I’d been given the name of a hotel. A time. Two reminders
not to be late (he was already picking up on my flaws). The type of dress
I should pack. And a letter that I was to write out by hand and give to him when I
first saw him.
No details beyond that. I’d asked him for more clues and, in response, been told to improve my patience. This is what I had missed: the thrill of the unknown, the lack of control, the surrender.
It was with a racing pulse that I checked into the hotel. I was sure that the man behind the desk knew my secret: my slutty, submissive secret. Why else would I be here, in a hotel I couldn’t afford, waiting for the key with flushed cheeks. My cunt twinged and I pressed my legs together. Then the key was mine and
I was making my way up the stairs and down the carpeted corridor: Room 1101.
I’d barely stepped in and put my bag down when my phone
pinged.
“I trust you’ve arrived. Send me the room number.”
“Yes, Sir. 1101.”
“Good girl.”
My breath released in a rush of relief and pleasure. I was
on time. Had I remembered everything else? This anxiety was so foreign to my usual care-free, disregard to planning, late-to-everything attitude; the mental run-through of the list sent
flutters straight to my cunt. I knew I was making tell-tale marks in my
underwear already: wet marks of excitement and uncertainty, arousal and nerves.
My phone pinged again:
“Unlock door. Kneel position with eyes closed.”
Ohh fuck.
“Yes, Sir.”
I scrambled to do as he’d ordered, to remember every detail
of the position I’d been taught the previous month. Kneeling, legs wide, hands on top, palms up. I closed my eyes
and focussed on steadying my breathing. It hitched on every inhale,
somersaulting through my blood, before leaving my lips in a way that revealed too much: my excitement, the gathering wetness in my underwear, how he could so easily shake my normal, confident
autonomy into a trembling knot of helpless longing.
I’d been waiting at least 15 minutes, my impatience itching
and my arousal building, when I heard footsteps coming down the
corridor. Then the door clicked open, and I felt his gaze on me.
Silence.
I fought the urge to squirm or peek through my
lashes. My breathing was telling him all I would never admit out loud and I knew my cheeks
were burning because of it. Walking past me, he began arranging something on the bed behind
me, his movements calm and quiet. How much I longed for his touch. I sank my teeth into my lip, to keep myself from
moving or speaking. Finally, he finished and I felt his shoes imprint the carpet close to my knees.
“Hmm..” came from above, and I knew he was stood over me,
inspecting me, dragging his hot gaze across my positioning, my trembling skin,
every inch of me on show. I bit harder into my lip. Then his hands were
on my legs, forcing them even wider. My sharp inhale and he stepped in close. His jeans against
my face, his hand on the back of my head, pushing me hard into his groin. I gasped into him, fighting to
keep my hands on my legs. The longing to raise my fingers, to unzip him and feel
his skin on mine, was seething through me. His fingers wound through my ponytail
and he yanked my head back, my eyes still closed, leaving me gasping my
unspoken wants into the air above me.
“Already so desperate, little slut.”
I nodded breathlessly.
“Please, Sir…”
He pressed himself against my face
again and I could feel his cock hard, straining under his jeans. I moaned
and squirmed. Fuck, I wanted him inside me.
“You’ll have to wait.”
I groaned and he yanked me back by my hair again.
“Once I leave, you will count 20 seconds before moving
position. You will then read the card marked #1 and follow the instructions.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“What do you say?”
“Yes, Sir, yes, Sir.” I gasped.
“Good girl. It’s going to be a fun night.”
He stroked my hair gently. Then his hands were gone, the door opened and swung
shut.
Mischief's Muse 