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“If it pleases you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
Suddenly she understood—he didn’t want her blindfolded. He wanted her to blindfold him. The shock of the realization gave way to a surge of excitement running up her spine: one of the world’s richest men, asking her to blindfold him and have her way with him. “Is there anything I can’t do?” she asked. There had been a kinky ex-boyfriend in her past, so she knew enough about the theory but they’d broken up before they’d ever gotten around to actually doing anything that wild and crazy.
“Just this, for now,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it again.
It felt good—proper, even, to tie the black silk band around his eyes. Blindfolding him meant that she was now in complete control, inasmuch as she could be in control of him—his surrendering to her meant that she now had to responsibility to use him well. Well, let’s see about that, she thought, taking his chin and lifting him to his feet.
“Time to get you properly undressed,” she whispered, undoing his trousers and pulling them down.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, as she worked his boxer briefs down. He stepped out of the puddle of clothes at his feet, as she pushed him backwards, slowly. His hand reached for her body, but she held it away. “Not yet,” she whispered.
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
All the while she was guiding him towards the bed, her hands wandering up and down the rippling walls of muscle. She wondered, briefly, what his gym routine was, whether he wore a shirt—what it would be like to watch him do pull-ups and swing a kettlebell. Tasty.
He fell back on the bed, obedient to her wishes. “What do you think I’m doing?” she asked, stepping away from him, slipping out of her dress, one shoulder at a time. She could see him angling his chin, trying to find a gap in the blindfold, trying to find some way he could see. Part of her wondered what it would be like to just leave him here. She didn’t have to sleep with him, after all.
But the spark had been lit: curiosity and a boldness that she didn’t know was inside her, took her and wouldn’t let go. Ideas began to flit in her head, inflaming the desire that was building up inside her as she stared at his body, naked before her, as she realized that there were things she could make him feel that she’d been dying to share with someone. It wasn’t just an opportunity to do, but a chance to connect, at a level deeper and far more intimate than anything she’d ever done.
Can you trust him?
He trusts me.
“I wouldn’t dare to presume,” he was saying, now, his body tense with anticipation. She’d tied the blindfold on tightly—he could see nothing, she’d made sure of that. All he could do was lie there and wonder at what what she was doing.
“What would you like me to do do?”
“Whatever pleases you.”
“Even if it—” She leaned over and pinched his nipple. He winced and gasped, his back arching as he twisted the sheets in his hands. “—hurts you?” she asked.
“Especially,” he panted.
It was strange, how easily she fell into the role he’d assigned her. She straddled him and put his hands on her hips. He smiled and let out a nervous laugh, and asked, “What would you like me to do?”
“Everything,” she said, not really sure what that meant, but it felt like the right thing to say—he’d given her all of his trust, the least she could do was return the favor.
His hands crept up her body, slowly, his fingers touching her and then moving on, leaving behind a sensation of warmth and, oddly, sunlight. She closed her eyes, feeling the passion in his touch and the quiver of desire through his fingertips. She touched him, stroking his chest, reaching behind her and taking his cock—she couldn’t help but giggle a bit when it sprang to life in her hand, and he groaned as the tip began to weep.
He fumbled with her bra, clumsily, stupidly—being blindfolded he had to undo it by touch anyway, and being aroused she could sense that all of his awareness was concentrating at one point. And what a point.
Away fell the last of her garments, and she pushed him back down on the bed, stroking his shaft with the lightest of touches, taking a delight in his gasping whimpers of unsatiated desire. His teeth were clenched, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
She leaned over him, letting her nipple fall into his mouth. The connection was immediate, the sensation electrifying. She managed to rip off the blindfold—his reward—just before he raised his hips and rolled on top of her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Let go—”
And she felt him inside her, hot and hard and big, so very big—there was a delight to the pain, an ecstasy that surged through her when he thrust, as if somehow he managed to crack open the gates and unleash the flood that had been building up inside that warm spot. She felt hot, liquid, gelatinous—as free-flowing as water, as airy as the wind, her mind flitting about, sensing only colors, strangely, and lights. She knew, intellectually, that she had a body, and that he was fucking her with an animal desperation, groaning and almost sobbing as he finished inside her. But she felt, oddly, above everything—an odd sense of freedom, of release, as she gave him pleasure and took from him, everythig.
***
The next morning she woke up, certain that everything was just a dream. That there had to be a more rational, logical explanation for why her body felt drained, and why there was that delicious soreness between her legs—that there had to be a reason why she was looking into Malcolm Raines’s sleeping face and feeling like it was all perfectly normal.
Yes, she was still naked. So it had been real, she thought. She wondered what her short-lived transformation into the dominant meant. It’d felt good—right, somehow. And yet the surrender to his power had taken so little time, and was so absolute, so complete. He trusted her, and she trusted him, absolutely, and completely. It was a thought that should have brought comfort to her, but for some reason it only made her feel confused. There must have been others, she thought, staring at him. His eyes were deep-set, his hair tousled, his face slack—in this light he seemed more cute than handsome, a college student who’d succeeded in banging the hot TA, not the business mogul who could buy escorts by the hour—escorts who could indulge his fantasies.
The thought turned her stomach. Whoever the maid was had been thoughtful, though—she found a bathrobe in the bottom shelf of the nightstand and pulled it on. She went to the chest of drawers where he’d taken the blindfold on.
“Don’t,” his voice said.
She stopped. He was still lying in the same position she’d left him in, turned away from her.
