A Gentlemen's Suit

The girl was eighteen, when a new friend invited her to hang out with her after school. It was supposed to be just another day, the kind of day where you open your eyes, hug your pillow wishing you could stay in bed and sleep, but know that it isn’t possible. The routine of putting on the same uniform and shoes, brushing your teeth, your hair and eating a bowl of cereal is predictable, meant not to be altered. But in the most insouciant manner, the girl’s new found friend introduced her father. A worldly and refined man dressed in a Napoli blue suit. A stampede of dark desire rushing through the girl, flushing everything wild out into the open, it was a whispered hello. But an obscure girl, lanky with small breasts, merely a silhouette of a woman, kept her eyes shifted downward. He was a gentleman, prowling across the expansive glass wall living room to shake her hand. “Pleasure.” He was a man of few words. The girl kept her gaze on the ocean view, mesmerized by the thunderous sound of the white water waves crashing against the rocks, a blue heron resurfacing with her prize catch. He smelled of Moroccan Grapefruit and Crimean Coriander. Her hazel eyes valiantly shifting upward, tracing his blood red tie against the crisp white shirt unfurling with masculine sophistication. Her eyes draw the angles of his face, drinking from his lips so full and inviting until she reached his blue eyes. “Sir,” it was another whisper. A blush swept across her cheeks and her eyes shifted downward once more. And for a brief moment he ravished her in the way he caught his breath. A timorous girl colliding with a magnetic assured man. The gentlemen’s daughter was gregarious and she was just a corn fed girl. Not too long ago she was surrounded by endless ocean of cornfields in a tiny home town of Volga, South Dakota, where farmers labored to grow corn stalks that were taller than most people. It was a place where you spent the day lying in the middle of the vegetation just listening for anything at all; anything beyond your own breathing. The girl had lived with her parents in a small house with a windmill and a rotting barn. Across the road her aunt, uncle, and her five cousins shared an even smaller house. And to her right, her very old grandparents lived in a house that was built eons ago. Growing up in the midwest meant that family comes first. It didn’t mean that you couldn’t get really lost in a corn maze. It meant that sports are very important to you. That when someone says they’re bringing a hot dish it doesn’t always mean a warmed up plate. And that you can catch summer fireflies in a jar. Life is simple in the midwest, maybe a little too simple. But that life seemed like such a disparity to being in the presence of a businessman wearing a French cuff shirt and cufflinks. “Come On,” the gentlemen’s daughter rolled her eyes. She was used to her female friends drooling over her father. But unlike the other girls who tried to seduce him, she knew that this girl was too awkward to even consider it. But was she? Because the girl had never felt more awake to the arousing of her body. The gentlemen’s daughter invited her to spend the weekend at their Southampton beach house with views of the Atlantic Ocean at every turn. It was a magnificent four bedroom house with an office and bathrooms with whirlpools. The walls adorned with fine art, French mantle-places and vaulted wood beams. The girls walked along the beach, played tennis and swam in the infinity pool wrapped by wooded areas and lush gardens. It was an ultimate and private retreat with the only real set back being the indecently short dresses she borrowed from the gentlemen’s daughter, who was much shorter than her. In the privacy of the guest master-suite, the corn fed girl soaked in a warm bath becoming more and more aroused by the caress of luxurious suds on her skin. She imagined the gentlemen sinking his kisses into the soft flesh of her neck. His smothering her lips, his hand slowly slipping into her sex. Every move was arousing; her nipples hardening, the feeling grew in intensity. A finger would circle around, up and down her orifice, a flush spread across her skin. She began to stroke gently, then more firmly, a forefinger was inserted and she began to rub against the palm of her hand. Back and forth, over and over again, slowly opening her legs, jasmine scented water spilling over the tub, the pressure of the finger giving rise to shivers that rippled down her spine. All she could do was surrender, the orgasm building, convulsing, shining wet between her legs, and then she moaned with pleasure from an orgasm. It was milky. Her breath ragged, the girl's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, savoring his image, his polished hair the color of gold, the de-rigueur of patent leather shoes and shiny black suit. There was a hushed knock on the door. Curious, the girl tiptoed down the stairs. “Do you know who I am?” whispered a female voice, with a brogue European accent. “Do you know what I am capable of?” The gentlemen responded. She smiled coyly and followed him into his home office. It was thrilling and naughty and it seemed voyeuristic but the corn-fed girl was aroused by the woman’s clingy dress, revealing every line and curve, wrapping it self around her nipples. There was something about his grey stripe suit with Jacquard stitching, an evoking of a distinguished man with uninhibited dominance. She waited a while before cocking her head to the door, listening for voices. It was quiet, only a lingering scent of sandalwood left behind. The door ajar, she opened it slowly and saw that there was a door disguised as a bookcase that had been left open. The gentlemen handled the woman with a slow ease, bending her head back to kiss her, his hands on her breasts. His mouth drinking her mouth, his tongue twisting around her tongue, she was trembling from