For years he felt psychoemotionally handcuffed while she administered kickpuppy punishments. He liked the way she responded in kind to his flirtatious advances. It was a stroking game they played with each other. Later she verbally kicked him in the belly or balls when she rebuffed the remark by relating a story about having great sex with her husband. The pain was great.
Today she would use the silver manacles to further capture and punish him. One cuff was tucked inside the waistband of her pleated black tennis skirt and the other hung over her abdomen. It was a stark contrast and was the finishing touch to her improbable outfit. The black bustier was made of chiffon. He could easily make out the darkness of her nipples under it. Her legs were encased in black stockings held in place with garter straps attached to the bustier under her very short skirt. Black spike-heel pumps with ankle straps completed the outfit. The sight of her dressed like that was enough to make his groin ache. He stifled a non-word sound that would have portrayed his feelings.
The other side of their relationship was a psychic connection that unnerved her and was a mystery to him though both knew it was very real. When she was thousands of miles away on the last few days of a two-week vacation in Italy and Spain with her husband he felt a powerful tingling in his soul that meant she was experiencing something intense. It wasn't until several weeks later that he questioned her and she said, "I went like this (turning to her left and down) while we were in the shower and the muscle spasm grabbed me. I was miserable for the whole twelve hours while we flew home." He hadn't missed the plural pronoun 'we' she had used. And he didn't ask her why she had made the movement that had caused the muscle spasm.
Once she was dressed in a powder blue sleeveless sheath with white buttons from bodice to hem when they met at the coffeehouse. It was summer and she was bare legged but he couldn't remember the kind of shoes she wore. It was their third meeting over coffee and he was being cautious. They chatted about this and that and she mentioned her daughter and how the youngster was conflicted between the tenants she was being taught at the Catholic girls school she attended and what she saw at home.
The priests and nuns insisted in a mandatory class that sex was for procreation and not pleasure. The woman/mother sitting across from him related how she and her husband had locked themselves in their bedroom for sex play after dinner. She had a slightly embarrassed little smile on her lips describing how when she opened the door and came out the daughter asked her, "Have fun?' The slim, beautiful woman on the patio of the coffeehouse had said 'yes' to her daughter as the story concluded. Then she looked into the eyes of the tall, intriguing man she was having coffee with. It was the first time she stung him...the first kick to the tail-wagging, 'love-me, love-me' puppy that he was in spite of his many years of life experience. A part of him was silently screaming, "I don't want to hear this shit about how you and your husband have great sex! I want you for myself and you damn well know it!"
The next time wasn't a lot different. They were having coffee at a Starbucks when she slipped into the conversation that the daughter had unexpectedly come back to the house to find her parents clothing strewn about the family room, down the hall and the trail stopped at the parents locked bedroom door. The daughter half kiddingly deplored what she saw but secretly wished she could have the same in her life.
The woman sitting across from him had taken her daughter to a counselor because of her stress and anxiety. The counselor had suggested yoga and regular masturbation as methods of stress relief. Daughter complained to her mother about the suggestion that she masturbate, referencing the church school's teachings on the matter. Mother told daughter to ignore that dictum and admitted to her daughter that she masturbated on a regular basis both alone and with her husband. The daughter sat in numb silence.
They met at the Coffee Plantation on 16th Street at her suggestion. Previously they had met at the Plantation at the Biltmore. He arrived first and ordered. Soon after she entered and with his hands full of coffee cup and a croissant he did his best to hug her when they met in the middle of the floor. She seemed to relish it as much as he did. He found a table outdoors and settled in waiting for this beautiful, mysterious, ethereal, teasing creature to sit across from him. She did. He told her he had wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her from the first moment he saw her. She smiled and said nothing.
Then he walked into it saying he remembered her saying 'we' were in the shower when she hurt her back. She confirmed that she had been involved in soapy sex play with her husband. Out of his mind with desire for her, trying to push away the picture she had painted in his mind, she had managed to kick his puppynuts again. He retreated in pain.
Another time she has sucked him in with a comment about a French film she liked and that it contained one of her favorite fantasies. When he asked what she replied 'being handcuffed and having my panties cut off.' When he asked if she had handcuffs she nodded saying she had found them in her son's room when he moved out.
"Well, you have your husband to do that or maybe you already have," he said. She had slowly nodded her head with a smug little pout on her mouth. His guts boiled and there was a stabbing pain in his groin. He was helplessly and hopelessly at her mercy unable to object to her infernal malevolence. Almost unable to breathe from the pain of her kick his eyes narrowed. He saw her eyes go wide with satisfaction seeing his pain.
The most severe putdown was after they had coffee and were in the parking lot He asked her to cross her wrists so the backs of both hands formed a V. After she did he moved them to his face so that both were in contact with his beard. "I just wanted you to have a hint of what I would feel like on the insides of your thighs." Whatever reaction she had she hid.
The first spoken words at their next meeting was when she slid up to him and said, "My husband didn't shave for two weeks while we were on vacation in Europe so I know the feeling of a beard on the inside of my thighs." He was totally deflated and one-upped.
She called late one afternoon to say that her husband was going to be out of town for several days and she wanted to conduct an 'experience' with him, advancing the idea of locking him in a chastity device for a week and then cooking dinner for him on the Sunday evening her husband would be gone. His heart leapt into his throat and left him gasping for air. He let a few seconds go by trying to gain his composure but knew he could not refuse.
