dreamer
Slave
Registration Date: 06-27-2006
Posts: 179
Mistress Or Master Or Slave: Slave
Level: 38 [?]
Experience: 1,226,818
Next Level: 1,460,206
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I didn't really want to watch a movie at the time, I seem to recall. But the video store stood at a point about halfway from the subway station and home, and what with the combination of a hot, humid day and the computer bag pulling uncomfortably on my shoulder, the cool, moderately quiet interior of the Video Forum was damn near irresistible.
Stepping into the store, I was struck, as always, by what an incredible mess the place was, shelves thrown up with no real thought, thousands of movies organized by what looked to be the Cyrillic alphabet, a giant jumble of snacks by the door, and above all this, blaring at Who-concert-decibels, a trio of monitors needing a little more than color adjustment. And as always, I felt exactly at home.
'Oliver,' I nodded at the gaunt, bespectacled owner, who opened, closed, and basically lived in the store. He looked up, a broad smile spreading across his unshaven face.
'Mister Turner,' he proclaimed. 'Defender of American cinema. So nice to have you in the store today. What shall it be, the comic genius of les freres Farrelly? '
'It's really too hot to get into this today, Oliver.' And it was, really. Arguments with Oliver could take hours, really, sometimes he even brought out the scotch, but a quick grab and dash was what I was hoping for.
'Actually, I was in the mood for something light and airy.'
'Well, if you must, it's the Lubitsch touch that means so much,' he said, pointing me into the classics section. 'Trouble in Paradise.'
I browsed a second before picking up the box. Arguments are one thing, but I've never questioned an Oliver recommendation. Except once. Let's not get into that.
'I don't know if you can handle a sophisticated comedy, Turner. Wouldn't you prefer something in the 'Porky's' family?'
'Ring it up, wiseass. I'm gonna cool off and pretend you don't exist for awhile.'
'No loitering, Turner. Read the sign.'
'You don't have a sign.'
'Shut up.'
This Runyonesque banter was mercifully broken up by the sound of the front door opening. The woman who walked in was not particularly striking, and yet she commanded my (and Oliver's) attention immediately. She was fairly tall, with curly brown hair pulled back, and she wore typical business wear, a sensible skirt and blouse. She carried no bag, and walked slowly, yet with a sense of purpose, deep into the store, and started browsing. I looked at Oliver, and he gave me a sly smile, nodding his head: approval. I smiled back and continued to cool down, stealing glances across the room.
I was consumed by the description on the back of a Hal Hartley film when I felt her approach. I looked up to find her looking at me, and I smiled and stepped back to let her pass. She stood perfectly still.
'Do you like his films?'
'Very much.'
'I think they're very sexy.'
'Really?' (I said this only because I was completely and utterly flustered by this woman, who had these deep, intense blue eyes that never left mine. I felt as if I was being interrogated, tested. What I was able to say wasn't really at the forefront of my mind.)
'Yes.' She said nothing for a few seconds, just stared at me, and I couldn't say anything, so I just stared back, for about a quarter of a second, then I looked down at the box in my hand, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. She reached out and touched my arm, and I looked up into those eyes again.
'Wait here, please. It won't take long, I promise, and then I have a favor to ask of you. It's a good thing, but certain rules must be followed. Do you understand?'
'No.'
'You will. Wait.'
She turned and walked to the back of the store and disappeared into the adult section. I waited until I was sure she was gone, then turned to Oliver and mouthed the words 'what's going on?'
'You, my friend, are so lucky, and yet so unlucky.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means that fine lady is into you, yet you're married. Life's a bitch, right?'
'Into me?'
'I can tell.'
'She come in here a lot?'
'Very rarely. Her husband rents most of the time.'
'Her husband?'
'Life's a double bitch. Nice guy, too. Strange relationship.'
To that, I had no response.
True to her word, it didn't take her long. She walked out of the back section with a box in her hands. Discretion prevented me from getting a good look at the title, but I managed to sneak a glance and caught the word 'trouble.' Which is precisely what I thought I was in for.
