By His Command Ch. 02

If there was a trick to his conjuring, it was simply that for two hours, he acted as if Sandra was the entire world. Most men might have conducted a lingering appraisal of the young nubile Asian waitress in the short black skirt, with the unrestrained bosom trying to burst out of her tailored white shirt. Even Sandra found herself speculating what the young woman tasted like. Yet Spencer only glanced up politely for the brief instants required for politeness. When he ordered for both of them, he looked directly at his date, his finger indicating the choices, his face informing Sandra that though he was asking her concurrence, no objection was permitted.

Though they must have talked about many subjects, Sandra had no recollection of details. The meal flew past, like a time lapse montage in a British romance movie. At first, this lack of memory worried Sandra, but later she realized that it showed how comfortable the fit was -- details no longer mattered.

When time came for dessert, Sandra was all prepared to stick to her diet, until Spencer very softly said to her, before the waitress arrived, "I want to watch you eat chocolate cake while I drink a cognac. I want to see some chocolaty icing on your lower lip, and the tip of your tongue slowly poke out of your mouth and roll luxuriously along that beautiful red painted ledge, until the dollop rests right on the tip, and then you hold your mouth half open, your hunger obvious to anyone watching, but the true desire known only to us.

"Forgive me, Sir," Sandra heard herself say, "but what desire is that?"

Spencer chuckled softly, whether at Sandra's naiveté or at her easy adoption of the honorific Sir.

"Why, your desire to please me in any way that I wish, of course," he chuckled in response.

Before the waitress arrived, Sandra only had time to gasp, "Yes, Sir."

She knew that her nipples had to be visible. They had never felt this hard. Her belly was stiff. She could barely breathe. She focused her gaze on Spencer as he ordered. He did not stare at Sandra's chest, but Sandra would have bet that the waitress did.

'I wonder if she's as wet as I am?' she heard herself think, knowing that later, in bed, she would picture the waitress as she touched her clit. With any luck, in Spencer's bed.

Afterwards, Sandra had a more vivid recollection of how manly Spencer looked, hefting his snifter, sampling the bouquet of his drink, and swirling a mouthful into his cheek than she did of complying with his instructions. Much later, the memory was of the unbelievable richness of the chocolate, not just because the restaurant served premium desserts, but also because her senses were opened up like flower petals feeling the sun on their first dawn of spring.

'Hello, world,' Sandra thought.' This is what living is really like, more than just existing, but instead, truly experiencing the richness that life has to offer.'

Though she had no clear recollection of it later, or thought she was inventing memories, as she licked her lips, Sandra imagined Spencer's heart racing, but then slowing as blood flowed to his loins, and his cock -- she pictured a thick, womb filling organ- surged with excitement. She had to resist reaching under the table and pawing his groin to find out. Her fear that she was wrong -- that her behaviour failed to thrill him -- held her back as much as her knowledge that he wanted her to obey, and he had not given her permission to fondle his manhood.

It was not just her imagination though that his eyes bored in on her, glistening brightly in the candlelight, to tell to anybody that he was enthralled by his new found woman. For, though no one had said as much, from this moment, they both understood without either saying it aloud, that Sandra was his -- his for the taking; his for the training; his for the pain; his for the pleasure.

At some point while Sandra indulged her own renewed appetites, for cake and more, the waitress must have brought the bill, because the next thing Sandra knew, her plate was empty and Spencer was rising, stepping behind her seat to ease it out from the table.

'Such a perfect nasty gentleman.' Sandra snickered to herself, 'unlike his date, who wants to lick those last crumbs off her plate, and then lick his hard cock, bathing it in cake.'

Though at the moment Sandra did not realize she was doing it, later she clearly recalled a very large bulge in Spencer's pants -- had she actually seen that, or was it a memory invented for her masturbatory pleasure?

She was fairly sure when she lay on her bed naked, fingers deep within, thumb strumming her clit, that he had not really pressed his hardness deep into the crevice of her ass cheeks as she rose from the table, but she wanted him so badly to show this aggression, this desire, this approval, that she could never be certain what was real and what was imagined.

