The Letter

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Registered: 01-19-2006
The Letter
26
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:15am
This story is a reposting of several chapters from Cruising Subspace, which Boston Steve and I co-wrote. We consider it to be a story within a story, and have decided to repost it as such.

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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:18am


I arrived home tired and tense, nevertheless, and was pleased to see that Mr. Carter had been able to come by and open the swimming pool for the season. It was a relief to strip naked and plunge into it, swimming laps for a good twenty minutes. Afterwards I floated on my back, relaxed and idly wondering where my wife and our friends were at that moment in time. Even though I was on my own, I felt distinctly connected to the group of them, as they continued their journey and vacation.



After leaving the pool and showering off, I checked for mail, and discovered a stack of envelopes in the letterbox. Sifting through them I disregarded the less than interesting ones that seemed to either be bills or requests for money and sorted out several that were of more interest. To my surprise and delight, I discovered three postcards addressed to me in unfamiliar handwriting. Wishing to prolong the pleasure, I set them aside, poured myself a beer, and then settled outside in the garden to peruse them.



I was amused, gratified and touched to see that my friends had not been lax after my leave taking. Mauro and the two subs, Yolanda and Melissa, had each sent me a postcard from the first stop on their voyage, Washington. The cards had been chosen with care, each one different, and although they were the typical postcard shots of the monuments of the nation’s capital, it was obvious that to our guests, these were first impressions, and impressed they were. The notes on the back were written in English, and I suspected that Mauro had been the one who was responsible for setting down in writing the well wishes of the two girls. I was also reassured by what I perceived as a return to camaraderie between them, after the tension of our last evening together and Melissa’s little hissy fit.



Before long I returned to my kitchen to prepare my dinner, listening to jazz on the radio as I did so. As my rice was cooking and my vegetables were simmering, my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and switched it on without checking who was calling.



“Patrick!” To my delight the voice I heard was Nathalie’s. “How are you, my darling? You must have had the phone right beside you, that was fast” she said. I laughed and reassured her that I was both fine and that yes, the phone had been right beside me, and I asked how she was, how they all were.



“Oh we’re fine, don’t worry about us. Graziella arrived safe and sound, we’ve been doing the tourist thing, they all love it and are managing to attract a certain amount of attention, which I’m sure isn’t a surprise”. No, that certainly was not a surprise, and I laughed along with Nathalie at it.



“How are you, honey?” I finally managed to ask her, hating to cut off her enthusiastic stream of words about where they had gone and what they had seen, but yearning to have some personal contact with her. “Are you all right? Did you get checked out of the hotel without any problem and get all the luggage and equipment packed into the car yesterday?”



“Yes, of course we did, silly, why wouldn’t we?” she answered. “Mauro and the girls did the packing up of the dungeon equipment and toys, since you couldn’t organize it Sunday night before you went to bed”. I had a momentary stab of guilt over that and started to explain to her what had happened. She cut me off, saying that both she and Stefania had known that the girls, Melissa in particular, had been too tired on Sunday night to allow us into their room to gather up the paraphernalia scattered about there. I wondered if the two Dommes also knew by now of the scene in the restaurant, but since Nathalie didn’t mention it, it wasn’t my place to bring it up.



We chatted for a bit longer, talking about the mundane things that concerned our life as a couple, and then returned to the agenda and activities that faced them.



“We’re getting ready to go out soon,” she told me. “The gala and bondage demonstration is tonight, in case you’ve forgotten. Stefania is going to be on center stage, and even though she is calm, the girls are as excited as they can be. This is likely to be one of the high lights of the trip for them, you know, and I can’t wait either. Besides acting as models for Stefania, the girls are going to be modeling the new line of leather bondage wear that Mauro has come out with. It should be spectacular, Patrick, just spectacular! I’ve been to the spa here at the hotel this afternoon, managed to get in a good work out in the gym first and then had a wonderful massage and facial. In a little while the girls are going to do my hair and makeup and then I’ll be back in that green dress that you love so much. Can’t you just see what I look like?”



I assured her that I could, indeed, see what she looked like, and I knew that she was the one that would turn heads and garner attention at the club, the minute she walked in, no matter how the two subs were presented, and in what state of dress or undress they might be.



