London Mistress, Stories, Uncategorized

Foreplay from 3000 Miles Away

Over the past few weeks, I have been corresponding with someone who from the USA. We’ve written back and forth getting a good idea of each other’s personalities, sense of humour and erotic interests. Along the way we found a shared love of literature, motorbikes, and Monty Python.

I invited Rick to join me in co-creating a story, which he has consented for me to share here for you all to enjoy. He was forbidden from using certain words until the dénouement, but I had free rein (of course). There are some parts of it that won’t make sense to anyone but us as they were based on small confessions and stories I casually extracted from him in our email conversations and used against him here. His words are in black and the words of Miss Fitzgerald are in red. 

It’s another cup of tea post, largely because he failed to keep to his word limit at the end. I wonder how that will fare for him when we do meet…

I come to, bound and gagged on the floor of my own hotel room, the brushed carpet sticking to my sweaty face. As light flickers into my opening eyes, dry and dusty, I see the elegant shape of Miss Fitzgerald’s high heels in front of me. I try to focus but my vision is still blurred.

I wonder how she is here: I wonder how I am here. My last recollection is sitting with her in the hotel lobby drinking tea and talking about motorbikes. I occurs to me that she must have drugged me, but even then I can’t imagine how she managed to haul my weight up here to my room. I then realise that she must have had help and, feeling sick, my vision blurs to nothingness as I pass out once again….

The lifting fog is lighter on my second ascent. I hold my eyes closed, slowly peeking. “Don’t move!” I think, “assess the situation. What’s going on? What happened? How did it happen?” Other questions are hammering my throbbing skull, synapses are firing but no answers emerge. Light filters through my lashes with my opening my eyes the tiniest bit, they’re still dry and now a bit crusty as if tears had slid across the lashes and dried. I sink back into myself and feel my body, mentally taking stock. Hands; still bound, mouth; bound, feet; bound. As I come further through the fog, I feel a light breeze on my sweat streaked face and other naked more intimate exposed skin.

Then, she speaks. “Open your eyes Rick. I know you’re awake. I’ve been watching your ‘nearly’ imperceptible testing of my work. Well, that and an unconscious man doesn’t typically become aroused!”

I slowly open my eyes and try to scan the room for a conspirator. While blushing deeply, I lift my gaze. I follow her form from her feet to finally capturing each beautiful, subtle elegant nuance of Miss Fitzgerald’s countenance; burning her image into my memory.

“Oh a little red in the face are we, Rick? Good, you’ll be needing that later.”

As my mind races trying to make sense of her words, Miss Fitzgerald pulls up a chair in front of me, folding her long legs and leaning forward. I strain my neck back to meet her gaze and I feel a pillow placed behind my head. Momentarily, I am startled- did someone else in the room place it under there or had Miss Fitzgerald put it there before I came to for the second time? She leans forward.

‘Have you heard of Pavlov’s dogs, Rick?’

I try to speak but the gag is sticky in my mouth and my head is too heavy to either shake or nod. All I can do is grunt.

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

The voice inside me was screaming. “A direct question! Answer her! Do something! You’re bound by protocol to answer a direct question no matter what!”

A muffled grunt was all I had vocally. All I could think to do was roll, wriggle and squirm my way to her lovely foot. I did my best to kiss her there even though I was tightly bound and gagged. I held my nose and gagged mouth to her foot, and breathed her essence into me, adding this sense to the image of her above me; dominating me. My eyes, however, were still furtively searching for her cohort, he co-conspirator.

It was a damned good thing for me that I was gagged too, as I had the impish desire to answer her question with “Woof, Baby!” The gag already had me drooling! I’m very lucky, I think, that it just came out a muffled grunt. I thought in hindsight, “Thank you for the gag Miss Fitzgerald!” Apparently not all the characters in my head are idiots!

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then and since you’re obviously desperate for my foot…”

Miss Fitzgerald placed her stilettoed foot over my mouth, pinching my lips shut. The pain brought focus to my attention.

“Pavlov was a behavioural scientist who used dogs unconditioned response of salivation to the original stimulus, which was food, to bring out a new conditioned response of salivating to a new stimulus, which was a bell. Now, I bet you’re mind is racing as to where this is going?”

Without waiting for a response, she withdrew her foot and turned to reach behind her back, pulling out a long black silk scarf.

Immediately my face flushed red with the realisation of what Miss Fitzgerald had in mind.

