Intimate

by Jason Luke

  Emily was a free spirit. She taught me spontaneity and in return I taught her some aspects of the BDSM lifestyle. In truth, BDSM was never for Emily. She was as keen to try breast-play as she was bondage – as enthusiastic to try a threesome as she was orgasm denial. She was a sexual thrill-seeker. The relationship was like a shooting star; a blinding flash of light followed by a slow dimming decline.

  Into nothingness.

  We didn’t break up, we just drifted apart. I was offered a new job with a rival business and took it, always drawn to meeting new people by the lure of the BDSM lifestyle and the search for a compatible partner. Emily went seeking her own new sexual delights. I don’t know that she ever found the utopia she was looking for. Last time I heard from her she was miserable in a marriage with children. It seemed a sad way for such a sensual woman to settle – like a sleek and beautiful wild animal trapped behind the bars of a cage.

  * * *

  Alright. I’ve done a lot of talking, but I have just as many questions I want to ask you as I have erotic stories to share. You see I really need to understand what things you find sexy. But there is one question that simply cannot wait any longer – something special I have wanted to ask you ever since we got here.

  It’s important to me so I’d like you to think about your answer.

  What is erotica to you? Have you ever asked yourself that question? Have you ever sat down and considered which single act defines erotica in your own mind?

  Not sex. Erotica.

  It’s something I think about a lot. Maybe it’s because of the writing I do, but I’ve thought long and hard about this question and do you know what I’ve decided?

  Shuffle closer, I’m going to whisper this because, for a man, what I am about to share will probably surprise you.

  Are you listening?

  Okay – to me, the act of kissing a woman’s throat is the absolute definition of erotica. That single action encapsulates the essence of the concept in my mind because it contains so much – promise, anticipation, intimacy…

  Have you ever had a man kiss your neck – trail his lips down along the soft tender flesh of your throat?

  Of course you have, right?

  But have you ever thought about it – thought in depth about how much is happening in that fleeting instant of contact?

  He is close, either standing behind or in front of you, and his hands are touching your body. You’re so close that you can feel the heat of each other. Your head is thrown back, or inclined to the side, and your eyes are closed. Your mouth is open, your skin alive and tingling with a sizzle of so many sensations; the feel of his stubbled jaw, the musky man-smell of him, the soft growling sound he makes in the back of his throat…

  It’s the moment where intimacy and erotica blend, and where a defining moment can lead in so many directions. It’s the sensual time before sex, and yet the tantalizing time after the spark of desire has first been ignited. It’s seductive without being graphic. It’s all about touch, taste, smell and sound – the erotic cocktail of senses needed to seduce a woman.

  Try it for me.

  Touch your neck lightly – as lightly as you can with the bare tips of your fingers… trail them down across your neck and throat. Imagine it’s me standing behind you, right now, holding you close. Think about the touch of your fingers being like the fire of my sensual kisses.

  Can you feel it? Can you feel your skin come tingling alive?

  Did your mouth open just a little?

  Now slide your hand down to your breast. Imagine my fingers, gentle and exploring – touching you the way you want to be touched. The way you wish a man would know to touch you.

  Breathe deeply.

  Intimate. Erotic.

  You’re such a good girl for me.

  * * *

  Now that we’ve met; now we’ve becoming comfortable with each other and I’m here alone with you… are you disappointed?

  Does the image of Jason Luke measure to this reality we’re sharing?

  You see I’m talking to you right now in the same way I would talk in everyday life, when I’m with any other woman. There’s no passages of eloquent flowing prose, no lyrical metaphors… not even a contrived plotline or a story arc. It’s just us, and I figure that might be a let down for you.

  Some people read my books because of the language – the way I describe scenes – and I realize this must be a very different reality you’re experiencing. It’s just me, uncensored and unfiltered. I actually feel unarmed – unable to hide behind character conversation and all those neat things that writers use to create a sense of atmosphere.

  Instead you’ve got me, alone with you in your private place, and I figure an exotic location with a compelling hero right now might just be a lot more appealing than listening to the real me.

  I hope you don’t really feel that way. I hope so far I’ve been all you expected: entertaining at least. I am enjoying our time together, but I can’t seem to shake the vision of watching you pleasure yourself.

  I said earlier that every woman has a fantasy.

  Well men do too…

  Touch yourself.

  Do it – not because I’m commanding you, but because I’m releasing you – giving you permission to free yourself from inhibitions… allowing you to be yourself with me watching you.

  Touch yourself because you want to, and because I want to watch you.

  We’ve reached that stage now, haven’t we? I feel like I can share almost anything with you – and I want you to feel the same way. I don’t want barriers of self-consciousness to inhibit you for a moment more.

  So touch yourself. Right now.

  Slide your fingers down between your spread legs and let yourself relax. Draw your fingertips across the smooth skin of your inner thigh and then let them meander slowly higher. Take your time. Tease yourself. Draw out the moment for as long as you want – there’s no hurry. We’ve got plenty of time. I want you to enjoy the delicious pleasure of feeling aroused and reacting to that urge in complete privacy – in complete safety.