She continued to talk about the evening ahead, and about what she anticipated from it. She was excited about being amongst a group of people in the lifestyle, many of them accompanied by their subs or slaves. It was going to be a first for her, and she was more than ready for it. She would be there, a Domme among others of her kind, along with her lover, Stefania’s two subs, Mauro and Graziella. With a pang I realized that she would be without her own sub, me, and I mentioned this to her. Rather than get annoyed with me, as she could very well have done, a tone of tenderness came into her voice as she told me that she too was sorry that I wouldn’t be there with her, but she reassured me that I would be there even though I was absent.



“Don’t ever forget, Patrick,” she said, “I can’t do this without you in my life. None of it would make any sense without you.” I reassured her that I knew that, but that hearing it made me feel better. She told me she would likely not be back to their hotel until the early hours of the morning, but that she would be in touch with me the following day to let me know things had gone. Telling me that she loved me, she wished me a good night and then she was gone.

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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:18am



The remainder of my evening was not just uneventful but dull, compared to what I imagined the others were experiencing, but I didn’t dwell on it. I went to bed at my usual hour, slept soundly and the following morning went through my usual routine. Leaving for work perhaps a little earlier than usual, I switched my cell phone on just as I was getting into my car. I didn’t really expect a message from Nathalie that quickly – after all, I suspected that she was probably just winding down from the evening’s activities as I was getting set for my day. I’d tossed my phone on the passenger seat beside me as it readied the SIM card and was surprised to hear the familiar warning tone that let me know there was a message for me as I prepared to pull out of our drive. Idling there, I grabbed the phone and checked the message.



It was from Nathalie, all right, but to my stupefaction, it wasn’t a message at all, but a photo she had taken with her cell phone. It showed her hand, so clearly her hand because I could see her engagement and wedding rings, holding and obviously caressing an erect penis, the pre-come oozing from the tip and running down over her hand and rings.



I stared at the image, trying to comprehend it. She had told me she was looking forward to having a break from the men she took as her lovers during the time our Italian friends were with us, and I knew she meant it. She had so obviously been enraptured to be spending time with Stefania, both in her company and in her bed and arms. She hadn’t mentioned that she had met anyone, when we had talked last night, and she had always, previous to this, let me know when she was on the hunt for a lover.



I looked at the time log that came with the image. She had sent it forty minutes earlier, but I knew that didn’t mean much, that it could have been taken at anytime during the night. All it meant was that she had had the time to finally send it, probably as she was getting ready to fall, exhausted, into bed.



Who had she been with and how had she connected with him, I wondered. It had to have been someone she met at the gala the previous night, but who? For the first time it occurred to me that perhaps she had met another male sub and taken him, and I wasn’t at all sure how to deal with that thought.



With a huge effort, I managed to put all these thoughts and questions aside, pulled out into traffic and headed to work. As always, I had to trust my wife, and believe that whatever she had done, it was in the best interests of both of us. Nevertheless, Wednesday was a difficult day at work for me, and the unresolved question of Michael continued to weigh heavily upon all of us.
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In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:19am



After work that day I went to work out at the gym before heading back home to change prior to meeting up with Dave and the kids for pitching practice. It was a good and necessary diversion, as it allowed me to expend some physical energy and avoid wondering about what had happened the night before at the gala in Washington. However, even though Dave and I had a burger and beer together afterwards, I finally had to head home and leave room for my thoughts and worries to come to the surface.



I hadn’t had any further word from Nathalie after that early morning message containing the photo, but as I got home, my phone alerted me, once again, that I had a message. Grabbing it, I scrolled eagerly to my messages, and read “CYE”.



I fairly bolted into the office and switched on my computer, champing at the bit as it booted up, cursing its slowness. I dashed back to the kitchen while waiting for it, grabbed a glass of wine and went back to the office. I logged in, opened my browser and went to my email. Among the several emails waiting for me, none of them of much interest or so I thought, I saw the one from Nathalie and opened it.



