dontjudge06242014aRe (3 page)

“I…”

“Come on.  You wanted to know.  Trust me.  Just say the word
‘stop,’ and that will be the end of it

Graham waved his hand at one of the waitresses.  She, like
all the rest, was pretty much nude for the entire world to see.  This young red
head, however, was wearing an intricately woven rope body harness, and to be
perfectly honest the knots were amazing.  “Sir?”

“Bring me one blindfold.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Wait a minute!” I exclaimed.

“Trust me, Elizabeth.  Just try this.  I’m sure you’ll like
it.”

The waitress promptly returned and handed the blindfold to
him, and stood there staring at me with the slightest grin on her face.  “Will
that be all, Master?”

“For now.  Thank you.”  He turned to me.  “Lean forward.”

I hesitated, not seeing any possible way this was going to
end well.  With strong hands he pulled the leather blindfold over my eyes, and
tightly cinched the strap behind my head.  His hands were steady and measured,
and I gripped his wrists as he situated the mask.

“Now Elizabeth, the purpose of this blindfold is simple.  I
am taking away one of your senses, and now you must rely on the four remaining
to enjoy this little experiment.”

I admit that not having to look at people staring at me did
give me a sense of privacy, and I can feel my body tingle all over with
anticipation.  Will he touch me?  Kiss me?  I can smell his cologne now, and in
the background the dull murmur of voices seems somewhat louder, but as if I
wasn’t even in the room.

The pads of his fingertips feel like fire against my skin,
and although the blindfold is tight I can see straight down at the tops of my
breasts as his hand slowly slides between them.  They’re long, manicured, and
thick, and the wisps of jet black hair on the back of his hand perfectly accent
the golden bronze skin.  The image is burning through my mind, and the heat of
his palm warms my right breast as he squeezes.  His other hand is deeply buried
far below, inside me and I imagine what it must look like there.  Trust, he
said, over and over, and I’m concentrating on that word alone as he gently
releases me.  I feel the five o’clock shadow of his chin scrape lightly against
the nape of my neck, and know he’s leaving a mark.  It’s not painful, but
somewhat complimentary to the blaze burning within me.  I hadn’t expected this
night to go this far but his fingers inside me, his body pressing me hard
against the wall and the scent of his skin against mine had turned me into a
wanton slut.  I screamed as a year’s worth of pent up frustrations released
onto his fingers, specks of light floated across my closed lids and my arms
wrapped tightly around his neck.  “Oh God,” I moaned.

“Oh God is right!” he whispered as he trailed his kisses
over my chin.  Instinctively I open my lips, anticipating his wonderful lips on
mine.  I push my tongue to the edge as his nose barely touches mine.  Into my
open mouth he whispers, “You’re absolutely beautiful.”  I felt his fingers
beginning their withdrawal and I clamped down on them in a feeble effort to
keep him in place.  He chuckled, “Now, now, Elizabeth, there’ll be plenty of
time for more.”

*-*-*-*-*

I felt a tremendous buzz of euphoria, almost as if I were
walking on pillows as he led me out the club and to my car.  Like a true
gentleman he opened the door and helped me in, and as I gathered my wits I
quickly rolled the window down.  “Wait!  Is that all?”

“Is what all, my dear?”

My frustration was easy to see, and I wanted – no needed –
more.  “I thought…”

“I promised to show you, and you want more?”

Sheepishly, but definitely, I wanted more. “Yes.  I want
more.”

“Fine.”  Graham pulled another blue card from his pocket and
scribbled on the back.  Be there, 9:00
P.M.
sharp.”

I knocked tentatively on his door the following night, still
unsure of what he wanted from me.  I’d spent more time preparing for this
‘date’ than I had my last job interview, but I was a bit surprised that he
hadn’t instructed me on what to wear.  ‘A taste.’  That’s what he told me this
night would be.  ‘A taste of possibilities.’

