The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive (26 page)

    “Okay,” Todd said, hugging his friend quickly “I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

    “Great. We’ll be by to pick you up at eleven.” Mike waved, walking away.

    “Aren’t you with him?” I asked, confused.

    “Nah, Mike’s my friend from way back. He lives out in Jersey with his wife and kids. I’m staying at the W Hotel, just a couple blocks from here.”

    “Cool!” I said.

    Todd looked at me, pleased. “I came to town to do a spot on BET, and that’s where they stashed me. You gotta see my room,” he said, and pulled me toward the street corner.

    

    

    “Come check this out!” Todd yelled excitedly from near the television console.

    I stopped sniffing the expensive, still-wrapped bar of soap (lavender, it turned out) and put it back in its elegant dish, and went to see what Todd wanted to show me in the other room.

    “Look at this. Look what’s in here!” He opened the minibar and pulled out a small drawer at the bottom. He fingered different items in the fridge — Godiva chocolates, old-fashioned eight-ounce glass bottles of Coke, high-end bottled waters, midget carafes of fine wine. From a drawer he pulled other goodies — an adorable miniature sewing kit, a jar of macadamia nuts, a cellophane-wrapped pair of terry cloth slippers, an “intimacy kit,” complete with three condoms (one of them flavored) and a cute little tube of lubricant. “And I can have all of this if I want, they’re paying for everything!”

    I stared at him for a few seconds.
“Goddammit,
I love you.”

    “What did I do?” he asked, laughing. I shook my head, not sure how to explain.

    He had been on crack, had been to jail, had guns held to his head, had lost everything. And here he was now, looking like the nine-year-old Willis again from
Diff’rent Strokes,
beside himself over little luxuries that most people in his current position of relative celebrity would barely notice, much less get this happy about.

    I was happy about it, too, about the whole thing — getting dumped by all those clients so that I ended up in Times Square and in this room, looking through this minibar with Todd Bridges. I’d had a crush on him when I was little and he was on TV. We’d both grown up to be drug addicts, both had gone to rehab; and somehow, despite slim odds, we had both stayed clean long enough to make it here, to the W, during a fantastic heat wave in the middle of tax season in New York. If he hadn’t told me he was married, I’d have grabbed him right then and there.

    

    

    I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing the next morning. “Hi, is this Marnie?”

    “Yes, this is she,” I answered.

    “This is Ron. I’m calling to confirm our appointment for five thirty this evening.”

    “Oh!” I had all but decided that this last guy wasn’t even going to bother canceling, but was simply going to blow off the appointment altogether. “Okay, sure, that’s great. I’m in room three forty-eight, and if you just want to call me when you’re in the lobby so I know who’s knocking…”

    “Sure, no problem. I’m looking forward to it,” Ron said, and hung up.

    I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to it myself. He had called me a couple of months earlier, after he’d seen my Web site, but before I had planned my next trip East. All he wanted to do was kiss and lick my feet. It sounded easy, but not terribly erotic. So what if my feet might be sopping wet with his saliva at some point. If that was the worst that happened, it would be an easy couple of hundred dollars in my pocket. I had suggested we meet in my hotel room rather than W’s dungeon space, partly because it seemed more practical for a session where I would basically just need a comfortable place to sit, and partly because it meant keeping the money I would otherwise have paid out in a rental fee. W wanted me to call her before and after the session, for security’s sake, and I had given her Ron’s name and phone number, and told him I was doing so. I wasn’t worried about anything except having enough towels on hand to dry my feet when we were through.

    

    

    
“Whoa,”
I whispered and sunk against the wall, having just gotten a glimpse of Ron through the peephole.

    All I’d been able to see at first was a bow-shaped pair of lips above a strong, smooth chin. When he looked down at his feet as he waited for me to open the door, I saw a gorgeous pair of puppyish brown eyes and a head of short, wavy brown hair. He was beautiful. I shivered at the thought that I had almost not put on lipstick out of boredom.

