I don’t have words to describe how fun my recent evening with Serena was. She resisted some of my early requests to show me as she dressed, and she accepted some of my early requests to choose what she wore. I selected tight black pants and a strappy maroon top that bared her midriff. We had a drink; it was quick. We both knew we were headed upstairs. I had, perhaps over-enthusiastically, laid out rope, a blindfold, a paddle, and some sushi.
Less than an hour after we had kissed hello, Serena’s ankles were suspended, tied to the bed board, legs spread wide. She was still in her stretchy black pants and her sexy maroon top. I had tied Her hands behind her head, affixed them to a bench I slid around to provide maximum restraint. I took out the magic wand and pressed it against her through the soft fabric of her pants. I alternated between wanding her to the edge of orgasm (“Don’t fucking dare come without my permission!”) and feeding her piece after piece of delicious sushi.
It was fully an hour before she had finished her sushi, asked to come a dozen times, begged twice. Only then did I allow her her first orgasm. I have no idea how many there were subsequently, but there were a lot.
Honestly, the evening is a bit of a haze for me.
I didn’t fuck her, but that was just about the only thing that didn’t happen. I collected more orgasms than I can count from her, with my tongue, with my fingers, with the wand. I came deep in her throat. I paddled her. I spanked her. We cuddled. We kissed. We talked. Lots.
Highlights along the way: my cock stiffening as we discussed control she might give me, porn she might make for me; it softening as we discussed other matters, and then, again, stiffening as she attended more dutifully to it with her expert hands, with her warm, soft, skillful mouth. The dozens of pictures she allowed me to snap of her lithe, tiny, spectacular body. She’s a little less than 5 feet tall. Weighs, I would guess, 100 pounds. Maybe a few less.
I said I don’t have words, but I suppose I have a few: there are at least a few real obstacles between Serena and me, between now and the fun we could have. I’m most definitely not what Serena seeks in a partner at the moment – in just about every way imaginable.
If we are to have a future, it will be because Serena can’t say “no” to the unique, undeniable fun she and I might have. Fun in public, at a bar, sitting apart; at a restaurant, sitting together; at a sex club or party; in other hotel rooms. Together, apart, and in between.
If Serena wants what I have to offer – and she does – if she wants to accept what I have to offer, and to give me what she has to offer – she will have to accept what I don’t have to offer, the ways I’m flawed. I am not “available,” in any meaningful sense. I am unwilling to compensate her for my unavailability, or her time, with anything other than words, pleasure, fun, stories.
Our chemistry is overwhelming, astonishing, unprecedented.
My fingers are crossed so hard they hurt.
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