It was an early Sunday evening, all she could do was watch the television and wonder if he would ever call. So Meredith decided instead of waiting around all night for him, she would take a relaxing soak in the tub. nnMeredith closed the drain on the tub, and turned the water to a steamy setting, adding a few drops of body wash to make some suds. Knowing no one was in the apartment, she went to the living room and found every candle she could and lit them each in the bathroom, one in her bedroom. She turned the television to a soft rock music channel that she remembered listening to when making love to him a few weeks before. nnMeredith stepped back into the bathroom to see the tub hardly full. She removed the pants she had been lounging in all day, she was wearing white satin thong and watched as it fell down around her delicate ankles. The tank top she was wearing was tight enough to hold her large breasts in place, as she removed the top her breasts fell to a more natural position, her nipples soft. nnThe bath by now was ready for her, she set one of the candles on the edge, and stepped over. The water was almost too hot, but really just right. She relaxed her tight bubbly ass into the water, the tub filled naturally - she shut the water off. The suds were perfect, the music was peaceful, and the room was lightly fluttering with candles. "This is so relaxing," Meredith thought to herself. nnAs she sat, she soaked her loofa with water and suds, and ran it over her bare body. The water ran over her nipples, around her neck, and back down. Meredith felt compelled to lean back against the tub, and let her long brown hair float in the water. As she lay, she bent her knees, and moved her feet up to the wall . the water gushed over now open pussy, and Meredith let out a moan. Feeling her nipples become hard, Meredith touched them. Her breasts were large, men loved them - she normally did not, but at that point she did.
When I was an eighteen-year old I cut a hole in an old pair of panties, leaving only two elastic loops where the crotch used to be. Sometimes I would wear them so that my labia would be folded open, exposing myself to the breeze. I wore those knickers every time I wore a skirt, which was usually twice a week; to choir practice on Tuesday and to church services Sunday. It was something to alleviate a bit of the boredom.nnI enjoyed the feeling of nakedness, the titillating rub of my thighs or my dress on parts of me that had just bloomed into feeling. Of course, having crotchless panties was not something I could ever let anyone know, so they became my carefully guarded secret; part of my private world. I would slip them between my mattress after I'd washed them in the sink, away from the prying eyes of my family, into my lair of secrecy. nnI wore them to masturbate. And I'd usually masturbate whenever I wore them; they just made me feel sexy and powerful. I swear my posture must have changed whenever I wore them, because people would notice me especially on those special occasions. The boys noticed me, which was a nice secondary effect. But my first love was myself, my hand, my fingers, and those holy panties. nnI once found an unopened condom intact in its wrapper. Whose pocket this condom no doubt slipped out of remains a mystery, but for some reason, I seem to remember (selectively, though, wanting to maintain the mystery of it all) the choir director, a tall, strapping man of about 35, throwing his coat over one shoulder in a flamboyant swirl and making some low-voiced comment to one of his buddies about going to give his bride something as soon as he got home. It must have slipped from his coat pocket. No one saw it but me, and I knew just where to retrieve it from when no one was looking. I took that condom home like a treasure, it, burning a hole in my purse the whole way. I walked with purpose and decision, not even stopping to chat with the old ladies who sat in the back and gossiped while us 'young'uns' sang scales and harmonies. When I got home, I ran upstairs and opened the packet, unrolling the sticky rubber and wondering how such a long, limp, milky looking sheath could possibly be of correct proportions, considering my notions of how a vagina was built. Up till that point, I had never explored my body to the point of penetration, which may be surprising, considering I had been masturbating myself to orgasm nearly every night and sometimes during the day for nearly a year.
Damn, what a day. A phone call wakes me up at 4 AM, an hour earlier than I should be waking up. It's my mom, bitching about her back and how she needs more Vicodin. Hearing my mom in pain is horrifying, but so is the idea of her becoming a dope fiend. Images of crackheads roaming outside my door flash into my mind. I was in med school and needed a cheap place to stay, and addicts abound wherever "affordable" housing is available. "Affordable" is a relative term and took a new meaning for me at that point in my life. Years later, success brings new problems. Not only do I fear my poor mother becoming dependent on opiates, but the DEA has been cracking down on fellow doctors that have been a bit too carefree with painkiller 'scripts. And I mean crazy-style.nnLawsuits have been popping up like parking tickets in the Loop, and many sawbones have even gotten locked up. Hearing phone calls from patients screaming in excruciating pain makes me sick, but I can't afford the lawyer fees for yet another fling in the courtroom. And jail time. I don't want to even think about that one. Shit, nothing's easy anymore in our Modern World. Then my better half starts bitching about being woken up, as if it's an activity I thrive on. That's right, just keep calling her the better half and eventually you'll remember it's the truth, right? I sure hope so; we haven't even had a good fuck in a month or two. Well, sex is always good, but no great, mind-blowing sex. (Hell, even my thoughts sound like I'm a Cosmo editor.
She trembled. He was very angry. She had climaxed, again, without permission and now he would punish her. Publicly. She feared he would beat her, although their agreement included a clause against it. Still. He blindfolded her.nn“Since you could not obey me and hold your climax,” he said, “I have sold your contract to another Master. Maybe he will have better luck in training you.”nnSold! She heard another voice, deep, soft. Then the closing of the door. “I have purchased you,” said the stranger. “Your previous Master said you climaxed without permission. Is this true?”nn“Yes, Master,” she said softly, trembling.nn“Do you enjoy orgasms?”nn“If my Master wishes,” she replied.nn“I asked if you enjoy it,” he said again, his voice stern.nnHer trembling increased.
