“Yes, sir.”
I lean in close to her ear but don’t quite touch. It’s just enough for her to feel the warmth of my breath on her skin.
“I will consider your request.” I watch her as she tries to hide her quickening breath. “But this will still be just for the weekend. On Sunday, we part ways and reflect.”
She stills for a moment and then nods.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you Saturday.”
I watch the taxi pull away and end up standing on the sidewalk for some time, deep in thought and still tasting her on my lips.
Cleansing Bonds: Chapter 3
Time crawls.
By the time Saturday arrives, I’ve spent more time in my playroom in the past few days than I have over the past six months. I’ve cleaned everything a half-dozen times, moved everything around, and locked the cabinets containing the canes, whips, and floggers.
I don’t know why I don’t just get rid of them. Every time I look at them, it makes my stomach drop. At the same time, I can’t seem to bear the idea of abandoning my collection. It still feels like it’s a part of me.
They are a reminder. Don’t make the same mistake again.
I run my hand over the smooth, black leather of the whipping bench, wishing I had another name for it. For some reason, calling it a bondage bench just doesn’t sound right.
“Blowjob bench.” I chuckle to myself. The sound of my voice echoes around the empty room. I run my knuckles across my lips as I stare down at it, picturing Yvette tied down on her back, her head leaning backward over the edge.
I reach out as if to stroke her hair before wrapping it around my wrist. My balls tighten as I imagine my cock sliding between her lips, and I quickly unbutton my jeans and grab hold of my dick.
Dragging my tongue over my lips, I close my eyes and stroke myself slowly. My breathing and heart rates increase as my mind pulls me deeper into the fantasy. I can hear her soft grunts as she takes me in her mouth. I stroke faster, thinking of her lips around my shaft and the slight creaking sound the bench makes when it moves in time with my thrusts.
It doesn’t take long. I’m not trying to control it; I just want the release. With a grunt, my knees buckle slightly, and I grip the edge of the bench as I spill on the side of it. I take several slow breaths to bring my heart back to its normal rhythm and then collect the cleaning equipment and wash the bench down.
I check my watch. She’s due in an hour.
In the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and pull out a collection of fruit and berries. I want to move slowly with her, and feeding me is as good an exercise as any to start building her trust. I prepare the food and place it in a bowl back in the fridge.
I have a bedroom prepared for her as well. I’ve replaced everything in it, eliminating any reminders of past subs. I want to be able to focus on Yvette and Yvette alone. The furniture is simple like the rest of the décor. Geometric art hangs centered on three of the walls. On the bed is a set of black lingerie—lacy bra and matching panties along with a short, sheer robe that opens in the front.
Though I’ve planned the weekend’s activities, I’m leaving a lot of room for spontaneity. Reading about someone on paper is very different from seeing how they respond in person, even with the brief meeting in my office. Impromptu action will undoubtedly be needed at some point, and I have to prepare for that even if it is an oxymoron.
My door chime rings at exactly ten in the morning. I check my reflection in the hallway mirror as I head to the door. Dark button down, comfortable jeans. I need a haircut, but it’s not too unruly yet. I take a breath to center myself before opening the door.
“Hello, Yvette,” I say as I take her hand and lightly kiss the back of her knuckles. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello, sir,” she says quietly. She smiles slightly as she looks at her hand. “It’s good to see you, too.”
I show her where she can hang her coat, and I’m pleased that she’s dressed in a similar fashion as she had been at my office. She’s not wearing some skimpy hooker outfit like the last sub showed up wearing.
“Do you have any questions before we begin?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come and sit,” I instruct. I take her hand and lead her to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. She sits facing me a
nd crosses her legs and folds her hands on the bar top. “What do you want to ask?”
“We didn’t discuss how I should address you, sir,” Yvette points out, “or how I should approach you when I first arrive. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask before I left on Thursday.”