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mr_nyc 47M/47F  
3 posts
7/31/2014 9:57 pm
What ALT Used To Be: Part 1: In Honor of K


When I first opened the email, I dismissed it like many others. "I'll be in the financial district tomorrow running an errand. If I have time lets meet, we can finally talk in person and I'll see if you are as real as you claim to be j/k." So flippant was the tone there was no reason to accept its validity, skepticism had long since ingrained itself in this ones being. "Pfft - yeah right!" In our conversations we explored realms of infinite possibilities, her desires for submission and exhibition, my desires to expose them. I recall the lament in her voice as she recounted how she was never afforded the chance to explore her fantasies. Years in a love-less marriage, struggling to make it work while her so called "man" experienced her fantasies without her, left her angry and longing for a sexual awakening.

"Last night, listening to you and your girl going at it really made me wet. I wish I was actually there and not just on the phone, but maybe that will change tomorrow." She's right, it was hot. When my girlfriend [now wife] came home from work and found me stroking my cock while uttering the most depraved sexually charged language to this so receptive of individuals, there was nothing she could do to with-stand the need. She was on her knees engulfing my member with her warm silky mouth .... but that is another story.

It was 2 PM when my phone rang. "Hello...." She answered, "Its me, I'm on Wall St. where should we meet." Astonished I replied "Fraunces Tavern", "10 minutes." she answered. I stood up from my desk, approached the double glass doors, and paused. I had a meeting in 2 hours. For a moment, as I turned my head and saw the documents I had prepared stacked on my desk, my assistant fumbling around with her notes, and the technicians running back and forth; I felt ashamed because I knew the next words I said would be a lie... "I'll be right back!" As I walked out the door, a smile on my face, I saw my calculated vanilla facade melt in the stainless steel of the elevator doors. I knew I wasn't coming back, my true nature surfaced and I enjoyed it.

She was already in front of the tavern patiently waiting when I arrived. We immediately recognized each other, even though all we had were the paltry digital images provided by the 1 megapixel cameras of a transitioning age. We entered she ordered a bold red wine, while I opted for a hearty black and tan. The bar was too crowded so I suggested we move to the back room, "Its quieter, with couches and a pool table, more of a lounge feel." She agreed and took my lead.

The room was empty, strange for that time of day, but the stage was set and in that split second my mind wanted to run with multiple perverted possibilities. "Stop!" I was focused. We sat, she was nervous, her gaze averting mine, rubbing circles on the rim of her wine glass. I began to speak but held back when I heard her say, "Thanks for the wine, you trying to get me drunk?" I replied in jest, "Do I have to?" She teased, "No, but I wanna play pool". I marveled at the movement of her ass in that skirt as she moved across the room to grab two cues.

"You break." she said as she handed me the cue. A few jokes about the inherit racist nature of billiards and bowling, a question or two, and 4 balls sunk later it was her turn. I contemplated approaching her like they do in all the sleazy pool hall movies, but decided to watch her form instead. As she bent over lining up her shot, breast grazing the apron, I knew her sexual tension was rising. As she stroked the cue, her tongue protruded ever so slightly before sliding back into its home grazing her teeth along the way. She had done this before and I realized I was about to get hustled. The shot was true, but unfortunately she had applied to much English inadvertently causing the cue ball to come to rest in an awkward position. "I need the bridge." she said, "I don't see one," I replied "just take the shot." She giggled "I can't, everyone will see." "See what?" I responded. Her cheeks turning red, "Ugh, my skirt is too short and I didn't .... because ... I was hoping to see you..." Feigning confusion, I retorted "What was that, I didn't get that bit about.... Oh no worries let me stand behind you, one sec."
As I took position behind her, I cloud feel her start to relax, breathing in preparing to extend across the table for her shot. And at that moment my hands unmistakably fell on both sides of her thigh. I longingly raised them to her hips, lifting and crumpling her skirt in one fluid motion. As I arched my body over hers I whispered in her ear "Take the shot like this... its more comfortable." I stepped back to admire my work or deal with the consequences of my actions. She was motionless, stunned by what she later described to be a mixture of fear, shame, anger, excitement, lust, and freedom. As if time was controlled by the shutter of a high speed camera, I watched as she turned her head to face me and sunk the shot in the corner pocket.

She sunk three more shots with her skirt around her waist, prancing like a sexual angel sporting a fabric halo over her pussy. She would have made a fourth, had I not shifted her weight by sliding the hilt of my stick firmly across her clitoris. Her knees buckled exposing her wet, as it glistened, reflecting the stained glass light permeating the room she whispered "Thank you, Master." I kept stroking the stick between her legs making sure the supple leather around the handle gripped her wanting button. Back and forth keeping a torturous pace until she couldn't hold it any longer and came, nearly collapsing she was forced to rely on her hand now on the floor to regain balance and composure.

"I think its your turn, Master" ....


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