There was a file attached and the instructions to print it out and read it. Cursing once again, I reached over and turned on the printer. It seemed to take forever for everything to be turned on, humming peacefully and working as it should, but finally all was set. I opened the file and printed it out, and then gathering up the sheets of paper, headed out to the garden to read it. It turned out to be a letter to me from Nathalie, recounting her evening, and filling out and explaining the image she had sent me that morning.
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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:20am



“My darling Patrick,” I read, “Yesterday I woke up hungry. I was alone in the bed, Stefania being already up and about. She’d warned me the night before that she would be moving into high gear early on Tuesday morning, preparing things for the demonstration and generally making sure that all was exactly as she needed it to be. When I did catch up with her over breakfast, she was almost luminous with pent up energy. For once the girls were already at breakfast with her, and they were the entire focus of Stefania’s attention. The conversation among them was entirely in Italian, and it amused and pleased me to listen, not understanding a single word, but reading the body language and reactions of Melissa and Yolanda. Your Mistress sat between the two of them, occasionally touching one or the other, making sure that they were eating well, having them fetch more fruit salad and yoghurt for her from the buffet table and basically exerting her place as their mistress. The girls seemed to bloom at this, and rather than spend all the meal nattering away to one another as they are prone to do, they focused themselves on her, vying with one another to find little services that would please her, without needing to be asked.



I mentioned that I awoke hungry, which I did, but my breakfast did nothing to assuage that hunger. Seeing Stefania encircled by her subs, feeling the rise in sexual excitement and energy from all three of them and knowing that this time my place was not in that circle seemed to release an old, familiar sensation in me. I was looking forward to the gala and demonstration last night as much as they were, or so I thought. I didn’t know what the evening would hold for any of us, whereas they did, having been center stage before. But even they didn’t have any inkling of what would be in store for me that night.



We did some touristy things during the morning, and then went our separate ways for the afternoon. It was a relief for me to work out at the gym and have a massage and beauty treatment, although they left me even more keyed up afterwards, if such a thing was possible. The workout hadn’t tired me sufficiently, and the massage left me merely aroused. The masseur was good, but it was ultimately frustrating to feel a man’s hands on me that were simply doing a mechanical job he was paid to do. Then later, speaking to you and hearing your voice, I realized that if you had been with me, I would have had you go down on me, then and there, and do what you do oh so well with that marvelous mouth of yours. With a real effort of will, I managed to continue with my preparations for the evening, and turned my mind to the practical details we were faced with.



We left together to go to the club, the girls draped from head to toe in long capes with hoods covering their heads. Considering how they were dressed, it was the wisest course to take, in order to be able to leave the hotel unobtrusively and get into the car. We stopped in a cloakroom just inside the entrance, where Graziella and Stefania removed the cloaks, revealing Yolanda and Melissa, tightly corseted in black leather, perched on high stiletto heels, their breasts revealed. They had dressed their hair up quite high, and their makeup was strikingly dramatic. They both wore wide leather collars that descended in the back to form part of a harness. Stafania and Graziella gave them another look over, lacing their corsets tighter, and then Stefania snapped leather leashes onto the rings at the front of the collars. Each girl had a double leash coming around from the front, one side lying over each shoulder, and then the two ends were joined again by knotting them through a ring located on the harness between the shoulder blades. Stefania held the ends of the two double leashes in her right hand, and had a long whip in her left. She herself was dressed in a tight leather bustier that came down over a very short leather skirt and reared up a good four inches taller than her true height on the stiletto heels of her kid leather ankle high boots.



Graziella looked the trio over one last time, fitted large arrangements of plumes into the girls’ hair, and then Mauro, standing close to the door of the room we were in, looked out and made a sign to someone. There was an announcement made over a loudspeaker, which I couldn’t make out, and we were beckoned forward, Stefania and the girls leading. The lights of the club had been lowered, and as we entered it, a spotlight focused on Mistress Stefania and her two subs, the blonde Melissa and the raven haired Yolanda. The girls walked slowly, strutting, looking idly from side to side as though bored and unaware that they were the center of attention. Their movements made them look strikingly like two thoroughbred horses, out for show. At that moment, my darling, I deeply regretted that you were not with us. I could picture in my mind the effect the three of you would have had upon that crowd as Stefania made her entrance, the girls dressed as they were, and you dressed accordingly, with your penis once again caged and on display.



A stage manager held the three of us back, to allow Stefania and her charges to do the promenade around the room that heralded their entrance, while the Mistress of Ceremonies announced their names and the rolls they were to play in the evening’s activities. They were then led to the table that was reserved for us, and as the attention of the crowd was drawn to the next arrivals and their ceremonious entrance, the three of us were quietly brought to the table.



