Imagine and Wait

[Furlynx]

I really never questioned why - but I recognized early on that men and boys and even some females are aroused at the sight of even a hint of a girl's breast. At around puberty I was quite embarrassed when I was aware that some guy was noticing my development. My attitude soon changed when a female relative related to me that mother nature invented "boobs" to give women power over men and, at that time in my young life - power over boys. I also came to realize that when I knew guys were ogling me that I experienced noticeable sexual feelings (warm flushes below and definite nipple tingles. So, from those early days to the present, I have not had any problem exercising my girl power with enticing displays of my special weapons. My clothing choices were always as provocative as the law would allow and I became adept at allowing for accidental peeks on more than a few occasions. Also, as my evolution progressed, my vulva (soon to be referred to as pussy or cunt) developed the most luxurious coat of auburn fur, the edges of which often sneaked outside the sides of my bikini swimsuits. Boys seemed to think that was cool as their swim trunks sometimes became noticeably fuller. To this day, I have maintained a full bush, discreetly trimmed and coifed.
In college, and especially during my fun years following, my "tits" were quite available to any guy I fancied, which made me easily eligible for a second or third date. My useful enjoyment of being popular (and "used" so to speak) probably affected my personality as well as my psyche, and eventually led to my great erotic love of bdsm. At the ripe age of 28, I hooked up with a man who literally "flew me to the moon" by way of a figurative dungeon and medieval torture rack, chains and rope, clamps and probes, ointments and lubricants, fire and ice - and most of all a soaring searing sex-obsessed imagination.

I am told you should write what you know. This is the first part of my personal story describing as best I can the exquisite joy and anxious portent of anticipation. If this introduction passes the censors (?) filter, I will continue my tale as time allows.

 

[Online_Ratt]

Sounds wonderful, @Furlynx — I look forward to reading more!

 

[Furlynx]

Part 2 - I guess.
We met by chance in the closet. That is what they called the supplies room at the ad agency where I was working temporarily and, as I found out later, he was employed as a copywriter in another area of the building. I was collecting some folders for my boss when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Startled, I stepped back too quickly and almost lost my balance. Seeing my unsteadiness, he reached out and grabbed my wrist to prevent my fall. He only held on for a few fleeting seconds but the sheer strength of his grip was amazing. In the embarrassment of my clumsiness, I literally ran from the room and quickly darted into the ladies bathroom next door to compose myself. When I emerged, he was nowhere to be seen and I returned to my desk. It was only later that I noticed the light bruise on my wrist where he had caught my fall and I remembered the iron grip from his hand. I hadn’t really noticed much more about his physical appearance – only that he was tall and, while not especially handsome , he wasn’t anyone I would run from. I figured that, in time, I would probably find out more about him and maybe get to know more about him.

A temp job can be boring, but midmorning the next day I made a routine trip to that same storage closet and found him rummaging for some ink cartridges. This time I startled him. Of course he didn’t stumble and gave me a smile that could light up a ballroom. He asked if I was okay after yesterday and told me he had come looking for me to no avail. This time I got a much closer look at him and decided he was actually handsome in a certain way, a bit craggy in the face but absolutely shining eyes with a hint of mischievousness. He seemed to be happy about what he was seeing also – his approving gaze naturally triggering the old warm flush between my legs and definitely the tingling nips. So, his face was interesting and I noted he was put together in a way that showed he seriously kept himself in shape. And his hands were huge and not sporting any sort of ring, wedding band or not. Now he spotted the bruise on my wrist which has progressed to a darker hue overnight and grabbed my hand to inspect the injury. Damn, his touch was unbelievable and I literally felt faint (do damsels still swoon?) Honestly, my entire body reacted almost like he had put his stiff cock in my hand. He didn’t seem to notice my reaction and we parted with his suggestion that he owed me a coffee or even dinner to make up for “seriously’ injuring my “beautiful” wrist. Later in the day, I find myself day musing about impressing him with my oral skills. Those were the days when I was quite footloose and free and terribly fucking needy in the fucking need of a fuck (or more). That night, my evolving dreams could possibly have trashed the porn industry.



