It Pays to Advertise

I sat up in bed reading the local paper. It's one of those "respectable" newspapers, which means it's bloody difficult to read because the size of the pages is massive, you need a machine to fold it properly. Anyway, despite the fact that it prides itself on being a "respectable" newspaper of record, it still allows the ladies of the night to advertise in its "adult" section.

I always flick through the adult section, not because I'm an attender of brothels, bordellos, call them what you will, but you never know what you're missing.

But just reading some of the ads helped my cock start to slither and slide to attention. Now I'm only 28, and I'm bloody well built. I've six-pack abs, or whatever it is they call them, you know what I mean, I've got biceps that a former girl friend used to love licking vanilla ice cream from. Strange tastes, some women. I'd have preferred it if she'd licked it from my cock, but hey, it's a free world, everyone to their own. And I shouldn't have minded, because she spent a fair amount of time "down there", if you get my dirty drift.

Since I work out a lot, I shave down there – my shaft is smooth as the proverbial baby's bum, and I've got nothing on my scrotal sac – why doesn't that word employ a "k"? But, I digress. Sorry, but I often do.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, hair. I keep the hair across my pubic bone trimmed into a crew cut, because I reckon that if I shaved that off, then the boys at the gym would label me as a three pound note. Well, there's something queer about a three pound note, eh?

I also remove the hair from around my nipples, like a lot of those body builders – and to be quite honest, I've got my doubts about some of those blokes, haven't you? Oh, sorry, there I go, digressing again. And there's no hair on my shoulders, or on my back, not even in the small of the back where a lot of fuzzy hair grows if you don't attack it. There's a lovely lady at the gym who keeps me nicely depilated, as it were – not on my cock and balls, I hasten to add, that's a job for your's truly.

Now I don't carry out this fetish on my head – and yeah, I admit it's a fetish, OK? I've got long hair that my hairdresser – a honey, by the way – says is the blackest, most beautiful she's ever cut. I wear it quite long, but not

that

long, don't want to be mistaken for one of those three pound notes, eh?

So that's me, Jake Murchison, 30, single, body to die for – if you're a woman, right? – and a job as a computer expert. Don't laugh. Not everyone who's into computers is a fucking geek, gottit?

I'm employed by a large hospital in the city to train their never-ending turnover of staff on how to use computers. Doctors, interns, sisters, nurses don't take notes any more, by the way, it's all done on computer. That's where I come in – I lecture on the computer system, teach 'em how to get around the corners quicker, and sometimes I get hit on by the little lovelies who work there, mostly nurses. And very nice, too. Sorry, I'm digressing again.

So it was a lovely midsummer's Saturday morning and I was in bed, orange juice and pot of coffee on the bedside table, the flat had been flossied up by my charwoman – is it because they're always drinking tea? – so I'd nothing much to do. Just a relaxing week-end – but that's not how it turned out!

Anyway, as usual I turned to the naughty ads. They were mainly the oldies – for instance "Bubbles, fuller figure for the man who likes a handful". Poor old Bubbles. I guess what she really means is "fucking fat"! Still, everyone to their own, as I said earlier.

But among all the "stunning tranny" and "legs to die for blonde" ads was one that I'd not seen before and which immediately got the pussy pleaser standing up stiff and trying to burst through the satin sheets.

It was explicit, even for the "newspaper of record" as I call it, but it caught my attention as if the lady who had placed it had reached out from the newspaper and grabbed me by the balls:

EROTIC bondage. Don't knock it until you've tried

it with Madam Theresa. My procedure will knock

your socks off – only you won't be wearing any.

Call for an appointment, you naughty boy, you.

Strictly NO timewasters.

There was a mobile phone number at the end of the ad and I assumed that Madam Theresa was one of those lovely working ladies who worked from home. That would be important because I try to rule those sleazy, so-called "massage parlours" out of my life.

I thought about it. Female domination has been one of my fetishes for ages – the smell of leather, the slippery sheen of PVC, the idea of spanking, flogging, cock and ball torture. You name it, I've thought about it as I've wanked – but, and I swear this is the truth, I've never tried it.

I glanced at my watch, checked that it was just gone 10am, reckoned the lady might be up and about, so I dialled her number. The voice on her answerphone was, honestly, what won me over. It was haughty, confident, but not off-putting. She sounded in control. And there was a trace of an American accent.

