I pretended to read my book, but I was far too distracted to make it look believable. The coffee shop was busier than I’d hoped, with a steady stream of people coming and going, and I looked up to observe each of them from my quiet spot in the corner. A man entered, a woman left, another arrived, and every time the small bell jingled over the door, my heart skipped a beat.

I shifted on the couch. This was stupid. It was ridiculous to think that it could happen. I was just going to sit with a cup of coffee and go back to my hotel room. And I hated coffee.

The bell jingled again. A mature woman entered, perhaps in her early forties, petite with black hair. She wore a long stylish coat that was heavier than the weather required, and its hem danced around her shapely calves as she walked. She briefly scanned the room, her mouth set in resolution, her face anxious. Behind her she pulled a small overnight bag, its wheels clacking on the tile floor.

I sat up straight on the couch.

She went to the counter and had a short discussion with the counter girl. As she settled up her order, then waited on its preparation, she again glanced quickly over her shoulder toward the sitting area.

I put down my book, my heart beating faster.


When I glanced up again a moment later, she was distracted, accepting her drink from the counter girl. This gave me a long moment to study her from the back. She had an attractive figure under the coat, her hips slim but curvy beneath a narrow waist. Her hair was cut short, a pixie cut that exposed the back of her neck.


Drink in hand, she turned toward the sitting area. Almost immediately we made eye contact. A brief bolt of lightning surged between us, an innate and intuitive realization of each that the other was real. She looked down at the floor for a moment, then took a deep breath as if she was making a decision. I pretended to look back down to my book, every fiber of my being concentrating on my peripheral vision.


Footsteps approached across the hardwood floor. There was an easy chair across the small table from my couch, firm and high in structure, and she chose it.

She set her cup of tea on the table, casually turning it. Per the custom, a name was scribbled across it.


I smiled.

I reached to my own cup of coffee on the table, turning it so the name faced toward her.


Sitting six feet apart, the rest of the world went silent and motionless as we studied each other. We had never seen each other, did not know each other’s names, and yet we knew each other intimately. She was just what she had told me, and what I had pieced together from her words over so many months – mature, attractive, graceful – and I hoped that I was what she had pictured. Her eyes met mine, her irises a dark Italian brown. She had a naturally wide-eyed look, the whites of her eyes as prominent as the irises, and the implied innocence both supported and refuted what I knew about her. Eternity elapsed in thirty seconds as we both pondered what would happen next.

I swallowed hard, then my mouth curled into a shallow smile. “Feel free to take your coat off,” I said.

She smiled shakily back, her emotion seeming as sickly nervous as mine was. She looked at the two cups on the table for a moment, then back at me.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She stood and unbuckled the belt that held her coat closed, then slid it over her shoulders and off. Underneath, she was wearing a snug cashmere sweater of powder blue, tucked into a pleated black mini-skirt that was bold but classy. I nodded my approval. Her curves, not evident under the coat, were quite impressive as the sweater molded itself over them.

She sat back down and picked up her tea. Taking a sip, she looked outside at the overcast day. She and I were just strangers, two strangers sitting in a coffee shop.

She spread her knees slightly.

Behind me, there was nothing but a bare corner. No one could see her. Surreptitiously checking for onlookers, her free hand grasped the mini skirt material, pulling it up ever so slightly.

Oh, my god. She was really going to do it. I could feel my cock beginning to swell.

Another drink, another glance, another slight pull of the material. It was now passing the point of modesty, and no one knew but me.

Without warning, her smile became more emboldened. Seeing that the coast was clear, her fingers quickly walked the fabric, gripping the hem. Up, up, up, and suddenly there was no more leg to be shown. She spread her knees wider.

I had never seen that pussy before, but I knew it intimately. I knew the sparse and neatly trimmed thatch of jet black pubic hair. I knew the graceful prominence of the mons veneris, and the delights that lay below. In my mind and my words, I had touched it, tasted it, explored it, and ravaged it. And now, at long last, I had finally seen it.

She sat still for several long moments, offering it to me for review and inspection and enjoyment. I took full advantage, shifting a bit to rearrange my now rock-hard cock inside my jeans. She noticed and found humor in it.

