Again With The Boots Ch 01

Yes, you might say we're a bit of an odd couple: think Laura Bush meets George Harrison—except Cathy's husband isn't made of the same stuff presidents are made of, and I can't sing Happy Birthday without ruining the party.

But we get on okay—as long as we don't talking politics, religion or country music!

Sometimes it's a little disconcerting when I meet her right after she gets home from church. I've got her bent over the back of her couch, Sunday best pushed up over her head, soaking panties yanked aside, my cock is buried so far up inside the most heavenly pussy I've ever experienced, and I take a moment to glance around the room. Her living room is like the centerfold from Country Home Kitchen and Gardens. Arghhh.... Time to close the eyes and drill harder!

Even with the Internet, it's a miracle we ever met. But if you could bottle the chemical reaction that happens when we get within smelling distance of each other, you could solve the world's problems in the time span of an orgasm!

When we first met, we talked about likes and dislikes, and she said she didn't like bondage. I was disappointed, but I wanted to fuck her—and I wanted to fuck her right then! So I wasn't about to get compulsive about a detail like bondage. Needless to say, once I convinced her that I wasn't an axe murderer (she actually asked!) my plan worked flawlessly.

Our second time together (Yes, there was a first time, and yes, it was spectacular; she actually wore black leather boots! Blew me away and drove me insane. I couldn't tear my head away from her ankles and calves—my hot face pressed against the cool leather, inhaling deeply....Arghhhhhhhhhh..... The boots stayed on through the whole event!)

Where were we?....Oh yes, our second time together: I had actually convinced her to let me blindfold her and undress her. This is one of my favorite acts of lovemaking. The painfully slow undressing and sampling of newly exposed flesh, new scents, new textures, new sensations....

We're standing on the Persian rug in my guest room, and I hold the black silk scarf casually in my left hand. Candles, a nice Shiraz, classical guitar playing softly in the background—I've pulled out all the stops: "Turn around and close your eyes."

She does as I instruct, but with a bit of an indulgent smile on her lips as if to say, "Okay, I'll humor you this time."

As I bring the scarf up across her eyes and secure the knot at the back of her head I sense the first pangs of fear and hesitation, "Can I really trust you?"

I reply in a soft voice, over her shoulder, just beside her ear, "Keep your arms at your sides, and don't move. Don't speak. Just do as I say... Now relax...and breathe."

I hear her inhale slowly—long and full. Then the softest moan as she exhales.

I had told her what I had planned, but left the outfit up to her. She's wearing a dark green button-up silk blouse with the top two buttons unbuttoned—conservative but inviting; a black business blazer; black skirt that comes down just below the knees where it meets...yes...those devastating black leather boots that come up over her calves. There is no actual leg, nor much flesh of any sort, showing. Her shoulder-length wavy auburn hair falls easily about her neck.

"Turn around for me—slowly. Let me see how you look." She's a little unsteady as she turns, not accustomed to the lack of sight.

"You're absolutely stunning."

I watch as the muscles in her face relax and her lips turn up slightly in a mildly embarrassed smile.

Then I step in close to her. I pass my face close to hers, coming to rest within an inch of the side of her neck. I inhale—deeply and audibly. "Mmmmm...You smell good." She reacts involuntarily by inhaling deeply herself. She can tell by my voice, and the feel of my breath against her skin that I am very close, though I haven't yet touched her. She is beginning to crave that touch.

I let my face brush some of the hair away from her neck and let my lips and the tip of my nose graze the side of her neck. More inhaling...

(To be continued...)