Page 1 of Be Careful What You Wish For

Prologue

Meet the Master

She stood in front of him, fully clothed. Her skirt fell in folds just short of the floor, a loose-fitting blouse covering ample hips, brushing lightly across an ill-matched and aging off-white cotton bra and pants. She was shaking. Glancing down she saw the quiver of material, an obvious sign of the turmoil within. Her feet shifted restlessly, one to the other, aware of the discomfort offered by the newness and heels of unfamiliar and over-high shoes.

For long moments she had remained a subject of his steady unswerving gaze. She knew she was dressed, but at the same time she felt strangely naked. Her head crowded with thought. Did he expect more from her? What should she do? What would he do? How would he be? What was he thinking? How did she look to him? Should she say something to break this awful silence?

The silence grew between them, creating an unbreakable bond - tense, needy, filled with aching, urgent appeal...

...and something more... something... something very real and vital... something so tangible she could almost reach out to touch, to taste, to feel...

A tingling in her crotch followed by wetness in her knickers created a slow creeping flame of desire burning its way up into her tummy. She had a desperate urgency to move, to be held, to be taken and... loved...? By a stranger?

The experienced eyes of the Master missed nothing. He sat on a chair near the centre of the room, a hand resting easily on each knee, feet planted firm on the floor.

‘Stand still.’

Words whipped the air in the space between them.

‘Stand straight and face me, arms at your side.’

She did as she was bid. Inside her tummy lurched involuntarily, doing somersaults, her breasts pressed urgently against a button which threatened to pop apart, revealing the ample bosom it restrained.

‘Now... turn slowly around until I tell you to stop.’

She began to turn, trying to keep her eyes steady, her movements even. One foot caught in the pile of the carpet. For a split second she lost her momentum. Her hands sprang from her sides, flailing wildly in an effort to save her falling across his lap. Oh God, please God no. He made no move towards her. She caught the edge of the chair, pushing frantically once more into an upright position.

‘Continue.’

Like the crack of a whip his words refocused her attention. She completed the circle to stand once more in front of him, feeling wetness between her legs. Her face reddened with shame.

‘Raise your skirt. Higher.’

Hastily she shelved thoughts and questions threatening to overwhelm, and with bunches of skirt creasing in her hands, did as she was bid.

‘Now turn... slowly. Head well up.’

This time she completed the circle without mishap.

‘I didn’t tell you to stop, did I? Continue on.’

Her eyes fixed directly ahead of her as she turned once, then twice. His gaze fell below the line of her skirt, watching the clumsy movement of her feet and the way she tried ineffectively to lower the handful of material down over her tummy each time she arrived back to stand before him.

Suddenly, and without warning, she was straddling his lap. How had that happened? For moments she tried to catch her breath, grappling with the thought she had fallen. But no, with a sense of shock she realized he had pulled her firmly towards him, pushing her facedown across his legs, one hand now at the nape of her neck, the other smacking her sharply three times on each buttock. It came so suddenly. She was shocked! What was he doing? Was he to leave her no degree of pride? Shaking visibly, tears blurring her vision, she struggled to a standing position with some semblance of composure. The skirt fell from her hands, bunching around her. About to offer an indignant retort, she cut it off as a wagging finger warned her not to speak. The cheeks of her bottom smarted from the swift and sudden assault. But there was no time to dwell further.

‘That was to show you who is Master. Now, take off your skirt.’

Quickly she let it fall, dropping it to one side.

‘Turn.’

Wary now of his hands, she watched them carefully in completing the turn.

‘Blouse.’

Fingers fumbled with buttons unwilling to respond. But then finally she was done, and it joined the skirt. In returning to her place she positioned her hands to clasp in front of her, feeling vulnerable and just a little afraid. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Her eyes lowered as she tried to second-guess what might happen next. At the same time she held her breath, sucking it in to try to offer a more pleasing shape to her figure.

He watched, reading her mind. Everything about her was transparent. There were scars crisscrossing her stomach. Her hips were full and wide, with legs which came together at the top. Her bra was an old one, outdated, a ‘triumph’ he believed, with elastic straps. And her knickers had seen better days.

He waggled his finger in front of him, indicating a turn. The line of her knickers was high, her underwear functional rather than sexy. But the cheeks of her bottom were neat. Not over large. His fingers itched to touch them again.

‘Face me.’

She turned again towards him.

‘Hands on your head, legs well apart.’

A finger indicated the space between them, bidding her move closer than before. His hands reached out to touch her, inching her forward from the hips, reaching between her legs, pushing them further apart.

He lifted first one breast, then the other, weighing each in his hand before resting it on the cup of her bra. Firmly he took the right one in his hand, using his other hand to manipulate the nipple until it rose to greet him like a round, ripe, tender-red cherry.

His touch sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. Again that warmness seeped between her legs, while an aching in her groin sent a slow, urgent need creeping up and in and through her body. Her eyes shone with longing.

Easily he saw the affect his touch had on her body... and it pleased him. He knew his initial instincts had been right about her. But he must take things slowly, oh so slowly, leading her, making her follow until that moment when he might finally and completely take control.

He examined the breast he hel

d, his hands manipulating and massaging, tweaking the nipple when it threatened to hide. He knew her inner need was beginning to grow, a bud raising its head above the soil after a cruel hard winter. Already it was sending electric sparks shooting into her groin.

In time he turned to the other breast to explore its fullness. The inverted nipple at first refused his coaxing, and he kneaded the tip, rubbing it urgently with a forefinger until it was aroused, trapping it between finger and thumb, where it was held firm.

He looked up to see her watching him intently, a fire raging in her eyes, lips moist and slightly parted, the upper part of her body moving slightly in response. And in releasing her breast and letting it fall back in place, he noted with concealed pleasure the look of disappointment flit across her face, casting a shadow over the light that had lit its features before.

It was in that moment, while her feelings remained confused, that he placed his hand over her crotch and pants and took firm hold, applying pressure. A tiny gasp escaped her lips. It was the only sound she had made since they entered the room. With his other hand holding her hip he massaged the covered crotch and surrounding area, feeling the dampness, knowing her need.

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