Net­work

“God damn it to hell!”

I furi­ously press the hang-​up but­ton on my phone and care­lessly drop it on the table. This is not what I had in mind for tonight.

Tonight I have a date. A hot date. I hope. It is Fri­day night and I invited Joanna over for a home-​cooked meal. I have been hop­ing that she might be recep­tive for some inti­mate over­tures. We have dated a few times and she is a stun­ning woman. She is beau­ti­ful and intel­li­gent and she has an infec­tious smile and I just love being around her. There is some­thing about her that just puts me to ease. I can­not put my fin­ger on it, but it is there. I want to know her bet­ter, both as a per­son, but also as a woman.

And then this hap­pens. Those fuck­ing off-​shore devel­op­ers have com­pletely botched a mod­ule that we took deliv­ery of. It went through all our QA tests and every­thing seemed fine, and tonight it was deployed to pro­duc­tion. And I just received a call that things are blow­ing up left and right. Fuck! They called me as the devel­op­ment project man­ager and from the symp­toms it sounds like a net­work issue and the prob­lem should be han­dled by IT oper­a­tions. I told them that, and I am hop­ing it will be the end of it.

I sur­vey my domain and calm down a bit. I had promised Joanna poached salmon with home­made Hol­landaise sauce and aspara­gus. I’m play­ing it light and safe. Tonight is not a night to make things more com­pli­cated than nec­es­sary, and she was so impressed that I cooked to begin with that I fig­ure I am mak­ing points any­way. I think we both know that the main rea­son I asked her here tonight is not the food, but that there is a bed in a room not far from the kitchen. Then again, she might not be on the same wave­length as me, and that will be fine too. I am not 18 any­more; I have gained quite a mea­sure of patience over the years. What will be will be.

I adjust my cloth­ing. I am wear­ing a white Oxford shirt with a flashy but yet taste­ful tie. My suit jacket is thrown over a din­ing chair and I am even wear­ing an apron that is taste­ful, not one of those bar­beque ones with dirty jokes on them.

I can hear the door­bell and I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. 8 PM on the dot. I smile to myself and attempt in vain to remem­ber the last time any woman I knew was on time. I open the door and there stands Joanna hold­ing out a bot­tle of white wine and wear­ing a big beau­ti­ful smile. I smile back and step aside and ges­ture with my arm to invite her in. I take the bot­tle of wine and make a fuss over her good taste and help her out of her coat.

With her coat in my hand I look at her. My God, she is so beau­ti­ful. Her long black hair is flow­ing down her shoul­ders and she is wear­ing a tight, black sleeve­less turtle­neck dress that ends mid-​thigh. I had only seen her in much more mod­est clothes and this is incred­i­ble. She looks like a black swan stand­ing there in front of me, bit­ing her lower lip. Is she ner­vous? My grip of her coat just dis­ap­pears and I uncon­sciously drop it on the floor. I reach with both my hands for her waist and pull her close to kiss her and I notice that the dress is made of Cash­mere. At that moment, I know that she wants what I want. Appar­ently, she has been pay­ing atten­tion; I recall once briefly men­tion­ing that I do not really under­stand lin­gerie but that Cash­mere works like Kryp­tonite on me.

My hands are chastely stroking up and down her waist, from her ribcage to the slope of her hips. The dance has begun, but I still want to take my time and savor not only her body but her entire pres­ence. I ask her to sit at the break­fast counter by the sink so we may chat while I fin­ish cook­ing. I open the bot­tle of wine and pour us both a glass and she smiles sweetly to me as we toast.

I love her com­pany; she is funny and tells the most engag­ing sto­ries and before I know it din­ner is ready and we move to the din­ner table. Our con­ver­sa­tion con­tin­ues effort­lessly and we laugh and flirt and gaze in each oth­ers’ eyes across the can­dles on the table. All through this, I am hard as a rock; Joanna has me spell­bound and I have caught her catch­ing me star­ing at her chest. And every time she does her eyes are glit­ter­ing. Her per­fume is sub­tle and still I feel like it is over­pow­er­ing the scent of the can­dles and my cook­ing. The scent of her is all around me.

