All I really wanted was a long, hot soak in the tub, a glass of wine, and to read a good book until I was pruney. It had been such an infuriating day at work. The project I was working on was falling to pieces. My supervisor was on vacation and not available to consult. My assistant was useless, hired by my predecessor, and had a voice that gave me a headache.
I was beat, and had no hope that the next day would be any better.
I unlocked my front door, ready to shed the day, and kicked off my shoes. On the floor in front of the door lay the day's assortment of mail – bills, flyers, junk. I scooped it up and tossed it on the dining room table. As the envelopes flew helter-skelter on the table top, I noticed a cream colored envelope that didn't look like the usual fare. I picked it up and turned it over to see who it was from, but the front of the envelope was blank. I carried it with me into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of wine. I wandered into the living room, put my glass down on the marble coffee table top, and plopped down on the couch. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who the envelope had been delivered by, and at the thought of him, I felt myself become a little juicy down below. I groaned. I didn't want to see him, or anyone else, tonight. I loved him, but I was exhausted, and seeing him wasn't conducive to a good night's sleep. I cursed my body's response and tossed the envelope, unopened, on the coffee table.
I resisted for all of fifteen minutes. There was nothing good on television. The idea of a long, hot soak had been overshadowed by my body's need to know what was in the envelope. I chuckled to myself, opened the envelope, and sighed deeply. It was a single piece of cream colored cardstock, engraved in silver lettering.
23 Rue St. George
8:00 p.m.
Be there.
I couldn't help but smile a little, feeling my saucy self rise a to the occasion. Did I want to go? My body did. That was obvious from the way my rate of respiration increased, from the increasing slickness I felt between my legs. My mind was perched on the edge between yes and no. I wanted rest. I wanted to recovery from my day. But my pussy was throbbing in anticipation of what might be waiting for me at 23 Rue St. George, and I'd long since learned not to argue with my pussy. Besides, standing him up really wasn't an option.
I dragged my weary self up the stairs and ran a bath. It was only 6:30. I had plenty of time to make it to Rue St. George. I looked over the envelope again. There were no instructions regarding what I should wear. I took a quick shower, anointed myself liberally with jasmine scented oil, brushed out my long, auburn hair, and threw on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I put on a bit of make-up – mascara, gloss, powder – and declared myself ready. I called a cab and downed another glass of wine while I waited for it to pull up at the curb.
The sky outside the taxi cab's windows was pewter blue touched with pink. The sun was dipping down beneath the horizon, and though I couldn't watch it descend, I could see how it painted the clouds above it in vivid farewell shades. It was nearly dark by the time the cab pulled up to 23 Rue St. George. I paid the fare and got out, took a few deep breaths to steel my nerves, and approached the door.
As I stood before it, I wondered if I should knock. I tried the door knob and found it locked. I rapped hard on the solid oak of it and waited. It wasn't long before it opened to grant me entrance. I'd expected to see him standing there. Instead, a beautiful, tiny woman with hair down to her ass, wearing nothing but a mask and velvety red lipstick stood there beckoning me to come inside. She led me through the hallway into a dimly lit room that was empty save for a comfortable looking armchair. The lighting shone in a soft areola around the chair, but didn't reach much further than that.
"Please take off your clothes." The woman said, holding out her arms to provide me with a place to put them as I did as she asked. I stripped, feeling awkward as a teenager in a high school locker room. She watched me as I shed my clothes and smiled appreciatively.
"You have beautiful tits." She said. I blushed.
"So do you."
"But yours are so big, so lush! No wonder he loves you best."
I knew my lover had other 'pets', as he liked to call them, and I suspected that this vision of dark-haired beauty was one of them, but my pride stung to know that I was being handled by one of them. I was a possessive girl. I didn't want to share him with anyone. I took the words 'he loves you best' and tucked them away for safe keeping. It soothed the sting a little. I opened my mouth to ask if he was here, but the beauty before me shook her head before I could speak.
"No questions. Please be seated."
The chair was softly upholstered in rich, deep red. The arms and legs were of a dark, curved wood. I sat myself down and made myself as comfortable as I could, considering I was naked in a room I'd never been in before, being handled by a woman I'd never laid eyes on before.
She left the soft circle of light for a moment and returned in a few moments with two bars – one for my legs, and one for my arms. She wove the bars in between my body and the chair's arms and legs, cuffing me securely with my arms behind my back and my ankles bound tightly to a chair leg on either side. She knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my knees.
"You must keep them open." She instructed as she pushed them further apart. My pussy, oozing now, glistened in the dim light. She noticed and ran one long silver-painted fingernail down the length of it from my clit to the rosebud nestled between my ass cheeks.
"You have a beautiful pussy, too!" She said, smiling. "It becomes clearer and clearer all the time why you are his favorite."
She sucked her finger, making pretty noises with her succulent, red mouth, and then stood up and walked away, leaving me to wonder what would happen next.
It wasn't long before I heard rustling directly in front of me. Suddenly, a curtain was flung open and in the same moment, lights went on above a spot about ten feet away. There was a table placed there in a bright spot of light that was unlike any table I'd ever seen. It seemed to be some kind of modified massage table with cut outs for the face and the breasts. A woman I'd never seen before lay face down upon it. Her arms were lain out on the table, cuffed at the wrist, and chained to the underside of it, which appeared to be composed of sturdy folding legs. Her own legs were spread wide and dangling from the knee on either side. Her ass hung off the edge, which afforded me a perfect view of her rim and pussy. Her breasts hung through the gap in the table, their size obscuring any view I might have of her face, which was placed face down in another gap so she could breathe. A heavy chain ran from each ankle and was clipped into a D ring on her wrist cuffs.
She was about my size, I noticed. Same abundant curves, same approximate height. I shifted in the chair, trying to get a look at her face, but it was to no avail. Her breasts heaved with her breathing as she waited, like I waited. After a period of time I heard footsteps. It was him. He was fully clothed in black. His hands were gloved. He was carrying a familiar leather bag, which he placed on the floor beside the table. I waited for him to turn and acknowledge me, but he kept his eyes on the woman spread out on the table. He walked around it, never taking his eyes off of her. He grabbed a handful of her curly black hair, and tugged gently.
"Comfy, pet?"
She nodded, making her breasts sway even more. He knelt down and took stock of the placement of her body, giving one of her raspberry colored nipples a hard tweak as he did so. Her breath caught in her throat and he chuckled, low in his throat and tweaked her again.
"Do you like that, pet?"
