Leather’s Kiss (The Full Story) - Sex Stories

Leather’s Kiss (The Full Story)

... I’d found I wasn’t normal, was I?

I didn’t know the man I would soon become intimately acquainted with. Deep inside, however, I knew I would regret it if I gave up this opportunity. And so, at precisely seven o'clock, I found myself on his doorstep.

As he opened the front door, my eyes shot to his belt — sleek, black leather with an intimidating brass buckle. To most, it was a boring accessory with a singular purpose. Yet, to me, it was an extension of the man — another appendage capable of fulfilling the desires I’d kept sequestered in the dark crevices of my mind.

Something else caught my eye about his belt. Oddly, there were holes in the leather just a few inches from the buckle.What is their purpose? I wondered.

He moved closer, and his towering presence stole my attention from his belt. I guess he could have been of shorter stature, but somehow, I knew he’d be tall. Silly as it may be, in my mind, height would accompany dominance.

He wasn’t particularly handsome, what with his hawkish nose and eyes set so deep his brows seemed to cast a shadow on his high cheekbones. But none of that mattered. It wasn’t as if we were going to date. No, that’s not why I was there.

As I sat on his comfortable couch, he chatted as if we were old friends — asking about my day while soft classical music played in the background.

Luxurious rugs blanketed wooden floors. Original artworks hung from polished plaster walls that reflected soft light through an open-plan living ...

... area. His sophisticated taste was evident. I guess I’d expected his home to be a little moreuncivilized.

I had met him online on one of those sites decent people shouldn’t know about. I’d told him I desired to experience a belting. Nothing more. I’d grown weary and even detested my self-analysis around this subject and decided I must undergo a belting to truly understand my fetish.

His instructions had been simple: arrive precisely at seven o’clock on Thursday evening, wearing a comfortable dress of my choosing. Oh, and leave my knickers (his word for my panties) at home.

Once we reached a lull in our conversation, he asked if I was ready to begin. I nodded, and he led me down a hallway to a door, then, with his hand on the brass knob, turned to face me.

“I am ‘Sir’. Inside this room, you are my submissive. Don’t speak unless spoken to or for using your safe word: ‘stop.’ Understand?”

I nodded, suddenly nervous by the abrupt change in his demeanor and the stern edge that now sharpened his refined English accent.

He continued, “On the other side of this door is another world — a unique world of our creation. And while you have a safe word, use it, and we’re finished. You’ll leave, and we won’t see one other again.”

I gulped. The finality in that statement scared me. Could I handle what he was about to do to me?

Once the door shut behind us, his face changed. He’d abandoned the gentleman back in the hallway. A different side of him was about to hurt me. ...