After Midnight by Chelsea James

tensed thigh. I choked on my own sobs of pleasure as a dam burst inside me and every barrier dissolved. I came in the arms of a stranger who knew me more intimately in that moment than anyone else in my life.
    We dozed through the rest of the movie. I blamed my torpor on jet lag, but the truth was that I liked the way she held me. When the credits rolled, we straightened our clothing and left before the others. The streets were completely empty, and we walked in silence the few short blocks to my hotel. In the darkness beneath the awning, she leaned down and kissed me, the
same knowing brush of lips with which she had first greeted me.
    â€œGood night,” she said softly.
    I watched her walk away until the billowing edges of her coat became only the shifting shadows of the night. Then I turned and walked inside. It was not the Grand Hotel, and no grand passion awaited me here. But when I finally laid my head upon the crisp, white pillowcase, I felt her body next to mine, and her breath against my cheek. I closed my eyes, knowing I would not sleep alone.

WHAT SHE NEEDS
    Jac Hills
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    T he phone rings. It’s a familiar voice: “I’m in town. Come to me and bring your toy bag.”
    I dress with care. It’s important. I know what she likes, what she needs. Black silk boxers, black silk shirt, no bra, black leather trousers, and heavy black boots. I bring my toy bag as requested. I have some new toys—I know she’ll like them.
    This is not a date. There will be no predinner drinks, no meal. I arrive at the hotel and give her name at the front desk. I’m told to go right up, room 220. She opens the door. She’s dressed in a crimson silk robe. It must be hers—this hotel is far too miserly to give its guests robes of any sort, let alone silk. It clings in all the right places. My mouth waters as she walks away from me toward a small table. The sheer fabric slides across her skin, outlining her breasts and buttocks. I can tell she’s naked beneath it.
    There are two bottles of beer in an ice bucket on the table.
Clever girl. She hands me one of the bottles. No words are spoken; none are required. We sit and drink the beers. When we’ve finished them off, she stands and slips the robe slowly from her shoulders and onto the floor. She kneels beside the head of the bed, and I know it has begun. She has given me total control.
    I open my toy bag and spread its contents over the room’s other bed. I haven’t brought everything, just what I know she likes—plus my two recent acquisitions. The first: a new flogger, not leather like my other ones. This one is latex. The braids are thinner, its sting sharper—lighter and very erotic. I know: I’ve felt its blows caress my shoulders and back. That’s where I love to feel it when I switch and play the sub. But there won’t be any switching tonight. She needs a complete domme. Beside the whip I place a glass dildo, yet untried, but tonight we’ll christen it. I take three candles—special ones, not the sort your local corner store sells. I light two and place them on either side of her bed, then turn off all the lights.
    Should I order her to strip me? Or should I restrain her and give her a slow striptease? I pick up my leather restraints with the fur-lined wrist-cuffs and look at her. I can read in her eyes what she wants, but I haven’t given her permission to speak, so she’s biting her lip. I hesitate and consider giving her permission—maybe asking her what she wants—but I don’t. She really is the total sub; if I ask her anything it’ll spoil all of this for her. I don’t want that. I want this to be good for her. So instead I fasten the cuffs around her wrists and point to the bed. She climbs onto it and looks at me to see whether I want her on her back or facedown. I press her shoulders slightly so she knows to lie on her back. Then I tie the