A man bought coffee and walked in our direction. Spooked by the footsteps behind her, she abruptly dropped her skirt, smoothing it back to respectability.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key card to my hotel room. I set it between the cups, halfway between Hunter and Sparrow.

Now a decent and law-abiding woman again, she folded her arms across her breasts, studying it. We both knew the situation; this was her final decision in the dance we had concocted. She could leave now, and we would both walk away into the night, content that our little coffee shop fantasy had come to life. We would be done, and we would both smile at the memory.

If she picked it up, she was committing herself to a much deeper experience.

Our eyes met again. Her narrow eyebrows rose in question, and I nodded.

She picked up the key.


It had started so innocently.

We had met in a chat room, just two people who wanted to discuss movies amid a sea of late-night chatter. After a few minutes of typing back and forth, I clicked the small box next to her name, curious to learn more. She was in Portland versus my Chicago, she was in her early forties, a bit younger than me, and she was female. That was all I knew, and for the purpose of discussing movies, it was all I needed to know.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. That’s the way it works, two anonymous ghosts alone on a winter night, haunting each other’s computer screens for a couple of hours before drifting away. But we liked each other. We connected quickly, having similar tastes and standards, and we each understood the other’s jokes and references. We even flirted a little. After a long discussion deep into the night, we agreed to meet again a week later, and then again a week after that. The discussions began meandering beyond movies. It became like meeting a friend for coffee. We even traded photos, and I was pleasantly surprised. She had nice eyes and a cute mouth, topped off by a stylish pixie cut that swept over her head like a peacock plume. She had a mildly golden-complexion and claimed a half-Italian, half-Korean background, though I had trouble seeing which half of her came from where.

Common folklore is that men and women can’t be friends, that at some point sex inevitably enters the minds of one or both if the relationship moves beyond hello. As a general rule, I scoff at that theory, believing that we are more refined as a species. Sure, she and I flirted a bit, but it was friendly banter. We were just typing. We wouldn’t go over the line.

But then we went over the line.

We were talking about some forgettable trashy movie it happened. It wasn’t intentional, or maybe it was. Maybe it was happenstance, or maybe such things are destined to happen when a man and a woman like each other. Regardless of the reason, it happened.

We were typing back and forth.

Me: It annoyed me that the woman stayed with the villain.

Her: Why?

Me: Are you kidding? He tied her over a bench and let his friends have sex with her. And then in the next scene she’s going out to dinner with him. It’s ridiculous.

Her: Maybe, but not necessarily.

Me: Not necessarily?

Her: Maybe she liked it.

Me: She liked being tied down and having sex forced on her by a bunch of henchmen?

There was a long pause before her text appeared on my screen. I wondered if I had crossed some feminist line.

Her: Some women like it.

I stared at the screen for a moment, pondering my response.

Me: They like it?

Her: Some woman like being taken. Being forced.

Me: How common is this?

Her: More common that you would think. It turns some women on.

This time it was my turn for a long pause. Don’t do it, I told myself. Don’t do it. Stop typing.

I typed anyway.

Me: Does it turn you on?


We left the coffee shop, with me pulling her overnight bag. My hotel was only a block away, and the first half block passed in silence.

She bit her lip as we waited at a crosswalk, her eyes focused on the past. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

I couldn’t stop a smile. “Neither can I.”

She shook her head slowly, looking into the street with a smile that was half disbelief, half pride. “That’s not who I am. I’ve never done anything like that in my life.”

The light changed and we continued our walk. “Isn’t that the whole point of this?”

This time, the smile crept onto her face. “Apparently it is.”

I was nine inches taller than her, so she was forced to look up at me. “I’ve got to tell you,” she said. “This is kind of scary to me. My knees are shaking.”

“Mine, too.” I waited several more strides before saying the words that I didn’t want to say, but knew I should. “It’s not too late to call it off.”

“Not in a million years.”

With that, we both burst into laughter. This was the personality I knew from the chat room.

We entered the hotel, and I guided her onto the elevator, placing a hand gently at the small of her back. The touch tingled. I pressed the 9th floor button and we stood in an awkwardness that was thick even for an elevator. I wanted to kiss her, to pull her into my body and envelop her, but that’s not why we were here.

