Unforgettable

by Aleatha Romig

  “I-I...going?” I say, unsure of what he means or what’s even happening.

  “You want to touch yourself. Do it.”

  I peer down at my dress now bunched near the top of my thighs as my heart pounds against my chest. It’s not like I haven’t done this before—pleasured myself. It’s that I’ve never done it with someone watching or commanding my next move.

  “You were given an order. Do you know what happens when you disobey?”

  My eyes move from the man to the couple.

  I do know. I am still seeing her punishment.

  “I-I...” My tongue feels dry as I try to form words.

  “The answer is ‘yes, Sir, or no, Sir.’ Do you know?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Lucas

  For a moment, her startled doe-eyed stare peering my way makes me wonder if Dorothy was right, that this woman agreed to instruction and to being viewed. There is no doubt that Dorothy was correct about this beautiful woman’s status. The white satin mask isn’t the only clue that this gorgeous creature is in a new element. Her piquing interest and wanton needs emanate from her. It’s as if even through the glass I can smell her desire.

  I tilt my chin. “Lie back against the arm of the sofa so I can see.”

  Her head moves from side to side. “What?”

  My neck tightens. “Tell me what part of my instructions was unclear.” My tone deepens with each word.

  She doesn’t speak as she looks around as if she had forgotten where she was. Move by move, she complies, laying her head upon the arm at the far end of the sofa. Her lovely long hair flows in soft waves over her bare shoulders and the way her nipples protrude, tenting the material as her breasts heave under her dress, I’m certain she isn’t wearing a bra.

  I wait as the situation settles over her. It’s like watching a kitten whose eyes have just opened. The world it’s only heard is now present and real. The enormity of her first time hits me.

  Even after all of this time, Dorothy believes I can still do this, that I’m the man for the job.

  As the woman’s eyes return to me, I know I want to be that man.

  The woman glances toward her feet still on the floor and back to me. While I am turned on by her trepidation, I need words. When she doesn’t speak, I do.

  “Lift them, gorgeous. Keep the shoes on. One higher on the back of the sofa with the other knee bent outward.”

  More shallow breaths and I worry this little doe may hyperventilate before I see what I want to see.

  “Breathe.”

  Nodding, she slowly moves her legs to where I said. As she does, I am struck by the shapeliness of her calves and tone of her muscles. I want to ask if she’s a runner. I want to ask about the way she spends her time and what she enjoys. I want to know why she’s alone.

  My gaze goes to her hands, fluttering near her face with her elbows bent. There’s no ring to indicate she belongs to another man.

  Why are you alone, beautiful?

  I don’t ask any of my questions—that isn’t what this is about. Dorothy sent me in here to usher this beautiful creature into a world she may have imagined but has never experienced. If I were to face the truth, Dorothy also sent me in here for me to welcome myself back.

  Though I want this lovely woman’s eyes on me, I direct otherwise. “Turn, beautiful, look back through the window at what you were watching.”

  At first, she hesitates as her red lip disappears beneath her front teeth, and then she complies, showing me the perfection of her profile, her upturned nose, high cheekbones, and slender neck. When her gaze meets the window, she sucks in a breath.

  At least she’s breathing.

  Oh, how I wish I could see two rooms, to know what she’s seeing; however, from my angle it’s impossible. Even the audible is indistinguishable through two speakers.

  “Tell me what you see,” I command.

  Her lips press together as she returns her stare to me. “I-I...”

  “Yes, Sir. No, Sir.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Her arms reach higher until they’re over her head and she’s holding her own hand. I want those hands on her body. I want to watch as she brings herself pleasure, but first, I need to return her thoughts to the room next door.

  “Eyes toward the window.”

  Even with the white satin mask limiting my view, I can see her long lashes bat, and she fixes her gaze on the other couple.

  “Oh!” she exclaims, her soft voice filled with emotion. “The...crop is gone.”

  Oh fuck.

  There was a crop.

  How long has it been...?

