Teased by His Bitch Girlfriend

Gretchen smiled as she moved her long nails across my purplish, throbbing shaft.

She looked so cute…A pale beauty with short, slightly spiky hair.

Gretchen is a little on the chubby side, but in a sexy T&A kind of a way.

She was wearing a tight top and snug courdoroys as she leaned across the bed toying with my tortured Willy.

“What’s wrong, Miles? Having a bad time?” Gretch asked me bemusedly, as she stroked my quivering shaft with a sharp thumbnail.

“I guess you’re having a hard time with the 103 days so far?” Gretchen smiled at me evilly.

Two and a half years ago when we’d started playing dominance games, I’d confessed to Gretchen my desire to be put into chastity, and to “earn” my orgasms.

“How do you mean?” Gretchen had asked at the time.

She’d already begun to enjoy the whole aspect of all the oral sex on her side, and my increased participation in the heavy housecleaning.

“Well, it’s such a thrill making love to you.” I had told her. “I really think that your sexual favors should be earned by me.” Gretchen had laughed at the time.

“Well, I already cut you off when I’m on the rag, or when you stay out too late with those idiots watching MSNBC.”

This was true, Gretchen would most certainly cut me off even before we were married, just tell me no sex, because she was mad, and make me do all sorts of chores and favors to get her in the mood.

This really had thrilled me, though her previous boyfriend, who had been a friend of mine, had told me many times that Gretchen was a “ballbreaker”

When Gary had broken up with Gretchen, he’d warned me. “No, I don’t mind if you date her, man, but she’s really high maintenance.”

Why had that excited me? The idea of trying to please this imperious princess had been just possessing to me.

I’d immediately begun to prove to her that I was no insensitive Gary type, that I was primarily focused on making Gretchen pleased.

We never switched the check or any of that nonsense, I always picked it up.

After we’d married, it had been so gradual how we’d moved into a state of Gretchen being my dominant.

I was an investment banker and brought home most of the bacon, and Gretchen did a little film-making.

It was her career, but truly much more of a hobby.

Theoretically, Gretch was supposed to look after the house, and make things comfortable and relaxing for me, and I was glad to subsidize her projects.

But it had seemed from the start that whenever I got in at night, the house was a bit of a mess… Gretchen was quite often sitting in front of the TV.

“Oh hey babe.” she’d say as I dragged in from a long day.

“Didn’t get too much done, but there’s some kinda TV dinner thingie in the kitchen, you know I can’t cook.”

And I could never get upset with her, and often I’d take off my jacket, put on an apron, and make us a good meal,as my mother had taught me to cook quite well.

Then I’d try to pick up her discarded deli wrappers and stray shoes, and sweep the carpet a bit.

“Your ass looks so cute when you’re sweeping, honey” Gretchen would say with a laugh.

I’d often make her a special dessert, and spend excessive time rubbing Gretchen’s feet, hoping to get lucky at bedtime, and sometimes I did–

Gretchen was a great lover, and she had a tight vagina! But more often than not, she was tired from whatever she’d been doing.

I’d warm her up with a little cunt-lapping, and then a little more.

“God you’re so good, Miles!” Gretch would say, gasping. “Can I come up now, and stick it in?” I’d ask hopefully. “No, just a little more, please.”

Gretchen would push my head further into her hot pussy, and I would lick her til she was exhausted.

“I’m way too tired now for screwing, babe, I’m sorry.” Gretchen would kiss me good night, and tickle my cock a little.

“It’s this damn project I’m on.”

And there I’d be lying next to her beautiful body, my cock bouncing like a metronome.

Then I’d try not to bother her…though I wanted to touch her milky full buttocks, or if she was lying with her face to me, her full breasts.

But Gretchen got very annoyed with me if I disturbed her sleep. What a curse it would be, rolling around on the bed, my cock stiff and painful!

At first we still made love three times a week, with me eating her out about six times.

Once in a while I got a blowjob from Gretchen, which she was quite good at.

But then it cut down to once or twice a week, and Gretchen was amused, and then irritated by my sulkiness when I’d ask her, pleadingly, why she only wanted cunnilinguis.

One afternoon, I’d been scrubbing the bathroom floor, and imploring Gretchen “C’mon dear, don’t you think I want to make love, too?” Gretchen had laughed.

At the time she was wearing a halter and shorts, and I was working in only a long-underwear bottom.

“I get such a kick out of it when you roll around and moan on the bed, and then when you go to the bathroom and jerk yourself off.”

Gretchen had made an imitation of my light pants,and “a–ahhh”, which was an exaggeration of my orgasm.

“It’s just so funny, Miles. You’re like a fourteen year old, still.”

“And there’s nothing, NOTHING funnier than a man who’s pouting because he can’t get any.”

Gretchen laughed. “You just strut around looking miserable like you’re going to have a tantrum, and I’m just fascinated by that.

I was telling some of the guys on the film site about it, they thought it was hilarious.”

My face had burned as I continued the scrubbing.

All the guys Gretchen worked on her film projects with were tall athletic types, and I was a short little banker.

Several of them were ex-lovers of my beautiful wife, and then there were the “guys” who were beautiful girls who worked with Gretchen.

Some were actresses, some film strippers, and it was so humiliating that she’d tell them that!

“Can’t you keep our private problems in the house?” I’d asked.

“What problems, Miles?” asked Gretchen implacably. “I’m not having any problems.”

And neither was I after I began to come to terms with my desire for servitude.

The problem was, I thought I just wanted it to be a weekend thing–and Gretchen was very good at that.

WHACK WHACK THWACK! “Ohhh!” I moaned after one of my early whippings.

Gretch had tied me over the arm of the sofa with my pants and shorts huddling about my ankles, and she’d exercised a bamboo cane she’d picked up at a flea market.

“What’re you whining about, Miles?” Gretch had asked cheerily. “This is your dream!”

WHACK WHACK SWAT! “You wouldn’t believe how your butt looks now, hon. You’ve got all these purple marks all over your right cheek.”

I’d turned with tear filled eyes to look at Gretchen in a snug striped turtleneck, slapping the cane in her hand. WHACK WHACK! I’d burst into tears.

Gretchen had looked concerned and pulled me off the couch and began stroking my bottom.

Then she turned me around, pushing my scorched butt against the sofa, and she began to pull on my cock, which had lengthened.

“You want this, right, Miles?” Gretchen had breathed in my ear. “God forbid I do the wrong thing by you.”

I was biting my lip, trying not to sob further. “N-no Miss Gretchen..it’s what I need!” Gretchen had laughed.

“Miss Gretchen, huh?” She’d stuck a wet tongue in my ear and began toying with my cock all the more.

My hands were tied, of course, to keep from jumping away when I’d gotten the caning, and now all I could do was writhe as she’d stroked my bulging cock.

Gretchen had pulled and stroked my cock until I began feeling the familiar pulsating at the base of my tortured penis, the pull of the cum, which was now rising.

It had been several weeks since I’d had sex with Gretchen, and I at that time was not a masturbator, having given that up after college.

Gretchen had at this point become quite used to my oral ministrations, and depended on these for her release.

And she had learned to make me go through all sorts of measures to “Get me in the mood” to actually be allowed to stick my dick in her. Gretchen’s soft, beautiful fingers were now playing a lullabye on my long-denied cock.

And her other hand was squeezing and pinching my bare bottom, welted as it was from the bamboo cane.

I was rather worried that our housemate might come home and wonder about…

Why my fully dressed, sexy wife was standing, and stroking her hubby’s cock while his pants and undies were down on his Hush Puppies.

God, Gretchen’s fingers were incredibly skilled. “Having fun, baby?”

Gretch’s voice tinkled, and now she was kissing my ear, her tongue exploring my sweating neck.

I gasped and my stolid erection began drooling excessive precum.

I was getting closer to release. Oh, to cum in her hand. I wanted it so badly!

My cock quivered as Gretch’s long, purple nails had tickled the vein crawling across the shaft.

“It’s such a thick, burgundy vein, honey” Gretchen whispered.

“It almost matches the shade of my nails, but not quite….but I’ll make the vein purple in time.”

Oh, God, that voice. The way she could turn me into jelly! What kind of a monster was I creating?

Left as a comment on Licking My Mistress’ Boots.

Taylor Takes Control 2 – Her Whip

Taylor did not return to the house for a further forty eight hours, her excitement mounted as she open the outer door of the basement. It was not that Taylor wasn’t frightened, on the contrary, she did feel quite apprehensive. However, this emotion only seemed to add to her already heighten feeling of sexuality to create a heady mix. On opening the inner door, she heard a movement directly underneath it. This she had anticipated, as Fred tried to make a lunge for her. What Fred hadn’t seen, due to the fact that he had spent the last two days in total darkness, was the Taylor was carrying a stun gun. As soon as she caught sight of Fred she fired and two cables, which made themselves at home, attached to Fred’s chest. He dropped down slowly, losing consciousness. As he fell he rolled down the last remaining stairs to the basement floor, where Taylor promptly started to divest him of all his clothing.

When Fred next awoke, he found himself again in darkness. Although feeling quite week he made to stand up. It was then that Fred received his first shock; he couldn’t stand up! He appeared to be kneeling on all fours and the restraints he felt on his wrists and ankles were keeping him that way. The second shock that came Fred’s way was when he realised he was naked, except for the restraints on his wrists and ankles and a large collar of some sort around his neck. Fred discovered, by trial and error, that the restraints on his ankles and wrists were connected in various ways by metal shafts that allowed for no upward movement. A heavy chain being attached from the collar around his neck to the shaft that ran between wrist restraints further hindered his progress. The only movements that were possible for Fred to make were small shuffling movements. To add to Freds discomfort, he was feeling incredibly thirsty and hungry.

At that moment Fred heard the basement hatch being opened and a stream of fresher air filled the dank room and a light was swiched on. He heard the sound of high heels descending the stairs but it took over a minute for him to make out who it was because his eyes needed that time to adjust. What he saw gave him his third shock of the day. There was Taylor, now standing right in front of him, looking very much the way she had when he had last seen her, only this time she had a very severe looking whip which she was running through her well manicured hands.

Fear flowed instantly through Fred’s body and he made to run away forgetting entirely about the bondage his body was now in. This caused Fred to panic further and all he could do was to shuffle with all the energy he could muster to get away from the scenario that was unfolding before his very eyes. His bonds ensured that, even in a state of panic, he could only move at a very slow pace.

