, you remind me, gently, of the fact that I am supposed to be taking better care of myself and eating right. "But I'm on vacation," I protest. "So that's your excuse?" you ask. "It doesn't sound like a good enough reason to stop taking care of yourself to me."

I stare into my coffee cup, waiting for the coffee to get cool enough to drink, and appreciative of the warmth it is transferring into my hands. I know you're right, but every once in a while I really wish you weren't. Usually when I already feel guilty because I have done something you don't think is good for me.

We sip our coffee in silence for a few minutes, neither of us seeming to want to be the first to speak. I glance up at you, and meet your gaze. I look away, and then back. Your eyes haven't moved, and I know you're waiting to hear just exactly why I thought that dinner was a good idea. I try to explain, but every word makes my choices seem more and more poorly thought out. There were plenty of other options that I could have chosen, even if I didn't want to have to leave the room again that evening. I did, after all, have to go to a store to get the soda and pretzels in the first place. I could have made better decisions. And I know it.

My voice trails off in the middle of a sentence, and I put out my hand. You take it, and I move closer to you. You put your arm around me and remind me that you are just looking out for my best interests. As if I didn't know that already. As if you haven't always had my best interests at heart. As if I couldn't always trust that you would do the right thing. And I feel awful.

You look at me and tell me that it is time to do some shopping. We finish the coffee, and instead of taking me to the ladies room so I can slip on the panties, you take me directly back to the store. You know I am going to be embarrassed to go in there and try things on without panties, and you know that it will help me remember not to question your wishes in the future.

You pick out some things you like, black, lacy, tiny. We go toward the dressing room, and you ask if I will be coming out to model them. The staff (very kindly) recommends against this, and suggests that if you need to see the fit, that you accompany me into the dressing room. We take the items, and go behind the curtain. I am absolutely mortified that the staff know you are in there with me, and try to do what is necessary as quickly as possible. You put out a hand and slow me down. "We aren't in a hurry here. We need to make sure these fit properly."

I try on the first item, a black lace garter belt. I have pulled up my dress to put it on, and you take the hem and continue pulling it up and over my head. You aren't going to allow me any modesty at all. I stand there awhile you walk around me, looking at the fit. You reach out and run a finger over the lace, and past the lace onto my skin.

The deluge hits. We go from dry to soaked in a matter of seconds. I am trying to pull you along so you don't get soaked through, but you insist on strolling rather than rushing. Me? Already way too late to keep any portion of me dry. I feel (and am sure I look) like a drowned rat. Water pouring off my hair onto my dress, and running in small streams down my chest.

Finally we come to the overhang outside the entrance. I pull you under it, and try to assess the damage. You're drenched. But you have the strangest grin on your face. I look down to see what's so damned funny, and then I see it. "I can't go in there like this." "You can and you will," you reply as you take my hand again and begin leading me to the doors.

I quickly use my other hand to wring out as much of my dress as I can before we get to the door. You open it, and we step inside. It feels as though it is freezing in there, because the air conditioning is going full blast, and I am soaked to the skin. My dress is so wet it is plastered to my body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. I attempt to fluff it up a bit, to create some distance between the fabric and my body, but it is far too wet for that. You are dragging me along, and I just give up and try to keep up with you. You're moving fast, and I have no idea where you're taking me. We get into the center of the mall, and you stop. You just stand there, looking at me. When I ask where we're going, you say "What do you want to look at?" Well, given the opportunity, I'm going to look at shiny things. So I drag you to every jewelry store window in the place. You feel safe in indulging this, because as you so nicely point out, I have no purse, therefore no money and no credit cards, so I can't get myself into any trouble. Well, not that kind anyway.

I continute to drag you from window to window, happily ignoring anything that isn't at least partially gold. We are headed for yet another window display, when you stop short. I try to keep going, as we are standing in front of a clothing store, and clothes are just nowhere near as much fun to look at as diamonds. But you won't budge, and so I look up to see the display you're studying. I look at the display, and down at myself, and back at the display, and I let you know in no uncertain terms that I'm not going into that store. My dress is clinging far too much, my nipples are protruding because I'm still wet, and now cold to boot. And you want me to go in there? I don't think so. Besides, I remind you, I'm not wearing any panties. And you have to wear underwear to try on underwear. It's a rule.

