Chloe slid the key card into the slot. The little green light blinked twice and she heard the click. Pushing open the door, she struggled to get in to the sitting room with her computer bag and bucket of ice. It had been a long, mentally draining day but now she was home, at least whatever hotel was home that week. Placing her keys, key card, and the filled bucket of ice onto the wet bar, she thought of his text, the instructions. “get ice, fill a bucket, bring it back to the room.” Smiling wide, she reached into the mini fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Picking up a glass from the back of the bar, she filled it with ice, and poured water over the cubes. She savored a sip, enjoying the coolness on the back of her throat.

With the glass in hand, she walked into the bedroom glancing in the floor length mirror as she passed it. Black, always black. Black fitted jacket, black straight skirt, five inch black heels. The black was in sharp contrast to her fair complexion and blonde hair. The heels made her short legs look long, sleek, and sexy. Powerful. She was in total control, always. With a no nonsense mannerism, when she walked in people listened, important people. Yet, he was capable of having her at a loss of words and on her knees, begging, in no time. She smiled, giggling. And she loved it. It was a complete 180 degrees from past lovers, from her daily career, from her everyday relationships. He was the only one that had been able to affect her in such a way. There was something calming and relieving to give it all up to him. Her mind settled, she belonged. It was amazingly unreal yet incredibly tangible.

Setting the glass down on the night stand, Chloe began the mundane motions of undressing, unbuttoning the suit jacket, unzipping and wiggling out of the snug skirt, all as she kicked off her heels. Walking to the closet, she hung her clothing. As always, she left her shoes where they dropped. There was just something sexy about that. The garter was next to go as she unfastened her sheer stockings from it. The black stringy undergarment was tossed towards the opened suitcase on the other side of the spacious room. She slid the silky hosiery down each leg, ever so slowly, watching the glistening material reveal her pale skin. The smooth feather light touch so erotic, reminding her of his tantalizing fingers flitting over the soft plush skin of her inner thigh. She felt herself moistening. She draped the silk stockings across the back of the sitting chair in the corner. Glancing around, the room could have been the backdrop for a soft porn scene and that stirred her thoughts, thoughts of him and their time together.

What was it about him? From that first meeting, when he looked at her and told her what time he would be picking her up. No asking, just a statement. She remembered thinking “what an arrogant ass” and feeling a flash of anger. But the memory at the forefront of the exchange was that instant gush between her legs as she gaped with disbelief at his bold presumption. How the hell did he do that? He managed to get her to go out with him, angered her, had her panties drenched and in a wad in under five seconds. That…was a new record.

Most jackasses would have been reamed out, a who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are cut down. She looked at him and, even in her anger, she knew he was different. The whole problem, at that time, was she wasn’t sure what that difference was. What she knew, for sure, was that she was going to find out. She’d be ready at the time he stated, dressed to kill, and she was going to figure it all out. Put the arrogant ass in his place. HA!

Chloe’s feeling of giddiness was building. He would be calling soon. She needed to ready the room, the bed, and cease the day dreaming. She grabbed a bath towel from the rack and spread it across the bed. She placed her vibrator on the edge of the terry cloth. With thoughts of him, the day’s tension began leaving her body, ebbing away like high tide rolling back from the beach.

By scheduling their travels so that their paths crossed often, they had seen each other several times a month for the last 8 months. This past month had been more difficult, so the phone had to suffice. If Chloe was honest, it had brought her better awareness of her womanhood, of where and how to touch herself, of how to have more control over her self-induced orgasms, and the nuances in his voice and silent pauses had become easier to read. He had confided to her that he could more easily interpret her whimpers, moans, breathing, even her silences. She was sure when they did touch each other again, it would be more expressive, explosive, and powerful.

Looking at the bed, she felt a wave of warm fluid between her legs. She looped her fingers into her black thongs and swept them down her legs, kicking them towards her shoes. Reaching around her back, she unhooked the black lace bra as she heard the phone ringing. Chloe tossed the bra onto the bed and reached into her computer bag for the phone and Bluetooth. Fitting the device to her ear, she answered.

“Dammit. I am already breathing heavy.” She thought. Smiling brightly, she exhaled a winded hello.

Chloe heard his deep voice. “Hello, babygirl. Have you been a good girl today?”

She nodded, nervously. Suddenly realizing he could not see her, Chloe answered, “Yes. I have been, very.” She giggled. She couldn’t help it. Oh, the excitement. How did he do this to her?

