Prima Volta del SamanthaOriginally Published in Xcite Books (Accent Press), Sex & Submission
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Any hope of being swept off her feet set with the sun slipping off the far edge of the flat plain of Chicago. Framed in the pane of her window more than twenty floors above that metropolitan plane, she peered through her own translucent face, reflecting a dull pragmatic reality. The best she might ever expect from a man would be someone….different.
Perhaps by lowering her expectations, an incredible experience could be shared with a man of an typical nature. She closed her laptop, closing down another solitary workday executed at her office/dining room table. Prince Charming had not called for a date. Hell, Prince Charming didn't even have her number.. Still, someone had called and just having someone to meet meant breaking up her solitary routine of waking, walking the dogs, working, walking the dogs, lunching, working, walking….
Samantha sighed. Once was a time when prepping for a date had been exciting , filled with pampering and anticipation -- luscious self-touching, self denying anticipation. This evening, the march of every recent romance-challenged, post-relationship underdog who'd paraded her through a variety of unimpressive restaurants and self-indulgent conversations caused her speak aloud with no one to hear.
"For once, could someone at least impress me by having some interest in me, beyond what kind of lingerie I wear. Take some interest in my hopes; or at least be so good looking as to excuse the testosterone driven self possessiveness."
Ensconced in post Blackberry recall technology, the address of a restaurant oozed to the surface of her Palm as disappointment sunk deeper into the largest organ of stimulation she possessed, her mind. Family dining did not bode well for romantic impressiveness, though she had to say it qualified as unique. "You owe me one, brother dear."
Newest attorney at her brother's power-litigating firm had a nice ring of potential to it, so during the date setting phone conversations, she had ignored the father of five aspect hiding behind the curtain of reality. Seeing the choice of restaurant style somehow parted that curtain, with images of kids banging utensils on glasses and conversations peppered with parental admonishments. Samantha soaped her breasts trying to sponge away the sense of obligation and frustration, hardening her nipples, letting them swell with that old anticipatory hope. The glass door steamed wrapping her into her a familiar world of sensual gratification, fulfillment cascading down her in a hot spray; a world that swirled down the shower drain.
Oh well, a prematurely ending date would leave her out of the house and sexied up. Why not take all that repressed sexual energy and inflict a bit of simpatico torment on the hoard of carnally deluded males swarming the throbbing, hip hop clubs. Who knows. If dancing didn't suffice to quell hormonal frustration, then one might prove interesting enough to be to intrude on her night. Interesting enough to be allowed to peel off the cashmere turtleneck, gray wool skirt, thigh-high black lace, flower patterned stockings, and black lace bra; all fitting so tightly they might have been brushed on her by the stroke of the artist.
Sexy, sophisticated, yet edgy; Samantha grabbed a cab, struggling to hold onto sophistication or at least edgy, fighting the gravity of impending disappointment. I am on time. I look amazing. With confident elegant strides I will make an entrance and turn every male head in this restaurant. Well, at least the heads of every male above the age of ten.
Before reaching the door, a man wearing a grey cashmere overcoat, tightly woven tweed scarf stepped out of the recesses; either from her mind or an adjoining doorway. “Excuse me, Samantha. Are you Samantha Rose?”
The most incredible man with wavy black hair, blue eyes and a strong chin occluded everything else along Michigan Avenue, his stunning tall, Italian virility exuded strength and control. “Why yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“I am Ray LaRosa and I am suppose to meet Samantha Lambkin here.”
Alive with an infusion of different , she gazed on a man any woman would gladly allow to father a whole tribe. She looked away from aqua blue eyes she wished only to swim within as if they were warm Caribbean waters, searching for signs of his children. Reality rose to hopeful expectation. None were visible.
”I am Samantha”.
One hand, so large and strong Samantha yearned take be taken within his grasp, extended to her. “Great! Your brother doesn't do you justice, but then what brother does? I cannot believe that an incredibly beautiful woman as yourself has not been swept off her feet into marriage! Such is my great luck. It's clear, I will have my work cut-out for me if I am going to make it to date two!”
His soft warm hand enveloped hers, her soul. Though possessing of an outdoorsman's build, his touch betrayed hours spent in an office and…a sensitivity of hours spent in knowledgeable….
His second hand gracefully and gratuitously reached out, covering both their hands, holding them both in a world of their own, those worlds created under the privacy of a quilt. Did he pull her closer, or had she moved of her own volition? He smiled. “I have a car coming for us. I only told you to meet me here because it is an easy place to find and I needed to be sure you were really okay with the concept of dating a father of five. I hope you are ok about surprises.”
An inner calm radiated into Samantha through his touch, assuaging any hesitation Samantha might feel. She did not stand in the grip of your garden variety conservative lawyer-father. No. This creature transcended any concept of male she had ever previously conjured. She surrendered to any possible surprise. Maintaining both a physical and cerebral hold, Ray conveyed the sense that his attention was completely absorbed on her while his eyes shifted.
