Fantasy Lover

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Amateur

Part One: The Meeting with the Master

There were seven of us seated around the table in the private dining room of a swanky New York restaurant. I couldn’t believe my good fortune; I had been invited to dinner with a bevy of celebrities. One was a writer and editor for a posh fashion magazine, along with his lovely, but simple blonde buxom wife. There was the rock star, brilliantly handsome even in his older age with his graying hair dyed a light blonde and the crinkles of his eyes giving his face a soft sympathetic look- he was joined by his very young brunette fashion model girlfriend. To cap it off, there was the photographer for the same posh fashion magazine, his two toned spiky hair contrasting with a brilliant purple suit; he was joined by his “friend”, a quiet male whose pale face was obscured by heavy dark framed glasses. And then there was me, a struggling freelance writer.

We had already placed our orders for dinner and were enjoying an extremely expensive bottle of merlot when the waiter came over bearing a large arrangement of sunflowers.

“This is for the lady,” said the waiter crisply, his foreign accent a harsh staccato. He pointed to me and set the flowers down on a serving table behind my chair. “There is a note,” he said, pulling off the card and sliding it on the table in front of me.

I was instantly suspicious. Sunflowers are my favorite flower, but a whole bouquet would not be so easy to come by in the winter months, even in metropolitan New York. I fingered the note as I read it, clean black ink in a precise handwriting on stiff ecru parchment. “Come to the ladies room right away,” it read.

“Excuse me,” I said, nodding to my dinner companions. I didn’t say anything about the message and I knew they were wondering what was going on.

The ladies room was extremely chic with an antechamber lined with plush floral couches. It should have surprised me that there was a man standing in the ladies room, but it was what he did and the suddenness of it all that made me stand there dumbfounded. He quickly came up to me as I pushed open the door, grabbed my hands together in one strong grip, and with his other hand, slipped a pair of handcuffs over my wrists, securing my hands together in front of me. I should have screamed, but I stood looking stupidly into his handsome face. I staggered backwards, my eyes never leaving his hard gaze, as I waited for him to grab me. He didn’t.

“Now you may go back to your table, my lady,” he said softly. He held the swinging door open for me. I didn’t look back, but scurried back quickly to my table, my hands still bound awkwardly in front of me.

“You are not going to believe the ‘freak-a-zoid’ who attacked me in the bathroom,” I exclaimed a little too loudly, holding my hands out like a trophy. It was deadly quiet I realized. My six dinner guests looked at me and then back at the chair that I had left. There was a man sitting in my chair. He sat back, languidly, looking at me expectantly, his fingertips touched together in an arc as if he were meditating. I could instantly see that he was very tall, his long legs stretched out in front of him as if he had been waiting hours for me. He was deadly beautiful for a man — dark hair that curled a little at the nape of his neck; pale, almost translucent skin; dark eyes that blended in seamlessly with his wide pupils.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said in a deep, unwavering voice.

Two words that sent chills down my arms. Who was this man?

He sat patiently, staring at me, either unaware or uncaring of the other eyes that flitted between him and me trying to understand the interchange. “I am your master, Elizabeth,” he said simply, as if that was enough.

My mind raced. I now realized who he was – “Beau”, or at least that’s how I knew him as. I had met Beau on-line about a year ago in an animation/simulation program. The only Beau who I knew up until that day was a computer animated avatar and we had forged a very intense sadistic relationship based on sex and S&M ritual. I knew that there was a real person behind Beau, but now here he was, flesh and blood, sitting in front of me. He represented a year’s worth of fantasies — a make-believe world that I felt I controlled with a click of a button. I had no button to push now to make him go away.

He stood up abruptly, his eyes never leaving me, a look of intensity framing his serious face. He was dressed immaculately in a very stylish tailored black suit with a black silk shirt which left only a trace of his hairless chest exposed. He pulled the chair back from the table, and grasping my shoulder, maneuvered me into the chair.

“Please, sit down, my dear,” he said so normally. I almost started to laugh hysterically from the absurdity of the whole situation.