His house was a stately affair, too large for one man and
manicured to sterility by some OCD gardener who clearly had strict
instructions.  Glancing around his doorway I felt myself become smaller and
smaller, as if I was Alice heading into a dark, unknown world.  Shrinking with
doubt and preparing to bolt back to my Toyota, I pushed the button again and
heard the chimes barreling off the inside walls behind the iron and glass door.

There was no warmth here, nothing that would indicate softness. 
I cuffed my hands around my face and peered through the glass.  I could see him
sitting in an overstuffed chair at the far end of the towering foyer.  Did he
hear the door chimes?  Maybe he’s changed his mind?  I should just go.  Why is
he sitting there ignoring me?  He told me to be here, I’m on time right?  I
checked my phone; it was three minutes till nine, so I was actually a bit
early.  Early.  Again I glanced around me, not a single pine needle was out of
place in the landscaping, not a wilted leaf anywhere to be seen.  This was a
man of clarity.  If he told me to be here at nine then that is what he
expected, not a minute earlier or later.  I got it now.

That didn’t help the fact that I felt exposed here, standing
on the precipice of his luxury waiting for entry.  Everything inside me
screamed for him to let me in, yet I dared not ring the doorbell again.  I’m an
amateur, no, worse than that, a beginner with wild ideas and fantasies that
probably should be kept within the confines of my own head.  It wouldn’t
surprise me if he left me out here all night, what was I thinking?  That I’d
just waltz into his home and he’d bend me over and spank me?  Sometimes my own
immaturity is so blaringly obvious that I just want to cringe and crawl under the
nearest rock.

Movement.  The door handle clicked as he unlocked it but it
opened only a few inches.  I saw him turn away from it and walk casually into
another room.  Not the gracious welcome I’d expected, then again who knows what
I’d expected.  All that I had in the way of visuals were either staged internet
photos, the cover of a box in a ‘couples’ store, and what I’d seen at his club
last night.  I pushed the heavy door open and took care to step inside
soundlessly while cursing the five inch heels I’d bought this morning in an
effort to
sensualize
my wardrobe.  The foyer was even more massive than
I’d expected.  The entire effect was that of a vault; a catacomb where one
could enter but never leave.  A chill ran up my spine and I struggled with my
fight or flight instinct, but finally closed the door behind me.  Every click,
step and movement echoed within the hall.  My breath sounded like that of a
racehorse, and at any moment I expected my bladder to give up its challenge.

Music so soft and melodic, that at first it blended into the
background of the blood rushing through my veins, seemed to surround me.  My
heels clicked on the marble floors and threatened to disrupt the mausoleum
quality of his home.  I was tempted to take them off but didn’t want to ruin
the look that’d taken me an entire day to achieve.  If I could just stop
shaking so damn bad, get control of myself, maybe I could follow him. 
You
can do this
I told myself over and over again until I began to believe it. 
Just walk right in there and tell him you’re ready
.  Yet somehow his
marble floors had turned to quicksand and I was stuck here in his foyer, teeth
chattering and knee’s wobbling.

“Are you coming in here or not?” he said brusquely from the
other room.

That’s it, I’m outta here.  I turned and stared at the door
behind me with hope for freedom but my heels were deeply buried and refused to
budge. 
This is ridiculous
, I told myself.  I came here to find out once
and for all if this is truly what I need, and I’ll be damned if I’m just going
to make a run for it before I even know.  Still I was frozen in place.

He moved in the other room and my body trembled.  I felt
like a squealing sorority girl at a haunted house.  “I think we’re going to
find it hard to discuss things with you standing in my foyer like a deer in
headlights.  Won’t you come in?”  He leaned against the door jamb wearing a
humored grin that made me want to whack him in the teeth.

“I didn’t come here to be the butt of your jokes.   I’m just
a little intimidated, that’s all.” I said in a voice not even remotely my own.

He shuffled a bit in his bare feet, and I didn’t miss the
fact that in his surroundings he fit in perfectly, as though the house itself
had been created with him as its centerpiece.  While I seemed to be shrinking
miserably in its midst, he rode above the grandeur and somehow made it seem
inconsequential, casual.  “Elizabeth, please come into the library.  I’ll fix
you a cocktail to calm your nerves.”

