Scorch Your Soul Ch. 02

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A Second Encounter – part 1

Switching between Him and her. Try and keep up! Part 2 in the next few days.


I was excited, and still nervous about our second meeting.

I was given very little time to make arrangements to be free that evening. But he insisted. There was something in the tone of his message. Exciting; not demanding, but definitely different.

I arrived, as instructed exactly at 7pm (five minutes early actually). It was a Friday night, and the restaurant was already full; couples, lovers, friends, along with a small, but rowdy group of short-skirted girls, already very drunk. A birthday party perhaps?

I was a little disappointed that it was the same restaurant as our first ‘date’. (Funny, what was it? A date, a meet, an encounter?)

I was shown to our pre-booked table. He wasn’t here. I sat where I had been told to, if I “indeed arrived first”; my back to the wall. Even the way he spoke, his accent, his eloquence captured me.

“Drinks?” “Oh, sorry, yes please, a glass of house white please. Oh, and table water for my … Err my friend”. What is he to me? What am I to him? Am I anything?

He doesn’t drink when he is driving. I admire this in him; his self-discipline, his ability to hold me with his eyes, his presence, and his conversation. I feel myself getting wet already.

Two girls from the rowdies in the opposite corner were dancing together, gyrating to the song they were singing (killing!) a little too loudly for some.

He would like them, for sure! My heart skipped. Would he like them more? How can he like them?

I checked my phone. 10 minutes late. No txt. Is he coming? My heart skipped another beat. Has he changed his mind? My drink was in front of me. When did that arrive? I lifted the glass, my hand trembling, and sipped my drink. I fought the urge to drain it.

I lowered my glass. My hand shook more intensely; my heart stopped. He stood in the doorway. Not yet seeing me, he began to walk, confidently, over towards the maitre d’restaurante. He slowed, allowing the dancing, barely-clothed temptresses to swish and sway in front of him.

His eyes never left the maitre de. He paid them no attention! Smoothly, he strode to the station. A brief conversation, and two heads swung in my direction; one I was completely oblivious to. The other, jump-started my heart.

The jolt, the rush of adrenaline coursed my veins. Did I physically jump in my seat? I tried to stand, as he approached the table, as I felt I should. His eyes had never left mine. My legs were useless. I half-rose, before I felt his hand, oh that touch, that hand on my bare shoulder, stopping me from standing.

I eased back into my seat, his hand slid to the side of my neck, beneath my fire-red hair. Hidden, it squeezed, gently, enough to squeeze more wetness from me. A light kiss, a warm greeting.

I was on fire already.

She sat opposite me, her chest rising and falling, trying to catch her breath. She quickly slipped her phone from the table, and into her bag. Good. Manners and 100% attention are a necessity.

From what I could tell – for now – she was wearing exactly as she has been told; black.

Black; of the night, villainous, sinister, potentially rotten; corruptible.

In stark contrast to her soft, smooth milky skin; white.

White; pure, innocent, virginal, clean; unblemished.

The tuzla escort only colour was that of her lips and hair; red

Red; blood, lust, bloodlust maybe, sexiness; temptress.

A waiter stood beside me. I ordered a fruit juice, and “she will have another wine”. I could see her beautifully defined jaw tense slightly. She wanted to be an equal? This will be fun. A waitress returned with the drinks. I thanked her. The first words I had spoken since ordering the drinks. She had tried to start, but I silenced her with a finger to my lips. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but remained silent.

I ordered the food – for both of us – without asking her what she wanted. Again, the jawline tensed, and she sipped her wine, looking around the room.

When she next caught my eye, I asked her about her day. Surprised, she flustered, and started to tell me about her work. I did not hear a word. I did not care what she had done; I cared for nothing she said. My attention was on her eyes, her lips, her tongue; her throat.

Our food arrived, and she continued to talk. I silenced her mid-sentence; “Eat!”

