Coyote Too

I texted you from the airport. "Have rental car. On way. You know what to do." I sent nothing more.

The house was as you had described. The door unlocked, as you had been told. I put down my bags and walked towards the bedroom.

Your pictures hadn't done you justice. So beautiful, and yet so vulnerable. The air was warm, but I could see the goosebumps, see you shiver as you heard me move. You were naked, kneeling sideways on the bed, ass high,  blindfolded face flat against the bed, hands clasped over your head. Just as I had told you.

"Good girl."

You flinched at the sudden sound of my voice; heard for the first time.

I took a small length of rope from my pocket and bound your wrists together.

"Very good."

I brushed the hair from your face, bent over and hovered next to your clothbound eyes, letting you sense the closeness, hear my breath, feel your helplessness. A stranger in your house. Your body at my mercy.

"Who do you belong to?"

A pause, your throat was dry, you struggled to wet it, the words came out with slight catch.

"You, Sir."

"Very good. And how may I use you?"

"Any way you like, Sir."

"You are Mine, to use however I will?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you for your gift."

I kissed you, then pulled back before you could respond. I watched as your lips reacted in shock, then sought me out, but I was moving to the other side of the bed now, and you kept still.

"Are you wet for me?"

"Yes, Sir."

You flinched as you felt this stranger casually place his hand on your pussy, dip his fingers between your legs, then pull away. Gone before you could react again.

You took a deep breath.

"Not wet enough. Spread your legs!"

You moved them apart, adjusting your knees as I guided them farther.

Very lightly, I slapped my fingers against your pussy and clit. Again, a little harder. A steady rhythm, still light. Slap. Slap. Slap. I watched your face. Your breath.

A little harder.

Your breathing was coming faster now. Your breastbone reddening.

Harder.

Briefly I moved the slapping lower. The tone was wetter.

Back to your clit.

Harder.

Faster.

I saw you start to shudder.

"No! I did not say you could come!"

One blow, directly over your clit, a hard slap of my palm and fingers to make it sting. Then I resumed my pace as the room echoed with your cry.

Harder.

We were past your pleasure threshold. I could see your face scrunch up as you tried to process the pain, integrate it, rationalize it with the pleasure you had felt before.

"Good girl."

Your face began to relax again. Tense muscles released. Behind the blindfold I knew your eyes were half open, fluttering, rolling up as you lost yourself in the sensations.

Your pussy was turning red. The lips were getting sore. When I finally fucked you, each thrust would remind you of these slaps. The lips would throb, your clit would sting at the stimulation. Each push would start in pleasure and end in pain. A reminder of your submission.

I stopped.

You made no sound. You were gone, formless, everywhere and nowhere, pure egoless sensation.

"Good girl," I whispered. "We have just begun."