You are encouraged to read Chapter One of The Chocolate Room. It's been a long time coming, but worth the wait.
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Pam had always told me that her spare downstairs bedroom, the one adorned and painted all in shades of brown (hence the name), the one that she had rarely even entered since her divorce more than five years ago, would one day be the scene of our most erotic rendezvous yet.
We had been lovers now almost half a decade, on and off, mostly off recently due to geographic and other family-related circumstances, and I had missed her terribly. As I had told her many times, she was THE lover who aroused me the most, and not just because of her incredible physical beauty.
Despite knowing Pam for all this time, she remained an enigma, a riddle, a mystery wrapped in a conundrum. She rarely revealed much about her feelings, her social life, her past, and I had learned long ago not to pry. She resisted my many invitations to fly away somewhere for a vacation in the sun and surf. She kept me at a safe emotional distance, and I'm certain the fact that we lived over 500 miles away from each other saved both of us from deeper emotional attachment.
Though far from a promiscuous woman, Pam made it tacitly clear that ours was to be strictly a sexual relationship. We had fun, we bonded, we stimulated each other intellectually during perhaps the dozen or so times that we had met over the last half-decade. But that was it. Separate lives, only to be shared in sporadic but unforgettable one-night electric snippets, the most torrid and erotic sex that I've ever enjoyed with a woman.
This would be such a night.
Pam had told me something unique about her from the very outset, before we had actually even met, while we were still sharing electronic and telephonic foreplay. All of her lingerie, and she had what seemed like countless outfits, had some kind of attachment that had to be released before it could be removed. A bow, a string, a zipper, a snap, something. At first, silly me, I considered this rather odd and essentially pointless, a quirk that I could more than tolerate given her truly spectacular body underneath the respective garments. But with each passing visit, I found myself completely mesmerized by the anticipation of what she would wear this time.
Once again, Pam did not disappoint.
She was adorned in chocolate brown from head to toe, including jewelry, mascara, make-up, fingernail and toenail polish, everything. Including a brown leather choker collar around her neck.
Topped off by a brown leather lambskin bustier. The top was corset-like, but instead of snaps and strings, was entirely composed of leather straps and zippers. Her sensational tits popped out of the top like ripe fruit waiting to be bitten, and my mouth instinctively watered at the thought. The bottom was composed of brown leather pants with zippers separating the crotch from the legs and the legs split in half, two zippers divided the panty portion so that it could fall off of her body if she were unzipped in just the right fashion. The sheerest of a brown silk thong covered her most private area, the source of my deepest desire, Ground Zero.
The legs became what I would soon discover to be thigh-high boots, with a heel so sharp, I was sure they had to be registered as lethal weapons. The boots had laces the entire way, from her ankles to mid- thigh, perhaps close to forty laces in all. It would take quite a while to unravel the boots, and I knew this was by design. She looked like a sexy, slutty version of the chocolate devil herself, and I knew she was just that sort of temptress when she wanted to be.
If you have read Chapter One, you have learned by now that out of all the fabulous women that I've been fortunate to have been lovers with over the years, I consider Pam the most erotically beautiful. Incredibly, though I didn't think it possible to improve upon perfection, Pam looked even more beautiful than when I had last seen her.
Due to a regiment of yoga and ballroom dancing (and probably, I surmised, a steady diet of great sex), now, that eye-catching 5'-4" frame measured a staggering, cock-hardening 36D-26-35. Her tits looked positively huge, set firm and high on her chest and they swayed gently when she walked. Her tiny waist looked even smaller below the curves of her breasts and her body was sculpted and tanned, even as winter approached, with her ripe ass the shape of a teardrop. Oh, and did I mention that Pam is now approaching her mid-fifties? The proverbial freak of nature, a time-defying Aphrodite.
Pam's now-familiar and irresistible Cheshire cat grin lit up her face, delighting in my delight, and she took her brown lacy gloves with the fingers cut out that covered her palms, and her hands grasped both breasts now and massaged them, nipples burning hotly against the leather. "Mmmmmmm..." She let her exhale take on a breathy sigh. "Don't you just love things that make you say 'mmmmm'.....?"
She guided me into the room, closing it behind us, and for the first time in the five years I had known her, I was finally in it. THE Chocolate Room, the walls painted a dark brown, the bedcovers and curtains and lampshades and the tripod, brown, all brown.
Did I mention the tripod?
As I focused on that tripod thing for just a moment, which was pointed right at a brown leather chair, Pam eased me back into that same chair, which had huge arm rests, and began to undress me from my toe to my head, south to north. She first leisurely removed my shoes and socks, and then using only her teeth, mouth and brown-lipsticked lips, she undid my belt, loop by loop by loop. Next, she took off my pants and boxer-briefs, slowly, excruciatingly so, smiling happily as my cock bobbed out of its prison and twitched against her gorgeous face, but she resisted and continued her gradual ascent, next unbuttoning my dress shirt, and then, with a dramatic flourish, ripping the final button roughly and tossing it to the plush carpet (yep, you guessed the color).
She extracted about a dozen brown silk scarves from a dressed drawer next to the bed and tethered my arms securely to the arm rests, restraining me, checking to make sure the scarves were snug but not uncomfortably so. Once satisfied that I was now captive, she walked seductively towards the lens of the camera on the tripod and started to dance.