the soft pressure of his fingers against her flesh. He removed her clingy dress, slowly rolling down the garter. Biting her nipples, he kissed her belly and took her ass between his two hands and kissed with hunger at the two full mounts of flesh. The corn fed girl felt a core of fire between her legs that wanted to explode. She wanted to be a budding flower opened by utter force. She watched him strip the woman of her lingerie; he raised her two hands above her head and tied them to a rope hanging over the beams. The gentlemen pulled on the rope so that the woman’s body was raised. Her body beautifully formed, long slender legs, breast raised high, round and voluptuous. The woman’s breathing hastened, he unbuttoned his pants quickly and thrust himself into her from behind, drawing it out, all glistening, teasing her with the head of his penis before fucking her violently. There was panting, soft moans, twisting bodies and it was with unreserved abandonment that her orgasm came like thunder in the middle of the storm, and with fervency, he followed. He released the woman from the pulley; her body had become soft, unable to hold herself up. He rubbed her wrists and said, “That’s my good girl,” in a slow contralto, smiling in the direction where the corn-fed girl hid among the shadows of the room. The gentlemen lifted the woman onto the bed and she sat astride on him; his cock went into her hard. Her strip of pubic hair rubbed against his, while she danced circles around his erect penis. The woman raised her body slightly making the tip of his penis slip over her clit. The gentlemen’s hands grasped her ass firmly, keeping it inside making each thrust more lustful, thinking only of the moment he would allow her what she craved, pleasure. ************ In the morning the girls went out for almond croissants and mocha's, did a little shopping and headed back to hang out on the beach. But the corn fed girl was obsessed, suffering from erotic fevers and fantasies, imagining herself as the woman who knocked on the door. More than anything, she wanted to belong it that world. It was getting late and she was lying in the guest bedroom on the elegant four poster brass bed, staring at the details of the handsome burled wood armoire inlaid with exotic woods, waiting. The whispered knock came. The ceremony was carried out in great secrecy, late into the night when he conceded out his role of a Dominant. The corn fed girl caught her breath in seeing the lush wool and silk suit the gentlemen was wearing. It was like something out of a James Bond movie, a hand-made black pin stripe two button jacket, notch lapel with double vest. He removed the woman’s trench coat, she was naked and he was pleased. He presented her with a sleek grey box with two twenty-karat gold beads nestled in black velvet. “Thank you Sir,” was all she was allowed to say before he began kissing her, pulling on her hair. He removed the balls from their box and inserted them into her orifice one at a time. It was as if with every movement she were indulging in a secret fantasy. The gentlemen pretended to be an animal, like the jaguar, its underbelly warm and pulsing in the swaps waiting to catch and bite what belonged to him. “Crawl,” he demanded submission. His eyes had the look of the big cat. Crouching over her like she was his prey. Her pleasure was his to possess, rubbing his erect penis against her lips before inserting it into her mouth, fucking her mouth over and over and spraying his sperm. He held her face in his hands, staring into her eyes in perpetuity, it was as if language was spoken through the skin and hers began to tremble with desire. Slowly he stood her up. The woman kept her eyes shifted downward. His hand wrapped around her neck, the gentlemen pressed her hard against the wall, running his hand up her legs and running his fingers up and down the length of her pussy. He repeated this over and over until finally reaching in between her legs to slowly pull out the gold balls; dripping with her moistness, the gentlemen dropped them back into the sleek grey box. He lifted one of her legs and pushed into her hard, encircling, gyrating his erection. The woman’s eyes ardent with fire as he pushed her body up once more before she surrendered to the orgasm with strength she had only experienced with Sir. He unbuttoned himself quickly, took out his penis and said, “Kneel.” The woman took his erection in her two hands and caressed his balls and put two fingers at the basis of his penis and rubbed. Her face more vivid from the orgasm, she parted her lips and flicked the tip of his cock with her tongue before inserting a small portion of it in her mouth. The woman slowly inserted the length of his long and narrow cock into her mouth until he was deep down her throat. She began to increase the pressure and movement of her tongue in anticipation of an undulated wave of pleasure that caught him. In a weekend, in one of the most coveted places to live, Southampton, far away from where she was born, the corn fed girl learned the discipline of this erotic practice. That woman craved submission. She wanted to give herself to Sir, fully. She wanted to be the woman left with an indelible trace by an unequivocal dominance of her body and mind. It was unsullied, its innocence and sexual hunger to give of itself for uninhibited pleasure. Years passed and the corn fed girl became a career girl, content that she had chosen to attend college in the midwest, learning the art of submission from men born in her neck of the woods. But there is romance in a sea of well dressed businessmen. She arrived in the big city daring to live out her innermost desires in a world that knows no limits. Blind-folded with her wrists tied to the bed post, her heartbeat violent as he pushed his knee between her legs and forced them open, her resistance and her defeat, belonged to the gentlemen. - The End