“Has your day been wonderful?” Chloe heard the smile in his voice.

“Even better now that you called. How ‘bout yours?”

He answered in the affirmative and they continued to catch up with the day’s events. Even this was paramount to her, making her feel like she was important to him, included in his life, significant, loved. Her need to feel that inclusiveness with someone special ran deep. The unexplainable immense desire to please him, to gain that acceptance, had Chloe questioning things she did throughout the day, wondering if he would approve. She knew her screwed up childhood lent to most of these insecurities but she also knew some was part of her makeup, an innate quality.

She needed that one person to uncover and dig out her submissive, hold her hand and show her the way, help her enjoy it. Someone she could let go with, completely give herself to, free herself, allow herself to just…be.

She also knew that she did not give to just anyone, very rarely actually. She was meant to control to a certain degree, to lead, as that was often the role she fell into without speaking or asking to be there. She was quiet by nature and performed well under stress. She was the one most others in her life turned to when tough decisions needed to be made, ones that seemed cruel at the time. She was strong enough to make them and follow them through.

He was stronger, more dominant than other men she had met. He was decisive and authoritative. If needed, he would be the one she would turn to for help or a decision. She felt his power just under the surface. It spoke to her core in some primal way. She could not explain it but she felt a connection at a fundamental level. To her, he was extraordinary.

As they talked, she climbed on to the bed. She asked his opinion on a few things and he, of course, gave her his take on the matters. He was always gracious enough to allow her to make her own decisions, encouraging her to grow.

“Get naked, now,” he commanded suddenly.

“I am. I’m on the bed.”

“Where’s the ice?”

“At the bar. But, I have a glass here…with water and ice next to the bed.”

“You are a good girl. I can’t stay today, I have another damn meeting. But, I want you to do something for me. I want to watch you. I want you to imagine me sitting at the foot of the bed watching you. I want you to tell me what you are doing and the sensations you are feeling. Everything. Paint me a picture of your play. I want you to enjoy the ice, fully.

Do you understand, baby?”

Somehow, she whimpered a yes. “How will I tell you?” She often found herself at a loss of words when he spoke to her in that manner.

“You will write me an email. I want to read it in the morning, devour you for breakfast. I want to be hard for you all day, thinking of that email. There is one thing, though.” He paused, making her wait. “You may use your toys to begin but you cannot cum with them. You may only cum to the ice and to your fingers. Understand me, babygirl?”

She had forgotten how to breathe.

“I do. I’ll make you happy,” Chloe whispered. “Ugh, I am awful at writing.”

He chuckled with his response, “You are wonderful at it. You do make me very happy. This will keep me fucking hard, all damn day. Now go, babygirl. Think of my cock inside your hot little pussy while you paint your picture. I love you.”

Click.

Her heart was pounding. Chloe felt as if she was suffocating, room air did not seem to have enough oxygen for her starved lungs. He did that to her, still. Such incredible unexplainable excitement. Her mind stopped, calmed, became silent, while the rest of her was screaming, needing, wanting…alive.

She propped her head up on a couple of full pillows. Her feet flat, knees drawn up. She ran her nails up her stomach, gently. Her skin had goose bumps but she was not cold. The cool room air was in sharp contrast to her ever warming skin.

With both hands, she cupped the underside of each breast, bringing her thumbs across her taut nipples, swirling each to a hard dark pink peak. She moaned.

She heard his voice in her mind. “Right, hard, for eight. Count for me.” She pinched her nipple between her finger and thumb, rolling. Chloe counted out loud.

“Now, the left for eight. We don’t want to neglect one for the other, do we?” He resonated in her mind.

Moaning, she shook her head, “No.” She counted down. She knew she was alone but he would expect it. He would have demanded to hear the count.

Reaching up, Chloe slid two fingers into her mouth. Her mouth sucked as she drew them back, a very thin thread-like string of saliva reached from her lips to her fingertips. It snapped and vanished as she lowered her fingers to her slit. Her fingers glided over her mound, over the bare skin, smooth and soft. She pulled at her tender lips, plying each in her fingers. Using both hands, she gently spread them feeling the cool air lick at her delicate inner channel. She pushed her moistened fingers down into her swollen folds, curling her fingers, bringing them back up, feeling her juices dripping out of herself. As if with their own will, her fingers continued to glissade back down and then up. She knew her lips glistened with her wetness. She felt wetness like morning dew between her inner thighs and ass cheeks.

