copyright 2004
A bonus at work had sent Cathy to the lingerie shop and she had emerged with a corset. At home she'd showered and powdered and stood naked in front of the mirror, holding the corset against herself, her heart singing.
It was a beautiful, glistening scarlet, with yards of black lacing and lots and lots of hooks. Putting it on was really a two person affair. But she'd laced it by guesswork and wrapped it around herself, fastening the hooks, revelling in the way it held her. It had been tight but she'd needed it tighter. Cathy had wanted her waist cinched, her breasts confined. She'd wanted things much, much tighter. Cathy had been getting wet as her new corset lit a fire inside her.
Two hours of aching anticipation had followed as she'd waited for Ron to come home. She'd postured in front of the mirror, seeing what he'd see, imagining him tightening the laces. Then tightening them again as they'd both became more and more aroused. Her pussy had cried out for her fingers.
When finally his key had sounded in the lock Cathy had been standing, bare-assed, with her back towards the door, waiting, waiting to have her laces tightened.
The row that followed had been terrible. She'd stood in her untightened corset while they'd yelled at each other. The humiliation; he'd pointed and mocked, shouted about wasted money while she'd stood, feeling naked and foolish.
They'd divorced. Not just because of the corset of course, that had just been the last straw. The split had been about a whole list of differences and shortcomings they saw in each other.
Now Ron was out of her life. He'd got a teaching job in Saudi Arabia. Cathy had thrown herself into her job at the newspaper. The corset? It lay at the back of a drawer in her bedroom. Her life was on hold.
Peter sat in the coffee shop, staring at the crossword and tapping the eraser end of his pencil on his teeth. He considered another coffee but decided against it, his body was starting to jangle with caffeine. Enough crossword, enough coffee, the day was a'wasting. He'd been widowed six months now but the adjustment wasn't complete. He wondered if it ever would be.
The door opened and a woman swept past his table. He was surprised to recognise his son's ex'. She went to the counter and he watched her. Peter had been out of the country for their wedding. The break up had come before he'd got to know her. He'd never thought them suited. Cathy was too bubbly and full of life for his quiet, studious son.
She turned from the counter and saw him. Her smile was a lovely thing that seemed to light up the day.
They sat and talked of this and that. She knew he was widowed and he knew she was divorced, so they avoided those two avenues. They talked a little of world affairs, a little about the weather. Then trivial stuff about books read and movies watched. He got them another coffee. Somehow they agreed, as lonely people sometimes do, that both needed company. Supper at an Indian restaurant, the suggestion was made and accepted.
When she got up and left, Peter couldn't believe how much she'd brightened him. How could Ron have let this woman escape? Peter sat and thought about her. Tall enough to carry those extra pounds and still look sexy. He guessed she'd passed thirty or soon would. To him she seemed so very young and alive.
He was old enough to be her father. Well, he grinned to himself, he had been her father-in-law. He found himself wondering about her and him. He shook his head. She was so lovely and he ached for company.
Cathy hurried back towards the office thinking about Peter. She seemed to see all the good things she'd liked about Ron, but none of the bad. She was shocked to find herself wondering what he was like in bed. She needed a man in her bed, needed it very badly. But Peter? He was old enough to be her father, damn it he'd been her father. Well, her father-in-law. But she and Ron were divorced so ...
The rest of the day crawled by for them both.
When he turned the corner, she was just getting out of a taxi in front of the restaurant.
The evening flowed perfectly. The food was wonderful and she was a joy to be with. He'd not been this happy in so very long. They talked and talked, oblivious of the passing of time. They laughed and drank too much wine. He thought her perfect.
He glanced at his watch, eleven o'clock, they'd been together for nearly four hours and the time had flown by. "I'd better take you home," he said waving to the waiter.
He helped her on with her coat, admiring the swells of her breasts as her shoulders moved. The near black of her shoulder length hair was shot with silver. She was lovely.
In the taxi she'd rested her head on his shoulder and thanked him and giggled and thanked him some more.