One of the saleswomen comes out and invites us into the store. (I hate pushy sales people.) You politely decline, telling her that you think I need to dry off a bit first. As she walks back into the store, you let me know that we will be going back, and I will be trying things on. I protest, reminding you again about my distinct lack of panties, and you reach into your pocket. You start pulling something out, something black and pink and from my suitcase. You make sure I have recognised the panties, the sheer black ones that are the only ones you allow me to bring when I travel. I reach out for them, and you stuff them back into your pocket, saying "I said when you were dry." No panties for me until you're ready. (Me? I am ready now.)

draft in progress. I find it easy to write about you (self editing aside) because I can see in my mind exactly what your face would look like in each of these situations. The smiles, the growls, the raised eyebrow. Sigh.

And sometimes (just sometimes, mind you) I can almost feel you when I read over what I have written. Those are the segments I like.

You drive for a while, seemingly aimlessly. I suppose I will never know if it is to give me the opportunity to calm down a bit, or to keep me guessing as to our destination. Or, perhaps more accurately, some combination of both.

You stop at a light, and I look up at the sky. It is getting darker, and the trees are starting to sway in the wind. I lean forward and look at the sky directly above us. Clouds. Big, dark clouds.

You turn in to the parking lot, and pull all the way to the back. The lot is half empty, but you pull in to the farthest spot, and turn off the truck. I look at you, questioning our position. You don't even hesitate. You hop out of the truck and come around to my side. You open the door and I slide out, the bottom of my dress slipping up to the top of my thighs as I reach the ground.

The wind has picked up, and the temperature is dropping. I shiver in the wind, and we start to walk toward the entrance. You have one of my hands in yours, and I have the other pressed tightly against my thigh, holding my dress in place. A huge gust hit us, and you don't see what you expect. You look over my head, and notice my hand clutching the bottom of my dress, holding it down. I am keeping it from floating up in the wind, and you are not at all happy.

You drop my hand and reach around to grasp the back of my dress. You draw back the other hand and as you lift the back of my dress, you swing. As you bring your hand into contact with my now naked behind, I am turning to face you. You connect, and I jump. You continue to hold the back of my dress, and I begin to plead. I ask you to let go, and tell you that I won't hold the dress down any more, but you are unconvinced. You march me toward the entrance, holding the back of my dress up close to my waist. "Please," I beg. "Please give me another chance." You hear the panic in my voice, and yet you continue holding the dress. We reach the part of the lot where most of the cars are parked, and I start holding back, not wanting to move. You propell me forward and when we are in the midst of a large number of parked cars, you drop the back of my dress. You look at me, eyebrow raised, and I know that this is my second, and last, chance.

You hold out your hand, and I take it once again. I wrap my other arm around myself, using my free hand to hold the arm closest to you, keeping myself from being tempted to smooth the material around my thighs. The storm is approaching quickly, and we are beginning to hear thunder in the distance. The wind is strong enough now that my dress is floating almost constantly, hovering somewhere around the tops of my stockings most of the time, and flying higher with strong gusts.

One such gust grabs the fabric, lifting the hem of the dress up past my waist, threatening to take it off me entirely. You rescue me, puting your arm around my waist and holding the cloth close to my body. The skirt may be flying, but at least I don't have to worry about being completely exposed.

We are close enough to the entrance now that we are meeting people on their way out to the parking lot. I try not to look at them, especially when the dress flies up, but I can hear the snickers. I lean into you, and we walk together. I can do this, because you are here with me. But then I feel something out of the ordinary.

Drops. The rain has begun, and we are still at least fifty yards from the entrance. We are going to be drenched.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did.

But I do already feel terrible about letting myself get into that position in the first place. I know I did the right thing in the end, but it shouldn't ever have come to that.

I'm beginning to think I need a chaperone.