He doted on her, placing her in the limo that appeared at the curb as if she were the Fabregé Egg, settling her safely into the seat. A tropical humidness warmed her at the thought of kissing Ray, the anticipation of feeling hard muscles against her bare breasts, coiling in his arms after a long deep tryst. Never before had she been taken by someone with such immediacy, such urgency. She wanted to make love to him right at that moment, but how to signal him and maintain her signature sophistication and elegant grace. Had she worn a button down blouse, she could have opened another button, signaling her surrender. Such an odd conundrum, usually she found herself fighting off a lecherous onslaught, not seeking to expedite it. Though he entered from the other side of the limo, Ray sat close enough for Samantha to feel the warmth he exuded. She sidled closer so that her contact with him became more than a light touch, but an actually press. The usual routine of surrender would be far from routine with this man, Samantha would have been delighted simply taking Ray home to her bed. Usually, she had to be unclothed with someone physically fawning over to feel the level of sexual arousal she felt, the deep wetness that filled her as well as the deep feeling of being so hooked into Ray, as if they had been lovers forever. She did not want to waste time with dinner; she could have gone right to her place and gotten lost in the evening.
So absorbed in Ray, Samantha took no note of their destination or the time it took to get there. Ray drew her out of her seat with the same strong gentle grip that drew out the need to kiss him. Standing, she did not release him, but pulled him to her, brushing the lobe of his ear with her lips. “Thank you for making our first blind date so special.”
Brushing her lips along his cheek, Samantha likewise brushed a nipple aching for release from her sweater along his arm, then insuring Ray would understand her attraction and trust for his plans, she pressed her breast against him. Rarely, if ever, did a man impress Samantha enough to be so floridly forward. Somehow she knew Ray to be capable of raising the sexual tension of the night while still encouraging intimacy. He'd already insured a second date. A welcoming smile, a bowl filled with the ripe cherries of seduction spread across his face., “Samantha, be yourself tonight and do not hold back. I am hoping to get to draw something out of you that perhaps you didn't know existed.”
Both hope and the expectant kiss hung in the air, leaving Samantha incensed at her inability to engage
Ray and her immediate desire to succumb to this, or any man for that matter. She felt what? Rejected ? No! Challenged! Challenged in the most dichotomous way: her inability to manipulate this man into taking control of her, of imposing his masculine essence on her feminine self. The epitome of chivalry, Ray opened a door. “I just need to get a gift for the party. Do you mind helping me pick it out?”
Samantha passed through the door Ray held open for her, finding herself in a world of fine lingerie; La Perla, her favorite. What kind of party required lingerie? Samantha's pulse and ardor rose. She bobbed in a sea of lingerie swimming in Ray's aura of appreciation, the knowledge that together they posed a striking image . Men in the store, smiled at Samantha, winked at Ray sharks in warm friendly waters, the waters of a stranger. “Do you," Ray spoke into her hair, "have a suggestion?”
Surprise pulled Samantha toward the safety of full-length nightgowns, propelled by the conundrum of not wanting to give the wrong impression, yet wanting to reveal her untame spirit yearning for release. She plucked three silk and satin gowns from their perches, eyeing Ray for approval. He smiled and nodded toward the dressing rooms. She eyed the sales person for permission. The woman's smile and nod mirrored Ray's.
Eyeing herself in the dressing room mirror, Samantha couldn't help wonder what at Ray's reaction might be at the sight of her thighs through the slit plackets of the first gown. Her hand parted the placket, slipping up along her inner thigh, following her stomach, cupping and fondling her breast. Would Ray's enormous hands follow that same path? Were the view in the mirror his, would it pique his manhood? Her eyes closed, shutting out the distraction of his absence. Would he speak? Loudly or in….
A whisper behind her, husky and virile, spoke. "Nice"
She opened her eyes. Ray didn't look at her. He drank her in, his savoring adoration warming the chill of surprise. Samantha turned into Ray, searching deep in his adoration for approval, willing to submit to being enwrapt in that admiration. A moist fever, spread down the insides of her thigh the same way a desire to be closer, to beckon touch spread through her, but she did not want make the first move. No. She needed to be taken. Ray denied her, leaving her suspended in uncomfortable silence. "Please leave me, so I can try the next gown."
Surprised by the husky quality her voice has taken and suddenly alone in her memory of it, Samantha draped herself in the next gown . Less silk, more lace, more flesh prompted her to reach for the matching robe. "Come, Ray. Would you like to feel…the fabric?” She called and held out her arm and the silk.
Ray entered and reached to her, his hand extending not toward her sleeve, but toward her breasts. Samantha drew in a breath, waiting in fearful hope. Ray took the fabric that caressed the inside curve of her breast between thumb and forefinger. He denies her full satisfaction again, his hand rising to her shoulder. Appreciative eyes coupled, acknowledging, the feint and the parry. Determined to make the pursuit worth his while Samantha's hand brushed the lace along her stomach with her fingertips, as if reading it like some erotic Braille that would tell her the next move. The movement, captured Ray's eyes, following her hand to thigh, then back up to breasts.