'The rules are simple: you follow me into my apartment, and you take a seat in the chair I indicate. You do not speak while inside the apartment. Once seated, you do not move. You do not cross your legs. You sit with your feet on the floor and your arms on the arms of the chair. Any deviation will be considered a violation of the rules, and will result in termination of the experience.'
I started to speak, but she shook her head and continued.
'I will place the tape in the VCR, turn on the television, and start the movie. I may do a few other things, open the window, close the blinds, etceteras. I will sit in the chair facing the television, and on an angle facing your chair. As the movie progresses, I will begin to masturbate. I will continue until I orgasm. You will watch me. You will not touch yourself, or attempt to touch me. Any attempt will be considered a violation of the rules, and will result in termination of the experience. After my orgasm is complete, I will stop the movie, rewind the tape, and turn off the television. Once the tape is rewound, I will eject it, hand it to you, and you will return it to the store for me. This is the experience, and these are the rules. Will you accompany me?'
My mouth was open, but no sound emerged. Do I follow my instincts, which scream no, don't, or do I follow my other instincts, the ones screaming yes, do. It could be a scam, I thought, or a trap. But what do I have that anyone could possibly want? She wants the computer. She can have it.
Cash? Strapped.
Credit? Maxed.
Wife? Husband.
Why?
Why who, her, or me?
Why, both of you (the internal debate was losing steam here, so I cut it off).
'Yes, I will.'
She smiled and walked to the counter, where we both paid for our movies, took our boxes, and walked out of the store. Oliver stared intently at me, hoping for some sign, but I was a prisoner of the experience, and bound by the rules. I smiled at him and stepped back out into the thick, warm afternoon.
I studied her intently as she led me to her apartment building, a smart brownstone on a quiet, tree-lined block. She had what I consider a swimmer's build, with long arms and legs, wide shoulders, narrow hips, and smallish breasts. Not ever my type. And yet...My mind was swimming with the possible endings to this scenario, and most of them included my death. Still, I followed, my heart pounding, lured mostly by the tone of her voice as she had outlined the rules. Something told me she had done this many times before. She sounded so composed, so assured, as she matter of factly told me that she was going to bring herself off as I watched. And that, actually, is the heart of why I was following her. To watch. To watch this attractive woman, a stranger, touch herself and make herself climax. For me. An audience of one.
As we walked into her apartment, with the excitement of anticipation already making my cock thicken and bounce, I thought, can I keep from touching myself?
Her place was a reflection of her physical appearance, very clean lines, soft colors, minimal decoration. The air was stuffy, and as she walked to the window I was relieved to see an air conditioner. But she merely opened the windows, letting in a fresh gust of hot wind. I felt the perspiration trickling down the back of my neck, down my back, and at my temples. I quickly wiped my forehead with a kerchief.
She gestured to the chair I was to sit in, and I made my way across the room, pausing to look at the large television, and the overstuffed chair in front of it. The chairs sat about eight feet apart, a small throw rug in between on the floor. The room was dim, and hot, and I felt the briefest tinge of dizziness as I dropped my bag and sat in my armchair, placing my feet on the floor, my arms resting on the arms of the chair. I'm good at doing what I'm told when told by a sexy woman who's about to play with herself in front of me.
'I like it hot,' she said, 'so I apologize if you're uncomfortable.'
I nodded that it was okay, and stared at her, at the room, searching for her accomplices, the thugs ready to swoop in and separate me from my money, or my life. None appeared. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse, and pulled it from her skirt. Standing in front of me, she looked for all the world like a woman going about her daily ritual of winding down after work. She kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. I sat, perfectly still, feeling the sweat begin to drip and the blood begin to seep from my penis, and looked around some more, trying to make sense of the situation.
