Sarah's Story

"You did? I was hoping . . . Tell me, tell me all about it."

"He, he hurt his back, so I gave him a back rub, and that started it."

"Did you wear something sexy for him?"

"No, no, just a summer dress."

He was kissing me with real passion, real lust. "Did he kiss you?"

"Oh yes, yes, we kissed."

"So I'm kissing you after he did? Oh, that's so sexy. Was the room bright, did you look at him, at his body, did he see yours, I mean, really look at you, and get hard looking at you?"

"He was hard before we got undressed, honey, he was hard from the backrub."

Sam was pushing at his clothes, pulling at my robe, getting us both nude.

"Did he see you like this, without anything on?"

"Yes -- honey, he took off my bra, but he wanted me to take off my panties for him, and I did."

"Did you -- tell me you did -- did you go down on him?"

"Yes, and then I kissed him, I kissed him the way you like me to kiss you, after I go down on you, I kissed him so he could taste himself on my lips."

Sam's eyes closed, his mind was lost in images, images of his wife bending over a young man's penis.

I helped that image. "My hair blocked his view, he wanted to see me suck him, so I moved my hair, I let him see my lips on him, I let him see his penis in my mouth."

"Did he, I mean did you. . ."

"No, he didn't come in my mouth, honey, you didn't taste that there."

He was nuzzling at my belly, as excited as a teenager.

"I think I smell him, I think I smell him, on your belly."

A moment later, a little deeper, he was shaking with excitement.

"I think I can taste him!"

He came.

It's usually work to make Sam get hard more than once in a night, but not this night. We went over what happened, time after time, each time he'd harden, maybe not as much, but hard enough. I never had two men in a night, I'd never had sex three times in a couple of hours, but I did then.

So I had done what my husband wanted, I guess what I wanted, too.

We talked about it the next day. "I'm not that woman, honey, that assertive sexually experienced woman. It's not a role I ever want again, I don't want to pretend to be that, especially with a guy like Frank. I won't ever do that again."

"But what about what I want, being a voyeur, seeing you, not just hearing about it, acting it out?"

"Never, honey, not with me having to seduce someone like that."

"That's the problem, you having had to seduce Frank? But you were so sexy, the way you did that."

"I know, but now I'm sorry I did. I mean, he's just a kid. What'll he think later, that all women are like that?"

"I don't think so," Sam tried to reassure me.

In the end I insisted. "Not like that, not ever again."

September came, went. Our lives were full, we were full of life, of ourselves, and each other. The 'Frank thing' played a role in lust making, sometimes in love making, but even Sam was convinced I wouldn't do that again.

He'd been thinking about it, though.

"Sex isn't the problem, is it? It wasn't sex with Frank, it was you having to seduce him that you didn't like."

"Sam, you convinced me that having sex with someone was all right, so that isn't what's screwing up my head. I just don't want to have to be the driving force, I can't be like that again. If ever it happens again, it'll have to be different than that."

"What if it was an assertive man, a controlling man, that would be different enough, if it was a guy who just took total control of you, total charge of you, almost as if you had no control. I don't mean anything like force, or rape or anything, but like in a seductive environment, having a guy take control, that would be all right, huh?"

I hadn't thought of that scenario, but Sam was right. If it wasn't me doing things, if it was someone doing things to me, not hurting me or anything, but being in charge, that would be better. It wouldn't be me, it would be someone else. I'd be almost helpless. Almost helpless around a sexy stranger, and willing to be led into an erotic scene. Oh yeah, that would be really sexy.

"Maybe," I allowed, 'maybe that would be OK."

"OK," Sam told me. "Let me think about that. I still want to watch you, you know."

And as often happened now, he showed me exactly what he thought he wanted to watch. He showed me what he thought a controlling guy would do.

It was hot, it was fun, it was sexy, and you know what?

Sam was dead wrong about how it was going to happen.

Absolutely dead wrong.

I hate this part. I'm telling you this story, but I don't want you to ever be able to identify us. Yet, the more I write, the more clues you get, and you have to know this part to know the whole story.

The kid of one of the rich people who lived not far from here got sick. He needed all kinds of blood transfusions, and he got all he needed from the Red Cross Blood Bank. The father, let's call him Rich Guy, found out there's a bunch of people who give blood every 8 or 9 weeks, year in, year out. Sam and I are like that, I've given about 60 times (that's about 60 pounds of blood, about half my body weight!) and Sam, more than 70 times. Well, he IS older than me!