Taylor looked on at the scene in front of with great delight. The look of sheer terror on Fred’s face had been worth its weight in gold and to watch him scuffle away from here like some manic dog, amused her even more. When she spoke she spoke with great purpose and authority.

‘Stop’, she commanded.

Fred froze in his tracks, although frightened; he had never heard a voice so utterly authoritative before. He scuffled round to face where Taylor was standing, a look of great apprehension on his face.

‘I want you to crawl over to where I am standing, and then put your head to the floor in front of me. You will not speak.’

Fred felt totally exposed, not only was he bound on all fours like a dog, but he was also stark naked.

‘What are you going to with me’, he managed to intone with a trembling voice.

‘I told you not to speak, do so again and you will only make matters worse. Now, I will not tell you again, crawl over to my feet and place you head to the floor’.

Taylor was smiling, both inwardly and outwardly.

Fred felt he no alternative but to comply, he did not want to annoy this woman any further than he had already. He scuffled slowly over to where Taylor stood, placed his head to the floor right in front of Taylor’s black patent stilettos. Fred was trembling the whole time, because of the fear of not knowing what was about to happen to him. Taylor could see his whole body was shaking, as he supplicated himself in front of her, she then spoke to the creature beneath her.

‘I am now going to whip you, this will be the first time, but certainly not the last, you will feel the kiss of this whip’.

Fred made to speak.

‘Don’t’. Came Taylor’s very sharp reply.

‘You will, of course, try to evade the lashes but as you have already established, you movements are severely limited. You will not be able to escape what I am about to do to you’. Taylor let the words slowly sink into Fred’s brain, to ensure that the level of his terror rose significantly.

Taylor ran the tails of the Cat one last time through her hands and then raised her arm up high. At that moment Fred looked up to see what was happening and let out a scream of shock and disbelief rather than pain. The first sound he heard was the sound of the lash, as well as the sound of the contact of leather on flesh. An explosive sound, a sound that was quite unique and one he would never forget. The pain, when it came, was so intense that all the fight he could muster within side himself could not harness and deflect it in any way. It was a pure pain, white in colour and red in anger. The scream he let out was from the depths of his soul, and yet did not seem part of him. As if the whip were conversing with another, Fred Bradshore, a deeply real individual, a man he had never, but had always suspected, he would meet. The whip had landed on the base of his back and his ass, causing red welts to appear instantly.

‘Did you enjoy the first stroke of my whip Fred?’, asked Taylor mockingly.

‘Please, please no, nooo more, please, please Taylor, please’. At that point the whip fell for a second time and the pain seemed greater than the first. ‘Please Taylor no, no, please stop, it’s too much, I can’t take it’, screeched Fred, his voice almost one whole register higher than it was normally.

‘Oh, but you will take it Fred, all bad boys have to take thier punishment. And you have been a very bad boy Fred, and will have to punished very severely.’ Again Taylor ran the tails of the whip through her hand, caressing her alley in the destruction of their common enemy.

Part 2 of 3.

Mistress’ New Punishment Assistant

Bisexual Femdom

By Hugo

female-led-bisexual-relationship

“My Mistress has solicited for a new assistant, one to be used in training me. One who be allowed to discipline me when she is not around. She will also be subjected to these same tortures as me, and therefore, has a stake in learning quickly and pleasing her as well.

Your new slave candidate is given the task of bringing me to tears, and I am ordered to maintain a large, full erection during the entire strapping and spanking. You walk over to the front of the bench, by my head and kiss me softly, then you lift up your really short skirt and bend over and spread your cheeks, pushing your delicious pucker into my mouth. You command me to start eating, and eating it good! Then, your slave, (who has stripped to just a bra, thong underwear and a pair of wonderfully sexy black shiny boots), is given a signal to begin the strapping.

She raises the heavy prison strap, and snaps it into my buns, and the pain sears through my body like electricity! A wave of shock convulses me forward and I ram my nose into your pucker. You moan, “harder!” and she straps my naughty bouncing buns again. You are watching the whole thing on your tv monitor, which shows the ‘action’ from (my) behind.

Again and again, the girl raises the strap and brings it down with all her might, and I am screaming, but you muffle the sounds by jamming your delectable ass into my face, and yell, “silence! Or I will take over!” I don’t know what to do! My ass is on fire! And I think this girl is enjoying it! She feels my bottom and then slips down to my balls and grabs them, massaging them and my cock is bouncing with each squeeze, then she holds them and spanks me harder and harder, and now her hand is on my cock! And she is stroking it, faster and faster as the spanks come faster and harder! I eat your bottom for all I am worth, dipping deep into your rectum and sucking on the rim, and fucking your bottom with my tongue!! Oh god, I can’t take it anymore! And as she strokes my cock, I feel the cum rising out of my swollen, full, tortured balls and in an orgasmic explosion, I spurt so far, it hits the back of your thighs!

This is a big mistake. And within minutes, we, both the new slavegirl, and I find ourselves bound together, side by side, bent over the back deck of your house, as you practice within hearing sight, your swing of your new heavy leather belt. I can feel her cheeks quivering alongside mine, and she says she is sorry she made me cum. It’s little consolation considering the beating we are both about to receive to our puckered bottoms. Then, you disappear, and come back with a strap-on hooked up, and it is already greased up with your favorite lubricant…Butter Flavored Crisco.

Next thing I know, I feel the tip inside my bottom and you ram it all the way up as I yelp! Then you take the strap and as you ‘fuck’ my bottom you strap hers hard! She is yelping and you tell her to be silent. You are slamming into my cheeks so hard that the strap around my waist is cutting into my hips! And with each lash of your heavy leather on the poor girls bottom, I feel her cheeks bounce into mine, and the sweat between all of us makes them slide smoothly. I don’t know who I feel worse for. After all, just a few minutes ago, it was my fanny being tanned by her, and now she was getting her comeuppance, so to speak.

You lecture me, that the reason I have to learn to keep an erection while being strapped, is that I will be sliding my hard cock into your soft bottom and while I slide it in and out, I must be strapped, and that’s the new slavegirl’s duty! To slap my cheeks hard while I please yours, and I mustn’t even think of losing a bit of my erection. I must be full and hard for your bottom, and must last as long as you want me to, no matter how long, or how long I am strapped, or how hard for that matter, (or with what!)

You tell us I am being punished for cumming without permission, and she is being punished for making me cum without permission. She is really crying now, and tell her to be silent or else. She keeps crying, she begs and pleads with you that she can’t help it, but you don’t care. She must learn to obey. You release my bonds, and tell me to “get up.” And you lead me to her head. “Put your cock in her mouth.” You order. “And you, my little slave girl. Since you love to make him cum so much, then you better make him cum now in your mouth, and I will whip you until he does!”

I can’t believe this! I had just had an orgasm, I try to explain, but the heavy strap finds my bottom for a few really hard slaps! And I beg for forgiveness. You just put your hands on your hips, the strap in one hand and say, “Now what did I tell you to do?” She says, “Yes ma’am, I will do it!!” And she quickly gobbles my limp cock. I can’t get hard and as the strap finds it’s mark over and over again on her poor rump, I try my best but the sound of the strap and the fact that I just came make it impossible! You are having so much fun, because you know this, and then to make it more interesting, you say, “Well, “SLAP!! When you finally “SLAPP!!” do – “WHACK!!” I’m going to let “SLAAAAAP!!! Our little slavegirl “WHAAAACK!!” pay “SLAP!!” you back for making “SLAAAAP!!! Her buns “SLAAAAAP!!!” Suffer so much!! “WHAP!!!” “WHAP!!!” “WHAP!!!”

I am trying so hard!! Please I beg! Please! My balls – I – uh! “Your balls?” You say. “What about them? No cum? Let me check…” And you grab them and hold them firmly and begin to spank me hard as my cock is still in her mouth. Your magic hands make my dick get hard and as the girl sucks hard and fast knowing this may be her only chance to be free (for now anyway) of your strap. As you massage my balls, and spank me, I cum weakly in her mouth. “Good boy.” You say. “Now I want you back on the strapping bench my little slave. I think it’s time for you to turn the other cheek.” Amanda, now you know what you shouldn’t do, and now, if you’d like to discipline Peter, you may. I’m going to get my vibrator, so wait until I return.

You come back, pull up a comfortable chair and say, “let the games begin” as you chuckle to yourself. Amanda selects the Spencer paddle and I protest. But it falls on deaf ears, as a matter of fact, that excites you more and you say, “Good girl! Whip those naughty cheeks! I want some whipped cream for desert….”

She beats me over and over again, as I scream and you just moan, maneuvering the vibrator all around your clit, and along your hot pussy lips. You have inserted a dildo up your bottom which I can see out of the corner of my eye, and you are in ecstasy! Amanda asks, “Am I doing it correctly WhipMistress?” As she slams the tortuous device into my upturned and bloody red bottom. “Ummm Yesss!! That’s it!! He is such a bad, bad boy! Yes, but you know what I want to do now? I want you to fuck his ass, and fuck it hard!! And I’m going to spank you while you do!” “But ma’am!” She says and I say in unison. “What did you two just say?” “Nothing.” We say back quickly. The fun is just beginning.

Deep in my bottom the dildo slides in and out, and I hear the slap and feel the repercussions a moment later, as the strap to her cheeks sends the whole length of the dildo into my bottom in a recoil! Over and over you use the strap on her poor bottom in a cadance to have her stroke my bottom! Over and over again. Harder and harder. My cock is sticking out, but it is going down. Maybe she won’t notice… But this is not to be. “Well, what do we have here?” You say, taking my cock into your hand. “This is not good. “Pull out Amanda. You must spank Peter again, while he eats me! And this time, I better orgasm, or I’m getting out the garden hose and the KY and the grease gun!!!

Oh god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ms Strict 15

He made his way to the back of the house and then into his room. Exhausted, he collapsed face down on the bed and fell asleep. His dreams were fleeting and vague and when he woke the sun was high in the sky. And there was an insistent throbbing that intruded on his fuzzy brain.

‘What the heck?’ he thought, reaching down he found the cage which was filled to capacity with his effort at a morning erection. When his thoughts turned to the night before, the normal thing happened, or at least tried to happen. But this time, things couldn’t proceed, he was effectively squished into a little cage. And on further examination, he realized that it wasn’t going to come off either, well at least without cutting off the lock. The discomfort was rapidly turning into pain and he made his way into the kitchen for an ice pack. He thought that as soon as he had showered, he would go over and she could take the thing off. That is when he remembered she said she was going to be gone for a few days. His heart sank. How was he going to function for days with the thing on? How could he go out or do anything? He would just have to stay around the house and wear baggy clothes or something.

