The scene is set in The Grand Hotel in Brighton. The elegant sweeping staircase leading up from the plush and busy lobby. The rooms and the rest of the hotel hiding incipient shabbiness by playing on appealing through the quaintness of history and tradition rather than modern facilities.
The meagre space in her room almost filled by two large suitcases, God knows what she’d have brought if we were there for more than two nights.
She looked rather grandiose since we’d been to Glyndebourne that evening to see Falstaff. Her first experience of live opera, and not a bad place to go for a first experience.
Some relaxing late drinks in the bar, she in her finery and me in my dinner suit felt like going back in time to a more civilised era in those surroundings. And then she decided it was time to go upstairs, a curt command for me to go get my things and join her in her room.
Once there, a transformation from the sublime to the ridiculous. The dinner suit and bow tie discarded for lace petticoats, silk stockings, a dress of satin frills with different types of bows and heels to complete the effect. Though with only a few square feet of remaining space in the room they were rather superfluous.
She proceeded to bend me over and with supreme gentleness pressed her lubed fingers against me, rubbing the lube in and around my hole. The fingers gradually penetrated, spreading me wider without any pain. I knew where she was going and although one shouldn’t mix alcohol and BDSM play, there’s no doubt that the post opera drinks had me wonderfully relaxed.
Never vigorous and thrusting, just taking advantage of the ever relaxing anal muscles. I was gone in to sub-space, I felt so full of her and bitterly happy, stretched without pain, wrapping myself in one endless moment after another.
Questioning when she withdrew as to why she hadn’t gone all the way in ? But she had, she laughed, she’d been all the way in beyond the wrist.
It was her supreme gift to me. It was her final act, not just as my Mistress, but as a domme.