So often in life, we fail to go after what we truly want, or in this case, fantasize about. It might be a fear of rejection, a lack of courage, or even worse, a feeling that you aren’t worthy.
Take the time I took an Amazon Woman to my bedroom and ravished every inch of her body when I made her do the fantasies she saved for her nights of darkness when her fingers and imagination replaced any other human interaction.
I was sitting on a high-top bar stool, drinking a beer, and watching a game on television when she walked up and stood beside me. I have no idea how tall she was compared to me as I was sitting, but I placed her at well over six feet, whereas I am only 5’10. She ordered a single drink and looked down, and smiled.
My survival instincts thought that smile was her way of saying I could buy her a drink, but I rarely play games where I don’t write the rules.
Instead, I smiled back and asked her if I could have three questions. She smiled again.
Are you alone? She nodded and smiled.
How tall are you? She said 6’1, but I like to wear heels. She lifted her boot, and yes, they were killer heels.
Have you ever been spanked by a stranger?
Her answer was a look of astonishment, and then she nodded no.
I stood up to this Amazon of a woman, extended my hand, and introduced myself.
I looked to the corner of the bar and two accessible seats. I suggested we move over there. As we sat down, I asked if I could have one more question. She smiled, so I asked.
Are you the most beautiful prostitute I have ever seen, or am I just the luckiest man that you are sitting beside me?
She replied you must be Irish. That made me laugh.
Now I know that it is customary to offer readers of erotic stories a better description that extends beyond the energy of two strangers meeting.
Her name was Athena. She was tall, with stunning Eastern European looks. She wore leather boots that went up to her mid-thigh and, in doing so, made her buttocks more pronounced in her tight jeans. She had a white collarless top and a tight-cropped leather jacket. Her breasts seemed small, but that could be because of the binding of her top and jacket.
The bar we were at was in a hotel. It is one of my favourites for either watching a game alone or having a conversation without needing to lip-read. We talked and learned that we were both going through divorces for different reasons. What our common ground did offer was a chance to have a conversation.
We ordered another drink, and Athena stood up to use the washroom, but before she left, I turned her so she was facing me. She is standing, and me sitting.
I put my hands, with my palms facing me, inside her boots that extended to her thighs and used the back of my hand to press against her pussy. I told her to return with her bra off; she smiled, pulled out my hands, put both inside her leather jacket, and said – but I am not wearing a bra.
I cupped her breasts, small but very firm, and searched out her nipples. She was playing a power game, and I wasn’t prepared to surrender mine. I found both of her nipples and started pinching them.
She reached down and whispered in my ear. Yes, master, I am yours.
I watched her walk to the bathroom as I subtly adjusted my cock in my pants to give it room to pulse. When she returned, I stood up and kissed her for the first time. I can kiss. I don’t invade someone’s mouth like a dental tool. I kiss to connect, to touch, to breathe in energy.
We finished our drinks and walked over to my place, and I couldn’t believe the height difference. In heels, she was at least 6’4, and I didn’t care; quite the opposite. We arrived in my suite, poured more wine, and talked as we sat on the sofa.
I asked how she had peed with those boots on, and she explained you could get the pants down far enough, but you had to be careful.
I told her to stand up and show me.
She stood up, undid her jeans, pulled them down over her leather boots, and stood in her somewhat misplaced thong.
Take your thong down as well, I ordered. She looked almost shy as she pulled it down, keeping her hands over her pussy.
Move your hands away, I said.
She did, and I saw her pussy for the first time. Her legs were tight together because of the jeans and boots, but her lips were still pronounced, and when I ran my thumb gently up to her clitoris, it began to protrude like a tiny penis.
She moaned.
I licked my thumb as I couldn’t get to her wetness and gently teased her clit.
As I did, I told her that if she stayed, she would obey all my wishes. I could spank her, taste her, fuck her as I saw fit. I would gently whip her body to make her nerves dance, and in the morning, I would have her all again.
Without asking, I pulled her down over my knee to see her ass for the first time. It was an ass I would come to know intimately – an ass to spank, taste, enter with my finger or my cock, and expose under a short skirt in the most inappropriate settings.
And all began with a simple whisper. Yes, Master.