Still, Ray did not make an advance. Damn his will. He defers his gratification, striving for something better.
Samantha looked away, her own image in the mirror peering back at her. The innocence of the moment had passed. Animalistic passion overrode guileless deference. Hands pressed on Ray's chest, Samantha leaned into him and a deep kiss. Large strong hands clamped her wrists, pulling them behind her; a control hold, she struggled to break by pressing her torso to him, a unsuccessful attempt to break his grip. His strength didn't falter. She released a perfectly timed involuntary whimper, a beckoning wince. Ray released her, his grasp lingering with a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’m sorry. I hope that I didn't hurt you.”
Deft hands and empathetic eyes drew a forgiving, responsive, kiss from Samantha, returned with a gentle flattening of her breasts against his chest. Tit for tat, Samantha held the kiss until she felt him relax, then bit his lip. Both draw back, looking for blood. Samantha suddenly became aware of the beat of her heart. The stakes for the evening had been raised. Samantha admonished. "Get out so I can try on the next gown."
Hell hath no fury.
Ray should not have denied her.
With nipple hardening anticipation, Samantha feared retribution. Ray left, obediently, only to return
with fervor as she laced up her shoes, throwing aside the dressing curtain, towering over her, an ensemble of garters, lace stocking, bra and thong held out; not so much as a tithing, but more like a demand. Dropping them on the bench, he cupped her under the shoulders, lifting her to him, penetrating her lips with a deep demanding passion. Thankful that he held her, keeping her head above the surface of her swirling desire, she said, “I - I thought you wanted to go.”
“Try this on!” He left, leaving her hanging by the residual memory of his grip. The feel of his large hands lingering , fingers spreading around her back, made the task of once again shedding her own clothing for the outfit he'd just mandated her to wear. He'd not asked. For that very reason, Samantha considered not putting on the ensemble, but she wanted him, wanted to to feel his hands on her, wanted to be taken; but on her own terms, She considered waiting for him, without wearing a single stitch of clothing; considered whether that would be surrender or domination. Surely, the surrender of herself would hold some power over Ray, some force that would break his will to deny her the satisfaction a man like him could give her. Surely, this denial of her must be a denial of self for him. Surely, he must want her as much as she wanted him.
As if donning a life vest to keep her afloat in a churning carnal sea, Samantha put on the outfit Ray had thrust at her, knowing full well that she had already gone overboard; treading water waiting for rescue from her own craving. The weave of each article clung to her as if an extension of the sexual perfection she felt. Did she exude that sexual excellence into the clinging fibers, Or did she draw it from the expensive fabric that cupped her breasts like shielding hands, and thin cords wrapped around her hips, providing a minimally protective pouch for lips aching for Ray's touch, perhaps violation, but at her moment of choosing.
"Ray?"
Ray entered, his mouth frozen open in unrequited speech. Samantha looked onto his eyes, the power of vulnerability becoming clear to her. Standing before him with little more than dainty patches of fine fabric covering her, she held some power over him. Looking away from his eyes would mean breaking the lock she held over him, but she had to see to what extent she effected him. The strain against the front of his trousers indicated that Ray had more than enough potential to be a satisfying lover. More so to maintain her empowerment, rather than to give it over to Ray, by revealing her desire, Samantha peered through the fog of sexual tension that had condensed in the room. Ray bit his lip, reaching for her breast with spread fingers.
Perfect!
He wanted to touch her. Samantha wanted to feel his touch. The move appeared involuntary as if outside of Ray's control to stop it. Samantha pushed past his reach, placing her breasts where she, not he, desired, flattening them against his chest, her lips beside his ear. "I have to buy this outfit -- and wear it out of her. I can't let the sales girl touch it and discover how wet I am."
"Hmmmm," Ray cooed. "Is it the outfit that makes you wet or….." Samantha clamped his earlobe in her teeth, snipping his sentence. His rhetoric changed. "I'm glad we agree. This is precisely the kind of gift I was seeking."
Ray tried to pull back, but Samantha held the lobe his ear firm. With the barest of winces escaping from his machismo discipline Ray realized he'd been trapped. Samantha felt him tense, then relax. He wedged his hand between them, fingers stretching up just under her breasts. Samantha pulled him closer, giving him no opportunity to find something for pinching a tender nipple in return, though the possibility possessed a certain allure. Surrender. Control. Pleasure. Pain. The choices blurred. Samantha released his lobe, pressing a tongue in his ear, feeling the mounting tension in his arm relax, then gripped the lobe of his ear again.
Ray seemed to surrender, leaning to her with the weight of his full six foot plus virility, but she could feel him hold himself and her, away from the wall behind her. Fear seeped out of her mind, flowing down through her pooling moistly in the depths of her sexuality, tingling in electric anticipation at the extreme surfaces of her most sensitive places. Ray could pin her to the wall, but he didn't. Why? Her fear deepened; a penetrating, yearning fear. His hands busiedn themselves behind her. She could feel it through the rolling movement of his muscles under the skin of his shoulders.