Finally soft again, he made his way into the bathroom, only to realize that peeing standing up was out of the question. The thought of having to sit down to pee was faintly humiliating. The thought of peeing brought back memories of the night before and to his surprise found himself getting hard again at the thought. He got into a cold shower, finding shaving more than a challenge, the cage seeming to get in his way every time he began a stroke.

He finished finally and got out, looking for his baggiest clothing and decided that a lounge around the house was in order. The cage didn’t seem to be too noticeable and he tried to forget that it was there. That wasn’t easy, it tended to intrude on his thoughts at a fairly regular interval, mostly when he thought about his life in the last week or so. He finally gave up and made himself comfortable, ice pack in his lap and decided to give some fairly serious thought to where his life was headed. On the surface, he couldn’t imagine himself doing the things that he had done (or had done to him) in the recent past. But as he thought more and more, he realized that he had never been this happy, it was as if he were finally fulfilled. His fantasies had always been of himself somehow being ruled by a more powerful woman, he had just never realized how important it was to him. And in hindsight, he realized that the women that he tended to be attracted to were the bossy type, the kind that would order him around and be just the tiniest bit mean to him.

He decided that it was useless to moon over the fact that he was securely caged and to get on with his life. He did his chores around the house (making sure that the ice pack was never far away), and did his best to behave normally. He realized that he needed some things from the store and worked up his courage to go out.

He made his way through the aisles at the grocery store, worried that people might be looking at him, noticing the bulge at his crotch, but no one did. He did have a couple of instances when things began to happen down there and he was forced to do all of those things that would distract him to help the erection subside before it got too far along and became painful. Finally, his shopping done, he thought of stopping at the video store for some movies.

He was surprised to run into a group of friends from school and they invited him over for some basketball and pizza later and he accepted quite before he realized what he was doing. As he drove home, he thought with at grin that at least he wouldn’t be getting peed on tonight.

Changing clothing later, he decided that if he wore his jock over the cage it seemed to keep things contained enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable. He still found himself embarrassed about having to pee sitting down though.

Basketball went well, and he figured if anyone smacked him there and commented he could say it was just a cup since he knew what a bunch of dorks they were when they played bball and he was just trying to protect himself from flying elbows. But nothing happened so it never came up. Later on, he found out that along with the pizza, there was beer and movies so it was shaping up to be a fun evening.

So beer and pizza in hand, they flopped down in front of the TV to watch movies. The first movie was typical guy stuff and as he watched, surrounded by his friends, he realized that this was how his life had taken a strange turn. And it seemed that it was about to do that again. The second movie was a surprise, Scott had said. It had looked ‘interesting’ and the store and he thought it was going to be good for some laughs. It had a lame porn title and started out with some guy doing pool maintenance for a middle aged woman. She invited him in later for a cool drink and well the guy finds himself drugged and kidnapped. When he wakes up later, in a cell, she tells him that she collects men for a wealthy woman’s harem and she felt that he was just perfect to be the newest slave.

About this time, Tom felt himself beginning to squirm in his chair. His friends were laughing and making fun of the guy in the movie. They said, yea if they had been kidnapped, they wouldn’t be the ones that ended up as slaves. When the guy ended up over a woman’s knee a short while later, just to be soundly spanked, there was lots of derisive laughter, although Tom noticed that one of his friends seemed almost as uncomfortable as he was. He got up and went for another beer, and found that Scott had followed him into the kitchen. They both got beer and Scott asked him what he thought of the movie. They talked for a bit and then Tom was surprised when Dick asked him if he had ever thought what it would be like to be forced to perform like the guy did in the movie. Tom stammered a bit and found that Dick was telling him that sometimes he thought about it and found it kinda exciting, but he just figured he was just weird. Plus, stuff like that never happened, really. They went back to the movie and watched while the poor guy in the movie had various things done to him by lots of black leather clad women in stiletto heels wielding whips and floggers. The other guys laughed and made fun of the guy and made lewd suggestions about what THEY would do to the women if they were in the same situation. When one of the women brought out a strap-on, the laughter stopped.

‘What the heck is that!’ The poor hero had been strapped and chained down bent over, much like Tom had been when he fell asleep so long ago. The uncomfortable silence extended through the scene and when it was over and the females had reigned triumphant as their victim begged for more ass fucking, the chorus of ‘YUCK!’ and ‘Gross’ was deafening. The general opinion was that the guy had have something wrong with him since only then would he have enjoyed that.

The party broke up after that and Tom offered to give Dick a ride home since it was late. They talked on the way home and somehow it returned to the movie. Dick mentioned that he had a girlfriend that like to rub him ‘there’. He said he was embarrassed about it at first, but once he got over it, it felt kinda nice. He wondered if that made him gay. He didn’t feel gay, it wasn’t if he wanted to have sex with guys or anything, he still really only thought of girls in that way, but it had made him worry. Tom told him that it didn’t make him gay, and laughed, saying they thought guys who didn’t like football had to be gay. And heck, maybe being played with back there felt good, just because guys were gay didn’t mean they were crazy, things still felt good to them. Dick looked relieved when he got out of the car.

Tom got home, and recycled the rest of his beer (sitting down) and went to bed. He woke up several times from disturbing dreams, dreams that Lara had Dick chained to the wall and was flogging him, or Dick worshipping her feet while he watched. The worst was watching Lara take Dick with the strapon, he remembered the overwhelming feeling of jealousy that it should have been HIM, he wanted it to be him giving his mistress pleasure.

The next morning was much like the previous one, he woke throbbing inside of his cage, only to find relief in the shower. He noticed that his hair was growing, but he couldn’t shave and washing wasn’t that easy either. He thought that he should also be wearing his harness and remembered with dismay that he had left it next door. And he had Master Tom to look forward to this weekend. He shuddered. Then he remembered that he still had a key, if Taylor wasn’t home, he could let himself in.

He dressed and went over to the house. Taylor wasn’t home, he suspected she and Lara were together. He went downstairs and found his harness and then checked the assortment of plugs for the next size up from the one he had taken last time. He got an assortment of condoms from the drawer and put it all in a bag and locked up and went home.

He got out the lube, and after slipping a condom over the plug for easy cleanup began trying to work the plug in. It was difficult, it was larger than he had ever taken before and he was distracted again and again by the fact that he would think of Lara and then start to get hard which ended up being painful before things got too far along. He sighed and began again, thinking he was turning into a fine pervert, unable to even stretch his ass properly for his mistress. He finally got the plug in, and felt hugely stuffed. He realized that he found that immensely erotic and had to sit with the ice pack on the cage the entire time he had the harness on. He thought of Dick and smiled thinking that having someone play with your ass doesn’t make you gay, and it does feel nice. Then his time was up and he had to get the plug back out, which tended to be harder than getting it in sometimes and this was definitely one of those times. He decided he would do the yard work today and then wear the harness again that evening for a bit.

He cleaned things up tidying up his bathroom and then went outside and mowed the lawn. He was sitting on the Taylorio, watering the dry spots when Dick drove up with a six pack and they sat around talking and drinking the beer. He was finishing up putting up the hose and cleaning the cans up when Dick came back outside.

He looked a bit confused and when Ted asked him what was up, Dick answered,’ You know I went down and used your bathroom, and I was just wondering what that thing on your sink was. Is it what I think it is? It sure looked like that thing in the movie last night.’

Ted paled, he had forgotten and left things out in the bathroom. The plug and harness were laying there in plain sight. Well, there was nothing he could do but come clean, he and Dick had been friends for years and he could only hope to keep the embarrassing facts between them. He confessed that his girlfriend liked to play with him ‘there’ as well, in fact liked to do what they saw in the movie last night. And no he wasn’t gay either. To his surprise Dick seemed mostly relieved and curious. He wanted to know more, actually confessing that he had actually fantasized about it after seeing the movie. It seemed that Dick had much the same fantasies as he did. Or at least the superficial ones, Ted didn’t tell him about most of what had happened to him, just that Lara, his ‘girlfriend’, enjoyed playing some rather different games. Then Dick asked him about the size, he had noticed the plug was rather large. Ted had to explain to him that Lara had this fantasy about having a really big cock and then laughed, a bit uncomfortably.

Then Dick asked if she had a friend that liked playing that way as well and if he could meet Lara sometime. Ted was amazed and stunned. He knew that if he introduced Dick to Lara, she would take great pleasure in telling Dick just EXACTLY the different little games that they played, knowing it would make him squirm like nothing else. Now he didn’t know what to say.

Health Club Mistress

By Jim

have a T-shirt with the saying “It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I can’t remember who ties who” and have worn it to the aerobics club on a couple of occasions with no more than a grin or so in reaction from others. Finally a woman took notice in a more than casual way. The class had been a good workout and we were both drenched in sweat afterwards, when she came over to where I was standing. She was pretty good looking, sort of tall with dark brown hair and a slim build. Her eyes were dark and she was dressed in a black workout suit. She told me she was watching during the class and thought I was doing pretty good for a guy. I told her I tried to do my best and enjoyed following a woman’s lead. With that she looked at me a bit closer and asked if I would like to learn the answer to my T-shirt’s question. I got flustered as usual, and my dick got hard and I spluttered a yes. She then told me to meet her at the counter in thirty minutes and be ready to go.

I made it through the shower in record time (and finally “relaxed” a bit) and timed it so I would be at the counter in exactly thirty minutes. She was standing there in jeans and denim shirt with black boots pulled over the pant legs. A wide belt was thrust through her jeans and a bold, almost masculine chain bracelet was on one wrist. She took one glance at me, handed me her bag, and told me to follow behind her. A couple of guys looked at me a bit strange as I followed meekly behind, but I paid them no mind.

She never glanced back as she strode to her truck, a black Jeep pickup. I placed the bags in the back and climbed in. As we sat in the truck, she reached in the glove compartment and pulled out cuffs and a blindfold. She asked if I had any second thoughts. I did but said, “No mam.” With that, she put the blindfold around my eyes and cuffed my wrists behind my back. Snugging the seat belt in place, she took off, saying nothing more. As common sense reared its head, I began to get a bit worried, but decided, what the hell, you only live once. After a not too long drive, she stopped the truck. She finally talked to me again. She said her name was Julie and since I followed her, I must know what I was getting into. I was to call her Mistress and her thing was bondage, tight and complex. If at any time I wanted out, she gave me a code to use. She also said that if I used it, she and I were done, period. She asked once more if I was willing, and with rational thoughts buried far behind, I said, “Yes Mistress”.

