I don't own anything Twilight.
When We Meet
Part II
Edward
October 10th 2011
It's Monday.
Five minutes to 8 PM.
You should be here any minute now, but my doorbell can't seem to ring soon enough. Time's ticking awfully slow today. Of course it's not every day that I get a visitor like you.
That's not exactly true.
I do have that other woman, my best friend Tanya to be precise. I used to spank her every other day, but we don't see each other as often anymore – at least not for the purpose of bruising her ass. Actually she was the one that got me into the whole D/s thing a couple of years ago. Purely by accident. We were just screwing when I slapped her ass lightly – all in good fun – and then she demanded I do it again, but this time harder. Well... needless to say, things developed from there. D/s is not my lifestyle, though. I don't have a fully stocked dungeon nor do I wear leather pants or lead crawling women around by leashes. D/s is a sexual preference for me. Nothing more, nothing less.
I look at my watch again.
The mere thought of having you here soon has my hands twitching in anticipating. The mere thought of handling your delicate body how I see fit raises a massive tent in my pants. It's like I'm an inexperienced, giddy teenager all over again, and I don't even know what it is about you that has me so excited. Then again, it is always exciting to be with someone new, figure out what makes them tick... moan… and scream. Until I get bored. Which happens pretty fast. Usually.
I take a couple of deep breaths, and will my hard-on down, as I think of last week and how our arrangement began.
When I woke up that Saturday after the party, I logged into Facebook. It's a routine for me, and seeing your friendship request there first thing in the morning made me smile. I told you to look me up, and you did. You even sent me a message: Thank you, it said. Plain and simple, but very much appreciated. You wrote that very early, too – considering we stayed pretty late at the party or rather in the park – and I wondered if your sore ass woke you up. I wondered if you smiled from ear to ear because you could still feel the impact of my hands on your ass. Maybe your cheeks even showed purple marks shaped just like them...
I gave you my cell phone number and told you that a repeat performance would be welcome. Somehow I knew you'd be back for more – judging by the fire in your eyes after we were done playing – and you will. In approximately four minutes. If all goes well, I will show you exactly what kind of pleasure you can experience from pain, but this time there will be no rush because of people walking by. I plan on taking my time, starting slowly. You're a newbie after all, and the first text message I received from you made that crystal-clear. You were practically begging me to spank you again. The endorphin high had worn off. The marks had healed. The soreness is gone. You're in a frenzy, and I'm quite willing to help you out in that department.
I don't know yet what I will gain from this arrangement exactly, other than to give my twitching hand something to practice on... And if the last time and your moans are any indication, you'll be able to take quite a lot of my hands in the future. Yes, for some reason, I'm already planning various future meetings in my mind. The glimpses I had at this different side of you simply intrigue me. You can easily tear any douche bag a new one with a few eloquent words and a bitch brow. You seem superior in every way, yet you submitted to me so naturally and took the strikes so bravely. It was astonishing. I wanted to do that again as soon as I left you standing there by that tree. That kind of longing feeling didn't go away entirely, not until I told you later that week to come over today, told you to bring your toys – anything that might be useful – and you agreed. Of course, I tell myself that I don't want you searching out some wannabe Dom via the internet – which I truly don't – but also, I want to spank you. Again and again. And if that means the hassle of you having to stay the night, because you don't live in the city, then by all means, bring your pajamas.
Three minutes to 8 PM...
There's nothing left for me to do now other than pace around in my living room. I've cleaned my apartment, stocked my fridge, made a playlist for our playtime, and thought of many dirty but delicious things I could do to you. I am prepared like a fucking boyscout, and yet here I am nervously waiting for you. As if I had a girlfriend over for the first time. And just to be clear: I don't do the girlfriend thing. Haven't in a long time and certainly not now. I like my freedom and diversity just fine, thank you very much. Even the faintest memory of my ex-girlfriend sends shivers down my spine, and not the good kind.
As if you could read my mind, you choose this second to ring my doorbell. Fucking finally.
There's some construction going on in the hallway downstairs, and apparently the door is locked. I have to snicker when I imagine your tiny frame trying to push the massive door open in vain. The bitch brow decorating your face...
