*the following was written for me and with me 9 years ago. He is since passed away. *
She was quite a contrast. A quiet shy redhead, well spoken intelligent and articulate. She was also very specific in what she wanted and what she didn't. I only spoke with her on the telephone from a blocked number, or online. We never met in person in the traditional sense. I was never allowed to see her face.
When we met she always had her head covered and her back to me. She loved to be spanked hard and slowly, as if he savored each stroke of the belt. She wanted to be penetrated but only with a glass toy which she provided.
In fact we met once a week for four hors. I had to stop by a local coffee joint for a prepaid drink. My instructions were always in the cup. We meet for four hours once a week and never in the same place twice.
When I arrived she is already naked bent over a crude and rough table so her body is forming a 90 degree angle. I always feel during our sessions there is some one there watching but I don't have any proof.
She always talks with me, we have a great rapport, and talk about a wide range of topics some personal but never specific. There is an easy air about her, cautious and restrained. Sometimes I think this is a sort of therapy for her, a release, I look forward to these meetings as I know she does......
She does. She needs this. The anonymity adds to the thrill.
Each week, she changes the meeting place. Attempting to dissuade him from contact that would compromise her integrity. She starts planning their next encounter before he ever leaves the room.
While she controls the time and place, she knows that the beating is all his. His to issues as he wishes. A belt? A hand? A whip? It is not for her to decide. She presents her ass and accepts what he offers.
She needed no aftercare. He was with her. He would never leave. Their connection went beyond the moment. It was more than visual. It was a mental connection that drew them together. A physical connection that she could handle emotionally. He was there.
And as she heard the door close behind him, she closed her eyes and felt his lips on her forehead. The words he couldn't speak, for she had forbidden it. "You are mine."
Mr_Milton
The mental connection that initially drew them together , had morphed into more. A physical connection then an emotional one.... It was all very compartmentalized, but nonetheless existed in various intensity levels.
He had never been part of such an interesting but decidedly different relationship. A relationship that revolved around the administration of pain; spanking switch various implements...
Was it therapeutic? Yes I believe for her it definitely was. I found the interaction to be very interesting and a chance to study her: reactions, emotions, body posture, the way she abosorbed blows, her conversational topics, Yes this was extremely interesting.......
She took the time to recover, get dressed and pick up her belongings. The soreness accompanying her moves made her smile.
This one will last more than a few hours she thought to herself as she got into the car and winced.
She headed back to the office. Her original intent was to go straight home and work the rest of the afternoon there, but something pushed her to go back.
She wasn't superstitious but she was following her instincts as she took a variety of turns that were not enroute to her office. Normally when she scouted a location, it had to do with privacy, this time felt different.
When she stopped her car, she left the motor running and simply stared. The blood drained from her head and she felt faint. It was exactly like in her recurring dream.
No. No. No. No! No! NO!!!!!
She flung the car door open and dry heaved. She wasn't ready. He wasn't the one from her dream. .... was he?
Whatever she tried to control in her real life was lost in this moment. Her façade was cracking and crumbling before her very eyes. Because the truth was, it was her waking dream as well. She could never admit that, even to herself.
Yet here. now. Her desire was bringing her face to face with her unspoken fantasy.
