Betting on the shoes - and winning

It was the shoes.
The shoes did it.
Those black spike-heeled shoes.

Of course, the shoes couldn't do it all on their own. The whole point of the shoes was to show off my extraordinary calves. The sadist is absolutely smitten with my calves - and really, they have always been very shapely. It's nice to have them appreciated.

Nearly everything was perfect.
Very close to perfect and no major catastrophes.

Although there wasn't any major tension hanging over this tryst, I think we both knew how important it was for things to go well. The last one left me shaken, the previous one was ill-advised, and the first one, though basically glorious, showed my tendency to miss details. This one was just for us. Just for him and just for us. Not tagged on to something else into which he was squeezing me.

Two things strayed from perfection.
One was my dress.
He had it in mind that I'd be wearing a Little Black Dress.
That's what he was picturing.
And I ended up in a soft green sweater dress.
A lovely dress.
Soft.
Short.
Swingy.
Embracing my tits.
Defining my hips.
Lingering above my knees.
But he was disappointed.

Next time, I'll be in black.
I've already begun the hunt.

The other flaw was that we didn't have as much time as we'd hoped. Work kept him into the afternoon on Tuesday, and he had to leave at 9 am on Wednesday. That was particularly annoying as check-out wasn't till noon. But we made the best of it.

And then there were the shoes.
And my calves.

The normal plan is for me to book the room, arrive early, prepare myself, the bed, the lights, and other details, and then wait. I text him the room number as soon as I've checked in, and then wait. I wait for him to come up to the room.

But this hotel presented a complication.
You couldn't ride the elevator up to the rooms without a key card.
You needed the card to select a floor.

The sadist wouldn't have a card.

New plan.
He texts his arrival.
I wait for him in the lobby, just inside the doors.
When I see him, I turn and walk towards the elevators.
Slowly.
Of necessity, slowly.
I'm not used to walking in any sort of heel, let alone spikes.
I feel him following me.
Watching me.
His eyes on my body.
On my butt.
On my calves.
Especially on my calves.

I know that other people are probably watching me, too. As does he. I stand out. It's a beautiful, marble lobby, but I'm the only one who looks worthy of being there. The only one nicely dressed. Casinos aren't what they used to be. Or what I imagine they used to be. I'd never been to one before. I was sort of wishing for Monte Carlo.

So I walked to the elevators
with the sadist following,
his eyes on my calves,
and his cock aimed at my butt hole.

We were off to a good start.