He pushed the chair under the table for me, as if he were just a gentleman seating his dinner date. He stood behind my chair, which unnerved me; I couldn’t look up to see him without twisting all the xslot way around and I couldn’t look at anyone else at the table, for fear that I would start crying or laughing like a crazy person. So I stared at a spot on the table cloth.

Beau leaned over the right side of my chair. I could barely see his face at my side. His finger, long, thin, and hairless, reached out to stroke my cheek, stopping under my chin to grasp it in a vise between his finger and thumb. He was not hurting me, but I could feel the strength in his grip, the reminder of power beneath his gentleness.

“I am your master, Elizabeth and you will obey me. Will you submit to me?” He stopped waiting for me. I nodded, my brain whirling. He stood for a moment. “Answer me,” he said, the calmness in his deep voice similar to the power beneath his fingers.

“Yes, my lord,” I said quietly. It was what he wanted to hear. It was the game, I thought. We are playing the game. However, instead of our game being played out in a computer simulation in the privacy of my office, it was now being enacted for the world to see — or if not the world, then a group of six strangers who might have represented the entire world to me at that moment. My face flushed with the shame of thinking what these people must be thinking. The quietness at the table was unnerving. I could feel the heat of their stares on me.

“Your hands are bound with these handcuffs,” he said. “You will wear them for me. You will keep them on as you eat your dinner. You will keep them on until I say that you may take them off.”

“And if I refuse?” I snapped. I was getting over my initial surprise and fear; defiance was starting to creep into my soul. I forced my eyes sideways to stare at him.

“Then I will punish you,” he said simply, his face or voice showing no emotion.

I knew what that punishment would be. He had his favorites — turning me over his knee and spanking me; tying me to hooks and flaying my backside with leather straps; other punishments, all designed to hurt. But that was cyber sex, I thought. This was reality. Would he really do those things to me? Could he really hurt me? I thought so, and the reality of it all made me shudder so hard that I shook visibly under his grip.

“You will be rewarded if you obey me, my dear.” His fingers left my face and he reached around and pulled out a lovely grey silk lined necklace case. He snapped the case open to reveal luminous white pearls. “Mikimoto pearls, my dear,” he said, pulling the strand out in front of my eyes. “Only the best.” He laid the pearls against my face and I could feel the coolness of the pearls contrasting with the heat of his skin.

He set down the pearls in the case, closing them, and laid the case next to my fork. On the other side, he laid a red silk ribbon with a small key attached. “You have free will, my dear. You will choose.”

He stepped back from the chair as I stared at the two. I looked over my shoulder and he was gone. Poof. The door to the private dining room was open and now, waiters were starting to come in, their arms laden with trays of steaming dinners.

I watched absently as my dinner was placed in front of me, the waiters artfully lining the backs of the chairs to pull off the metal warmers all at one time. The moment should have been met with polite oohs and ahhs over the gastronomic delight in front of us, but the table was remarkable silent, all trying to digest the full meal of drama which had erupted before them.

I sat miserably staring at my steaming potatoes and glazed filet. I tried to raise my hand to grasp my napkin to cover my lap, but it was choreography of cacophony in artfully trying to maneuver my two hands together without knocking something over. With a loud sigh, I grabbed the ribbon in my left hand, trying to slide the key into the tiny keyhole with my right.

“What are you doing?” said the rock star in a tight whisper; he was sitting across the table from me. It was the first thing that the others had said the entire time. All six eyes watched me in my struggles.

“I am going to eat my dinner,” I said very loudly, in what I hoped was a light-hearted, joking tone. I squeezed out a fake smile that invited everyone to continue, and they did. The table erupted with conversation like a dam had been cut loose. No one said anything about what had just happened.

I saw the man from the bathroom standing at the doorway, his handsome face plainly pained at my actions.

“Hey, ‘freak-a-zoid,” I yelled, holding up the handcuffs. “Why don’t you take these back to your boss for me.”

He came around the table, his eyes downcast, taking the handcuffs slowly. “Are you sure that you do not want to reconsider?” he said gently. “He is in love with you. Do you know this?” he asked this, as if he did not expect an answer. “I have never seen him before like this.”