And then the fuck­ing phone rings again! I excuse myself and it is the direc­tor of IT oper­a­tions. He is try­ing to get third-​level sup­port involved in this. I am try­ing to explain to him that the devel­op­ment team can­not really do any­thing to assist with this prob­lem and I painstak­ingly take him through my rea­son­ing. God, that man is dense. Or lazy. Or both.

My frus­tra­tion is mount­ing and I am rapidly get­ting angry. The most beau­ti­ful woman I have ever known is sit­ting by my din­ner table and I am stuck here on the phone explain­ing the facts of life to a moron on the other end. God damn it to hell. I briefly look over at Joanna, and she is look­ing at me wide-​eyed as I pace back and forth, wildly ges­tic­u­lat­ing in the air and growl in a low voice to the per­son in the other end. Her eyes are glit­ter­ing and her red lips are slightly parted. I growl out a chopped com­ment into the phone while look­ing into her eyes, and she quickly low­ers her gaze and her head.

“Great,” I think, “there goes tonight.” I see my dreams of touch­ing her, tast­ing her, feel­ing her being flushed down the drain. My frus­tra­tion is mount­ing to never before seen lev­els. When is this fuck­ing moron going to get it? I don’t want to be on the phone. Joanna’s inter­est is reced­ing and I am stuck on the fuck­ing phone.

I glance over my shoul­der at Joanna again and see that she is no longer at the din­ner table. I notice that she has begun clear­ing dishes from the table and I want to plead with her; “I will take care of that, Joanna. Please sit down.” I cover the mouth­piece of the phone and instead of say­ing that or some­thing else equally polite; my frus­trated mind only comes up with a growled “Joanna, Sit!”

A few sen­tences later that moron on the other end finally gets what I am telling him and I finally, finally get off the god­damned phone. I take a deep breath, glue a smile to my face and turn around fac­ing the din­ner table. No Joanna. Shit! I real­ize that I did not speak to her in a very pleas­ant voice and I momen­tar­ily panic. Did she leave? No, she could not have, because I would have heard the front door clos­ing. Then where is she?

I walk into the kitchen and on the floor is Joanna. She is sit­ting with her feet tucked in under her and she is look­ing up to me with wide-​open, glit­ter­ing eyes. I am stunned. I do not know what to say. My imme­di­ate reac­tion is to rush to her, to help her up and apol­o­gize pro­fusely for growl­ing at her. And then some­thing in her eyes and her demeanor stops me from doing that long enough for things to dawn on me.

Geez, some­times it is a pain to be male. We are dense when it comes to emo­tional stuff. I admit it. That look in her eyes is not from anger, nor is it from fear. She is sit­ting on the floor because that is where she was stand­ing when I told her–well, in ret­ro­spect, I com­manded her–to sit. She must have imme­di­ately stopped and sim­ply sat down where she stood.

As I stand there, motion­less, Joanna slowly averts her gaze and looks down on her folded hands in her lap. I am at a loss what to do right now. I sense that this is a del­i­cate sit­u­a­tion and if I do not behave cor­rectly I will destroy every­thing. The dance is on. And I am the one lead­ing. And I have no frig­ging clue as to what to do right now. Joanna is expect­ing me to do some­thing and I know that I can­not ask her what it is. And time is run­ning out. It has been only a few sec­onds since I dis­cov­ered her on the floor, but I sense that the next beat of the inaudi­ble music of our mat­ing dance is about to strike and I have to make the next move.

Des­per­ately, I rack my brain for some­thing. Any­thing. Apol­ogy is not the way to go. I can sense that much. I am bewil­dered that feel­ing mounts as I real­ize that I now have a pound­ing erec­tion from watch­ing her on the floor. It can­not be from see­ing her impres­sive chest from the above, nor can it be from see­ing her curves exag­ger­ated from the posi­tion she sits in. I real­ize that it is from the fact that I told her to do some­thing and she did it. Unques­tion­ingly. Immediately.

With a more stu­pid look on my face than I care to admit to, I am flum­moxed by the beauty sit­ting on the floor patiently wait­ing for me to do some­thing. A grace­ful and pow­er­ful woman whose opin­ions and intel­li­gence I respect and admire is lit­er­ally sit­ting at my feet like a lit­tle girl. Like a…

“Good girl,” I say with warmth in my voice and reach out my hand to help her stand up. She quickly looks up and her wide-​eyed sparkling eyes look straight into mine. I try not to wince wit­ness­ing the expan­sion of her already impres­sive chest as she sharply inhales. Her jaw is slack and her lips are parted and then she smiles at me. And at that moment the world stands still. She is smil­ing at me!

