Clothed Man, Nude Female

Clothed man, nude female.

My fantasy

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This is a very quick story in a more personal style. I hope you like it!

xxx,

Kelly

To me this kink is all about style.

A man with a suit has class, education, sophistication. He smells nice, and takes care of himself. It's not even about money. Maybe he lives in a small unassuming apartment.

In his place there is modern art on the white walls, and he listens to interesting modern jazz.

He doesn't use coarse language, has a certain way to carry himself and isn't a creep. Most importantly he doesn't dwell in all the dull stereotypes.

When I come to him he is polite and respectful.

I'm a bit of a damsel in distress. Nerdy, insecure, nervous.

He is sitting in a vintage leather armchair. The leather is creaky and next to him is a coffee table with money bills on a platter.

I'm not a prostitute at all and haven't asked for money, but the fact that he is willing to pay shows me that he values what he's doing and in a subtle way it humiliates me.

There is no place for me to sit, he just points to the floor and I awkwardly sit on the ground before him. It shows the hierarchy that is going on.

We have some small talk and he offers me a glass of wine, which is not necessarily expensive, but good. I wouldn't know about it though. I can only guess.

Eventually he makes me stand up.

"Please disrobe for me." he says in a gentle voice.

The words come out soft but they hit me like a truck.

But I want this.

With trembling fingers I slowly undress before him.

On the coffee table there is a small leather clad notebook. He opens it, unscrews a large fountain pen and starts to take notes.

I am confused.

What is he writing, I am wondering.

I have never done this and don't know how, whether I should make it sexy. But I wouldn't know how to move or dance sexily.

It is all incredibly embarrassing and humiliating to undress before him. I am so conscious of my body. I'm not a model, just a plain average simple girl. I could give a list of all my insecurities.

It is warm in his place, but I am still having goosebumps.

Finally, I am standing in front of him all nude.

"Please don't cover yourself!" he says, and I am moving my hands away from my private parts to reveal my naked body to him.

His eyes roam my body and I feel like he sucks my shame into himself. Whatever happens from here on out, he has seen me vulnerable and helpless.

He motions me to turn around, and of course I comply.

There is no privacy he leaves me, I need to show everything to him.

He tells me to bend down when my back is to him.

My heart is pounding. I am thinking of objecting, but there is something in the situation, in him, that makes me comply.

And he continues to write something.

I even acknowledge his power over me by saying softly:

"Yes, sir."

I'm bending down, exposing my back and even my anus. There is nothing more humiliating. I feel like he has seen everything, he has taken everything from me, and I am now his in some weird way.

"I would like you to kneel." He is still polite and yet impossible to resist.

Of course I comply.

"Please spread your legs a little more. I would like to see."

I know what he means, and I present my pussy to him, kneeling with my knees spread.

He takes notes, and I am intimidated, but I also find it hot that he captures my essence, if I was some object for his lust.

"Please put your hands behind your head."

I am almost glad that I have something to do with my hands, some place to put them, and it is the right place, the one that makes me most vulnerable and submissive.

He starts talking and explains to me why he makes me submit to him and what he likes about submissive girls. It is not a rant, more like a monologue in a play, actually interesting to listen to.

I am sitting there at his feet, listening, exposed in my shame and humiliation.

He knows how to push my buttons.

"Would you like to touch yourself?"

"Yes, sir!" whisper.

"Please, proceed!"

I take my arms down and timidly touch my pussy.

He adjusts his tie, tells me how to do it, and I obey.

It doesn't take much to arouse me in this situation.

My breath becomes heavy, I am getting moist, I can smell my arousal in the room, and it shames me to think that he can smell it as well.

I don't know that I want him to see all these details.

He continues to write down what he sees.

"I would like you to stop", he says, although I am so close.

"Please, sir", I whisper.

"Just a second." I am expecting him to write something, but he just waits and looks at me.

"Feel your sexual urges please. I'd like you to understand your needs and how they are controlled."

He is right.

He controls me.

My sex.

Everything.

"Please continue", he eventually says. "I won't interrupt you anymore!"

I am so relieved and grateful that I am trying my best. To masturbate, to get off, but also to give him my orgasm as a present.

I am moaning, writhing, panting, and then I climax.

At this point I am far away in my own world and forget everything about myself.

When I open my eyes, still nude, slumped down on the floor, he is still taking notes.

Suddenly my embarrassment is back. I have revealed the most private thing to him:

An orgasm.

"May I ask, what you are writing, sir?"

He doesn't reply, just looks at me, and I understand that this is not for me to ask.

I lower my eyes, mumble an apology and once again aware of my nudity.

Finally, he tells me that I may get dressed.

He observes me closely, and now post orgasm, I feel even more conscious of my nudity, embarrassed that I have shown this man in a suit these most private things.

As I get dressed my clothes don't seem to fit me any longer.

Eventually I stand before him.

He closes his notebook and hands me the money.

I hesitate to take it. I really don't want to now. I feel like if I take the money, I am really selling myself to him.

But of course, I need it. Maybe I need this final indignation, and so I take it from him.

He doesn't get up, and I am not sure that I haven't disappointed him when I leave his apartment.