Even from a distance, I can see you clearly through the glass window in the door. The street lights bathe you in a cozy orange light on this freezing autumn night. You're oblivious of me, don't see me through the window just yet, and that gives me the chance to look at you – all bundled up in some kind of fluffy white, knitted coat. Its huge hood flows like water down your head and hides most of your face, but your long brown hair is hanging out – a stark contrast to the innocent white. And sure enough, the big red bows came out to play. Seriously, I love those sneakers.
You look deep in thought and then startled as I yank the door open. It wasn't locked at all, but I won't ever tell you this. Besides I'm too distracted by the look on your face.
Fear, uncertainty, anticipation and excitement, it all shows in your eyes and flushed cheeks. Though the latter might just be from the cold. I guess I have to make the first move, since you seem rooted to your spot, incapable of forming words, huge brown eyes zeroing in on my … tank top clad chest? Adorable how shy you can look when I know you're anything but. Our exhibitionistic actions in a public park are proof enough.
Two steps and I pull you into my arms, hug you briefly yet tight.
Welcome. Enjoy your stay.
I know I will.
– w – w – m –
Pony tail, skinny jeans, bright red belt with a huge fucking bow on it, short black blouse with a gazillion tiny white hearts, and Hello Kitty socks.
You're killing me. Literally.
Even though you're dressed like a little girl, you manage to accentuate your curves perfectly. Last time, I only saw parts of your body naked, meaning your butt, but still that was a sight to behold. Tonight, I plan on ripping those damn clothes to shreds. Tonight, I plan on testing your limits – only a bit. You just don't know it yet, as we make light chit chat on my couch - how have you been, what have you been up to, blah blah blah. From your rigid posture, I can tell you might need this, need some time to acclimate. It's still awkward – finding a mundane topic to talk about. We're pretty much strangers after all. No matter how easygoing and open-minded I am, my whole distraction or trying to get you comfortable thing doesn't seem to work with you.
Change of plans.
"So tell me, how did you like my hands on your ass last time?" Huh... that does the trick, and your face lights up like a Christmas tree. Some of the tension is leaving your shoulders.
"Very much."
The timidness in your voice and the fact that you can't look me in the eyes tells me I have to spell things out for you. Okay. No problem. I can accommodate. My follow-up questions only receive two word answers, too, so I ask you what your concerns are, what's bothering you about the whole thing.
"I guess I just don't know how to act – when our scene starts, you know?"
Yeah, I do. I was a newbie once, too.
"Whenever I give you the first command. You'll catch it, I'm sure."
Mainly because my voice drops a whole octave and I'm not being very subtle about my commands. Short and direct instructions that leave no room for arguments. When I tell you to show me the toys you brought, the pink on your cheeks darkens to a deep fiery red, but you hand over a vibe and some clothes pins with a fake brave expression. For fucks sake! We did it in a park, for everyone to see, and here you are, all embarrassed about things that are perfectly natural. It's not like you pulled a strap-on out of your purse. That would have been a deal breaker for sure, but this girly looking vibe of yours is certainly not. I try to show you that it's all good, that I know how to handle a device like this, but nothing, absolutely nothing seems to ease your embarrassment, nothing seems to loosen you up, so I figure, what the hell...
"Go to my closet, stand with your back against it."
This right here is my first command. You catch up fast, like I knew you would, but the few steps to your goal show some hesitance. Not an option, usually. I let it slide. Just for today. Just because you're new to it and obviously not the loose, wanton girl I took you for.
I follow quietly behind you, as you cautiously put one foot before the other, take your shoulders into my hands and guide you. Back straight, legs together. You don't know what to do with your hands as you lean with your back against the closet. Always twitching, balling them to fists, then letting them hang loose by your sides. Twitching again.
"Now strip. Slowly."
And again with your twitching hands. They don't seem to know where to start. Blouse first? Jeans first? You settle on the blouse. Though you do it slowly – just like I told you – I grow impatient and decide to help with your jeans. Tricky belt. Even trickier pants. Damn complicated buttons and rusty zipper. Must be your favorite pair of jeans. I yank them off as you eventually get rid of your top.