I beckon with my out­stretched hand and with such fem­i­nine grace she places her hand dain­tily in mine and seems to rise as if by magic. I will prob­a­bly never under­stand how she moves, but it is a sym­phony to watch, a per­for­mance to adore. She stands right in front of me and her eyes have yet to leave mine. I release her hand and cup her head in my hands and gen­tly pull her head towards me and kiss her deeply. As our lips greet I can sense that our rela­tion­ship has just changed. How, is still for me to find out, but I do have the sense that the answer is behind Joanna’s eyes and I will have to fig­ure it out for myself. When our tongues touch she presses her body against mine. No, she melts her body against mine.

My right hand leaves the side of her head and snakes into her long, black hair, grab­bing her by the scalp. And when my grip tight­ens around her hair, Joanna’s lips sud­denly go slack and she moans into my mouth. Her hips start rock­ing against me and when I feel that, the devil comes into me and I pull her head close. I will take this all the way. It is all or noth­ing. I want this woman more than I have ever wanted any­thing before.

“You are mine” I growl softly in her ear.

Joanna’s knees seem to give out because sud­denly all that is hold­ing her up is her loose grip around my neck. I quickly grip her around her waist pull her upwards. In the process her abdomen rubs firmly against my cock that by now what feels numb from being so hard. Oops. Per­haps not as numb as I thought. I almost came from feel­ing her body rub against mine.

We stand on the kitchen floor while Joanna col­lects her­self, her face nes­tled into my neck. Her hair is tick­ling my face and I close my eyes and savor the scent she is wear­ing. She is pant­ing slightly and I get to feel those glo­ri­ous, full mounds of her breasts heav­ing against my chest. I notice that she has goose bumps on her arm and when I let the fin­gers of my left hand gen­tly play with her back she shiv­ers and inhales sharply.

She still seems wob­bly on her legs, so I scoop her up in my arms and make my way to the bed­room with her nestling her head con­tently against my shoul­der. For a sec­ond I idly won­der if this is what Tarzan felt like around Jane. Behind me, I hear my phone ring­ing. But I ignore it. In fact, I hardly notice it as I ten­derly and care­fully nav­i­gate with my pre­cious cargo towards my destination.

* * *

Inside my bed­room I gen­tly lower Joanna to the floor, shame­lessly tak­ing advan­tage of my hands slid­ing over her curves and get­ting so turned on by the soft tex­ture of her dress cov­er­ing the soft­ness of her skin under­neath. I hold her tight for a few sec­onds to let her get her bear­ings and then take a step away and look at her.

She is so beau­ti­ful and sexy stand­ing there look­ing at me. The look in her eyes tells me every­thing I need to know; she is indeed mine and she is not afraid. She is look­ing at me with antic­i­pa­tion and at this moment I feel the weight of the world on my shoul­ders. I would rather die than dis­ap­point her. I have fig­ured out the rules of this dance; I am lead­ing and she will fol­low and I am not to ask her what to do.

I look at her tight dress with inde­ci­sion. I want it off and nor­mally I would have hinted or just started pulling it up, tou­sling her hair in the process. But tonight is dif­fer­ent. Joanna’s eyes promise me that she will fol­low with grace wher­ever I am lead­ing but she is expect­ing a mea­sure of grace from me too. I do not think that I can get that dress off her in a man­ner speak­ing of con­fi­dence and assured­ness. Some­thing will go wrong and I will end up look­ing the bum­bling fool.

“Take off your dress,” I say, and fold my arms across my chest.

Imme­di­ately, she obeys, and she pulls the dress slowly and teas­ingly up, expos­ing more of her lus­cious stock­ing thighs. When the dress reaches her crotch, I notice that she is indeed wear­ing stock­ings rather than hose and I grunt appre­ci­at­ing as the retreat­ing dress reveals the ten­der flesh above her stock­ings. When the dress reaches her bust she strug­gles momentarily–probably for effect, and she is successful–to nego­ti­ate the volup­tuous mounds of her breasts. Hmmm…Black panties and black bra. God, she is sexy!

