**This post is out of order for The Wanderer, but the prompt for Wicked Wednesday is “View” and I had written this post with the title as it is now, which fit the prompt far too perfectly for me to worry about chronological order. These are actual pictures from the room, and the first one during the moment.
The Wanderer and I met in a hotel room, which ended up being a suite to my surprise, which ended up being a gigantic playground.
Oh yeah, it also had a view. A whole wall was just a window that looked out to the luxurious gardens and pools…and people.
So when he began the scene with turning me around, holding me tight to him while he moved the sheer curtain out of the way, and placed my palms on the glass at waist level before bending me over, I was a bit unnerved.
I could see the people…could they see me? I was floors above them, and I couldn’t see anyone’s expressions (which I checked to see if I could), but I could see their bodies. He lifted my skirt, smoothly running his hands over my backside, down my thighs, before lightly slapping at both of my cheeks. And then the slapping turned into earnest spanking.
Not sensitive to light yet, I kept my eyes open…and saw people.
Have I mentioned that I love mind games in retrospect, though at the time it’s unnerving?
All those people. I get a bit flustered just thinking about it, and at the time I was truly embarrassed.
And then his fingers pushed aside my panties and his fingers entered me, slowly, building to orgasm. My eyelids fluttered: people/ no people. Shut: only he and I. Only sensations and fingers.
He sensually stripped me of all my clothes, offering kisses and caresses, before laying me down in the middle of a round coffee table, cold hardness against my sweaty skin. This table he offered me pleasure only; with his fingers on nipples and inside of me, eventually even the table felt engulfed in flames – especially pressing against my reddened cheeks.
I gripped the sides of the glass to feel grounded despite the highs of my orgasms, his fingers working faster and harder. Moaning, I arched against his hand, toes curling and clinging to the edges as if they aided fingertips.
He let me drift softly for a few minutes before moving me.
Into another room where he positioned me standing in front of a round mirror, his fingers circled my entrance, slowly eased in, curled. “Look at yourself,” he told me, to which I had to have him repeat, lost already in his touch. I opened my eyes, my hair a mess around my face, but not as bad as I thought it would be, and smiled in my awkwardness at my own image. I looked at his reflection, his mesmerizing smile, his fingers still toyed slowly but not even enough to distract my bashfulness, tried to look at myself, gosh I have some plump cheeks – no wonder I have dimples, looked up, closed my eyes, tried to look at myself again.
I wanted to listen to him, I tried to will myself to do so.
He was being too kind, his words were softly uttered.
“Do you not want to?” he inquired quietly.
“No.” And I didn’t. And I did. Even the room was dim enough where I could sustain eyes open for a period of time – a rarity. I wanted to because he wanted me to, I wanted to because it made me squirm and squirming was hot when he promised an orgasm, I wanted to because it was something to overcome.
But I needed more authority, and we had not been play partners long enough for that type of power play perhaps. If given an easy route – I will choose it. Though truly, that was uncomfortable for me, and perhaps even my ex husband would not be able to command me to do something that was so foreign to my nature.
I barely look at my reflection when doing my hair or makeup, it’s just not something that I do much of.
I may never be able to view my reflected self in pleasure, regardless of the tone in the command, who is telling me, how badly I wish to obey.
He didn’t push the issue, for which I was grateful even while feeling that I let him down, moved me to another location and worked me over until I was blissed out.
**After our many moments in the day, we went swimming together. I looked up from the pool area to check if I could see in any hotel rooms and was relieved I couldn’t. I shared how I felt about the window, but how it was a good uncomfortable – how it set the stage the rest of the time by setting me on edge a bit. He stated that he didn’t realize it was pushing a limit for me to the extent that it did.
We truly communicate very well, and for that I am grateful.