The Stranger & I Continued

The Stranger & I Continued

The evening he requested to meet with me was a dark, dirty night with merciless rain thrashing down upon my flimsy umbrella – it could barely withstand the beating it was taking from the heavens.  Looking back perhaps it was a sign, an omen, not to go forward into this new reality, but I couldn’t have known and if I had had that time again, I’d have done it just the same.

We met in a quiet little bar down a side street.  The smell of old wood warmed over the years by the open fire, and the scent of the delicious red wine he handed me on my arrival was enough to help me relax into our night together.  By 11pm we had discussed history, family, friends, careers, childhood, life’s highs and lows…in fact, more than I had ever got through with one person on a first date.  I felt so comfortable with him, so at ease…so safe!  Like I could tell him anything and it would all be ok.  He seemed too good to be true. 

Because of this I found myself in a taxi going back to his – something I would never usually do for fear of getting hurt once the morning comes and with it an empty bed or a swift exit from theirs with broken promises to call.  But somehow this felt right. More than right, it was the only option – I never wanted this night to end and this was a good enough way to ensure it didn’t finish just yet!

His home was, as expected: chic, white, open plan, minimal, but mixed with beautiful older elements such as the bookcase and fireplaces all of which were made out of heavy dark wood.  The doors were made of solid oak, each of which were about three inches thick and made a very satisfying thud when closing.  I couldn’t have pictured him living anywhere else but this contradiction of old and new, bright and dark, closed and open.  There was something about him….something different. Something which he hadn’t told me yet and something which scared me just a little – but crazily, that fear only heightened my sense of longing for him. 

Before too long I found myself underneath him, sinking deep into his plush sofa, surrounded by cushions and feeling utterly lost to all sense – his kisses on my lips and neck and collar bone tingled. My body felt as though it were awakening from a long sleep.  His hand under my head and the one on my waist held me in place and I felt myself relax further into his desire.  I moaned as his grip on me tightened and his hands moved to my breasts which were desperate for release. He did not disappoint – I sat up to allow my top over my head and his adept fingers to flick the catch of my bra open. I flung it to the ground.  At this point he stopped momentarily to take in the sight of me half naked, out of breath, a tangle of hair and rosy cheeks…I knew I must look wanton, and I was. 

His hand reached to hold my cheek tenderly, just for a split second, before he reached around and took a handful of my hair.  I felt the pressure from his hand as he tugged me back down onto the sofa…I felt my body react to this physical power he had over me.  I knew I had already been wet, but this new element of sheer dominance took me to another level and that is when it his me.  He was Dominant.  I had heard of these men, read of them, fantastised about them even, but had never met one. And now here I was, naked with one of them; one of the sexiest men I had ever seen, who had held my gaze so firmly the first time we had caught eyes, who had rushed to my aid when I had fallen and made me assure him that I would be careful in future.  I had wondered why this stranger had cared – and now I realised why.  Something in me was answering his need to dominate, to nurture, to take care of, to teach..to punish?

His kisses were growing in intensity.  My body bucked against his with a mind of its own.  His hand in my hair pulled my head back uncomfortably so, so that he could kiss my neck and throat.  His teeth grazed my skin and suddenly his mouth was on my breasts – sucking and kissing and biting…the pleasure and pain mix was too much.  As his tongue swept again and again over my taut, puckered nipples I could, unbelievably, feel an orgasm building.  With my hair still in his tight grip, my head was still pulled back, so my hands did the job of willing his tongue to go on with their sweet torture by holding his head, gripping his hair – anything I could do to make him stay. I was entirely vulnerable, completely unable to move from this position even if I had wanted to, but my one freedom, my hands, were going to do all they could to ensure that whatever he was doing did not stop. 

As his free hand took the job of one nipple whilst his tongue continue its merciless reign on the other, I was flying.  The inability to move whilst simultaneously being given a brand new and devastatingly intense form of pleasure was almost more than I could bear and in my mind, I was soaring.  As my orgasm mounted from his ceaseless mouth and fingers, my mind rushed this way and that, and suddenly…without warning, it silenced.  I was aware of nothing except my orgasm which tore through me like a bullet.  It zigzagged itself through me from the center of the pleasure in my nipples down to my clit, my pussy, my legs went weak, my back bent further from its already unnaturally arched position – the only thing still working were my hands which gripped and released his hair uncontrollably.  I moaned, and I writhed and the bliss rode on with me for what felt, in hindsight, like hours. 