Seeing a beautiful woman wearing a scarf is something I love, but to have her retrieve one while I’m laying bound and gagged at her feet is quite another and I think my sudden arousal intensification and blushing have given me away.

“Hmmm the Pavlovian unconditioned response to Feminine power and dominance? And how is she planning to reprogram me? What is the condition she wants to instill? How is all this happening? It’s too quick! I’m usually not blind-sided like this, I usually have some control. Damnit! I’m out of control! I need to remember everything said and done. And I really need to know who her sitter is helping her with this part of her apparent plan! I never noticed any men watching me and making mobile calls before disappearing. I’ve always been able to pick people out who were watching me!”

I make an attempt at the bindings holding my wrists to my back, but all that does is make me squirm a little bit with nothing even coming close to loosening enough for escape. How the hell did she do that? The bindings aren’t digging harshly at my flesh but still hold me tight.

The beautiful woman and the black silk scarf descend, she smiling at my humorous attempt at escape, and the black silk scarf seeming like a snake coiling and sliding through her hands. They’re on me and I have nothing to do but submit to their combined will. “Did she keep my eyes uncovered this long just so I could see and know who it is taking me?”

“Now Rick, the trick isn’t to condition you to My presence, although that would be amusing, no…it’s to condition your response to the silk scarves.”

I quickly try and scan the room for her accomplice now that my head is free. Reading my thoughts, Miss Fitzgerald leans over me, brushing the cool silk past my hot cheeks and whispers:

“Oh him? You should really learn to check your blind spots, Rick. The lobby had two entrances-one in front of you. And one behind you.”

She laughs to herself, or maybe she is laughing at me.

“But don’t worry, he’s gone.” She then pauses, and glimpsing a spark in eye, she adds “For now, at least.”

I see her stiletto looming over my chest and for one fearful moment I think that she is going to press it into my chest. But she doesn’t- she puts one foot to the side of me and crouches down over me, her knees tight around my chest and pert bum pressing into my cock.

As she mounts me, a sharp intake of air flares my nostrils, and creates an involuntary throbbing of her chosen seat. I’m thankful again for the pillow as it directs my gaze up to this magnificent woman. Her fabulously pert bum coming into contact with me along with the cool slick feel of the silk in her hands causes me to squirm a little and my hips twitch upward. “What the hell was that?” I think to my libido, “This Woman has knocked you out, has you bound and gagged, and you want to press for more?”

The fog clears more and more and I begin to piece together more of the scene from the lobby.

The last thing I remember is that we were discussing bikes and riding. Miss Fitzgerald, it seems, likes hot, fast, crotch rockets. While I’ve ridden many miles and evaded a few cops on this kind of bike, I go more toward big, long, low, grumbly, rumbly cruisers. Being here so far away from home, without a bike I figured it was just a pipe dream to ride with her. The last thing I remember is a twinkle in her eye as she told me she can’t wait to take me for a ride. “Sweet Goddess, is this what she meant?”

I fight the bonds again twisting my hips and thrusting, grunting into the gag to try and get free, but all I get is a satisfied look and bit of a laugh from my Captrix and the erotic silken feel of her where she’s sitting and where she is holding the silk scarf. I can feel my eyes widen as she brings the loveliness of her face closer to mine.

As Miss Fitzgerald leans in close to my face, her hair tumbles past her shoulders, smelling of rose and honey. Light flicks of hair brush idly against my cheek.

“Now the fun begins” she whispers before leaning back, throwing her weight against my groin. A sharp pain jolts through me and my natural reaction to buck is simmered by the knowledge that throwing Miss Fitzgerald off would be more than an unwise idea.

Miss Fitzgerald holds my gaze, a small smile at the corner of her lips and begins to unbutton her shirt, slowly and deftly popping each one. I keep trying to hold her gaze, but my eyes are constantly tempted by the window of flesh, the smooth tanned skin appearing between the curtain of crisp white cotton.

 “No looking, Rick. Only look into my eyes.” Her voice is hypnotic and smooth, lulling me in but so is the sight of her décolletage.

I feel myself getting even harder beneath her and then I feel the redness begin, from the bottom of my neck, flushing up my face and I know I am helplessly trapped. Yet, so wonderfully trapped, like a fly before a beautiful spider.

