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He putters with no particular deadline, but Sir is not your average, garden variety putterer. He is a journeyman carpenter and craftsman. He has, thus far in his short stay not only repaired, refastened, hauled out, lubricated, and painted this-and-that, he has reorganized the garage, rebuilt a rocking chair, restored an antique bookcase, and custom designed and built a new bookcase for the corner of her living room. But doing odd jobs is not what brings him to the quaint seaside cottage. What has drawn him here is his Little One.
They had met online which is not all that unusual. That it was at an adult site meant that they were mutually interested in sex play and, like most people at such venues, they played anonymously. An innocuous, even if titillating pastime for grownups, neither one had any intention of ever meeting the other. For one thing, he thought they lived too far apart. He also figured a straight-laced, church-going, New England school teacher would never agree to meet some oversexed guy with an alias she met online at a porn site anyway. However, they could flirt like mad, volley erotic innuendo, and make overtly sexual posts that fed their libidos as they dallied in the threads without any reservation, forever.
So much for forever. Come to find out it was not ME on her location but MA, which made her close enough for them to meet, and she turned out to be a bit less straight-laced than the Puritan-teacher stereotype he had going on in his head. Who would have guessed that she would come to agree to meet him? Certainly, it was not him, and most definitely, not her.
It was decided they would rendezvous in a very public parking lot outside a well-known museum and from there they would go out to breakfast. And if all went well, they would get further acquainted touring the museum then part company.
Sir, a man experienced in the art of seducing a woman, was positive if he could get her to agree to meet him, and he could kiss her just once, that they would ultimately have sex that very day.
She knew if when he stepped out of his car he creeped her out in any way, they would be taking separate cars to breakfast and would likely not make it past coffee if she hadn’t lost him in traffic before that. She fretted the entire way there, becoming more convinced with each passing mile that he was, likely, a serial killer; and she would be found some days hence naked, mutilated, and rotting in a nearby dumpster. She considered chickening out but shrugged off her nervousness and kept going.
Taking less time than expected in the morning rush hour, she arrives first. She frets a bit more and moves her car around trying out several spaces in the nearly empty parking lot.
“Okay,” she thinks, “this is by nearest foot traffic and with a view of all the entrances and exits. What kind of car did he have? Shoot! Maltepe Escort She hadn’t asked. What a nitwit. I must have been right out of my mind!”
But sitting in the lot in the morning sun of what was going to become a beautiful spring day calmed her. “Girl, you have obviously watched just one too many episodes of Criminal Minds. Get – a – grip!”
Not long after, Sir arrives in, what else, but the serial killer’s vehicle of choice…an SUV. She wasn’t sure how she knew it was him, but he seemed to know it was her, and he parked a space or two to the left and behind her.
Fleetingly, a ‘yup, I’m doomed’ flashed across her mind, but it is followed just as quickly by an, ‘oh, grow the frick up!’ and she gets out of her car to greet him.
She watches him step out of his Ford Explorer and inwardly gasps, “Oh my god, I have won the good-lookin’ guy lottery!”
Handsome, he had a genuine smile that lit up his face. He appeared to be a man comfortable in his own skin and with his masculinity, and his calm engendered confidence. Six-foot-two, he stood in front of her, hands on hips, tilting his head in a way that, curiously enough, made her think of John Wayne.
What had she worried about? She was no kid, and she was a reasonably good judge of character. Besides — who could fear John Wayne? Everything was going to be just fine. H e had asked her on the phone before they met if she would let him decide the timing of the first kiss to which she agreed; and so he was; and so he did. Right there in the parking lot before breakfast, he kissed her. And truth be known…the museum, two years later, is yet to be toured.
“On the bed, now!” he commands snapping his fingers, pointing in a sweeping gesture towards the queen four-poster bed.
Naked, she moves swiftly to obey, lying on the bed face up. Hands, palm up, rest on either side of her head, and he surveys her. He smiles appreciatively. Supple and naked, her soft,curly brown hair gently frames her face on the pillow.
His Little One’s legs spread apart quite naturally. She is so ready for him to come to her; to be inside her.
She had spent days making everything in the cottage ready for his arrival and smiles warmly sighing, “I am so glad you are here.”
Tall, fit, naked, he stands at the end of the bed, hands on hips, tilting his head in the same ole characteristic way that from the beginning made her smile and think of John Wayne.
“I am going to hurt you, you know. And I will like it.”
“I know,” is the whispered reply, “and I will like it, too.”
But first, he just must have her. He looks down at her, lying there so accepting, so vulnerable. Thoughts of her tight pussy and responsive body over take him. Her wetness is evident even as he stands over her at the end of the bed. He crawls onto the mattress, positioning İstanbul Escort himself over her – his Little One. He knows she is ready for him. She is always ready for him. Cock poised at the lips of her pussy, ready to plunge, she waits slightly quivering for the moment.
