An Unlikely Dominatrix - pt 1

If you were to look at the people close to you, how many do you really know?

Before you answer too quickly, think about it, how many of us hide secrets from our family, friends, even from our lovers? I know that I do, am guessing that the sweet girl in the coffee shop who blushes fiercely when someone pays her a complement isn’t as innocent as she appears, nor is that helpful bag boy at the local market. One thing takes hold of everyone in the world and makes them unique, that thing?

Sex.
Love, lust, monogamy, infidelity, truth, lies, passion, fear, anger, aggression- it all links back to the same thing. Sex, and it is our reaction to sex that makes us, us.

Now the story that I am about to tell may shock. I mean how does a vanilla little thing like me be so depraved?

I was born and raised Elizabeth Kelpie, daughter of the Reverend David Kelpie, that’s right, my daddy was a Presbyterian minister, my mother died when I was a baby and I was raised by my dad, and was forever stuck with the reputation of being the innocent, goodie two shoes little preacher’s daughter, who was destined to become a choir mistress. The stigma of that reputation however can be a good thing, no one would ever believe what some people could or maybe have said about me.

I was an experimental teenager, so while my friends were fawning over the latest heart throb on the TV or in the chart and chattering about what base they had let their loser boyfriends get to, I was well on my way to becoming who I am today; I adored the female form, and after I showered I loved to look in the mirror seeing the toned calf muscles of the lower leg giving way the softer form of the thighs and the soft blond wisps of hair that nestled between them, swelling outwards and upwards to the buttocks, the gentle curve of the waist and soft swell of the stomach that reached all the way to the taught sensitive pale skin of the breasts tipped with large round raspberry coloured nipples. While my friends dressed in utilitarian cotton underwear I loved dressing in sensual underwear, the smooth caress of silk or satin always made me feel the tingle of desire between my legs, or the rasp of lace against my breasts as I moved would make me catch my breath.

I had only had one or two boyfriends before I lost my virginity when I was nineteen, to a guy I had been dating for while and although I know that no one’s first time is perfect, I was totally under whelmed. After a few seconds of thrusting and his sweaty face over mine, mouth open looking as if he was about to drool on me, it was over. And most of the guys since then weren’t much better, so self obsessed that sex was all about their pleasure, so most of the time, I took care of myself.

So now at twenty-five I hated dating blokes my age; they always seemed so immature to me, held no real appeal. I craved a man, not a boy. And not just any man, the man that I craved more than any was a married man who lived next door to me, Tom Kincaid. He was thirty five, about 6’2 and had piercing blue eyes; he played football in the local team each Sunday morning. Sometimes I went along to watch, like a masochist I tortured myself, watching his hard muscular frame as he ran down the pitch, pulling the end of his football jersey up over his stomach, wiping the sweat from his face with the end, revealing his taught stomach and this fine line of hair that trailed from his belly button down towards his crotch; this innocuous action turned up the heat between my thighs and made the silk of my underwear damp.

I would lie in my bed some nights thinking of him coming through my bedroom door, shedding his shirt and gathering me to him, sucking my lower lip in between his, as his rough hands roamed over my body. I would think on him as I ran my own hands over my breasts, pulling and twisting on the nipples, teasing them into harder peaks. I would think on him as I slid my fingers lower over my stomach and through the soft curls between my thighs and it was him I thought of as I pushed two fingers into my wet tight pussy feeling the muscles of my cunt clench and suck on my fingers and it was his thumb that moved over my clit, teasing it in circles making me pant and writhe on the bed, teasing till I came, stars exploding behind my eyelids, then I’d be alone again, just me, laying in the warm cocoon of my bed, two fingers buried deep inside my sopping pussy.

His wife worked as a nurse and was away a lot; his bedroom window was directly opposite mine, sometimes I had caught a glimpse of him laying on his bed reading or talking on the phone and, although I had often longed to see more, I never had.

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