As I open my eyes the tears of pain slide down and into my hair, I wonder at the taste in my mouth; the gag. I clamped down hard on it when The Lady stopped my fighting. Then it hits me, is she wearing knickers? I try to sneak a surreptitious glance. I think I may be becoming very intimate with Miss Fitzgerald as she is doing to and taking from me what she wants.

I quiet down and focus my attention on the beautiful face of this Goddess, my eye seems drawn to her, mesmerized. I slide my bound feet toward my bum, but slowly, submissively creating a backrest for The Lady if she chooses to lay back and relax. This position also allows me to lift a little of the weight off my bound hands. The muscles of my shoulders, chest and arms are being stretched to a painful burning level. Still I can’t keep from wondering how or why a gorgeous young woman could have me bound, gagged and more erotically charged than I have ever been. Does she understand my inner milieu? Is she psychic? Why did she pull the silk scarf? How is she going to train me to it? A million questions are firing and I have answers for none. I have to wait to see what the Angel mounted on me chooses next.

Her eyes seem to be smiling along with her entire being, and I realize my glance slid from hers momentarily after being told to hold her gaze. I try to blink and nod an apology. The draw to her slow, deft popping of buttons is too much and my gaze lingers for just a split second on her lovely hands and then snaps to her eye, raised eyebrow and Cheshire grin.

“Trying to peek where you’re not meant to be looking are you, Rick?”

I shake my head desperately to say ‘no’ but I know it is useless. Nothing seems to get past her.

“Well, let me see if I can help you with that.”

She pulls the silk scarf from her side and lays it over my eyes, lifting my head from the cushion and tying it firmly behind me. Immediately, I feel the sweat from my forehead soak into silk and my sight is restricted to opaque shapes and colours. I feel Miss Fitzgerald comfortably lean back into the seat I have tried to make for her. I can hear the popping of buttons but all I can see is the blurred, but growing, expanse of olive flesh, meshed in my dark prison of latticed threads.

‘Since you won’t be able to see very much, I think I’ll just go ahead and take this shirt off. I do so prefer to be comfortable.’

I hear the whistling of arms in cotton sleeves and see a white shape being cast to one side. Then the darkness seems to grow before me and for a moment I cannot work out what it is and then I realise…

The icing on the cake, or perhaps my face, is perhaps the last bit of bondage, drawing darkness a little closer. Is it her bra, cast on top of the bindings of my head? I feel the warmth of it, and catch the scent. The scent is not a powerful perfume or body wash, it’s her scent a beautiful erotic, hypnotic pheromone scent of a Woman; I want her immediately as I bring her into me! The scarf had come down on my face and blotted out my vision. The silk rustling on my ears, and Miss Fitzgerald’s hands coming in close contact with my face is thrilling, and erotic and scaring me to no end. The cool soft hands smoothing the silk in place and then tightening it quickly and decisively with a tiny grunt of exertion and the erotic zip sound of silk on silk friction, her hair and her breath dancing across what skin is left exposed, is nearly enough to drive me over the top.

As she leans back into her seat, her pert beautiful bum captures my hardness again. I nearly explode, my breath quickens as she causes micro explosions of erotic energy to erupt wherever her body contacts mine. The movement of her on me as she is removing her blouse completely, quickens my heart and my breathing and my hips thrust ever so slightly to feel her deeper, to get more friction, and I think “NO!, I can’t let it happen, not yet.” But I’m on the brink and I can feel the blood charging and pumping, and engorging me even more. I’m beginning to get the soft electric tingles over my whole body; the kind of sensation that is so good and pleasurable that it’s torture. It’s like when a lover takes from you a most powerful orgasm, yet continues to apply sweet, loving mischievous caresses. The passion created at these moments are some of the most intense, yet torturous moments that can be had. You at once beg for it to stop and continue, it feels so good, it’s almost worse than pain; it’s torture if you can’t grab your lovers hands to stop them. It’s maddening, and I’m falling madly and deeply…

Just as I was enjoying the sexual energy running through me, I felt myself suddenly unplugged: the weight of Miss Fitzgerald’s bum was no longer pressing on me and I felt the void achingly. If I thought I had felt longing before, I certainly feel it now, a desperate need to feel her close to me in any way. I turn my face upward to try and breathe in her scent from her discarded bra, feeling my anxiety dampen down a little.

