She wore a little sundress with big yellow sunflowers splashed across a dark blue background. It had taken her three hours and endless trips to the dressing rooms of countless stores in the mall to find just the right thing. Underneath she wore a satin pushup bra and matching pink thong panties, courtesy of Victoria's Secret. Nervously she licked her lips, then mentally cursed herself for messing up her lipstick.
Walking as fast as she could in her pretty new yellow sandals, which exposed small toes painted a virginal pink, she rummaged in her purse for her lipstick, while scanning the walls for a monitor that would tell her at what gate he was expected. It had taken her so long to find a parking place that she had practically run all the way from the lot to the main terminal.
She read the little piece of paper in her hand, though she'd memorized it by now. American flight 202 from JFK, arriving at 2:08. God, don't let it be late. Worse, don't let him have missed it. Don't let him turn out to be some crazy person. She knew that wouldn't happen, after all the months of talking and writing to each other. They weren't online lovers meeting for a one-night stand. They were the best of friends meeting face to face at last.
Paul had been supportive this last month, as she struggled to work out a separation agreement with Kyle, who had gone straight back to his old girlfriend, apparently. It was Jane, a psychiatric nurse where he worked, and someone they had actually had to dinner once. Kyle had pretended to find her boring, but obviously that hadn't been the case.
Jane had actually had the nerve to call Tracy at the bank. "Kyle needs some documents you must have hidden somewhere. He's really busy right now so I told him I'd call for them." Tracy was grudgingly impressed at Jane's sheer gall. She would never consider calling the estranged wife of a man with whom she was having an affair. Did Jane know what her 'boyfriend' had done the other night? Did Jane know he was high on something and drunk as a skunk, trying to rape his soon to be ex-wife?
Had he gone home to her for succor and comfort, telling her he had had to drink because he was hurting so badly? Bad, bad Tracy had hurt little Kyle. Tracy actually grinned at the image as Jane was reciting her little speech over the phone.
The documents in question were his will and life insurance policy, which Tracy had 'hidden' in a safe deposit box at the bank, along with her own important papers and some jewelry from her grandmother.
She was taken aback by Jane's call, and realized the woman was probably trying on some level to 'lay claim' to her new man. Tracy certainly wasn't going to stand in the way. She told Jane she would mail the documents to Kyle or his attorney.
"I'll pick them up," Jane had said.
"No, sorry. I can't release documents like that to a stranger." Tracy had enjoyed that little dig, and Jane huffed a bit but backed down. She arranged to have them sent by certified mail since, 'It's too painful for Kyle to have to see you right now.'
Tracy bit off her own retort that she'd bet it was. The jerk was probably totally humiliated by his horrible behavior the other night. Either that, or he conveniently didn't remember a thing.
Not referring to the incident, Kyle had recently sent her a long heartfelt letter about her betrayals and said, despite it all, he still loved her. He admonished her that she owed him, owed the relationship, so much more than she had given it. Tracy thought a lot about what he had written. She realized she herself had spent much of their marriage feeling that Kyle 'owed' her something as well. In the end, neither got what they felt was their 'due.'
She had asked Paul, "How do we get to this point then, where we feel someone owes us something?"
"When we have given more than we should have," he answered.
"Why should? Tracy asked, confused.
"Because. We didn't give because we wanted to be generous. We gave because we wanted to control."
Ah. Bingo.
Things had gone pretty smoothly, once attorneys got into the process, and the proceedings became more impersonal. There were a few phone calls at night when an obviously drunk Kyle called to scream at Tracy, calling her horrible names and finally breaking down in tears over the phone. The calls shook Tracy badly. She got Caller ID and took to screening all calls after that.
Tracy blossomed as she explored her relationship with Paul. Free at last of the constraints of deceit and obligation, she began to fully realize the possibilities opening up in her life. She couldn't afford to stay in their house alone, and there was no alimony in Texas – not that she'd have taken it. She could take care of herself.
