M is sitting on the edge of my bed, and I walk slowly over to him. I have a feeling about what he wants, but I push that from my mind as I lean down to kiss his mouth. We kiss slowly and I linger over his cheeks, jawline and neck, attempting to distract him from what I know is coming. His hands go to the button on my jeans, popping it open and then unzipping.
"This is a really short zipper."
"They're super low rise."
"They're about to be even more low rise."
He slides the denim down my legs, and I step out of them with tiny steps so that my legs aren't spread. I'm wearing black , lacy boyshort panties. I'm thankful I wore cute underwear. I always do when I have a date with M, but they have a tendency to come off along with my pants, not giving him an opportunity to see them.
"Take your shirt off."
I hesitate, but not too long. Being topless isn't as difficult as what's to come, so I pull my shirt over my head, but don't toss it aside. I twist the soft jersey in my hands behind my back. I'm beginning to feel that rising anxiety I always have about standing on display. I'm not sure how far he's going to take this, but he knows that I have a desire for this type of play. We've been dabbling in it, and I get the impression he's going to take it a bit further than he has before.
M is running his fingertips up my stomach and over the fronts of my thighs. He trails his hands up my hips, into the curve of my waist, and up the speed bumps of my ribs. He pinches and tweaks my left nipple, and gathers both of my breasts into his hands and massages them, squeezing and crushing the soft flesh. I sigh and try to be still.
I try to be a good girl standing there in my panties. I know that the underwear is going to come off next and all I can think about is how I'll be exposed. My eyes are are shut tight and my head is down. I don't want to see myself. I've brought my hands to the front covering my chest with tightly clenched fists under my chin.
He grabs my hands and pulls them down away from my chest. I resist a little, unwilling to give up the small bit of coverage they afforded me. When he places my wrists at my sides, and uncurls my fingers to lay flat against my hips, I fight the urge to pull them back up.
"Why are your eyes closed?"
I pause, trying to form the words, attempting to articulate what it is I'm feeling, "Because I feel vulnerable."
"You look beautiful."
A warmth spreads over me at the compliment. I need to hear that. I need to hear that I'm pleasing. I need approval. I need to be desired.
"Look at me and take off your panties."
I try to look at him, but I can't. Not while I'm like this. Not when I'm getting naked. I can't even take my panties all the way off. I get as far as mid thigh before the shame overtakes me and I can't go any further. I'm stopped in a bent over position, paralyzed, unable to completely remove them. I don't know how he'll react to this, but I just can't do it.
He stands up and walks behind me. I continue to be frozen in place, my face burning with shame. I know this looks foolish, that I look silly. I force myself to push my panties down a few inches more, but I just can't give them up. I can't relinquish that last vestige of modesty. That's when he pulls them down the rest of the way. And I'm grateful for the rescue at the same time as my humiliation increases.
"Spread your legs."
I don't move an inch.
"Spread your legs."
I move them open a fraction of an inch.
"You can do better than that."
I open a little bit more. But it's not good enough. He kicks my right leg a foot and a half to the right, and before I can adjust to the exposure, he kicks my left foot about a foot to the left. My feet are now much much further apart than I would have ever been able to do on my own.
"Lean over and put your hands on the bed," and I'm happy to be able to hide my face into the down comforter. I quickly bury my face in my hands on the bed, barely caring that this opens my ass for inspection.
I have told him earlier in the evening that I have my period. And in this position it's obvious I have a tampon in. I am completely humiliated thinking of the string that I know is clearly visible. When I feel him opening my ass and slipping his tongue over my hole, all I can think of is that little telltale sign tucked between my pussy lips, and I'm burning with shame.
His fingers run over my clit, and even with the 'pon in I'm completely soaked. My lips are slick with my juices, and I can feel it smeared on the inside of my thighs. I feel that familiar fire running down my legs while he plucks at my hard, wet clit. When I feel him tug on the string, it startles me back into reality.
"Do you want me to take this out, or do you want to do it?"
Oh. My. God. I whimper into my hands, and I am dying, dying, of humiliation. I'm so fucking embarrassed I can't stand it. I squirm and whine, but can't answer him. I can't decide. I don't want to interrupt this scene. I don't want to walk away and go to the bathroom. But I can't imagine him pulling it out. And at the same time I want him to do it. If he was my Dom and wanted to do that, I would let him, of course. And if he's willing to do something so intimate maybe I should let him do it.
It's gross. It's hot. The argument went back and forth in my head.
I don't know how long he waited for my answer. His fingers didn't leave my cunt while the war raged inside my head. He was patient, but it probably became obvious that I wasn't going to be able to make a decision, so he took it upon himself to take action, and removed the impediment.
And, again, I was grateful to him for taking the initiative.
He fucked me like that, leaning on the bed on my elbows. I lifted my ass to his thrusts. I wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to take every inch of him. I wanted to show my gratitude, to show how much I appreciated him taking my choice away, so I could be free to enjoy what he offered.
Later, he told me that he likes the freedom he has with my body. That he's feeling out what it is he wants, and he likes being able to inspect and enjoy my body however he wants. He's so curious about playing, and I think he's beginning to get an inkling of the control that is possible for him to have over my body. And even though he's inexperienced with this type of power, I know he'll be responsible with it. His desire for me to be pleased with our sex is at the heart of his willingness to explore these games.
That's not to say he's only interested because I am, I trust him to not participate in activities with which he's uncomfortable. I'm happy to try whatever strikes his fancy, and I share stories of past experiences to illustrate what's possible. We're slowly, patiently discovering what it is that works for both of us.