Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Finally, the big day arrived.

We had talked and planned and still I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs or, ((giggles)) maybe more properly, a whore in church.

Jacob and Marta had a place on a lake. The plan was simple, really. They took me up to the cabin and left me on my own to, well, as Jacob put it in his ridiculously formal way, “make necessary reparations.” Then they would send Benjamin up to the cabin for a long weekend, telling him that they had a party planned with a bunch of his friends. No adults would be there.

A good plan, I thought.

I selected some of my best outfits, packed my makeup case, and got ready for him.

I looked DAMN good. I had on a pair of panties, a soft bra, and an overrobe in green, a pale green that set off my hair and eyes, the material so sheer you could read a newspaper through all three layers of material, five layers if you counted the little triangular crotch of the panties. My high-heeled sandals took me to over six feet tall.

I admired myself for a few seconds before cinching the stainless steel belt of the chastity belt I bought for this very special occasion tight above my hips, sucking in my breath to make the ratcheting catch lock up with my belly spilling out over the top and bottom of the belt. I bent over and reached between my legs, pulling the crotch cover up, stainless steel with a soft sheep’s wool lining, until I could hook Ankara Rus Escort the little slot into the tab and lock everything together with the little brass padlock that came with the belt.

I looked again and said, aloud, “oh fuck.” I had planned to look like this, like a slave girl, maybe a harem girl, but seeing it for the first time, well, my breath caught.

Yeah, at 6 feet and about 325, I was pretty fucking imposing.

With the belt on I looked like something out of the cover of a weird fantasy romance novel.

The “cabin” was more like a lakeside chalet. There’s an episode in Frasier when Frasier and Niles and Martin and a couple of women are scheduled to spend a ski weekend. You know, the one where the ski instructor, Gil or Guy or something like that, is hot for Niles?

Anyway, the “cabin” reminded me of that place. A great room, a kitchen, great porches, three bedrooms with the master bedroom with its own bath. Hell, the house I grew up in wasn’t as nice as that “cabin.”

So I tidied up, ran the vacuum, and made sure all of the dishes were clean and put away before I took a long soak in the bubble bath and started getting ready.

And damn if I didn’t feel nervous. This wasn’t like being nervous about meeting a new client from my old Profession, this was nervous like from my first date back in Middle School.

I tried Yenimahalle Escort to relax, to watch the television, to read one of the books I found, and I just couldn’t concentrate on anything.

I glanced at the clock, something I had promised myself I wouldn’t do, and it was 3:28.

I sighed, went out, and sat on the front porch for an hour, just taking in the view and the sounds of this delightfully isolated place. The air was just cool enough that my nipples tightened, giving me that wonderful sensation only a woman can ever know.

When I went in and looked at the clock it was 3:34.

I laughed then and said, out loud, “don’t be a fucking twit Sammee.”

So I relaxed. I looked through the rack of DVDs, selected Grease, and settled back watching John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John singing their way through High school.

I felt a rush, deep in my belly, as I heard tires on the gravel drive.

“Okay, toots, show time,” I said aloud, looking into the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door one last time before I went to wait for him to come in.

I positioned myself carefully. The way the cabin was laid out, there was a small mud room, kind of an airlock to keep cold or hot out depending on the season, before he opened the door into the great room.

I was standing to the side so he didn’t see me as he stepped in.

I was smiling as he turned and our eyes met.

His eyes got big.

“What?” he managed as I closed the distance between us.

I had practiced this little speech in my mind quite a bit so I was ready.

“I am your birthday present,” I said, my hands on his shoulders, my eyes holding his.

I gave it a second to sink in.

“Your mother and father,” I said, “bought me for you,” and I handed him the little key to the padlock that held me in chastity.

His eyes were big and his mouth was kind of working but no words came out.

I finished the greeting as I had planned.

I held his hands in mine and slowly eased to my knees, my eyes holding his. When I was down, knees on the floor, I kissed his palms and asked, in my best, well-practiced pleading voice, throaty and breathy, “will you have me?”

He finally managed to speak.

“You’re kidding, right?” he managed.

“No,” I said, still holding his hands and his eyes, that needy look I had perfected during my time in The Profession, “I am yours if you will have me.”

I kissed his palms again and added, “please.”

“Oh my God,” he said, dropping to his knees so we were eye to eye, “yes, God, yes, please, yes.”

I kissed him then.

It wasn’t a good kiss but I didn’t expect much, to be honest.

“Is this real?” he asked.

I smiled and stood, not releasing his hands, and he stood with me.

“As real as I can make it,” I said, my hands going to his belt.

He froze.

I smiled as I tugged his belt free, undid the button of his jeans, and unzipped him.

Our first time ended then, when my fingers touched and I felt hot sticky wetness through the shorts, the tidy whities, he wore.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32