Woman of His Dreams

The phone rang several times, as I lay naked in my bed, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder. I was on top of the covers, lying on my back. My pole, as might be expected under the circumstances, was stiffly protruding upward. As the phone rang, I sort of clenched my cock muscles, "flexing" my hard appendage; it wasn't an orgasm, I figured, but it felt pretty damn good.

I was actually trembling a little when someone picked up the phone. There was a pause, then Nicole's voice. "Hello?" She sounded sexy – my cock twitched, this time unintentionally. "Nicole?" I managed to croak.

"Is this Pete? Why are you calling me?" came her response.

I hadn't planned what I'd say. I stammered out a flow of words I hardly knew I had in me, telling her I felt bad about what happened and I was crazy about her, could she give me another chance, could we at least be friends; I don't even remember everything that came flooding out.

My answer seemed to surprise her . . . it surprised me too. When I finished talking, there was a long, very pregnant pause. "Are you naked?" she asked.

I immediately admitted I was, but I quickly assured her that I always slept that way, and I hadn't been able to sleep at all since I got home from the movie.

"Is your cock hard?"

I had never had a day like the previous one, and I had never had a conversation like this one. I guess the fact it was the middle of the night and I was so damn crazy about this beautiful creature made me carry on with the conversation as if this line of questioning was not at all unusual.

"Yes, but I'm not touching it – it's been hard since I met you, to tell the truth. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." I paused . . . silence. "Can I come over and talk?" Silence. "Please?"

Her answer blew my mind. "Sure, I wasn't sleeping very well myself. I guess I could use someone to talk to."

It began to sink in – she thought I meant could I come over right then, and she had said it was OK. After another pause, I said I'd be over in a few minutes. "Be sure to put some clothes on," she said, giggling, then she hung up the phone.

I got back into my shorts and T-shirt and drove to her condo. When I stood on the porch and knocked, the porch light came on, Nicole pulled the curtain aside to make sure it was me, then came and opened the door. When I came inside, she closed the door behind me. I noticed the only light on was a small lamp in the living room. She said, "Come on in, we can talk in here." I sat down on the sofa, turning to look at Nicole for the first time.

She looked incredible! She was wearing a see-through, turquoise-colored teddy, and high-heeled shoes. "I didn't think you'd be here so quickly." Then she noticed for the first time what I was wearing – the same shorts and T-shirt I'd been wearing to the movie . . . the same clothes that were soiled as a result of her incredibly sensual handjob . . . the handjob my untimely, unsatisfying near-climax had unintentionally ended. When I saw the look on her face, I'd have given anything to turn back time, go home and change clothes, change into anything else in my closet. Her expression was a combination of anger, disbelief, and genuinely hurt feelings.

I jumped up from the sofa and rushed to where she was standing, and put my arms around her, as she turned away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wasn't even thinking, I got dressed so quickly because I wanted to see you again – I'm just crazy about you, it has nothing to do with coming." (What was I saying? I almost couldn't believe my own ears.)

She sort of composed herself, turned toward me again, and said, "It doesn't?"

I put my arms around her lovely waist, pulled her toward me and gave her the most passionate kiss I've ever given. As our lips parted after what seemed like several minutes, she asked me if I'd mind taking off my clothes. "I just want you to be naked – that way I feel like there's no secrets, I'll know everything you're feeling while we talk."

I began to actually feel somewhat dizzy as I stripped off my T-shirt and dropped my shorts (I hadn't worn underpants, what a surprise!) to the floor. I stood face to face with Nicole. She was a perfect twin of Stephanie Seymour; it was absolutely uncanny. With the turquoise teddy and the high-heeled shoes, she looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog. I, on the other hand, probably looked like a fool, standing totally naked with an engorged cock just sort of sticking out, and come-stained clothes lying in a heap at my feet. She looked me right in the eye.

She reached down and cradled my balls in the palm of her hand, never breaking eye contact with me. Although I wanted her so desperately I could scream, I was frozen in place by the feeling of her soft palm under my balls. "Where are your balls right now, Pete?" she whispered. "Tell me exactly where your balls are."

If I could have spoken, I'd have answered. All I could do was moan. I was still feeling lightheaded – this was the most amazing experience of my life. Nothing else had ever come close.

Nicole took my hand and led me down the hallway of her one-story condo. My cock sort of bounced as we walked. She opened a door, and led me inside. There were no lights on as she led me to the middle of the dark room. She asked if I minded raising my hands above my head, cupping my balls again as she whispered the question.

I raised my hands. She moved very close to me again, and we locked lips in a passionate kiss. I didn't know why she wanted me to raise my hands, but I still felt so guilty about what had happened at the theatre that I wanted to do whatever would make her comfortable. I felt her hands caress my biceps, then move up further along my arms as we kissed. I felt her move my arms back a little, and stretch them up above me, and I had a vague feeling of fabric or something else brushing against my wrists. Suddenly I heard a loud "SNAP" and felt a very firm grip around my wrists, which were stretched above my head. Nicole continued to kiss me for a few more seconds, as she caressed her way down my forearms, to my biceps, my shoulders, then rested her hands on my chest as our lips parted. She took a very short step back, and cupped my balls again in her hand.

I began to move my arms to put them around her waist again. They moved about one inch, then stopped. Nicole let go of my balls and walked away from me to another part of the dark room. I couldn't see her. In the dark, unable to see where Nicole had gone, I suddenly felt totally alone. But only for an instant.

I heard her strike a match, and she lit a small candle. Carrying it, she walked toward me again, and held the candle between us about six inches above eye level. Our eyes were locked on each others'.

Her eyes left mine, and wandered to the ceiling. My eyes followed, and I saw what she was looking at. My hands were cuffed in a very tight pair of velvet-covered wrist restraints about three inches long. It felt as if the velvet was covering solid manacles of steel. The cuffs were attached to a thick silver chain, which was in turn attached to a heavy steel eyelet which was screwed into a thick 4x4 beam that crossed the ceiling from wall to wall.

I could not move my hands more than one inch in any direction.

Her eyes met mine again, and she stepped closer. Her turquoise teddy rubbed against my naked, trembling body. She reached her hand between my legs again, and cradled my balls, her warm palm surrounding them.

"Did you mean what you said, Pete?" she cooed.