Linda Discovers Bondage

Linda could see I needed help processing what had just happened. I must have looked stunned. She had surprised me with a knee-buckling blowjob followed by a quick tour of her sizable collection of bondage toys and furniture. Well, only one piece of furniture.

It was a sawhorse-shaped restraint device, of dark wood and darker leather, which she had just hopped up onto. It looked out of place in this small attic bedroom, far from the dungeon it looked designed for. The enclosed air was warm and scented with our excitement.

Now she sat across from me, matter-of-fact in her nudity, her pale skin a contrast against the nearly black leather upholstery, and told me how she first discovered her love of submission.

As I had mentioned in my two prior stories about her, Linda was a returning to college student in her late 30s. A recent, rocky divorce made her seem in many ways older than her years. Especially to me, a man much younger than my 21 years.

"When my ex and I were dating he was still a pre-med student, working in his parent's furniture store in Central Michigan. I was new in town, and I had met him in at that store while I was shopping for a bed. He was careful not to say anything inappropriate about giving the bed a test run, but he didn't have to.

"I could tell he had more than a salesman's interest in me. He was charming and handsome. I bought the bed that day, but also suggested he use my phone number on the paperwork to meet for coffee sometime. We went out three times that first week. On the fourth week he was in that very bed I'd bought from him, and we were falling deeply in love.

"I hadn't had a lot of experience with men, and frankly wasn't sure what to ask from a man sexually. He taught me a lot about enjoying my body. And his! He was tall, more rugged-looking than you'd expect a future doctor to be, and very skilled with his hands.

"He showed me how to masturbate in front of him, so he could see what turned me on -- what pace and intensity got me off the best. I was self-conscious at first, but he showed me how good it can be to know what you want, and to ask for it.

"One time he asked me to kneel forward, my butt in the air, and work on my clit while he ate my pussy. The sensation of his tongue playing with my lips while I brought myself to orgasm was unbelievable."

Linda had refused to touch herself while she was sucking me off, and instead had insisted that I take her selfishly. Now she was working toward a release of her own.

As she described her sexplay, Linda was demonstrating. Sitting on the table with legs spread wide, she was giving me an unforgettable view -- and mind you, this was 25 years ago -- of her parted, glistening lips and the clit below her quick fingertips.

Her stroking fingers were silent at first, but as she became more excited her long glistening labia made wet clicks and smacks, and her smell, which I could first detect as she ravished my penis a few minutes earlier, was now prowling the room like an animal presence.

Distracted by her pleasure, her words were replaced with sharp grunts I recognized as her orgasm when she came quick and hard. She had been looking in the air while she recounted her exploits, but now her eyes were fused to mine. Normally self-conscious, I realized that I was stroking my rock-hard penis. I didn't take my eyes off of hers.

Linda was now lost in her stare, looking at me but though me. Her pleasure blinded her and drugged her. I loved the sound of her orgasms, and can remember her as I write this as if it was yesterday. Her moans echo in my memories and can still fuel my fantasies. Particularly when I picture what she was about to recount for me. Because, as she finished this intense orgasm, she was ready to resume her story of the man whom she no longer loved, but who opened her eyes to sex where power and trust are routinely surrendered, like a pair of treasured keys.

"We had been dating for about four months, and in retrospect I guess I knew he was holding back on something. I just didn't know what. In some ways I didn't care. I loved how he was freeing me and helping me discover my body and my desires.

"Then, after a date at a nearby Italian restaurant, he suggested we find a different bed to make love in. This was confusing, because he was living with his parents, and we certainly didn't have any money for a hotel. And sex in the back seat of his car was something we both only enjoyed as a last resort.

"'But I thought you said your parents are home all weekend?' I asked as we walked out of the restaurant and out into the street.

"'I'm not thinking of THAT bed,' he whispered to me, as he put his arm around my shoulders. We were walking in the direction of the store, which was closed at that hour. The store! Of course!

"I still didn't know what he had in mind specifically, but later I realized that I'd been telling him a couple of days earlier about a childhood memory, in answer to his question about my first memory of first feeling anything that was sexually-tinged. I'd mentioned that I had seen a Cowboys-and-Indians movie, the typical Hollywood cheapie of the day that played in our town on Saturday matinees. I was eight years old, and was there with my older sister and her boyfriend. They were 15, and trying to look interested in the movie as they held hands in the dark. But it wasn't anything happening next to me that aroused me, and nothing on the screen that you'd think as sexual at all.