Non story

You are just wicked. Now I'm not going to be able to think of anything else all day. And trying to think of someone who would help - just the thought of how I would ask is completely bizarre.

But I do owe you some pictures of the beach.

And the bluff overlooking it.

I think it is going to be an interesting day. Ah, logistics. Finally something I am good at. (thank God enthusiasm makes up for a whole world of other things.)

And now that this cryptic message is written, I suppose I had better get myself dressed. Can't exactly go into the office naked, even if I do all my writing that way. (as you very well know.)

An added thought - we do have one mutual friend I'm sure would be delighted to help me out with this particular project. Only two drawbacks (other than the obvious one)

a. He would want to know who they were for. And that little secret goes with me to the grave.
b. He would most likely want something in return for the favor. (don't even ask how I know.)

I bury my face in your shoulder, and you reach over and close the door. I look up at you, face flaming, and say "Meanie".

You pull back and look at me and ask " What did you say?" I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, and reply "I called you a big meanie... Sir." And I cannot hold the laughter back any longer. I start to giggle, because I am just remarkably embarrassed, and because I know you would never let anything BAD happen. I may have been unaware of what else was happening, but I trust that you knew exactly what was going on around us.

You look over at the remains of my dinner, and growl "Show me what's in your suitcase." I lead you to it, and you start pulling things out and throwing them onto the bed. You find a big tee shirt and give me a funny look. I explain that I need it when I stay overnight at my friend's house, because her husband wouldn't approve of me wandering around the house naked. I don't think you believe me, but it is the truth. He disapproves of me. Thinks I'm a bad influence. Can you imagine?

You continue to pull items out of the suitcase, and I fold them as you toss them at me. Finally, you reach the bottom and find what you were looking for. The dress. A little longer than you like, but the neckline makes up for it. Flowing sleeves, a wide skirt, these things make you smile. You hand me the demi bra, and tell me to put it on. It provides some support, (not much) and virtually no coverage. You tell me to raise my arms, and you slip the dress over my head. The material clings, and you can see that my nipples are hard. You pull the dress the rest of the way down, and step back to look at me.

I bend over the suitcase and grab a half slip. I stand up, and you reach out and take the slip out of my hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" you ask. I reply "But the skirt - you can see through it."

You grin. Yes, you know the grin I'm talking about. You drop the slip onto the bed and you say "I know."

You take my wrists in one hand and the room key in the other and lead me out the door. I ask about taking my purse, and you tell me that I won't need it where we are going. You pull the door shut and lead me to the truck. You put me inside, fastening the seat belt around me. You climb in and before you start the engine you reach over and pull my dress up past the tops of my stockings.

"That's better."

You start the truck and pull out of the parking lot. I have no idea where you are taking me, but wherever it is, I'm not dressed for it.

You know where to find me, if you want to do so. You know the town, the building, the room. It is summer, and I am in town for a reunion.

I am alone. I have settled in for the evening, with my diet soda and some pretzels for dinner. It is early, but I have been to the airport already today, and am anxious for some down time.

I am, of course, wearing what you require when I am alone. Stockings and heels. I sit on the bed, remembering the last time I was here.

I have turned down your side of the bed. Because I am traveling alone, I will slide in on your side tonight.

The cell phone rings, and I answer. It is you. I'm surprised, and delighted. You sound wonderful. We chat for a few moments, and then you say "Open the door." Okay, I'm game... I walk over to the door and open it a crack. I'm hiding behind it, still talking to you. "Open it. No hiding back there."

I open the door the rest of the way, wondering how you know that I was hiding back there. Of course, you could have anticipated that I would, couldn't you? I step across the open doorway, and stand next to the window. We keep talking, making conversation about the weather, my schedule for the week, my dinner plans. You are not happy at all at my choice for dinner, and let me know that you don't approve. I have the feeling that once I get home, I am going to pay for dining on pretzels.