“I think you were enjoying it all a little too much there Rick, I don’t want you to get carried away. Besides, I have work to do”

The sharp click of her heels echoes by my ears, louder than before, ramping up my anxiety levels. A heady cocktail of hormones are coursing through my entire system and I can feel it. I’m not sure how much longer I can last this torment and I hear the distinct ringing of a metal object, maybe her testing it with a cool flick of her fingernail, or was it being struck with another metal object?

A bell? Is it a chime in a clock? No definitely a bell. What time is it? How long has she had me like this? Where is she going with it? I wish I could see what’s going on and I’m glad I burned the image of Her into my mind. The image is giving momentum to the throbbing and bobbing. I can feel my hardness raising and lowering, wanting more contact, pulsing with energy. My hips tried to follow her warm, pert bum. It’s probably a good thing she has me gagged or I would have been a blithering fool begging and pleading, to either be untied, or at least ridden a little bit more. Damn! I was close. The electricity coursing and arcing through me is intense, but not nearly as intense as my desire to grab this Woman up and hold her in a back-bending passionate kiss, holding her at the small of her back and her neck, I want to explore her mouth. But she seems to have this in check quite well. I squirm a little and moan a bit into the gag from the discomfort and pain.

Rolling off my back I relieve some of the pressure on my bound arms and lay on my side breathing the essence of Miss Fitzgerald through her scarf covering my eyes and her bra. I just lay there like a big red cruiser motorcycle leaning on a kickstand, waiting for an operator to mount and drive me; throbbing even at idle, with anticipation. How the hell do I get myself into these predicaments, and more importantly, how am I going to find my way through this one? Miss Fitzgerald is holding all the cards in this game and what was all that about Pavlov and his dogs? And work to do?

Now that I am gagged, blindfolded and tied on the floor of the hotel room with her bra over my face, I am wondering what else Miss Fitzgerald has in store for me when I feel the quick tug of her hand around my belt, opening up my button and unzipping my fly. Her cool hand snakes into my trousers and I am awash with pleasure, her light touch tracing a fingertip across my cock. Once again, I am rock hard and throbbing, desperately trying not to thrust my cock closer into contact with her hand.

A whispered voice comes from right beside me:

“I’m going to take off the blindfold Rick, I want you to see what is happening to you. I want to to feel and experience every part of it. Are you ready?”

A part of me thinks ‘no, I’m not sure if I am’ but another part of me, desperate to please, nods enthusiastically.

One slow draw traces her bra across my face before it falls onto the floor. Then her hand presses behind my head and my face is greeted by the soft skin of Miss Fitzgerald’s chest, her scent and warmth calming and lulling my senses as her hand nimbly pulls each sliver of silk from the knot and allows the silk to tremble down past my face onto the floor between us.

It is then that I catch the briefest of glimpses of her naked breasts, in the window of time and light before my vision returns and before she brings my face up to look at her.

She says nothing, continuing to trace her fingers along my cock and looking into my eyes and I cannot say how long we stayed like that. I feel hypnotised. Then, she leans over and strokes my face saying:

“You really are a handsome man, Rick” and instantly, I am taken back to that day, feeling small and in awe of her beautiful presence.

“Is this for real? Can it be?” Even the snarky sarcastic voice in my head is lulled into more than a forced quietude as I gaze up to the Woman holding me. I focus on her face and everything else sight, sound, feeling, everything fades to background. All I can focus on is her beauty and power and grace.

My bound arms still ache at the shoulders and biceps, but I don’t care. My mouth is bound and stuffed with what may be (and perhaps hopefully are) Miss Fitzgerald’s knickers. My eyes are still seeing star-bursts and recovering from her scarf. Worst, or best, of all is the fire growing in my cock. It’s almost as if she is playing it like a puppet and telling it “Dance, Monkey Dance!” And it is discarding me and throwing me under the bus, to dance for this marvellous woman and her sensual ministrations. All of this is just merely setting, scene decoration, the background to a scene She is playing out on me.

The soft methodical feel of her hand on me is soothing and calming. Her eyes are hypnotizing me and I want to give her all of me, which is an odd feeling considering she can just take it at her whim. Her eyes are glistening as she draws me into her.

“How long has it been like this? How long can I stand it?” She’s just told me I’m a handsome man while she is fondling me and hypnotizing me and it draws any fight I may have had out and replaces it with a reddening of my face and I try to turn my face away. But I turn my eyes up to her as she descends and comes face to face with me on my plane and she touches my nose with hers. She’s so close I can sense her with every fiber of my being and I want her; badly. I want to do rude things to and with her; I want to get carried away to a magical place with her and only her. It’s just then that I remember with alarm I hope is not detected that my journal and computer tablet were in the room and open! Did she see them? Did she read them? What does she know?

