The Itch

It had been too long for Dan. He could almost pin-point the date. His first date with Christy, eight years ago.

In the years before he met Christy, his sex life had been great. He floated between a handful of partners. Each with voracious appetites and compatible kinks, but none were great life partners. One was married. Two others only wanted something transitory while they were finishing up their graduate programs, and Dan was getting his legal practice going.

So much had been right since then. In almost every aspect the relationship with Christy was great. She was loving and supportive. They had so many common interests. So little tension and drama.

But the sex was never great. It started out fine, as far as vanilla sex goes. She was an eager partner. Loved to give oral. Was almost always in the mood. But Dan had a kinky side. Christy adamantly did not.

A couple of dates in, they were watching a movie with a scene that showed a little light bondage. She made it clear that she had no interest in anything like that. Still there was enough good even at that early stage to continue with the relationship. Who knew. As they spent time together maybe she would open up.

As the years went by though, and they crossed from their 40s into their 50s it got worse, not better. Her drive declined as his stayed the same. She had never been great at flirtation and seduction. After they moved in together, she stopped trying at all. Any hint at kink was shut down forcefully.

They went from three to four times a week with some spontaneity to a semi-scheduled Sunday afternoon rendezvous.

Christy refused all of Dan's efforts to inject excitement. She never wore anything sexy. She only dressed up, put on makeup or styled her hair if they were going out with another couple. Never to look attractive for him. She made jokes if Dan tried to light a candle or put on some mood music.

After a while, Dan started looking outside the relationship. For years, indulging in online fantasies was enough. But eventually it wasn't. He knew he didn't want the complications of a relationship. But he needed real human contact.

Years before he met Christy Dan had seen some providers. Not often, and not many. Four times with three women. It had been a mixed bag. Good enough to try again, but it was only worth the risk and investment if it genuinely felt right.

Every now and then, Dan would look at websites to see if anyone interested him. A few times he saw an ad that piqued his interest, but there was always something missing.

A month before his 51st birthday, Christy was planning a week-long trip, he looked again. He saw it. The ad that made him dig deeper. Tasteful photos drew him in. Gorgeous long locks of hair, impossibly etched abs, perfect lips, perky round breasts, and athletic legs go a long way.

Two things pushed him over the edge. First, she was "kink friendly" and mentioned her experience as a dom. Second, she loved wine and they had similar tastes. One of her favorite varietals was tattooed on his shoulder. Dan decided he had to try. It had been too long. He set up a meeting for the day after Christy left on her trip.

As he drove home from the airport after dropping Christy off, Dan's mind strayed to what he hoped the next night would bring. Dan loved to be objectified. Not degraded, but prized by a dominant woman who appreciated what he has to offer.

Dan kept thinking of what he hoped would happen. What he hadn't experienced since he hedonistic days before meeting Christy. He prayed she would be skilled at mixing pleasure with pain. He wondered. Would she appreciate the physique he worked to craft in the gym even as she left her mark all over it?

When he went down to his cellar and selected the perfectly aged bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape to give with his donation he thought about all the sensations he had missed. The smell of a lightly perfumed body. Slapping, squeezing, scratching, and biting in his most sensitive places salved by tender strokes, licks, and kisses.

Waiting for her text, more thoughts ran through his mind. A high heel pushing into his back when his oral ministrations were pleasing. The sweet sound of laughter at his pain. The thrill of being told to delay his gratification for her pleasure. Being used her personal living toy.

He only hoped he could find the right words to tell her what he needed. A way to express his needs without scripting their time together, or breaking her prohibition on being too explicit. So, he wrote this. Praying it would tell her enough about the itch he needed to scratch.