She pressed her hips against him, finding the hard bulge of his waning discipline. Even through his pants she felt his fever. Then he collapsed, falling against her, pressing her to the wall. His hand reaching behind him,, quickly, grabbing her arms; pulling them up, entwining her wrists in soft, liquid satin. Samantha's mind wrapped itself in the soft woolly realization that Ray's surrender had been a feint. While she had lavished in the pleasure of having him in her grip, he'd tied a sash from one of the robes the clothes hook above her head. The loops he formed in the sash tightened around her wrists, pulling them above her head, lashing them to the hook. So exposed, nothing she could do could stop Ray from touching her in any way he wanted.
A visceral agitation filled Samantha, simultaneously burning and blowing through her like a sub-zero wind. Ray stepped back, leaving a dreadful certainty that he would once again deny Samantha. He dropped his cashmere coat to the floor, sweeping Samantha with hungry eyes of victory. Fear burned as the blue core in the orange flame of determination heating the moment to urgency. Samantha need to decide if her need lay in succumbing or resisting.
Some instinct, surged through the surface of Samantha's consciousness. She wanted Ray, but she wanted him on her terms. Whatever surged from deep within her, took control of her actions. Grasping the hook above her head, she brought her legs up, wrapping her thighs around Ray's neck, dropping her calves over his shoulders, then under his arms.
She held him.
In his struggles, Samantha felt a strength, the kind of strength that she both desired and feared between her legs. She held him, till he calmed; peering at her over the mound of her thong, past her stomach, heaving more from anticipation than exertion. The mutual acknowledgement the moment's impasse that passed between their gazes gripped them both in something stronger than any she'd shared with a man she'd let enter her. Already, Samantha felt a climax mounting deep within, pressing a need that would climb to tortuous levels if denied release. "Untie my hands."
Ray smiled. He denied her again. Angered arousal rush through Samantha. Ray shouldn't have denied her.
Samantha arched her back, pulling her calves toward her, drawing Ray's mouth so close to the mound protected by the sparse fabric of her thong that she could feel the moist heat of his breath adding to her own moist heat. Their eyes locked. She needn't to say what needn't be said. She thrust at Ray's mouth in that begging demanding way the body has when it takes over control and seeks release and satisfaction. Ray struggled, pulling back, trying to free himself, a silent struggle for both knew that too much noise could potentially bring the clerks and other unwelcome participants to this tryst, such as the police. Samantha's legs ached, not in the same way as her need ached, but the ache of fatigue. Ray's strength would wear her down and her need for release would break her concentration.
Samantha tossed aside intellectualizing her way through her predicament and let some forgotten animalistic sense take over for her. She threw herself into a frenzy, thrusting at Ray's face, hard enough that her own mound rubbed against his chin and mouth, barely protected by the thin expensive fabric that covered her swollen need. Arousal drove her fury, subsiding only a bit at the realization that she had brought the exquisite Italian stud to his knees, causing him to more pant his words, than speaking them. "Okay. Okay."
Trembling, on the cusp of release, yet not satisfied. Samantha looked down, past her heaving breasts, at the man she held in a trembling grasp between her legs. What she considered caused the trembling: fatigue; or a mounting climax that she almost feared because her need for it had become so strong. Hands tied to a hook in the wall she held at her disposal, the most incredible man with wavy black hair, blue eyes and a strong chin she'd ever laid eyes on. "Do not deny me!"
With a look that Samantha couldn't quite identify, Ray's hands slid up around her hips, pulling the thong to one side, allowing him to bring his lips to her fevered swollen lips. Words escaped her in deep gasps that she pressed out from recess within. "Do as I say!"
Ray nodded
"Tongue me.'
Ray's tongue parted the folds of her lips
"Stroke my nipples."
Ray's hands rose up along her stomach, cupping her breasts, pulling down the bra; alternately flicking each nipple with a strong finger, then deftly stroking the sides of them with his thim, then rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Samantha shuddered, the mound between her legs vibrating against Ray's lips
"Lick my clit."
The tip of Ray's tongue ran up the full length of lips, searching under the little hood, finding that swollen button of flesh ready to explode.
"Suck on it."
Ray drew Samantha's clit into his mouth, then released it. Flicked it with his tongue then drew it in again, repeating, perhaps knowing that Samantha would issue no more commands only pleading, mounting moans that would soon erupt in screams. When Samantha reached that eruption, Ray rose, filling her with a intimidating volume that she only more feared being denied than . His mouth over hers, he swallowed her screams, enough so that the clerks might not here. Wave after wave of climax flowed through Samantha as she thrust against his rock hard desire for her, absorbing his own spasms of release.