The walk to the hotel seemed like flying. Sandra had no recollection of her feet touching the sidewalk. All she remembered was the feeling of Spencer's hand on her elbow, gentle, yet confident, guiding and protecting her on their journey. Her mind was on automatic pilot, overwhelmed by passion and confusion giving way to clarity. Never one to believe in whirlwind decision, Sandra suddenly found herself not falling in love, but fallen, with a virtual stranger. She had never before been so ready to finish a date by going up a hotel elevator and jumping onto a bed.

'More likely being tied to the bed,' Sandra reflected, 'after he bends me over and fucks me from behind.'

She wondered whether he would fuck her ass - something she had never enjoyed, but now knew would be a fresh, exciting experience. That thought featured prominently later in her fantasies, her sphincter ring begging for penetration until she found a thick pillar candle with which to fill herself. At first, she started with a thin taper, thinking she would need to stretch her flesh, but it eased itself in so smoothly that she risked the fatter object, wishing the whole time that it was Spencer's cock.

As Sandra wondered how Spencer's pulsating meat could best fill her up, they reached the marquee of the hotel, and Spencer stopped. Sandra assumed that this was just a pause to be polite, that he was about to turn to her and invite her in. She wondered whether he would suggest a nightcap in the lobby bar, but then realized Spencer would just take what he wanted, and she hoped that it was her he wanted, upstairs in his room, flung across his bed, her dress up around her waist, her tits spilling out of the bra, his hardness ramming into her ready wetness...the images cascaded rapidly through her mind, not quite getting to the inevitable moment when he exploded within her, painting her womb with his seed. She knew that was how this had to end -- him in control, her total surrender.

She noticed the discrete tilt of his manly jaw, the nod of the head at the doorman. The limousine sliding into place behind her meant nothing to her. Her attention was locked on this beautiful manly man before her. He closed the gap between them. His hand brushed inside his jacket as the other grasped her shoulder. He lowered his face to hers. The kiss was exquisite. Sandra felt the same way she had the first time she saw Rick kiss Ilsa in Casablanca.

Movie kisses seem always to benefit from slow motion, but Sandra would swear that time stood still when Spencer kissed her. She was so enraptured that she barely felt when Spencer's fingers brushed lightly along her cleavage, pushing the cup of her bra open. The gasp of cool air hardened her nipple.

She found herself not caring who might see this public intimacy. Sandra prayed that he would palm her mound, pull on her aching nub. She felt a fresh flood of wetness flowing onto her thighs as her pelvis tilted upward, pressing her belly against Spencer's groin. The only solution, Sandra's executive brain finally informed her, was for Spencer to throw her into the back of that limo, and fuck her as it cruised the downtown of her city.

When Sandra felt the strange scraping feeling along the tender slope of her tit, she thought at first that Spencer was scratching her with a sharp edge of a thumbnail, some sort of sadistic tease. She smiled at the possibility, the inherent promise of more pain to follow, and quivered thinking about the pleasure which that could bring her. She was teetering on the brink of orgasm standing on the sidewalk, the doorman a few feet away.

Except then she felt a foreign object sticking to her damp breast, held in place by the bra cup as Spencer withdrew his fingers as swiftly as he had invaded. Again, her intellect poked itself to the forefront, identifying the size shape and texture of a business card.

Spencer patted her tit gently, hefting it just slightly, Sandra felt his thumb roll along the nipple, the sensation dulled by layers of dress, bra and cardboard. He raised his head, mouth still mere inches from her lips.

"When you get home, masturbate and email me all the details. I'll keep in touch, and see you next time I'm in town."

Suddenly, he was gone, like a dream. Afterwards, Sandra saw him striding purposefully up the stairs, but had no way to know whether she actually watched that before the doorman steered her into the limo.

It took all of Sandra's willpower not to pleasure herself on the limo ride home. The ride was brief, but the built up sexual tension was so intense that she could have climaxed on the short journey.

