Ch. 1 Two work friends become kinky lovers.
Ch. 2 First dominance and submission, and public sex.
Ch. 3 Three days of rough sex at a rented beach house.
Ch. 4 The Spanish Inquisition and dark art.
Ch. 5 Opera and sex in Amsterdam.
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This is a true story. It is as true as my memory and story craft can tell it. It is the story of how an ordinary divorced guy who works in an office enjoyed two years of dominating two very submissive beautiful women along with some adventure sex travel. Of course, some of the details are disguised. Some events have been consolidated. The first series is about Stacy and how it all began.
Instead of one long story, I have broken it into five parts published together. Please favorite, score, and offer constructive comments to guide me on the companion series yet to be written.
*
Stacy and I lived fifty miles apart. We were both busy with work and other activities. There was never enough opportunity to get together, and never enough time together when we did, to do everything we wanted as dom and sub, nor to enjoy our long friendship that had taken on an exciting new dimension.
A three-day weekend was coming up, so I offered to rent a beach house. It was a prime weekend; it cost me a grand. Stacy said she would bring and otherwise take care of the rest. We emailed each other to develop a list of what we wanted to do. We had a list. We should have seen it coming. A list is not a relationship. A list is a catalog. And a catalog is not a story. The weekend demands a story. I’m going to tell it this way.
*
We both drove because we had to arrive from different directions after Escort Beylikdüzü work on Friday. I got there first and opened the rental. Stacy arrived about an hour later. She had her surfboard on top of her car. She wanted to surf the early morning waves. We planned to hike, eat well, and drink. And we planned to fuck.
As we unpacked in the large master bedroom, it became clear that we had each brought a large collection of sex toys. There were many dildos, all different shapes, and sizes. There was plenty of rope. There were paddles, flogs, and canes. I brought hand and ankle cuffs. Stacy brought an expensive-looking box, but she wouldn’t say what it was. She brought a variety of oils and lubricants. It was too much paraphernalia for one weekend.
I said, “Let’s open some wine and drink and talk for a bit. Then we can get naked and give each other a massage. We can relax and set the mood for the weekend. See where it goes.”
I usually massage from the top down, back to front. Once her shoulders were oiled, I dug my fingers into her and worked those tight muscles. I pulled her arms straight and squeezed them down to the fingertips as if I were pushing stress down a tube and out. I worked each part of her spine. I changed my usual approach and massaged her toes and feet, then up her calves and thighs. Stacy was purring.
With fresh oil in my palms, I deeply massaged the cheeks of her ass, and then let oil dribble down into her crack. I used my fingers, starting at the top of the cleft, and pushed them back and forth, a little farther each time. Her anus got some lingering attention. My finger circled and rimmed her and pushed inside a bit. Escort Bahçeşehir With more oil, I used the flat of my palm to oil her pussy.
I moved up, so my knee was pressing into her crotch. Using my hands on her back and the other knee for leverage, I rubbed my knee hard against her cunt. “Lift your ass and get yourself off against my knee,” I told Stacy.
Stacy arched her back and rubbed her clit faster and faster against my knee. With one hand, I reached up to grab a fistful of her hair.
“Tell me when you are close,” I said, “but don’t come.” Stacy was moaning a little and said she was nearly there.
“Now,” I said, “come now!” Stacy gasped as she came and then collapsed on the bed. I said, “That will take the edge off your work-week stresses.”
*
The massage continued until Stacy was sitting astride me, finishing my chest. Stacy said, “Squeeze my breasts hard.” I grabbed two handfuls and squeezed.
‘No. Harder. Dig your fingers in, hard. Bruise them.”
I hesitated. Our agreement said we would not leave marks that would be visible when we were dressed for work and other vanilla activities. Several days later, she told me that she had pulled up her shirt to show her girlfriend, at six in the morning before a run. She showed her friend her beautifully bruised breasts.
I didn’t know any of that at the time. I said, “Really? You want bruises?”
“God, yes. Squeeze them hard.” I did. I grabbed and pinched and twisted and slapped. I didn’t understand. I still don’t. When I saw her breasts again a couple of weeks later, they were blotched in purple and yellow as the bruises faded.
After that rough treatment, I pulled Stacy by her hair into one of the bathroom tubs and had her kneel. I urinated on her, on her face, in her hair, all over her body. Then I got in, turned the shower on, and washed her. We were both covered with oil. We held each other, kissed gently, and cleaned ourselves.
Outwardly, at least. We each had a list. Now, two were checked off. A list is not a relationship.
*
We both kept working our lists all weekend. Stacy surfed. We hiked. I tied her up with my first attempt at rope art, a pentagram in red. The fancy box contained a vibrating egg that could be controlled by a cell phone app. We went out to eat. I used my phone.
“I’m going to cum,” Stacy panted, as the waiter brought our dinners.
I flogged her and used my belt to stripe her. She licked my ass. I love that. I love all of it, even when I can’t comprehend it. She did all the cooking, served me coffee in bed, and sucked my cock.
*
On the last morning, we had some coffee and walked down to the still-deserted beach. There was a small, regular wave pattern. The water is cold here. Surfers wear wetsuits all year. I held Stacy in my arms.
“Get naked,” I told Stacy, “and get out into the water.” Stacy had a big smile and started to look up the beach. “Don’t look,” I said. “I’ll decide when it is safe.”
Stacy stripped off and ran into the waves. The water is freezing cold all the time. She jumped and splashed for as long as she could stay in without her wetsuit. She ran out and into my arms.
I held her to warm her. Her face beamed with joy. As she dressed, a walker approached, smiling. He had been far away, but close to us enough to know what we were doing.
We were both happy. It was a good way to end the weekend. It wasn’t on the list. A list is not a relationship.
*
Next up, Ch. 4 the Spanish Inquisition and dark art.