One Weeend Stand

Saturday Afternoon

They'd cleaned up and showered. And dressed. Well, sort of. She'd pulled on a fresh pair of pink bikini panties, with just enough fabric to cover her mound and not much more than that. She'd pulled his dress shirt back on, too, but left the front unbuttoned so he could see her, and touch her, whenever he wanted. She felt deliciously sexy.

He was wearing black brief underwear and a black t-shirt, looking very much like a man preparing to model in an underwear ad. His bulge was back to normal size, and she wondered briefly about his apparent endurance and passion. Far more than what she expected from a man his age. Was a little blue pill responsible? If so, she was very grateful to the makers of that little blue pill.

They shared a late lunch, a mixed salad, a board of bread and cheese, and some more wine. He seemed sated and content, and she wondered if he'd made plans that far ahead. Unbeknownst to him, she'd made a decision. And whatever plans he had were about to change.

After eating and cleaning up they drifted back to the bed. It was clear that neither of them were in the mood, or even physically able, to do much more than lay down and relax. She certainly needed a break. But she could feel their time together slipping away.

She'd already collected all the sex toys and returned them to their box, which she'd placed within easy reach on their makeshift bed table. That still left, by her count, three more lockers to explore. And what better time than now?

Without a word, she crawled across his body and removed the remaining three locker keys from the top of the footlocker. In similarly silent fashion, he took the key for the fourth locker from her hand and replaced it in the top, waggling his finger back and forth like she was a child who'd done something wrong. OK. She would deal with that later. She still had the keys to two more of the lockers. And all the exertion had done nothing to extinguish her curiosity.

The second locker was somewhat of a disappointment, in that it held exactly what she'd expected. Lingerie and other revealing clothing. Hundreds of dollars worth, if her calculations were correct. Most was on hangers, sans tags, which probably meant that someone had already modeled it, and presumably lost in in the throes of passion. Other ensembles still carried price tags, or were folded in brown or pink paper shopping bags. In her experience, the color of the bag most often reflected the raunchiness of the store. Pink for chains like Victoria's Secret. Brown for Maxine's Sex Emporium. Despite having overcome her trepidation at using someone else's sex toys, she felt an even stronger squeamishness at donning some other woman's sex outfits. Maybe it had been the assurance that the toys were sanitized. Or maybe it had been her unrelenting horniness.

Whatever. That rationalization didn't extend to the wide array of sexy clothing in the locker. Though... She could bring herself to wear something that still had tags on it, if there was some way to know that the lady of the cabin, whoever she might be, wouldn't object. Though there was really no way to know for sure.

She was somewhat taken aback, then, when he nudged her aside and reached into the locker, pulling out ensembles one after another, then holding them up against her semi-nude body and seriously studying each selection, as if he were deciding upon the day's apparel for one of the kept women in his harem. She was quite sure she would not be modeling anything he selected, yet he continued his examination even after she abruptly negated each and every one of his selections.

He was becoming much more assertive, she realized. And had been ever since that first kiss. Almost as if he was testing her, seeing just how far he could push it before she put the brakes on. But was he really testing her? Or was she reading more into the situation? He could, after all, have been this assertive the whole time, his real personality held in check by their marriage circumstances. If that was the case, she might actually be seeing the real man. And if that was the case, how should she react? Affronted by his abrupt commands? Pleased by them? Flirty in response?

And how did she want him to act? She'd had more than her fair share of a man who took his "head of the household" position to heart, expecting sex so often that it had become more of a chore for her than something to be anticipated. And when he wasn't asking for it, he was whining for it, which was far worse, and not at all fun for her. To be truthful, she didn't really know what she wanted from her husband. Some days it was one thing. Others it was something else. All she knew for certain was that she was compromising more and more, content to go with the flow rather than expecting something else.