Anyhow, Rich Guy contacted the director of the blood bank, and paid the Red Cross to send out invitations to a "Thank You" party he was going to give at the Garden City Hotel. That is NOT going on the cheap, not even for Long Island. And for all you people who are sensitive about your privacy, it was the Red Cross who sent out the invitations, although the RSVP was to Rich Guy. You wouldn't identify yourself as a donor unless you chose to.

We chose to respond: we thought the party would be fun, we'd meet other people who thought being donors was important as we did.

Suits and ties, dresses, or uniforms were the dress of the day. That last bit was an interesting insight, because lots of the regular donors are cops or firemen. Odd, isn't it, that these men and women who put their lives on the line for us also are willing to literally bleed for us every 8 weeks, too? Yeah, you can tell, I have hero worship, especially after 9/11.

I wore a party dress, knee length, simple, black. It had a little bit of a scoop neckline, the back scooped too. It had wide shoulder straps, but it still was best with a strapless bra. I'm not one of those women with large breasts, I could go braless without causing a riot. Pantyhose, some reasonable (two and a half inch) heels, a simple necklace, a wide belt, and a lightweight coat completed me.

Sam wore one of his better black suits, his tie the same bright red as was my belt -- proof of ownership, I guess.

We all got nametags: first name only, and the number of times we've given blood. I was "Sarah 59", my husband was "Sam 73". 25% of the people at the party were in uniform. At dinner I sat between Sam and a New York City cop in his 'Blue Bag' -- that's what he called his uniform

How many times have you seen pictures of cops with big bellies, cops who looked like if they had to chase anyone would lose the race. "Bill 85" wasn't one of those. Not tall (and I like tall), but broad, and for sure, not fat.

And personable. He was Irish, and could he ever talk! I learned more about him before the dessert was served than I learned about Sam in our first 6 months together. For example, he was married and divorced three times -- "I'm too controlling for most women,." he never had to draw his gun in the line of duty, at least not yet, and -- well, he was charming, a great dinner companion.

There was music afterwards, Billy was going to leave early because he didn't have a date, but Sam asked him to stay with us.

I liked being with these people, all of them at the party were special, and Sam 73 and Bill 85 were very attentive and handsome escorts.

I danced more than I had in years, with each of my escorts. Bill was proper enough, although when you danced with him there was a strength and power in his lead. There was no doubt where you moving, what steps you were taking. He held me, as the evening went on, a little closer than was exactly proper, but not enough to make me fight him off.

Not that I wanted to, of course. I was in heaven with all the attention I was getting.

Well into the evening Sam asked the obvious question: "Like him?"

"Oh sure, he's fun."

"Think he's sexy?"

Well yeah, I did. And I said so.

"A possible?"

Wait a minute, that was going one giant step.

"Well?"

"Oh, I wasn't even thinking of that, I don't know. . ."

Like most women there I visited the ladies room a few times. Most didn't have two escorts at their table though, and most wouldn't see their escorts in whispered conversation when she returned.

Bill excused himself, I was dancing with Sam, slow dancing with Sam, and he made it obvious he was excited, that he was in heat.

"Feels like we're going to have an exciting time at home later, fella. Big Horn feels like he can't fit into his case."

"Maybe we shouldn't go home, honey, we've both been drinking, it's a 40 minute drive."

"We didn't come prepared to spend the night, Sam, and we don't have reservations or anything. That doesn't sound like a good idea. We'll take it easy and get home OK, I promise. I didn't drink that much, anyhow."

"Well, that's not what I want," Sam told me.

"Huh?"

"Bill and I were talking, honey. He's what I've been, what we've been, looking for. He liked to be really dominant in his relations. Anyway, I want . . ."

"You mean, you were talking to Bill?"

"Yeah."

"About me? About us?"

"Well, yeah. I mean he's nice, he's here, and, and, and I think he's sexy, don't you?"

"Never mind what I think. What went on?"

"And I told him we were looking for a little excitement, that I wanted to be a voyeur, and you wanted to find a dominating partner . ."

"And just like that, you . . ."

"Not just like that. When he comes back, talk to him. He has some ideas, and . . .look, there he is."

