Sunday night, its black outside, raining heavily, water streaming down my office windows, and a wind blowing. The orange glow from the street lights reflecting off the water lying in the road. I am at the office catching up on a few emails, trying to get ahead, ready for another busy week. I leave my desk for yet another cup of tea and there is an email from Alt.com. Not really what I wanted at that moment in time, but as always I am keen to see who it is from.
A lady from Weymouth, by the name of Millie. Three pictures of a very shapely and beautiful body, complete with long dark hair and a glowing smile. I always go a lot on the pictures; they tell a huge amount about someone and how they feel about themselves. A short message – can I see you, are you busy, how about tonight ? I like people who are straight and to the point, but from someone I had not even meet before, this was a little out of the ordinary for me.
I messaged back, instructing her to meet me in the village square, outside the local pub. I gave her directions and agreed 8pm. I waited. And I waited. I texted her again, she was delayed but on her way. 9pm. She was caught up in an accident and her road was blocked. 10pm, she was still on her way. 11pm and I gave up, disappointed but not altogether surprised. I went home in the knowledge that I had perhaps done more hours in the office than I had originally planned.
I forgot all about her during the course of the busy week until she messaged me again, with the same plan, that we should meet up that very same evening. I went along with her suggestions and was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. More texts backwards & forwards, she was delayed etc etc. More unexpected hours at the office; the evening quickly went - luckily I really enjoy what I do, so this was not a huge problem and in addition I was bemused by the thought that a very attractive women should chose me for her misplaced antics.
Another week, another dollar. The next Sunday night I was collapsed on the sofa at home reading the Sunday Times and guess what, another text message, she was on her way to the village square and could she meet me as previously arranged. By this time I was a little bored with her to be honest and texted my reply along the lines that I thought she was not for real. I dozed off and another text message woke me up. She was at the square and she described some landmarks so I knew she was there this time. Couldn’t believe it – my heart rate quickened as I jumped in the car, then I thought no, no, she had perhaps Googled the village and had seen pictures online of the square, so may be, may be, just another waste of time. Maybe she was in fact a clever girl, one step ahead of me, yet again. I had no wish to relive the feelings of disappointment when I found her not coming for a third time ( twice was bad enough).
I drove into the village and sure enough there was a new dark blue 3 series BMW with headlights on. I drove past her car, wandering what to do.
I parked up, strolled to the pub and thought a moment. Just perhaps, may be this was her. I walked over to her car, tapped on the window, and sure enough it was her.
We had a drink in the pub; she was more nervous than me, trying to conceal her fishnet tights and leather skirt under her red long coat, clutching her black handbag. We talked, we smiled, we rationalized, we laughed; I just could not figure her out. I was wary and unsure about her motives and her reasons for suddenly seeing me when previously she had obviously not been serious about her intentions. But the more we talked, the more I understood her and her personality. She seemed genuine.
We agreed a plan of action and she followed my car back to my office, just some three miles away; the heating was off, it was cold and uninviting. We jointly signed an agreement about what we were to do and so the stage was set.
She sat nervously on my large leather office chair and slowly removed her clothes; we made small talk and I caressed her and then massaged her fine physique. I removed her shoes and massaged her feet. Her breasts in particular were very rounded and full, and with great pleasure she confirmed they were real & very sensitive. She closed her eyes and held the arms of the chair firmly as I rubbed her over with oil and toyed with her nipples.
After a short moment she indicated she was ready; I took some cuffs from my bag and started to secure her to the chair by her wrists and ankles. She was helpless and her freedom was gone. I had won. This lady who had tried to elude me was now mine. She had failed. She had given in to me.
I just don’t understand what it is about collars and necks; she was beautiful but as I placed a large leather collar around her neck and fastened it she became transformed into a new person, a pretty slave, a helpless vulnerable female. But there is nothing pretty or beautiful or glamorous about leather straps and bondage equipment – its whole feeling is that of danger and darkness.
She moaned and whimpered as I continued to arouse her. I took out a vibrator and she started to strain against her straps as I played with her. Her back arched away from the chair. I lost track of time and I am never one to rush a lady who is in the course of being sexually aroused.
I released her from the bonds holding her on the chair and she knelt before me on her knees. I attached her cuffs together behind her back with another strap from her wrists up to her collar. Her eyes remained tightly shut.
I knelt before her and I placed the vibrator in her vagina and slowly, gently forced it upwards; her response grew ever louder and her body began to tense. She began to struggle but I held her securely around her chest with my left arm; she tried in vain to escape from me but I just held her even tighter and tighter, both around her body and from underneath.
Ladies vocalize very differently when they orgasm, with a variety of different sounds and expressions, sometimes well defined, loudly and clearly, sometimes very quietly and muffled, very indistinct. Millie fought and fought and resisted until the last possible moment; she tried so hard to fight the inevitable reason why she had come to see me.
After her orgasm she remained slumped in my arms, supported by me, as the sensations in her body died away. I ran my fingers through her dark hair and held her tightly. Her breathing returned to normal and her eyes opened.
She asked me what I got personally from doing what we had just done. The answer to that is that I am not totally sure, which may seem strange; but to have beautiful women in my arms securely bound in straps and erotically aroused is just a dream come true. But further than that I just love going in public places with ladies interested in bdsm, especially when they are wearing leather skirts and fishnet tights.
I hope to see Millie again very soon.
12.02.08