She unzipped my pants and pulling my cock and balls out, tied on a leash. She loosened the seat belt and pulled me out and up a short flight of stairs. I made really sure I wouldn’t stumble and hoped no one was watching, having no idea where I was. I heard a door open and soon felt myself on a hard floor. I guessed we had entered her home. With that, she tied my leash off to something high and told me not to go away. I could hear her walk off as I tried to keep my balance. I was tied just enough were I had to keep up on my toes a little to keep from pulling on my balls. It seemed like a long time until I heard her (was it her?) return.

My shoes and pants were pulled off and my underpants were cut off. I could feel the cold of the knife against my thighs as she sliced the cloth. My shirt followed, after the cuffs were rearranged to clear the sleeves. I was now securely bound, by a strange woman, in an unknown location, with no clothes on. The fear of the unknown was a strong counterpart to the raging lust I now felt. In the back of my mind, the thought that I had really fucked up kept trying to storm forward and overwhelm me.

Mistress Julie finally took the blindfold off and I blinked around trying to see clearly. I was in a sparsely furnished room, with piles of ropes and straps strewn about over dark, faintly sinister looking shapes in the back corners. I could see stocks and crosses and other equipment looming behind her. The Mistress was dressed in black. A black leather bra and panties along with black nylons held up by a black garter belt. A medium sized black collar was around her neck and one hand held a short black crop. Calf high black boots completed the ensemble. She was sipping from a glass of red wine and slowly walked around me, not saying a word.

She began to gather items scattered around the room and bring them to me. The first was a high leather collar. The bottom was cut so it fit over my shoulders. It was high enough so that I had to keep my chin up and had very little movement to my head. There were assorted rings hanging from it and three straps which she proceeded to tighten. It was snug to the point that I knew it was on, yet I could still breath with no problem. Next came thick cuffs that strapped around my ankles. She took a short piece of chain and locked them together. Another clip held the chain to a buried ring in the floor. So far, all the straps had small padlocks locked on. I wasn’t going anywhere until she decided I was.

She rummaged around in a pile of leather until she came up with a collection of narrow straps and rings. She untied the leash from my balls and proceeded to strap the contraption around my cock and balls. Whatever reservations I had mentally were contradicted by the raging hardon I had. She pulled each strap tight enough to jerk my balls around quite a bit. She told me she enjoyed making sure a cock and balls weren’t going anywhere and that this was a sample of what was to come. She looked at me as if wondering if I would want to quit. As I shook my head, she nodded and stuffed a handful of nylon hose into my mouth.

She hooked the leash to the harness that now entwined itself around my cock and balls and unclipping the leg chain from the floor, pulled me over to the cross mounted on the wall. As she backed me to it, she unlocked the cuffs and pulling each wrist high, strapped them to the arms of the cross. As that was done, she next pulled each ankle out and clipped them to the bottom of the cross. With my legs spread, my arms stretched out and there was no slack to the bonds. My cock harness was tied down as well to the bottom of the cross, not unbearable, but tight enough to be uncomfortable. With the high collar, I could only look forward and could barely move anything else. She moved back and looked over her work. “Forgot something”, she murmured, and snapped two silver clips with small weights to my nipples. She reached in back of the cross and it started to lean forward. Before long, all I could see was a small patch of floor in front of me.

The next thing I could see was the Mistress tossing several cushions down in the spot my eyes looked at. Before long, she joined them with another glass of wine and a slender dildo in her hand. She told me she enjoyed seeing a man helpless and really had no interest in having sex with him. She was bi, with minimal male needs and was mostly interested in lesbian sex. If I was real nice, I might be able to watch her with another woman in the future. As for now, I would have to be content with watching her with herself. With that, she pulled her panties off and turned on and inserted the dildo.

While one hand slowly kneaded and pulled at her nipples, the other slowly moved the dildo in and out of her glistening cunt. Her tongue would poke out and wind around her lips like something alive. Occasional moans would escape as sweat started to build up on her body. Her breasts were small but the nipples grew larger and larger as she fondled and felt them. She had her long legs widely spread as she pushed the dildo in deeper and faster. She started to thrust and rotate her hips forward to meet the dildo as she speeded things up. Every thing accelerated as she moved closer and closer to climax. Finally she arched herself up off the cushions to meet the dildo and gave a deep and low animal groan. She fell back and tried to catch her breath, and slowly get back to normal.

I was fighting my bonds as well as I could, which was not much. The only thing I could do was get the leather cuffs to squeak a bit as I fought against them. There was enough movement to get the nipple clamps to jiggle a bit and also allow me to pull against the cock harness. My nipples were sore from the incessant grip of the clamp. My arms and legs burned from being outstretched on the cross and my cock was pulsing from battling its bonds. My mouth was filled with the unique taste of nylon hose and my nose was filled with the smells of sweat and leather. And struggle though I might, I couldn’t begin to get loose. I was so turned on, that I came dry, right there, without being touched.

I was kept there throughout the night and tied and retied in many ways. Except to change a harness or snap on a clamp, Mistress Julie never touched my cock. One time she hung me by my ankles and made me masturbate and another time strapped me down with a vibrator tied to my cock and balls until I came. By morning, I was sore and very, but pleasantly exhausted. I was finally untied, except for cuffs and told to dress. I was once again blindfolded and led out to the car. This time the blindfold was a pair of opaque wraparound sunglasses. I was driven back to the health club where my car was and released. Mistress Julie told me I might see her again. With that parting remark, I dazedly entered my car and went home.

Ms Strict 9

He began to think about what was happening to him, he was handcuffed to a cross, naked, and expected to remain hard for he couldn’t imagine how long. He had remembered what was on the tape, is that what was in store for him? To become someone to beat? to punish when he didn’t do his ‘chores’. Not exactly the male pleasure slave that he had imagined. He had imagined himself pleasuring harems of women, using his expertise to drive them wild with desire. That was certainly not the case here where he found himself begging for release, being reduced to tears after being spanked like a child. He wasn’t a child, he was a man. To think that he had been bent over and taken – and on top of all the other humiliations, that he had cum! Well that was from her hand, if she hadn’t stroked him and drove him to distraction for hours, THAT would have never happened.

He realized he had began to flag during his mental ranting, and he heard footsteps and voices on the stairs. Waves of embarrassment began to wash over him. With growing panic, he realized one of the hangers holding up his sign had slipped off of the end of his cock.

“Oh my, what do we have here?”

“Lara seems to have finally found a toy. My dear you see to have found a young one, and he does look yummy! And doesn’t he blush prettily, you would think he had never been displayed before.” He heard a buzz of conversation around him. There was too much, he could only hear snatches.

“his sign seems to have gone askew, is that a problem?”

Then he heard her voice clearly over the others. “What?” Footsteps approached him. A quiet voice whispered into his ear, “Is there some sort of problem, pet? You want to impress these folks with your ability to follow instructions don’t you?”

With each word, he felt the need to please her washing over him.

“Perhaps you would need a bit of help to keep it up.”

“No! No, I can do it! Please don’t embarrass me more!” he whispered desperately.

“Tom, could I borrow one of your subs for the evening? My pet is awfully new at this and is having trouble keeping on task. Yes, that one I think. There dear, just make sure he stays hard, and don’t talk to him or anyone else. Yes, hang up his little sign and we will start again. Tom and I will discuss a suitable reward for you at the end of the evening.”

He heard her walk away and he was miserable again. He was just to be ignored by everyone, an object of ridicule. His misery washed over him. He jumped, as far as he was able to anyway, cuffed as he was as he felt the warm wetness along the length of his cock. Someone was licking him, running their tongue over his cock, carefully avoiding the sensitive tip. It wasn’t her, she was on the other side of the room, he could follow her voice, it must be the sub assigned to keep him hard. It had felt so wonderful, he responded immediately, his cock sprang to immediate attention.

He heard voices near him again and sensed that someone was looking at him. “Oh that seemed to do the trick, now we can read his little sign. Oh goody, an interactive display!”

Someone grabbed his right nipple and began to massage it gently. It grew taunt under their fingers, then the left one was rubbed as well. He felt one being sucked, it was a wonderful feeling, it somehow traveled directly to his groin. He began to bob up and down and he felt himself dripping. The gentle sucking had increased and he could feel teeth rubbing across his nipple. He quietly moaned from the feeling. The teeth latched onto his nipple, tighter now, the pleasant feeling turning quickly into something more intense as the pressure increased. Then someone else began sucking at the other nipple, confusing him, the pleasure and pain together were blending and confusing him. He began to whimper and suddenly as quickly as it had started, he was alone with his thoughts.

As time passed, more people played with him, that was the only way that he could think of it. He was stroked, pinched, prodded and licked. One instance was very difficult. Tied as he was, he couldn’t move. And he was ticklish, so the yelp he gave when someone bit the inside of his calf was understandable. The teeth began to explore his legs. Never biting hard, just hard enough so that he knew what it was. He tried pulling away, that was fruitless, he couldn’t move. He asked whoever it was to please stop. That didn’t seem to have any effect either. He resolved to be stoic and take it. That worked for a while, but they seemed to zero in on the most sensitive spots, and soon he was begging them to stop. They didn’t. The torture continued endlessly in his mind when suddenly, instead of another agonizing bite/tickle, his torturer began licking his balls. The lack of hair had made them incredibly sensitive and soon he was again pushing himself forward as well he could to try and increase the contact. But as quickly as it started, his tormentor abandoned him to snacks and small talk.

And always, the warmth of the tongue whenever he felt himself flagging. He began to hope for moments of inattention, just to have that wonderful feeling again. He found himself leaning into it – pushing his cock forward, wanting more than the fleeting warmth, to feel the warmth of that mouth wrapped around him. He had begun to sigh in frustration and to whisper, ‘please, please don’t stop, that feels so wonderful…’ whenever it withdrew.

Suddenly he felt breath in his ear. ‘I see that you have managed to keep you little sign in position with help.”

“Yes ma’am, please release me and let me go home, this is humiliating.”