"In the scene I remember, the hero, a cowboy, was in trouble. An angry tribe had staked him to a hilltop, spread eagle. He was exposed to the desert sun and vulnerable to ants and predators. The kids around me, as much as they were paying attention, which wasn't much, were concerned for him. But I was imagining that I was the Indian princess from earlier in the movie.

"I was in my brown buckskin and moccasins, with my black hair braided at the sides, and I was wearing a beaded headband. I was her, in other words, as she was portrayed in this terrible movie, and it as ME staked to the ground, not the cowboy.

"Just as the cowboy was struggling, alone and helpless, that was her struggling. ME struggling. And then I realized that I was wet between my legs.

"I told Don I hadn't given it a thought in years. That wasn't entirely true. Other movies, other stories, would have the hero bound and helpless. It was usually a man, like in a James Bond movie, but I would always manage to trade places in my imagination.

"When I told him that story I quickly changed the topic, but of course it hit home with him. At the time he didn't seem to give it a lot of significance, but he had a good poker face. Now he was walking me up the stairs of the story, to the second story, where the beds were displayed. He hadn't turned on the lights, but instead grabbed a flashlight from behind the first floor counter. The store smelled faintly of new fabric and wood polish.

"At the top of the stairs, he swung the light over to the grand four-poster bed. At the foot of the bed was a matching hope chest, and when he opened it to get something I could spy nothing out of the ordinary for a store. There were some large squares of muslin that I knew from my visits to the store were what the mattresses arrived in when they came in from the factory, and also a large pair of chrome seamstress scissors, used for snipping off labels and cutting fabric swatches for customers. And there was one of Don's thin neckties, which is what he was removing now. He would shed whatever necktie he was wearing at the end of the day, and toss it behind the counter. Earlier he had placed it in this chest, and was retrieving in now. Why?

"He wouldn't answer me. In fact, he wouldn't say a word for the whole of what was to come, which started with him kissing me fiercely and seating me on the edge of the bed, midway between the massive wooden posts. When he put the necktie up to my eyes, and knotted it in back to make a blindfold, I knew it was going to be an interesting ride.

"Next he went back the chest, and I heard the rustling of the muslin and Don tearing it into strips. It was unnerving to sneak into the dark, silent store. Now the ripping pierced the silence and filled the air with danger and carnality. Then my right wrist was pulled into a fabric loop, and was push back onto the bed with force that made me gasp. Don was now kneeling on either side of my torso, and leaning first to my right, tightening the strap that tethered me to that post at the head of the bed, and then doing the same with my left wrist.

"Next came more ripping, and my shoes were off, and my legs were pulled apart and bound open at the ankles. The angle strained slightly the hem of my sun dress, which buttoned in front, and the hem now dug slightly into my bare thighs. Don's hands unbuttoned the dress from the bottom, first to relieve the stress of the fabric, but then to reveal me in a way that felt somehow backward and obscene. He had undressed me before, but always starting with my breasts.

"The dead still air of the store was caressing my legs, even the exposed interior of my thighs, and with each button it reach up my belly, then my chest, still covered in a thick cotton brassiere. The air felt good on me, as I wanted to be completely naked.

"I didn't have to wait long. Next I heard the scissors, which Don ran first along the softest part of my inner thigh. The cold blade terrified my skin, but I couldn't say a word. I knew Don, and what he wanted. With two snips my cotton panties were cut open. My pussy was already gushing with desire, and I almost had my first orgasm as he pulled away what was left of its cover and slipped his strong hands under my buttocks. I wanted desperately to have him lick me now, open me with his hands like a fig. I might have asked him, I don't remember.

"Instead, he released me and I felt the cold blade again, this time between my breasts. I think I cried out with the violence of their liberation, and of his sudden hungry assault on my left breast. He claimed it his with both hands, and pulled with his mouth at my nipple. Electricity radiated to my pussy.

"I was helpless to him that night, and the way he brought me to orgasm with his tongue and filled me with his cock. I had more orgasms than I could count, and when he had emptied himself in my pussy and cut me free, I was slick with sweat and unable to let him out of my arms. I covered him in kisses, and surprised us both with the second orgasm I gave him, my mouth unrelentingly sucking and teasing his cock."

Linda's story ended there but not our Sunday afternoon of surrender and release. Our time together after that was brief but intense, and, although she will not make another appearance in my stories here, her spirit of abandon continues to flavor my writing and my sexual life.