Startled, she picked up her knife and fork, and began. I could see her soft cheeks colour slightly, as she blushed; from embarrassment or from anger, or from both, I did not care.

This time, we ate in complete silence. So different from our first encounter. This put her on edge, I could see. We were just like the Vanillas all around us. Silent, polite, lost to ourselves. Silent, except for the stupid model-wannabes. It had taken all my control, when I first entered the restaurant, not to tell them all to “fuck off”. But I am self-disciplined. Enough to torment the beauty sat across from me, when all I wanted to do was lose myself in her intoxication.

I was desperate to ask what I had done wrong. I had arrived on time (which meant five minutes early – noted from the last … time) was dressed exactly as I was told – black, no colour – and had double-checked the seams on my stockings, moments before entering the restaurant. They had to be straight. No, it can’t be that, as he hasn’t seen them. He messaged me and told me that the dynamics of our relationship were changing, but I can’t understand this … this hostility towards me. I have been yearning for him since our last meeting, I have done all he asked.

I had hoped that when in public, I would be his equal – or even a pretence of that. Yes, I wanted another drink, and yes, the food is nice, but I shouldn’t be allowing him to take this much control. I think I must say something. I can’t bear this silence any more.

The thought of talking with out permission (technically he hadn’t told me not to speak) scared me somewhat. I wasn’t happy though. My throat was bone-dry. I took a sip of water and cleared my throat…

The icy stare he gave me burnt into the very heart of me. I hadn’t seen that look before. I submitted, dropped my gaze before I even started.

We finished our meal in silence; no touch; no eye contact; no contact at all.

“We’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. It was an instruction. I didn’t wait for an answer, but rose, buttoned my jacket and went to pay the bill. I paid quickly, in cash, and left.

I stood outside, a few doors down, and waited for my … her to arrive. I took her hand quite gently, then gripped it hard and pulled her into a tuzla escort bayan doorway. One hand pinned down at her side, my body pinning her to the door, my other at her throat, I pushed my tongue roughly into her mouth. No resistance, probably from submission, but mostly, I presumed, from just complete surprise.

No drink for me, means breath play. First windpipe, then artery, alternating, sapping the life from her. I twisted her neck to the side, biting, scraping my teeth over the silkiness of her skin.

No resistance. Her restrained hand limp in my grasp. The other, pulling my hand harder on to her throat. Sighs became a gasps, became moans.

I stopped. As abruptly as I had started. Released her, turned, and walked away. I knew, without a doubt she would follow. But how far?

I had never been so wet before. I was left, leaning against a shop door, gasping for air, and light-headed from oxygen deprivation. My legs almost buckling. A few passers-by glancing in at me, inquisitively. I’m glad no one asked if I was ok; I don’t think I would’ve been able to answer.

Where had he gone? Panic and fear gripped me. I forced myself from the doorway, and walk. I looked left; right; there! He was standing a only few metres away, with a car door open. HIS car door. The back door! We had discussed this as a fantasy before, but here? The street was so exposed!

I saw the panic on her face, as she emerged from the doorway. She scanned left and right, before seeing me closer to her than she had expected. I hadn’t walked away, I was preparing the next part of the evening, and so far I had succeeded in throwing her emotionally off-balance twice, and by the worried look on her face, now a third time.

She walked over to me, not breaking my stare. I reached out for her hand, turned, and guided her down into the backseat of the car. As she slid into the seat, I could see the beautiful white mounds of flesh glistening beneath the gauze covering them. I could feel my cock stiffening more.

The car door closed with a smooth, solid thud. The driver’s door opened and he got in; door closed. I shifted in my seat, fastening the seat belt, making the leather creak. He turned to face me, and put his finger to his lips. I had learnt that lesson already. I was to be quiet. The car, almost silently, pulled away from the curb. The doors self-locking.