Which, she realized, brought her back to the cabin. Not twenty minutes ago she'd promised herself that she'd go wherever he led, and already she was dithering. She shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. To lead, she reminded herself, you need to be assertive. So why not see where he wants to go? After all, she still ultimately retained the right to say No, which she was sure held as much power with him as it did with her husband. Such was the weakness of being a basically decent man.

In the end he selected six outfits for her, all with the tags still attached which presumably meant that they were new and unworn. His selections said much about him, filling in some suppositions she'd made over the years. One was a white stretch fishnet teddy, cut high at the hips and straight across the chest, with a weave that was sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. The second was also sheer, a black negligee with bikini panties. It reminded her of something she'd shown him once, before a trip with her husband. No doubt as to why he'd selected that! The third left nothing to the imagination. A black leather bra and panty combination, with thin silver chains where the bra cups and panty crotch should've been. Too brazen even for a whore to wear on the street.

For the fourth, he chose a red corset that zipped down the front, with demi cups and garters that would attach to a pair of red stockings they'd found at the bottom of the locker. He didn't pick out any panties, so she'd apparently be going without when she wore that little number. For the fifth, another look into his darker side: More leather, this time nothing but leather straps held together with metal rings. After holding it against her body, she realized that the straps would outline her breasts, criss-cross around the front and back of her, and be held in place on the bottom by a chain that would dangle just below her pussy lips. Just the type of thing that would be worn by a bondage bitch. Finally, he'd selected a full-length sheer black body stocking. From the package picture, it would cover her whole body, legs and arms, with a convenient opening between her legs. She wasn't surprised that he'd chosen it, as he'd told her about his preference for that type of lingerie. But she was surprised by how much she was suddenly anticipating the way she would model it for him.

"Have something in mind for right now?" she asked, favoring him with a seductive look. The leather and chains combination was his choice, and she slipped into it right in front of him. The leather felt warm against her skin, while the chains added a cool touch. Not an unpleasant sensation at all. It hid absolutely nothing, of course, but she could see why someone would find it attractive. Especially someone with more imagination than was good for him.

This leather and chain thing wasn't really her style. She was much more the Southern belle type, lots of lace and layers. The same could be said for the kind of sex she liked. Starting off lacy, with plenty of old-fashioned romance and nuzzling kisses. Then, another layer, more passionate as the flames were fanned higher, with her beau taking more and more control, treating her not as a frail flower but as a fully-formed Venus. She would allow herself to be swept away, but never so far that all concerned would doubt that she was her own independent woman. So that later, upon further inspection, the man would discover that she had been pulling the strings all along, and he was a mere puppet to her whims and desires. In short, the classic southern woman. From the 1860's, at least.

To have her sexuality cast, then, as something more explicit and easily manipulated put her way out of her comfort zone. She was not the type to passively acquiesce to another's orders. Not in life, not in business and not in sex. She didn't like being helpless. To be tied and unable to escape would be sheer torture for her. To be used as a plaything or a toy would be worse than humiliating; it would be undignified. Yet part of her could see why some women might enjoy it. It would be like getting drunk at one of those couples' resorts. No responsibility for what might happen. No guilt. Nothing but succumbing to the urges that fill the darkest recesses of the mind. And succumbing to the pleasures that often come from the most unlikely of sources.

He could see that she was uncomfortable with the outfit he'd selected, and he struggled to keep the grin from reaching his lips. He was feeling very mischievous, and he had no qualms about taking advantage of this situation. The exhaustion from their last bout of lovemaking was waning, and for a moment he imagined himself cramming his cock into her mouth to get it hard, and then throwing her to the floor and raping her right there. But no. That would be too brutal. And worse, too quick. He wanted to let her stew in her squeamishness a bit, wanted to lead her along a path in small increments, until she found herself doing something she'd never done before. And enjoying it.

That was the power of his vivid imagination. From what others said, he knew that his imagination was much more vibrant and complex than most others. Where another man might fantasize about having sex with a co-worker in the office, the story would start with the sex and end with the cumshot. His fantasies were a lot more explicit. A lead-in, motivation for both, semi-realistic scenarios, a blow-by-blow sex scene with multiple perspectives, and an ending that left both (or more) parties satisfied. Which, when applied to role-playing, made for much more intricate and intellectually satisfying scenarios.