A few minutes pass, and eventually I ask the question. "Why am I standing here naked with the door open?" You start to laugh, and come around the corner. You walk into the room, and I throw my arms around your neck. You smile, and kiss me where you always kiss me. Then you reach over and grab a nipple. And pinch. Hard. Really hard. I won't be having pretzels for dinner tonight. And I won't forget to eat right for a long while.

When you have brought tears to my eyes (no small feat) you relent. You begin to rub my poor sore nipple, bringing back the circulation, turning the pain into something else entirely. I close my eyes, and you reach for me with your other hand. You slip your hand between my legs, sliding first one, and then two fingers inside me. "Look at me", you command. I meet your eyes, and you hold me there, while you slowly move your fingers in and out. Your fingers slide into me, gently, and then more quickly and forcefully. You are fucking me, and I am trapped in your gaze. I begin to climax, and try to look away. You aren't having any of that, and hold my chin, keeping my eyes on yours.

You pull me closer, and fuck me harder. I start to cum, and you let me ride the feeling, watching my eyes the whole time.

After, you hold me close, and say "I think it is time to close the door, don't you?"

Fantasy is a wonderful companion. My trips this weekend were accompanied by wonderful, wicked thoughts of all the ways in which I would love to have the opportunity to please you.

And one incident of changing my clothes in a parking lot. In downtown Oakland.

I am hoping for the opportunity one day to nibble your earlobes again. Okay, I want to nibble the rest of you as well, but I'm going for a PG rating with this post. As if.

Three more days until the next release. And after that, I fully intend to spend the holidays creating another story for you. And shopping. Half naked. For shoes. Lots of shoes. High, spike heeled shoes. The kind you need a salesman to assist you with. The kind that keep me from running out when you bring out the clamps.
(not that I would anyway...)

And now I'm going to go to bed. I have special dreams awaiting me.

Heading out to yet another reception, followed by the annual gingerbread party. Somehow I think I am going to be forced to behave, and yet I won't be able to be good for you. Perhaps a little bit at the party... there will be lots of eggnog and mulled wine.

On the other hand, we are driving this year rather than taking BART, so perhaps drinking heavily is not in my best interests. And Maria will be with me, so that lets out drinking entirely, doesn't it?

Nope, no reward for me this week. Probably for the best... I have at least fifteen more hours of work to do before tomorrow morning.

At some point today I will have to turn my brain back on, but for now I am quite content to just sit here with my eyes closed and imagine your arm around me and my head on your chest.

Actually, I think I could be content like that for a long, long time.

You are beautiful. and wonderful. and sweet, and kind, and unbelievably sexy. And all I want is to be touching you, and touched by you. I want you to touch and pinch and lick and suck and bite me all over. And I want to do the same to you. I love the way you taste. The way you feel, the way you move.

You make me feel things no one else is capable of. And you do it with out even trying. It comes so easily to you, that you never cease to amaze me. You read my mind. Well, either that or you still know me better than I know myself. And I wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case.

You are simply the most wonderful man, friend, lover, everything I have ever known. And I think that even when I haven't been drinking. (and you know it... I'm just normally too shy to say so.)

There isn't anything you are capable of asking of me that I wouldn't happily do for you. Ever. Always.

The assignment for the weekend is both scary and exciting. As I'm certain you intended. It does make getting out of the car an adventure. Especially in a crowded parking garage. Can't wait to see how I'm going to manage to get back into the car this evening.

I'll think of something, I'm sure.

The day has come. The one we've been waiting for ever since I got back in September. Yes, I am fnally going to do it. And this morning will be the turning point.

In just a few minutes I head out to the office. And once I get there, I need to amend one document, and then - we go live.

I remember what you did to me prior to the last release. No orgasms for at least a week, wasn't it? Made me crazy. On the other hand, it did keep me on task. No slacking for me. I was bound and determined to get that thing out asap. This one? Meh. It can go out, or not, and it really doesn't make a huge difference to me. Just means I have to move on to the beta sooner. (and I am not looking forward to that)

The morning attitude adjustment does work wonders, though. Makes the whole day go more smoothly. Okay, maybe not, but it feels that way. Still a bit strange having the blinds open... Ijust keep waiting to see a face in the window. Either here, or from the neighbor's window. Oh - did you know they have really decorated the living room nicely. Yes, I can see it all from here.

