Once upon a time, there was a bespectacled, intelligent, interesting and good looking young man. He happened to find a piece of erotica one night as he was prowling around the internet looking for some easy fun. He was mesmerized by the writing and pursued the story teller.
In text he wooed her. Oh how he promised her delights would abound as he "kissed every inch of her body" that he would "treat her the way a true queen should be treated" and that he was going to be "the best player of the Turn On Game ever."
Until he didn't. He made a rather unfortunate choice on a weekend when she was free and available, something rare. He chose to go to a baseball game with his friends. After that choice, it took time to mount her revenge but when she did, he truly met his match.
[Bonus Turn On Tip: Be sure to promise your lady ONLY what you intend to fulfill. Many women over 50 have been sorely disappointed in dating and men. Many, like I used to be, are pleasure dormant or actually Turned Off and broken promises are always a turn off.]
Angel's World Cup Revenge
I lay there still as a statue not sure where she was or what she was doing.
Finally her stilettos clicked across the oak parkay floor in my direction. My heart rate went up and so did my dick, damn it.
"I thought I told you not to move." A fierce whisper penetrated the stillness.
Willing myself into silence and body stillness, my breath was ragged. I didn't want her leaving me alone again. The footsteps stopped at the side of the bed. I breathed as slowly as I could knowing full well that my swollen member would betray me again.
Suddenly something hard and cold touched my right heel. I was sure of it. The tip of something? I couldn't tell. Tensed in perfect attention my voice strangulated in my throat as I felt that something trace its way up the side of my calf.
I was frankly grateful that she had trussed me securely to the bedposts. "I hope I do ok, I am a rookie," she said. Rookie my ass. I have never been more roundly entertained and aroused. The toy she was using suddenly lifted and the whisper said, "What am I using to tease you, my pet?"
Not want to fuck up at any cost, I waited.
"Well done, you have permission to speak."
"Thank you, MIstress." I croaked out over impossibly dry lips and tongue.
"Oh, my poor darling, thirsty?"
I nodded.
She lifted my blindfold to my perspiration soaked forehead so I could watch her walk across the room to get me some water. Oh what a sight. Dressed in black fishnet stockings and a black leather bustier with red laces pulling her tiny waist into shape, Her sweet, round ass swinging just right, side to side as she sashayed across the room in her shiny red stilettos.
She bent over to reach into the mini-frig and I could just make out the curve of her treasures peeking out at me. Trying to swallow and licking my lips so I wouldn't sound like an idiot by time she got back, I must have looked like a giant beached walrus.
Before she brought me my water, she opened the dresser drawer and brought out something. She laid it on the dresser, or rather draped it on the dresser. I could see the leather strips. I began to shiver involuntarily.
"Now, Now," she clucked, "What did I say about moving around. You know how that distracts me from my pleasure."
I bowed my head in an expression of apology. She had forbidden me from ever saying the word sorry. A Turn Off word she called it. "Some words make a girl feel 'ew.' You never want to make a girl say ew." It was her first Turn On lesson and I would not soon forget it. Angel had no tolerance for ew. "Once there is an ew, there will not be a we. Period." She told me clearly.
Instead of 'sorry' she wanted to hear "Duly Noted." "That way," she explained, "I know you are serious because action follows Duly Noted and it is the action of eliminating sorry that is the turn on for me."
Once she allowed me to actually give her a pedicure, just like Gino did in her fantasy, I knew that was the only position I wanted to be in, at her feet. This goddess, this woman of pleasure and pain. I would do anything to be near her.
Proof? Here it was fucking World Cup Finals and I gave up my gang for this one. Lied to them. Told them I was too hungover and had a model over that didn't want to go home. They believed that well enough. It was something that happened a lot.
Knowing that they were all over at Mario's getting blasted and poking fun at my penchant for Le Pussé and I was the one getting ready to punctuate that very pussé made it hotter than it already was.
Picking up the crystal wine glass now damp on the outside because of the coldness of the water, she took a tiny sip for herself and then strolled back across the room looking me right in the eye. Wearing the Marilyn Monroe blonde wig was a stroke of genius. She couldn't have known my fetish for pin up girls.
Bright red lipstick and nails to match, I couldn't have found a better match for myself. It took weeks to get a date with this girl and now I am so hooked I was passing on the fucking World Cup Finals to be with her.
She reached the glass over to me and tipped it so I could sip. Running her cool fingers across my forehead and ruffling my hair she cooed, "Good boy. Such a good boy, doing exactly what you are told. I have decided to let you move so that you can show me how I am turning you on."
My eyebrows raised and I arched my back. The relief was tremendous. My aching dick wagged from side to side with desire and the natural rhythm of my hips starting to move in sync with the heat glistening in her eyes.
"Oh Angel," I whispered, "Oh my sweet, sweet Angel."
"Oh my," she said suddenly standing and taking the glass from my reach. "I don't remember giving you permission to speak."