Bill cut in, took me in his arms, held me close. Bill was generating groin heat, too, and he wasn't bashful about letting me feel it.

"Well, Sarah 59, Sam 73 told me what you guys like to pretend." I started to say something, but he said "shh, listen to me first. The way these things work, is there always has to be a safety valve, if not with me, then with whoever you play with. It works like this. I'm very dominant, I like to control things, and I just assume my lady is saying things like 'no, no, stop' because it's part of the game. But if she says the code word, it means it's real, and things stop, no matter where they are, right then. Like, I'm a cop, I couldn't take the chance of anyone saying I forced them to do anything, so if I hear the code words I'd stop right now. Uh, just so you know, I've done this a couple of times, and no one has ever had to say 'Red Light' -- I'm a cop, that's a good code, isn't it? -- to me. Not ever."

I laughed out loud. "You mean, cops obey traffic signals?"

He laughed too. "This cop sure obeys that one, Sarah 59. If you play with me, and I hope you do, you should know that I really like husbands to watch, it makes me feel really powerful, to be with a man's wife, if either of you say 'red light' I'd stop and be out of there so quick you'd wonder if I was ever there at all."

"But no one has ever said it to you?"

"Nope. And I do have some things I really like to play with, too. Like, handcuffs make women feel really helpless."

An easy escape? And handcuffs? He changed position so that he was holding both of my wrists behind my back, holding me close to him, against his heat. He stopped dancing for a moment, held me like that. "Like, if we were like this, and I tried to kiss you, like this, you could stop me by just saying 'Red Light'."

He moved his head closer to mine, pulled me closer to him, and very slowly tilted his head, moved closer. "But I know you wouldn't say 'Red Light', not then, and not now."

He was giving me all of the time I might need to object, then his lips were touching mine, his tongue touched my lips, then my teeth, then my tongue. I was being held captive by this strong man, being kissed by him, being held tightly against his penis, all without my doing a thing, he was doing everything, he was fully in control.

When the kiss broke, he said "It would be like that." He looked up, over my shoulder, it had to be towards our table, and nodded.

"What was that?"

He moved his head closer to me again, nudged my head so his lips were at my ear, and he whispered "I just told -- no, I just commanded -- Sam 73 to go get the room cards for the room I arranged for a couple of minutes ago. When he comes back, we're all going upstairs. Sarah 59. We're going upstairs to play. Until then, I'm going to let your hands go, I want you to put them around me, and hold me to you, so that you can feel how hot I am. Do that now."

A part of my brain started to form the words 'Red Light', but I held Bill, felt him against me, thought of all Sam and I had talked about, fantasized about, saw that Bill fit our model perfectly. He was a big strong healthy controlling stranger that we'd probably never see again.

The magic phrase didn't get spoken right then, I stood as tall as I could, so I could kiss him again first.

We were waiting at the table when Sam came back. He looked at me. "Are you OK?"

"I am. Are you?"

He nodded, looked at Bill. "Two double beds, room 314."

Bill stood up. "Then why are we still sitting here?"

The brass doors on the elevators opened to swallow us, I held Sam's hand while Bill stood at what looked like 'Parade Rest' until we were delivered to the third floor. We found the room - 314, a hundred times pi my mind noticed, it would be easy to remember.

Sam opened the door, let me in, Bill came in last, put the "Do Not Disturb' label on the knob, turned to us. "I intend to the disturbing. Sam, you sit over there. You can watch, you can stop me any time, just like Sarah can.. You can say the magic phrase, but I don't think you'll want to do that."

"And you, sweet Sarah, you can say anything you like."

I didn't say anything, because he took me in his arms, and kissed me again. A big, open mouth, tongue lashing kiss, not sloppy, just very sexy, very hot and very sexy.

During the kiss he took my hands, held them behind me, I felt more movement, felt something -- what was that? then he was holding me again, but my arms were locked behind me. I was handcuffed.

He moved me so that I was at, then sitting on, the bed.

"I like my women helpless," he said, and bent over to pull off my shoes."They seem to like it, too."

"I like using my police equipment. I like using those handcuffs. And, I like using this." He took his baton from his belt, all 18 inches of black stick.

"This is more than a club, it's very strong, very erotic."

I was a little frightened, magic stop phrase or not. Bill reached behind my head, took a handful of hair so he could control my head's position. He made me turn it, I didn't have any choice, so I was facing Sam, and he began stoking my cheek with the side of the baton, just a soft touch, gentle.