Oh, love, I have to go. Got to get in to the office before nine. Boo. Hiss.

I'll let you know how it all turns out.

Hi there tall, dark and sexy. I spent a good deal of my time at the gym tonight daydreaming about you. Of course, that isn't unusual. The exact daydream was a little out of the ordinary, though.

You tied my hands in front of me, tossed me down on the bed and sat on my face. How's that for not my usual fare? You used the vibrator on me while I licked your ass and stroked your cock. Sigh. You see, that sounds like wonderful way to spend an afternoon to me. Far more entertaining than the afternoon I did spend.

Release is tomorrow! And the beta is on the fifteenth. And then... hell, they'll come up with something else for me to stress about over the holidays.

Atleast I'll have the week off between Christmas and New Years. Plenty of time to dream up something wicked and wonderful.

the rest of the week is going to be quite the whirlwind of activity. Making baskets for the charity auction, attending said auction (starting at 3 on friday... how the hell am I going to get to Foster City to pick one of the girls up at school and back to San Francisco by then?) and the cookie party on Sunday. Perhaps I'll have time to box up some of the books and such on Saturday. It may be time for a trip to the used book store.

Oh, and the gym. Mustn't forget that. Especially with cookies on Sunday.

I wriggle and squirm and attempt to get closer. You can see the frustration on my face. I try to reach for you, but my arms are too securely fastened. You tease me, starting and stopping until you sense I am close to climax. You slow, keeping me just on the verge.

I ask you to let me cum. You just keep teasing. I ask again, and again. The requests get louder, more imploring. I hear you say something about volume, but at this point I am beyond caring who hears. I beg.

And you say, "No. Not today."

I open my mouth to protest, and you fill it. You hold my head and fuck my mouth, slowly at first, then faster as you near climax. You pull me close, and fill my throat with cum.

I clean you with my tongue, because you know I enjoy it, and you have taken pity on me.

You begin packing things away, and release my hands. You remove the blindfold, and tell me that I will be wearing the butt plug home.

I dress as you complete the preparation and fold the blanket. You put everything back into the basket, and hand it to me.

You take my hand and lead me back to the path. As we walk to the car, you ask "So when do you have the next surprise planned?"



The End.

Waiting. One of my least favorite things. I have become more patient, but still find the waiting difficult. It is the not knowing what happens next, I think. The uncertainty makes the wait seem at least twice as long as it really is.

I wiggle and squirm, trying to get a reaction. You, of course, refuse to take the bait, and settle down to wait me out. It takes a while, but eventually you see what you want to see. I surrender. To the darkness, to the uncertainty, to you.

You slip one arm around me, under my neck, and use your other hand to softly caress my body. You touch me so softly it is almost too much to take. I strain upward, trying to increase the pressure, but you keep your touch light and gentle. Your hand glides down my abdomen, and you reach between my legs.

You run a finger between my cunt lips, softly at first, then with more pressure as I begin to respond. I open my legs, inviting you to touch me. I thrust my hips toward your hand, hoping for more. You give me what I want, and slip a finger inside me.

You hold me as I fuck your hand. "More" I whisper. "Please. I want you to fill me, to fuck me, to cum inside me. I want to feel you everywhere."

You continue to torment my nipples with the feather, and with your other hand you reach down and push my knees apart. You place your hand between my thighs and slide one finger along my cunt lips. You touch me softly, and I begin to move against your hand. You laugh, just a little, and say " You're enjoying this too much."

My mind races. I'm trying to figure out what it is you intend to do, and frightening myself more in the process. You reach over me, place your hand on my side and roll me over, onto your lap. Whap!
I jump, just a little. Again. And again. I ask why, and you reply, "Because I enjoy it. I like seeing what it does to your ass, and how you jump." And you continue until my ass is red and hot. Then the spanking turns to caressing, and you rub my sore ass. You run your finger along the crack, and then I feel something cold. And hard. You begin to press it against my ass, and I softly protest. It doesn't seem to register with you, although I know you heard.