There was something about what he said. Maybe it was the embarrassment of having my lover xslot Giriş show up, like a hidden dirty magazine suddenly revealed. Maybe it was the shame of having even been involved in a cyber relationship of that kind. Whatever it was, my defiance flared like a match igniting dry kindling. Who was he to just come here? How dare he order me to submit to him? I may have played the game more than willingly on-line, but this was my life, I thought.

I grabbed the grey case and pulled the strand of pearls out. “How much do you think these things are worth?” I asked loudly to the table. The buxom blond on my left fingered them as if she could divine their worth from her fingertips.

“Well, they’re real, I think” she said authoritatively.

“I’d guess about five grand,” said the rock star. “I bought my ex a strand about five years ago. I’m sure they’re gone up since then.”

They were beautiful in the light. I could see each round bud shimmer in the crystal light of the chandelier. “I bet they’re worth at least ten grand,” I said expansively, swinging the pearls around so that everyone could see them hanging. I pulled over my full glass of merlot and plunked the pearls into the wine. Everyone gasped.

“Take this back to your boss with the handcuffs,” I said haughtily, holding the full glass out to him. He took the glass quickly and scurried out the door.

I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach. Pearls are porous. I knew the dark red wine would stain those pearls, probably beyond repair. And they were real — that I knew. He would be mad, not just mad but furious. I had ruined his gift, a really expensive gift. I felt supremely sad that I had done this — sad and afraid. My stomach churned with fear as I pulled a forkful of potatoes into my mouth, as if my brazen act did not concern me.

I looked up to see him staring darkly at me from the doorway, I set my trembling fork down and held my hands tightly in my lap to stay myself from fleeing out into the street to my freedom.

He crossed over to my side. He had the glass of merlot in his hand. Everyone was quiet again. He took the pearls out of the glass and dashed them against the tablecloth, the vivid red spattering the white tablecloth like blood.

“Those were real, you know,” he said, his quiet voice belying the rage that I knew was boiling over inside of him. “They were worth about $8,000.”

“I guessed about $10,000,” I said with a nonchalance that surprised even myself.

“Your dinner is over, Elizabeth. You will come with me,” he said. His voice was tight with his anger, his lips pressed together as if something might erupt.

“I don’t think so. I’d like to finish my dinner.” I grabbed my fork in a grip as if maybe I could protect myself with it. I looked up at him with as much sass as I could muster and speared a piece of tenderloin, shoving it into my mouth. I also realized that I would have to chew and swallow the meat, a move which almost made me gag as my throat tightened with the stress of my predicament.

“You will come right now, unless you would like to make a spectacle of yourself,” he said in a warning tone. “I will not hesitate to lift your skirts right here at this table and paddle your spoiled behind.”

I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I had felt supremely remorseful for the pearls, although I was almost sure that an apology would not diffuse the situation. It was the redhead in me.

“I am not so submissive in real life,” I said haughtily and swirled my finger around the glaze lining my plate, my eyes glaring at him in defiance, as I slowly sucked the sweetness off the tip. It was a move that would have made any man hot. It succeeded with him, although not the right heat.

In a swift move, he had unhooked his belt buckle and had pulled the belt through the loops. It was slow motion; I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stand up because he was right beside me. I stared in horror as he coiled the leather around his right hand, using his left hand to grab my arm and pull me from my chair. I looked quickly around for help. Surely these people would not allow this. Surely one of them would stand up and say “no.” But I couldn’t meet eyes with any of them, save for the rock star who narrowed his eyes with a sympathetic glimmer, his glance darting between me and Beau.

My “master” was stronger than he looked and I could not break out of his firm grasp. I dug my heels in trying to find leverage to resist, but my high heels were not the best defense and I actually fell forward into his chest. He held me there a moment as we traveled a few more feet to an empty table where he slammed me facedown onto the surface. He held my hands tightly in the small of my back and almost effortlessly, he had pulled up my long black skirt tucking it under my hands and pulling my panty hose and panties down to my knees. I could feel the cool air on my backside and realized with much shame that the entire party at the table xslot Güncel Giriş was now viewing my naked bottom and would witness the entire whipping that I would be getting. I was now screaming, partly from rage, partly from fear, trying to twist out of the grip that he had on me. I screamed through the first few blows; Beau was remarkable quiet, but I could feel his rage pouring out with each lash. I stopped completely still, hoping my quietness would stop him. He didn’t, however. He was methodically spanking me with the belt, not as hard as the first blows, but with a precision that guaranteed that it would not be over quickly. The white tablecloth bunched up under my face, tears sliding down my cheek creating a dark spot on the white. I tried to stare at something, anything that would take my mind off the hopeless pain that was spreading all along my backside. I was now sobbing and any shreds I had of foolish pride were now gone. “Please, please,” I whimpered pathetically. “Please stop.”