As the pleasure subsided, my body was spent.  Even my hands gave up their bid for independence and I collapsed as he sat back.  I lay there, a gentle smile playing on my exhausted face.  I opened my eyes to find his boring into me…they were so dark.  Suddenly that little touch of fear I had been playing with in my mind came flooding back as fight or flight senses bristled within me.  At once, I saw his hand move toward my face…I panicked…and then he lay it gently on my cheek.  His thumb, stroked me over and over again.  I relaxed back down and naturally closed my eyes, the effects of the intense orgasm drifting me into sleep. 

And then he spoke.

“I want to make you mine.”

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The Stranger and I

The Stranger and I

He caught my eye across the train station coffee shop – he didn’t smile, in fact he gave nothing away. For the life of me I thought I must have done something to upset him in some way despite the fact I had never seen him before.  But I held his gaze because it felt as though there was no where my eyes would rather be looking, at that moment.  There was something in that electric look which had hidden meaning – but what?  And then he looked down again, back to his paper, as though nothing has happened.  I stared at him for moments longer trying to will those long lashes to flick back up and for his eyes to catch me in their stare once again, but no.  I looked away.  I felt shaken for some reason. As though angry words had been said, as though there were some unexpressed emotions between this stranger and I.  But yet, there was nothing. Nothing between us. No history, nor present or future. Just some inexplicable angst.

At that moment he got up from seat, newspaper now folded neatly under his arm, suit fitted and smoothed to perfection.  He did not look at me again.  He left and I remained staring after him, mouth open slightly in unspoken shock.

The next morning I headed back toward the coffee shop.  I must admit, this was not my usual, but yesterday my regular spot had been so busy i had headed to this one despite it being a little further to walk for my train platform.  Today I found my feet subconsciously taking the extra walk in the hope of seeing this mysterious stranger once again.  What it was which drew me in was still unresolved in my head, but something pulled me there.  My heart began pounding hard when I caught sight of the back of his head through the window as he sat in the same spot as the previous day.  His hair was perfectly slick and sleek, not a strand out of place, just as it had been the first time i had seen him.  A different suit fit to his body today; a navy blue with a subtle grey pinstripe.  He was like an out of place fantasy.  As i walked in I saw him smile at the pretty young barista as she walked by with a tray piled high with used mugs.  My heart flipped in my chest…what on earth was happening to me? Was that jealousy I felt? Jealously that he smiled at her but yet I got nothing more than a dark, blank stare?  He was nothing to me nor I to him so why should he smile at me?  I was nothing really compared to him.  I had my charms but compared to him…well…I was more than punching above my weight.  ‘So why then’, my subconscious queried, ‘had he stared at me so intently?’  I still didn’t know but as I took further steps in to the coffee shop I happily noted him notice me… at which point I slipped on a wet spot on the floor.  The young barista came hurrying over with a paper towel, clearly that wet patch had been her next job, but it was a little too late for me and my ego.

My stranger was out of his seat and at my side with a hand reaching down to assist me in my clamber back up before I had barely hit the ground.  I took his warm smooth hand gratefully as my cheeks burned, and he lift me to my feet.  I could barely look at him.  He was taller than i had expected, even in my three inch stilettos, and having to turn my face up to meet his eyes, those dark, brooding, angry eyes, seemed more than my ego could bare.

“Hey”, he said, “Look at me…”, so I did.  He didn’t disappoint.  The eyes were darker than I had noticed the day before, but this time they were filled with concern and worry – for me!  His voice curled around me like cream, I could have bathed in it – so thick and warm. I felt instantly at ease looking up at him, my face turned up, my neck bent back.  The barista was babbling on with her apologies and requests to get me a free drink but as we looked at one another, I felt as though she must be a million miles away, or else he and I were.

He didn’t take his eyes from mine for what felt an eternity, and before long, that worry I had seen in them was replaced with something else.  Something darker.  He spoke once again: “You need to be more careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.  Do you understand?”.

I nodded mutely not fully understanding why I was being spoken to in this way by a stranger, albeit a handsome, all consuming stranger whose voice and eyes sent me spinning in to oblivion.  ‘Why did he care if I hurt myself?’ I heard my mind quietly ask.

“Can I get you a coffee?” he asked.  And so, the tale of the stranger and I began.

 

To be continued…