All right, I confess, I'm like that comedian character, John Cleese, the Monty Python bloke – I've got a thing about American women. I mean the dolls, not those overweight tarts you see lumbering around K-Marts in middle America. You've got it, the Californian hard-bodied types. And tits – I

love

big tits.

Anyway, Madam Theresa's recording came on. "Hi, this is Theresa," said this ever-so-sexy voice, "and I'm not here right now, or I'm entertaining someone. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you, promise. Byeee."

Now in cold print it may not look much, but if you heard it you'd say "Let me have a piece of that!" It was a sexy, husky, "Can I fuck you now?" kind of voice, only I don't think she was selling that kind of sex.

My initial reaction was to hang up and try her later, but then I thought what the hell, she can call me, so I left me my mobile number, speaking in my sexiest "Come up and fuck me sometime" voice. I also left what I'd always used in my masturbation fantasies as my "slave name" – I called myself Rick, because I think it's got a certain ring to it.

I was up taking a shower when my mobile rang – it's always the way, isn't it? And there was this slight American accent, sexy as hell, saying: "Hi, is this Rick? This is Theresa."

I spluttered "Hold on, I was in the shower, I'm grabbing a towel" and she chuckled. Honest to goodness, it was so deep throat sexy I could have creamed my pants there and then, only I wasn't wearing any, of course.

"Don't be modest on my account," she laughed, "you won't need a towel when I've put you in bondage, tiger." And the way she said "tiger", it had a sort of purr to it.

When I'd got myself organised she spoke in a much more businesslike tone of voice. "OK, Rick, what do you want to know?"

I blubbered something about her ad in the paper, how I was interested, how I'd never tried it, how much was it – and then I just dried up.

"Right," said Theresa, "here's the deal. For starters, I don't take anyone under 35 years of age, they're all after one thing, I don't have to draw a picture, do I?"

I put on a husky, deep, dark brown voice. "I'm 35," I lied, "only because I work out a lot and I'm pretty toned, women reckon I look more like, oh, 28 to 30."

"You'll do fine," said Theresa, as if she was satisfied I sounded "of age", as it were. "Now I operate from my home, it's private, it's discreet, you can park off the street, you'll not be seen.

"I've got a rather sexy bondage pose for you to adopt. I make it like a competition. If you can hold out for a certain period of time, you win a prize. I'll tell you about the prize when I see you. I charge $200 an hour, a longer session we can negotiate terms and prices. How about it, Rick?"

I gulped a "Sounds fantastic" and then realised I knew nothing about her. "Can you tell me something about yourself," I said, hesitantly. "I've never done this before and I have certain pre-conceived ideas."

There was a throaty chuckle from the other end. "Rick, let me put it this way. I'm 34-years of old age, but I can be older or younger, it's all in your mind. I'm dark-haired and I don't think you'll be disappointed with me. I've got big tits. Now, that's all. Still on, are we?"

Were we ever! "Yes, please," I said, hastily.

"Right, when do you want to get here?" she asked. "I've got all day open."

The honest answer was, of course, "Right now", but I held back on that. "Later this afternoon?" I asked. "I just want to heighten my anticipation of you."

Theresa gave another husky chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine which whistled between my thighs and attacked my balls. I was as stiff as a board!

"Oh, I see," she laughed, "you want to spend the day wondering how big are those tits? Does she have long legs? A kissable bum? Does she shave down there? Stuff like that, eh?"

"You've got it," I said.

"Lovely," she said, "it shows you're treating it for what it should be – an exciting, erotic experience. OK, Rick, let's say 4 o'clock. Where do you live?"

I told her. "It's just around the corner from me, it'll take you 10 minutes tops to get here. Ring me on my mobile at 3.45 and I'll give you the address. I'll be sure to have it switched on. Oh, and one thing, Rick?"

"Yes," I almost croaked.

"Shave, shower and shampoo – I like my slaves nice and clean."

The day dragged. I watched an old movie on the classic channel, some nonsense about a Maltese falcon and a bloke with a strange drawling accent. He shops the bird in the end, she's none too happy about it. Stuff her, she asked for it.

