Chapter 02

She offered her hand to him, and he looked at her, confused. With a piercing gaze and a teasing smile, she was able to make him understand that she wanted him to hold her hand, to go somewhere together. He held her hand for the first time, noticing the contrast in sizes and finding it amusing that a woman with such a small hand, easily enveloped by his, could want to dominate him and, with her mere presence, truly be capable of doing so.

Kath enjoyed the firmness with which he held her hand, but she decided not to dwell on the feeling of security and comfort that their intertwined fingers brought her. Instead, she focused on the seductive game she was about to involve him in. She walked over to a bookshelf in the somber room, placed her small hand behind a porcelain sculpture, and pressed a button that made the bookshelf move and a door appear.

Behind that door, in stark contrast to the discretion of the previous two rooms Harry had been in, was a bedroom that resembled a motel room, with a round bed, many mirrors, and even a dancing pole, something Harry had only seen before on television or in adult films. While he observed every detail around him and tried to imagine what would happen between them there, she added to the sensuality by turning on the music and dimming the lights.

"I want you to take off your shoes and socks, that awful vest, and your glasses... and wait for me on the bed. I'll be back in two minutes," she commanded, without even bothering to look in his direction, and disappeared into another room that existed behind the small stage where the dance pole stood.

Although he was concerned about how poorly he could see without his glasses, he followed every instruction without question. Shortly after sitting on the bed, he saw her return, still dressed in her business attire, but with her hair, previously neatly tied up in a bun, now loose and cascading in waves over her shoulders and back.

She climbed onto the bed and, even with her knee-length skirt, sensually crawled towards him, kneeling between his legs. She caressed his arms, from his shoulders to his hands, pushing them back, and then tied his wrists together behind his back with a silk scarf.

"I th-thought that..."

"That I wanted your hands on my body... and I do. But not now," she assured him. "And Harry? I know very well that you have enough strength and skill to free yourself... but if I were you, I wouldn't do that," she said, threateningly.

"And why not?" he questioned, without even stuttering, as if the more threatening she seemed, the more he felt a mixture of desire to obey her and a surprising ability to defy her.

"Because if you are obedient, you will be greatly rewarded... but if you are disobedient... you will be punished," she said, as if it were obvious.

Then, she took out another scarf she had brought with her when she returned to the room and blindfolded him.

He became a bit frustrated because one of the things he had fantasized about since he had met Kath was to see the body she hid beneath her serious work clothes. Of course, she wasn't like him, as everyone always said he dressed like a grandpa or a religious fanatic, with his shirts buttoned at the cuff and collar, wool vests, sweaters, and linen pants. Her clothes were modern, stylish, and well-chosen. However, they were still work attire, discreet and sober, not revealing anything of what he longed to see.

Nevertheless, there was a part of him that yearned to experience what it would be like not to see, not to touch, to be completely at the mercy of someone, to have his body used like a toy, an instrument of pleasure.

"From now on, you stay silent," she asserted. "I only want to hear the music and my own voice. Remember that I will punish you mercilessly if you disobey me."

He nodded to show that he understood perfectly well and felt her slowly unbuttoning his shirt, then his belt, pants button, and zipper. He felt his pants sliding down his legs and being removed entirely. But after that, he was left for some time without feeling or hearing anything that could indicate what she was doing until she straddled his lap, most likely wearing only her underwear.

He was certain of this because there was no skirt brushing against his thighs, and while she kissed his ear, jaw, neck, and shoulders and dug her nails into his hair, he could feel her nipples brushing against his skin a few times. A little more time, and she was even more pressed against him, creating friction between their bodies, breathing heavily, and moaning softly in his ear.

Her skin was warm and soft, and he had the urge to remove the blindfolds to touch every part of her, hold her tightly against him, kiss her until the air ran out, and press her into the bed, thrusting forcefully against her to find relief for his now painfully erect member.

At the same time, there was some force that prevented him, a force that wanted to let her be in control. It wasn't a fear of punishment because he couldn't see any punishment that a woman her size could subject a guy like him to if he didn't willingly submit. In that moment, it was as if he existed to bring her pleasure in any way she desired, as if he were born to serve her, as if the very condition of being dominated was a source of greater pleasure than the touch, smell, or taste he so desired.