Joanna does the thing women do when they pull their head through a gar­ment and still leave their hair flaw­less. Yet another fem­i­nine mys­tery that I will never fig­ure out and have no desire to. She hands the dress to me almost rev­er­ently, like an offer­ing, and I accept it grace­fully and make a fuss fold­ing it respect­fully and plac­ing it on the dresser beside me.

I am not done undress­ing her just yet, but I want to do the rest myself. I reach out with my right hand and gen­tly cup her neck and pull her head towards me. I kiss her deeply and she puts her arms around me gen­tly, like wings. Her lips are soft and part for me and I find her tongue and tease her with mine.

I am about to treat myself. This is a part I love with big-​breasted women. While I am kiss­ing her, with my left hand I find the clasp of her bra and I do a move I have been prac­tic­ing on every woman I have ever slept with to open it up. As the clasp opens and the elas­tic­ity of the bra reclaims its pre­ferred state after hav­ing been under such pres­sure from Joanna’s nat­u­rally large breasts, I am treated with a very notice­able thud against my diaphragm. God, I love this. It is like stand­ing in the path of a force of nature.

I release Joanna from my kiss and she smiles demurely and looks down when I gen­tly peel the bra straps from her shoul­ders and wind up with her bra in my hands. Her breasts are incred­i­ble, so full and soft, and her nip­ples look tan­ta­liz­ingly tasty. It takes an immense effort of will not to grab her breasts and put my lips on her nip­ples and suck like my life depended on it. And yet I do not. Tonight is different.

I take her hand and lead her to stand in front of the full-​length mir­ror I have in my bed­room. With my hands on her shoul­ders I posi­tion her to stand straight in front of it. With dainty lit­tle move­ments she adjusts her body to be exactly where I indi­cate her to stand. Then I move to stand closely behind her.

I tilt my head down into her hair and draw a deep audi­ble breath through my nose. I love the scent of her per­fume. I place my hands on her waist, pulling her body a lit­tle bit closer to me and con­tinue to smell her hair. In the cor­ner of my eye I see in her reflec­tion that her eyes are closed and she is lightly bit­ing her lower lip. Yes, that’s it, I think. You are an ani­mal, and you are being sniffed by your mate.

Keep­ing my fin­gers touch­ing Joanna’s skin, I lift my hands and word­lessly guide her to lift her arms and clasp her fin­gers behind her head.

“You are so beau­ti­ful,” I whis­per to her and she smiles in the reflection.

I graze her skin with my fin­ger­tips, over her breasts, close to but avoid­ing her nip­ples, down her abdomen and I play with the straps of her panties. Now I reg­is­ter that she is actu­ally wear­ing thongs. I have been so lost in her eyes, look­ing and try­ing to deci­pher her facial expres­sions that I am miss­ing things I would not nor­mally miss.

“You are breath­tak­ing,” I say a bit louder and her eyes sparkle at me.

I hear the phone ring­ing again in the other room and I curse under my breath. I stand there frozen for a few sec­onds while the inces­sant ring­ing con­tin­ues until sud­denly it stops. Thank God for voice mail. I did get an idea, though.

“I need to take care of that,” I tell Joanna in nor­mal con­ver­sa­tional tone. “But I don’t want you to go any­where, and I’ll make sure that you don’t. Let your arms down and turn around.”

Joanna turns around and looks at me with her eyes wide. I can tell that she is feel­ing some trep­i­da­tion from what I said. After all, here she is almost nude and I am still fully clothed. I lock my eyes with hers and slowly remove my tie. I untan­gle the knot and release the first but­ton of my shirt.

“Give me your wrists,” I say, with the tie in my hands.

With­out gaz­ing away, Joanna raises her hands to me and I tie a knot around one of her wrists to secure it and then around her other wrist until they both are securely fas­tened. Then I make a knot at the other end of the tie to act as a stop. With one hand grasp­ing her neck and the other hold­ing the tie I word­lessly lead her to stand in front of the bath­room door. I turn her around and raise her arms so I can put the tie over the door before I close it.