“Yes, I suppose it is, but then it was supposed to be a chance for me to show you off as well as an exercise in obedience and I can see that the obedience part needs work. Although you do seem to be a hit, I have been asked several times tonight for you as a loaner when you are trained. Although there was your disobedience earlier.”

A feeling of panic welled up in him. “Loaner!? what does that mean?!”

“You don’t really thing that I wouldn’t share my toys, Tom shared one of his with me tonight and it has saved you from a much more severe punishment. Yes, you will be shared with other masters for their pleasure when I am ready, but for now you are mine and mine alone.”

“And as for your disobedience, what do you think is fair?”

“You would punish me in front of everyone?”

“Of course, you disobeyed in front of them and they would see you punished.”

“I don’t know, please don’t spank me in front of everyone, being turned over your knee would be too much to bear.”

Her hand caressed his face, “Paddling then, 20 then instead of the 50 you would have gotten had you dropped it entirely. Then I will give you to Toms sub as a reward. Now ask me for your punishment”

He hung his head and quietly said, “I am sorry I disappointed you, I deserve punishment and request that you punish me. Please.”

“Louder please dear, I am sure everyone would like to hear how a well-behaved pet asks for his punishment.”

He gathered his courage and said in a loud voice, “Mistress, I am sorry I disappointed you, I deserve punishment and request that you punish me. Please.”

She said, “As you wish.” His hands and feet were released and his sign and blindfold removed. He was lead over to the bench where she had paddled him before. He shivered in anticipation.

Submissive Man’s Memoirs – Part One

Bernard Montorgueil Female Domination Art
Bernard Montorgueil art.

By Rob

The wackiest idea I ever had for a play that I never wrote came to me on a November day as I chomped into a pumpernickel bagel. That winter my mother’s friend, Hermione, while improving her skiing in Switzerland, had graciously invited me to housesit her apartment on West 73rd.

On Sunday mornings, I would assemble the percolator and dash around the corner to World O’ Bagels. The owner’s daughter always made it a point to take my order herself. “How’s the professor?” she would ask. Her flirtation that particular day prompted her to slide a pumpernickel bagel into the white bakery bag with my standard order of two onion bagels to go. Just possibly, it was the suede patches on my thrift-shop, tweed jacket which prompted the spontaneous love offering.

I finished the crossword in the Times as well as the onion bagels slathered with cream cheese. The slosh of the coffee pot indicated enough for one more mug. To leave the gift bagel uneaten seemed more ungentlemanly than I cared to be. Juggling the postscript to my breakfast, I set the dark brown wheel of a bagel on Hermione’s book-laden coffee table. My boots created a fleeting arc before they landed in the corner by the silk fica trees.

Settling in on the long white sofa, I held the classified section of CityLife magazine propped against my knees. Glancing at the personals — boy wants girl, boy wants boy, boy wants girl and boy, etc. — I simultaneously visualized a play in three acts with seven actors based on these terse ads. I bit into the bagel, quickly realizing that the gooey, crunchy mixture in my mouth was some of my dentist’s best amalgam filling.

Then came the damning tirade wherein bagels and lovestruck teenage girls equally shared my stomping wrath. Vented, but unable to keep my tongue from constantly reaffirming the new crater in my mouth, I returned to the magazine having momentarily forgotten my inspiration for instant success on Broadway.

Under the heading “Professional Help Wanted,” a single boxed ad in reverse type captured my attention. There was haunting poetry in the words “Ghost Writer” appearing in white typeface on a small blanket of black. The ad explained that aspirants for the position should apply in writing to a post office box number stating qualifications and providing a telephone number.

Thoughts of pain and plays died as hope was born. That my cash flow situation might soon change direction and head toward positive motivated me to reply within the hour. The third and final draft of my reply factually listed my recently-acquired master’s degree in English, my just-published chapbook of poems and my immediate availability.

In the event that it might be important to this prospective employer, I emphasized in the last paragraph that I could be counted on in the area of discretion as well as syntax.

After mailing my application, I expected every ring of the telephone to be from this individual, whom I imagined was either too inept or too busy to do his own word work.

On Thursday afternoon, while I was at the New York Public Library researching Union Army military insignia for my poem about the taking of Richmond, the individual who placed the ad phoned. As I retell this, I am aware that I never for an instant believed the placer of the ad to be a woman. In fact, I was right. The voice on my answering machine was male, mature, certainly educated if not also refined — and cautious. The caller politely requested my presence in The Adirondack Hotel bar at six o’clock the following evening for drinks. Ask for Brett Farrington. The bartender would know. A local telephone number was left for “regrets only.”

I chose my clothes for the interview carefully. Jeans and tweeds would not inspire the confidentiality that I had promised, I thought to myself. A business suit? Nah. I wanted him to know that I could write, not prepare his tax returns. Then, it struck me. The combination of grey flannels and blue blazer would be just the ticket. Mainstream enough to be accepted by the establishment and when worn with a natty, navy blue-striped shirt and subdued, red tie, sartorially au courant enough to be recognized as someone in the arts. Yet, at the same time, professional. It was perfect.

Trying to dodge the raindrops, I bolted from the cab and pushed my way through The Adirondack’s revolving doors. When my hand gripped the wet brass push bar, I felt the cold climb up through my arm before it turned and traveled down to my toes. The sensation suddenly froze my self-confidence and left me unaccountably nervous. In retrospect, I recall my instincts warning me that I was about to commence a conversation unlike any other in my life.

In the hallowed confines of The Adirondack’s bar, I counted seven unaccompanied male patrons. Among them, three held down tables by themselves. The others sat at the bar.

The bartender was busy pouring drinks, so I decided to test my skill at matching voices with faces. Scanning the tables, my eyes passed over a middle-aged, gray-suited man wearing a western bola tie, then on to a portly, younger man half-asleep over an imported beer.

The third man, clearly the most venerable of the candidates for Brett Farrington, sat at one of the small round tables apart from the others. He was engrossed in the distinctive peach-colored pages of The Financial Times, which he read through a pair of tortoise shell half-glasses under a small amber circle of light falling from the brass ship’s lantern mounted on the wall above. Momentarily, he looked up from his newspaper and a split second later motioned me to join him.

The resonant, well-defined voice I had heard only as it sounded trapped in my answering machine belonged to this silver-haired man wearing a hand-tailored, three-piece suit. When he stood to greet me, six-footer that I am, I had to look up to meet his eyes. Despite the barroom gloom, I could see he was a man of the outdoors. I’d have immediately cast him for the role of the squire in an English drawing room murder mystery.

We shook hands. Then, came self-introductions, followed by some brief, small talk about the downpour outside. We both took seats, and I told him how I had come to respond to his advertisement. I was about to make reference to some writing projects I had completed, when he interrupted me.

“Unnecessary, my boy. Totally. I assure you,” Farrington declared in clipped, upper-class British tones. He spoke flawless Queen’s English.

“You’re the man for the job,” he continued. “Absolutely no doubt about it. None whatsoever.”

I was frankly puzzled.

“Thank you very much,” I said with some hesitancy. “But, would you like to see some samples of my work or perhaps…”

He interrupted me again. “Nonsense. You are the right man. Your assignment will be to write my life’s story or the parts of it I deem worth the telling.” He squinted a bit, adding, “You are just the person to do it.”

Again, I started to protest. “But, we haven’t discussed a time frame, fees…”

“No need to, my boy. None. Whatever the going rate is in New York these days for this kind of work is what you’ll be paid,” he said. “Plus something extra, of course, for the discretion you claim in your letter.”

His cocksure attitude was beginning to irritate me. “But, I’m not sure that I’m free right now to…”

“Please,” he interrupted, drawing the word out. “Don’t make the mistake of rejecting my offer.” He tugged on his left sleeve, pulling the French cuff back into alignment. “You have a master’s degree with your name still wet on the parchment. You’re living gratis in a flat provided by a family friend, a Hermione something-or-other. You’ve been seeking office work under the auspices of a temporary agency, and you have less than three hundred dollars in your checking account. No money, no prospects, and no girl friend at the moment, for that matter.”

As I sat speechless, he caught the server’s eye and ordered a refill of his tomato and clam juice cocktail. Then, he looked at me questioningly.

“Scotch and water? Water on the side?” he asked me, as the server waited for the order.

Nodding my assent, I was flabbergasted that Farrington obviously had me investigated.

He continued, “You see, my boy, I have a sixth sense about people and their character. It’s a skill one develops — as opposed to a talent one brings into the world at birth.”

Once more, I tried to pose a question. “But how do you…”

“Doesn’t matter. Not in the least. It only matters that the information is one hundred percent accurate,” he said. “Saves a lot of time, really.”

The server delivered our drinks. Farrington briefly sipped from his glass. He obviously engaged his sixth sense to discern the uncertainty that I was feeling.

He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “Full of misgivings are you? More than a tad incredulous? Feeling a bit railroaded, as we used to say?” He smiled. “Enjoy your drink, my boy. Meanwhile, let me see if I can’t put you at ease.”

At that point I wanted very much to be relaxed and at the same time not lose this chance for solvency that had been dumped in my lap. Was this guy from the CIA or what? The wood smoke aroma of the Scotch helped settle my nerves a bit.

“What I suggest is that we schedule two or three meetings a week, each for a few hours. I’ll start at the beginning — you asking whatever questions come to your mind and taking notes. Perhaps, it might require about three months,” Farrington said. “After that, you’ll have six months to create a first draft. We’ll edit it together, more or less, and in a year or so the book will be completed.”

He took another sip of his drink, then continued, “You’ll make your decision before you leave the table and whatever you decide will be considered final by both of us. I hope I make myself clear.”

He was telling me that I wouldn’t get a second chance and doing it in a style I rather admired. However, I still had one embarrassing question that begged asking.

“With all due respect,” I began. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, as interesting as

we all feel our lives are…well, not everyone has a life story that warrants a major investment of time and money.”

Surprisingly, Farrington appeared to agree. “Quite so, quite so,” he said. Then, he looked at me for a few moments before breaking the silence.

“My boy,” he responded in a paternalistic tone, “if you will kindly sit here with me and your Glenlivet for a bit longer, I’m sure you’ll agree that my story might indeed hold a reader’s interest.”

Farrington leaned slightly forward, cautiously glancing around the room to observe whether anyone might be eavesdropping.

He then continued, “There was an incident that occurred when I was a lad of eighteen that transformed the course and direction of my life. The story I am about to relate will utterly convince you of how unique my experiences have been and at the same time how important a role they played in my life.”

