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She was clearly out of my league, quite attractive, came from a well-to-do family, and somewhat 'proper'. Nevertheless, we had a connection of sorts. One evening after a movie, she was going through my small library and pulled out my rare copy of Story of 'O'. "What's this"? she asked. I suggested she read it & find out. When she left, she took it with her.Two weeks later, we were out for dinner. "About that book", she said, "is that what you're into"? I told her I resented the question, and by no means was I going to be put in a position to explain myself. She said she was sorry, and didn't mean to sound as if she were judging me.I asked if she enjoyed the book, and she replied "kinda, yes, but, I can't imagine people really do things like that." I assured her they do, and in fact submission & dominance are a part of almost everyones' lives to one degree or another, but that I wouldn't expect that she would understand. "What do you mean by that?", she quipped. I speculated to her. She grabbed the feather and slowly played with it, she drug it across her breasts and her arms and her neck enjoying the tickling sensation as she made her way back to him. He heard her heels and her sighs of pleasure but that was it. He waited for her to start touching him, his hands clenching and unclenching almost as if he was dreading what was going to happen. She slowly raised her hand and brushed the side of his face lightly with her fingertips. He moaned and tilted his face towards her hand. Ever so slowly she replaced her fingertips with the feather and slid it around his face, tracing his eyes, and hi ears, sweeping down the bridge of his nose, and slowly outlining his lips. He chuckled and tried to turn his face. She grabbed it roughly and applied a delicious pressure to his cheek bones and said,Stay, harshly,and she slapped his face briskly. She continued trailing the feather down his body, down his chin, sweeping over his Adams apple and stopping where the sweat was.
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