Unconventional Convention

He'd traveled most of the day in hot weather, so shortly after checking in to the hotel, he headed straight for the pool. The water felt good, and after swimming a few laps, he found a lounge chair, settled in, and relaxed in the waning sunlight.

He looked forward to the next few days. A relatively new employee at his company, he was pleased to be sent to his first trade convention. He was excited at the prospect of learning a lot about his new field and meeting professional colleagues from around the country. He was happy, though, that it wouldn't be all work -- the convention was well-known for a lively social scene, and that definitely appealed to him.

After a couple more dips in the pool, it was time to get ready for the evening's events.

The convention's program simply said, "Opening Reception," but he'd been told by co-workers that this was a gala not to miss. A mouth-watering buffet, an open bar and a live band that played late into the night gave this reception a reputation that had spread through the industry.

Freshly showered and dressed in the prescribed "business casual," he descended to the hotel's main floor, found the registration booth, and claimed his convention badge. He then followed the directions to the grand ballroom, where the reception was beginning. The room was huge, but already teeming with people. He found the buffet even better than he'd expected, and soon had a plate stacked with food.

Happily fed, he began circulating around the room. He knew a few of the people, and conversations with them led to meeting others, and soon he was in the thick of fast-paced networking. When the last of the food was taken away and the band started playing, he realized how quickly time had passed. With the start of the music, a few brave souls ventured onto the dance floor.

He'd lingered in one group for some time, entertained by fascinating and sometimes hilarious stories about "the old days" recounted by veterans of the business. Engrossed in the stories, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

Turning around, he faced a stunning, athletic blonde.

"Hello," she smiled.

He stared silently, transfixed by a feeling that he should recognize her. After a few seconds that seemed like hours, his brain unlocked the memory.

"Mary?"

"Yes," she replied, grinning broadly.

"Wow -- I haven't seen you since, well, since we finished high school."

"That's right," she said. "It's been more than ten years now."

The memories started cascading into his consciousness. She was the Homecoming Queen, the majorette, the captain of the girl's swimming team, the daughter of a wealthy businessman -- in short, the closest thing his school had to royalty. She always had been polite and spoke to him when they were in school, but to him, she had epitomized the unattainable. She was extremely attractive and every guy in the class seemed to have a crush on her, but few had ever summoned the courage to even ask her out. He certainly hadn't.

And now she stood in front of him, smiling. Reaching for his hand, she summoned, "Come on. Let's talk."

He followed her to a spot near the dance floor where there was some empty space. They spent the next few minutes catching up on the years since high school.

After a short break, the band resumed playing, and started a slow-dance song. Mary grabbed his hand and headed for the dance floor. He didn't dance much, but wasn't going to miss this chance. On the floor, she grasped his hand firmly, planted her other hand solidly on his back, and took the lead.

He could hardly believe what was happening. In their school days, he would never have thought about even asking her to dance, and here she was pulling him tightly against her as they moved across the floor.

As she pressed him close to her, he immediately noticed how good it felt. Her body was firm and athletic, just as it had been in school. As the music continued, he noticed her hand moving around his back, to his shoulders, then back down, then from side to side.

"She's checking me out!" The thought raced through his mind. He started becoming aroused by her action. The two reached a darkened corner of the dance floor just as the music stopped.

When they stopped dancing, she suddenly put both hands firmly on his ass.

"Clench," she said in her low, husky, sexy-feminine voice.

"What?"

"Clench your butt." Her voice carried a tone of authority he was unable to resist.

When he complied, she moved her hands carefully and slowly over the thin fabric covering his tightened glutes.

Her examination done, she moved her hands upward to his back and smiled.

"Very nice. I saw you at the pool earlier. I'm impressed -- most of the guys in our class have put on fat, but you've put on muscle. What are you doing? You didn't do any sports in school."

"Running, some weights, some swimming and bicycling," he replied.

"When did you start this?"

"In the service, then I just continued. I really like being fit."

"So do I," she grinned.

She led him off the dance floor, keeping hold of his hand until they were again away from most of the crowd.

With a serious look on her face, she drew him closer.

"There are a few more people I need to see at this reception, and I'm sure you need to make a few more contacts, too." Her stare became more intense. "I don't want you to leave this room without seeing me first. If I leave first, I'll find you. I want to see you later."

He nodded assent. She gave him a smile and quick pat on the shoulder, then blended gracefully back into the crowd.

He stood in shock, unable to move for several minutes. He hadn't thought about her, or his high-school days, for years. Now the memories came cascading down like a landslide. He recalled the sights -- her waving like a princess in the homecoming parade, prancing at the front of the band in her skimpy majorette uniform, and, of course, looking ravishing in her swimsuit at competitions. If anything, he noted, she was more attractive now than then. And, unbelievably, he thought, she now seemed interested in him.

He circulated around the room more, but no longer was able to concentrate on business. He managed a few short exchanges with people, and finally found a group where he could pretend to listen to an ongoing conversation while his mind focused on Mary.