  “Why was there a crop?” I ask, knowing the answer and wanting to hear her verbalize it.

  “The man...he said he told the woman to wear red.”

  “She disobeyed.” The thought causes blood to rush to my growing dick. “What did he do?”

  Her gaze is now unwavering upon the window.

  “He punished her.” Her breathing is accelerating and her hands seem to tremble. “First with a belt and then the crop. Now, he’s denying her...”

  A warm sense of power flows through me. It’s one of the best punishments. Submissives willingly take the lash of a belt or crop. They’ll accept clamps to even their most sensitive areas. They’ll do whatever is commanded knowing relief is their reward.

  Denying submissives the pleasure of an orgasm is their greatest fear, the punishment that stays with them the longest. In a long-term relationship, that punishment can be extended over hours or days until her need is all she can think about, until it’s something she is willing to do anything to receive.

  “Tell me what she wants,” I say.

  “She hasn’t said,” the woman pants, her eyes wide on the scene.

  “What do you think she wants?”

  “Him, inside her. She wants to be satisfied.”

  “He’s not going to give it to her.”

  Her eyes flash my direction and the light catches them just right. They’re the most brilliant light shade of blue, warm and pleasing while simultaneously curious and alarmed.

  “Did I tell you to look my way?”

  Her head shakes as she turns back to the window. “No, Sir. Sorry, Sir. He’s telling her to kneel.”

  Her immediate response gives my dick a zap of electricity. “What do you want?”

  “I want what he won’t give her.”

  “You want that man inside you?”

  “No,” she responds quickly, keeping her eyes toward the window. “I want the satisfaction he’s denying her.”

  “Are you wet?”

  She quickly nods.

  My neck straightens. “Spread those sexy legs. Lift your dress and show me.”

  As she complies, I see that she’s not bare under her dress. She’s wearing the tiniest lace panties. The small black lace triangle barely covers her pussy, revealing that she also isn’t shaved. Instead she has what appear to be soft blonde curls.

  Fuck.

  This woman couldn’t be more perfect if I’d called ahead and ordered the woman of my desires.

  “Take off the panties. I want to see you.”

  “I’ve never—”

  “Yes, Sir. No, Sir,” I remind her, interrupting.

  She reaches down to the waistband and lowers the black lace over her hips. As she lifts her ass from the sofa, she replies, “Yes, Sir.”

  The black lace lowers over her shapely legs and her high-heeled shoes until it’s free. She drops it to the floor. Inch by inch she opens herself, revealing the soft yellow curls and needy pink pussy.

  Perhaps it’s because I haven’t done anything like this in so long. Maybe it’s this woman’s desire mixed with trepidation. I didn’t want to analyze. Nevertheless, I can’t remain where I am. Turning the knob of the door beside the window, I step into the room with the blonde-haired beauty. The room is filled with deep moans of pleasure combined with gasps, letting me know that while the woman next door isn’t being satisfied,
the man is.

  The blonde-haired beauty’s gaze snaps to me.

  Without speaking, I walk to her, my steps determined yet slow, my shoes tapping upon the hard surface until I’m towering over her curves and exposed sex. I reach out my hand. “Give me the remote.”

  Without looking away or speaking, with her blue eyes wide and staring up at me, she reaches down, fumbling until she finds the remote and hands it my direction.

  Never turning toward the window, I darken the scene and quell the sound.

  I should go back to the chair in the viewing room. Or even to the chair in this room. I can’t. Now that I’m so close to her, I can’t move away.

  This could be against her request. I didn’t ask. I’d agreed to command from afar. However, there’s something drawing me to her. I have to touch her.

  Reaching for her chin, I tilt her beautiful face my direction. “Don’t look away.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I hold her soft, warm skin in my grasp. While maintaining my deep tone, I reassure her. “Do as I say and you’ll get what you want.”

  She swallows. “Yes, Sir. I’ll do as you say.”

  “Touch yourself.”