I remembered my duty.

“Did you pick a safe word?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s ‘airplane’.”


“Yeah, as in ‘take off’.”

I chuckled. “Okay. You say ‘airplane’ and whatever we’re doing stops immediately. Got it.”

She smiled demurely, her eyes rising seductively to meet mine. “I don’t plan on using it. I trust you. But I want to be close to using it.” She winked at me and smiled.

I smiled back and eyed her up and down, watching from the corner of my eye as the elevator lights moved from floor to floor. What a strange world we lived in. We didn’t know each other’s names, and yet we knew each other intimately. We didn’t recognize each other’s faces in a coffee shop, and yet we trusted each other with our most deeply hidden secrets.

We walked down the hall to Room 955. Sparrow’s key opened the lock. My heart was beating faster. Was this really going to happen?

I took a deep breath and began to get into character. I gripped her upper arm gently, but with strength. “You realize, my sparrow, that once you cross that threshold you belong to me, right?”

Her eyes flashed mischief. “Not necessarily. I’m not easily conquered.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She turned her foot shyly, looked at me for a moment, and suddenly stepped into our personal distance.

It was not a kiss of passion, or a kiss of raw lust, though both would have been justified. Rather, it was a kiss of sensuous understanding, the first chapter of a one-night promise to give each other the gift of a lifetime.

We stepped inside and the door pulled itself closed.


Anonymity is a strange thing. You can have secrets that you wouldn’t tell your brother, your wife, your best friend. But if you chat with a stranger on the internet, neither of you knowing the other’s face or name, you can share everything. There is no risk when a screen separates your identity from who you really are.

Her: I fantasize about being forced.

Me: Like rape?

Her: No. Just forced. Or coerced.

Me: What’s the difference?

Her: I have to feel safe. I’m not going to be hurt. But I can’t escape, and I can’t stop it. I’m fighting, frustrated, trying hard, but I have no chance.

Me: Why do you think that turns you on?

Her: I have no idea.

Me: Do you fantasize about this?

Her: All the time.


The hotel room was very nice, a small suite with a king-sized bed and a separate sitting area. Outside, the city lights sparkled. Sparrow scanned it for a moment, then turned to face me.

“What now?” she asked.

“Say ‘airplane’ if there’s a problem. But otherwise, you’re in for an ordeal tonight.” I bolted toward her.

“No!” She grinned as she backed away, trying to slap away my attacking hands, but I was much bigger and much stronger. Grabbing her wrists, I used my mass to push her backwards, guiding her toward the bed in a forceful dance. We were supposed to be adversaries, but we couldn’t help but laugh. When the backs of her legs hit the bed, she fell backwards and we tumbled over each other. She somehow briefly managed to roll on top of me, but couldn’t keep the advantage. After a flurry of movement, I inevitably turned the tables and gained the upper position. She fought feistily, though more to escape than to dominate, and the outcome was never in doubt. With each movement I gained a little control over her, used a little more leverage to pin her down.

Eventually I was on top of her, my arms trapping her wrists over her head. I forced my legs between her thighs and began slowly forcing them apart. Our faces were only inches apart, so I lowered my head until our foreheads touched, our eyes filling each other’s world.

“I’m spreading you,” I murmured. “Can you stop me?”

‘I’ll fight for my honor,” she said with mirthful aplomb.

She grunted with effort, her legs flailing as they were pushed apart. Keeping my weight on her, I leveraged my thighs to spread her wide, forcing my chest down onto her breasts. She bucked and struggled, and I let her exhaust her energy as she fought against both me and gravity. “You can’t deny me, little sparrow.”

“Yes, I can. You can’t take me!”

I shifted my hip a little, forcing my thigh onto her pubic mound. It wasn’t enough pressure to hurt her, but it was forceful enough to make her know that she was falling under my control, that her most vulnerable of areas was at my mercy. “Oh, god,” she said. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Admit it. You belong to me.”

“No! You’ll have to force me.” She emphasized the word ‘force’.