He has been gentle with her submissiveness. In the past bound, blindfolded, and flogged at his will and whim, he could have made her a pain slut, but that would have spoiled her. The object is to keep her balanced. A woman with her exceptional sexual skill for pleasing a man, who is satisfied without being a pain slut, is not to be wasted but nurtured by a craftsman, a masterful Dom, who knows the value of such a prize.
Right now, he can pleasure her, or bring her pain using only his cock. She is petite, and his hardened cock is more than enough to fill her. Even after accomplishing complete penetration, he still has two more inches to insert before he himself is fully balls deep inside. It is the perfect tool for pleasure and pain, and Sir uses it accordingly.
On his knees cock waving, he moves up between her thighs, spreading her wider. He rocks his hips back and forth, inserting only the tip of his cock and then withdrawing. She never knows if he will drive his cock deep in one swift thrust, or if he will take his time. It has been a while, so odds on were with the swift thrust, but not this time.
Leaning forward, he lets gravity assist, using his weight to push his turgid cock steadily inside. They both moan as the sensation of his cock filling and stretching her cunt that is accepting and closing tightly around his cock takes over. Reaching her womb, he knows she is filled, but he is not all the way home yet. Pressing on, he inserts that last two inches, burying his cock down to his balls, She arches her back and gasps with a hint of a wince as he punches in.
“Are you all right, Little One?” he whispers.
She smiles. “Yes,” she breathes
He pushes in harder. “And now?”
“Yes,” she softly groans, arching higher. It is the pain she craves. It is the pain that hurts so good that assures her of his possession and her rightful place.
His dominance over her body established, he will next lavish tenderness on her. Backing off from her womb, Sir rhythmically uses his cock to stroke her pussy just deep enough to stimulate her G-spot. Soon, she is eagerly rolling her hips in order to meet his thrust and moaning with the pleasure of his stimulation.
He closes his eyes as he does her, marveling at her tightness. Slowing the pace, he pauses to bestow what seems to be a thousand passionate kisses, stroke her cheek, gaze at her, and rest a bit.
“How soft your skin is,” he tells her, “and you are so pretty. You know that don’t you? That you are pretty?”
Adoring him, she cannot hide the fact that she cherishes Anadolu Yakası Escort him. Warmed by his tenderness he smiles at him. “If you say so, Sir, it must be true.”
Their sex play continues, and, now and again, he grabs her hair rendering her motionless. In his complete control, her attention is riveted on him and lavish now rapidly turns into ravish.
He flips her over onto her stomach. His cock rock hard, her ass immediately high in the air, he finds her sweet tight hole and plows in. This is no longer about pleasing her. This is about his pleasure. He begins with a few gentle strokes, but they are soon replaced with thrusts to the hilt, thrusts that go deep, pound hard, increase in tempo and intensity and soon drive Little One across the bed to escape. But the headboard is as far as she can go. Mewling and moaning he pushes her to the edge of her endurance. Taking a few more thrusts, for good measure, he finally lets her up, and they both collapse on the bed.
Little One, smiling, soon moves down his body. Resting her head on his belly, she tenderly cups his balls in her small hand and takes his still rigid cock into her mouth.”Mmmm…. I do love the sweet taste of me on you.”
Gently touching her head, he fingers her hair, “You know I am not done with you yet.”
“That’s good to know. That means I am not done pleasing you yet, Sir.”
“Coffee! Now!” he orders.
Happy to please him and amused by his semi-put-on gruffness, she slips from the bed and heads to the kitchen. In the small cottage she can see from the kitchen into the bedroom where Sir, still lying on the bed, plays with his cock keeping himself hard. He, of course, can see her, too, as she busies herself making them coffee. She puts on, over her head, a flowered apron that ties around her waist.
“June Cleaver,” he thinks, “right down to the pearls.”
Her simple domesticity comforts as well as excites him, and as she hands him his coffee he touches her cheek and says to her, “You really do take care of me, Little One, don’t you?”
“I take care of you because you take care of me, Sir.”
“No, I take what I want from you.”
“But it is a gift I give you, Sir.”
“I am selfish, and I use you, Little One.”
“It is my pleasure to be so used. When I give to you, I get.”
He gestures to the heavens, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. The exchange is always the same.
He considers what will come next. Ropes? A flogging with his favorite cat o’ nine tails? Nipple clips? A crop? He loved her blindfolded and bound, skin aglow with the heat from the stripes he’d skillfully laid across her back and her pinked welted ass. Then again, there was always vanilla sex. He turned the options over in his mind.
“Huh,” he puzzled. “When had he ever wanted vanilla sex from a straight-laced church-going New England school teacher?”
The answer was simple. He had wanted it ever since he had sampled her version of vanilla sex. Highly physical, emotional, and erotic, Little One’s sexual blend made vanilla sex an equally arousing option; and he knew he would always come back for more.
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