'I don't really care what kind of movie I pick, usually,' she said, walking back into the main room. She had a glass of water in one hand, and with the other was unbuttoning her blouse. Her skin was pale beneath her clothes, and she had a smattering of freckles at her cleavage, only partially covered by a cream-colored bra. She set the glass down and removed her blouse completely, and the blood rushed back into my cock, faster now.
'I just choose the ones with the sexiest boxes.'
She walked to the VCR and slid the tape in. The machine whirred to life, and as she walked back to her chair, she unbuttoned, unzipped, and removed her skirt so fluidly, so effortlessly, that I almost asked her to do it again, so aroused was I by the sight. My cock was fully erect now, straining against my pants as I sat rigidly still. I wanted to squirm, to twist my hips and press my cock against the gabardine, but I was afraid of breaking the rules. I swallowed dryly and waited for the next move.
She picked up one remote and turned on the television, lowered the volume a bit, put the remote down, picked up another, and pressed a button. The television went silent, then a green glow lit her skin briefly. I turned my head to see what was on the screen, but it was out of my line of sight. I turned back to her, and she was smiling at me.
'You can't see the screen,' she said, slipping out of her bra. 'You'll be looking at me.' She then removed her panties and stood before me, completely nude. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the heat, but her nipples, now exposed, were standing out, and as she jutted her hips slightly forward I could see how swollen her labia were. She was just as turned on as I was.
She settled back into her chair as the movie started, and slid one leg over the arm of the chair, exposing herself to my gaze. Her right hand was on the remote, and the left moved languidly from her chin down the hollow of her throat and to her collarbone, her nails tracing the soft edges of flesh and bone.
'Pretty shitty production values, but who's complaining,' she said, and looked at me, her gaze resting on my crotch.
'Remember the rules and everything will be fine. I know you're hard. I like that.' She reached up to her mouth and spat a large drop of saliva into her hand. She smeared the spit on her right breast, rubbing and pulling her nipple until it was as red as her lips and tongue.
'I've seen this girl before, this nasty girl with the tattoo on her thigh. She'll take it in the ass this scene. She always does.' Her voice had a distracted quality to it, as if she was speaking to herself, and I was at the far end of a great hall, watching. She let go of the remote, and her right hand met her left at the lips of her pussy. She spread herself wide, showing me the swollen, moist interior of her cunt.
'Look at my wet pussy,' she commanded, something I had no problem doing. 'Look at how fucking hot I am, and wet, and so fucking turned on.' Her voice was more direct now, as she spoke to me. Her eyes seemed a deeper blue now, and my gaze moved from them to her pussy, eyes to pussy, eyes to pussy to eyes until she looked back to the screen.
'She's sucking this one big cock, the men in these movies, they're not people, they're just cocks, big cocks, and that's what I call them, she's sucking this one big cock, and another big cock is watching through the crack in the door, and he's going to join them and the two big cocks are going to fuck her...now she sees the other cock...now she's sucking the other cock...and she's getting her pussy licked.'
She started to run her fingers in light circles around her clitoris, her eyes darting from the screen to her hands to me and back. I could see a thin film of sweat forming on her upper lip, shoulders, and chest, and I could barely catch the hint of her scent as her wetness built up. As the scene progressed, her circles became closer to her clit, the firmness of her touch building. I thought she was going to come right then and there, but she maintained a steady rhythm, keeping herself climbing but never peaking, and eventually she looked back at me.
'She took one cock in her mouth and one in her pussy, then one in her pussy and one in her ass. Told you about her. God I'm so fucking wet. Your cock is probably leaking now, and you want so desperately to touch yourself. You're doing great, don't lose it now, so close.'
Her eyes closed briefly as she slid two fingers into herself, and a low moan escaped her lips. I closed my eyes, imagining my mouth, my cock, in place of her fingers, and wished she could read my mind and decide that I was right and better than her and...
'God, two women. It bores me so.' She picked up the remote with her sticky, juice-covered hand and fast-forwarded through the offending scene. Her left hand never left her clit, though, and actually sped up a bit, as if in response to the hyper speed action on the screen. As she replaced the remote on the arm, her fingers returned immediately to her pussy, plunging back inside, fucking, hard, pounding.