We were served drinks: champagne for those of us who weren’t performing and juice and water for the rest. It wasn’t long before my five companions were summoned to go backstage, and I was left alone at our table, where I had the leisure to finally look around and feast my eyes on the BDSM crowd, out in all its glory. It was like a drink of fresh water, Patrick, to be among my kind. Again, I’ll spare you the details and descriptions of all that I saw, since the photos will fill you in later.



The very first demonstration had begun, and I found myself captivated by the rigger, a tall, dark haired bearded man who was doing suspension bondage on a tiny Oriental sub. He had pushed the sleeves of his shirt back, and I could clearly see his forearms and hands as he deftly began to ply his craft. His movements were breathtaking to watch, and I felt myself becoming stirred up. I found myself wondering who he was, if the sub was his, and if he would be around for the rest of the evening.



On my own at our table, I was jolted out of my reverie when a voice beside me said, “You’d best be careful, my dear, not only is he taken but I know for a fact that he never takes on a Domme. He’s one of those who doesn’t much care for the competition.”
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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:21am


I swiveled around to look at the man who had appeared at my side. He was leaning slightly towards me, a drink in his hand and a sardonic look on his face. He raised his drink towards me in imitation of a toast, and held my gaze steadily as I looked him over.



Early forties, brown hair thinning all over and with a bald spot on his crown, a round face slightly jowly, sensual lips that at the moment were slightly curved upwards, as he calmly and steadfastly bore my scrutiny. He was dressed simply but casually, without any of the more elegant or extravagant modes that were prevalent around us. He stood quite straight, and to all appearances was powerfully built, but the thickening of his waist indicated that he either led a sedentary lifestyle or appreciated the good things in life. In short an ordinary looking, unremarkable man whom under different circumstances I would never have afforded a second glance. Ordinary and unremarkable looking he may have been, but there was no mistaking that he was nevertheless a Dom who exuded self-confidence, and something else besides.



Piqued by his comment, I raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively. “And in that case, what would your recommendation be? Oh,” I added, seeming to suddenly recall my manners “Would you care to join me?”



He thanked me for my invitation, seated himself and ignoring my question, said “I must admit I never expected we would see each other again’.



“I beg your pardon, have we met? Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me as to the occasion?”



“No, my dear, we haven’t met before, I didn’t say we had, but we’ve seen one another before.”



His arrogant self-confidence was beginning to annoy me, and in spite of myself, I momentarily forgot about watching the suspension demonstration that held most of the crowd enthralled.



“We’ve seen one another before but haven’t met? Well we’ve now seen one another for at least the first time, unless it is for the second, but I don’t believe we have yet met even now. So would you be so kind as to fill me in on when and where our paths have crossed?”



“It was a fortnight ago, at a coffee shop at JFK. You were there with someone, a man, your husband, perhaps, or your boy? He noticed me, certainly, and pointed me out to you. You, on the other hand, gave me a rather cursory glance. I cannot even say it was a once over, or I’m quite sure you would have remembered me.”



I shrugged my shoulders, telling him that while I remembered the incident, I had no lasting impression of the man that my husband had pointed out to me.



He leaned back in his chair, and nodded, still looking at me appraisingly.



“You were at Kennedy, your husband pointed out to you a man who was giving you a good looking over, you gave him a look in return, but no more than that. What kind of man points out to his wife that another man is undressing her with his eyes in public, which, let me assure you, I was doing. Yes, I think I know, a sub, and not just a sub, but also a cuckold, isn’t that right? Someone who not only gets off on knowing that other men are pleasuring his wife, but who is willing to point them out to her. So where is he tonight, your boy? I know he isn’t here with the rest of your party, I’ve been watching you since you came in.”



My blood had started to pound in my veins as I listened to him when I realized that his unbridled arrogance and provocative tone were calculated to get a rise from me, and that he had nearly succeeded. With a huge effort I managed to keep from letting my irritation show in the tone of my voice and I told him quite matter-of-factly that you weren’t my boy; that I didn’t deal with boys, because when it came to the male of the species, only men were worthy of my time and attention.



He laughed at that, and said “Touché! Well done.” Holding out his hand to me, he said, “Please allow me to introduce myself. Colin Renard.”



