Author’s note: If you haven’t read part 1 you’ll most likely be confused. So, I highly recommend you read part 1 first. Thank you.
******
Doc lifted my right arm over my head. I froze. Had I hurt enough deodorant? God, I hoped so. And then that massive hand made a serpentine path along my arm until a finger dug into my armpit and… bliss. At some point, my eyes closed. When they fluttered open, everyone was staring back at me. I couldn’t speak, could barely move and then there was Doc. I sensed him still behind me. Would he touch me again? I don’t know if I’d survive it. The answer to that question came sooner than I thought when his massive hands tenderly gripped my shoulders and he once again leaned in close to my ears.
“You did good. Are you okay?”
A million thoughts ran through my head: Am I okay? Am I… okay? I whispered back that I was good and then made a beeline to my seat. Further embarrassment abused, but for how long?
The presentation continued from there with an array of eager volunteers, but I could barely concentrate. My mind was stuck on the moment I shared with Doc, wondering if he felt what I did. Probably not. I mean, he was a professional that did these kinds of demonstrations all the time. How would one interaction with me make a difference? At least that’s what I told myself.
After another hour the presentation ended, and the social event began. I hadn’t planned on staying, but since Doc seemed to be setting in for a night of Kinky. camaraderie, I decided it couldn’t hurt to stay a little longer and observe him outside of teaching mode. As the night went on, I smiled and lingered on the edge of conversations, stealing glances here and there at Doc. He had a talent for engagement; lending an air of interest in the disinteresting aspects of each person he encountered. Every conversation he found himself in, he gave his full attention, as though each person who interacted with him were as equally fascinating. That aspect of him was beyond endearing and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy that I would never learn the secret to such easeful social maneuvering. I’ve come to accept that I’m not as personalable as I’d like to be around others. But I get by.
As the night carried on, I played a cat and mouse game with the object of my observation. We stole glances here and there. A low-key flirtation across the room but he had yet to approach me. Frustrated, I didn’t want to go to him like a lost puppy looking for her owner. Though I wanted to be owned by him, the thrill was in the taking. But he didn’t make me wait too long. When I’d thought I had enough and was ready to run tail between legs out the door, he made his approach.
I could talk about what he said to me and what I said to him. The small talk we made about soft and hard limits and the merits and drawbacks of safe words. But none of that mattered until he asked me to follow him into the dungeon. The dungeon was relly the basement of the Kink club, equipped with fetish furnishings, various toys, and cleaning supplies. Aside from those things, it was non-descript with simple lockers and tables; the comforts that could be found in any basement in our city. But again, none of that mattered at the time, just whether I’d follow him, and I did.
There was little talking after that. In a dark corner of the basement, his hand, a large albino spider, wrapped around my throat and squeezed. Bursts of light shot across my line of vision. Every nervous heightened with the vying sensing of survival versus pleasure. My body warred with my good sense. But I didn’t fight. I allowed him full domain over me until the primary took over and my legs wrapped around his waist in challenge. He released the pressure on my neck as my sex rubbed against him, wet and inviting. I moaned into the sensings and he cocked an eyebrow as if to say, you dare. Oh, I dare. I flexed my tighter, gripping him like a vice, provoking him to take it. Would he?
His answer came when his free hand undid the hooks on the back of my jumper, exposing my back. He slide the jumper off my shoulders in a gentle fashion, but that is where his gentleness ended. He cupped my breasts in his rough hand, still caresing me by the throat with the other. The sardonic smile he wore became a temporary tattoo that he pressed against the swell of my breasts, while he tweaked my nipples to the point of pain. I squirmed beneath him, loving every sensing, craving our clash of wills.
Once he disrobed me of my jumper, he released my throat and took in the sight of my partially nude body. My lacy black bra and underwear were in disarray, he relieved me of them too. When he moved to settle his head between my legs, I stopped him. We wouldn’t go there tonight. No foreplay, no prolonging the inevitable. He owed me something; an angry, loud, no holds barred fuck.
But again, I was denied. He released me letting my bottleslide to the floor. There would be no words, no more teasing and no fucking…at least not that night, and I remained there in the stillness of the room, wanting and unfilled, listening as his footsteps ascended the basement steps.
Leave a Reply