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I was a great supporter of Mill and his ideas about personal freedom in which that anyone of the age of reason should be allowed to do as they like as long as they don’t hurt anyone who does not freely choose that path. A dominant could whip a willing submissive with no issue.
Outside those kinds of arrangements, it got into the territory of forfeit of rights. Namely that one could not infringe on the rights of another without giving up their own. A notion which had a heavy influence on Anton LeVay and his Seven Tenets. Particularly number three, “The body is inviolable and subject to one’s will alone.” A nice tweak of Mill, that.
Things were looking up. Murphy’s Law was the other governing doctrine of my life, leaving me looking for disaster wherever it might lurk, like a ravenous beast in the darkness. Whitman was a big catch, right up there with some of the big players. If we got him on board not only would we get his money, which should be considerable, but the clout that came with having him as a client, would lead to promotional opportunities galore.
Glad I took the call, I remembered what I had given up to take it. I hadn’t seen it. There was no way I could have heard it, but still I knew. I had made Carrie cry. I couldn’t really blame her either. I had just gotten up and walked away like she was nothing. She wasn’t nothing. She was everything and more.
She haunted my days as well as my nights. An ever-present dream. It wasn’t that I thought about her every minute of every day, but even when I couldn’t see her, I knew she was there. Sitting in some corner of my mind just out of sight, waiting patiently for me to look her way.
I couldn’t help it. I knew what the results would be, terrible as they were, yet I went ahead anyway. Unable to stop the train of thought once it was out of the station, nothing short of a full-scale derailment would really be able to help me at that point. It was off and chugging, picturing all the things I would like to do to sweet little Carrie in crystal clear, high definition.
She was in the master bedroom of my townhouse, dressed only in a pure white, silk kimono. I knew she was naked under it because the front plunged down, the heavenly cloth covering her luscious tits and coming together at her belly in a way that made it clear that she was not wearing a bra. The garment was cinched so tight around the lovely hips that I surely would have seen panty lines, were there any present to detect.
I simply stood for a moment, leaned against the door frame, drinking it all in. Memorizing every inch of her. Committing every detail of the scene to my internal vault for later reference.
Pushing off from the door frame and using the momentum as a head start, I approached the bed. Carrie flinched ever so slightly, no doubt hearing my footfalls on the hardwood floor. Still, she kept looking down. She sat with her back straight, her palms pressed flat against the bedspread just like I had told her.
I stopped just short of her, my legs inches from hers. I reached out with a steady hand, tucking it under her neck, making her look at me. Her eyes were still closed for the first few seconds until she realized that I wanted her to look. Then it was all she was able to do.
Moving slowly as not to startle her, and respecting the vulnerability of her position, I kissed her softly. Just her lips at first, sweet and supple, letting her know the nature of my intentions, before slipping her my tongue as well.
She accepted the gift happily, even greedily, sucking on it with enthusiasm that seemed to surprise even her. I placed my hands on her hips and let her at it. The hums she was making let me know it was something she really enjoyed. Soon, she let me do the same to her.
As I sucked her succulent little tongue, I moved my hands ever so slowly inward to untie the belt of her kimono. The front fell open as the belt fell away. I ran my hand along her luscious young body from her cheek, down her neck, along her chest and between her tits, over her belly and across her smooth pelvis. I finally ended my sojourn on her tender girlhood. Her legs uncrossed and opened as I approached.
The gasp was soft but distinct as I pressed against her, her sweet, pink pussy lips warm under my hand. She was already quite excited. Still, she was still pretty young and oh so very tight and would need a bit more relaxing before I tried anything too drastic.