When their mutual climaxes had finally subsided, they clung to each other, for long moments, gasping for breath, grasping for a hold on the real world. Gazing into each others eyes as Samantha had with other lovers, yet not with the same knowledge that something profound had been shared. Ray found words first.
"Well, that certainly was different"
Perhaps by lowering her expectations, an incredible experience could be shared with a man of an typical nature. She closed her laptop, closing down another solitary workday executed at her office/dining room table. Prince Charming had not called for a date. Hell, Prince Charming didn't even have her number.. Still, someone had called and just having someone to meet meant breaking up her solitary routine of waking, walking the dogs, working, walking the dogs, lunching, working, walking….
Samantha sighed. Once was a time when prepping for a date had been exciting , filled with pampering and anticipation -- luscious self-touching, self denying anticipation. This evening, the march of every recent romance-challenged, post-relationship underdog who'd paraded her through a variety of unimpressive restaurants and self-indulgent conversations caused her speak aloud with no one to hear.
"For once, could someone at least impress me by having some interest in me, beyond what kind of lingerie I wear. Take some interest in my hopes; or at least be so good looking as to excuse the testosterone driven self possessiveness."
Ensconced in post Blackberry recall technology, the address of a restaurant oozed to the surface of her Palm as disappointment sunk deeper into the largest organ of stimulation she possessed, her mind. Family dining did not bode well for romantic impressiveness, though she had to say it qualified as unique. "You owe me one, brother dear."
Newest attorney at her brother's power-litigating firm had a nice ring of potential to it, so during the date setting phone conversations, she had ignored the father of five aspect hiding behind the curtain of reality. Seeing the choice of restaurant style somehow parted that curtain, with images of kids banging utensils on glasses and conversations peppered with parental admonishments. Samantha soaped her breasts trying to sponge away the sense of obligation and frustration, hardening her nipples, letting them swell with that old anticipatory hope. The glass door steamed wrapping her into her a familiar world of sensual gratification, fulfillment cascading down her in a hot spray; a world that swirled down the shower drain.
Oh well, a prematurely ending date would leave her out of the house and sexied up. Why not take all that repressed sexual energy and inflict a bit of simpatico torment on the hoard of carnally deluded males swarming the throbbing, hip hop clubs. Who knows. If dancing didn't suffice to quell hormonal frustration, then one might prove interesting enough to be to intrude on her night. Interesting enough to be allowed to peel off the cashmere turtleneck, gray wool skirt, thigh-high black lace, flower patterned stockings, and black lace bra; all fitting so tightly they might have been brushed on her by the stroke of the artist.
Sexy, sophisticated, yet edgy; Samantha grabbed a cab, struggling to hold onto sophistication or at least edgy, fighting the gravity of impending disappointment. I am on time. I look amazing. With confident elegant strides I will make an entrance and turn every male head in this restaurant. Well, at least the heads of every male above the age of ten.
Before reaching the door, a man wearing a grey cashmere overcoat, tightly woven tweed scarf stepped out of the recesses; either from her mind or an adjoining doorway. “Excuse me, Samantha. Are you Samantha Rose?”
The most incredible man with wavy black hair, blue eyes and a strong chin occluded everything else along Michigan Avenue, his stunning tall, Italian virility exuded strength and control. “Why yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“I am Ray LaRosa and I am suppose to meet Samantha Lambkin here.”
Alive with an infusion of different , she gazed on a man any woman would gladly allow to father a whole tribe. She looked away from aqua blue eyes she wished only to swim within as if they were warm Caribbean waters, searching for signs of his children. Reality rose to hopeful expectation. None were visible.
”I am Samantha”.
One hand, so large and strong Samantha yearned take be taken within his grasp, extended to her. “Great! Your brother doesn't do you justice, but then what brother does? I cannot believe that an incredibly beautiful woman as yourself has not been swept off her feet into marriage! Such is my great luck. It's clear, I will have my work cut-out for me if I am going to make it to date two!”
His soft warm hand enveloped hers, her soul. Though possessing of an outdoorsman's build, his touch betrayed hours spent in an office and…a sensitivity of hours spent in knowledgeable….
His second hand gracefully and gratuitously reached out, covering both their hands, holding them both in a world of their own, those worlds created under the privacy of a quilt. Did he pull her closer, or had she moved of her own volition? He smiled. “I have a car coming for us. I only told you to meet me here because it is an easy place to find and I needed to be sure you were really okay with the concept of dating a father of five. I hope you are ok about surprises.”
An inner calm radiated into Samantha through his touch, assuaging any hesitation Samantha might feel. She did not stand in the grip of your garden variety conservative lawyer-father. No. This creature transcended any concept of male she had ever previously conjured. She surrendered to any possible surprise. Maintaining both a physical and cerebral hold, Ray conveyed the sense that his attention was completely absorbed on her while his eyes shifted.
