She writhed and twisted and pulled futilely against the silken scarves that kept her hands suspended over her head. Her tormentor had blindfolded her before attaching her bonds to a large hook hanging from the ceiling; she could not see what he was doing, only feel his hands on her body, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake.
A high profile defense attorney, Lana Forrester found it difficult to make time for herself to relax, let alone time to spend on nurturing relationships. Men were often intimidated by her strong personality, built from years of jury trials and legal wrangling in a male dominated world.
Tired of dating services and personal ads, Lana wasn't really waiting for Mr. Right; she just wanted Mr. Right Now. In her late thirties, and at the peak of her sexual prime, she needed more than just a hand for release. On the rare Sunday morning that she allowed herself to sleep late and enjoy breakfast at a diner, she picked up a copy of a local independent weekly newspaper. An ad in the back caught her eye: Victoria's Parlour—the Modern Madam for Modern Women. Your wish is our command; your fantasy is our reality.
Lana's curiosity was piqued. She headed back to her flat and called the number. A sultry voice answered. Lady Victoria assured her that many of her clients were career women, professionals such as herself who had specific needs and desires, and that at Victoria's Parlour, any desire could be fulfilled.
And so Lana found herself, just at she thought she desired, in a situation out of her control and designed just for her. She'd arrived at the Parlour, been blindfolded and taken to a room where she was undressed by unseen hands, laid on a massage table and rubbed until the tension drained from her body and she was completely relaxed.
The massage had her pussy tingling, and soon she was gently helped off the table and led to another room. Two sets of hands were on her body, one cupping her breasts, caressing them, the other rubbing her ass. Then, without warning, her hands were bound and she found herself on this hook, squirming and having second thoughts—did she really want to be this much out of control?
A deep voice whispered in her ear "It's just you and I now. And you are at my mercy".
He moved his hands over her breasts and circled her nipples with his fingers. Fingers were replaced with something cold—ice cubes. Rubbing nipples until they were hard and her cunt was dripping, and she was whimpering for more. Ice replaced by a hot mouth, sucking first one, then the other, while she moaned low in her throat and twisted, straining to get closer. "Please", she begged "more". "Oh, there's more". The nipples were pinched, hard, and she cried out from the waves of pleasure. She felt the wetness begin to trickle down her legs, the burning need to be touched down there almost overwhelming.
Her tormentor continued his relentless teasing, alternately sucking and icing her nipples and refusing to move down her body, while she moaned, louder now. Panting, groaning, and wanting, unable to think and out of control Lana could only beg for release.
"Not yet, you're not ready yet" came the voice. She felt a hot tongue slide down her body, down her taut stomach, followed by a trail of ice, slowly, excruciatingly slowly making the trip to the top of her bush and then, unbelievably, stopping before hitting the mark.
He stepped away and she moaned, a low, guttural moan. "No" she begged "don't stop".
"Don't worry", he whispered, his voice again in her ear "we're not done yet". He took her arms down and rubbed them gently as he led her to a large padded table. Lana found herself bound again, this time wrists and ankles. The table was split, so that her legs could be spread apart while remaining bound. Her tormentor teased her nipples yet again, bringing them quickly to hard points. By now, she was on fire, ready to explode.