Nothing! Nada! Oblivion! WTF! Two days went by. Not a word. Not a trace. Expectation had prompted me to dress to entice as I had learned was helpful years before. I was sure he would be aware that I had fun tits – and damned good nipples. Women’s weapons. At the end of the second day I gathered my deflated pride and went looking for Mr. two-face in the far end of the building. I did not find him but one of the secretaries told me that he had been suddenly sent to Chicago two days prior and would be returning the next day if his flight was not cancelled or delayed. (snowstorms) . He had told me his name was Joe but his co-workers knew him as Len. Turns out his name was Joyce Leonardo Howell and he used both Jo and Len as he saw fit. I began to understand that look of mischief in his beautiful eyes. But, what relief! At least I could continue my fantasy whether anything came of it or not . My feeling was that I was definitely in lust with him.

 

[Furlynx]

I deliberately let him come to tell me he was back – testing, testing. To my relief, he cleared that hurdle very soon after he arrived at work. His opener was “Can you give me a hand in the closet” loud enough for others to hear. I’m sure eyebrows were raised as I followed him puppy-like from the room and we were both laughing at the supposed impropriety. Now inviting me to call him Len, he asserted he did not owe me any explanation for his “distance” the last few days – for God’s sake, we had just barely met and our only real connection was my bruised wrist (now healed) . If we needed to resolve any issue, sharing a drink after work would provide a proper opportunity.

I guess this is where my real story begins. I believe we almost overdid our drink date with bold teasing and even bolder (deliberately experimental and seemingly accidental) touching which both of us knew guaranteed another longer and improved date – and probably more.

And what a grand beginning! Cocktails, dinner and dancing on the riverboat restaurant with no committed plan for the remainder of the night. I do not recall exactly what I expected might occur but I made damn sure I was prepared for anything and everything. My description here will give you some sense of the highly exultant frame of mind I was in. I wasn’t even really sure that sex was any part of the agenda, but nothing was overlooked. Several showers, shampoo, touchup shaving, shaping and brushing on the outside – deep internal flushing on the inside – even a warm-water enema just in case. Toes and fingernails, neutral body lotion and lightly flavored nipple balm completed the job. Ready? Even with such meticulous prep, a serious drink and relaxing visit with my good friend Mary Jane. Was needed – and heeded.

 

[Migoz2]

An interesting start.

 

[wulf]

Enjoyed reading this so far. It's also really nice to meet a woman who refers to her breasts as to what they really are..... weapons.

 

[Furlynx]

Exactly on time – Len arrived in that fashionable five-minute window of the time we had agreed on. Beside his promptness, he also honored the time-tested tradition of flowers to be accepted with feigned surprise and properly vased. I was not at all displeased but some part of me was concerned about the unexpected formality. After the flowers had been dealt with, Len said he needed to retrieve a forgotten item from his car and, with his captivating smile , begged my patience. Returning in only a couple of minutes, he presented me with a small flat gift box which he had obviously wrapped himself. When I suggested it was candy or jewelry, he just said it was something he hoped I would like. Because of that characteristic touch of mischief in his smile, I had a fleeting thought that he might be attempting a practical joke even though this was actually our very first date.

Unwrapped and revealed, it was a soft, suede-like choker, not unlike what I had lately seen and admired on several other women . Ignoring my look of surprise or shock, Len simply took the chocker and fit it around my neck, securing the small nearly invisible lock. I am rather slender and tallish but it was fairly snug on my neck and somehow gave me a feeling of security like a child getting a warm hug from dad. It was when I checked it out in my makeup mirror that I noticed the four rings, resembling silver decorations, subtly imbedded in the soft leather-like material. Then was a small satori moment as I recalled seeing something similar in a private video I had once borrowed from a girlfriend. The choker (or whatever it was called) reasonably matched my attire and actually made me feel sexy, so I kept it on – and I knew it would be a topic of conversation at dinner.

The restaurant was delightful and the food was wonderful , but then, I had not been able to afford such an upscale eating experience in a long time. The music really fit my mood as well and the two bottles of wine helped that mood I am sure. The place had a fair sized dance floor that we put to use between courses. Len was an adequate dancer ( I’m so critical) and I liked how he kept pulling me closer as each dance progressed. I couldn’t help remembering that we used to call that vertical fucking when we were high school age. For my part, I was delightfully aware that my close contact with Len obviously made him feel “swell” if you know what I mean. I am also sure he knew I was also enjoying that opportunity to assess the potential quality of our inevitable merger. Perhaps quantity would be more accurate.