“Seems fair enough,” I replied.

Farrington then began to recount one of the strangest stories I have ever heard.

“It was the summer of 1937. We were living in Hampstead — one of the London suburbs — and my father had accepted a summer teaching post in Nigeria. Arrangements had been made for me to stay with my mother’s sister, Lydia, and her husband in Gloucestershire.

“Aunt Lydia and Uncle Malcolm lived on a country estate complete with stables, tennis court and even a running brook. I had visited there before and was most fond of my aunt and uncle. And though I didn’t know it at the time, this visit was to be quite different.

“First, I might note that Aunt Lydia married Uncle Malcolm when both had reached middle age. They had no children of their own. However, Uncle Malcolm’s brother had a son and a daughter, both of whom were doted upon by Uncle Malcolm.

“Upon my arrival, I learned that my visit was to coincide with that of my uncle’s aforementioned nephew and niece, Nigel and Alexa.

“Nigel and I instantly became fast friends. He was a year younger than I, and as lads often do, he saw me as a role model. Alexa, who was nineteen, was scarcely by a year my senior. However, her bearing and poise were those of a well-bred young lady. There was nothing in the least skittish about her, if you know what I mean.”

Farrington paused momentarily to pick up his drink from the table, took a few sips, then continued.

“The first few weeks of the summer vacation were idyllic. Nigel and I wandered the acreage, exploring, discovering small animals, fishing and swimming in an inviting pond on the estate.

“Then, one night at dinner, quite unexpectedly, Uncle Malcolm announced to us that he and Aunt Lydiawere leaving early the next morning for Devon, where his dear friend, a Mr. Wilcox, lay seriously ill. They would be away for an indefinite period. We were to obey the housekeeper, Mrs. Collings, he admonished us. However, he was designating his niece, Alexa, as the senior family member, to act as official head of household during his absence.”

Another sip of scotch traveled down my throat. It knew it’s way by now.

“My uncle’s announcement left no particular impression on me, and following their departure the next morning, Nigel and I resumed our explorations.

“I should add here that during my eighteenth year, I was in that stage of development which many youths find rather awkward,” he said. At the same time, he briefly peered at me over his half-glasses, perhaps to gauge my reaction.

I nodded to let him know I understood.

Farrington wore a wafer-slim Movado watch on his left wrist, but yet referred to puberty in such a circumspect way. Nice anomaly here, I thought.

He continued, “One morning, Nigel and I were on our way to the woods, taking a path that brought us near the stables. As we approached, I could see that Alexa was leading a freshly-saddled horse toward the large oval riding ring. I turned my head in curiosity as I had always liked horses. Nigel tugged at my arm, impatient as youngsters often are, but I resisted him and walked nearer to the ring. Nigel followed me reluctantly, and we both took up spectator positions along the fence railings.

“Alexa and her horse, a well-proportioned, dappled gray stallion with a distinctive black mane and tail, had already reached the inside of the ring. In case you might be curious as to whether I was attracted by the horse or the rider, let me make it clear that it was not the horse.

“I’ll tell you what my eyes saw: Alexa was strikingly tall. She stood about five feet nine inches. She was full-bodied and most attractive,” he added, peering over his glasses once more to see if I was following.

“I saw not a ‘pretty girl,’ but a very handsome young woman who was preparing to mount a splendid-looking and spirited animal,” he said.

“It was a magnificent summer day — quite rare in England, you know — and the sunlight played on her chestnut brown hair, which was rich with color. That morning, she wore her hair in neat braids, pinned up and wrapped closely around her head.”

Farrington had me hooked, and I now listened intently. The way his eyes lighted up, undoubtedly from a passion that still burned inside him, told me that this young woman would play no small part in his biography.

“Her face wore her intelligence,” he continued. “Young as she was, one knew just by looking at her that she would be the responsible sort. She appeared strong of character, yet not at the cost of her femininity.

“For some reason, when I focused my attention on her that morning, it was as if I were seeing her for the first time, and as such, the occasion is recalled with extreme vividness. Every detail is as clear in my mind’s eye today as it was that summer day, many years ago.

“Alexa rode in a pair of fawn breeches. They fitted her perfectly, I might add. Her well-defined, long legs were anchored to the earth by the tall, brown boots she wore. The boots were equipped with spurs.

“Her abundant bosom swelled within a long-sleeved, white shirt contrasted by a wide burgundy tie, which was the style among equestrians at that time.

“I watched her pull on a pair of tight-fitting leather riding gloves, then cover the luxurious crown of her braided hair with a black velvet-covered protective helmet. Firmly positioned in her right hand was a thick brown leather riding crop.

“She mounted, took up the double reins and, using her heels, signaled the animal to walk. After a few minutes, she called on him to trot. When he failed to immediately obey her, using her whip — while seated tall in the saddle — she resolutely applied a couple of well-placed smacks to his rump. Simultaneously, she applied her gleaming, chrome-plated spurs — each with their tiny sharp rowels — to her mount’s flanks with exacting precision. “Her facial expression, however, betrayed no indication of displeasure. Nor did I notice any sign of satisfaction when he, receiving her message, promptly fell into a trot. As a matter of fact, she appeared without emotion during the entire transaction. It was as though she were driving an automobile and had merely shifted gears.

“For the next half hour, I stood at the rail mesmerized. New feelings came alive inside my lanky body. And I tell you, quite honestly, that had my life depended upon it, I could not have given a name to what I was experiencing. There was warm pleasure and chilly confusion in equal parts, and, more significantly, somewhere deep within my psyche, a sense of…not danger, but risk. At that moment, an explanation of what was happening to me would have been impossible. But, I tell you the sense that I had just crossed over into a universe I’d not previously known was as immense and as real as this table.”

He thumped the table with the side of his fist causing me to start and the drinks to slosh in unison.

As Farrington unwound his tale, I began to feel a rumble inside and sent my facial muscles stern orders to display a poker face until further notice.

How was it that he chose me to write his biography? No doubt, an unemployment line filled with starving writers replied to his ad. Why not one of them? Was it simply chance or did he really possess a sixth sense?

Farrington continued, “My eyes had no choice but to follow her every motion. She sat erect and regal in the saddle. Her attitude was serious and businesslike, and she tolerated no nonsense from her mount. Whatever exercises she and the horse embarked upon — be it changing leads, moving him from a trot into a canter or taking jumps — the maneuvers were executed with precision and full self-confidence on her part. It was quite clear that she maintained complete control over him at all times.

“Whenever he failed to respond at once to her command or in the particular manner she wished, she wasted not a moment in correcting him. After pulling him up and taking a tight hold on the reins with one hand, she masterfully applied her whip to his ample flanks, administering truly meaningful punishment.

“What impressed me was both her remarkable strength and her determination. Throughout, she never wavered nor lost her patience. Quite the contrary, she delivered each smack to the animal’s backside without discernible change in her composure.”

Farrington paused to take another sip from his glass, while again glancing over at me. Poker face, don’t fail me now!

He resumed, “It became abundantly clear to me that she demanded absolute obedience from her mount, willing or unwilling, and she exacted it.

“Interestingly, however, she never seemed to take any notice of my presence. Nigel wandered off, only to reappear a half-hour later to learn what had become of me. He again tugged at my arm. He coaxed me to accompany him, but I brushed him aside. Finally, I yielded, realizing that remaining there might cause him to ask questions I didn’t want to answer or that his high-pitched voice — it hadn’t changed yet — might draw attention.

“We turned toward the woods and walked together about a quarter mile before I begged off, saying that I must return to the house in order to write a letter to my parents, which needed to go into the morning post.

“On the return walk to the manor, my imagination carried me away and my arousal was so great that I dared not be seen in such a condition. When I entered the foyer, the housekeeper, Mrs. Collings, was engrossed in straightening a large oil portrait of someone’s dusty relative. Her back was toward me, so I greeted her and just as quickly ascended the wide staircase to the second floor, where I immediately went to my room. I was relieved that the housekeeper’s eyes had not rested upon me as my trousers were outstretched in a most embarrassing fashion.

“Once inside my room, I fell onto the bed and for a short time daydreamed of Alexa astride her mount. I recalled every morsel of the vivid episode I had just witnessed in the riding ring. Feeding my youthful exhuberance, I lay absorbed with the image of this poised equestrian while completely lost in fantasy. I was at the center of my own illusion with Alexa circling me round and round until I felt a pulsating vortex had been created wherein I swirled in rapturous delight. Alexa, on the stallion, rode through my whole being, and as I let go of the last vestiges of rationality, I saw her dismount the horse and come astride me. Instantly, as it is in dreams, she was free of her riding breeches, shirt and tall boots, and her long chestnut brown hair was loose and flowing over her proud and generous breasts. Now, I was miraculously naked also and we were locked in a passionate and frenzied embrace.

“When I realized that I could no longer endure the exquisite torment of this sexual fantasy, I hastened to the private bath adjoining my room, where I quickly disrobed. My intention was to seek relief under the shower, invoking pubescent youth’s dependable standby — copious amounts of soap and running hot water.

“However, completely unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Collings, a rather prudish woman, had come to my room to see if I might have taken ill. I had locked the bedroom door before stepping into the shower, and had no idea — none whatever — that my privacy would be invaded.

“Later, I learned that Mrs. Collings had knocked and waited for a reply which wasn’t forthcoming. She then used her housekeeper’s key to unlock the door and entered the bedroom to make certain that all was well. When she found the bedroom unoccupied, she proceeded toward the bathroom. Evidently, her eyesight was not failing, and she got quite a start, or so she claimed, when she opened the door, which wasn’t fitted with a lock, and saw my rather active endeavors silhouetted against the almost transparent shower curtain.”

The server came and again exchanged empty glasses for full ones.

“It turned out,” Farrington continued, “at the moment the housekeeper was descending the stairs while ranting about my misbehavior, Alexa was returning from the stable. One can only guess exactly what Mrs. Collings reported to her; but whatever it was, it was enough to put me in serious trouble.

“Alexa, upon receiving the housekeeper’s report, took it upon her shoulders, as acting head of household, to deal with the matter promptly. She informed Mrs. Collings that she would take responsibility for administering discipline and dispatched her to return to her duties.”

I felt warm. Maybe it was the Scotch. Meanwhile, Farrington took a sip of his drink in a most dignified manner.