I hesitated ever so briefly, I still do not know why, but then I took his hand in mine and introduced myself. As I said my name, I felt the first contact of his hand in mine and felt as though an electric shock was passing through me. Like the rest of him, his hands were large but well formed and impeccably maintained. He shook my hand, grasping it firmly and shaking it twice. He didn’t crush it, but I had the distinct impression that he could have if he had wanted to. It wasn’t his strength that impressed me, but rather his control over it and the restraint he showed.
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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:22am


He didn’t prolong the handshake, or any contact between our hands, but ended it as naturally as the greeting required. I wondered if he was aware of the effect his touch was having on me, although I was determined not to let on that he’d affected me.



“Then tell me, Mr. Renard, are you here on your own tonight as well?”



“No, I’m not,” he replied, “I’m not on my own tonight.”



I looked at him quizzically, waiting for further details, which were not long in coming.



“My little treasure is with me tonight, but I have let her off her leash for the moment. She’s backstage, preparing to participate in the fetish wear show later on, as one of the models.”



I don’t think I intended to ask this next question at that point, my darling Patrick, but something pushed me to do it, perhaps the feeling that I needed to maintain the upper hand.



“And will you be alone later on?” I asked him.



“Well that all depends on you, my dear,” he replied.



“Does it, indeed? If it depends on me, then does it also depend upon my terms and conditions?”



Before he could answer, the crowd had burst into a round of applause as the demonstration, which had been going on all this time, came to an end. The rigger and his model, still suspended, both were in the spotlight. The rigger took a deep bow, obviously proud of his work, and turned the model in her ropes so that she could be seen from all angles. Our attention was drawn back to them, and we joined in the applause, belatedly recognizing and rewarding those on display, even though we had missed most of the scene.



I looked back at Colin and, realizing how tactically adept he was, congratulated him. He looked back at me and asked what he had done to merit my praise.



“Your move was very neatly timed, Mr. Renard. Not only did you draw my attention away from a man I was interested in, but you drew it away from a demonstration that I wanted to see. At the same time, you crowded out a perceived rival by informing me that the object of my attention isn’t one who likes competition. Might I therefore assume that you, on the other hand, not only enjoy having competition, but that you possibly even thrive on it? Oh, and very nice move, by the way” And with that I raised my glass to him in a mock toast.



He smiled in appreciation at my words, and took his time before answering, raising his glass in return.



“That depends entirely on the person I’m attracted to, Nathalie. In your case, yes. To get back to your previous question, tell me, what are your terms and conditions? What are your hard limits?” saying the last with a certain mocking tone in his voice.



I had never before been asked that question, but I knew instantly what my terms, conditions and limits were going to be.



“First, you need to have a place for us to play. If I’m with you tonight, then my girlfriend will want to use our room to play with her subs, although I will need to stop back there briefly on the way to pick some things up. Second, you don’t go near my slit with your mouth: that’s private territory for my husband and my girlfriend. You don’t enter it with your prick tonight, either. Not that I’m averse to having a man’s prick inside me, assuming he knows how to use it, but at present I’m of a mind that the next man who will be inside me in that manner is my husband. I can and will orgasm when and as often as I please, this isn’t about my being denied, rather it’s about me enjoying myself as much as possible. You, on the other hand, will not become hard the first time until I decide to take you in my mouth. I do love the feel of a flaccid prick, soft and oozing pre-come, as it stiffens and grows in my mouth. Before I take you in my mouth, of course, I will have had plenty of stimulation from you. I call no man Master, or use any other term of subservience, even if you are topping me. You free yourself from your little treasure for the night, and you concentrate on me”



He kept a steady gaze upon me, nodding in agreement to all I had said so far.



“What else?”



“When my friends are on stage doing their demonstration, you will not distract me from it. If you wish you can use that time to move around the room and talk to other people, or you can stay at my side, it’s all the same to me. But when I am ready to go, and have had enough of this scene, you will know, no matter if you are beside me then or not, and we will leave immediately.”



Again, he nodded in agreement and then asked “So apart from your limits, anything else goes? Hands anywhere, prick in other holes, mouth anywhere else I wish to put it?”



“Yes, anything.”



“Safe word?”