"Do you like that?"

I looked at Sam, who was breathing through his mouth, panting. I did like it, I liked the feeling of power it had, and I liked the effect it had on Sam, of being helpless.

"Yes, yes I like it."

He changed its position a little, it was still on my cheek, but nearer my lips.

"Show your husband how much you like it. Kiss it!"

I closed my eyes, thinking about his order, but even while thinking about it, evaluating it, even while considering if I should, I felt it on my lips, caressing my lips, and I kissed it.

He turned it softly against my lips, its motion sexy, opening my lips a little.

"Do you know how easy it would be for you to get hurt with that baton, Sarah?"

I nodded my head. All he'd have to do is move it a little, it could split my lip, but I didn't stop, I still kissed at it, felt him moving it, until its blunt end was at my lips.

"Take it in your mouth, Sarah. Let your mouth make love to it."

Sam groaned, sighed. I opened my mouth, looked up at Bill, let him move it in my mouth, sealed my lips around it, felt it moving, touched it with my tongue, felt it go in, but not too far, then almost all of the way out, and in again, a surrogate penis, fucking my mouth.

I opened my eyes, saw Sam sweating, squirming in his chair. I wasn't sure, he could have been ejaculating, watching me.

"Oh, I think you're going to be really good at this, you're really hot, Sarah," Bill said, he may have been acting as though he was in complete control, but his uniform trousers were tenting, he was excited too.

"Feel that, feel it carefully with your tongue. What do you feel?"

"It has bumps in it. I thought it was smooth, but it has bumps."

"Those are teeth marks, Sarah. Teeth marks from other women who have had sex with my nightstick. I want you to bite it, I want your teeth marks on it, too. First you mark it, then I'll mark you."

Mark me? How?

I bit down, felt the wood yielding a little, felt it indenting.

"Good. Here, stand up." He pulled me to my feet.

"You did good. Now, I'm going to do bad. I'm glad you wore a coat, Sarah, because this dress" -- he reached for its neckline, started to pull at it, it resisted, then there was a tearing sound as it parted down the front -- "this dress is history."

Have you, woman readers, ever had a man so passionate, wanting you so much, he tore your clothes off? Not crudely, but urgently? If you haven't, you're missing one of the most surprisingly erotic things that can happen.

It took a tear or two more, and that dress -- it was three years old and cost $300 -- was a rag on the floor.

My first thought was I'd have to go home wearing only my coat. My second thought was, I was standing handcuffed in front of Bill with only a slip and stockings and a bra on.

To hell with the dress, that wasn't important now.

Bill shrugged off his jacket, opened his belt. Tie -- it was a clip on tie -- oh, so no one could grab it and gain an advantage -- shirt, then undershirt, all off, all in a heap.

"Turn around."

I did.

He released the handcuffs, turned me around again. "Later, we'll use them again, two sets, each wrist to an ankle. You'll never feel sexier or more helpless. But now, now I need your hands free."

He took my wrist, forced my hand against his belly, pushing it against himself.

I wasn't doing it, he was forcing me to.

He pushed it down, behind his waistband, against his groin, pushed it down, I felt his groin, his hair.

His shaft.

It wasn't me, not my responsibility, it was his, his hand held mine there.

"Touch me, touch it!"

It was warm, not hot, big, not hard. I stroked along his shaft to his penis's head. That was hot, and felt large, much thicker than his shaft.

"Now, I'm going to mark you, I'm going to bite you."

I could feel a pulse in his penis, could feel the smooth skin of it, a little moisture at its end, the thin skin of his foreskin over that head so easy to move back, so I could touch him there, imagine that purple head in my hand, on my fingers, but my touching him wasn't my doing, he had made me do that. . .

"I want to know how much you can take, I'll know, because you'll stop touching me that way."

I was stroking his cock along its length, letting my fingers explore it, his hold on my wrist had loosened, it was still his fault, his responsibility.

Then his lips were on my shoulder.

I could feel his teeth on my skin.

And his cock was getting bigger! Was it because I was touching it, or because he was biting me? I didn't know, but the pain on my shoulder increased.

It was an erotic pain, it was as though that pain connected directly to deep in me, and to his cock, it was reacting too, as I touched it, stroked it.