Chapter 9 - The Gift
I didn’t know how long I’d slept, waking so stiff and sore that I didn’t want to move. Groans made him smile sheepishly.
“Oops. Don’t move. I’ll get some aspirin,” he breathed warm into my ear.
Slowly I emerged from the sheets. My mind, reliving it all vividly, had held me there more than abused body. He ran a bath for me and need for its healing warmth beseeched me to make my way. I soaked, watching his back as he shaved. That and the razor revealing high cheekbones and strong chin hypnotized me.
Roaming eyes took in shoulders not overly broad, abs strikingly toned and sleek. He had a derrière to die for, just the right amount of curve filling the seat of his favorite aged jeans. He often preferred to lounge in those jeans and I enthusiastically approved. Infinitely touchable, he made me long to reach for him even now but I contented myself with the view and let the pills and warm water do their work. He’d even added Epsom salts to the bath and the thought made me smile.
“What?” he queried, catching my flash of teeth in the mirror.
When I admitted thinking how considerate he was, he came and knelt by the tub. His aspect serious, he slipped a hand below the bubbles to caress my arm.
“It’s because I love you.”
Having contemplated the growing depth of my own emotions over the last few weeks, I replied with virtually no hesitation, “I love you, too.”
‘There, I’ve said it.’
Whether or not this was meant to last, I intended to appreciate every moment of it. Kissing, tongues delicately sucked, warmed me more than the water. His hungry mouth tasted of peppermint mouthwash and I thought of the holiday season still months away. It occurred to me that I’d gotten the greatest gift of all.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I told myself.
He dried me tenderly. Rubbing lotion into chaffed thighs, bruised butt, rough heels, and between toes transported me. This treatment suited royalty in the comfortable chair.
Who truly dominated? Our relationship genuinely one of equals, a typical outsider would surely not understand. Others in similar circumstance would know more how we felt, the intricacies of our interactions and the substantial bond involved. I could tell he spent more time concocting his scenarios than we took enacting them. These exhibitions meant to please me (!) required extensive planning. He gave as much or more than he took.
We really just dabbled in the art of S & M. Although the news would probably stress family and friends, our arrival to this supposedly menacing sexuality had been accidental. Straightforward and unabashed requests led to gradual discovery of our inherent traits, treasure unearthed for which we were both perpetually grateful.
I thought now of our private stop code. “Stop” is too easy to say. Submissives need something of true meaning that can’t be misconstrued by their dominant. That’s when accidental injury can most likely occur. The bar’s name where we met our safe word, he’d let me choose it. His enthused acceptance had made my day.
“Durango” yet to be invoked, the need had never arisen. And I did not remember who suggested we take that step, prudent for continuing recent bedroom behavior. Neither of us wanted to desist nor had any intention of doing so.
Certain he was up for it (he told me!), I planned to eventually top him. I remained unconvinced of my preparedness. There is very real commitment to detail and groundwork to which I am unaccustomed. I had thus far been the grateful submissive throughout.
I lost all track of time in thought and only knew the hour would be considered very late in most places. But this was New York City. We planned attendance at a semi formal gathering. He surprised me again, presenting a lovely gown of red silk. Thin straps crossed the back, cut so low he’d bought matching panties in both color and design. The greatly correspondent undergarment would remain well out of sight.
The bodice of the dress offered a tasteful hint of cleavage and kerchief skirt barely reached mid calf. Completing the look, lace banded stockings rose just to my thighs and high heeled pumps again exactly matched. All in a style I would have readily picked out for myself, I was never so well coordinated. I considered my usual little black number hanging in the closet for tonight’s affair. How refreshing to leave it behind for something so bold. I almost looked forward to attending tonight’s fête. If only it didn’t mean leaving our intimate haven I’d be thrilled.
Subtle makeup tints dramatized the ruby lipstick. He’d picked that out, amazingly. He downplayed it, telling me the lady at the cosmetics counter selected it upon seeing my outfit. My rejoinder made it clear that merely thinking of lipstick surpassed most guys. Matching it to dress would not have occurred to me.
I eyed the deepening discoloration at my throat, dubious at camouflaging the blotches. Seeing the set of my features, he returned to my side in the dressing room bearing my lovely collar. Raising my eyebrows, I started to protest. It was hardly appropriate for the upcoming event, especially if you took into consideration the client throwing this party. Visualizing leather bondage gear alongside his Italian tailoring almost made me laugh.
“Don’t worry, I’m not that socially inept,” he joked.
That’s when he gave up the collar’s secret. Pressing hidden latches, he lifted the net of diamonds free. My jaw dropped and I must have looked ridiculous. Even if I did, his smile widened compassionately. He stepped close and draped the icy cascade against my skin. Asking me to lift my hair out of the way, he proceeded to firmly close the many clasps. I let my hair swing back in a wave and leaned in toward the mirror. It covered the marks flawlessly, worthy of water cooler gossip in place of contusions.
He called for a driver and we walked hand in hand to the car. My escort opened the door. Thanking him, I got in trusting he knew my humble statement regarded much more than rare courtesy in a coarse age.
Cordially mingling at the soiree, I couldn’t resist seeking him out repeatedly across the room. More often than not, his gaze met mine. After fulfilling our social obligation in the briefest amount of time politeness allowed or, honestly, less, he materialized at my side. Fingertips resting against my cheek, he leaned close to whisper intimately.
To be continued...
Farewell from the Bookshelf!
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