He telephones her to give her precise instructions on what lingerie she is to wear when she comes to his hotel room the next day: brilliant white brassiere and suspender belt, sheer black nylon stockings, and no panties. Each item is to be purchased especially for the occasion. She won’t have to account for their purchase; he has already decided that he will be keeping each garment for himself.

He hears the breath catch in her throat as he describes the menu to her.

“Why white lingerie and black stockings?” she asks.

He could tell her that it’s the visual aesthetic of the two conflicting colours colliding which appeals to him. He could explain that he finds something wanton, even sluttish, in the combination. He could even reveal to her how – as a younger man – an older woman he used to work with seduced him whilst attired in the very same ensemble, which she employed to devastating effect. Whenever he permits himself to explore his memories of that night, he always ends up shivering from his recollections of the delights to which she opened his eyes and his senses.

In the end, he simply says, “Because that’s what I want. Questioning my decision has already earned you a rebuke. Would you like to find out what happens if you choose to disobey me?”

He smiles as he listens to her breathing at the other end of the line. He knows that the wilful streak within her is tempted to ask another question, is tempted to turn up tomorrow wearing something in scarlet or black or navy blue, just to vex him and earn his displeasure. In the end, though, she simply says, “No” in a voice just shy of simpering. Her tone alone is enough to stiffen his cock.

* * * * * * *

The knock at his hotel door comes at 6.15pm. He opens the door. She stands a foot outside the threshold, dressed in a white blouse and charcoal grey pencil skirt. She’s almost as tall as he is in her stiletto heels.

He moves the cuff of his shirt away from the face of his watch. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There’s a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. He wonders how long she waited in the lobby before she walked into the lift, just to be certain that she wouldn’t arrive on time.

He doesn’t call her on her lie, though. He steps back and extends his arm, inviting her inside, locking the door once she’s safely inside.

She looks around the room. Apparently satisfied, she drops her handbag onto the low coffee table and turns to face him. When he doesn’t say anything or move towards her, she folds her arms across her chest, raising her breasts invitingly.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“Not yet. Take off your blouse and your skirt.”

Again, there’s a hint of defiance in her expression and her demeanour. She’s a woman used to exerting control, not yielding to it, and that aspect of her nature is refusing to concede without a struggle. But he can see the excitement in her face too, and he knows that some of her exhilaration is due to the yin and yang conflict going on inside her. The rest of it is her desire to surrender control, to be relieved of any responsibility for her pleasure.

She begins to unbutton her blouse, elegantly flicking each pearly disc open. Peeling the cotton from her shoulders, she drops it casually on top of her handbag and then reaches behind her waist. She releases the single button and draws down the zip on her skirt with an electric crackle. The skirt slides down her nylon-sheathed legs with a delicious hiss.

“Like?” she asks.

He does like. The white lingerie gleams wonderfully against her lightly tanned skin, and the part-lace cups of her brassiere cradle her full breasts wonderfully. Her taut nipples are hardening already. The narrow strip of dark curls on her naked mound naturally invites his gaze towards her stockinged thighs. The contrast between her lingerie, white and black, light and dark, is as visually rewarding as he had planned.

But he speaks nothing of his satisfaction or his pleasure. Instead, he points to the expanse of bed. He’s already stripped it back to the tight white sheet across the king-sized mattress.

“Lie down just there.”

She does as instructed, walking deliberately to the edge of the bed. She kneels down slowly, her curvaceous buttocks offered to his eyes as she shuffles into the centre. She stretches out languidly on her belly. He’s pleased that she’s kept the stilettos on her feet.

“Now what?”

He walks to the head of the bed and retrieves a single pillow. “Raise your arse up,” he tells her.

After a few seconds, she complies. He slips the pillow into the space beneath her loins. “Lie back down.”

Again, she complies. Now her arse is lifted invitingly.

“Better,” he says. “Much better.”

He brings the palm of his hand down against her buttocks with a crack.

“Ow!” She spins her head to look at him, her eyes burning in spite of the gathering moistness.

“That’s for asking me questions you’re not entitled to.” He cracks the flat of his hand down again against her arse once more, bringing another gasp of surprised pain. “And that’s for being late when I told you what time I wanted you here by.”

He looks down at her skin, where the hand-shaped patches of red are already flowering across her milky skin. More contrast. He smiles.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. In spite of his actions, his even tone hasn’t deviated one note. “Just do as you’re told. And know your place.”

She turns to look back towards the headboard. He sees a glistening droplet fall against the pillowcase, leaving a small circle of dampness that slowly spreads across the cotton.

“Yes,” she says.

He raises his hand again until it’s level with his shoulder. “Yes what?”

“Yes … Master.”

“That’s better.”

He lowers his hand slowly, until his palm is just touching the warm flesh of her behind. He strokes the redness tenderly. He slips his hand lower, his fingers easing their way between the tops of her thighs. The lips of her sex feel distended, and when he finds the cleft that lies between them, it’s already slick with viscous lust. She gasps at his touch. His cock twitches lustfully at the sound. He wonders how much she is already enjoying the contrasts of sensation, how much she will enjoy the contrasts that are yet to come.

“Yes, that’s much, much better.”


16 thoughts on “Contrasts

  1. Um, u left me hanging, I was envisioning myself lying there with a reddened ass. What comes next? I hope this is to be continued darling. Oddly enough i’m writing up a hotel scene as well. it’s of a fantasy of mine involving H and another guy. They choose an ensemble from Agent Provocateur for me to wear for them. Then, they basically own me for the night.

    Loved reading your story!


    1. Sounds like we’ve plucked thoughts from the same line, Prax. As to leaving you hanging … isn’t it sometimes nicer when a writer sets the scene and then leaves the rest to the imagination – and the unique desires – of the reader?

  2. I read a tweet recently describing an act as making “me feel both a bit *squick!* and Jeezz…that’s fucking knee-wibble awesome”
    That’s what this post does to me. Your description is so very erotic, yet…part of me is resistant. Perhaps I need to seek the right companion to take me on that particular adventure, someone who knows all about ‘measured force’…

  3. I have been a faithful lurker of your site for a long, long time. I thought it was high time I gave you the praise you deserve – LOVE your writings. Love them….any writing that can make me this hot is worth the few minutes of my time to send some praise. Well done, Sir.

  4. what a cliffhanger….definitely left wanting more. btw thanks for putting up some of your archived works….I haven’t had the pleasure of reading them before.

  5. The very first thing I read on your site, cuz it had a picture 🙂
    Love it, very quick and gripping and arousing. Simultaneously. You’ve got a new fan!

    Now, I had to ask. The man in this story sounds like a male dominant. (I’m into BDSM erotica myself.) He tells her what to wear and demands obedience. he’s aroused by her submission. he frikkin’ hit her buttocks. Is that your intent here or did I just make a fool of myself :)?

    1. First of all, welcome.

      Yes, the male character is something of a dominant … that’s not the norm around these parts, but as an erotica writer, I like to stretch myself on occasion…

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