Still, that didn't mean that his baser instincts weren't making themselves known. So it was hard for him not to want to touch and kiss and caress and probe and cradle and squeeze and lick and inhale and spank and scratch and violate a beautiful woman dressed so provocatively. And the little blue pill he'd taken just an hour before wasn't making those urges any easier to ignore. But, with a much more sensual and enthralling ending in mind, he limited himself to a long, deep kiss, allowing his hands to do no more than squeeze her ass and pull her chained pussy hard against his body. If only she knew how much he was holding back...

When the next locker yielded up its treasures, he could tell that she was having second thoughts about the whole thing. Very tentatively she pushed through some of the paraphernalia hanging from the hooks inside: chains with cuffs on the ends, a dog leash, collars with steel rings around the circumference, a long pole with clips on the end. To him, the purpose of all the items was readily apparent. But he could see that she was struggling a bit with even that. And she clearly had no clue as to what other designs a knowledgeable person might have for the toys she'd just uncovered. If she had, no doubt she'd slam the locker door shut and run back to the cabin.

He knew that wouldn't happen, though. Not only was she driven by curiosity. But ever since arriving at the cabin, they'd been engaged in a subtle but intense battle of wills. One with the same goal: taking credit for providing the other with as much pleasure as possible. He could already imagine her being the first to ask, "Did you have a nice time?" And feeling justified that she'd provided all the sparks for the weekend. So he was confident that she wouldn't want to be seen as the party-pooper. Even if it meant doing something she'd never, ever imagined herself doing.

Still, this would need to be a journey taken in baby steps. Everything else they'd done would be considered 'normal,' even by the strictures of her current sexual experience. Sex toys? She'd used them before. Porn flicks? She'd seen them before. Lingerie? She'd worn it before. He even supposed she might've been tied up, loosely, by one of her more imaginative lovers. Or handcuffed. But always with an easy way of escape. Never tightly. Or for real.

He indicated the storage box at the bottom of the locker and she pulled it out. He was careful to stand back and let her explore on her own. Her natural curiosity would take her where he wanted to go. And failing that, a little disdainful challenge to her bravery would encourage her to respond favorably. As she pawed through the items in the box, he simply indicated whether he knew how they were used. He didn't want to scare her away by reciting the names for each, though he knew about ninety percent of them. That knowledge wasn't because he'd used all of them. He'd just explored a few adult toy store sites and learned from the pictures. Plus, some of the erotic literature he'd read over the years had provided good descriptions of the various toys and tools, as well as their varied uses. So he kept his responses to "yep," "think so," and "nope," as she pulled out each item and inspected it.

Soon they'd separated the contents of the box into three piles. To these she added the implements hanging from the hooks. The "yep" and "maybe" piles were about the same size. He'd consciously kept it that way, knowing that she'd more likely be drawn to the "maybe" pile just by the chance to challenge his knowledge. So he'd been careful to ensure that some of the more "challenging" items were placed in that pile. The "yep" pile was pretty much self-explanatory. Handcuffs and masks and crops and floggers, with a variety of ropes and leather toys that did just what they looked like they did. The "no" pile was much smaller than the other two. Some of the items he really didn't know what they did, though he was sure with some experimentation, he could figure it out. He wasn't planning on experimenting, though, because sometimes a single mistake could really hurt a person. And he couldn't send her back to her husband damaged in any way. He knew how other items in the "no" pile worked, but they were far too advanced for someone as squeamish as she appeared. Better left untried.

He suggested that maybe they'd be better off examining their findings in the cabin. She surprised him and did him one better, asking if they might not be better off hiking over to the mysterious location listed in the owner's note. He'd actually been trying to figure out a way to maneuver her out there, so he readily agreed, hoping he'd been able to keep a straight face while doing so. He wasn't all that sure that he'd succeeded. But, feeling his hardening cock pressing against his shorts, he wasn't all that sure that it was his face that had given him away.

