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Public humilitation for a submissive.

Belly -- well, after two kids, it would never look the same, but the diet and exercise had taken some of the "jelly" out!

A year of laser treatments had rendered my mound nearly hairless. I got out the trimmer and tidied up the small patch. Legs and thighs -- also strong and shapely and very smooth! Feet --perfect for toe-sucking, if you were into that kind of thing!

I smiled as I slipped a new red silk and black lace, hip-length negligee over my head and eased a black lace thong over my thighs and hips. From the many e-mails we'd exchanged, I knew the effect this outfit would have on Blake. I slid my feet into red patent spike heels and struck a few poses in the mirror. A long strand of "pearls" completed the look.

Dressed, candles lit, music playing softly, champagne on ice... there was a knock on the hotel room door. I was a little nervous as I peered through the peep hole. Although, he'd sent me photos by e-mail, I wasn't sure I'd recognize him. But there he was, Blake Aulde, a little older, but still with that head of thick, black curls!

The look in his eyes and the bulge in his pants told me everything I needed to know when I opened the door. I stepped back into the room and, suddenly, things were a little awkward.

"So, how are you?" he stammered. You would think we hadn't been e-mailing for years leading up to this.

"I'm great," I smiled. "Champagne?"

Never one to do a man's job, when a man is available, I offered him the bottle to open. With easy expertise, he wrapped a towel over the bottle, gave it a quick twirl and popped the cork. The towel dropped away and we had our first "ejaculation" of the evening as some champagne squirted onto his shirt.

"Here," I said, taking the bottle from him, "let me get that wet shirt off you." With the sensual New Age sounds of Loreena McKennit playing in the background, I took my time unbuttoning his shirt, running my hands up over his shoulders and caressing his chest in between each button. With all the buttons undone, and his still nearly hairless chest exposed, I playfully licked and nipped each nipple.

Inviting him to sit in the room's only chair, I poured us each a flute of champagne. "Here's to old friends," he toasted, and we clinked glasses. I took a sip and then noticed the towel on the floor.

"Let me just tidy up a little," I said, as I bent over to pick it up, making sure he got a good look at my firm, round ass, barely-covered pussy and long, well-muscled legs. I stood up to see the tent in his pants and his mouth agape. I took that as an invitation and leaned in to tenderly touch his lips with mine. His response was like that of a starving man to a juicy steak. He began to suck and nibble at my lips, as his tongue sought the taste of my mouth.

He pulled me onto his lap and his firm cock would have impaled me had it not been for the fabric between us. Straddling him, our lips and tongues became reacquainted. When, after what seemed like hours of passionate necking, I rose from his lap, there was a huge damp spot on his pants; from him, or me, it wasn't clear!

I needed a drink! My nipples were in sharp relief against the red silk of my negligee and the crotch of my thong was soaked. I took a long gulp of champagne while Blake refilled his own glass. He drained it and filled it again.

A slow rumba came on the stereo and, setting my glass on the night table, I began to move my hips in time with the music. My neck was feeling warm, so I reached up and lifted my blonde highlighted, shoulder-length hair, allowing Blake to get a good look at my firm triceps and biceps.

He motioned for me to turn.

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