Taster Session I

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel while I wait for the red light to change. Anticipation fluttered in my stomach. It had plenty of room – there was nothing else in there. Don’t eat lunch, the message had said. It was now mid-afternoon, and I was starving.

Finally, the light changed and I accelerated up the hill, winding my way through the suburbs to Sir’s house. He lived right on the edges of what I would call civilization, within touching distance of the vast nothingness that took over the land once you got north of Denver. It was too far from all the fun things for me, but he said he hated being hemmed in by people.

I turned off the highway at the ridiculously large liquor store – I’d been in there; it was as big as a Walmart – and a moment later was bumping the Jeep up against the curb outside Sir’s house.

He opened the door before I reached the front porch, stepping aside so that I could slip inside and let him enclose us in privacy. I twisted back to face him, already sliding my hands behind me for his customary greeting: wrists held in a tight grip behind my back, mouth kissing the tender skin just beneath my jaw.

“Right on time, Kitten.”

I was, but then again, I was always on time. Being late was disorganized and disrespectful. If I didn’t meet someone at the exact time I’d agreed to (or, more likely, miles earlier so I could sit, bored in my car, and worry that they might be late), then I was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. My driving wasn’t as good as my timekeeping.

He took my left wrist in a light grip and led me through to the back room, a large space that was both den, kitchen and dining area. It was spotlessly clean, not a dirty plate or used utensil in sight, but I did spot a couple of pots keeping warm on the stove. Oh good, we were going to be eating, then.

“That smells amazing,” I said. “What are we having?”

Sir’s answer was an amused smirk.

Okay, then.

He led me past the kitchen to the dining area, tucked away in a little nook. It was all windows and bright sunshine, an old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen table surrounded by ladder-backed chairs. There were several Velcro ties tossed casually on the pretty mango wood surface.

“We’re going to work on personal development today,” Sir said.

Oh boy. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.

“All right.” I hovered a few steps back, watched him pull out one of the chairs. There, tied down to the seat, was a little purple toy. It was a g-spot stimulator, a stem rising up from the center with what looked like an unopened flower head at the top. Down at the bottom, perched perfectly in front of the stem, was a rounded little nub, a clit vibe I guessed. I tried not to grin – it wouldn’t do to look too happy about things – but I was going to enjoy sitting in that chair.

“You’ll need to take your clothes off, Kitten,” Sir said. He had an indulgent look on his face, likely because he knew what I was thinking, I had a terrible poker face, but there was also something else there. I was missing a trick here.

Oh well, there would still be vibrations, it couldn’t be too bad.

I slipped my cardigan off and then glanced at the windows. All the windows, surrounding the dining table on three sides to give a panoramic view. The garden beyond was a riot of color, the sun picking out the vibrancy in every glance, but I could also see all the neighbors’ gardens and, if I looked close enough, a little bit into all the neighbors’ houses.

Which meant they could do the same in reverse.

“Can we close the blinds please, Sir?” We weren’t playing yet, but I was a little bit optimistic I might get my way if I threw in a respectful sir. Nope. He shook his head slowly, then leaned back against the kitchen table as I slowly divested myself of my clothes, hanging them over the back of one of the other chairs.

When I was finally naked, I stood in the shafts of sunshine and forced myself not to curl my shoulders or sling an arm across my breasts. If I showed how much it was bothering me, we’d end up doing whatever Sir had planned, out on the patio. The pergola might provide a little bit of shade from the sun, but it did nothing to ward off prying eyes.

He drew the moment out, then gestured towards the chair with a nod of his head. “Sit.”

I did as he said, moving to the chair. I was turning around, ready to drop down onto the toy, when I noticed the implement hanging discreetly on one of the ladder-back struts. A crop. I recognized the gleaming brass topper, didn’t have to look down to the tress to know it was the one with studs embedded in the soft leather flaps. Yikes. I debated commenting on it, then decided I didn’t really want to know, and Sir probably wouldn’t tell me anyway.

I was already so slick between my legs from anticipation that the little g-spot stimulator glided right inside me when I sat. Yeah, I was right, that little nub did press exactly on my clit.

I looked expectantly at Sir, watched as he approached. He moved closer until he was standing right before me, forcing me to spread my legs to make way for him. He reached out and snagged two of the Velcro ties, then dropped into a crouch. Warm fingers circled one ankle, winding the Velcro around it then maneuvering me back until my leg was pressed against the chair leg. He strapped me to it, then shifted to repeat the same process on the other side.

“Arms back,” he said. I obediently reached around the back of the chair and let him bind my wrists together, the high back of the chair ensuring that I couldn’t do any more than wriggle. “Comfortable enough? Not too tight?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” A wicked smile. “You know why I like this toy so much?”

I shook my head.

“It’s so easy to control.” He held up a little remote control, thumb hovering over a button. He pressed it and the toy buzzed into life. Oooooh. “And I can be nice.” He shifted his thumb to the edge of the remote and turned a little wheel, and the vibrations rocketed higher. “Or I can be not so nice.” Another shift of the wheel and the whole toy died.