Without hesitation I answered “Trollop.”
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Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:22am



At that point the Mistress of Ceremonies announced that there would be a brief interlude while the stage was readied for the fashion show, and music began to blast out of the loudspeakers. People around us got up and started to move around, some of them gravitating towards a dance floor in one of the other rooms, others heading to the bar. Colin rose to his feet, asked to be excused for a minute and disappeared.



He was back before long, looking quite satisfied with himself, and informed me that he had arranged to have his treasure put in safe keeping for the remainder of the evening. Pleased, I smiled at him but didn’t press for details. Then I asked him if he’d like to take the opportunity provided by the intermission to dance. When he accepted, I rose quickly from my chair and, without waiting to see if he was ready, led the way to the dance floor. The intermission didn’t last much longer, maybe ten minutes, but it felt good to get up and move, and also to watch him move. Like many men of his size and height, he moved with surprising grace. The dance floor was fairly crowded, and we were close to one anther, but rarely touched each other. It amused me to come in close to him, brush up against him and then move away again.



We returned to our table quickly once the lights began to dim, and watched the fashion show with pleasure. Again, my darling husband, I won’t give you details of it, the photos will do the honor when I get back home, but suffice it to say that the girls were in their element and did Mauro and Stefania proud. There was no need for me to ask Colin which of the models was his little treasure, the shift in his body as she came out on stage told me everything.



Once it was done, there was another brief intermission, during which time Colin left me, and I stayed put, drinking in the scene around me. Stefania was up next, and I was eager to see her performance. Just before the lights dimmed again, Mauro slipped into the chair beside me and breathlessly asked me how his show had gone over. I turned and embraced him, telling him how wonderful it had been. He laughed, and thanked me for the bonus I had earned him. Surprised, I asked what he meant.



“Your new found friend, the one who has that pretty little collared slave who wore the purple leather outfit. She is mine tonight, Nathalia, and I think I will give her the outfit she wore. I hear that she is a specialist with her mouth and tongue”, and saying this he licked his lips in anticipation. “You may not have realized this, Nathalia, but oral sex is something I cannot get enough of”, and he flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth, imitating that of a snake. I burst out laughing at that, and told him that no, I hadn’t noticed, he hid that quite well. He laughed too, poured both of us some champagne and covered my hand with his. “Shhhh,” he said, “Here they come”, as the lights finally dimmed, and Stefania came out on stage.
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Registered: 02-28-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:24am

Patrick, my words aren’t possibly going to be capable of doing justice to your Mistress’ show. A single spot was shining on her, center stage. The music came up slowly, All That Jazz. A second spot appeared, showing Yolanda standing against a set wall on stage left, facing stage right, attired in her corset, her high heels, and her head gear. Stefania moved over to her, picked up a length of rope, and proceeded to bind her arms together wrist to wrist and elbow to elbow, behind her back. The rope tails were then led from her wrists to an attachment point on the wall, raising her arms together behind her back, strapado style. Another length of rope went around her waist, then tucked between her legs, back to front, before leading the tails through a ring suspended from above, and then hung a couple of cannonball style weights from them, pulling the rope tight into Yolanda’s crotch. The routine was obviously well rehearsed, as Stefania’s movements seemed to be choreographed with the music, and once again I was blown away by her artifice with rope. Two lengths of rope, quite simple, and yet she was able to use them in conjunction with Yolanda’s body to accomplish the most imaginative rigging.


Another spot came on, showing Melissa, stage right, naked, sitting cross-legged atop what appeared to be a padded, wheeled chest, facing Yolanda. The spot on Yolanda softened but remained lit, allowing the audience to continue watching her struggle with the weighted ropes chafing into the lips of her sex. Stefania moved over to Melissa and bound her ankles together as she sat. Her arms were outstretched to her sides and ropes secured from her wrists to support posts, and clamps were affixed to her nipples. Many turns of rope — I counted at least a dozen — were then wrapped around her neck like the cowl neck of a sweater. Another length of rope was then run from her ankle binding through the turns around her neck. Under normal circumstances this would have forced her to bend at the waist, lowering her head towards her feet, but her arms being bound to the posts at her side prevented her body from bending in that manner, so that instead her ankles were raised up to her neck and she was balanced atop the chest on only her butt. Stefania ran the rope back and forth from Melissa’s ankles to her neck and back many times, passing them through a large hoop in the process, and the hoop was then in turn lashed to a rope hanging down from above. Stefania was still doing all this in time with the music, exaggerating her gestures as she did so, Cabaret style. Her rigging done, she applied tension to the rope hanging down from above Melissa, forcing the blonde sub to raise her head towards the ceiling in order to take pressure off the back of her neck. Testing her work and satisfied with the results, Stefania suddenly pushed the wheeled chest out from underneath Melissa, eliciting a startled gasp from the audience and leaving Melissa hanging in midair, suspended only by the ropes behind her neck, around her ankles, and her bound arms outstretched to either side, her sex completely exposed.