He continued, as if to punish me further by making me beg. “I’m sorry,” I heaved out, snot running down my nose in a very unladylike fashion. “Please, Beau, I am sorry that I ruined your pearls.”

Suddenly he stopped, releasing my arms, turning me around and pulling me up into a tight embrace against his chest. I rebelled. “No,” I screamed, trying to twist away. I was angry at him, humiliated and I felt confused by his comforting. I would have rather that he had left me a miserable heap on the table than to hold me. He was stroking my head, smoothing my hair, and making soft, shushing sounds. My skirt was still bunched awkwardly around my waist and my panties and panty hose dropped down to my ankles when I stood up, but I laid against his chest as my chirping, hiccupping cries diminished until I could hear the soft thumping of his heart.

“You will obey me, my dear,” he said, his deep resonant voice echoing through his chest walls. I nodded, unspent sobs racking my body, but he seemed unsatisfied with that. “Answer me,” he said firmly.

“Yes, I will,” I said breaking into a fresh torrent of tears.

He left me for a moment, walking back to my chair to grab my pocketbook and the string of pearls. I quickly tried to pull my panties and hose up under my skirt without exposing myself. I covered my face in my hands, unable to look at anyone, as if I could disappear on the spot. He tucked me up under his arm and propelled me forward, out of the restaurant, away from the hundreds of staring eyes. The man from the bathroom held the door open to a limousine and I slid into a seat next to Beau, once again burying my head into the soft silk of his shirt which was now freshly wet with my tears.

Part Two: The Limo Ride

I had composed myself since that horrible whipping and had pulled myself away from my master’s chest. I looked out of the limousine window as lights rushed by. I could tell that we were leaving the city.

“Where are we going?” I asked, instantly alarmed. I didn’t know if Beau was still angry about my ruining his $8,000 strand of pearls. I had a nightmare of him strangling me, the pink pearls wrapped tightly around my neck.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I am not going to hurt you. I will take you back to your hotel room.”

This did little to encourage me as I knew that my hotel room was one of the lights off in the distance.

Beau hit a button next to a square speaker on the side of the window. A man’s voice answered. I thought it was the same man who was in the ladies room earlier. “Roberto, hand me the warmer, please.”

There was a solid panel in front of us that compartmentalized the back of the limo cutting it off from the driver. The panel electronically moved down and a glass window appeared. Roberto, the man I recognized from the restaurant, slid the window to the side and handed through an aluminum looking small soft cooler. Beau slid forward taking it and without a word, the window was closed and the panel slid back up into place.

We were now alone again. The back of the limo was like a compartment with two long plush beige leather bench seats facing each other. There was a panel that looked to be a television screen that could be flipped down off the ceiling and two compartments on either side of the seats. Beau reached into one of these pulling out two wine glasses.

“Would you care for some wine, my dear?” He pulled out a bottle of red wine which had already been uncorked and poured a glass, which he nudged in my direction. I felt my stomach cramp, the sloshing red wine a reminder of my mistake with the pearls. I shook my head numbly. “Water, then?” he asked gently. I nodded.

He replaced the second wine glass back into the cabinet and pulled out a heavy large tumbler. He opened another compartment and scooped out a few ice cubes and a bottle of water which he poured carefully into the glass. Instead of handing the glass directly to me, he patted the seat facing us in front of him. “Please sit here, my dear.” It was a command, not a request. My bottom was still burning from my punishment and I was quick to comply to avoid angering him further. I sat back nervously as he handed me the cold glass, watching me intently as I sipped the ice water.

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