Joanna is now stand­ing with her back against the bath­room door, both hands tied with my tie that is securely fas­tened at the top of the door. She is going nowhere. I grasp her slen­der wrists in my hand and yank them against the restraint to show her that strug­gling will be futile. Her breath is com­ing in short gasps when I do that. I won­der what she is thinking.

I turn my back to her and walk out the bed­room door. Instead of return­ing the calls, which I know from where they came, I grab my lap­top and remotely sign on to the servers at work and check the sta­tus of the issues. It is hard to con­cen­trate with a rag­ing hard on and my heart rac­ing. I have a stun­ning crea­ture impris­oned in the other room and I am not pay­ing atten­tion to her. If some­one had told me ear­lier which way the night would turn out I would have laughed in their face. And yet, now, it is real. It is really happening.

Maybe ten min­utes passes and I am reply­ing to fran­tic emails and then I hear the soft melo­di­ous albeit ten­ta­tive call of my name from the bed­room. I imme­di­ately put down my lap­top and go to search for her that called my name. I find Joanna still tied and still stand­ing exactly where I left her. The look of relief in her face is heart­break­ing when she sees me. Appar­ently she thinks she deserves more of my atten­tion than work, and although I whole­heart­edly agree with her, I am not going to show it.

I stand in front of her for a moment and lock my eyes with hers, and then I squat in front of her so that my face is at the height of her crotch. I reach with my hands to the straps of her thongs and slowly peel them off her. My, she is shaved. A shiver goes up the shaft of my cock when I see her naked pussy, its lips puffy and engorged. Her vulva is as shapely as the rest of her and between the lips I see a hint of pink­ness peek­ing out. Then her scent hits me and I whim­per inaudi­bly. The scent of Woman. The scent of a female in heat. I can hardly con­tain myself bury­ing my face in her groin to lose myself in her scent, to imprint on her. But some­how, some­way, I find the strength to resist.

The fab­ric of the thong in my hand feels strange. It is too warm even after hav­ing been so inti­mately close to Joanna’s pussy. It feels liq­uid. I real­ize that the entire fab­ric is soaked with her juices, not only the bot­tom part, but all of the fab­ric has been so sat­u­rated that even the hip straps are moist. I rise, which is a feat since my cock is so hard it is tough to stand straight.

“My, my, my…you seem excited.” Joanna averts her eyes from my pierc­ing stare and bites her lower lip delicately.

“I am not done yet. Be quiet,” I say and pro­ceed to push the soaked panties into Joanna’s mouth. When the real­iza­tion of what I just did sinks in, Joanna’s eyes widen and take on an incred­u­lous look. Yes, I think to myself, I don’t know how I had the nerve either. I rest my eyes on hers until she averts her gaze again. The panties remain where I put them–in her mouth.

As I turn my look falls on my dresser and next to Joanna’s dress there is a scarf I once received as a gift. I smile to myself and take the scarf and fold it into a band. I resume my posi­tion in front of her and stu­diously show her the makeshift blind­fold. With my eyes I dare her to shake her to decline but yet again she low­ers her gaze. I take that to mean that she accepts her fate.

I gen­tly wrap the blind­fold around her head and take great care not to catch her hair in the knots I make to secure it. She is my cap­tive and I have resolved to do with her as I wish, but that does not include dis­re­spect­ing her. When I am sat­is­fied that the blind­fold is securely fas­tened I bend down and lick her lips. The taste of her juices are already on them and we both moan; me from the exquis­ite taste, and her prob­a­bly from the unex­pected and lewd sen­sa­tion of hav­ing her lips licked.

“Now, stay,” I com­mand and walk out of the room once again.

There is no fuck­ing way I can con­cen­trate on work right now. I can­not even find the right keys on the key­board. That beau­ti­ful girl in the other room, the one that is blind­folded, gagged with her own panties, and tied to the door owns me. She has my full and undi­vided atten­tion. If it was not an auto­matic mech­a­nism, I would for­get to breathe. I have never felt so obsessed and so pos­sessed before. Is she the cap­tive? Nix that. I would do any­thing for this woman. Anything.

I take a deep shud­der­ing breath to clear my head and close my lap­top. I have to see her. It has only been less than a minute since I left her in the bed­room, and I already have with­drawal symp­toms. God, she is addic­tive. Within me a lit­tle voice is scream­ing to run, to clear the house, to flee from this woman that has such a strong hold on me. But of course I am not lis­ten­ing. Tonight, my lit­tle head is mak­ing the deci­sions. And it has no con­science. Only hunger.