Throughout the evening, I was conscious of Len starring at me intently and several times we locked eyes like two magnets unable to separate. It was obvious he was mostly looking at the neckpiece which prompted me to ask why he chose such an unusual gift, especially since we had only known each other for a short time. He said he loved to see accessories like that on beautiful women and hoped I would come to love it as well. He said he believed it an apt symbol of the natural relationship between a man and his woman (his woman being an odd Freudian slip) . I had to play a bit of a game to keep him on the subject so it was only after I teased him that his first name Joyce was a girl’s name , that he got back to his usual (I think) cheerful banter. He declared that Joyce, like Shirley, was actually a male name stolen by unscrupulous women. Then he lapsed into an explanation that the rings on, what he now called a collar, were situated to accommodate attachments that he and his club members – and their wives or girlfriends, also found exciting. I had to admit I was fascinated and definitely curious. Did I mention before that I was at that uncertain needy age? The rest of the evening was a long conversation about his childhood and youthful experiences, his club membership, his friends, and his favorite hobby. An early work commitment the next day prevented any activity beyond a bit of manual exploration (I was extremely excited about my discovery) and, of course, a good bit of kissing. My anticipation for the near future was off the charts.

 

[Didymos]

The personal tone makes this story very exciting! Now I'm really curious!

he presented me with a small flat gift box which he had obviously wrapped himself.

And this subtle female subtext above all...!

 

[Furlynx]

As first dates go, that one was great – a classic in fact. A no-rush and relaxed encounter that allowed us to get past any initial awkwardness and decide mutually what the next step might be. When we parted that night, I had little doubt that I wanted to continue with Len – my newfound friend and one I felt would very soon be “with privileges” . Len’s smile was still there the next day at work and may have been contagious as several of the girls commented on mine. Other than perhaps a lunch date, our next adventure was set for Friday night - an early dinner and then just wing it from there. Len did rather strongly hint that that there was some friends he wanted me to meet but that would probably wait until the next (3rd date) time.

Needless to say, my mind this week was dominated by day with sensual thoughts and my dreams at night by pure shameless lust. I believe I mentioned before that I was in a prurient mindset as of late. I have never been a goody two-shoes nor have I ever earned a loose reputation, but I did know how to tease the boys a bit when I was younger which may have justified some sort of name. Luckily, I survived intact. After my homelife emancipation (college) I was quite a fast learner, happily discovering that there was a much better alternative to my trusty toys to cure boredom or settle nerves, although, due to their never-fail quality, my “little boys” still enjoy regular visits. Memories from that period of my life, rife with parties and hormones, was absolutely essential to my well-being today, physically, mentally and sexually. Even spiritually, if satisfaction is a religious tenet. Now I was hoping that Len would learn how much I appreciate a giving/taking healthy and imaginative partner. And, from our touchy- feely first date, I fully expect that my prize will be a big thing (smiley face here).

Friday dawns! Schoolgirl butterflies all day long. A complete repeat of my thorough preparation for my first date - perhaps even more since odds are high that tonight will be our cumming out debut. One can hope! At one point during the day , I thought about my deceased father and what he might have thought about my strong desire to get laid. But then I recalled how happy he seemed to make my mother and how they would disappear into their bedroom at seemingly odd times. Today in my mind, I was like “hi Dad, I love you”.

Once again, the man with the beautiful smile was at my door right on time. No flowers this time but a bottle of good brandy that he says we can enjoy “later”. Len had asked me to wear my collar but I had already anticipated that and had coordinated my outfit – at least color-wise. For some reason, the collar seemed more intimate to me now that I had a sense of its meaning to Len. I also knew now that he had no qualms with the appropriate use of pot so we relaxed, as I did before, with a glass of wine and a joint which, surprise surprise, he rolled himself . My guy? Lordy, I hope!

I was fairly certain that one day we would likely have a bad day, a bad word, perhaps a grand falling-out. But not tonight . Dinner was wonderful again but no dancing this time. Great conversation, considerable humor and even some trivial teasing. Footsie, I swear, and this night he seemed to be staring at my chest area – my boobs. I wanted to tell him “baby, they’re all yours. I know you will treat them well”. I also discovered that my warm puss and tingly nips reaction was alive and well. Emotionally, I don’t believe I was ever more vulnerable and I truly did not give a rat’s ass.