The light now dimmed on Melissa and Stefania now moved back to Yolanda, untying the weighted rope biting into her crotch and lowering her arms from their attachment point on the wall. The wheeled chest was now brought over to Yolanda’s side of the stage and Yolanda lay down upon it, chest down. Her hands were placed on her buttocks such that her bent elbows pointed straight up towards the ceiling, her wrists and elbows still bound to one another. More rope, and the ties on her arms were incorporated into a box tie encircling her breasts, above and below, several times. Her ankles were also crossed, and the rope binding them brought up to the rope binding her elbows, forcing her into a hog tie. Another length of rope was braided into her hair and brought back to the mass of rope beginning to accumulate behind her back, raising her head towards Melissa, still hanging in midair on the other side of the stage. Yet another length of rope was looped around the point in the center of Yolanda’s back where all her ropes came together and led up to the suspension hoop that had previously supported her crotch rope. The audience was less surprised when the wheeled chest was wheeled out from under Yolanda, although they did utter more oohs and aahs when Yolanda’s suspended body swung forward to the point where her mouth came almost exactly into contact with Melissa’s slit.


Her rigging done, Stefania turned to face the audience and acknowledge their appreciation. As she did so, Yolanda’s tongue extended forward to give her blonde friend a quick lick, retracting back into her mouth as soon as Stefania turned around to see what the audience was laughing at. This slapstick routine continued for a few minutes, until Stefania finally caught her errant sub with her tongue in Melissa’s kitty. Stefania proceeded to give Yolanda a mock beating with the riding crop, and then produced a Hitachi magic wand, which she applied to Melissa’s clit. Mere moments later the vibe caused Melissa to climax, explosively, and she squirted all over Yolanda’s face to audience applause. Stefania turned towards the audience once again, raising her arms in appreciation of their applause as the lights and music went down and the curtain drew closed.



iVillage Member
Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:25am



I’ll spare you the other details of the evening, Patrick, except to say that when our group was again complete, the energy was palpable. Stefania had eyes only for her girls, who were dressed once again in their leatherwear, and crouched at her feet. Our eyes met momentarily as we raised our glasses in a toast to one another, and I recognized in her look the same hunger and desire that I felt burning inside me. It was not hunger and desire for one another, but rather the anticipation of what the rest of the night held for each of us in our separate playgrounds. There was no need for me to explain I wouldn’t be returning to our hotel room later on, she knew it already, and from her look, wished me well.



The crowd around us became noisier and more animated and without warning, I knew that I had had enough. I stood up, kissed everyone and wished them a good night and started for the door. I didn’t look around the club for him, but walked looking straight ahead of me. I hadn’t made it more than halfway to the exit when I felt a hand on my elbow guiding me through the crowd, which seemed to open before us. So far Colin had complied with my conditions perfectly. I felt a familiar sensation running down my spine, like an electric charge, radiating outwards through the tightly bunched muscles of my ass as I moved alongside him, perched on my high heels but still only reaching his shoulder. A flood of warmth rushed through me, from my tailbone down between my legs to my sex, which had been wet and pulsing for the better part of the evening. The touch of his hand on my arm, light as it was, was akin to torture, because he merely guided me through that crowd. I wanted him to move his hand down and grab me from behind, or better still shove his fist up under my dress and into me, and propel me out of the club that way. It was with a tremendous exercise of will that I refrained from putting any move on him. I’d set my terms and he had agreed to them. The rest was now up to him, and I was going to have to wait.
iVillage Member
Registered: 01-19-2006
In reply to: nenuphar_19
Mon, 01-19-2009 - 6:26am



As we walked to his car I told Colin where we were staying, and said I needed to drop by the hotel in order to pick up a few things I would be needing that night and the following morning. My stop was brief and the ride from there to his apartment took about fifteen minutes. Shortly before we arrived, he speed dialed a number on his car phone and spoke briefly to someone who answered, identifying himself and saying that he’d be arriving shortly and would need valet parking, and furthermore that he wished to have an elevator waiting at the lobby when he arrived. The voice on the phone’s loudspeaker was that of a woman, and he thanked her and then hung up. I’d been watching him attentively all this time, although he paid me no attention in return, all his concentration being focused on driving the sleek Jaguar that he handled with seemingly effortless skill.