As Miss Fitzgerald leans in, for a moment I am foolish enough to think that she is leaning in to kiss me and as her lips brush mine, indeed I think I am in luck until the sharp painful realisation that she has bitten my lip, but then she smoothes her lips against mine and now I feel two parts of my body throbbing and aching for her.

“You know Rick, I am terribly nosey. I also love a good page-turner and your journal has made for some pretty interesting reading. When we sat and wrote our stories together, I did wonder how often you masturbated to our story, and now I know.”

She pulls back to look at me, knowing the effect of her words on my face, blushing a more scarlet than a red colour. She moves her hand to grip my cock and leans in again, and in the passion of the moment I’m sure this is going to be my kiss from her but instead she pulls out the silk scarf in my mouth with her teeth…

I stretch my jaw and try to lick my lips, but my tongue is so dry from the recently evacuated knotted scarf-gag that it feels more like sand paper.

“Thank you Miss Fitzgerald, for freeing my mouth.” I whisper as I lower my gaze.

I realize now, with the knotted gag hanging around my neck like a necklace, that she has tied me with silk scarves. Scarves I had bought and brought with me for her. She must have found the bundle in my pack.

“Miss, I hope you can accept my apologies, for anything you may have read in my journal! I’m sure it must make me out in less than acceptable light, but I’ve not been able to help myself! When I think of you, and read the words you wrote and realize that these are directed to and at me, I just get overwhelmed with passion and… and… well I just can’t help myself!”

Luckily, for me, the Good Lady has me bound and I have no way of embarrassing myself further.

Her grip tightens, the edges of her beautiful mouth turn up just a bit and the sparks in her eyes are like a Summer lightening storm approaching; not yet dangerous, but moving in fast. I can see back to Creation and forward into infinity with Her as the Primal Goddess; I am in Pirsigian Quality. The Quality that is perfection in the moment. I am exactly where I should be; and the scene is beyond beautiful.

“This,” she informs with a tug “is mine! From now until I release it, it is mine. Do you understand that?”

“Yes Miss Fitzgerald.” I offer humbly through closed eyes.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”

I snap my eyes open and focus on the world in hers. It’s her world and I am being invited in, or commanded to enter, or dragged bound and gagged to her, for her, by her.

Continuing with the rules, “You will not touch it unless I allow it. When I tell you to fondle, or stroke it, you will not release it until I command it. If you let it come without MY permission, it is you who will pay for it as well as if I command it to come and you hold that back from me. This is now mine. Who’s cock is this?”

“Miss Fitzgerald, that is your cock to do with as you please.”

A scarf comes quickly from behind her; a large, heavy, navy blue square silk scarf. She rubs my face tenderly with it. My eyes close to slits and she grips my chin.

“Open your eyes, Rick” she warns. “I didn’t say you could hide from me in there. Now keep them open and on me right here.” she admonishes while pointing into her eyes, then into mine, then back into hers. “I want you right here. Keep them open and focused on me. If I want you blind I will blind you!” The last bit said as she covers my eyes with her scarf.

She rises from me, dragging the scarf with her and across my face. I see she is still topless and oh so lovely. She strips her skirt and puts it with her jacket and stands triumphantly over me, wearing dark blue panties, stockings, garter and heels. She notices herself in the wall mirror and places one sexy heel-clad foot on me and pushes until I am laying on my front with her foot on my back in the classic hunter/prey pose.

“Now there’s a sight I can get behind!” and she laughs.

Apparently, however, it wasn’t quite right. Her nimble hands strip my belt from the loops in my jeans and she quickly draws my pants down past my knees strapping them tightly together. It seems like mere seconds before she has my feet untied and the jeans coming completely off, only to rebind my ankles. My raging hardon is pressed into the floor and I’m trying to think of everything and anything that will keep it from erupting without permission. Not completely satisfied yet, the Lovely Woman retrieves something from her bag and comes into view with a very devious and satisfied smile, opening and closing a pair of shears.