 

[Furlynx]

Does anyone recall that quite a bit earlier in my telling of this personal life event, I made an admission, a confession of sort, that I had developed a significant bond with BDSM? I did in fact state that the circumstances of a developing relationship with a man (developing relationship = hookup) led me to a “great erotic love of BDSM”. Of course, now you know that Len was that man. But, as I continue my story, I hope that you will understand that, to me, all of the various definitions of BDSM and all of the ways that it is used to satisfy prurient needs or desires or curiosity, or its ability to distract from supposed or real inadequacies or to simply rescue a libido from boredom are nothing more than common and therefore simplistic explanations of those four letters – that I do not accept. Nevertheless, BDSM is the only verbal box that can come even close to containing the acute, almost transcendent self-consciousness that consumes me – generally during prolonged sexual activity but on rare occasion, triggered by some event not even related to sex. Confused? Perhaps it will help if I just continue my memory trip.

Making no set plan for what we would do after dinner had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that we were done, we needed to decide – something – together – for the rest of the evening. So, what did we agree on? We were not kids. 30 year old Len and 28 year old Lynda (may I introduce myself here) knew exactly what they wanted to do – the only decision was his place, my place or hotel with room service. I recall cleverly attempting to put him on the spot, suggesting that since he had already been to my apartment twice, maybe he owed me a peek at his. Again, that captivating smile as he called me out for deliberately trying to embarrass him and then declared that he had accurately guessed that they would probably end up there tonight and had straightened things up a bit beforehand – ha ha. He had a house, not apartment, 45 minute drive away, with spare bedroom, so I could stay overnight and save the late late trip home. Saturday morning breakfast would be the prize. I don’t believe I could make a case with you, dear reader, for saying no to a situation with Len that I had already dreamed about – and was also fully prepared with my toothbrush in my clutch.

 

[Furlynx]

When growing up in the late 60’s and early 70’s, most kids listened to parents at least a portion of the time and lessons related to relationships and (heaven forbid) sex were almost always rife with utmost caution. Initially it was about predators luring and lurking, and just a few years later the specter of burgeoning teen hormones was often countered with dire predictions and dreadful consequences. The takeaway message was invariably - boys were boys and girls were prey. My youthful experience was not much different than that except that the laughable birds and bees type euphemisms my parents employed did little more than increase my curiosity. And I had several close girlfriends to share “truths” with so, it was not a great leap before we girls discovered that it was very possible for the “prey” to be in charge.

Reminiscing today as I cling desperately to my 50’s, I realize that my sex life beyond high school was essentially just a game to me. If a guy thought he was in charge of things, it was because I “allowed” him to think that way. Some sex was quite good and some was ordinarily okay. I never entertained any resentment that men can always get off while I sometimes had to use all my Hollywood skills to make him feel adequately sure of his prowess. I only got caught faking it once – the asshole was secretly taping us and the playback definitely gave me away. My point is that regular sex on my own terms was a pretty good part of my life – but I was to learn that sex as an overwhelming physiological dominance could never have been imagined – until Len arrived in my life.

The drive to Len’s house took exactly the 45 minutes he had predicted. Most of the distance was through a semi-remote area with very few houses and no occupied commercial areas. Our conversation was normal with Len telling me about acquiring his house, complete with the remnants of a mortgage, as a bequeath in his great-aunt’s will. But then curiously, as we were driving through the darkest part of the route, and totally out of the blue, Len asked me “have you ever been raped?” Nothing in our conversation led into that shocking question and I was so rattled by it that I nearly peed myself. Not totally composed, I stammered “no I haven’t – what makes you ask such a thing?” “Oh, it just popped into my head” was his reply. About half a mile later, he stopped at a stop sign and then proceeded on. Now our conversation was about how drivers, especially Americans, will dutifully come to a full stop at a stop sign in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night when there is obviously no traffic anywhere close – weird! Stranger yet was another question from Len a quarter mile farther. “Do you know anyone who has been raped?” Yikes! WTF? “I had a girlfriend who once claimed she was, but I am pretty sure she was just letting her liquor talk because her second claim was that she didn’t know who raped her”. I thought that bit of humor would end the topic, but Len came up with another doozy. “Have you ever wondered what being raped would feel like?” Can this be serious discourse? “Everything I have read about rape victims and my gut feeling is that being raped is psychologically devastating. Could we maybe drop the rape subject for a while”. “Sure, we’re almost to the house. And, I know about the psycho part, I was really just curious what you think it would feel like PHYSICALLY”.