We pulled into the circular driveway that led to his building, and he stopped the car, got out and came around to my door, opening it and helping me to get out. Once again he put a hand under my elbow and guided me up the sleek marble stairs that led to the elegant lobby. I thought I caught a distinct look of annoyance cross his face is he held the door open for me, which I wasn’t able to fathom at that time.



Entering the building we headed straight to a desk, behind which a doorwoman sat, her concentration focused on a monitor of some sort. Without pausing he flung his keys down in front of her, causing her to look up in annoyance, an expression that quickly shifted to something else entirely once she recognized him.



“I phoned ahead and requested valet parking, Angie, and I’m quite disappointed at having to open the doors myself. Please get my car parked and have my keys sent up. You know I expect better than this.”



All of this was said as we continued to walk, so that the last of his words were flung over his shoulder at the young woman who was floundering and attempting to proffer excuses which fell into the void of our passage.



The elevator was waiting and, once again becoming civil and courteous, he ushered me into it. He pressed the button for the 23rd floor, the doors slid closed and, smoothly, our ascent began.



We stood side by side in silence. He had dropped his hand from my elbow when we entered the elevator, and I was beginning to tremble slightly, not knowing what lay in store and wishing that, once again, he would touch me. I watched the monitor display the floors as we passed them, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and then suddenly and without warning he grabbed me around the waist with his left hand, squeezing me tightly and nearly knocking the breath out of me, as much from sheer surprise as from any actual force he was exerting, causing me to let go of my small overnight bag in the process.



He then shoved his right hand up and under my dress with such force that it caused me to stumble. He tightened his grip around my waist with his left hand and hissed into my ear as he felt my hot and moist slit, shoving aside my thong to get to it “So, you leave no bush down there, just like a slut who thinks that’s what all men like? Or is it your girlfriend who requests that you groom yourself in that particular manner? Either way, the next time we meet and come together, dear Nathalie, you’ll leave me a lovely landing strip to get my hands into, so that I don’t have to pull like this.” With that he pinched the lips of my sex between his thumb and index finger and pulled them hard. I gasped and felt the rush of adrenalin shooting through me, felt the increasing warmth between my loins as the blood flow, concurrent with my arousal, increased.



He left me no time to react, but pulled his hand away abruptly and, still holding me tightly around my waist, shoved me forward so that my head hung down. If he had released his grip at that moment, I would surely have fallen, as my knees were buckling and my stiletto heels gave me no purchase against which to steady myself. Holding me in that position, he turned ever so slightly, so that I could see in the full length mirror that made up the back wall of the elevator car as he pulled up the back of my dress and exposed my ass. He reached around and shoved his middle and index fingers into my mouth, hissing, “Suck them!” and then, using his digits, moistened with my saliva, brutally shoved them into my ass. With the index he felt around, pushing against my coccyx while with the middle he worked on the inner ring of my anus.



Again this didn’t last long, as he listened to my belabored breathing and asked me if I was going to come, right there in the elevator, like a shameless whore. I could barely shake my head, no, I wasn’t. I could have, I was on the verge of doing so, but I didn’t want to in that position nor at that time. He withdrew his fingers, straightened me up once again and, steadying me on my feet, suggested that I fix my dress, since we had nearly arrived at his floor. I did as he said, and then ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back away from my face where it had fallen. My face felt hot and flushed, and I was feeling distinctly disheveled. He made sure I was steady enough to stand on my own, removed his hand from around my waist and in silence we watched the digital read-out display as 22 turned to 23. As the elevator halted and the doors slid open he stooped and picked up my bag and, with a flourish of his hand, motioned that I should precede him out into the corridor, where he then guided me down the hallway to the right.

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