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50 Shades of Grey, but only light.


We have met on a few occasions and she finally had the courage to ask, “Vince, I would like to play like Shades of Grey, but only light.”   I am quite happy that she finally opened up to me and expressed the desire I could already sense in her subtle questions and the passion of her lovemaking.   I had given her precise instructions on what to wear and to arrive at my hotel room at 8:00 p.m. sharp.  Say nothing.  Follow my instructions . . . exactly.  We had set some parameters in advance, so that I could ensure she was comfortable and felt safe.  She had given me a few hard boundaries, but was willing (and a bit eager) to explore her limits with me. . . I liked that.

The digital clock on the nightstand had just turned to 8:00 when I hear two soft knocks.  I open the door and gesture for her to come inside, closing the door behind her.  She is a beautiful and intriguing sight, as she stands there in her black high boots, her hands tucked in the pockets of her black trench coat, tied tightly around her waist . . .  like a mysterious gift longing to be unwrapped.  She knew this outfit to wear because it is described on my menu of Lighter Shade of Grey.  She looks down nervously as I step toward her.  “Look at me” I command in a low, but firm tone.  She lifts her eyes and I hold her gaze until I stand just a few inches from her.  I say nothing as I run my fingers along her face, under her chin, continuing to hold her gaze intently as I whisper seductively, “You are mine tonight, yes?”  I can feel the sharp intake of her breath as she nods.  I brush my lips against hers, speaking slowly.  “You will do exactly as I say.  There are consequences if you do not.  You understand?”  Again, she nods as her breath quickens. 

“Good” I say sharply and step back abruptly.  “Remove your coat and hand it to me.”  She unties the belt and slides the coat off her shoulders.  I take it from her and hang it in the closet, then move to the table and leisurely open a bottle of champagne, pouring myself a glass as I eye her carefully.  She has dressed exactly as I asked . . . only a black lace bustier with matching panties and black stockings.  She looks amazing, but I reveal no hint of my satisfaction to her.  She is unsure, vulnerable, nervous . . . but excited, I can see it in her eyes, in the rapid fall and rise of her chest.  This is part of the game, my dear, I think to myself.  Patience on my part . . . unknowing, waiting, anticipating on hers.  I offer her a sip of the champagne.  Her hand trembles slightly as she takes the glass and returns it to me.

I cover her eyes with a black silk scarf and use another to secure her wrists behind her back.  She gasps as I secure the knots and pull them tight, but not so tight as to be painful.  I gather her hair in one hand and pull her head back, commanding at the same time, “Open your mouth.”  She obeys, and I pour a little champagne down her throat and she swallows.  “Keep your mouth open!”  She obediently opens her lips again.  This time I pour, but do not stop, filling her mouth until the cool liquid overflows and runs down her neck, disappearing into the cleavage of her ample breasts I pull the down the cups of her bustier to reveal her sweet breasts, massaging and squeezing them in my strong hands.  I leave her nipples exposed and step back, admiring her.  Her body trembles as she waits, not knowing what I will do next.  I reassure her, “You are beautiful like this my dear.”  I take a sip of the cold champagne and take her exposed breast in my mouth, sucking and teasing her nipple with my tongue.  I cover her mouth with one hand and hold her steady with the other as I move from one breast to the other, her muffled cries only increasing the intensity of my assault on her delicious breasts. 

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