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"What I am about to show you is for your eyes only," he said. She was excited, but strangely calm. He had that effect on her. He made her slightly silly, but safe. It bothered her because it was new, and hinted at a deeper connection. Ever since the day in her car, when the animal had slipped its tether, things had been different. At first, he tried to throw back up the walls stronger and higher. He was coldly professional. It hurt her a little because she wanted nothing more from him than to see him as he really was. In the end, it was that hurt, rather than any teasing or flirting which brought the walls tumbling down. He discovered that he couldn't bear her being hurt. Before, with other women, he would either not care when they were hurt by his rebuff, or secretly take a small, nasty joy in it. The look she would give him though, half confused, half sad, when he wouldn't laugh at the really funny joke she made, or rise to her teasing, unwound him. He couldn't keep up the facade, and began to crack long before the green riding crop was forgotten. She had a way about her that would bring down walls. In reflecting on it, he realized it was a total absence of judgment. She was unconcerned about any and all failings, except for those people who tried to fake like those failings didn't exist. Her sense of who was a phony was rarely ever wrong. He had never felt so accepted in his adult life, and seeing her hurt when her acceptance was scorned pierced him. He had thought about her often enough. She was tight. Her body trained hard by riding horses, and working in stalls. But, she was soft at the same time. Not like those women who are all sharp elbows, emaciated cheekbones, and who serve condescension by the gallon while wearing yoga pants at Starbucks. The differences made her an alluring mix. He had frequently thought about what her ass would feel like, in the air, bent over his knee, and slapped firmly with the palm of his hand. That was fairly natural for him, if he was admitting it. Other men may fantasize about blow-jobs, or just straight fucking, the women with whom they worked. Nothing too shocking about that. His fantasizes were a bit more involved. And, he was a hell of a lot more selective. Nothing boney, nothing sharp, no one who looked frail, or who would whine when it still stung the next day. No, he liked them to be tough, but feminine; demure, but loving sex, and who would not consider "fucking" to be a dirty word. Sometimes, in his opinion, it was the only word which would work for what he wanted to do. She fit all of those things, and he had noticed, but he hadn’t ever thought beyond the idle daydream until after the green riding crop. That was a definitive point in time. He knew she posed a risk to him on an emotional level. Deep down, the potential was there. She was just the right type of smart, sassy, beautiful, funny, without being mean or nasty. That was why he had built the walls. But, he hadn’t thought she would be interested in the rest of his…interests. She was no prude in talking about sex, but his desires required a particularly open mind. It was not that hard to find partners though, despite his kinks. No, what was hard was to find partners he really liked. Or more. Many of the people interested in his lifestyle were damaged in some way, and looking to fill their personal voids. The ones that weren’t were soon married, or entered into long term relationships, the same as anyone else. There was just a lot less selection in his world, as compared to the vanilla world. She was different. If she was trainable, he knew he would be addicted to her. He tried to fight it. He tried to stay strong, even after letting her make him laugh again. He lasted two weeks. Her infectious attitude and irreverence took him by surprise again, like they did every day before the riding crop. He was rarely surprised. It was nice. And the fact that it happened often was even better. She was refreshing, but even after a year of working together, he didn’t grow tired of her company. In fact, he started to seek it out. Lunches became more frequent. She lingered a little longer in his office in the morning, just chatting. Through it all, there was an undertone. A live wire, studiously ignored. Except when it wasn’t. Sometimes, she would, in an unthinking kind of way, kick him under the table, or brush his arm with her hand in a casual way. He tried to hide the reaction she evoked in him, but she felt him tense at her touch. At first, she was a little frightened that he was shying away from her. The more it happened though, the more she realized that what he was feeling was electricity. Finally, it all came to a head. They were both scheduled to attend an all-day conference in another part of the city. Both knew it would be a tense day. They had been circling each other for weeks. Making innuendo, and standing a little too closely; keenly aware of each other’s bodies. The conference was dry, and they spent the day writing notes to each other like teenagers. Teasing each other, while they could feel the heat from each other’s legs as they sat side-by-side at the table. Lunch was when all the months of tension boiled over. Confined space was the cause. An elevator to be precise. The allure of her in close proximity was too much. She teased a bit, semi-threatening him, just like the TA, and just like the TA, he saw the same spark of desire in her eyes. This time though, he saw something more too; vulnerability, and a little fear. He saw this because he recognized in her what he was feeling in himself. He was putting himself out on the line for the first time in a very long time. He couldn’t stop it though. He felt like he would explode if he didn’t get his hands on her as fast as possible. So he did. He grabbed her, pulled her to him, and pulled her head back by her black, thick ponytail. Immediately, the blood was throbbing in his head, and he knew that he would ravage her right there. Rip her clothes off, pull her pants down, press her face and chest against the wall, and enter her. Possess her. Until the elevator went "Ding" to announce they had arrived in the parking garage. Now, weeks later, and much tension, he was showing her the darkest, deepest part of himself. His dungeon. It was also his favorite part. It was dark, but thoughtful. Dangerous, but if handled with expert care, could be as delightful a place as anywhere in the world. As he unlocked the door, he ran through the scenario he had put together in his head. It had already started at the door to his home. She walked in and immediately had noticed his direction. The control. He walked her though all of it with the tone of a kind teacher. She would have thought the whole thing bizarre and cold, if he hadn’t occasionally taken her hand, and kissed her finger-tips. Or smirked at her like he did over his desk. It reassured her that he was there for her. Her Him. The man that she realized she had grown to love. With that realization, the nerves disappeared. She relaxed, and put her trust in him. By the time he unlocked the non-descript door in his basement, she was already breathing hard, and and could feel the warm, silky wetness beginning to grow between her legs. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, he leaned over, and whispered in her ear, as he set his hands on both her bare shoulders, "What I am about to show you is for your eyes only…." YourEyesOnlyS