    “Hi,” I said, hoping my sudden nervousness wasn’t evident.

    “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” he said.

    I could tell he was nervous, too. He cleared his throat, then looked quickly away as he moved from the doorway into the room.

    “Would you like to sit and talk for a minute before we start?” I motioned to the other double bed as I sat down on the one closest to me.

    “Yeah, that’d be great.” He gave a shy laugh and sat down.

    We looked at each other silently for a few seconds. He held my gaze for the first time, and I felt both of our jitters dissolve into something else as we continued to stare without talking. Finally, I spoke up.

    “I haven’t done a foot fetish session before. Where would you like me to sit?”

    “You can stay there if you want. I can lie down on the floor beneath you and hold your feet from that angle if that’s okay with you.”

    “Sure,” I said, “but I’d like you to undress before you get in position.”

    Ordering him to take his clothes off gave me an instant buzz. Yes, there was definitely something to being the one in charge.

    After taking off his Levi’s, plain white T-shirt, and boxers, Ron scooted into place underneath my feet. He put both his hands around my left calf and squeezed gently.

    
“Mm,”
he told me, “you look great, by the way.”

    “Thank you.”

    I’d worn a black pushup bra and matching panties and nothing else. He had requested that my feet be bare from the start. As his fingers moved down to my heel, then my sole, and finally my toes, I closed my eyes and lay back on the bed. Ron’s hands provided the perfect amount of soft pressure for my tender size sevens, and when he started to use his mouth on first one foot and then the other, I became instantly addicted. Instead of sloppy and wet, his lips and tongue left my toes tingling and warm. He used his teeth to lightly nibble on the thickest parts of my heels, and I sat up to watch him.

    “Your feet are so clean, so beautiful, Mistress,” he murmured. He closed his eyes then, and I watched as his erection grew and came to rest against his abdomen.

    It didn’t do anything for me when he called me
Mistress,
but he seemed so turned on by thinking of me that way that I didn’t want to spoil anything by requesting that he use just my name. Relaxing even more into my role as the director of this little scene, I moved my right foot down Ron’s torso and brought it to within an inch of his cock.

    “Oh God, Mistress!” he moaned, and pushed his pelvis off the floor.

    He opened his eyes and stared into mine, his mouth still working its way from one end of my left foot to the other. I smiled down at him, and slid my right foot closer and closer, until my toes just touched his firm tip. As Ron began to moan louder, taking all five of my left toes into his mouth, I responded by running the sole of my right foot up and down what was now his visibly pulsing cock.

    “Mm… God… Oh — Mistress —
Oh God may I please come now, Mistress?”
he begged, eyes still locked on mine.

    I nodded once, then he bucked his hips and came loudly on the floor. I glanced at the clock as I waited for Ron’s breathing to slow at my feet. Only fifteen minutes of our one-hour session had passed. I wondered what he would do now.

    “Mistress, may I go to the washroom to clean up?” he requested.

    “Absolutely.”

    I watched him pad across the carpet in his bare feet and close the bathroom door behind him. He was as gorgeous from the back as he was from the front — slender hips, muscular legs, and a nicely rounded ass that moved rhythmically as he walked.

    “So, um, do I have to go now?” He looked at me uncertainly when he came back into the room.

    I laughed, relieved and happy that he might not want to leave. “Of course, you don’t have to go! You told me an hour. I think that entitles me to about forty-five more minutes,” I teased.

    “Okay,” he grinned, and came to stand in front of me. “What would you like me to do for you, now?”

    I thought about it for a second. “Well, how would you feel about letting me cane you? Not hard, more as a sensual type of thing?”

    “I would let you do anything you wanted to,” he assured me.

    “Really?” I asked seriously, and reached a hand out to touch his firm stomach.

    He looked up and into my eyes. “Yeah. I feel like I can trust you.”

