The Tuesday Night Boo Club

During the half hour drive to Naomi Hardy's Palmdale home, Mark thought about the long list of things that could go wrong. He finally came up with one positive thought. Given the venue, it was unlikely that he'd be served discount liquor.

Turning onto her street, his upscale expectations were exceeded by the kind of elegance that can't be store-bought. Arriving at her address, he couldn't see the home from the street. A short drive took him over a crest, from there he could see the house and, as expected, several parked cars.

When Amy had told him that the meeting started at 7:30, he had made an excuse why he couldn't be there until after 8. It was about 8:10, enough time for the ladies to be on their second or third cocktail. At least they'd be loose. He wished that he had something for his jitters.

The only thing less likely than having been invited to the meeting, was the person who delivered the invitation. Amy worked for the same firm, and they were friendly, but besides casual meetings in the hallway or lunchroom, he usually didn't see much of her. She worked at remote sites most of the year. When she was at home, she was in meetings that didn't involve him. Strikingly attractive, he fantasized that someday she'd wear something sexier than her "auditor's uniform" - typically, a navy blazer over an oxford shirt and mid length khaki skirt.

Late last week, when she sat down at his lunch table, he was surprised that she was in civilian attire, wearing a form fitting floral print dress, it's hemline higher than he would have expected, and a daringly low neckline - at least, for a CPA. He was cautiously checking out her features, when something she said snapped him to attention.

He was astonished to find out that Amy knew his former girlfriend Marcia, and stunned that Marcia had told her about their lifestyle. The explanation didn't make him happier, but at least it made sense.

Earlier in the month, they had seen each other at their college reunion. At school, they had been close, but since then had lost contact. They were dismayed to discover that for the past three years - until Marica moved to the west coast - they'd been living only about 10 miles apart.

Later, after they had had a few drinks - well, maybe more than a few - Marcia confided that she had evolved into a submissive. It wasn't until later that they figured out that Amy knew Mark, and by then, it was too late to put the cat, or any of the other BDSM gear, back into the bag.

Apprehensive, Mark wondered where the conversation was heading.

Amy told him about a book club that she belonged to. After several ho-hum novels, someone had suggested reading some "mommy porn". Though titillated, most of the group didn't believe much of the premise - that is, until Amy announced that she knew a Dom. She had been drafted into asking him to be a guest at the next meeting. Could he make it?

It would have been easier for him to say "no" if Amy hadn't been whispering - which made sense given the topic. But, by bending over to get closer to his ear, she was also giving him a perfect view down her dress. He wondered if he should look away, but decided that a quick peek wouldn't hurt. Any choice in the matter evaporated when he saw the nearly sheer black bra decorating her exquisite breasts. He was hooked before she ever asked the question.

Parking his car next to Amy's Accura, he grabbed the gym bag packed with accessories for "show and tell". He walked up the flagstone steps and rang the bell. He waited what seemed a long time before the door was opened by a stunning blonde, who introduced herself as Naomi. He saw that she was wearing a silk shirt over black capri leggings. The shirt might be satin, he supposed, except nothing in the neighborhood suggested anything artificial.

He was also willing to bet that there was nothing artificial about her mammaries. Sans titsling, they did a marvelous job of holding the shirt away from her body. Her pert nipples were impressive - maybe they were just stimulated by the sensuous fabric, but he thought that maybe she had gotten hold of some of Himmelfarb's new Perky Nipple Cream.

He must have been staring, because she asked him if his eyes were stuck. Fortunately, there was humor in her voice, and she made a slight giggle. "No", he said, "I was just admiring your shirt. Those are some impressive buttons".

She gave a him a curious look, glanced down, and let loose a belly laugh. "Silly boy", she said, "those aren't buttons. You need your eyes checked". He was glad that she wasn't driving home, she was obviously cocktailed. And, maybe something besides cocktails, her eyes were a little glazed, and she was giggling again.

He asked her, "Given the sorry shape of my eyes, would you mind if I take a closer look?"

He was surprised when she stopped giggling, her eyes narrowed and her face became serious. "Well, I have to say that I'm disappointed. I thought you were the kind of man who took what he wanted." Ominously, she continued, " Maybe Amy invited the wrong friend". She crossed her arms and waited.

Mark thought fast about the challenge - if he didn't do something bold, he might as well go home. Letting go of the bag, he grabbed her arms, spun her around, and pulled them behind her. She let out a slight shriek. Holding both of her hands with one of his, he reached around and quickly loosed the shirt's real buttons. That accomplished, he pulled it off her back and down to her wrists, his hand keeping it from falling. She muttered something, he wasn't paying attention, but it didn't sound like a protest. She certainly wasn't struggling.

He knelt and reached into the bag, rummaged for a few seconds, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, fastening them above the shirt. Letting go of her hands, he held onto the shirt, preventing gravity from doing its deed. Stepping around her, he examined first the one tit, then the other. Looking her in the eye, he said "You're right, those aren't buttons".

She laughed, but then a perturbed look came across her face. With the concern that comes after having too many drinks, she told him, "You may think that you're pretty clever, but I'll have you know, this is a real problem." He wondered what that could be.

She explained, "How the hell am I supposed to fix you a drink?"

He laughed, and after a few seconds, she joined him. She said, "I bet the girls are saying that I dragged you into a bedroom. We really ought to go see them". With surprising agility, she turned and hurried down the hallway. Picking up his bag, he followed after her, wondering about the drink, thinking about unintended consequences.