 

[Furlynx]

Len was very proud of his house. Not all that big but large enough and nicely furnished. It obviously had been built many years ago and Len said that official records had been destroyed when the town hall burned down but most of the houses in that tract were constructed in 1946 – just after the war. It was nicely laid out and of course I got the full tour. Then finally it was relaxing time aka wine time. We had a good laugh when I said “if I am staying over, I should put my stuff away” meaning my trusty toothbrush. I then accepted his offer of brand new pajamas which he had there “for emergencies like tonight”. Len did seem quite relaxed - and even more so after another glass of wine, but I was still a bit shaken from all those creepy rape questions in the car. Other than that, I was really quite excited with our situation and so aware he would probably be fucking my brains out very very soon. I readily admit that my plan was to just lie back and take it all in (pun intended). I really liked this guy and was rather amazed we had even held out this long (two weeks – hardly a world record). It now felt very much like a staged affair .

I am a druggie. Marijuana of course. Not an addict. I have used and enjoyed pot literally all my life. We rebels blatantly snubbd our noses at the total lack of legality during our school years. It was a bit hard to find any weed back then but easy-peesie today, even in this backward not-yet-rec-legal state. Not surprisingly, Len magically produced his “home-alone” stash and, like he had done at my apartment, demonstrated his awesome pot-rolling skill. Sharing a joint is often the perfect ice-breaker – and it worked perfectly for us. Sharing a shower soon followed.

As if on cue, and simultaneously, Len and I arrived at the same conclusion. We needed to get naked – simple as that. Len had a full-length mirror in his bedroom and he wanted me to undress in front of the mirror with him assisting me. I recall that the idea actually excited me because I had long recognized that many aspects of a woman’s body gave a woman power over men but, under most circumstances, her nude body provides absolute power albeit only for a short time. So slowly but surely I undressed – one item at a time to some imagined music and strip club fanfare. Len stood behind me and “helped” me by reaching around me to fondle my breasts and abdomen while watching the erotic display reflected in the mirror. I could not ignore the constraining tightness and needless pressure of his arms encircling me. The very last item removed was the choker/collar he had given me which he carefully released. After our shower, and with a slightly forced smile, he literally commanded me to secure it around my neck again. Finally, in part two of our mutual strip, I emulated his arms-around trick, fondling his chest, belly (no six-pack) and quickly responding manhood – happily enjoying my first full view of the bare-assed stud I owned. My overall impression was how unusually heavy his semi-hard cock was (extreme smiley face here).

The sex was good. Not exactly classic love-making per se, but slow and deliberate fucking, mostly exploratory tactile and oral contact and some ominous one-way disquieting discourse. Nevertheless, despite an induced unease from Len’s shocking words and tone, I did have moments of appreciable enjoyment and ultimately, sufficient gratification. The actual event would likely have earned a C+ or B- in Formidable Fucking 101. My satisfaction primarily stemmed from feeling and hearing Len’s intense physical explosion and discovering his ability to maintain much of his erection afterwards. Thoroughly enjoying his beautiful mother-naked body was another plus for me. Lean and semi-muscular with just the right amount of male pattern hair framing his cock and adorning his chest, underarms, long legs and a sexy little furry patch on his backside just above his model butt. His penis was very nice – mushroom head, just a little bit longer than average and quite a bit larger than normal in girth (I admit I am not really certified to dispense official ratings). All-in all, it did feel good in my mouth and hand, and of course my pussy. (Len’s favorite descriptions seems to be cunt and fuck-hole, when he’s in hump mode). What did not get satisfied at all was my growing curiosity and concern about what seemed to be Len’s predilections to ambiguously threatening words and forceful physical manipulation which occurred a number of times. I have already related the strange - even bizarre rape queries on the way here, and more of that impulsive verbal shock-talk and now heavy -handed behavior continued, sporadically, without provocation and without warning.