Not only was she able to see her chest rise and fall with the depth of each breath, she heard her panting, the short irregular gasps. Each breath, each exhalation, released pieces of her tension, of her self-doubt, her toxins, ghosts of the past. She moaned, loudly. Thoughts of his hand at her neck, stilling her, gazing into her eyes, reading her soul consumed her. She knew he saw that moment of panic before it was purged with the rest of her poisons. Calmness. His. He had a way of cleansing her insecurities, her self-imposed impurities.

Chloe reached for her vibrator. Bringing it to her begging sex, with a quick smooth forward assaulting motion, she was full. She turned it to high. Her chin stretched up, her eyes closed. Pulling it out, ramming it in, she heard her pussy slurping at it, sucking at it. Again. Her hands were nearly unable to grip the vibe because of the amount of sweet creaminess that was all over the end. Again. She felt her legs tense, her stomach tighten.

“Uh-uh. No, no.” The soft voice of his denial echoed in her mind.

She wanted to continue, not stop. How would he know, anyway? She was sure she would tell him when he asked and he would ask. That would disappoint him. She liked being good, he wanted her to be good, he made sure that she was. He wanted her to be the best she could be. She had a deep unexplainable need to please him, it came from her core being. She needed to accept it, to stop the questions. Pleasing him, doing what he demanded of her, made her…peaceful. She wondered again, how.

In one fluid motion, she removed the vibrator and extended her hand, reaching for the glass. Chloe was close to cumming, with just the slightest movement she would wash over the edge. He was neither there nor on the phone with her. Did he dominate her so completely the mere thought of him could make her cum? He was most definitely in her head.

She reached into the glass and curled her fingers around a couple pieces of ice. She brought them to her mouth. She slid them across each lip and then licked at them with her tongue. The cold was a sensation to be appreciated. With the ice between her index finger and thumb, she lowered them. At each nipple, she placed a cube on her bumpy areolas, they raised further, the skin becoming tighter. She drew a circular pattern. The melting water, still practically freezing, raced down multiple paths of her breasts, like creek beds down the side of a mountain at the spring thaw. She placed each flattened cube on her nipples, frigid. A shiver ran through her body.

Reaching, again, to the glass, Chloe grabbed at a large cube. She situated it between her finger and thumb, moving downward. Running it over her glistening lower lips, the ice eased over them. The cold from the cube was exhilarating; she leaned her head back into the pillows and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Her clit throbbed on its own accord. It had been much too patient. She knew it is raging for attention. She pushed the frozen and rapidly melting ice between her swollen folds, to her inner labium, up, over, and around her sex, to her burning entrance. Her hips rolled upward, her body demanded more. She heard her breath even deeper, now inhaling through her nose and forcing her air out of her dry mouth.

With her index finger, she pushed the solid frozen cube deep into herself. A searing sensation was beheld, unsure if it was the frozen frost bite of ice or her scorching fiery heat from within. Her pussy clenched. Somewhere in the deep recess of her mind she knew she was there, cresting over the top. Her fingers connected with her pulsing engorged clit, whimpering as she swept them across it, then rubbing.

A moan escaped her lips; her shoulders surged forward, then relaxed. She felt her juices rush out, a mixture of her sweet nectar and the melting ice, running down into her ass between her cheeks, pooling onto the towel. Her thoughts were of him, controlling her, controlling the moment, the ice, her pleasure.

She heard the whispering words of encouragement he gave to her, of his pleasure in watching her take what he gave. He commanded her. Cum. She convulsed, washing over the orgasmic edge, a powerful tensing. Her stomach tightened, her legs trembled, straining and finally pulling up to her chest. Her shoulders came forward and nearly met her knees. Her pussy devoured whatever was within, the ice swallowed. Her body, her pussy, all clamped down tightly, begging for his cock. The waves of orgasm washed over her, through her. Peace, quiet, calm, self-worth, stillness, self-actualization. He gave that to her. She raised her fingers to her mouth and kissed them.

As Chloe began to relax, she was suddenly chilled, the cool air licked at her fevered skin. Shivering, she moved to get under the covers. She really needed to just accept the whole thing, hush her crazy thoughts. This entire time, she had yet to understand it. He was the one true person she had found that she responded to with all that she was, her mind, her body, her heart…her soul. Always so powerful, thoughts of him.

Chloe smiled as she thought about her email and how she was going to begin it. " Paint me a picture, you say…”