I immediately fear for my/her naughty bits. But she instead rolls me onto my bound hands and arms, pushes shirt up to sit directly on my hips and cuts the sleeve on my left arm up to my neck and repeats the procedure on the right. Then the scissor makes it way from my belly up to my throat. The whole time I feel the warmth of her, the coldness of the steel and do my best to hold her eyes. She’s not told me to look away, so I can’t.

I slide my feet toward up to make a back rest for her and perhaps to lessen the strain on my arms, but the position provides a slight bit of relief for my throbbing member too. As the Lovely Miss leans back my gaze drops just a bit to her beautiful breasts. A wagging finger tells me she caught me in the trap! “No no no Rick. That little peek IS going to cost you!”

She brings the navy blue scarf back around and folds it into a triangle and then folds the long edge up a few times, brings it to just below her magnificent breasts and reaches around tying it off behind, and then the two points to either side of her neck and tying them off creating a shimmering blue silk halter. The ends behind her back are long enough that they begin to stimulate me even more and I can’t help but react just a little.

Reaching behind, the beautiful Miss realizes what’s happening and breaks into an evil, wicked, delicious smile.

“Oh and I think this may end up costing you as well, Rick. Are you using my scarf behind my back? You dirty, naughty boy! If you mess my scarf I will have to really take you into account, you know that don’t you?”

My lack of response gets causes a firm hand on me wrapped in silk.

“I asked you a question Rick! Do you understand, that I will use any and all of my “toys” on you if you ruin my scarf?”

“Yes Miss!” Is all I can squeak out.

Leaning forward she brings her face close to mine and picks the knot holding the sodden scarf on my neck. I think she is going to kiss me and suddenly she stuffs the knotted scarf back into my mouth and ties it quickly. Another scarf quickly covers my face.

“You were getting too close for your own good there. I’m going to help you a little bit ha ha ha.”

I hear some rustling and moving about and feel her hand on me, slowly stroking, bring me back to completely rigid and I feel the tip of something on the tip of me. Unable to defend it, the tip of my member is penetrated. and slowly, something slips deeper and deeper into the virgin territory. I struggle a little bit and am rewarded with a series of strikes on my chest.

Finally, the blindfold is removed and I an confronted with a vision of beauty holding a small box with a couple of LEDs and a knob. As the knob turns and the smile widens I feel it. Deep down inside a tingling a something beyond description. With a simple twist of her lovely hand I am bucking wildly at her feet with pain hitting my brain before I even know what’s happening.

When Miss Fitzgerald decides I’ve had enough, she brings the pace and the voltage down, but begins to slowly and methodically bring me back to drooling for her with a silk scarf wrapped hand stroking, fondling, mesmerizing my manhood. When I ‘m on the verge of erupting yet again, my beautiful Miss Fitzgerald rolls me over and begins a series of thrashing that starts low and slow but ends in a crescendo worthy of an overture!

The procedure continues, through so many cycles of pleasure with silk and pain with her “toys” that I lose track of absolutely everything except to keep my eyes locked on her and to thank her, when not gagged, for the training she is providing. The constant of the cycles is the pleasure she provides me with a silk scarf. For every tormenting blow, or knob twisting jolt, she rewards me with a view of her wearing a scarf, or touching me with one, or covering my face with one so that I can hide from the world and the pain.

Finally, as she is bringing me to new heights of pleasure, I hear her tell me through the fog of eroticism “I’m going to count to three Rick and when I hit three You had better produce.”

“One,” her sweet face is all I can focus on as she continues to edge me closer.

“Two,” and I am feeling a build of energy deep with me.

“Three,” and the command; “Come!”

I don’t know if it was on cue or a bit premature or retarded but wave upon wave of pleasure is washing over me, I am thrusting and writhing as if she had her electric box turned on high. I hear a guttural ancient, hair-raising sound, a growl, a howl like a Wolf and I realize it is me. I feel my eyes burning with passion, with fear, with pain, with desire, as I keep them bound to hers.

I am seeing the creation again, and the future to infinite possibilities, but I am in the now, I am here, with her in control, making me, taking me, playing me, making me dance like a little fucking monkey to an organ grinder. I want to run from her, and I want to beg her to hold me; forever.

I want to dive in the blue of her eyes and hide there, with her, from the beginning to the infinite of Creation. I want to cherish her as Goddess, frolic with her as playmate, wind the sheets with her as Lover, and submit to her as Mistress.

At some point, she unties my feet, removes the gag and finally unties my hands. My arms flop, useless, by my side and I am unable to move them or any other part of me for a long, long time.

