As I swiveled my barstool around, getting a quick 360 of the
clientele, I realized there was a woman sitting next to me. A good-
looking brunette in a well tailored business suit. And unless I was
very much mistaken, she had been giving me the eye.

I turned around, and she was there all right, looking at me with
an expression I couldn’t quite fathom. “Rough day?,” she asked, and
I relaxed and moved into the “office work” routine with half my mind
while the other half tried to figure what she was looking for. She
was friendly enough, and I tuned back into our discussion just in
time to hear myself recommend a little Chinese place for dinner.

We ate at Yank Soo’s in one of the booths overlooking the river.
Separate checks, of course., She told me about life in the field of
accounting and how hard it was for a woman to get ahead in a male-
dominated area. We talked about college and career, and found a
mutual interest in old jazz. Turns out she had some early Blue Note
disks I had been looking for for years, so I asked about taping them
for my collection and she invited me to come over and give them a
listen first.

Her “little place” was a Victorian brownstone in one of the more
expensive neighborhoods. I pulled into the second bay of the two-car
garage since it looked like rain. She showed me into the music room
as she went to fix something to drink. I was impressed – her jazz
collection was something incredible, from rare Bird to just about
every Monk album ever released. I found the records we had discussed
and put one on the turntable, then sat on the couch and listened.
Cool, sweet, jazz – I closed my eyes and drank in the sound. At some
point in the first track she put a drink in my hand, and I sipped as
I listened.

The first track ended, and I opened my eyes to see her beside me
on the couch. Somehow, taking her in my arms was the easiest thing
to do, and when the second track began we just naturally rose to
start dancing. Her hands drifted down to the base of my spine, and
I became aware of the points of her breasts through the silk blouse
she wore. We turned so she was dancing with her back to me, moving
her hips back into mine. I cupped her breasts, and heard her sigh
as she leaned into me. She turned around, and as our dance went
on she unbuttoned my shirt, then removed it and my jacket. Next
to go was her jacket and blouse, and we danced through the next
solo with her hands inside the back of my pants.

“Come upstairs,” she breathed, running one hand between my
legs, and I didn’t have the will to resist her. She unfastened
my pants there in the music room, leaving me in shorts alone,
took off her bra, and kissed me long and deep, my hands roaming
over her back and down farther. She led me up the stairs, one
hand in my shorts, and opened the door to her bedroom. There was
a large bed there, a music system equal to the one downstairs,
and a low metal Sixties-style bench with a fur seat by a curtained
wall. She asked me to sit on the bench, and as the music from
downstairs continued, used her own fingers to bring her nipples
into proud erection. “Kiss me,” she said, offering a ripe tit,
and I copperated, drawing it into my mouth with lips and tongue.
“Harder,” she moaned, and I used my teeth and tongue, feeling it
become stiff and swollen. She pulled away, then offered the other
breast for the same treatment. Shen she pulled away this time,
her face – indeed her whole upper body – was flushed. She beckoned
with one finger, and I came to her to slip her skirt off, revealing
a black pair of crotchless panties. I slipped a finger between her
thighs, finding that she was already warm and wet.

She asked me to turn around, so I did so, facing the bench and
wall as she draged my shorts down, my penis spring free to smack
audibly against my belly. I felt her hands move down my legs, and
then a clicking sound. I looked down to realize that she had just
fastened a set of fur-lined cuffs around my ankles and snapped them
to the bottom legs of the bench. She pushed me forward, and as I
fell she grabbed one arm, then the other, fastening them similarly
to the other end. I began to appreciate the design of the bench
in a different light now. The seat of the bench ran from just
below my neck to just above my waist, then the bench legs went out
at an angle, leaving me open to the air from the belly button to
mid-thigh. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I could still
smell her private aroma, and that maintained my flagging erection.

She slid a footstool beneath my chin, lifting my head so I could
see the slit in her panties and smell the juices that were already
gathered there. As she slid forward, I stretched my tongue out to
meet her, finding her hot and wet inside. She gripped my head as
I kissed and licked, and ran trails with her nails around my ears,
the back of my neck, my armpits, each nail leaving a trace I could
feel as clearly as reading a map. I felt something toying with the
head of my penis — she had stretched her legs and gripped me with
her toes. Now she pulled slightly away from my face, and I had to
stretch my head and tongue to reach her, as she braced her hands on
my shoulders and began working me with her feet. I could not hold
off, but as I began to shoot I felt her begin her own spasms around
my tongue.

