Woman of His Dreams

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.

She looked me straight in the eye. To this day I remember the expression on her face at that moment, although it's difficult to describe in words. My balls rested in her palm, the small candle in her other hand. Her expression was like a woman head over heels in love. Everything I'd said earlier to her about being crazy about her, not being able to sleep, just wanting to see her again, it was all true, and I'd have said it again in an instant. I guessed she just wanted to hear me say it again.

"Every word of it, Nicole."

She took a few steps back and put the candle down on a small desk. She walked back to me, stroked my cock all the way up and all the way down, then fondled my balls again, this time with both hands. I was beginning to really enjoy this fixation she seemed to have with my balls (my balls, my scrotum, my cock, she seemed to want the whole package!). I silently reminded myself to try not to come prematurely if she kept stroking – hell, I'd even warn her to stop if I had to. Anything to avoid another incident like the one at the movie . . . anything to keep her happy.

She seemed to read my thoughts at this point and moved close again, pressing her turquoise teddy against my stomach and chest, mashing her gorgeous, pert breasts up against me. I could feel her legs against mine as well, rubbing thigh against thigh. She pressed her lips to mine, and gave me a long, tongue-probing, wet kiss that went on and on and on.

As our lips finally parted, she stepped back slightly, and asked, "Do you mind if I cuff your legs? Just as a precaution, before we get started." Again, I couldn't really speak – what did she mean "get started"? I could only sort of shake my head and gurgle "OK".

In the dark, I hadn't noticed that heavy chains were also fastened securely to the floor on either side of the room, with similar velvet-covered cuffs attached. Nicole moved in the shadows of the candlelight, bent over and brought the cuffs from the chain on one side of the room toward my right leg. Without looking at me again, she sort of grasped my ankle from the side and gently pulled it to the side, about 12 inches wider than my shoulder. She secured the cuff around my ankle, and stood back up.

She walked around in front of me, and stopped to face me. She looked me right in the eye again, and moved really close. She started to smile, then sort of giggle; I felt like we were sharing a really intimate moment together. She kissed me again, this time even deeper and wetter . . . and longer. Before our lips parted this time, I managed to grind my stiff pole against her pussy, with only the very sheer material of her teddy between my cock and paradise. She swayed her hips in a way that increased the friction.

When our lips parted this time, she looked at me again, and said "Can I cuff the other leg too, Pete? Is it OK, before we get started?" I immediately said it was OK; I even asked her to hurry. I thought I wanted to "get started."

She didn't say a word, just went and grabbed the other chain on my left side, brought the cuff over, and moved my ankle again, about 12 inches.

The chain didn't reach that far – she looked up at me, and sort of made a sweet face and said, "Sorry Pete, do you mind of this leg is a little wider?" I smiled and stretched my leg out further to the side, and she helped pull it wider, and slapped the cuff on it. She stood up again and walked in front of me. She stood about a foot from me, and slowly, very slowly, looked me over from head to toe. After her visual tour of my body, she looked me in the eye.

I was so lost in the moment that I wasn't thinking clearly . . . if I was thinking at all.

If I'd been thinking rationally at this point, I'd probably have thought the situation was about as bizarre as any I'd ever imagined. Here I was in a pitch dark room lit only by a small candle; I was alone with this Stephanie Seymour lookalike, who was dressed to make a man spurt on sight.

I wasn't dressed at all. Not one thread of clothing. I'd agreed to let Nicole cuff my hands almost fully extended above my head. I'd agreed to have my legs spread and cuffed to the side.

In fact, I didn't just agree to it, I'd even asked Nicole to hurry and do it. I had a massive, steel-stiff ramrod of a hardon that had begun to twitch at seemingly random intervals as it swayed in the air between us.

I'd told Nicole how crazy I was about her, I'd told her I hadn't touched my cock since the ruined orgasm at the theatre, I'd told her I couldn't sleep but for thinking about her. I'd said a lot.

At that particular moment, I'd forgotten something else I'd said. I'd said my feelings for her had nothing to do with coming.

I may have forgotten that unimportant little statement. Nicole hadn't. In fact, when she'd asked me earlier if I meant what I said, that's exactly the statement she had in mind. And I'd blurted out that I'd meant every word of it.