Sandra was off in her own world, not caring about the driver, or how wet her seat might be. She even tried to rationalize to herself that as long as she repeated the masturbatory fun at home, she really would be obeying Spencer. She did resist though, satisfying herself with slowing caressing her boobs from the outside of her dress, occasionally rubbing a hand down along her belly, teasing herself by seeing how close to her slit she dared to dip, knowing very well that once she touched her clit, even accidentally through layers of clothing, she would explode, but that she also would not stop there. She easily imagined her hips rising up off the seat, her hem up to her waist, panties on the floor of the vehicle, left hand stretching her cunt open; right hand thrusting deep, alternating with fingers dancing in just the right spots.

The car glided up to Sandra's building while she was still lost in her own world. The driver opened the door. The doorman guided her to the elevator without a word, as if he knew she was incapable of speech. Unlike the vertical trips to visit Spencer, this ride seemed instantaneous. The first glitch in Sandra's evening came when she fumbled to open her apartment door.

"You're as besotted as a drunken schoolgirl," she said out loud in the empty hallway as she bent to pick up her keys from the floor, "and talking to yourself."

She licked off her shoes and unzipped her dress as soon as she stepped inside, walking into her apartment dressed only in lingerie. She stood before her windows, arms spread wide, admiring her city, feeling like it was hers to command, just as she was Spencer's.

Her hands wandered over her flesh, the movements duplicating her actions in the limo.

"I could climax right here," she realized, thinking out loud again. "but should I? Spencer should have given me better instructions."

She shook her hair around her face. "No. That's not fair. Spencer did just what he wanted, and he's the Master."

As she spoke, a fingernail brushed along the edge of her panties; a shiver rocketed up her spine and fluids leaked onto her thighs.

"Think, Sandra," she instructed herself. "Bed or bath?"

With a bob of her chin she picked the bed, striding purposefully to that room, throwing herself onto the mattress, the only light being the city's night time ambiance filtering through her window, spilling across the bed, bathing her in colour. Sandra thought of Spencer, wishing that he was there with her, that it was his fingers touching her nude flesh, showing her more of his secrets. Her hands followed along her curves; her imagination sparking tiny currents of energy as she thought about Spencer caressing her skin, gently but powerfully. She thought of how it might be the very first time they made love, Spencer kissing her, tongues touching, his strong hands owning her body, his touch like magic, awakening her after years of sleep.

Laying on her back, her fingers lingered only briefly on her nipples before wandering down her tummy, tracing circles on her abdomen, moving ever closer to her honey pot. bend my knees slightly causing my pussy to become more accessible, with nothing to prevent my hand from finding it. She raised her knees slightly and moved them apart, to open her pussy wider, with nothing to prevent her fingers from entering it.

She imagined that it was his hand between her thighs. She felt as if he belonged exactly where she was touching. He would be confident and strong, sliding along her flesh, his touch knowing just how to make her beg for release. Tears formed in the corners of Sandra's eyes as she confronted her love for this man who was almost a stranger, but they were a small price to pay for the wetness that flooded her linens around her loins.

Sandra took her time, thinking always that it was Spencer making love to her. She knew he would know just how to please a woman by never rushing, working slowly and lovingly, showering her expertly with kisses, his fingers opening her flower, touching her labia like delicate petals, spreading them apart.

Her hand moved deeper, caressing her swollen lips only in passing. Even that light touch made her hips rise from the mattress, fucking upwards against her fingers, trying to suck them deeper. She parted her knees wider, creating a better angle to sink her hand past the wrist, to fist fuck herself.

"So...much...for delicate..." she chuckled out loud, wishing Spencer was here to hear her pleasure, to cause her delicious pain.

Finally, she grasped her engorged clit between her thumb and forefinger, and gave it a powerful twist as she pulled it away from hits base. That alone made her climax harder than she ever had before. Sandra's orgasm was long and sustained, starting like a freight train exploding out of a long tunnel, and then spreading, more like an earthquake, tremors shaking her whole body. Without realizing it, Sandra began screaming out loud, and when she heard her own cries, what she heard was "Spencerrrrrr....."