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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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I stood on the pavement in front of the hotel and looked up. I counted up four stories and wondered if one of those windows was yours, or if your room was on the other side of the building. People passed by taking no notice of me, a 38 year old woman standing in the light spilling out from the hotel lobby. I shivered slightly and pulled my coat closer, although it wasn't really very cold. But I was nervous. Terrified, actually.
You were up there, in one of those rooms, waiting for me. So why was I so scared? There was nothing about myself that I hadn't told you, no fantasy I hadn't shared with you. You knew more about me than anyone in the world, more than any of my ex’s had known. Meeting online and messaging each other. Messages in which you’d slowly drawn from me the secret fantasies I’d never shared with anyone... had tried to deny even to myself. You spun fantasy after fantasy for me as I opened up, using every tidbit that I revealed. I marveled that you could pick up on the most insignificant details that I mentioned without attaching any meaning to them and turn them into a fantasy that had me searching for my vibrator to relieve the ache you awakened deep inside me.
It was your descriptions of dominance and pain that first drew me. You talked about inflicting pain on me, taking me to new levels of pleasure and desire. I realized I had always been aroused by the idea of being restrained during sex, but assumed there was something wrong with it... with me... and so I had always pushed those thoughts away. I was even more shocked to find that I liked it when you talked about spanking me and even more so when you talked about whipping. Crops, floggers... even the pictures of them that I found online made me wet. Getting a message from you created a Pavlovian response in me and would start my juices flowing, would start a slow burn in my nether regions and every order you gave me only stoked the fire.
I’d never considered my breasts to be particularly sensitive but to my surprise I discovered that I became highly aroused when you wrote or talked about touching them. We indulged your fantasies about breast play and I had many orgasms to your descriptions of sucking and licking them, of nipple clamps, even (or maybe especially) of whipping them. Something else that was a favorite for both of us were the fantasies of tying me to a chair. I don’t know why but the image of myself in a chair, wrists bound behind me, legs spread open, ankles tied to the legs of the chair, was just incredibly arousing and you had a lot of variations on that theme.
So why was I so afraid? Was it because deep down I doubted that I would react in the same way to the reality of bondage and whipping and submission. While the fantasy, coupled with my vibrator brought me unfailingly to orgasm, my fear was that the real thing would simply be uncomfortable and painful... without the arousal.
There was also my body. I was no nubile young thing. I was the wrong side of 30, with a body that had been neglected during my last relationship. Nor was I as limber as I had been 20, even 10 years ago. My breasts, I knew, were neither “sexy” nor “gorgeous" as you described them in your fantasies. I had been reluctant to reveal myself in pictures even more so on video and even more reluctant to meet you in person.
My biggest fear was that you would be so disappointed in the way I looked and the way I reacted that you would end the prospective relationship completely. I couldn't bear the thought of no more correspondence. I had resisted this meeting for months, until you stopped asking and simply told me one day that you had booked a room. You told me the weekend you would be there, the time you wanted me at the hotel room, even what you wanted me to wear for my arrival and what clothes to bring for the weekend. In spite of my fear, I couldn't refuse you and so had made the trip to Llandudno.
Looking at my watch I realized with a start that if I stood out here much longer I would be late. I picked up my suitcase, took a deep breath and walked through the double doors into the lobby. I glanced regretfully to the left, where the restaurant and bar were situated and wished I’d arrived early enough to stop for a drink to calm the butterflies in my stomach. But it was too late for that and so I turned right to the elevators, my heels clicking on the tiled floor. An elderly couple got on the elevators with me and I smiled at them as they acknowledged me.
The elevator was large, carpeted, and the back wall covered with mirrored panels. It moved smoothly, stopping almost soundlessly at the third floor where the couple disembarked. As it began its ascent to my destination, the fourth floor, I wondered if an elevator ride had ever seemed as long as this one. When it stopped and the doors opened, my heart, already racing, began to thud in my chest and I thought briefly I might pass out. I trembled as I walked down the lushly carpeted hallway, hoping my shaking legs didn't give out. Stopping in front of Room 405, I paused for a moment and then reached out and softly knocked on the door.
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