When they reached her apartment block he helped her from the taxi and told the driver to wait. He hoped she'd tell him to pay off the cab and ask him in but she didn't. He saw her to the entrance and she thanked him again. He kissed her offered cheek and moments later he was back in the taxi - alone.
In her apartment Cathy wondered why she'd let him escape. She was alone. She'd spent the whole time in the restaurant wanting him. She'd even drifted into a daydream, thinking about them fucking and fucking soon. Now here she was staring around an empty apartment. She thought of calling him and even got out the phone book but resisted the urge to call him. She should have told him to send the taxi away, brought him up here and ....
Cathy curled up on the sofa, her hand between her thighs, wishing.
Several miles away Peter stood in the shower and wondered what would have happened if he'd paid the cab and had simply walked her to her apartment. He thought of her warmth in the taxi, the scent of her. Heremembered her breasts in the vee of her dress, his cock began to lift.
It was a week before they got together again. He'd been waiting in the lobby of the apartment block when she got home from work on Thursday. With a pile of writing to do she cried off a date that evening but invited him for supper the following night.
She'd cooked Italian for him. It had been wonderful. He'd been cooking for himself and eating in restaurants for far too long. A bottle of wine had helped temper the spices in the sauce and she'd opened a second.
As the level in bottle number two dropped steadily, they relaxed and the talk flowed. They took their glasses and the bottle out onto the balcony.
As she talked, he found himself falling under her spell. Her voice, her laughter, the way she moved. Peter was becoming aroused.
Cathy found herself telling him things she'd never talked about to his son. Her wants, her needs, what she liked and disliked. She talked about very intimate things and realised that she wanted this man very much.
She was struck by how well he listened. Not just sitting there but responding with the right words and expressions, truly listening.
Peter poured the last of the second bottle into their glasses and asked, "So what's your darkest fantasy?"
To her horror she heard herself tell him, "To find a man I can trust enough to love me, while I'm helpless."He grinned at her and spread his hands, "Here I am."
"How can anybody ever be sure?" she asked.
"I don't know, perhaps it requires a leap of faith."
Despite Peter's arousal and the subject matter he'd leaned back at some point and closed his eyes. He'd drifted into a wine-warm sleep in the late evening sun. Cathy had watched him for a while and the idea had formed. The conversation's direction and his apparent sincerity had got her imagination racing.
She'd gone to the spare bedroom and cleared everything off the bed, pulled the mattress off and leaned it against the wall. She stood and gazed at the bare bedframe and dared to wonder.
She made coffee and took him a mug. Peter stretched and yawned.
"I fell asleep, I'm sorry," he said.
The sun had gone and the air was getting chilly. They moved inside. They settled in armchairs, facing each other cradling their coffees.
"I find it hard to imagine a woman trusting a man that much. To the point of being helpless and in his power," he said thoughtfully.
"No harder than a man trusting a woman, we're cruel creatures," she countered.
"I'd trust you," he said.
"Would you?" her eyes snared his and she smiled.
He stood, his hands tied behind him, feeling nervous.
"How safe do you feel now?" she asked him. She was walking, almost strutting, slowly around him.
"A little scared believe it or not."
"That's good, I might be planning anything," she stared at him, "anything at all." She moved round behind him and unfastened the knot, setting him free.
Cathy handed him the cord, "My turn."
"You sure?" asked Peter.
"Trust has to go both ways," she said.
He tied her wrists and stood facing her. Her breasts were heaving and he looked at them. Peter had never had a woman helpless in front of him before. He lickedhis lips.
"Powerful stuff being in control, isn't it?" she asked.
A dozen delicious ideas raced through his head and he looked at her. "Indeed it is."
He untied her wrists. He could feel his heart beat in his throat and realised he'd just tasted something very new and very frightening. More than that though, his cock was half hard - this was turning him on.
He lay naked, face down and spread-eagled on the old bed. Being tied up was a new experience for Peter.