After an undetermined time in this trancelike state, he saw Mary approaching. He turned and walked to meet her.

She handed him a business card.

"My room number is on the back. Be there in 20 minutes."

He nodded, and she walked away briskly.

He noted the time, then headed for his own room. With his head still buzzing in disbelief, he entered his room, nervously got a glass of water, then sat down to stare at his watch.

"Am I really going to her room for the night?" The thought seemed as unreal as it was exciting.

Her room was several floors above his, so he tried to calculate just how many minutes it would take to get there. When the time seemed right, he headed toward the rendezvous.

Reaching her floor, he got off the elevator, turned, and walked down the hallway. When he reached her door, he pulled the business card from his pocket, confirmed the number, and knocked.

The door opened, revealing Mary, now in black leather pants and a white tank top revealing her tanned, toned arms, square shoulders, and a tantalizing hint of cleavage.

"Come in."

He walked in. She shut the door, set the deadlock, then gave him a quick hug.

"I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you invited me," he replied.

"I hope you don't have any other plans tonight," she asked.

"No, not at all."

"Good."

She gestured toward a couch and invited him to sit. He noticed that she had a spacious suite, not just a room.

*She must be doing well,* he thought.

She sat next to him and made small talk for a few minutes. When she sensed that his nervousness had subsided somewhat, she stood and placed herself directly in front of him.

"I think it's time we started having some fun, don't you think?"

He nodded.

"Good." She pointed to a door. "I want you to go use the bathroom. Leave your clothes in there -- all of them, and come out here when you're done." Her voice once again carried an unmistakable strong tone of authority.

Though somewhat taken aback by this command, he swiftly moved to obey, her tone leaving no room for questioning.

He entered the bathroom, closed the door, relieved himself, and removed his clothes, folding them carefully and leaving them on the counter. He briefly wondered where Mary was putting her clothes. Now more than a little nervous, he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, turned the knob, opened the door, and strode out.

He was shocked to see Mary standing in the room, still fully dressed. He instinctively turned back toward the bathroom, but was stopped by the command: "Come here."

He turned again, and gingerly walked to her.

"Hold out your hands."

He stretched his arms toward her. She swiftly took a pair of leather cuffs from the dresser and buckled them around his wrists.

She pointed to the bed. "Lie down, face up."

One part of his brain screamed danger signals, but the tone and firmness in her voice and the look on her face wilted away any resistance. He obeyed.

As soon as he was on the bed, she secured the wrist cuffs to straps at the corners. She then affixed cuffs to his ankles and secured them to the other corners.

With him stretched, spread-eagled and vulnerable, on the bed, she stepped back briefly to look him over. She then returned to the bed, leaned over, and began to gently pinch and twist his nipples.

He let out a short groan. She leaned down farther, putting her face only a foot from his, and smiled broadly.

"I said we'll have some fun, and we will, but we're going to have it on my terms," she said. "The rules are simple. You will do exactly what I say when I say. And you will absolutely not allow yourself to have an orgasm until I give you permission. Understand?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She pulled sharply on his nipples, and he let out another groan.

"That reminds me," she smiled, "if you get too loud, I'll gag you. I don't want to have to do that, but I will if necessary."

Without being asked, he nodded again.

"You said you run. How far do you go?"

"A few miles," he replied.

"Then I presume you know about the 'runner's high'?"

"Yes."

"Know what causes it?"

"Endorphins." He'd read a few articles about this.

"You're right," she grinned. "Tonight, I'm going to show you another way to get an endorphin high. I think my way is a lot more fun."

She laughed, gave his nipples another sharp tug, then let go and went to a corner, where an open suitcase sat on a stand.

She pulled a riding crop from the suitcase and strode back to the bed. She tapped the crop gently on his chest, and drew it downward across his stomach. She drew it back up, then gently brushed his chest with it, going back and forth several times.

He instantly reacted with a rock-hard erection. Seeing this, she lightly rubbed first his shaft, then his balls, with the crop. This only made him harder.

She laughed again, still moving the crop lightly over him. "Remember what I said."

He nodded, but wasn't sure he was going to be able to control his reactions.

She swiftly drew the crop back and slammed it hard into his chest. The sharp jolt of pain made him groan again. At a slow pace, she delivered more hard blows to his chest. With each blow, he took a deep breath as the pain sank in and radiated outward.

After a few more blows to his chest, she moved her attention to his thighs, covering each one with carefully-placed strokes of the crop. The sharp sting of the fresh blows was added to the warmth in his chest from the earlier strokes.

As she progressed, his breathing became more regular instead of being driven by each stroke of the crop. While each new stroke stung, he found the sting swiftly merging with the warmth from the previous ones.

She stopped the cropping, leaned down close to his face again, and placed a hand on his stomach.

"You seem to be relaxing a bit."

"Yes," he nodded.

"Find it doesn't hurt quite as much as at first?"

"That's right."

"Good. Your endorphins are kicking in. Now we'll get serious."

She unhooked his cuffs from the straps.

"Turn over," she commanded.

