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I’m aware on a certain level that Brian is the very worst sort of man to trust with these things. Sociopath is the most polite word that could be used to describe what this man is. And yet I eagerly open my legs for him every time he demands it, and he has yet to disappoint me.
He guides me to a chair and orders me to sit in it and spread my legs. I do as he asks. The chair faces the large antique full-length mirror in our room. He binds my legs to the chair and my hands behind my back.
“Look at yourself,” he orders.
I look at myself in the mirror.
“No.Look.”
He takes my chin in his hand and directs my gaze downward. “Look at your pussy.”
I’m sitting so close to the mirror, and Brian has turned on all the lights in the room. I’ve never felt this fully exposed, not ever. Not even before Brian and the house. It occurs to me in this moment that I have never once done this. Despite all the twisted kinky games I’ve played with other men, and despite the things Brian and I have done.
Yes, I’ve seen my own pussy. I’ve seen it on video, but this is so much different, so much more intimate. There’s distance with film or with a photograph. Here there is no distance. It’s just the raw physical moment. It’s weird to think you lack intimacy with yourself… the person you’re always with. How can I carry this body around for so long and hide so much from my own experience of myself?
Before Japan, even with Brian, looking at myself so openly like this would have been too uncomfortable. There would have been guilt and especially shame. To just sit and look at myself in this manner would feel obscene. Even with my kinks. Even if Brian had ordered it.
I’m not sure why, but I imagine I’m not alone in this feeling. Society really fucks women up about sex. For a man, looking at his cock is a normal occurrence. He’ll watch it grow hard and stroke himself almost daily because that part of the male anatomy demands to be seen.
But a woman’s pussy? That’s a hidden secret. It’s tucked away inside, a secret even from herself. Legs have to be fully spread to truly get a good look. There is an intimacy a woman must have with herself to even dare to look at her own body in this way.
And now I sit here, obeying Brian, my gaze riveted to the place between my legs for the first time in my entire existence.
Brian strokes my breasts as my gaze remains trained where he ordered it.
“Mina, has anyone ever told you about the flower and the bee?”
“No, Master.”
I don’t dare look at him, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “It’s a very filthy story. I can’t believe no one ever told you.”
I wonder if I’m about to get Brian’s version of theBirds and the Bees.
He makes me wait for a few moments longer before proceeding. “The flower is bound to the ground. Her sex blooms and unfolds in the sun for anyone and everyone to look at and enjoy. And she waits for the bees to come. The bees touch her sex, lightly flitting over her, pollinating her as she remains still, bound to the earth, open and exposed. Bee after bee comes. Every bee that wants her comes, and still, she remains, receiving all of their attentions without any thought of shame. I assume you know who is the flower and who is the bee in this scenario.”
“Yes, Master,” I gasp as his hand strokes lightly between my legs. I’ve closed my eyes and arched back. He pulls his hand away and smacks my thigh.
“Look at yourself. Watch this happen.”
My gaze goes back to the mirror, to his fingers stroking maddeningly between my legs. After so much build-up, it takes so little time for me to fall over the edge into the abyss of pleasure, my orgasm spiraling out of me, taking my breath and my sanity with it.
I cry out.
“That’s a good girl, scream for me,” Brian hisses in my ear.
He fucks me with his fingers until I have nothing left.
He steps away and goes to our mini-fridge to get me a bottle of water.
“Drink,” he says when he returns. I unscrew the cap and drink the water down.
At first I think he’s done a bait and switch, promising me his cock only to distract me with pleasure to tamp down my desire. I know he’s been putting me off. But he opens a drawer and pulls out four lengths of rope.
“Do you remember how to tie them?”
I nod slowly as I watch him pull his black T-shirt over his head, revealing sleek muscle and more battle scars than any one living man should have.
He unbuttons his pants and slides them off. And now he’s naked, his erection jutting out from his body, once again ready for something warm and wet to consume it.