I watched a bit of footie. Boring as hell. I tried the sex channel I subscribe to. Lots of big tits, they were nice, but no one was dominating anyone. I tried to pass time doing a cryptic crossword – wouldn't you know it, today of all days it was one of the easiest I'd ever done. I was so desperate I even tried the fucking Sudoku crap, something I promised myself I'd never stoop to. It was a waste of time, kept me occupied for seven, eight minutes tops.

In the end, I went to bed and wanked slowly, dreaming of what she would be like, but stopping as soon as I felt myself getting close. Then starting again.

By the time it was 3.30, I'd decided she was tall, with long legs, a bum to die for, and 40-inch breasts with massive nipples and large, saucer-like areolae. I showered, shaved and dabbed on some Envy for Men, by Gucci, and called her number.

It was answered on the second ring. "Rick?" she said, in that husky, come and fuck me voice.

"Yes," I said, hardly daring to breath, but feeling my cock rise in my little bikini briefs. "I'm calling for your address."

She gave me it and I said "Ten minutes" and was in the Porsche before you could say "Domination".

The address was a little cul-de-sac of quiet houses that looked like the owners had money but didn't want to flaunt it. The trees were large and leafy, and there was a drive down to her side door which had a high fence along one side. I hopped out of the car and rang the side door bell, as instructed.

There was a wait of almost a minute and for a moment I had an awful sinking feeling that she'd gone out. Silly. Of course she hadn't, she was just enjoying keeping me waiting.

Then the door opened and my heart leapt as I caught first sight of her. She was quite tall – about five foot nine, with dark hair which came to just above her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing brown, her eyebrows and eyelashes lustrously dark. She had a highly lipsticked mouth and her lips were full, fleshy. She wasn't pretty, but she was

hugely

attractive.

On her body was a clinging, black silk sort of housecoat, which came to half-way up her calves. The calves looked lovely, the black high heels she was wearing looked expensive. The housecoat was drawn tightly across her breasts and she was right, they were

big

! Remember what I said? I love big breasts!

"Hi Rick," she purred in that adorable American accent, "come on in" and I moved past her into a sort of reception room.

She led the way into a bedroom deeper into the house, which looked out onto a secluded garden, full of green bushes and lawn and trees with flowing branches. The bedroom was a bright, well-lit place and in the centre of the room, facing out towards the garden was a very large bed.

Theresa walked around the bed and stood by some items lying on the floor. Apart from the bed, there wasn't much furniture in the room, a fact that accentuated the size of the bed.

Pointing to the items, which included two things that I knew were called "spreader bars" in the domination business, Theresa said: "I want you naked and then I'll explain the game. Get stripped off, Rick."

And I didn't know the protocol, so I said: "Yes, mistress."

A mistake. "Don't use that ridiculous word, darling," she said, in a voice which was cool and calm was not snappy or dominating. "This isn't a dungeon, I'm not a mistress, I'm just a lady who enjoys inflicting erotic bondage on naughty boys. Call me Theresa, although it's not my real name."

By now I was naked save for my little white bikini briefs and then I dropped my final garment. My cock was betraying my emotions, and standing out in erection. Theresa didn't mind, in fact quite the opposite, she approved.

"That's an extremely nice, thick cock, Rick," she told me. "How long, seven, eight, nine?"

"Eight, Theresa," I told her.

"Lovely," she said, "I totally approve."

And then she disrobed to revealing a cock-hardening two-piece lingerie outfit. Her breasts were supported and encased by a shiny black satin bra, it was almost a half-cup job, and her upper globes shone like globes of alabaster. She was obviously no sun freak. On her hips a pair of black satin panties covered her middle region.

She had lovely legs, a nicely-rounded bum, but it was her breasts which were her crowning glory. I estimated them to be at least 38s, but found later I was out by two inches on the low side.

"Right, let's get started and when I've got you ready I'll explain the game," she said. "Kneel on the floor, put your hands behind your back."

I got into position by the side of the bed. Theresa knelt down beside me, her perfume strong, but not unpleasant. The first spreader bar had leather straps at each end and she fitted them around my lower thighs, just above the knees. This way my knees were forced about two-and-a-half feet apart.

Then she moved behind me, took the other spreader bar and strapped the leather confiners at each end around my ankles, until they were almost two-and-a-half feet apart. On the top of the straps were other straps and into these she placed my wrists.

My body was stretched back, so my torso and belly were taut.