Kyle said he felt attached to the house, and would buy her half of the appraised value, after they paid all their joint debts. This suited Tracy, even though most of the debt was for things Kyle wanted and she hadn't cared about at all, like the large Jacuzzi bathtub, the ridiculously expensive redwood deck, and his $20,000 stereo system.
She didn't care about the money. She didn't care about her job, either, and began to dream of finding something new. She didn't know exactly what she wanted to do, but she knew she wanted to dosomething. Maybe she would go back to school and finish her degree. Maybe she would leave Houston altogether, go to New York and find Paul.
Paul, who really would have waited those thousand years, who'd secretly been in love with Tracy almost from the first time they'd spoken on the phone, was the one who kept advising, urging her to wait.
"This isn't the time to leap into action, Tracy. I know it feels like it is, but trust me. I've been there. What's important, is a lesson I learned a long time ago. When you aren't sure what to do, the best thing to do is nothing. Wait; take your time. Let things settle themselves. You and I have all the time in the world."
When Tracy spoke longingly to him of their meeting, of her coming to see him, he said, "Listen, I have a better idea. Why don't I come to you? You have enough going on right now without hopping a plane to New York. Let me come to see you. We'll make a weekend of it."
"Oh, I couldn't have you here," Tracy responded. The thought of her darling Paul lying where Kyle had lain was repellent to her.
"Not there, silly. I'll get a hotel room. What's the big deal? It'll be better anyway, on neutral territory. Just you and me. We'll get to find out at last if what we feel is real. "
And now he was winging his way to her. Maybe that's why she was so damn nervous. What if it wasn't real? What if it was only their shared desire; their urgent need to connect with someone that had led them to cling to each other? She had spent the last nine years fooling herself that Kyle was the perfect man for her. Apparently, her powers of self-deception were rather remarkable, she thought ruefully.
Her sandals rubbed her heels. She knew better than to wear new shoes in airports. She found the monitor and stood blinking up at it, applying her lipstick, feeling the contour of her lips with the tube of pretty pink color that matched her fingernails and toenails.
The plane had already landed, and she wasn't at the gate, like she wanted to be. Shit, shit, shit. She hurried toward gate four, hoping he wasn't standing there, thinking she wasn't going to show.
And then she saw him.
He was smiling at her, grinning as he watched her hurrying toward him in her stupid shoes. He moved toward her like a hip-hung jungle cat, his stride confident and deliberate.
They met midway and Tracy felt suddenly shy. Paul took her in his arms and held her. He was laughing, teasing her. "I looked up and saw this gorgeous woman running down the hallway. I was like, man, who is that girl, in such a hurry? Who is she so eager to meet?" He released her and she looked up at him, a little embarrassed, but he was smiling so widely, so clearly delighted to see her, that she relaxed and laughed with him.
"Fucking shoes," she said.
"Take 'em off, why don't you?"
"Here? In the airport?"
"Sure, why not? It's warm out. You give me the keys and tell me where you're parked. I'll bring the car around."
Paul was dressed in a dark blue cotton shirt with no collar, tucked into very faded and clearly much worn blue jeans. He had probably just grabbed the first thing out of his closet. His dark hair was long, pulled back in a ponytail, shiny against the fluorescent lights of the terminal.
"Where's your stuff?" she asked, as she slipped the useless sandals from her feet.
"You're looking at it," he said, hoisting his duffel bag up over his shoulder. "I travel light." He was only staying for the weekend, after all. But no whips and chains? She mentally grinned at herself, realizing she was a little disappointed, having expected an arsenal of BDSM toys like Guy carried around.
Reading her mind he nudged her and said, "What, you were expecting a whipping post and a cat o' nine tails? Didn't think they'd travel too well, if you know what I mean."
His accent was so cute, so New York. She grinned up at him, not denying it. She was used to him reading her mind anyway. It was comforting in a way, to be so understood. To be loved for, rather than in spite of, who you were.