  Because it’s just you and me alone here, and I’m watching you from the shadows. No one else will know. You have some of my secrets, and now I want to share this intimate pleasure with you. It will be something to take with me when I leave tonight. Something I can always savor and remember.

  Say, ‘yes Sir.’ Whisper it as your fingers glide across the sensitive flesh of your pussy. Say ‘yes, Jason.’

  If I could touch you right now, I’d start with your shoulders, standing very close behind you so that our bodies were brushing against each other – so that I could feel the heat of you against me.

  Could you imagine that?

  Could you imagine standing in a shadow struck room, maybe with just a little pale light filtering in through the windows? The house would be quiet and we would be alone. I’d appear from out of the gloom. You’d smell my aftershave first, then sense that I was nearby.

  I’d reach for you, pull you back against me and then begin to caress your shoulders.

  Not massage. Caress. This would be sensual, provocative… the touch of my fingers suggesting that I wanted more from you.

  How would you respond?

  Would you close your eyes, throw your head back and gift me the long soft tender flesh of your throat? Would your breathing hitch? And if one of my arms wrapped around your waist and drew you close to me, would that be all right?

  I can hear your breathing turn husky in the back of your throat and feel little pieces of you melting.

  Shhhh.

  It’s okay. I want you to relax. I want you to slip into fantasy. We’re sharing this together, you and I. It’s intimacy made sensual. Go with it.

  Imagine me gliding my hand slowly – very slowly – up over your body until I have one of your breasts cupped possessively.

  Would you like that?

  Lean against me. Sway back. It’s perfectly okay. I want to feel you closer to me, and I want to be able to draw m
y lips down along your throat and smell the lingering scent of your perfume, and that first musky hint of deeper feminine desire.

  Our bodies would sway slowly, pressed hard against each other, moving as one. You’d sense my need and, like dancers, I’d guide you with careful touches, encouraging you towards slow simmering arousal – sensing those parts of your body that begin to catch fire and salving them with cool fingers until my hands and our bodies were moving with a will of their own.

  What would make your knees go weak? That’s what I want to know.

  Would it be the first passionate kiss that melts on your lips and somehow touches your soul… or would it be the hungry look in my eyes; that look that says I want to devour you?

  Let yourself go.

  I’ve got you…

  * * *

  I’ve always favored orgasm control as a way to discipline and punish submissives. I’ve never leaned towards the more corporal aspects of the lifestyle’s punishment regimes. In fact, if you came to me for personal training, I’d control your orgasms as a way of instilling obedience in you to follow my every command.

  How would you handle that, do you think?

  Does the thought of submitting yourself for training by a Master arouse you?

  Could you imagine what it might be like?

  Whilst I don’t live the lifestyle anymore, and I haven’t for quite some time, I admit there are still moments in my life when I miss the interplay and dynamic that stems from a BDSM relationship.

  Let’s explore this, you and I. Let’s have a quiet little discussion about why so many women find the idea of submitting sexually to a man appealing. I’d like to know your thoughts. I’d like to get a better understanding of what makes a woman want to submit and surrender her body willingly to a man.

  What do you think? Is the fascination born from boredom with a man who is an inept lover… or is it some deeper sensory instinct – an urge to simply feel more feminine, more desired in the bedroom?

  Is submission something you have ever actively considered… has the idea ever crept into your sexual fantasies?

  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to surrender your mind, body and soul to a man?

  You would look so very pretty wearing a collar.

  Do you know that? Well you would.

  Not anything bulky; nothing brash or overstated, that just wouldn’t suit you, and I doubt it’s your style any more than it is mine. No, for you the collar I’d select would be something very elegant – a piece that stated simply that you were owned… something you could wear every day and night as a secret reminder.

  I do apologize if I am being too confronting. I have a habit of doing that, you know, so please forgive me. I tend to ask very direct and sometimes personal questions. I don’t mean to – I simply have a genuine curiosity about other people and I rarely have the time for idle chatter, so my questions tend to be pointed – probing.

  You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, not when we have spent such a lovely time in each other’s company. I don’t want to ruin this time by making you feel awkward.

  Well… okay, maybe I want you to feel a little awkward. I mean that’s a good thing right? You know you are alive when you’re taken just a little ways outside of your comfort zone.

  It is a good thing.

  So go with it…

  * * *

  Not all of my stories I want to share with you are about women I had sex with… although they are all about women… and sex…

  You see there was this one woman I met named Karen. I never had sex with her, but we did have a frank and animated conversation – the kind of chat that anyone overhearing would have felt uncomfortable listening to.

  We met at a local café and at the time Karen was probably thirty-five? Maybe thirty-seven…

  Anyhow, we had been introduced through a mutual friend. I was still on my search for a compatible submissive woman with whom I could form a long-term relationship, and Karen was an experienced submissive who had just come out of a long-term relationship.