He then continued, “Unaware of what was occuring outside the shower stall, I was in a state of high excitement and nearing a peak, when over the roar of the shower I heard a noise. It was an unmistakable sound — the clip-clop of hard-heeled English riding boots on the bathroom tile floor. My boyish heart nearly stopped beating when the shower curtain was unceremoniously drawn back and I was exposed.”

Farrington leaned back in his chair and adjusted his cuffs.

“Well, there I stood. Lathered all over, flagpole and all. Quite a predicament, don’t you see?”

I did understand.

“Appearing before me, however, was not the awakening embodiment of my morning’s dream — a lover with whom I was about to share an intimate encounter — but instead, the real Alexa. Quite real, I must tell you. Her commanding presence filled the steamy bathroom as she stood majestically, hands on hips, glaring at me. In her left hand, she clutched her gloves. In her right, she firmly grasped her riding crop.

“At that moment, I was suffering so from the shock of discovery that I briefly saw two images standing before me. One, the infuriated acting head of household, poised only a few feet from my naked body; the other, Alexa the goddess of passion, fresh out of my fantasy. The images blurred into one another, and I likely had a most confused look upon my face. Though, it wasn’t my face that got me into this bit of a fix.”

Farrington halted momentarily to allow the effect to settle on me. It settled, God knows, and I swallowed extra hard before he continued.

“‘Rinse yourself and come out of that shower immediately, young man,’ Alexa ordered. ‘And get rid of that disgusting thing,’ she said, motioning toward the uprisen source of my embarrassment.

“I managed to get the soap off my body and wrap a Turkish towel around my waist. Quivering with fear, I walked back into the bedroom. Alexa was slowly pacing the floor. Her every stride exuded determination. ‘Lie down,’ she commanded, pointing to the bed. ‘And you shan’t need that towel,’ she said, snapping it away from my loins, again exposing my embarrassment.

“She subsequently proceeded to deliver a lecture on the loathsomeness of my misbehavior, emphasizing that such wrongdoing was abhorrent and couldn’t be tolerated among the well-bred.

“Then, while carefully measuring each word, she informed me that as acting head of household it was her duty to administer required discipline when necessary.

“As she spoke, I noticed her cheeks take on added color and her breathing become more rapid. Otherwise, her composure betrayed absolutely no sign of emotion.

“Here was I, meanwhile, a post-pubescent 18-year-old, awaiting chastisement from a contemporary. I must confess, however, that Alexa’s poise and bearing far outdistanced her actual years.

“I lay face down on the bed, sinking into the valleys of the duvet, with my head turned sideways and my eyes riveted to her. Although, I knew the fate that was to be mine, I felt totally powerless to either flee or resist. My will seemed to be momentarily lost. Meanwhile, all of me remained fixed upon the statuesque young horsewoman.

“Long-legged, she stood tall and imposing in her tight-fitting breeches and polished leather riding boots.

“At the same moment, I was moved by how fastidious she still appeared in her starched, long-sleeved white shirt and burgundy tie. A brown woven leather belt accentuated her trim waist.

“Every strand of her lovely braided hair lay in its proper place on her head, no doubt each one fearful, lest any move incur its owner’s wrath. Her long eyelashes shielded her limpid green eyes.

“After a moment’s pause, she looked down her elegant aquiline nose at me. I tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“Wearing an expression of detachment on her pale face, she coolly informed me that as a young man of my position, I was obliged to accept her punishment.

“Then, in a businesslike manner, she pulled on her tight-fitting doeskin gloves while tucking her crop under her arm. Once prepared, she raised her heavy riding whip.

“After flexing it several times, she thwacked its looped keeper against the flat of her gloved hand, as if to measure the instrument’s effectiveness. As she did so, I could see that the braided leather crop was quite thick, though pliable in the hands of its user.

“Apparently satisfied, Alexa proceeded with my humiliation, laying on strokes which delivered scorching hellfire to my backside. I was in agony, and yet in my consciousness I was aware that each stroke was masterfully applied. At no time during the punishment did I cry out, whimper or plead for leniency.

“Later, when I examined myself in the mirror, I saw the near-perfect lattice work of red and blue weals on my chastisted bottom, which Alexa had left as her signature.

“The flogging lasted perhaps five minutes. Afterward, the only words she spoke were, ‘You may get dressed now.’

“Then, with her whip permitted to dangle casually from a wrist loop around her right hand, she strolled out of the room, perfectly relaxed, as though nothing out of the ordinary had arisen.”

The awe in Farrington’s voice was unmistakable.

“At first, I was totally devastated by the humiliation of the punishment,” he recalled. “Then, there was the throbbing pain all across my loins and buttocks — added to that my churning inner emotions.

“Astoundingly, at that moment, I again found myself in a heightened state of arousal — one even more passionate and intense than existed earlier. I had been caught…interrupted in the act and summarily disciplined. Now, I could only envision Alexa and recall the events of the last few hours — over and over again. And in every delicious and lustful detail.”

“When did you next see her?” I asked, unable to hold my curiosity.

Farrington smiled. “Patience is a virtue you must learn to cultivate, my boy.”

He continued, “I next set eyes upon her a few hours later at dinner. I felt I had no choice but to appear in the dining room at my place at the table. The mere act of sitting down in a chair was a challenge, much less having to face Alexa.

“She presided, as usual, at the head of the table in Uncle Malcolm’s place. We all said our ‘good evenings,’ and I prayed, as only the young can, that my inner thoughts could not be discerned by anyone at table.

“During the dinner, we made polite conversation, though I participated with great reluctance. I knew that my bottom was red and suspected that my face perhaps was even more so. I dared not look directly into Alexa’s eyes. I only stole glances at her when she addressed Nigel who sat directly opposite me.

“It was difficult to believe that this well-bred young lady, observing all the social niceties and spreading mint jelly on a dainty bite of lamb, was the same individual who hours earlier had invaded my privacy, stripped me down to a naked state, observed my shame, then administered as severe a whipping as I had ever received.

“When the meal was ended, I made a feeble excuse to avoid joining the others for an evening of backgammon and returned to my room. I again lay on the bed, my state of agitation heightened. Although my buttocks still smarted from the painful horsewhipping, my loins ached with desire for Alexa, who had punished me so unforgivingly.

“I felt I couldn’t risk attempting self-relief in my room, since I might be discovered. So, I returned downstairs, casually mentioning to Mrs. Collings that I was going out for some fresh air. I then proceeded to wander the grounds in the darkness.

“During my walk, the entire focus of my concentration was upon my uncle’s singular niece. The thought of her drove me almost mad.

“At the same time, I frantically sought relief from the pent up thrust of passion within me. I soon came upon the greenhouse, let myself in and felt my lungs fill with the air made fragrant by orchids and frangipanis. The moonlight passing through the slanted glass windows permitted me to find my way through the cultivated jungle. I moved along the aisles, my body rustling the thick foliage into murmurs of welcome as I searched for privacy. The atmosphere was heavy with moisture and the lushness surrounding me fostered my animal instincts all the more.

“Soon, I arrived in the banana grove and took shelter within it, hidden by giant scheffleras planted nearby. It was there that I could finally obtain relief by my own hand. So urgent was my passion, it ended almost as soon as it began.

“However, only moments after I felt my drive ebb, it suddenly surged again, as my brain and body were electrified by memories of the handsome horsewoman astride her stallion. Once again, my hand was my lover, enabling me to escape the torture of unfulfilled desire. At least three more times I indulged myself. When I was exhausted, I wiped myself on one of the large leaves of a plant close at hand.

“I returned to the house, perhaps aware for the first time that the strange and wonderful events of the day had been indelibly imprinted upon my mind. As it turned out, they would become a lifelong legacy.

“That night, I had great difficulty falling asleep. My bottom and my loins still throbbed from the severe punishment. Blisters had begun to show themselves. Even worse, my libido now seemed in overdrive. I could only fantasize about Alexa and hunger for both her love and her punishment.”

“Was that craving ever satisfied?” I asked.

Farrington shot me a look of disapproval. My first mistake. Ask no direct questions, I thought. Just let him tell his story.

“Young man, I repeat, you must learn the virtue of patience,” Farrington admonished. “One mustn’t hurry the telling of a story.

“The days and weeks passed quickly. Each moment, I longed to be in Alexa’s presence. At first, the evening dinner was my only opportunity. However, being seated in such proximity to her only deepened my heart’s starvation. I was determined to find another way to be near her.

“I soon contrived a plan which called for me to venture past the stables during mid-morning, when I knew she would be working her stallion in the ring. I did so, intending to use the pretext of my growing interest in horses. As I waited for her, I watched her ride.

“When she had finished her training and dismounted, I put forward my offer to help her around the stable in whatever way I might be useful and placed myself at her disposal. She readily accepted my offer. Thereafter, she would oblige me by assigning such duties as cleaning her saddle and stirrup leathers or mucking stalls. Eventually, she taught me brushing and grooming.”

“Did that lead to anything?” I asked.

“Yes, but not exactly what I had hoped for,” replied Farrington.

He continued, “The embarrassing incident in the shower was never mentioned. Meanwhile, Alexa approached her relationship with me very much like that of a teacher toward her pupil. Though she seemed engaging and outwardly friendly, she remained aloof. To my great disappointment, there was not as much as a hint on her part of any romantic interest.

“It was terribly frustrating. There were times when I hungered so for her touch in an intimate way that I recklessly considered repeating my misbehavior to provoke her into disciplining me again. But, I decided against it.

“One day, after watching her take her stallion through his daily routine in the ring, I was busy cleaning her saddle, when I heard Alexa call to me. Watching her ride earlier that morning had been a very emotional experience for me, and at that particular moment I remained greatly aroused. During the morning workout, she had held extraordinarily high expectations of her mount, and when he failed to perform to her rigid standards, she smartly took him up, then punished him severely until her arm tired. After witnessing this event, I tried desperately to control my passions, though my memory of it seemed to overpower the rational being inside me. You see, I wanted Alexa’s attention — in any form — all for myself.

“However, when I heard Alexa call, I immediately dropped the task at hand and hurried to her. She stood in the stable tack room, resplendent in her riding clothes while looking at herself in an old mirror which hung on the wall. She held a comb and brush in her hand. Her long hair had been released from the confinement of its braided and tightly pinned-up style and now cascaded naturally, in splendor, over her shoulders. I had not seen her this way before, except within my active imagination, and I envied those broad shoulders the weight of every strand of her hair.

