It was Saturday morning and I awakened first. I should have been at the marina. Lisa was curled up in a fetal position sound asleep. She had my right hand in her two. She had the thumb of her right hand in her mouth. I had to get up.
I whispered, "Lisa, Lisa," I felt her move, then move more rapidly, "Oh, Larry you're."
"We're in bed together. Remember?"
I sat up on one elbow. She rolled over and pressed me back down, "Aren't you going to torture me some more?" She had no idea who was being tortured.
Pointing toward the bathroom I said, "Do you need to go?" She got up and dashed to the bathroom. 'Damn,' I thought, 'I had to go too.' I followed her. Inside, still tied up in scarves she whispered, "You'll have to wipe me." After I peed I wiped her pussy dry. She ran back to the bed; eyeing me expectantly, she lay back down.
I found my cell phone, called the marina, and told them I'd be late. I spent most of the rest of the morning in bed with a woman who wanted everything but what I desperately needed, 'Jesus,' I kept thinking, 'she's tied up but I'm the one with the blue balls.'
It was 11:00 before I left. The last thing she said as I walked down to my car was, "I'm off today. When will you be back?" I waved and shouted, "Later." Driving away all I could think was I'd traded one nut case for another. The next few days were going to prove how right I was.
~~~V~~~
For me the following days and weeks went from good, to not so good, too bad, to downright terrible. At face value I suppose every man dreams of having his own exciting little sex slave; some cute woman always at his beck and call. There was only one problem with mine; Lisa liked being tied up but she'd been so turned off by her slimy ex-husband that any effort by me to get her to include any of the things a man normally needed was met with tears followed by anger. I was being suffocated.
Lisa was a brilliant little vixen; she managed to get her whole life, and mine, mapped out. She worked for her mom and dad in the mornings; the rest of her day she dedicated to either me directly or to getting ready for me. Lisa was wizard when it came to on-line shopping; she bought dresses and costumes, just name it, Lisa found and bought it. Lisa was living out every fantasy she'd ever dreamed; harem girl, Greek slave girl, school girl, French maid, airline stewardess, Indian princess, the costumes came rolling in.
I admit it; she looked gorgeous. My problem was slobbering and drooling over this beautiful woman whose only interest was in getting me to suck on her tits, slide my tongue up and down her slit, nibble on that sweet ass, and kiss and smooch on her perineum and asshole. What did I get; a woman who kept me on a tight schedule of work, a lot of one-sided sex, and a girl whose insatiable desire for cunnilingus kept me in a constant state of sexual arousal. I turned into a man perpetually beset with hard on.
She had me too. I wondered who the slave was. I had to be at mom and dad's breakfast nook every morning, Monday through Friday. She'd be there, all sweetness and light, smiling and kissing and hugging. Every man woman and child in town knew we were sweet on each other. Everybody started asking about when the 'big day' would come. After work I was expected to be at her door ready for another round of her getting hers and me getting nada. Worse, her mom and dad had fallen in love with our relationship. They'd never seen their daughter so happy. I was Sir Galahad; the problem was I knew if I bucked 'her' system she might go ballistic, and then I'd have every son-of-a-bitch for a hundred miles mad at me for breaking her heart. Didn't anyone know she was breaking my balls?
It didn't take long to realize things were getting just a little outrageous. I was used to being my own man; doing what I wanted, when I wanted, and with whom I wanted. Lisa had other plans; suddenly 'I' wasn't going to the tavern anymore, 'we' were going to the tavern. 'I' stopped going grocery shopping. 'we' were buying the groceries. 'I' needed new boots so 'we' went shopping. 'I' liked my clothes; they fit nice, but suddenly 'my' clothes weren't any good, too raggedy. 'We' had to buy 'me' all new clothes.
Lisa was turning into a monster. I never thought about it at first, but she'd started to wear me down. Not only was she not letting me near her except to play her increasingly tedious slavery games, but she was even more insistent I keep her fully satiated. It was awful, though she already had me on a tight schedule, she got worse. She got possessive to the point of obsession. We stopped going to the tavern, soon nights out at any restaurant became an ordeal. I was becoming increasingly afraid even to notice a passing waitress. If I looked at another woman I got the third degree, "why are you looking at her", "suddenly I'm not good enough", "wasn't she the one you danced with last week", "you never pay any attention to me anymore when we're out", "why are you always look at other women", and on and on and on. I had no interest in other women except to see what they had on. She seldom saw it that way; she was always looking for salacious intent. Lisa was becoming insanely jealous, and I didn't have a clue why, but then I did. She had her needs, I had mine, and she knew I wasn't getting mine met.