It felt weird hiking in the woods wearing nothing but leather and chains, her breasts and pussy almost completely exposed. Not like before, when they'd been out on a walk just to get some fresh air and enjoy each other's company. This time, they had a definite purpose in mind. He was going to play a role. And she was going to play a role. And her role was one that she'd never really played before.

Oh, she'd allowed a couple of lovers, and her husband, to tie her up before. Cuff her to the bed stand. Blindfold her. Tease and grope her. But she'd always done it as a treat for them. A special birthday gift. A drunken experimentation. This time, though, she was sure that she'd be truly helpless. And sure that he, while starting off gentle, was probably going to disengage the brake he had on his behavior, and let a little more of the bad boy out, the part she'd sometimes spotted seeping through the edges of his more civilized public demeanor. It was seeing that piece of the puzzle, more than anything he might do with her, that excited her. She was baiting him with her compliance. And the prize was seeing farther inside his soul.

They arrived at their destination in short order. It was a clearing in the middle of the forest, completely unshaded by the trees surrounding it. At the center of the clearing was a large, thickly timbered wooden table, its edges covered with protuberances and metal rings. Oddly, the tables surface and legs were varnished and smooth, not weathered as might be expected on something exposed to the weather. Upon closer inspection, every inch of it was highly polished, and the stout legs appeared to be set deep into the ground. It appeared to be strong enough to take the weight of 10 people without shaking a bit.

They dropped their backpacks and various implements next to it, then set off to tour the other sites. He'd apparently been there before, as he walked unerringly from one to the next. On the bare top of one hill were three huge timbers, assembled in the shape of a Y. Like the table, they were well-sanded and highly polished. In a another valley, completely hidden, was a large T-shaped cross. On top of a nearby hill they found a very strange conglomeration of timbers. Two upright posts with a horizontal bar between them, next to a much taller post with a bar parallel to the lower bar. A few more hilltops away, a huge X made of the same timbers was set deep into the ground, iron rings spaced intermittently along the edges.

She paused and examined it more closely. Like all the others, it showed no signs of weathering or wear. Someone had carefully, perhaps even lovingly, sanded, smoothed, varnished and polished every inch of it. She was reminded of the pine furniture you might see at a vacation home, glistening in the sun.

Speaking of which...she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Like all the other sites, this one was located away from the trees, so the hot overhead sun could beat down upon anyone standing nearby. Tentatively she touched the wood. Hot! As would be the condition of anyone restrained upon the X. She knew right away that this wasn't designed for someone who played at this type of thing. They were serious about it.

But it wouldn't always be this sunny. She wondered what it would be like to be restrained here in the rain, the water streaming into her eyes, the droplets beating against her bare body. Or at night, her helplessness doubled as her imagination took hold, at the mercy of whatever spirits were lurking in the dark. Or in the cold of winter, bare skin exposed to the harshest elements, snow swirling about her feet, helpless to warm herself or to escape from the bitter, biting wind. Would those who used this place have used it that way? What dark tales would this wood tell if it could talk?

Suddenly she felt his hands grasp her breasts and pull her back against him. She'd been so engrossed in her wondering that she hadn't noticed him come up behind her. He crudely cupped her tits, pinching and twisting her nipples in a way that revealed a malevolent intent much more than she'd discern just from looking at his face. "Are you up for it, little girl?" he whispered in her ear, his voice hoarser, deeper and darker than she'd ever heard. There was a challenge there, too, and she knew he was manipulating her. But for once that didn't matter. Because her speculation about the others' activities here had fired her imagination, and she wanted to experiment, to experience at least some of it. And now she could do it. Experiment with it. Try it out, without worrying that he'd want her to try it again and again. Because for them, there wouldn't be any "again and again."