He doted on her, placing her in the limo that appeared at the curb as if she were the Fabregé Egg, settling her safely into the seat. A tropical humidness warmed her at the thought of kissing Ray, the anticipation of feeling hard muscles against her bare breasts, coiling in his arms after a long deep tryst. Never before had she been taken by someone with such immediacy, such urgency. She wanted to make love to him right at that moment, but how to signal him and maintain her signature sophistication and elegant grace. Had she worn a button down blouse, she could have opened another button, signaling her surrender. Such an odd conundrum, usually she found herself fighting off a lecherous onslaught, not seeking to expedite it. Though he entered from the other side of the limo, Ray sat close enough for Samantha to feel the warmth he exuded. She sidled closer so that her contact with him became more than a light touch, but an actually press. The usual routine of surrender would be far from routine with this man, Samantha would have been delighted simply taking Ray home to her bed. Usually, she had to be unclothed with someone physically fawning over to feel the level of sexual arousal she felt, the deep wetness that filled her as well as the deep feeling of being so hooked into Ray, as if they had been lovers forever. She did not want to waste time with dinner; she could have gone right to her place and gotten lost in the evening.
So absorbed in Ray, Samantha took no note of their destination or the time it took to get there. Ray drew her out of her seat with the same strong gentle grip that drew out the need to kiss him. Standing, she did not release him, but pulled him to her, brushing the lobe of his ear with her lips. “Thank you for making our first blind date so special.”
Brushing her lips along his cheek, Samantha likewise brushed a nipple aching for release from her sweater along his arm, then insuring Ray would understand her attraction and trust for his plans, she pressed her breast against him. Rarely, if ever, did a man impress Samantha enough to be so floridly forward. Somehow she knew Ray to be capable of raising the sexual tension of the night while still encouraging intimacy. He'd already insured a second date. A welcoming smile, a bowl filled with the ripe cherries of seduction spread across his face., “Samantha, be yourself tonight and do not hold back. I am hoping to get to draw something out of you that perhaps you didn't know existed.”
Both hope and the expectant kiss hung in the air, leaving Samantha incensed at her inability to engage
Ray and her immediate desire to succumb to this, or any man for that matter. She felt what? Rejected ? No! Challenged! Challenged in the most dichotomous way: her inability to manipulate this man into taking control of her, of imposing his masculine essence on her feminine self. The epitome of chivalry, Ray opened a door. “I just need to get a gift for the party. Do you mind helping me pick it out?”
Samantha passed through the door Ray held open for her, finding herself in a world of fine lingerie; La Perla, her favorite. What kind of party required lingerie? Samantha's pulse and ardor rose. She bobbed in a sea of lingerie swimming in Ray's aura of appreciation, the knowledge that together they posed a striking image . Men in the store, smiled at Samantha, winked at Ray sharks in warm friendly waters, the waters of a stranger. “Do you," Ray spoke into her hair, "have a suggestion?”
Surprise pulled Samantha toward the safety of full-length nightgowns, propelled by the conundrum of not wanting to give the wrong impression, yet wanting to reveal her untame spirit yearning for release. She plucked three silk and satin gowns from their perches, eyeing Ray for approval. He smiled and nodded toward the dressing rooms. She eyed the sales person for permission. The woman's smile and nod mirrored Ray's.
Eyeing herself in the dressing room mirror, Samantha couldn't help wonder what at Ray's reaction might be at the sight of her thighs through the slit plackets of the first gown. Her hand parted the placket, slipping up along her inner thigh, following her stomach, cupping and fondling her breast. Would Ray's enormous hands follow that same path? Were the view in the mirror his, would it pique his manhood? Her eyes closed, shutting out the distraction of his absence. Would he speak? Loudly or in….
A whisper behind her, husky and virile, spoke. "Nice"
She opened her eyes. Ray didn't look at her. He drank her in, his savoring adoration warming the chill of surprise. Samantha turned into Ray, searching deep in his adoration for approval, willing to submit to being enwrapt in that admiration. A moist fever, spread down the insides of her thigh the same way a desire to be closer, to beckon touch spread through her, but she did not want make the first move. No. She needed to be taken. Ray denied her, leaving her suspended in uncomfortable silence. "Please leave me, so I can try the next gown."
Surprised by the husky quality her voice has taken and suddenly alone in her memory of it, Samantha draped herself in the next gown . Less silk, more lace, more flesh prompted her to reach for the matching robe. "Come, Ray. Would you like to feel…the fabric?” She called and held out her arm and the silk.
Ray entered and reached to her, his hand extending not toward her sleeve, but toward her breasts. Samantha drew in a breath, waiting in fearful hope. Ray took the fabric that caressed the inside curve of her breast between thumb and forefinger. He denies her full satisfaction again, his hand rising to her shoulder. Appreciative eyes coupled, acknowledging, the feint and the parry. Determined to make the pursuit worth his while Samantha's hand brushed the lace along her stomach with her fingertips, as if reading it like some erotic Braille that would tell her the next move. The movement, captured Ray's eyes, following her hand to thigh, then back up to breasts.