    I was flattered by his impression of me but even more pleased with having made another person feel so safe. It was a heady feeling, and it made me like being on this side of things more than I would have thought possible.

    “Well, then, why don’t you lie down here on your stomach” — I stood up and motioned to where I’d been sitting on the bed — “and I’ll get my cane.”

    Seeing Ron’s beautiful, smooth ass waiting for me when I came back was almost too much to take. I hadn’t realized it before then, but it seemed like I had an ass fetish that went both ways — I liked having mine played with and now I was hungry to play with his. I climbed into the middle of the bed and sat cross-legged next to Ron’s outstretched body. I ran my hand over his skin, from the middle of his back down over his cheeks and onto the backs of his thighs. He sighed, and I picked up the cane a client had brought me as a gift.

    “I’m gonna start super-light, and stay pretty light the whole time, but I want you to tell me if at any point it’s just not working for you — whether it stings or you’re bored or anything else.”

    Ron laughed quietly “I know I won’t be bored.”

    “Okay.” I smiled to myself. “But I do want you to let me know how you’re feeling.”

    I put my left hand against the small of his back and began caning him lightly, across the center of both cheeks. I kept tapping at the same light level but started moving the cane slowly up, and slowly back down, so that I was covering a good two thirds of his bottom. Ron moaned softly and turned to watch me, his hands folded under his chin.

    “That’s so relaxing, it’s almost hypnotic.”

    I set the cane aside and rubbed the area I’d been tapping. “Good.”

    I took the cane and resumed the rhythmic pace, but this time I made every fourth stroke slightly harder than the others. After a while of this variation, I switched so that every time the cane landed, it was with the same light sting as only one of them had been before. Keeping Ron at that intensity for a good five minutes, I stopped again and rubbed him gently where he had started to turn a light shade of pink.

    “How are you doing?”

    “Great, Mistress. Thank you.” He was looking definitely dreamy.

    During the next half hour, I took Ron from a totally painless tapping up to a level of intensity that was pretty impressive for someone who’d never taken — nor sought — any kind of corporal punishment before. I stopped regularly to massage his skin and ask how he was doing, and it seemed from his reaction as though he almost couldn’t feel the sensations increase as we went along. When our time was almost up, I put the cane down for good and rubbed my hands over his skin while we talked.

    “So, I’m curious — did you like that at all, or were you just humoring me?”

    Ron looked thoughtful. “Well, at first it was just nice to be so close to you, and since it didn’t hurt at all, I liked it in that sense. But then when you started to do it a little harder, and then a little harder than that, I started to feel like I
wanted
you to keep on. But I honestly don’t know if I was actually craving the caning or whether it just felt so good when you rubbed me between strokes that I never wanted that to stop.”

    “That’s great,” I said, and leaned down to kiss his back. Of all the people I could have ended this trip with, I was glad it was him.

    “Thanks!” He stretched his neck toward me and kissed my knee.

    I leaned down again to kiss his shoulder. As I was halfway up again, he turned his face to mine and simply stared. I moved slowly back down to him. He stayed still while I kissed his cheek, but moved his mouth onto mine when I was done. Before I knew it, I was on my back and he was on top of me, his hips pressing lightly against mine, as we caressed each other on the bed. It felt like forever since I had really kissed anyone, let alone anyone who was this good at it. Ron’s lips were supple and his tongue teased mine, touching me just enough to make me stretch toward him for more. He ran his hands over my sides and hips, but seemed hesitant to touch my bra or between my legs. As turned on as I was, I was glad he was so reserved. I was sure he would be fun to have sex with. It was just that I was enjoying this so much, I didn’t want it replaced by anything else just yet.

    I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but he did finally have to leave.

    “I’m sorry,” he said, “I told a friend I’d come by for a little while. I wish I’d known how much I’d like you. I would have told him I was busy.”

    “That’s okay. I should finish packing up my stuff, anyway, and make it an early night. My plane leaves practically at the crack of dawn.”

    I watched him as he pulled on his clothes.