The Return - Sex Stories

The Return

A lot had changed since I had first walked across the chequerboard entrance of the Sheraton, Park Lane to meet my future dom.

The instant thrill of meeting an almost stranger for sex had given way to a slow surrender of boundaries and in parallel a connectedness that I hadn't anticipated feeling.

I made my way through the lobby lounge and past the grand piano that would later provide a soothing soundtrack to my aching holes and let my eyes drift across a homogony of business travellers to find him.

There he sat at the end of the hall, gracing the same bar from which I had shakily nursed a gin and tonic on a sunny Thursday two summers past.

Similarly sartorial and skin tone radiant against the (perfectly fine) 'brick' tones of a wool suit.

'Hello Flick.' He purred from a leather stool.

'Hello Sir.' I replied sheepishly. The honorific still not rolling off my tongue with much confidence, but finding enjoyment in the dis-ease of it these days.

'It's good to see you again.' he said.

Over a month had crawled by since our last encounter and I had been playing saint and server in my 'civvy life' for most of the window. I wondered if I was visibly sweating desire.

'Why don't you sit here next to me?' He asked.

I smiled and slipped myself onto a high chair turning to the barman, a cocktail order on my lips and him adjacent, immediately preempting my next move.

'I'd appreciate it if you didn't drink any alcohol tonight please.'

I stifled a scowl. ...

... Paused a second and reminded myself that brattish behaviour wouldn't be well received.

'A sparkling water with lemon then please.'

I spun myself in my Master's direction, still prickling a little.

'You look beautiful Kitten.' he said.

Prickles dissipating.

He continued, 'I had hoped that the hotel would be able to provide a dining table in the room for me to use your body on. But sadly they were unable to accommodate that request tonight. Still, I think you'll find the desk provides more than enough space for me to saran wrap you on.'

I smiled and squirmed. Both at the content of his words and at the carry of his deep, southern tinged drawl in a public place.

Fuck I loved his dirty mouth. But a childhood spent in the confines of a British all girls boarding school had scuppered any chances of me being able to ever flirt reciprocally without experiencing crippling shame.

Still, the duality of our former lives added something to the dynamic that I fetishised incorrigibly.

I sat wet with heat in my leather trousers, sipping blandly for another few minutes before he suggested we go upstairs. I followed his footsteps through to the foyer again where an erratic lift jilted us up towards the 7th floor, watching the soft movements of his strong facial profile on the short journey and imagining the feeling of kissing his mouth again.

With the snatch of a lock the door swung open into a short marble corridor and adjoining living room. In the corner on a low ...