"I've never done that before, will it hurt?" she asked, sleepy eyed. We hadn't seen each other in over a month, we'd been kissing and had shed most of our clothes. The atmosphere was heavy with lust, it seemed like a good time to ask.
"I don't know, beautiful, I've never done it either. If it does, we'll stop," I answered. I appraised her mood, then added, "It might just be fantastic."
It started out as one of the worst dates I'd ever had.
He was good looking enough, to be sure... tall, blonde, and decent muscles showed through the nice suit.
And he had money. Designer sunglasses hid his emerald eyes while he drove, and when he laid them down; it was on the dash of a beautiful blue Ferrari convertible.
But his arrogance was overwhelming.
There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to stop and say to herself, "Where am I now? Where am I going? How did I get here?" And then there are times that those are pretty darn dumb questions. Where am I now? I'm bent over the leading edge of a table. My hands are tied together and the nylon stocking used for that is looped over something on the far side. My stocking toes are barely able to touch the floor and I'm quite stretched out with my bottom in the air.
Sunlight in my eyes, burning through the eyelids, hot on the rest of my body, bad case of cotton-mouth, and an overwhelming need to take that nice long first leak of the day. Not the best way to wake up in the world, but not bad by any means.
Last night came back slowly, and I recalled I was on the deck where I had curled up with a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream as the party wound down.
I met Kimmy when I was doing a consulting job for a downtown charitable organization. She had been assigned to be my assistant and go-to girl in case I needed her, but to be honest I rarely did. She was a pretty girl, blonde hair and startling doe-eyes. She was also a big girl, not an ounce of fat on her, I doubt, but farm-girl stocky with a broad ass and big, full breasts. She wore tight jeans and low cut tops that showed off her generous cleavage.
“I’m coming over,” I tell you, purring into the phone. “I’ve done a little shopping. Be ready for me when I get there.”
“What did you buy?” you ask me eagerly, “And what do you mean by ‘ready’?”
I laugh, not cruelly but coolly enough that I don’t reveal that I am nearly as excited as you. “Patience. Some new toys for us to play with. You’ll see when I get there.
“This is what I was telling you about.” My eyes opened wide as Adrienne handed me a magazine with her finger pointing to a picture of a black leather collar with chains attached to bind the users hands up around their neck.
“I’m completely shocked,” I confessed. “I would NEVER have guessed you were into that sort of thing.” Adrienne smiled, a pink hue staining her cheeks in admission.
She took one last look around the room making sure everything was ready. A bottle of wine was chilling on the counter top and the candles were lit, long red tapers, just as he requested. A light mix of Jazz and Blues was playing softly on the radio. Taking a deep breath she positioned the straight-backed chair facing the door, put her blindfold in place and sat down to wait.
Thursday August 14th started like any other day. My morning commute to work was uneventful, and the day itself was slow. My job as a financial analyst in mid-town Manhattan keeps me pretty busy, arriving early and usually leaving late. Most days I do not get to leave until 7:00 pm or so, but this day turned out differently.
"There," she thought, admiring herself in the mirror. A cross stood out proudly on her chest, executed in black, cloth tape, the arms of the adhesive crucifix covering much of her breasts, the rest extending down her sternum to her belly. She adjusted her Catholic-school skirt, and reached for the makeshift headpiece with which she completed her revealing nun's habit.