I pour myself two fin­gers of bour­bon and for a change I put in a few cubes of ice instead of hav­ing it neat. Sip­ping the cool, fiery liq­uid, feel­ing it burn­ing its way down my throat my head clears some­what and I silently move to lean against the door frame of the bed­room door. Unbe­knownst to her, I watch Joanna, blind­folded, gagged and tied. Her head is tilted for­ward, her long, black hair is graz­ing her breasts and she is mov­ing ever so slightly. The slight move­ment is mak­ing her heavy breasts sway tan­ta­liz­ingly back and forth and I can see that her hair is teas­ing her what looks to be painfully erect nipples.

Her breath­ing comes in short stac­cato bursts and I notice that what causes the move­ments of her breasts is the fact that she is rub­bing her thighs together. Poor girl. She must be deliri­ous with lust right now, and I so want to unite her, throw her on the bed and push my entire body into hers right now. And still, mag­i­cally, I find the strength to resist my mount­ing need.

Instead, I tin­kle with the ice in my tum­bler and Joanna’s reac­tion is elec­tric when she real­izes that she is not alone. Her head jerks up and I hear a sharp intake of breath through her nose. For a moment she looks like a female wolf sniff­ing in the air for an intruder. I see that the skin on her throat and her upper chest has taken on a blush­ing hue. Oh, yes, I think to myself, I def­i­nitely have a female in heat on my hands.

I take another sip from the tum­bler and grab an ice cube between my teeth. I move to stand closely to Joanna and I let her feel my pres­ence through my body heat; I have no doubt that she can feel the heat of my desire radi­at­ing at her just like I can feel the heat from her radi­at­ing against my skin. Gen­tly, with the side of my index fin­ger I lift her chin to tilt her head back. I pro­ceed to use the ice between my teeth to draw a line from her throat down to her right nip­ple. She is hyper­ven­ti­lat­ing now. I cup her other breast with my right hand and pinch her right nip­ple severely, harder than I have ever dared to pinch a nip­ple in my life. Joanna squeals into her panty-​gag and finds a way to press her breast harder into my hand. I pinch the poor nip­ple even harder and the bewil­dered girl squeals even more pitifully.

The scent of her pussy is too much to ignore, so even though I could spend hours on her gor­geous breasts, I need to get closer to her, I need to taste that lovely nec­tar that is spring­ing from her loins. I resume the ice cube’s jour­ney across her abdomen and we make a pit-​stop in her belly but­ton before con­tin­u­ing down to the oh, so sen­si­tive skin of her vulva.

When I reach her pussy I do not stop the ice cube’s jour­ney. Instead I let it sink into the crevice where her lips meet and I rest the ice against her lit­tle shiny clit. Again Joanna squeals. I am start­ing to love that sound. I could lis­ten to it all night long. I was about to forcibly spread her legs with my hands, but she pre­empts me when I reach her clit. Her legs part and she tilts her pelvis for­ward, every­thing to give me as much access as pos­si­ble to the entrance of her core.

I take the melt­ing ice cube from my mouth and hold it in my fin­gers con­tem­plat­ing what to do next. Above me I hear Joanna pant­ing and she is whim­per­ing con­stantly now. I think the inner mus­cles in her vagina clench­ing because her labia are rip­pling ever so slightly. That poor girl needs some­thing in her right now. Not giv­ing her that would be cruel and unusual pun­ish­ment, I think to myself.

So I give her what her body craves. I push the reduc­ing ice cube in between her labia and res­olutely shove it into her pussy with four fin­gers. Joanna screams. The panty-​gag falls out of her mouth and she screams. Her inner mus­cles clamp on to my fin­gers and she screams and her knees give out so that she hangs by her wrists, her pelvis rock­ing and her entire body is con­vuls­ing. And she screams. Her cunt is clasp­ing my fin­gers and releas­ing them rhyth­mi­cally; it feels like her body is suck­ing me in, arm first. I have to col­lect myself so that the feel­ing of hav­ing warm, wet, female flesh wrapped around my fin­gers will not make me come on the spot.

To be continued?