I had to do something, and do something fast or I'd be dead from lack of nookie, or I'd have to give up on her because of her insane jealousy. Besides, my tongue was wearing out! What could I ever possibly do? I needed help!
The answer came from the most unlikely of places, the radio. To be sure it was an oldies station I seldom listened to. This was a real oldies station; like ancient, the 1950's. So I sat there in my truck listening to some old smoke named Chuck Berry when a song I'd heard once or twice before came on. It was a song about some guy back in 1956 who'd been a flop with chicks. Desperate he'd gone to see some gypsy. She'd figured he needed special help; he needed a potion, something she could fix up in her sink. It said she'd looked at his hand and made some magic sign and then she handed it to him. She called it her 'Love Potion'. That's when it hit me. I needed my own magic potion.
For sure I don't and never did do drugs. I liked to drink. The other stuff just wasn't for me. And I knew for damn sure there were no magic potions out there...or was there? Wait a minute! I'd read on the Internet about some stuff called Molly and another kind of junk called Ecstasy. I got back on line; Molly sounded scary, but Ecstasy, that had potential. If I could get some of that stuff, and if I could sneak it into some of the stuff Lisa cooked I might...
I started asking around. There were college boys and their rich older fathers all over the docks. At first I confined my queries to drugs like sex enhancers. That was a mistake. Rumors started spreading how I needed Viagra to keep up with Lisa. If that got back to her parents I might end up as some of the sausage they served. All I could think of was "Fried Green Tomatoes"? One kid found me though; he quietly bragged how he never failed when it came to girls. He had the stuff I needed. He had the 'Mighty E'!
We talked. I paid. He delivered. The stuff came in tablet form. He warned me to not use anything with it like alcohol until I was sure how a certain somebody would react. We didn't want anybody getting sick. He suggested a lot of ways to get it to her. I thought it over and made my plans.
I got the stuff and ground it into a powder. I figured to put it in something she made. Lisa liked soup, and we typically had some kind of soup or stew twice a week. The way things usually went, we'd prepare the food and then Lisa would slip back in her bedroom and put on some kind of sexy costume. I'd get the scarves, the cuffs or the chains ready, and then I'd pretend to be the sultan or the gangster or the warrior or whoever it was who'd captured and would make her his slave that night.
So come Wednesday and Lisa made her delicious vegetable soup. Before we ate, like almost always she went back to put on her latest outfit. Tonight was harem night. I had my own stupid costume and the shiny silver manacles ready. I also slipped the 'E' in her bowl of soup. Oh boy! Tonight the man would get his due.
Did he? He sure did, just not like he planned.
Lisa-Ann came out all sexy and pretty wearing finely pleated translucent pasha pants, a tight fitting crop-top pushing her ripe plump breasts up and out. Her hair, loose and free, cascaded down her back. Eyes sparkled she danced across the room where she fell at my feet. Breathlessly she exhaled, "Master!"
This was one of her favorite fantasies. I was supposed to be the ruthless but kindly, forget the oxymoron, desert sheik who would torment her with exquisitely soft succulent lips until she became his obedient and willing sex toy.
She looked up at me expectantly. As if on cue I revealed the shiny stainless steel manacles. Without a word I reached behind and fastened her hands together. She expressed all the appropriate appeals for mercy, while I gruffly but lovingly issued the expected low-toned order, "Extend your feet damsel." She stretched forward her muscular legs, placing two delicate feet on my knees. As per the plan I revealed a set of shackles, of course with the politically correct eighteen inch chain connection, and proceeded to clamp each one around a delicate ankle.
She played her part, "Oh sir, I fear you have the advantage. Please do me no harm." It was a script from some old 1920's 'silent movie'. Go figure.
I said my lines, "Yes, and harm you I might, but first you must be fed," This was when I got out her bowl of already prepared soup. I produced a spoon and delivered up her first taste. She accepted it with all the customary phony distaste. I ladled out another spoonful, which she fearfully accepted.
It was at that moment everything went off script. Lisa sat back and matter of factly, and I thought rather authoritatively for a slave girl said, "You put something in the soup."
I said, "What?"