He heard the shower being turned on. There was little for him to do but think and perhaps worry a bit.
He trusted her, almost. There was that 'almost' again, it had got bigger since she'd tied him to the bed with pantyhose. She'd tied his hands with the pair she'd worn on their date that evening. "Still warm" she'd told him with that wicked smile. He was sure it was no coincidence that the crotch was under his face. He could smell her all the time. He rested his cheek on the nylon and closed his eyes and breathed carefully.
There it was, a warmth, a muskiness as elusive as the smell of woods in autumn. His cock stirred, stiffened and he had to move his body cautiously on the wire springing of the bed. A moment of near horror as he realised his cock and balls were hanging through. Well, his cock wasn't hanging at all by then. More likely it was pointing at the floor somewhere under his chin.
A sense of awful vulnerability swept over him. Naked and tied, he was helpless and feeling rather foolish.The erection quickly subsided.
Cathy had said she'd shower and wash her hair. When, if, he ever got to stand up he'd carry the marks ofthe bedsprings forever. His feet were towards the head of the bed, tied wide apart with more pantyhose. He raised his head as far as he could but the foot boardof the bed denied him any view. There was the crotch of her pantyhose again and the scent of her. Nervous or not, Peter's brain was telling his body what to do. His cock began stiffening once more.
Finally the shower stopped. A long, near silence followed and he pictured her towelling herself. The hair drier started.
The bathroom door opened and he heard her bare feetmoving towards him. He wondered if she was naked. What did she look like out of her clothes? Her height and heavy looking breasts and wide hips promised much.
"Don't go away, I have to dress in something appropriate."
He listened with impatience to drawers being opened and closed in the next room. His erection didn't subside. Imagination is a wonderful thing and he was imagining her in all manner of frilly and revealing outfits.
Finally her voice sounded close to his ear. "Okay? Ready for some teasing?" she asked him in a whisper. Shivery little spasms ran down his neck. All he could see was to his left and right and through the bed to the floor. Cathy was out of sight and he imagined her kneeling, facing the foot board.
He waited and heard her moving. A face appeared belowhim. He was looking down at Cathy, she was wriggling her way under the bed on her back.
She kept moving and her breasts were directly under his face. She wore a bra, a white lacy thing. Her big breasts were a little flattened by gravity. They seemed likely to spill out from the bra at any moment. Although only inches from his face they quite untouchable.
Embarrassment flooded him as he realised she must soon notice his erection.
Cathy moved some more and her belly button came into sight. He heard her exclaim, "Oh my!" She'd seen his cock. She moved some more and now her panties were under him and the delightful mound of her sex. Her pussy was outlined in tight, clinging, red nylon. He could feel the heat of her on his face.
His whole body went rigid as he felt the suction on his cock. 'My God! Oh fuck!' he said inside his head as her mouth engulfed him. Wet heat and fierce suction. He groaned.
Her mouth was gone. "Don't stop, don't stop," he begged.
This was incredible. She was blowing him and he couldn't see her doing it.
"Did you like that?" she asked, her voice bubbling with laughter. "Shall I stop or make you come? Or should I tease you? Tell me what you'd like Peter."
He felt her hand close around his cock and shesqueezed. The hand was slippery, she must have had some sort of lubricant ready. She squeezed hard andbegan pumping him slowly, steadily. "Tell me what you want or I'll stop."
He heard himself say, "Just keep doing that."
Immediately her hand stilled, "Didn't you like my mouth Peter?" He felt the softness of lips and tongue again.
"Oh yes," he said, almost sobbing.
She released him with the sound of a sucking kiss. "I'm not sure you know what you want Peter."
"I want you to touch me." He'd beg if that was what she wanted. "Please."
"Do you like my panties?" Inches below his face her hips moved, the tight-clad pussy's outline seemed to beckon. "They'll be getting wet soon." Her thighs opened and sure enough, a small patch of dark-red wetness showed.
Her hand closed over his hardness again and his hips bucked.
cont'd ................
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