God, she was here with him, with Paul, in the flesh! She wanted to kiss him, but he was striding along, eager to get outside and get the car. When they exited the terminal he stopped and dropped his bag. Taking Tracy in his arms, Paul brought his face down to hers and gave her a long probing kiss that left her literally weak in the knees. It was he who finally pulled away, and Tracy held on, not wanting to let go.
Paul smiled down at her and chided gently, "Let me go, Tracy love. Let me get the car so we can get out of here." A little embarrassed, Tracy let go of him and pointed him in the direction of her car, hoping he'd find it. A few minutes later he pulled up and she climbed in the passenger seat, feeling comfortable with him at the wheel.
They drove along in relative silence, discussing the best way to get to the motel where she had booked a room for him. She made sure in advance it was nice, and bought a bouquet of pretty spring flowers in honor of his arrival. She also bought strawberries and bottles of water. As she was placing them on the low bureau, she gave a rueful smile, remembering the first time with Guy, and the handcuffs and Dr. Peppers.
When she told Paul about the cuffs, he snorted in disgust. "No real Dom would use metal cuffs! They can break your skin if you struggle in them. That's the point, I guess, but they aren't toys. No, soft leather cuffs are much better." She remembered that talk; he had been so nonjudgmental about her experience, and her reactions. He did seem a little jealous of Guy, though at the time, she had no idea of his true feelings for her.
"We meet at last," he said, smiling at her as he drove. He had cute dimples in either cheek that delighted her. They hadn't shown in his picture. Feeling excited, but nervous, Tracy chattered about Houston traffic, the horrible humid weather, where he had to turn, what lane he should be in, and when his return flight was. Underneath her chatter, inside her head, a little voice was chanting, "Oh my god, oh my god, he's here. He's here. I can't believe he's here. Oh my god, he's here."
Paul took a hand off the wheel and put it on her thigh. His hand was large and firm, and Tracy felt a pulse of current run from his fingers to her leg, through the thin fabric of her dress. He pushed the dress up slightly, placing his warm hand on her cool flesh.
"Shh," he whispered, still smiling. "It's me, Tracy. You already know me. Better than anyone ever has. It's just me, and I'm not going anywhere."
Tracy calmed, and the voices stilled. She focused on his beautiful hand on her thigh, and sat back. She recalled something he said recently, during one of their endless phone calls. He told her he had never felt so committed to someone before, and how strange it was, since they hadn't even met yet. "I've always kept my bags packed, figuratively speaking," he told her. "I've always held something back. I've never been able to share of myself the way I can with you. I can tell you anything, and you're still there for me. I've never felt so trusted, so safe with anyone. Tracy, I feel like I could leave my shoes under your bed, if you know what I mean. Unpack the bags and put them away. No getaway plan, no escape routes. All I want is to be where you are."
When they entered the motel room, Paul dropped his duffel, and took Tracy's purse from her shoulder, then took her in his arms. He kissed her, roughly this time, no witnesses. When he let her go, she still had her head back, her eyes closed, her mouth still open like a little bird's, waiting for more of those wonderful kisses.
Instead he said, his voice hard and sexy, "Are you ready, Tracy? Because this isn't a game anymore. I'm here now. This isn't an online fantasy, angel. This is real; just you and me. Are you ready for it?"
Tracy nodded, opening large blue eyes to stare at the man of her dreams.
"Good. Because after this minute, there's no going back. There won't be any, 'no stop, stop, wait I was only kidding, I made a mistake'. There's no coy girl thing of, 'oh, Paul, I just can't do that!' You will not stop until I tell you to stop, and you will not disobey me in any way, shape or form. You belong to me. We both know that. Now's your chance, Tracy, to prove it. I don't demand perfection. I wouldn't expect it. What I do demand is obedience, and honesty.
"You can still back out, Tracy. We can go get a bite to eat and discuss the sights of Houston, or the theory of relativity, or whatever you want to talk about. I'm serious about that, sweet girl. You are under no obligation to stay. But if you stay," he paused and put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her toward him. "If you stay, from this moment on, you are mine." He paused, his dark eyes intent upon her.