You rub the plug against me, and then begin to insert it. I stiffen, and you slap my ass once again. I make an effort to relax, but it hurts when it goes in. You just keep pushing, slowly inserting it into me. Filling me. Taking me. I'm not protesting any longer, although I squeal just a bit when the widest part goes in.

You roll me off your lap, onto my back. You start with the feather once again, asking me if I am enjoying being filled by you. You tease me, slipping a finger into my cunt, and ask again if I like it when you fill me. I do. I start to tell you just how much I enjoy being filled by you when you clap a hand over my mouth.

I am so surprised that my eyes fly open, but you don't seem to notice. You are busy watching something. And then I hear what you had already reacted to. Footsteps. Coming up the path, closer and closer.

I want to move, to cover myself. You know better, and hold me still so I don't inadvertently draw the very attention I am trying to avoid. We wait as the footsteps come closer, and closer. I can see shoes approaching our hidden spot. You wrap your arms around me, shielding me from being seen. The path is just a few feet from where we are, and the branches, while blocking the view from the bridge, won't keep anyone nearby from seeing us.

You hold me, sheltering me with your body as the sounds get closer. I have closed my eyes again, ostrich-like. I know you will not let anything bad happen, but I just don't want to see it if we are discovered. The sounds approach, and then pass. I hear the footsteps getting farther away. I open my eyes to find you looking down on me. You tenderly kiss me, and then say "I thought told you to keep your eyes closed."

"Since you aren't capable of following a simple instruction, I will have to do it for you." You bring out the blindfold. You slip it on, and pull back so I can no longer feel you next to me. I am cuffed, blindfolded and naked, waiting.

in progress

I keep my eyes closed as you run the tip of the feather across my breasts - and stop. I feel you lean over me , your body resting across mine, and reach into the basket once again.

I hear you opening your private bag. I always pack it when we go places, although you have made it clear that I am not to look inside. And curious as I might be, I don't. The resulting spanking wouldn't be intended to warm my bottom and make me feel loved and owned. It would be a punishment. A real one. The kind that makes it uncomfortable to sit down for days. So I mind my own business. But I must admit that I am a little excited to finally find out at least some of what's in there.

I hear something familiar. I've heard it before, but somehow I can't place it. I can't form a picture in my mind that fits with the sound. I feel something cold and then yelp as you place the clamp on my nipple. "Shh", you say, as you smooth my hair away from my face. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from making more noise as you place the other clamp. And then you pick up the feather again.

You trace the same path with the feather that you had been following with your finger, up and down my thigh. I shiver and flinch as you bring the feather up and slide it along the lips of my cunt. You tease me with the feather, barely touching me and yet making me squirm to try to get away.

You chuckle, and drag the feather up my side, touching each of my most ticklish spots. Of course, you know where they are. You've always known how to make me jump, just with the touch of a finger. And now, with a feather, I'm about to lose my mind.

You change tactics abruptly, and move the feather to my breasts. You trace the edges of the clamps, and when I don't protest, you tighten them. You then run the feather across the nipples, where they are most sensitive and have been made more sensitive by the pressure of the clamps.

I moan, and you smile.

You rummage around in the basket for what seems like a long time, all the while running a finger up and down my thigh under my skirt. And I am starting to get really nervous. What will you select? Will you start slowly, and work your way up, or will you start off with something terrible?

And then I see that look. You've found what you wanted. I hold my breath while you bring out of the basket the most evil instrument of torture I can imagine. A feather.
In the hands of any other person, a feather can be difficult to take. But in your hands, well, difficult doesn't even begin to describe it. You know me too well. You know every spot, the ones that will make me giggle, and the ones that are going to be hardest for me to take. You can use that feather to bring me to a quick orgasm, or to make me squirm for hours. And I have no idea which you intend to do.

You lean over, kiss me on the forehead, and tell me to close my eyes. You have me lift my hips and pull my skirt off, leaving me with nothing but stockings and shoes. And then you begin.