Shifting a bit more, I pulled her wrists together over her head. With my left hand, I was strong enough to control both wrists, wrapping them up in my fingers. I now had a free right hand, and it roamed up her side, closing on her breast. I squeezed and explored the soft flesh, causing her buck even more. But with her legs forced apart, her pussy being mashed, and her wrists trapped, she had no leverage.

I ground my thigh gently into her mound.

“I love this tit,” I said, being intentionally coarse in my language. “It’ll be good to grip while I fuck you.”

“You’re too strong for me,” she breathed. I could see her eyes bright and sparkling.

My free hand moved up to her hair. Grasping a handful at the back of her scalp, I gently but firmly pulled, forcing her head back.

“Are you offering me your throat, little sparrow?”

“I have no choice, do I?”

I leaned in, kissing her vulnerable throat, then nibbling it.

“Ohhhhh, you’ve got me in trouble. But I’ll … I’ll hold out.” I could sense her resistance decreasing.

I maintained my assault on her two most sensitive areas, the areas that a woman must protect at all costs. She twisted and squirmed occasionally as I hit a particularly erogenous area, but I held her fast.

I wasn’t hurting her, but I was fully controlling her and she couldn’t escape. We both knew it, so it was just a matter of time. After a few minutes of being mercilessly ravished under me, she conceded.

“Stop,” she pleaded. “I surrender. I’ll do anything.”



I raised my head to look her in the eyes. “I want a slave girl to worship my cock.”

For the briefest of moments, her mouth curled up into a smile. She swallowed hard. “No.”

“Then I’ll take what I want. My free hand began moving down her body. Let’s see what I can discover about you.”

Her eyes got wide as my fingers touched her thigh, then moved upward. I shifted my thigh off of her mound, but forced her legs apart even further. I slid up and suddenly I was palming her lightly furred mound, my fingers sinking underneath into the softest flesh imaginable.

She squealed and froze, her eyes locked onto a distant place. She allowed me to explore for a moment as emotions played across her face. As my fingers began to push inside her, she abruptly conceded. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it!”

“You’ll do what? Say it.”

“I’ll be your slave girl.”

“And …?”

“And I’ll worship your cock.”

I lifted my weight from her. “That’s a good girl,” I said. Rising from the bed, I walked to a chair. It was nicely upholstered, with arms that curled around. I sat down. “To the victor goes the spoils. Strip for me.”

She rose from the bed as well, smoothing her clothing as she re-established her decorum. With only minor hesitation, she stepped before me. “Completely?”


I could tell that she was thinking about something, that her mind had briefly flashed to a different place and time. She looked past me, out the window at the other high-rises nearby. Again, the hint of a smile appeared.


She raised one foot and removed a shoe, then the other. She was not tall to start with, but I was surprised at how much height she lost when she removed them. I hadn’t noticed how tall her heels were, and how small she was atop them.

Next to go was the powder blue sweater. It was nicely snug, so, it mussed her hair a bit as she pulled it up. Underneath, she wore a red satin bra with lace trim. The color surprised me a bit. She shook her head to get her hair back under control.

“Skirt next,” I ordered. I had already seen her charms below the waist in the coffee shop, and I had just felt them as well, so I wanted to save her final surprise for last.

Nodding, she unhooked the skirt and shimmied out of it, her hips moving smoothly and fluidly with a dancer’s grace. God, that was a great pussy. I delighted in the contrast of the pure black hair against her skin. I’d never been with a woman who had a golden-hued skin tone. It gave her an exotic look, mysterious in a way that made one want to explore.

“Now the bra?” she asked.

I nodded.

Reaching behind her, she unhooked it, then let it slide forward down her arms.

She had beautiful breasts. They weren’t the perky tennis balls of a teenager, but were those of an adult woman, well rounded and slightly oversized on her small frame. Her areolas were dark brown, slightly irregular in shape in a way that made me want to trace my finger around them.

I smiled, soaking in her nudity, the signalling of her complete submission and vulnerability as I sat fully clothed. She studied her body herself for a moment, running her hands over her breasts, her waist, her hips as she looked down upon her form. I watched her move, lithe and rhythmic, her hips tilting and her breasts showing supple resilience as her hands passed over them.