Even though they didn’t know each other long, it was like old friends. His fingertip traced the edge of her nipple, his lips sliding down her neck and catching in her hair.

When even the heat of their kiss couldn’t keep out the Vermont cold, he came inside. The kitchen was a merry mess, vegetables everywhere. He wanted to sit her right up on the maple table and kiss all night. Instead, he gazed up at the wall - littered with photos of catering past and present. A profusion of colors and textures. He started pulling out some tools and stuff from his bag, introducing her to some new liquid latex colors as he went, and sprinkling some stardust in her hair. How he wanted to train her, to feel her cheek resting against his leg, hardwood floors cool against her calves. He knew she wanted it too, her eyes had that slightly veiled look, a seasoning of submission.

Instead, they went for a walk. The breeze from the bike path cut through quickly, and his hands slid under her coat to keep warm. Some places never, never get cold. They talked, about the cold, about dinner, and, of course about her training. When they got to the rock from the story she’d sent him last week, he sat her up facing him and the water. He stood close to her, stroking her hair, blocking her from the cruel wind. He asked her softly if she was ready to be trained, if she understood all it entailed. She nodded, and even in the dark he could see her tremble a little. Standing even closer, he pulled up her blouse, freeing her breasts to bounce in the air. Nipples like little rocks under his thumb, and he pressed his lips into the steam rising. A little tremble went through her, from her cold feet up to her fingers threaded in his hair, and then between them into him. In another moment, with another quick kiss to her forehead, he lead her home.

By the time the were back, her usual high spirits had returned en force, and they ate dinner with anticipation. Again, he backed her up to that [oh so lovely] maple table, pulling her black top off. It had a low V neck, and buttons down the front. The soft material peeled off like a ripe mango, revealing her black sports bra. Running his fingers over her, he told her to get the white bra - the one that would become “Breasts From Heaven”. He followed her into the bedroom, noticing how her short skirt swung as she walked. Ah, how he wanted to bend her over and hear her beg for mercy. It would wait. At the closet she pulled the black off, and he saw the tantalizing swing of her breasts even as she turned in false modesty. He couldn’t resist, and slid his arms around her from behind - his hands barely able to cup her lusciousness. Heavy and warm, nipples still tingling from the walk. Her bottom wriggled against his hardness, even as he pulled some string from his pocket and tied it around her nipples to keep them hard. Then he helped her on with the white which was so generous with her cleavage, and lead her to the bed.

Spreading out an old sheet to protect the comforter, he lay out the latex colors. He began to paint her bra in black, purple, stardust. After a bit, he put her on her hands and knees to dry. He told her to stay still, not to move no matter what he did. With a quick kiss to her upturned cheek, he pulled out his other bag, the one with some toys he hadn’t shown her yet. Reaching in, he found the leather he was seeking and pulled it out...