She bent her knee, bringing one foot onto the stool, her toes
between my face and her pussy. “Suck,” she commanded, and despite
some misgivings I did, mingling the acrid taste of my own fluid with
the heavy smell of her juices. She buried my face inside her pussy
again, and I licked and nibbled until she was satisfied. She arose,
moving to my nether end, and I heard a buzzing sound, then felt a
vibrator moving over my thighs, between my legs, between my cheeks.
She parted my cheeks and I felt her finger work its way into the
opening there, moving in and out until I relaxed. Then her finger
was replaced by something thicker that went in until my muscles
clamped around a narrow portion. She ran the vibrator over the end
of the plug, and the sensation was so intense, that to my surprise
I found myself becoming erect again.

She unhooked the cuffs from the bench, and helped me to stand
erect, taking me in a full body kiss, tongues fighting for space,
then sliding slowly down my body to taste and tease my nipples as
I cupped and squeezed her full breasts. Each move I made caused the
plug to wiggle, making my erection bob and jerk against her. “Poor
baby, we’ve been neglecting you,” she said, and sank to her knees
to engulf me in the moist cavern of her mouth. I closed my eyes and
stroked her fine hair as her tongue and lips worked their magic on
me, all the while her fingers were pinching, caressing and stroking
my thighs, cheeks, genitals. My breath was coming ragged as she
held me on the edge of erupting.

She pulled away, holding me in her hand as she led me to a
curtained wall, then drew the curtain aside to reveal a large metal
frame with D-rings at the corners. She backed me up and attached
my feet to the corners, spreading my legs to do so, then kissed and
licked her way up my body, finally lifting my arms and hooking their
cuffs to the top corners of the frame. By now she was riding on top
of me, rubbing her labia around my aching member, her breasts hot
against my chest.

She moved her head down to kiss and worry my nipple, then made
me gasp as she clipped something to it. She repeated the treatment
on my other nipple, then slid down and wrapped her breasts around
my erection, bring it up harder (if possible). Now she attached
some sort of clamp to the skin just below the head, with a weight
attached to the clamp. The weight magnified every movement I make.
As she stepped away from the frame, my attention wavered between the
growing pain at my nipples, the constant reminder of the anal plug,
and the self-jerking action of my cock. Her face was radiant as she
watched me quiver.

She asked me, “What would you like first?,” but I could not
give her an answer. Remove the clips? Take me into her mouth?
Unhook my arms? She chuckled at my indecision, then went to the
side of the frame, unhooked a bar, and swung the frame out, now
perpendicular to the wall. “You’ll like this, I think” she said,
scraping her nails up my ass cheeks, wiggling the plug to draw a
low moan from me. She took the weight and fastened it to the anal
plug, so every motion I made was now reflected.

I heard her step away, then I could not hear her at all. My
nipples felt on fire, and all the squirming I could manage in that
frame would not budge them. But all that movement did shake the
weight and move the plug, making my aching erection harder. Where
did she go? I began to worry how long she was going to leave me
and finally yelled “Hello? Where are you?” I got my answer as my
ass exploded in pain. Whack! Whack! She had re-entered the room
quietly and now was strapping my ass. I cried out from the shock,
her only response more laughter. Every jolt of the strap seemed
to run from the base of my ass cheeks to the head of my erection.

When she finally stopped the spanking, I thanked her in relief,
asking what she wanted from me. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?,”
she answered, “Oh, silly me, you have all these tight muscles that
need to be loosened.” She began stroking my ass, her palms cool
relief against my abused flesh. She started moving the anal plug
in and out, fucking my ass with it while the attached weight pulled
my cock up and down in return. The sensations finally overwhelmed
me, and without her ever touching my cock directly I came, long and
hard, in spasm after spasm, her fingers continuing to move until I
was slumped boneless in the frame. I barely whimpered at the pain
when she removed the clips, then released me from the frame.

Eventually I gathered the strength to get dressed – she had done
so already and had coffee brewing down in the kitchen. We shared a
cup together in silence. As I got up to leave, she said “We really
must get together again.” The thought was tempting, but thinking
of my wife, I declined. “No, I really think we must” she said more
firmly, and handed me a photograph.

I hadn’t noticed a camera at the time, but the photograph was
clearly recognizable as me, naked in the frame, nipples clipped,
face locked in a rictus of pleasure, strands of semen flying in
the air. “I have your number,” she said as I left.
I think she does.