  I don’t have to tell her where. Immediately one of her hands lowers to her pussy as the other grips the skirt of her dress.

  “Are you wet?” I ask as her fingers graze over her clit before spreading herself open and teasing her entrance.

  “Yes, Sir. I am.”

  I lower my face to hers. We’re inches apart as her chin trembles in my grasp, yet her blue eyes never leave mine. “I am going to direct your next moves. You’ll listen to my voice only. If you’re a good girl and obey, you will have the best orgasm of your life. If you are very good, we both will. If you don’t want to comply, tell me now, and we will both walk away from here. Yes, Sir. Or no, Sir.”

  Marji

  “Yes, Sir. Or no, Sir.”

  Dorothy’s words come back to me. Couples establish their own safe words, but in the meantime, remember that no means no. This man is giving me that out. This man I don’t know, the one who instructed me to remove my underwear and has seen my core, not only seen but has watched as I touched myself.

  Trust.

  That is what Dr. Kizer says is needed.

  Is it possible to trust a man I don’t even know?

  “Sir?” I ask, my chin still in his grasp.

  His chin raises as his dark eyes penetrate my barriers. “Yes, Sir. No, Sir.”

  “If I say no, Sir...?”

  “I told you, beautiful, what will happen either way.”

  He did. We walk away, or if I say yes, the best orgasm of my life is within reach.

  Reaching up, I take his hand, the one holding my chin. Our gazes stay fixed upon one another. “Yes, Sir,” I say as our fingers intertwine. “I trust you.”

  His gaze goes to where our hands are touching. “Stand up, beautiful. If we’re both getting what we want, the dress needs to come off.”

  Come off.

  There should be alarm bells ringing. There should be fear flushing my bloodstream. There should be concern over being with someone I don’t know and may never see again. All of those things should be happening. Instead, our hands rotate until mine is laid in his and he helps me stand. Even with me in my heels, this man is much taller than I. Not only tall, he is broad and his shoulders are wide. Though his tone has softened, there is still dominance in his voice and actions. He is allowing my refusal while at the same time doing as he’d said and directing my movements.

  Spinning me, he unlatches the top of the bodice behind my neck. All at once the front of my dress falls forward revealing my breasts. Before unlatching the skirt, he spins me again. The rich aroma of his cologne mixes with the scent of bourbon filling my senses as the warmth of his closeness radiates against my exposed skin.

  As we’re now side by side, the man sweeps my long hair over my shoulders, all the while staring unabashedly at my breasts. Though he doesn’t speak, I feel his gaze over my flesh until my nipples grow even harder.

  The corners of his lips move upward as he keeps his gaze on my breasts, reaches behind me, unbuttons the skirt of the dress, and lowers the zipper. The entire dress flutters to the floor, creating a black puddle around my shoes.

  Again my hand is in his.

  “Back as you were.”

  Words of questioning come to mind, yet I keep them at bay, responding as he taught me. “Yes, Sir.”

  Once I’m lain back, my legs where he wants them, the shoes as he directs, and my hair flowing over the arm of the sofa, he again reaches for my hand and lowers it to my core.

  “Think about what you saw. Did his punishment excite you?”

  The scene comes back.

  I nod.

  His finger traces my painted lips. “You have a voice. Use it. I want to hear you. I want to hear your answers. If the time comes, I want to hear your pleas and your cries of ecstasy and pain. Speak.”

  Holy shit.

  This is real.

  This is happening and my body is on fire.

  “Yes, Sir. It turned me on.”

  “Have you ever felt the bite of a belt?”

  I begin to shake my head and quickly recover. “No, Sir.”

  “A crop?”

  “A cane?”

  I reply in the negative each time, yet the images are burnt into my mind as I imagine each implement stinging my flesh. My pussy clenches as my nipples continue to grow painfully hard.

  He pushes my legs farther apart as he stares down at my core. I fight the urge to press my legs together, to hide what I’m certain he can see, that I’m wet with anticipation.

