If ever an ordinary cup of coffee and a tuna salad played host to an extraordinary event, today was it.
Blind dates unnerve me, no matter what the circumstance. Blind dates with a self-confessed sadist and narcissist-in-recovery, before which i am not permitted to smoke, and with whom I am more than a little interested in exploring depths of my sexual psyche previously unexplored or even considered, scare the shit out of me.
It’s understandable, therefore, why i may have exhibited an initial display of defensive body armour.
I arrive and wait in the appointed place for a moment. Then, realising that I am 15 minutes early, and preferring fresh air to recycled air-conditioning, I step outside and sit on one of the swing seats, so thoughtfully placed by the management of the marina, and idly watch the boats bob up and down. Upon turning to go back inside, in order to be at the appointed spot precisely on time, I notice a large burnt out would-be entrance to the very same restaurant, the open and thriving version of which (located inside) we have arranged to meet by. I sigh and realise that this could cause confusion, but i go back in to the concourse and wait, thinking that if he finds the non-version of the restaurant, he will phone me. No need to freak out. Chill.
Two minutes later, the phone rings:
“Why did you choose a burnt-out shell of a restaurant?”
“I didn’t, but I know where you are. Hold on, I’m coming to meet you.”
I exit the building and there he is, smiling as he surveys me quizzically. I smile back, ever-conscious that I’m really not sure how to act. This is to be the one occasion where I have the ability to dictate, so to speak, the proceedings. After this, he is in control. I’m still finding it difficult to understand exactly how the situation works. However, I know that I will eventually get it, and what’s more, it will be worth the transitional thinking. It will probably be osmosis that allows me to fully comprehend what I should do, what is expected of me and so on, that and paying keen attention to what he says to me today.
He doesn’t look very much as I had pictured — ever the writer, my mind had conjured up a different physique and the face, that, first seen in snapped splendour at the end of a work shift — wearisome and somewhat harried — did not compute with the animated searching visage spotted in profile outside the doors of the mall. No complaints — it was just…. different. Good different, definitely. His eyes in particular — bright, alive, piercing, and curious. And a beautiful colour.
A chaste kiss on the cheek — his instruction — and we begin to walk.
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We pause to gaze at the boats, and he gives me his first impressions.
“You present more body armour in person, than on the phone. More defensive.”
I turn to face him, and laughingly explain.
“Look, I’m not the calmest and most serene of people anyway, blind dates of any shape or description make me nervous. And I haven’t smoked today.”
He smiles understandingly, and we move off.
We walk to the place where we will be sitting, and he gallantly allows me to choose the place where we sit. I pick a different table to his initial choice — not simply because this-is-my-date-and-I-can, but because the size and shape of the table lend themselves to a more intimate level of conversation.
We talk about this and that. I ask him questions that have been preying on my mind, and he answers them, fully, and frankly. I listen to the prosaic voice from our recent phone calls take shape within his facial expressions and body movements, enjoying how he becomes more and more familiar with every word. Appreciating what an amazing opportunity I have in front of me.
The more he explains, the more i relax. The more i hear, the more I realise that this time around, I made the right decision. It’s right that I’m here. In fact, nothing has ever felt more right. i find myself noticing everything he does — as though my sensory perception of him is uniquely heightened and attuned to him. Barely noticing what I’m doing, i eat my salad automatically until he turns to me and says:
“You know what I want you to do now?”
Stupidly, I nod, so engrossed am I in noticing how his mouth forms words.
“You do?” he asks, somewhat surprised that I have apparently metamorphosed into a psychic.
I shake my head, and smile. “Allow me to change that movement to this,” I say, as I shake my head.
“I want you to go into the bathroom, and come for me. Now you can picture me, my face, and who I am in person, use the same fantasy as you’ve used at my instigation over the last few days. You have five minutes.”
I stand, and leave for the bathroom, intent on getting there as soon as possible in order that I can do his bidding. Suddenly, there is nothing as important as fulfilling his wishes. I do exactly as I am told –bringing myself to a furious climax as i imagine him fucking me hard from behind, and permitting me to come, and his voice afterwards: “Good, Sapphire. Good.”
Despite the onset of an unusual stabbing head pain, i complete my task and return to the table, flushed and breathing heavily. He reminds me to thank him, and I do, blushing that I had forgotten to do so without being told.
Clearly the paradigm has shifted, so i incline my head a little and request permission to resume my salad. It’s granted, and gradually the conversation returns to something resembling normal. On the outside I am calm, but on the inside I am so happy that I have had the opportunity to show him my will to please him, and my ability to fulfil the instructions he has given me — in person.
He has paid the bill while I was away from the table, and I thank him for that. He asks me how much time i have until I have to leave, and upon hearing how long we have, tells me to lead him to a more secluded and discreet spot.
I walk with him to my car, and on his instruction, unlock the door, throw my bags onto the passenger seat, and lock the doors once more. He tells me to follow him, and I do — to a niche in the back wall of the car park, under a large heating pipe. I suspect that he is about to kiss me for the first time, and my suspicions are proved correct. I know that he has been in two minds about whether to kiss me in a manner less than chaste, knowing how much I wanted him to, and I’m truly touched that he has decided in my favour.
He stands me in front of him.
“Give me your mouth. No hands.”
I lean towards him and give him my mouth; he kisses me — passionately and deeply. I tentatively respond, unsure as to whether this is what is expected of me, but i hear no complaint from him nor do i feel as though I’m doing the wrong thing, so the response becomes less and less tentative as the kiss goes on. The kiss goes straight to my knees, and i struggle to stand upright, so intense an experience am i having. He sucks at my lips and tongue, and pulls my hair for the first time, sending a jolt of electricity to my cunt. He pinches my nipple and i moan, unheard in the noise of the car park. He runs his hands up and down my body, feeling my flesh, pinching handfuls of it as though he is testing it or, more to the point, as though he owns it. Which, for now, he does. He pulls my hair again, and again, bending my head to the angle at which he wants it. It’s as if he is bending me to his will although, in truth, I am already bent that way. I get an immediate sensation of what he means when he says he wants me to be his fucktoy, and I love the feeling.
He ends the kiss, and sends me back to the car. With a brief goodbye he departs, walking off in the opposite direction. As i drive off, i pass him and incline my head towards him, my lips and cheeks still tingling from the feel of his stubble against my skin. I savour the feeling, reliving the kiss over and over in my head as I drive. No one has ever kissed me like that before; the depth of sensation has left me reeling as though i were drunk. My cunt is sopping — not so much from my previous masturbatory efforts, but as a direct result of the kiss — and stays wet and squelchy for hours afterwards.
As i drive home, and throughout the afternoon that follows, as I go through the motions of being present and correct at home, all i can think is how lucky I am to have met him, and how much more than ever I want to serve him. I have ceased to think of it in terms of the exploration of my sexuality — for now, all that matters to me is that i make my master happy.
Elegant Smut 