Theresa then took a sort of rubber hood and fitted it around my head. It covered my head from the top of my forehead, fitted snugly around the sides of my face, but left my eyes, nose and mouth uncovered.

Her next move was to pick up a metal rod about three feet long. One end had a clip which fitted into a D-ring on the back of my rubber helmet. She then pulled the rod until the clip on the other end snapped onto a D-ring set in the middle of the spreader bar between my ankles. This placed me in a much more stringent pose, my body was drawn back like a bowspring. Immediately I felt my body tense.

Theresa then picked up a digital clock and placed it on a leather bench just off to my right. She punched the button and the timer clicked up to 1.00. She punched another button and it began to count down – 59:59, 59:58 and so on.

"Now Rick, here's the plan," said the lovely-bodied beauty, as she climbed up on the bed. "You last in this bondage position for one hour and you can claim the prize. Is that fair?"

I couldn't nod my head, but I could speak. "Yes, Theresa," I answered, "and what is the prize?"

She smiled down at my muscle-strained body. "What would you like it to be, my dear Rick?" she asked, in what I can only say was a seductive tone that sent a frisson of excitement through my body.

"I'd like it to be making love to you," I said, with total honesty. She was a horn-inducing piece of pulchritude.

"Oh thank goodness you said 'making love' instead of using the 'f' word," she said. "I so much prefer it. When clients say 'fuck' – pardon me – I always ensure they don't win."

I looked up at her lovely body aware that my prick was still saluting her. "You mean, if I last like this for an hour, I get to make love to you? You

actually

make

love

to your clients?"

My voice must have sounded flabbergasted because she gave a spine-tingling, throaty chuckle.

"Darling, don't believe everything you read about dominatrixes, dommes – call them what you will," she smiled. "Sometimes I get a client and I think 'Boy, I'd like to give him a tumble' and then I do. Why should I deprive myself? And then, if I don't like 'em? Well, like I said, then they don't win."

"But how do you ensure they don't win?" I said, feeling the pressure on my arms, thighs and back starting to bite. This position was becoming fiendish!

Theresa sat up, stroking her hands over her big breasts and grinned. "Easy, peazy," she smiled. "I add to their problems. Like an example?"

"No, please, Theresa," I said hastily, but she had already hopped down from the bed, giving me a glorious display of white-skinned legs, and a flash of the shiny black gusset of her knickers, drawn tightly across her pussy. I wanted her!

From beside me, Theresa picked up a sort of rubber pouch thing and dragged it open at the neck and popped it over my scrotum, which hung heavily down beneath my erection.

Immediately I felt little jabs of pain as hundreds of tiny spikes embedded in the thick rubber of the device jabbed into my tautened testicles. Theresa noticed my discomfort and laughed: "See, that's got your attention, hasn't it?"

I grunted. "Yep, I see what you mean – now, please take it off."

But the lovely minx sat back on the bed. "No, you can have it on for a while, just a few minutes," she teased me. "Just thank your lucky stars I didn't give you the rubber glove that fits over the cock and balls. That's a

real

killer – and for men who are not circumcised it's game, set and match when I pull their foreskin back before putting it on."

I was starting to sweat from the stringency of the bondage position and then, thankfully, Theresa climbed down from the bed and removed the rubber pouch. She then stroked my cock for several slow, long pumps before climbing back on the bed.

"And if that doesn't work," she continued, "I give them a flogging across their upper chests – the stretched tautness of the flesh there in this position makes the blows even more acute."

I glanced at the clock. It read 46:35 – still an achingly long time to go.

"But now it's time I was nice to you," she said. "I've been nasty with the rubber pouch, now time for some pleasure."

And with that she reached behind her back and unclipped the brassiere, tossed it to the floor and allowed her lovely big breasts to fall into their natural cups. The globes were glorious! Her nipples were big, pink things, the areolae surrounding them surprisingly small given the size of her breasts.

"I know what you're thinking," said Theresa, "and they're 40-inches. And look at this!"

She then cupped her left breast in the palm of right hand and lifted the heavy globe up until she could bend her head slightly and suck on the nipple! I found it an incredibly erotic sight!

"Would you like to suck my nipple, Rick?" she asked, taunting me.

"Very much," I replied, in a husky croak.

"Sorry," she said, climbing down from the bed, "but I'll give you a taste of things to come – well, let's hope they're to come."