Still, Ray did not make an advance. Damn his will. He defers his gratification, striving for something better.
Samantha looked away, her own image in the mirror peering back at her. The innocence of the moment had passed. Animalistic passion overrode guileless deference. Hands pressed on Ray's chest, Samantha leaned into him and a deep kiss. Large strong hands clamped her wrists, pulling them behind her; a control hold, she struggled to break by pressing her torso to him, a unsuccessful attempt to break his grip. His strength didn't falter. She released a perfectly timed involuntary whimper, a beckoning wince. Ray released her, his grasp lingering with a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’m sorry. I hope that I didn't hurt you.”
Deft hands and empathetic eyes drew a forgiving, responsive, kiss from Samantha, returned with a gentle flattening of her breasts against his chest. Tit for tat, Samantha held the kiss until she felt him relax, then bit his lip. Both draw back, looking for blood. Samantha suddenly became aware of the beat of her heart. The stakes for the evening had been raised. Samantha admonished. "Get out so I can try on the next gown."
Hell hath no fury.
Ray should not have denied her.
With nipple hardening anticipation, Samantha feared retribution. Ray left, obediently, only to return
with fervor as she laced up her shoes, throwing aside the dressing curtain, towering over her, an ensemble of garters, lace stocking, bra and thong held out; not so much as a tithing, but more like a demand. Dropping them on the bench, he cupped her under the shoulders, lifting her to him, penetrating her lips with a deep demanding passion. Thankful that he held her, keeping her head above the surface of her swirling desire, she said, “I - I thought you wanted to go.”
“Try this on!” He left, leaving her hanging by the residual memory of his grip. The feel of his large hands lingering , fingers spreading around her back, made the task of once again shedding her own clothing for the outfit he'd just mandated her to wear. He'd not asked. For that very reason, Samantha considered not putting on the ensemble, but she wanted him, wanted to to feel his hands on her, wanted to be taken; but on her own terms, She considered waiting for him, without wearing a single stitch of clothing; considered whether that would be surrender or domination. Surely, the surrender of herself would hold some power over Ray, some force that would break his will to deny her the satisfaction a man like him could give her. Surely, this denial of her must be a denial of self for him. Surely, he must want her as much as she wanted him.
As if donning a life vest to keep her afloat in a churning carnal sea, Samantha put on the outfit Ray had thrust at her, knowing full well that she had already gone overboard; treading water waiting for rescue from her own craving. The weave of each article clung to her as if an extension of the sexual perfection she felt. Did she exude that sexual excellence into the clinging fibers, Or did she draw it from the expensive fabric that cupped her breasts like shielding hands, and thin cords wrapped around her hips, providing a minimally protective pouch for lips aching for Ray's touch, perhaps violation, but at her moment of choosing.
"Ray?"
Ray entered, his mouth frozen open in unrequited speech. Samantha looked onto his eyes, the power of vulnerability becoming clear to her. Standing before him with little more than dainty patches of fine fabric covering her, she held some power over him. Looking away from his eyes would mean breaking the lock she held over him, but she had to see to what extent she effected him. The strain against the front of his trousers indicated that Ray had more than enough potential to be a satisfying lover. More so to maintain her empowerment, rather than to give it over to Ray, by revealing her desire, Samantha peered through the fog of sexual tension that had condensed in the room. Ray bit his lip, reaching for her breast with spread fingers.
Perfect!
He wanted to touch her. Samantha wanted to feel his touch. The move appeared involuntary as if outside of Ray's control to stop it. Samantha pushed past his reach, placing her breasts where she, not he, desired, flattening them against his chest, her lips beside his ear. "I have to buy this outfit -- and wear it out of her. I can't let the sales girl touch it and discover how wet I am."
"Hmmmm," Ray cooed. "Is it the outfit that makes you wet or….." Samantha clamped his earlobe in her teeth, snipping his sentence. His rhetoric changed. "I'm glad we agree. This is precisely the kind of gift I was seeking."
Ray tried to pull back, but Samantha held the lobe his ear firm. With the barest of winces escaping from his machismo discipline Ray realized he'd been trapped. Samantha felt him tense, then relax. He wedged his hand between them, fingers stretching up just under her breasts. Samantha pulled him closer, giving him no opportunity to find something for pinching a tender nipple in return, though the possibility possessed a certain allure. Surrender. Control. Pleasure. Pain. The choices blurred. Samantha released his lobe, pressing a tongue in his ear, feeling the mounting tension in his arm relax, then gripped the lobe of his ear again.
Ray seemed to surrender, leaning to her with the weight of his full six foot plus virility, but she could feel him hold himself and her, away from the wall behind her. Fear seeped out of her mind, flowing down through her pooling moistly in the depths of her sexuality, tingling in electric anticipation at the extreme surfaces of her most sensitive places. Ray could pin her to the wall, but he didn't. Why? Her fear deepened; a penetrating, yearning fear. His hands busiedn themselves behind her. She could feel it through the rolling movement of his muscles under the skin of his shoulders.