When he did, she quickly reconnected the cuffs, again restraining him spread-eagled, this time face down. She walked to the suitcase and picked out a leather flogger.

Returning to the bed, she rested the flogger tails lightly on his back.

"This should warm you up nicely."

With that, she drew back the flogger and laid a firm blow across his shoulders. He gasped at the new sensation. Again pacing the blows slowly, she worked over his shoulders thoroughly with the flogger, moving from one side of the bed to the other to even out the effects.

As he'd felt with the crop, he noticed the individual strokes starting to merge into a generalized heat over his back. Once again, his breathing became more regular.

Noticing this, she directed a harder blow onto his ass. The new intensity and the new target combined to make him tense instinctively, pulling at his cuffs. He resisted the urge to yell.

She increased the pace and intensity of the blows on his ass, excited by the sight of his muscles tensing with every blow. A thin sheen of sweat began to cover his entire body. His breathing remained regular but became very deep.

With his butt cheeks turning crimson, she returned to his shoulders, alternating blows there with repeated blows to the ass. She became more excited by the sight of his tensing muscles, his deep breathing, and the increasing color of his skin.

Delivering one last hard blow across his reddened cheeks, she returned the flogger to the suitcase, picking up a thick leather strap.

Without a word, she forcefully laid the strong leather across his ass. It fell with a sharp crack that sounded like a gunshot.

The strap blow felt like a fiery explosion on his ass. This time, he yelled, quickly stifling it. She hit him again, and he barely avoided yelling, instead muffling heavy moans into the bed covers. As she continued to drive the thick leather into his tenderized cheeks, he felt the fire in his ass building and spreading.

His tense muscles strained against the cuffs and his entire body glistened with sweat.

She stopped, returning the strap to the suitcase.

Walking to the bed, she put a hand on the back of his head, turned his face toward hers, and looked carefully into his eyes.

"Good boy," she said. "You've done well. Now for the finale."

Once again, she released his cuffs and told him to roll over onto his back. She reattached the cuffs.

With the pain turning to an overall glow, he noticed, somewhat to his amazement, that he remained fully erect. He felt a strange exhilaration, somewhat as if his head were floating, and realized that must be the endorphins working.

Mary noticed all this, too, standing at the foot of the bed. She looked him over, appeared satisfied. then pulled off her tank top. She next removed her bra, pulled off the leather pants, then the thong that was under them.

The sight of her naked body nearly overwhelmed his senses. She was still the toned, fit athlete of their high-school days, but with an added sexiness that had come with the years. She glistened with a light sheen of sweat from her exertions with the flogger and strap. He stared, transfixed, at what he felt was the most perfect female body he'd ever seen.

She stood, smiling, obviously allowing him to drink in the sight. After this pause, she turned again to the suitcase, retrieving a short, thin, leather strap.

She climbed onto the bed, straddled him, and moved upward, resting her crotch slightly above his head. Her cleanly-shaved pussy already was wet with excitement.

Without waiting for an order, he immediately began stroking his tongue over her. She moved slightly to give him better access, and he intensified his efforts, using his tongue and lips in an enthusiastic effort.

She began to moan appreciatively, gently rocking above him. Occasionally, she leaned back to give his belly a light stroke with the small strap. He found this only heightened his excitement. He became completely focused on servicing her.

After a few minutes, she became obviously more aroused, gyrating more heavily and letting out low groans. With a powerful shudder, she exploded in orgasm, drenching his face in her juices. When this explosion subsided, she remained still, eventually resuming a slow, regular breathing.

Regaining her composure, she moved her crotch back from his face, leaned down, and said in a low voice, "Good job. Now just a little more."

With that, she moved downward on the bed, took a position straddling his own crotch, then deftly guided his rock-hard shaft inside her. She sat firmly, driving him deeper into her.

He thought he would explode.

"Remember what I said -- not until I tell you," she reminded firmly.

He nodded.

She began to gently rock up and down on him. Using the strap, she directed light strokes onto his chest and ribcage. He found himself welcoming their sting.

"Got to keep your endorphins up," she grinned.

As she continued the gentle rocking and slightly intensified the strapping, it struck him that he'd never felt so completely alive in his life. All the sensations coming together -- the lingering glow from the flogging and strapping on his back and ass, the stimulation of the strap on his chest, the gentle fog of the endorphin high, and the pure erotic intensity of being inside her -- combined to produce an excitement like none he'd ever experienced.

She slowly began to pound herself more forcefully onto him and increased the pace. Her breathing again became sharper and her moans resumed.

Suddenly, she put the strap aside, leaned forward, grasped his shoulders powerfully, and began pounding with frenzied force. Her body dripped with sweat.

"OK -- now. Go ahead." It wasn't just permission; it was an order.

They both exploded into screams, their bodies convulsing in unison.

Eventually, the convulsions subsided and they caught their breath. She loosened her grip on his shoulders, slowly lowered herself onto him, brushed her lips briefly against his, then looked directly into his eyes.

"Just think -- we've got the rest of the week before the convention's over."