He floated towards me with his hand outstretched.  I took it
more for stability than for the fact that I wanted to touch him, though that
part was true as well.  My pale southern hand disappeared within his dark
Arabian fingers, and the magic of their joining drained my fear.  He came to a
halt in the doorway, turning to me, “Trust me,” he whispered, staring into my
eyes.

I’ve always been a sucker for a man with pretty eyes.  The
latest Cosmo quiz told me that I’m a woman looking for substance, not flights
of fancy and flowery words.  I need a man I can read, not one anxious to play
juvenile games.  Give it to me straight or I’m not interested.  This man’s eyes
are as dark as coal, and equally as baffling.  One minute they beckon me with
‘come hither’ and the next they reprimand me for each disturbance my heels make
in the crypt he calls home.  There are no warm fuzzies here.  Yet something
behind his eyes tells me that I will trust him, that I must.

He settled me onto a sofa and I studied each move of his
body as he poured a cocktail from a polished silver decanter.  While I hadn’t
expected for him to be wearing a suit, I didn’t expect faded jeans and a black
tee shirt.  Dark hair curled in thick rivulets over his forehead, and
scruffiness on his cheeks told me that his day had already been a long one. 
His expression showed that being kind to me was something he could barely
face.  My heart ached to delve into his, drag out his misery and comfort it. 
But I doubted that kind of behavior would be welcomed.

“Here, this is a concoction of my mothers.  She says it’s
suitable for a lady,” he shrugged.  “Try it, she swears by it for her nerves.”

I took a small sip from the chilled silver cup he’d handed
me and studied the dark liquid dubiously.  It was presented perfectly with a
small sprig of jasmine on top; the scent was both sweet and exotically spicy. 
I put it to my lips and let it drip between them.  “Mmm, it’s very good!” I
said with a surprised smile.  “Kind of a spiced, mint julep.  I love it.”

He laughed, “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

I drank in earnest now, “Really, it’s amazing.  What’s in
here?  Do you know?”

Lowering himself into the chair across from me he looked
weary, “Muddled dates and orange, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice over Kentucky
bourbon.  Then she steeps it slowly and strains it through ice into the decanter.”

I chuckled, “Sounds like you’ve had instruction.”

He stood abruptly, “We’re not here for a cooking lesson, Elizabeth. 
Stand up and let me see what you’ve worn for me.”

My nerves returned with vengeance but I managed to follow
his simple order.  I’d done my homework:  Rule number one was always follow
orders; they’re there for a reason.  Regardless, I felt like a poser, a bad
actress portraying an even worse role.

His eyes followed me coarsely, “Take off those clothes.  You
look like a cheap whore.”

Tears sprang to my eyes and blood rushed to my face.  I’d
imagined, incorrectly, that this sort of lifestyle required a bit of
‘smuttiness’.  Now he looked at me like a tramp - a prostitute - and the
humiliation rang through me like Baptist church bells.  Reaching up I
unbuttoned the remaining four buttons on my silk shirt.  I’d chosen it because
of its tight fit, but now it disgusted him and I wanted it off.  The coolness
of the room struck my skin and my nipples perked beneath the simple bra I’d
chosen.  The urge to run was nearly overwhelming, but I stayed my ground with
timid acceptance.

“The rest,” he said plainly.

I concentrated on the sound of his voice and let it ring
over and over in my head until it was the only sound, thought and reality
available to me.  The short black skirt slid down to my ankles and I stepped
over it, revealing the white boy shorts that matched my plain bra.  If I’d
expected some expression from him I’d have been sorely disappointed.  He never
flinched or blinked.  “I don’t understand your attire, Elizabeth.  On the
outside you’ve chosen to dress like a whore, but beneath you’ve let your
innocence run amuck.  Did you do this intentionally?”

I shook my head, “No.”