She pressed her hips against him, finding the hard bulge of his waning discipline. Even through his pants she felt his fever. Then he collapsed, falling against her, pressing her to the wall. His hand reaching behind him,, quickly, grabbing her arms; pulling them up, entwining her wrists in soft, liquid satin. Samantha's mind wrapped itself in the soft woolly realization that Ray's surrender had been a feint. While she had lavished in the pleasure of having him in her grip, he'd tied a sash from one of the robes the clothes hook above her head. The loops he formed in the sash tightened around her wrists, pulling them above her head, lashing them to the hook. So exposed, nothing she could do could stop Ray from touching her in any way he wanted.
A visceral agitation filled Samantha, simultaneously burning and blowing through her like a sub-zero wind. Ray stepped back, leaving a dreadful certainty that he would once again deny Samantha. He dropped his cashmere coat to the floor, sweeping Samantha with hungry eyes of victory. Fear burned as the blue core in the orange flame of determination heating the moment to urgency. Samantha need to decide if her need lay in succumbing or resisting.
Some instinct, surged through the surface of Samantha's consciousness. She wanted Ray, but she wanted him on her terms. Whatever surged from deep within her, took control of her actions. Grasping the hook above her head, she brought her legs up, wrapping her thighs around Ray's neck, dropping her calves over his shoulders, then under his arms.
She held him.
In his struggles, Samantha felt a strength, the kind of strength that she both desired and feared between her legs. She held him, till he calmed; peering at her over the mound of her thong, past her stomach, heaving more from anticipation than exertion. The mutual acknowledgement the moment's impasse that passed between their gazes gripped them both in something stronger than any she'd shared with a man she'd let enter her. Already, Samantha felt a climax mounting deep within, pressing a need that would climb to tortuous levels if denied release. "Untie my hands."
Ray smiled. He denied her again. Angered arousal rush through Samantha. Ray shouldn't have denied her.
Samantha arched her back, pulling her calves toward her, drawing Ray's mouth so close to the mound protected by the sparse fabric of her thong that she could feel the moist heat of his breath adding to her own moist heat. Their eyes locked. She needn't to say what needn't be said. She thrust at Ray's mouth in that begging demanding way the body has when it takes over control and seeks release and satisfaction. Ray struggled, pulling back, trying to free himself, a silent struggle for both knew that too much noise could potentially bring the clerks and other unwelcome participants to this tryst, such as the police. Samantha's legs ached, not in the same way as her need ached, but the ache of fatigue. Ray's strength would wear her down and her need for release would break her concentration.
Samantha tossed aside intellectualizing her way through her predicament and let some forgotten animalistic sense take over for her. She threw herself into a frenzy, thrusting at Ray's face, hard enough that her own mound rubbed against his chin and mouth, barely protected by the thin expensive fabric that covered her swollen need. Arousal drove her fury, subsiding only a bit at the realization that she had brought the exquisite Italian stud to his knees, causing him to more pant his words, than speaking them. "Okay. Okay."
Trembling, on the cusp of release, yet not satisfied. Samantha looked down, past her heaving breasts, at the man she held in a trembling grasp between her legs. What she considered caused the trembling: fatigue; or a mounting climax that she almost feared because her need for it had become so strong. Hands tied to a hook in the wall she held at her disposal, the most incredible man with wavy black hair, blue eyes and a strong chin she'd ever laid eyes on. "Do not deny me!"
With a look that Samantha couldn't quite identify, Ray's hands slid up around her hips, pulling the thong to one side, allowing him to bring his lips to her fevered swollen lips. Words escaped her in deep gasps that she pressed out from recess within. "Do as I say!"
Ray nodded
"Tongue me.'
Ray's tongue parted the folds of her lips
"Stroke my nipples."
Ray's hands rose up along her stomach, cupping her breasts, pulling down the bra; alternately flicking each nipple with a strong finger, then deftly stroking the sides of them with his thim, then rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Samantha shuddered, the mound between her legs vibrating against Ray's lips
"Lick my clit."
The tip of Ray's tongue ran up the full length of lips, searching under the little hood, finding that swollen button of flesh ready to explode.
"Suck on it."
Ray drew Samantha's clit into his mouth, then released it. Flicked it with his tongue then drew it in again, repeating, perhaps knowing that Samantha would issue no more commands only pleading, mounting moans that would soon erupt in screams. When Samantha reached that eruption, Ray rose, filling her with a intimidating volume that she only more feared being denied than . His mouth over hers, he swallowed her screams, enough so that the clerks might not here. Wave after wave of climax flowed through Samantha as she thrust against his rock hard desire for her, absorbing his own spasms of release.
When their mutual climaxes had finally subsided, they clung to each other, for long moments, gasping for breath, grasping for a hold on the real world. Gazing into each others eyes as Samantha had with other lovers, yet not with the same knowledge that something profound had been shared. Ray found words first.
"Well, that certainly was different"