"If you wish to stay, kneel down on the floor in front of me."
Tracy knelt, her knees sinking gracefully to the thick carpet. Her heart was clamoring in her chest, but she was breathing deeply, feeling the net of submission fall over her like a bridal veil. It was happening at last. It was happening, and she was ready.
"Raise your arms so I can take that dress off," Paul ordered, and Tracy did as he said. She waited a moment, expecting him, as men always had in the past, to admire her full round breasts, raised up prettily for him in the pink satin. But all he said was, "Take that thing off."
A little flustered, but determined to obey, she did so, and at once her dark pink nipples sprang to attention under his appraising gaze. He knelt in front of her, taking her full breast in his hands, feeling the heft of them, kissing her mouth lightly as he did so. Bending over her, he took one stiff nipple into his mouth and pulled and bit it, leaving it shiny and impossibly pointed from his kiss. He did the same with the other.
He stood and took off his shirt, revealing a muscled chest, with curly dark hair in a Y up his sternum. Tracy devoured him with her eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to stay kneeling, but since he hadn't said anything, she stayed put.
Paul went to his duffel and pulled out a small whip with lots of little tresses hanging from what looked like a small billy club wrapped in soft black leather. It was nothing like that frightening single lashed bullwhip Guy had produced those many months ago, but it looked ominous enough, and Tracy involuntarily drew in her breath.
Paul came around to the front of her and without further ado, he unzipped his jeans and pulled aside black bikini underwear to reveal an already erect penis; not huge like Kyle's, or small like Guy's, but just right, Tracy thought with an inward smile.
When he proffered it to his slave girl, she took it willingly, eagerly, into her mouth. The flesh was hot and smooth, and Paul pulled her head toward him, forcing her to take it in deep. She felt the lash of the whip before she realized what was happening. It fell with a thud against her back. Tracy flinched and jerked with Paul's cock still stuffed in her mouth, but he didn't let her move.
Again the whip fell and she jumped, still held impaled against his cock. She was having trouble breathing, both because of his cock lodged so far back in her throat, and because of the the thrill of fear each lash of the whip generated in her. Before she began to struggle in earnest against him, Paul released her, pulling her up onto the bed.
He was on top of her, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck, his hands roaming over her bare flesh, teasing her to a frenzy of desire. His mouth drank her in, his own longing spilling out over her, making them both sigh and moan. She felt herself completely surrendering to his lovely onslaught, when suddenly it was gone.
Opening her eyes, Tracy saw Paul standing up over her, now completely naked, his penis bobbing and glistening, his belly smooth and firm. "Get up, cunt," he ordered her, his voice husky and filled with the promise of something dangerous.
On wobbly legs, Tracy stood, also naked, eyes bright and lips slightly parted. Firmly he took her by the arm and led her to the small open closet, where a single thick rod of metal held a number of wooden hangers. Sweeping them aside, Paul said, "Grab this bar and hold it. Spread your legs as far apart as you can. And don't move."
Tracy obeyed, gripping the cold hard metal bar, which was placed so high, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach it. She spread her legs and closed her eyes, waiting for what she knew must be her first real whipping. She wanted it so badly, she felt faint with a delicious combination of fear and aching desire.
Paul returned to her and slipped black leather cuffs around each wrist, securing them with a clip. They were shiny black, and still a little stiff from being brand new, having been purchased just for Tracy. He slipped a small piece of sturdy chain over the bar and using the clips from each cuff, chained Tracy to the bar.
A flick with his toe at her ankles forced her feet further apart. She felt his hand between her legs, his long fingers tugging gently at her labia. She was so wet her thighs were damp with her own moisture.
"I'm going to whip you now, slave girl. I'm going to start slowly, and take my time. I'm not going to stop when you're ready for me to stop. I'm going to stop when I'm ready to stop. Do you understand?"