With a chuckle he stood and moved towards me; his scent
became my sole source of concentration.  He was slightly spiced, as if his
cologne was measured daily for the exact amount.  I had the feeling that
nothing in his life was left to chance, not even the spray nozzle on his
cologne.  And I had displeased him right off the bat by being inconsistent,
awkward, and covered in sheer terror.

His breath was warm next to my chilled throat.  I swallowed
and stood as solidly as I could when he began to touch me.  Running his fingers
tentatively up and down my spine, lifting my hair from the back of my neck and
unhooking my bra, he examined me as carefully as he would any other object he
was thinking of purchasing.  It was only then I realized my teeth were so
firmly clinched that I must have the nature of a mannequin.  Quickly I relaxed
my jaw and turned my attention to his touch.  My bra fell to the floor with a
light flick of his fingers.

“Do you like it when I touch you?”  His voice was nothing
but a deep whisper.

“Yes,” I said with a falter.

He stepped back and studied me from the short distance. 
“Take those panties off.  Never enter my home again wearing panties, am I clear
on that?”

I nodded and I slid my panties down my thighs as gracefully
as one can while wearing five inch heels and nothing else.

“Good, bend over and touch your ankles,” he said, making his
way back to his comfortable chair.

With a gasp I did as I was told.  I was trying to
concentrate on anything that would keep my mind from talking to me, and his
voice was becoming my hypnotic tool.  Part of the comfort and excitement about
him was that I knew he’d done this before.  Hell; they probably had classes on
it in his club.  But I’d needed a man who knew what he was doing, not one
looking to use me as practice.  This isn’t a game for me.  It’s an introduction
to a new way of life; one that I pray will release me.

“Very well.  Sit down, Elizabeth.”

I did as I was told.

“I’ve had a rough day,” he began.  “It would be easy for me
to take you now – like I want to - but that would only free me from my pain.” 
He seemed deeply troubled.  “Why do you want this?”

My skin was melting into his plush sofa with each word he
spoke and I started to worry that if I was told to stand again a wet spot might
be left in my wake.  But this was a question I’d been prepared for, “Because
I’m not satisfied during sex.”

“And you believe you’re missing something?  Something
crucial?”

“Yes,” I said glancing up into the dark pools of his eyes
hoping that he would see my need.

“Have you even had an orgasm before?”

I sat silently, humiliated by the answer, “No.” I said
finally.

He stared at me in disbelief, “Never?”

“Never,” I repeated.  “Well, not with anyone else.”

Now he cleared his throat and ran his fingers across the
stubble on his chin as if considering what to do with me.  I’d never admitted
to anyone that orgasms had eluded me; it wasn’t something that came up during
normal conversation and I wasn’t proud of it.  But it was the reason I was here
tonight.

“So you came here hoping that I’d give you that experience,”
he said, but it wasn’t a question.  “I’m half tempted to do it, not because I
think you’ve earned it.  Showing up here looking like a two dollar whore…”  I’d
disappointed him.  “But because I want to wipe that look off your face.  It’s
there now as it was the first day I saw you:  Raw need, ultimate
disappointment, and a tank of hope that’s running on empty.  I couldn’t stand
it the day you walked into the bar, and I can’t stand it now.  Oh fuck it, come
here.”

Four steps to stand in front of him and each one seemed like
eternity.  He reached up abruptly and plucked at my most tender spot.  I’d
shaven it for the occasion, and he inspected me with his fingers until they
became drenched, then he pushed inside.

Upwards.

Exploring.

Finally he seemed satisfied and withdrew, leaving me
breathless and desperately in need.  A harsh ache attacked my belly as my lips
below quivered and clamped.  Only the humiliation of standing in front of him
naked held me steady.

“On the floor.”

I took two steps back, and knelt on the floor in front of him.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

“I…”  I literally was dumbfounded, embarrassed, but honestly
too scared and excited to actually verbalize anything.

“Now!” he commanded.  With a smooth and velvety voice his
continued, “Sit back and spread your legs… show me.”