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The Look

You'll know it when you see it, and it might change your life for ever.
It was like a physical shock when our eyes first met. It was the look, nothing else mattered.

My friends had to shake me to get me back in the conversation, and when I looked up again, she was no longer there. Had I imagined her, but no, the sense of connection still stayed with me.

As the evening wore on, the crowd in the pub thinned out, and it was time to find our separate ways back home. I walked the mile or so from the pub to Great Portland St station, and waited on the platform for the Met line train that was to take me back to my leafy dormitory town.

It duly arrived and I got in and sat down, finding seats was never a problem at this hour, but one did need to be aware of any particularly rowdy groups, usually young men somewhat worse for wear.

At Baker St, the next stop, the few people in the carriage left, and a few more got on. The train jolted as it started off from the platform, and I looked up in surprise. There she was, and once more our eyes locked.

I moved to join her and took her hand. It just seemed the right and natural thing to do. Her fingers felt like fire in my palm, and oblivious to others in the carriage, we moved together in a long slow exploratory kiss.

“Dave”, I said as our lips parted and once again our eyes became fixed on each other.

“Sarah”, she replied, with a smile.

“Where did you…what were you…”

“Sshhhh………..”, she broke in, putting a finger to my mouth.

I kissed her finger, and sucked it into my mouth.

We held hands again, it must have been for ages, our feelings somehow communicating through our eyes. I imagined seeing her passion as a dark, smoky, almost formless shape, writhing and glowing as though illuminated by an inner fire.

The train stopped, it was her stop, not mine, but we left together and walked hand in hand, not speaking, to an old house, set back a little from the road, and pushing past rather overgrown hedges, made our way to the front doo.

She turned and was in my arms in no time at all, her mouth urgently seeking mine, our tongues finding and fighting like swordsmen. Her body moulded itself to mine, the firm pressure of her breasts against my chest, and her hips pressing urgently against mine.

Then she turned, and opened the door, as I stood there. She smiled and just said “Yes”.

She led me down a dark corridor to a door which opened to her touch, her room, softly lit, and dominated by a large four poster bed.

Our kisses continued as fingers and hands stroked, sought, and stripped the clothes from our bodies. She burned against me, as our bodies moved. I picked her up and took her to bed, our lovemaking urgent.

At the moment that my swollen organ penetrated her, I felt such a heat arising from her as slowly it slid down into her, and this continued, burning its way through my body to inflame every nerve ending and desire that I owned. Our dance of love reached heights I scarcely had known possible, exploding into starry space as we tipped over the edge of delight.

I held her tightly, a slow and tender kiss, which was a slow fuse which once lit grew and grew until once more our bodies were ready and more than willing.

She writhed as my hands caressed her, and moved her to that classic pornographic position, head down, bottom up in the air, legs slightly splayed. She spread her arms out wide and grasped a post in each hand, as my hands and lips explored down her backbone, and tongued her tight brown ring. She tasted of coconut and spice, and groaned deeply as the tip of my tongue penetrated her.

“Yessss…….Master.”, she hissed, “I am yours to use”.

With such encouragement, I could do no less than comply with her wishes, and spreading her delightful cheeks, explored her rectum with tongue and fingers, until she was open and gaping for me to slide my rampant cock deep into her body, impaling her in a single forceful stroke.

This was the dark side to her nature that I had glimpsed in the smoky vision I had experienced in her gaze. Her body grasped mine and worked with mine, as it seemed that my cock grew and grew until it completely filled her body. I reached out and laid my hands on hers, pinioning them down to the corners as my body drove deeper and deeper. I found some silk bands at the bottom of the two posts and without thinking just slipped them onto her wrists. She was tied now, and I could do what I wanted.

Slowing my pace, I looked around her room, and realised that the furnishings were all of dark red and cream, an erotic sight, which matched so well the eroticism of her body now pushing back on her skewer of man flesh.

Now I moved even deeper, my hands on her neck, grasping her hair in one hand and pulling her back as my cock pistoned into her faster and faster.

“More…more….yesss….”, was her guttural utterance, as again and again, my hands worked, now slapping her buttocks, leaving clear red handprints on her tender white skin, now squeezing her so she had to gasp for breath.

On her third orgasm, each one coinciding with a greater level of excess, my balls emptied themselves deep into her, and slowly the heat left us.

We slept, waking twice at least, our couplings each time more frantic, violent and draining.

At first light, I woke, my eyes sticky and tight, and I sat up rubbing them to see clearly. I was alone. The room was empty, totally empty, apart from the broken down mattress on which I found myself. My clothes were in a pile beside the bed.

I dressed, and went out in search of her. The house was a ruin. The front door off its hinges, windows barricaded up.

Two months went by, I made enquiries about the house, but it seemed that it had been left empty for several years. I was starting to believe that I had drunk something bad before leaving the pub, some hallucinogenic draught, which had given me a good and then ultimately bad trip.

Once more I made my daily commute into the office, and returned in the evening, sometimes going back to that pub, hoping against hope that I might find her again. She had awakened something in me, that I had recognised only then, the nature of power that can exist between a man and a woman, if they open themselves to their true natures. All my prior relationships had been very much of the equal partners, or even a slightly passive approach on my part. She had roused in me the beast, and it was preying more and more on my mind.

The next evening, I was again meeting some friends after work, and joined them at a bar just off Oxford St. I was idly looking around when I saw, no, felt, the gaze of someone, and our eyes locked. It was again such a physical feeling. I knew, suddenly, I knew.

I crossed the room to meet her.

No, not my mystery Sarah, she is Jennie. Very different, but very similar, but real.

She runs a successful business, of national stature, but when the door closes behind her, she is mine.

ALL mine.

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