Tracy nodded, her eyes closed, her head leaning back so that her dark hair streamed down her back. "Kiss me," he commanded, taking her face in his hand, pulling her head back and gently biting her mouth. Tracy kissed him back, her ardent need for what he was giving her expressed in the passion of that heated, needy kiss.
She tried to hold him with her mouth, since her hands were chained above her head, but Paul pulled away, intent on the whipping he had promised her. It began slowly at first, as he had said it would. The soft tresses of leather grazed her ass and thighs, the tempo and thrust increasing as the whipping continued.
Tracy was quiet at first, deeply excited, proud of herself that she could 'take a whipping' like this with so little effort. Gauging her reaction, deciding she was ready for more, Paul let the lash land on her back, striking her with some force, so that red marks appeared where the leather had kissed her.
Tracy jerked and screamed. Her breathing was staccato as she began to dance that timeless rhythm of one who can't escape the lash. Paul didn't let up, but continued to whip her rather severely, up and down from the top of her back to her thighs, covering her now sweating form with a crisscross of red angry lines.
Tracy's soft cries and whimpers were a constant in the room now, as Paul mercilessly beat his slave girl. He only stopped because his own need to take her overwhelmed his sadistic pleasure in making her suffer.
Quickly he released the clips and caught Tracy as she fell in his arms. He carried her to the bed, but not to tenderly minister to her burning flesh. No, he carried her there to claim her completely.
Roughly positioning her, forcing her onto her hands and knees, he knelt behind her and pressed his hard cock into her sopping pussy, fueled by her whimpers and cries. "It's your fault," he whispered fiercely into her ear, as he fucked her hard, holding her hips so he could thrust deeply into her. "You're so beautiful, I had to whip you. And then I had to stop, because you're so beautiful. Oh God, Tracy. I love you!"
Tracy had been writhing under him, arching back into him, her skin on fire from the beating, her pussy inflamed with need for the only man who had ever tapped into the essence of her. She had been whimpering, not from pain, but with a kind of animal yearning for her lover and what he was doing to her, but she heard his words. She heard him say he loved her.
Neither of them had ever said that to the other. Neither had dared. Tracy felt her heart expand and something tightly wound inside her released itself at that moment, leaving her free to fully give of herself, perhaps for the first time in her life.
"I have something for you, if you want it." Paul said, enigmatically. They were lying in the rumpled motel bed, eating strawberries and idly talking about nothing in particular. They were both naked and Tracy was nestled comfortably in the crook of Paul's arm.
Tracy looked at him expectantly and he continued. "It's a collar. A chain. I want to claim you in a physical way, a way you'll always remember. I want to do a lot of things. I want to permanently mark you one day." Tracy thrilled at this, but stayed quiet, waiting.
"But for today, if you'll have it, I have a little present. It's symbolic really, of ownership. Of claiming you." As he spoke, Paul gently disentangled himself from Tracy and went to his bag. He took out a long blue velvet jewelry box and solemnly handed it to Tracy.
Smiling hugely, she opened it and exclaimed, "Oh, Paul! It's lovely."
"It looks like a necklace, but it's a collar. A permanent collar, Tracy. Once you put it on, it can't be removed without a special jeweler's tool. I want you in chains. I want you bound to me, and this little piece of silver would be a symbolic gesture on your part that you accept, willingly accept, your own slavery and servitude to me. Do you want that, darling?"
Paul waited, very still, and Tracy knew her answer meant a lot to him, that he had no preconceived notion of what it might be. Quietly she said, her voice low and sure, "Yes, Paul. Yes, my love. I want that more than anything in the world." With a simple gesture, Tracy lifted the hair off her neck and bent gracefully toward him, offering herself.
Paul slipped the slender silver necklace around her throat, releasing the spring catch that would render it permanent. Tracy sat back, laughing happily, her eyes glinting as she knelt at Paul's belly and took his lovely cock into her mouth, teasing it back to life. Just who was enslaved at that moment was hard to say.