  When he looks up and our gazes meet, his dark eyes gleam. “A crop to the tender flesh of a pussy is better than a jolt of electricity.”

  My eyes widen as my insides twist. The need to close my thighs and protect my most sensitive skin is almost unsurmountable as my knees flinch. “Electricity? A crop...there?”

  Instead of answering, he continues his demands, “Keep your eyes on me and show me how you do it, how you make yourself come.”

  The idea of denying that I do this—touch myself—or have done it comes to mind. Instead, I stare into his dark gaze as I find my clit. Little circles to the sensitive nerves cause my neck to straighten and back to arch. I continue moving as I find my opening and confirm what I already knew. Using my essence, I continue to bring myself higher.

  It isn’t only my touch.

  It’s him. The intensity of his stare zeroed in on me.

  It’s his proximity as he watches my every move.

  I have an unfamiliar need to please him with my compliance, and by the way his stare is darkening, I believe I am. That alone is enough to bring me to a climax. My own touch is simply extra.

  It’s as I moan that his hand reaches for mine. Lifting it, he opens his full lips and slowly sucks my essence from my fingers.

  Holy shit, that’s hot.

  “Now your breasts,” he demands.

  I am too hypnotized by his deep voice, actions, the guttural sounds he makes, and his presence to argue. In the past, I have largely ignored my own breasts, instead concentrating on my relief and then moving on, usually going to sleep. Doing as he says, I lift both hands, finding that my breasts are heavier than normal.

  “Pinch your nipples.”

  I let out a squeal, surprised by their sensitivity.

  “Imagine that crop on them when they’re as stunning and engorged as they are right now.”

  I can’t imagine.

  I’ve never considered it and now the image of the woman next door takes on more meaning. The man waited until she was hot and bothered to punish her breasts, knowing they would be more painful.

  “Please, Sir,” I plead, wanting more, just as she had.

  The man reaches for the buckle of his belt.

  What is he going to do?

  It’s then I notice the bulge, his growing erection. When my eyes widen und
er the satin, he says, “The rules haven’t changed, beautiful.”

  I’m not sure what that means and yet no matter what it is, I’m not prepared to say no.

  This man doesn’t remove his belt as the man next door did. Instead, he unlatches it and then the top button of his trousers and lowers the zipper. It’s as he pushes down the waistband of his boxer briefs that his erection springs forward.

  I take it in, the length and girth. Perhaps it’s my angle or maybe being at Lace and Leather, yet I want to reach out, to touch the velvety surface and lick the shiny tip.

  His large hand palms his length.

  “Make yourself come, but don’t look away.”

  I don’t know if he means from his sexy eyes or from his glorious penis. Either way, I can’t look anywhere else as one of my hands tends to my tender breasts and the other circles my clit He continues his instructions dictating my rate, speeding me up and slowing me down. The experience is agony and ecstasy all in one. Highs and lows. Peaks and valleys. The sensations combine with his timbre, together winding my insides like an old-fashioned top until spinning out of control is my only option.

  The room around us fills with noises—both his and mine. My back arches and the heels of my shoes threaten the sofa’s leather surface.

  I’m on the precipice when his hand upon his cock speeds up and his face beneath the black mask contorts. I’ve never touched myself in front of a man nor have I watched as a man did the same. It’s possibly the most sensual and sexual encounter I’ve ever had without having sex.

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to ask for permission to orgasm. To be honest, I can’t even think about what is supposed to happen. My mind is a blur as my skin heats and every nerve in my body ignites. Such as a series of fireworks on a Fourth of July celebration, the fuse has been lit. There’s no turning back.

  “Oh! Oh!” Each of my proclamations is louder than the last.

  My toes curl within the confines of the shoes as my legs involuntarily straighten.

  A series of detonations occur, beginning in my core and radiating in all directions as my entire body erupts. I try to keep my eyes on him, yet my lids close as the explosions continue. I open my eyes as the room fills with a guttural roar and my stomach grows warm and wet.