  She was a slim-built woman with auburn hair.

  Auburn… do people still say that – or do they say reddish-brown? I’m not sure, but you get the picture.

  She had a tattoo of handcuffs on the inside of her right wrist and a thin strip of leather, knotted tight around her throat. She was wearing a long flowing loose-fitting dress and walking funny.

  Yeah, really. It wasn’t quite a limp. It was more of a pained, uncomfortable gait. I shook her hand when she came through the front door of the café, and we sat together in a corner booth. Once the waitress had gone, we started chatting about all those forgettable things that are small-talk until I asked her about her experiences in the lifestyle as a submissive woman.

  Karen had seen every aspect of a submissive’s life – the highlights and the lowlights. Her most recent Master had put her in a car with several men and given them all permission to fuck her during a long drive home. Apparently, half-way to their destination she fled from the car, humiliated and furious at the way her man had treated her… and that was the end of their relationship.

  Other Masters she had served had been more considerate – too considerate apparently. The fine line between contentment and frustration was very fine indeed. I got the impression that Karen was looking for someone who would be firm, but without using pain as punishment.

  And then a bizarre thing happened.

  We started negotiating her submission to me.

  I say bizarre because at the time it was. Now, with hindsight and more experience, I realize that Karen was a thoughtful, experienced submissive who knew what she wanted from a relationship. She wasn’t going to go willingly to just any man who showed an interest; this was her submission she was offering and she wanted to be sure the man she surrendered to was worthy.

  Smart lady.

  But at the time it was like we were negotiating the sale of a house. The entire conversation was about likes, dislikes, and what we could accept. We tried to find middle ground. We chatted in an amiable way but Karen had a list – yes an actual handwritten list – of all the things she wanted to know from her potential Masters… how punishments would be handed out, what she would be expected to wear, how she would be required to behave in certain situations, as well as some specific hard limits.

  I, on the other hand, was a little more instinctive. I didn’t see the point in contracts or agreements because the relationship – like every other relationship – would always hinge on a majority vote of one. If either person was unhappy or unsatisfied, the relationship just didn’t work, and that seemed particularly true in the BDSM lifestyle.

  Anyhow, the waitress started hanging around a little more often and a little longer than was necessary. I’m sure she had overheard some aspects of our conversation and had become intrigued.

  Karen sensed it too. She flashed the young woman a venomous glare and declared to me in a voice that was louder than necessary:

  “I’m sorry. You probably noticed I was limping when I arrived, and since then I’ve had a hard time sitting still. It’s because I had my clitoris pierced a couple of days ago and it’s still tender.”

  I shit you not! That’s what she said in the middle of the café on a busy Saturday morning.

  The waitress disappeared and we did not see her again.

  Karen wore the leather strap around her neck for a specific reason. She said it was a subtle message to others in the lifestyle that she was submissive but without a Master. It was a subtle message. If she hadn’t told me, I, for one, would never have made the connection.

  When it came down to it, Karen knew a lot more about BDSM than I probably ever will.

  I have never been an expert on the lifestyle.

  Never.

  Karen knew the ‘craft’ of the lifestyle, and regularly attended social gatherings with likeminded people. I, on the other hand, had never mixed with others who enjoyed BDSM. I’d always done
my own thing, made my own rules and I was perfectly happy that way. I didn’t feel I needed to mix with others on a social level. What I was doing worked for me and the ladies I trained, and I needed nothing more. I never have.

  There’s no right or wrong way to engage in BDSM play. As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual… well you’ve probably heard the expression before…

  Anyhow, I’m getting distracted. Sorry, my mind does that sometimes. My thoughts go off in a direction and my mouth follows. The point of telling you about Karen is this: she was a confident in-control woman who enjoyed the submissive lifestyle, without compromising her wants and needs. I respected her for that. To some men I am sure her confidence and knowledge would have been intimidating.

  At last! Now I’m finally coming to my point…

  Think about your own life. Maybe you’re in a relationship with a man and you would love to explore the BDSM lifestyle with him – but you can’t understand why he is so reluctant.

  Sound familiar…?

  Believe me when I tell you that a guy’s sexual confidence hangs by a thin thread. You’ve been reading about the BDSM lifestyle. You know the language and maybe some of the sexual positions and aspects of submission too.

  Compared to your man, you’re well-researched.

  Your guy, on the other hand, most likely knows little or nothing at all about BDSM.

  That’s damned intimidating for a guy. What if he makes a fool of himself in front of you?

  What if he doesn’t measure up in your eyes to the epic performances of all those erotic romance heroes you read about?

  A lot of women assume a dominant, confident attitude to sex is something every man automatically inherits. They don’t.

  Just because a man can hammer in a nail, does not mean he’s qualified as a carpenter.

  * * *

  I know what you’re doing.

  You’re sitting, listening to me, but in the background, beneath the sound of my voice, your mind is playing back over our conversation and you’re wondering if anything I have said contained some deeper, more significant meaning, right?