It occurs to me to rise to hands and knees and crawl to her to lay at her feet in gratitude. “Thank You Miss.”

She leans forward and drags a silk scarf across my entire length and drops it into my line of sight. I’m instantly aroused and I growl then smile a slow predatory smile. She has me psychologically bound to her with her silk scarf. This may have been her aim. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m just a trained Wolf at her feet, willing to accept her silken bonds. “Woof, Baby!”

Ed’s note: Rick, I enjoyed our weeks of co-creation. Next time, it will be my creation alone and I’m very much looking forward to it… MF

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8 thoughts on “Foreplay from 3000 Miles Away

  1. Ian says:

    Miss Fitzgerald is clearly one of the world’s most sensual and exotic women. If it wasn’t for ladies like her, the world would be a sorry place indeed.

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  2. Lobo Rojo says:

    My Dear Miss Fitzgerald,
    To say I enjoyed our weeks of co-creation would be a gross understatement for me, since I was getting to interact with YOU! I can’t thank you enough and yes the next time you will be in the driver’s seat and the Creation will be yours entirely, for sure. The fact that I took the liberty of unleashing a torrent of verbage at the end is really making me nervous! Yet, I can’t get this #$^$-eating grin off my face! ooops I almost said shit! ha ha ha (I’m going to pay for that aren’t I?)

    @ Ian: I agree whole-heartedly with you. We are lucky to have Women of Miss Fitzgerald’s caliber and we are even luckier to have Miss Fitzgerald!

    Humbly and with Respect
    Rick

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  3. Bruce says:

    Congratulations to Miss Fitzgerald and Rick on creating such an enjoyable story.

    It sounds like you are soon to enjoy a real life encounter – in which case may I say, Rick, how brave you are to repeat the “Woof, Baby!” phrase – it is quite possible that these words may leave your vocabulary for a period, or maybe forever – especially as your story includes references to Mr Pavlov! A second testimony to your bravery is in mistaking the colour of Miss Fitzgerald’s eyes. The third foe-pah I spotted will be a pleasant surprise for you to discover in the fullness of time. I wish you much fun and enjoyment of suitable rewards for your bravery.

    Bruce

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    • Lobo Rojo says:

      Bruce, I am very intrigued by faux-pas number three! Thank you very much for your well wishes! I am very excited for the day I get to lay eyes on Miss Fitzgerald in person, and I think the first thing I will check is going to be eye color! She’s indicated that brown is not correct, so that leaves Blue, Hazel, Green for the primary colors. Any of these would fit I think; then there is the possibility of Black, Yellow/Gold, or Pink. The photos I’ve seen indicate that Miss Fitzgerald is definitely not albino so Pink is out. I’ve only ever seen one person with eyes dark enough to be considered Black and only a couple perhaps that were Gold, and now you tell me Blue is incorrect, so that statistically leaves Hazel or Green… a coin toss hmmmm considering all my tallied faux-pas and various other indiscretions, I’m going to wait and see. I just hope the Lady’s eyes are smiling when they fall on me!
      Rick
      ps just a thought, Bruce how do you know for a fact that the Lovely Miss was not wearing colored contacts to throw YOU off!? Perhaps she was incognito as a lovely spy or secret agent! Was she bundled in a fabulous trench coat with the collar turned up, with dark sun glasses on (with brilliant Red LipStick of course) and pssssting you from the shadows, extending one arm and hand and drawing you to her with one commanding finger? Just checking!

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  4. Bruce says:

    Rick, If I told you how I know the colour of Miss Fitzgerald’s eyes I would be giving too much away. I will say though that you’re on the right track with your guesses and that once you’ve seen them for real I’m sure you will never forget!

    I wouldn’t worry too much about your indiscretions, as Miss Fitzgerald says on her web site: “Essentially, I’m a playful, light-hearted and fun-loving woman”, of course what’s fun for her might be fun for you in a less conventional sense!

    Good luck
    Bruce

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  5. Bruce,
    Thanks for you well wishes and trying to ease my worries of indiscretions, but did you really have to sign off with’good luck’? Those two little words of’encouragement’ have haunted me now for weeks! Thanks Buddy! Ha ha ha ok just kidding, I think, but be that as it may, I am boarding plane in about 11 hours bound for London. I’m hoping it all goes well. I’m confident Miss Fitzgerald will have matters well in hand!

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