Subconsciously, I grasped the seatbelt, pulling it tighter across me; more than it needed to be. I sighed. Quietly. I have to be quiet. I looked around the interior of the car. Black, soft leather, spotlessly clean. I didn’t expect it to be anything less. I shifted position in my seat, silently loving the smooth leather against the back of my bare arms. The leather squeaked. My eyes shot to the rear-view mirror. He stared back, those eyes cutting into me. I lowered my head.

“You can ask one question”.

His words startled me. Monotone. Flat. Empty. Forceful. My head snapped back to the mirror. He was no longer there. I had only one thought racing through my mind:

“Where are we going?” My focus was on the mirror. His wasn’t. His was on the road ahead, scanning, side-to-side.

“My apartment”.

Those two words changed me.

My pulse; racing. My blood; loud in my ears. My heart; beating so hard, straining against my already tight bodice. I sat in silence, as a statue; it seemed for all time.

The escort tuzla underground car park was dimly-lit. He parked, got out of the car, and opened the door for me; a welcoming hand, extending out to help me alight the car. I knew my legs would fail me, so was silently grateful. I stood, a little shakily, and dared to look into his eyes, from beneath my hair that had partly cascaded over my face. What would I find?

His eyes glistened. He was smiling! His hand brushed my check, as he swept my hair behind my ear. His touch, searing the skin from my face. My eyes filled with tears. He leaned. Kissed my cheek. Gently. Quickly. I groaned. Out loud! Oh n..

The slap threw me against the car. My face was stinging, my head reeling from what had happened. I jumped, literally, as the car door slammed, echoing around the deserted garage.

Lights flashed, once, twice, a beep, doors locked, footsteps receding. He was walking away! Again!

A ‘ding’, and a lift door opened. He walked in, turned around, adjusted his shirt cuffs, and crossed his hands in front of him.

Unsure, I started to walk unsteadily across the concrete floor. My stilettos click-clacking, loudly, reverberating around the walls.

I approached the lift, subconsciously touching my face. It stung, my face was hurting, my head pounding. Why was I walking towards him!? I should be running away!

I was almost at the lift. I looked up at him, blinking through my moist eyes. Tears of joy mixed with those of pain. He was smiling at me! I smiled back.

The doors closed!

He wasn’t smiling at me. He was smiling because he knew what was about to happen!

I turned. Where could I go? A sob and another tear escaped from me. The coolness running over my searing skin, my anguish echoed all around me.


The door opened again, and I saw her, her back to the lift. Those seams! Perfectly straight! Perhaps, she can be forgiven? We’ll see. She turned, quickly, almost too quickly. I smiled. She melted. Yes, she can be forgiven … but can I?

I was instantly in the lift. I don’t know how! He was pressing against me. I could feel him hard against me. He stared into my eyes, he lifted a hand, slowly, almost not moving, trailing through the valley of my cleavage, up my neck.

Soft as a feather his touch, but his cock! Fuck, it was hard against my belly.

His fingers touched the redness on my face. Hardly a touch. I closed my eyes. I felt his breath against my cheek, cooling the moisture left by the single tear. His lips, so soft. His tongue, even softer! His cock! Harder!

His lips against my ear …

“I am SO sorry my little girl.”

My heart raced so fast, it was one single, continuous beat. I beamed, I smiled up into his eyes, feeling both the soft and hard touch of him at the same time. I could tell it was genuine, I could feel it was genuine.

‘Ding’. The lift doors slid open.

“It’s okay, It’s fine, I forgive y…”

“Don’t ever fucking disobey me again!”

He walked out of the lift. I followed. Crestfallen again.

He swiped his access card so hard, I imagined it to be a swish of a cane. All that was missing, was the sweet sting. He flung the door open, and I hurried forward, before being locked out once more. The thought of being away from him again, so soon, even for so short a time, frightened me. How? Why?

I stopped just over the threshold. I heard the soft swish of the door closing, the soft click of the latch. I relaxed. I was inside!

The clunk as he locked the door though, sent a shiver down my spine.

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