And that's when he walked into the room.
He was jet black, with luxurious fur. Curious, as all cats are, wary, yet unafraid. He padded over to her chair and rubbed against her leg. She gave him no attention, her mind and body set on self-pleasure. He came to me, stared at me a second, and then rubbed against my leg. I looked at him and smiled, thinking that he had to know what was happening, yet had no idea who I was. I guess he shares his mistress' trust in me. I turned my attention back to her as a louder moan erupted from her. She was frigging herself harder now, her left hand circling her clit faster, her right busying itself with finger fucking. Her top teeth were gnawing on her lower lip, and her upper lip was curled into a sneer of concentrated pleasure.
And the cat jumped up into my lap.
How I kept from screaming, I have no clue, because he scared the shit out of me. He plopped down into my lap and stretched out languidly, making himself right at home. I almost laughed. She, however, had no idea what was happening. Her tongue was licking the air in front of her face, mimicking the actress on screen, I surmised, as she watched the scene unfold. Her scent had reached me now, and I breathed in the aroma. My cock, straining, had finally run up against something firm as the cat curled into a ball on my lap, and my fingers gripped the arms of the chair, and my head rolled back in momentary pleasure, until I realized that I didn't want to come in my trousers.
But then the cat began to purr.
And not a garden variety purr, either. No, this was a full, jungle cat near-growl, a sound of contentment so perfectly placed and timed as not to be believed. The cat, ensconced so snugly in my lap, against my cock, became a living, breathing vibrator, strumming and teasing and sending my cock dangerously close to eruption. I looked around the room, trying to will myself to control, and yet my eyes continually found their way back to her, to her impossibly fast hands, to her half-closed eyes, to her exquisite mouth, her grunts and gasps as she threw herself toward orgasm.
Finally, as she approached the point of no return, her eyes turned to me, and as she leaned her head back in ecstasy, through heavy-lidded passion I could still see those flashes of blue.
'Yes...good...so...good...yes...yessssss.....y...YES!' She reached her destination, and her eyes finally closed. I looked down at her pussy and watched it spasm and twitch, squeezing the fingers still jammed inside, her hips bucking, her fingers still teasing, caressing the swollen clitoris. The sweat was dripping down between her breasts, and down her neck, and down my face and neck and chest and back, and the cat was purring, and my cock was straining, and the air seemed as hot as an oven that second. The remote fell to the floor as she drew both legs up, spreading her pussy lips wide for me, showing me her cunt as the last pumps of her climax twitched her red, wet walls and brown, puckered anus. She kept her lips spread for me, for my show, for our experience, as the draining orgasm swept back from her like a giant wave, and then she lowered her legs, released her lips, and let her feet settle to the floor. She closed her eyes, gently, and let her head fall back.
'Thank you,' she said, quietly.
'Yes, thank you,' the man said, from upstairs.
I felt a cold blow to the very core of my stomach, sure that my life was about to end. He appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down slowly. He was dressed in expensive-looking casual wear, and barefoot. When he reached her, he kissed her forehead, then reached down and took the remote, stopped the movie, and began rewinding it. He stood their, silently, caressing her hair, as the tape rewound. He ejected it, placed it in the box, and held it out to me.
'Thank you,' he repeated.
I took my new best friend the cat and placed him gently on the floor. He mewled his good-bye, or probably said thanks, and padded into the bedroom. I took the tape from the man, picked up my own, along with the computer bag, and walked to the door. As I left the apartment I saw the man pick his wife up from the chair and carry her into the bedroom. Thanking God for sparing my life in this moment of weakness, I exited the building.
I made up a story for Oliver about the wife renting the movie for the husband, but getting cold feet and asking me to return it, but he just smiled and shook his head.
'Go home and watch your movie,' he said. 'Carrie's waiting for you.'
So I went home. And Oliver was right.
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Follow the Rules