Speechless is what I am when I see you in underwear, seeing most of your body bare for the first time. Black bra and matching panties. Hipsters. Or whatever they are called. Lace and ruffles everywhere. Damn! The bra is of the push-up variety. Still I know that your tits are perfect, just the right size and firm as well. I fondled them the last time. I can hardly wait to see them now. Your stomach is smooth and flat, but not muscular. It looks so soft I want to bury my head in it. You're a slender little thing with skin so pale and flawless like a porcelain doll. Narrow hips, cute tight ass clad in see-through panties with bows on them. Of fucking course. The only disturbing things are those ridiculous socks that reach up to your knees. Hello Kitty with a candy cane. What a buzz kill. Not the cane, mind you. They still have to go. One by one, I take your feet and pull them off.
There. All better.
With my hands on your hips, I turn you around, facing the closet, pulling your hands high above your head and place your palms to the surface.
"Keep them there."
I trail my hands softly along your neck, across your back and down, down, down to your ass, leaving goose bumps in their wake and a trail of your bra and panties on the floor.
I've seen a lot of women naked in my days, but no one, absolutely no one, can compete with your stunning body. I put my chin on your left shoulder and breathe you in for a minute. The smell of your skin is divine, and it gives me the chills. The good kind.
A few light slaps with my bare hand to your butt make you breathe a little faster. A few hard tugs on your nipples and the breath starts to catch in your throat. Standing to your side, I guide my left hand from your nipples, down to where your desire is already showing on the insides of your thighs. I start to stroke you softly, but my spanking never stops. Each slap is followed by a soft stroke along your already pink backside. Each slap is followed by your moan so quiet it's hard to hear. Soon you're drenching my left hand in your juices, making it easy to rub your clit in however way I want. I'm teasing you, stroking so softly you can barely feel my fingers. Your task of standing still becomes harder and harder by the minutes and you start rocking your hips back and forth, trying to ride my hand. That earns you a resounding smack and the loss of a hand to grind on. Little whimpers of protest fill the room.
"You want more?"
The eager nod of your head tells me all I need to know. I am prepared for that moment, prepared for you wanting more, and I'm willing to push your limits just a bit further right now. This little velvet belt I have is perfect for that. It's thin but oh so stingy. Perfect for introducing you to a slightly harsher pain and creating a lovely red pattern of welts on your ass.
The louder your moans, the harder I strike your ass. I make sure to run my hands softly around it – spreading the pain, the warmth – every now and then. I squeeze your nipples. I slap your ass and I stroke it all better. When I see you wriggling your butt – flinching away from my little belt – and hear your little whines, I know you've had enough. Your ass is a lovely shade of red now and I can't stop myself from biting it, earning me a high-pitched shriek. The sight of your bruised backside is so damn arousing, I can't even wait another heartbeat to be inside of you. I guide you to my couch.
"On the couch. On your back"
I take a minute to appreciate the sight of you there – all starry-eyed and trembling heat. It's not the position I'd usually want you in – on all fours – I decide as I get rid of my shirt, jeans and underwear. You look at me with your big brown eyes, watch my every move like hawk. I make a note to blindfold you the next time, as I settle on the couch, between your legs, condom in place. Both of your legs are thrown over my shoulders in no time, and I position myself at your entrance. You're so slick, and whenever I look at you, the deep pools of your eyes are fixated on mine. For some reason, I can't take this. It's too much, too intimate, and not enough at the same time.
To my utter shame, I last about two seconds, but still somehow manage to make you come. You're messing with my head and my performance as well. I want to bitch-slap you for that, but I check your fine ass for unusual bruising instead. Your ass is fine indeed.
To my utter irritation, I don't really know what to talk to you about when we're done playing, so watching TV it is. After only two encounters with you, I can read your body language better than my own, but finding the right topic for conversation is like looking for a needle in a haystack with you. At least there is a smile on your lips throughout the rest of the evening.
To my utter surprise, I like having you stay the night. Even if you're awkwardly curled up at my feet, looking like a shrimp. I like the little sounds you make in your sleep and how you sneakily manage to steal my blanket in the middle of the night. I steal it right back, though.
To my utter shock, I sort of want you back here as soon as I close the door behind you the next morning.
Fuck.
A/N
I don't say this often enough: a huge thank you to everyone reading / reviewing.
WWM: This chapter is the last repetitive one. We'll be moving forward from where Bella left off. I don't like repeating myself very much.
MLTY: For those of you, who haven't given up on the Captain yet, there will be a new chap soon(ish).
mcc101180 is my beta and the bestest in the whole wide world. I'm sorry for the persistent comma abuse.