“I stood there, almost in reverence, prepared to pledge her my fealty forevermore, should she only ask. But instead, she handed her brush to me. It had natural bristles set into a silver backing whereon her initials were sensuously mingled, much as she and I were entwined in my dreams. She directed me to brush out her hair. She explained that a couple of hairpins had slipped out while she was cantering her mount and her braids had fallen loose.

“My hands trembled as I held the brush. As best I could, I drew the brush through the magnificent chestnut tresses which I had longed, but yet not dared, to touch. My passions soared out of control. I feared that any moment my secret might be exposed by telltale signs on my trousers. I prayed to be spared such embarrassment.

“Patiently, she instructed me on precisely how she wished for me to tend her. ‘Brett, you must first grasp my hair mid-length and brush from there down. Then, move up and repeat the process. That will separate the tangles and bring me no discomfort.’ Her back was toward me, but she could observe my image in the mirror which she faced. Likewise, standing behind her, I could admire her superior facial features — combining both beauty and strength — in the same mirror.

“Dedicated to my task, I followed her instructions to the letter and brushed and brushed. As I did so, I noticed how each silken strand gleamed and shimmered as radiantly as she out of whose head they grew.

“After a few minutes, Alexa turned from the mirror to face me. She gently took the brush from my hand and informed me she would herself complete the final steps of braiding and pinning. She thanked me and I was dismissed.

“I returned to my room only long enough to pick up a knapsack, then hurried out to seek a place of refuge and relief. I realized, of course, that I could not use the greenhouse in broad daylight.

“While hiking through the adjacent woods, I came upon a glade quite overgrown with grape ivy, where I felt I would not be observed. It was perfect for my needs.

“I relieved my pulsating urge, immediately exploding in homage to Alexa. But, moments afterward, I found myself struggling in my mind to guess what motivation lay behind her pattern. Was she really unaware of my worship for her? Was she teasing me?

“Did you ever find out?” I asked. This time, Farrington only grimaced slightly. Perhaps, he was becoming accustomed to my style of interviewing.

“No,” he replied. “It drove me wild. I felt helpless to act. Meanwhile, I could only dwell upon images of the tall disciplinarian in riding attire. Thoughts of her consumed my every moment.

“You see, I was a relatively naive lad,” he explained. “Had I known then what I knew a few years later, I would have been much more bold. But, I didn’t know anything about women. I didn’t yet possess a man’s knowledge and experience.

“I kept asking myself, ‘Did Alexa find some peculiar satisfaction or excitement in teasing me? Or was she herself somehow inhibited from expressing any romantic interest?’ It was terrible. I had no one from whom I could seek advice.

“A difficult situation,” I ventured, attempting to appear less direct.

“Quite,” Farrington agreed. “There were only a few weeks of holiday remaining. I felt surely she must have noticed from my eyes, my facial expression, the way I looked at her in the riding ring or at the dinner table that I was smitten beyond salvation. But, she kept her aloofness and there never arrived an opportunity for me to express my feelings…my overwhelming admiration for her.”

“Were there goodbyes?” I asked.

“Indeed,” Farrington replied. “My parents came to collect me on their return from Africa. Aunt Lydia and Uncle Malcolm had not yet returned home.

“It all was rather formal. I introduced Nigel and Alexa to my parents. Then, I addressed Alexa, telling her how much I enjoyed her company. I expressed my thanks for her instruction in the care and grooming of horses. Finally, I bowed humbly to her as I told her goodbye. I noticed a trace of a smile form on her lips as I did so. Was she perhaps smiling in satisfaction? It remained a mystery.

“Alexa, in turn, bade me goodbye in a manner which can best be described as correct and proper. There was absolutely no sign of warmth or emotion in her voice. I was deeply disappointed, but I didn’t let my feelings show. Nigel and I shook hands, and it was over. My parents drove me home. My summer holiday had ended. And, yet, it’s never ended.”

“Did you ever see her again?” I asked.

“Many years later,” Farrington replied. “But, that would be taking us ahead of the story.

“Meanwhile, I was sent off to school. Then the war came. I enlisted in the army when I was eighteen. My parents objected, but I fancied myself a patriot and was in a uniform in a matter of weeks. First came Dunkirk — that was a fiasco. Later, North Africa under Montgomery. Finally, Normandy. I received a field commission and departed with a captain’s rank when the war ended. The war years matured all of us young chaps rather quickly.”

“Did you think about Alexa often?” I asked.

“Constantly,” answered Farrington. “Just the thought of her was enough to deliver me into another world — a sanctuary where I dwelled on passionate memories combined with my own fantasies. It kept my mind occupied when I lay in a muddy foxhole for days.

“When I returned home, one of the first things I did was contact Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Lydia. I telephoned saying I was home from the war and was eager to visit them. They were glad to see me and relieved that I had returned in one piece. Many of the lads, you know, came back missing an arm, a leg…it was a terrible, terrible war. But, that is war, isn’t it?”

Farrington summoned the server, requesting that his tab be transferred to the dining room since we would be going in to dine, shortly. He glanced in my direction, seeking my approval, which he received in the form of a nod of my head.

“You had gone to visit your aunt and uncle after the war,” I prompted.

“Ah, yes,” Farrington said, returning to his narrative. “They asked me about my combat experiences, and we talked about the war for quite a while. Then, I discreetly inquired about Nigel and Alexa. Almost apologetically, Uncle Malcolm explained that his nephew had been too young to enter the war and only recently had begun his studies at Cambridge. He said Alexa had taken a degree in English literature and was hired to fill a teaching position in Leeds. She had been introduced to an eligible gentleman, a chartered accountant, and they were married a few years ago. There was no mention of any children.

“I was dispirited, to say the least. But, I was careful not to let my disappointment show.

“Following that visit, I resisted attempts by my parents to help me enroll in university. I had no interest in a profession or anything else, for that matter. I was restless. I knew that I needed something new. The farther away, the better. Turn a new leaf and all that, you know.

“An army comrade had no trouble inducing me to join him in taking a job with an Australian mining venture. The pay was excellent and filled with opportunity. I learned the business in a snap. Advancing in the corporate structure was no problem at all. My positions required travel to other distant locations to open new explorations — Africa, New Guinea, Malaysia, Chile, Bolivia. It got me away, and that’s what I needed.

“After a few years, I became a partner in the firm. Both the company and I prospered. In the early 1960s, we were acquired by an international conglomerate. By that time, I held a substantial share in the company, so I ended up with a packet. I wasn’t yet forty years old and had most of my life in front of me. I was too young to retire.”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“Well, I never could dislodge from my mind the memory of that summer’s experience. No matter how busy I was with my travels or responsibilities, my internal world still revolved around the handsome young horsewoman whose hair I brushed every night in my dreams.

“Of course, I now had economic freedom. But, what would I do with it? I invested heavily in blue chip income property, mostly office complexes and commercial buildings, in San Francisco, Boston and Dallas. I’ve never had much confidence in securities. You know, the stock market, bonds and other such.

“Then, one day I turned over responsibility for the properties to a management firm. I wanted to escape the humdrum of daily routine and seek adventure.

“Since most of my investments were here and I liked America, I decided to explore the States.

“I was especially keen to learn once and for all whether there existed other women who possessed some of the traits and characteristics I witnessed in Alexa.

“You see, I was so heavily occupied with work during those post-war years that I had been too busy for the opposite sex.”

“So, you thought that maybe you could repeat the experience somehow?” I asked. “Or perhaps something along those lines?”

“Yes, ‘something along those lines’ is a perfect way to phrase it,” said Farrington. “You are good with words. As I knew you would be.”

He continued, “As it turned out, and quite to my surprise, I encountered more than just a few of these women who seek the upper hand.

“I also learned that I’m not alone in this world as concerns my sexual preferences. During my travels, I determined from personal conversations as well as second-hand accounts that a sizeable percentage of American men share my penchant. It’s simply not often talked about. You know, taboo.

“Anyway, my explorations took me through almost every state as well as an occasional trip abroad. My Odyssey required several years to complete.”

“You must have some fascinating stories to tell.” I said.

“Precisely,” Farrington answered. “And I will be sharing these with you — all in due course. It will take a few months to complete the telling of these stories.

“Meanwhile, I’ve rented an apartment for you on Riverside Drive. It’s fully furnished, of course. I’ve taken a year’s lease on it.

“We can work there if that’s convenient for you. Mornings are best for me. We can meet every other day or so, and on alternate days you can transcribe your notes or whatever it is that writers do.”

He looked at me pointblank. “Will that be satisfactory?”

“Uh, sure. I mean yes,” I answered. Stunned, I hesitated whether I should ask for a package figure. Before I could decide, however, Farrington dealt with the sticky issue as if it were Teflon-coated.

“As far as compensation is concerned, I believe you can deduce that this manuscript is very important to me,” Farrington said. “How would $50,000 seem to you? If it’s satisfactory, I’ll have a contract for you to sign at our next meeting along with an advance payment check. After that, progress payments along the way.”

“That’s fine,” I gulped. It was far more than I had expected for such a job. And, he was throwing in an apartment, rent free.

Farrington removed a business card from a small, silver-trimmed alligator case. The card was engraved with his name only. He took out a Mont Blanc fountain pen and wrote the address of the Riverside Driveapartment on the card, then handed it to me along with a key.

“Would Thursday morning at ten be a suitable time to begin work?” Farrington asked.

“No problem,” I answered, eager to get started. In truth, my enthusiasm was as much the product of what I anticipated hearing as it was the fee he was going to pay me. The old gent had certainly been around, and judging from what I had already heard, this was to be something I wouldn’t want to miss.

I knew the interview was over, but I couldn’t stop myself from posing one more question.

“Mr. Farrington, I hope you don’t mind my asking,” I persisted, “but when did you see Alexa again?”

Farrington smiled. I surmised that he probably knew that Alexa was now on my mind, too. He rolled his chair back from the cocktail table. We both stood up.

“You’ll have to be satisfied when I tell you that all loose ends will be neatly tied up before we conclude our work,” he assured me.

“Come my boy,” he said, patting me on the shoulder as he steered me into The Adirondack’s dining room. “Let’s see what Chef Jean Claude has to offer as his delectable specialty tonight. Perhaps, a rack of lamb or something that calls for a good, robust Burgundy. Or maybe, a Pomerol? You do like wine, I trust?”