Chapter 5 - The Toy Box

Me: "I'm sitting outside the office ALONE, walked around the pond ALONE"
Anita: "Are you saying you're missing me 😉?"
Me: "Missing someone to talk to. Had a weird weekend. Also, guys went for BBQ."
Anita: "You could go with them?"
Me: "Brought lunch as usual. And BBQ makes me feel sticky even after washing. Too much work to do to be distracted by being sticky."
Anita: "True there is a time & place for being sticky & it's not at the office with people around. Club tonight?"
Me: "Maybe, if I can persuade Tiff to stop trying to set me up."

Before I finished entering that last message, my phone pinged again. I thought Anita had replied while I was typing, but it was a text from an unknown number.

??: "So, uh"
Me: "??"
??: "I stole ur number from Ann's phone hope u don't mind"
Me: "Alex?"
Alex: "Good guess. So, uh"

One mystery solved, but I didn't know if I should feel nervous.

Me: "Who uses filler words when texting?"
Alex: "I do, I guess when I don't know exactly how to start. So, uh"
Me: "..."
Alex: "Don't lecture me when u do that. So, uh, Ann found my shirt"
Me: "???"
Alex: "And that. The shirt I was wearing on Saturday on the couch not in my room"
Me: "Let me guess. She knows you don't take off your clothes in the shared area - unless you have help?"
Alex: "Bingo."
Me: "I see. This is a problem?"
Alex: "Dunno. I wanted to warn u. Want sure how far ur booty casual deal w/Ann stretched"
Me: "I don't see a problem but thanks for heads up. I thought you must be mad at me for taking advantage of you."
Alex: "JFC no. Where can I find a guy who can do what you did?"
Me: "Good, at least you're not claiming I turned you gay."
Alex: "No such luck."

In the other window, Anita had replied that she'd see me at the club.

Me: "I just had a weird text exchange. Part of the weird weekend I guess. See you this evening if you're not too distracted."
Anita: "🤔"

I'd considered skipping the club. It was only two days since the party, and I felt like taking it easy. I missed talking to Anita, but usually at the club another girl would be monopolizing her time anyway. Since she'd asked if I'd be there, though, maybe she planned to take time to chat. So it might be worth dragging my butt there.

 

I didn't put a lot of effort into dressing. White tee, lightweight navy jacket and jeans. I took my hair down and reworked it into a quick over the shoulder braid, then drove to Gabby's.

From time to time I'd wondered how the club would support the swelling population during the semester, but I'd never thought to ask anyone. This evening answered my question.

I didn't notice the changes at first. The bar area appeared normal. When I looked around to find someone I knew, I saw a few faces that were vaguely familiar, but there was no sign of my friends. That was disappointing, but hardly significant. Until Tiff emerged from the gauze curtain, took my wrist in a vice-like grip, and dragged me into what I thought was the dance floor.

But now, it was that and more. What had been the far wall was now missing. Apparently it had only been a dividing partition. The total area on this side of the curtain was over twice what it had been. On the right side, relative to the entrance from the bar, were tables, while the left side was the new dance floor.

On the new rear wall was a stage, on which a three person band was playing something electronic and quite danceable, the subdued sounds of the female vocalist backed by a single heavily fuzzed guitar and synthesizer. Beyond the tables to the right was a second bar. It was unstaffed and unlit, but some of the bar stools beside it were occupied.

Tiff led me to a table by the dividing curtains, only releasing my wrist when we arrived. Emma and Anita were there already. They'd been saving a fourth chair for me. I asked if anyone was ready for a drink, but no one was, so I excused myself to head back back to the bar section.

The bartender was the same one who'd served me before. Still as hot - and presumably as unavailable - as ever. I asked her to recommend something truly fiery.

She raised an eyebrow and suggested a variant on the lemon ginger drink that I liked so much. It was her own creation, with lime rather than lemon, ginger beer, a hot ginger extract, mint leaves and half of a cayenne pepper that she handled with small tongs. "But no kissing within thirty minutes of drinking," she ordered, "unless your partner wants to share your pain."

I tried it before leaving the bar and it was exactly what I needed. It was fiery, but within the heat was a surprisingly rich flavor.

After I returned to the table, I pointed at Tiff. "No matchmaking. No inviting anyone to the table for my sake. No setting me up!"

Tiff pouted. "Hey, I had nothing to do with last week!"

"I know," I grumbled, but grinned to show I was joking. "But you would have!"

There was a mischievous glint in her eye. "Perhaps."

Anita, on my right, watched the exchange with amusement. She took a sip of her drink, then said, "So tell us about this weird weekend."

Grimacing, I shook my head. "I was going to," I said, "but I don't think I should identify anyone, which would make it hard to tell. Let's just say..."

"I'll name names." The voice from behind me was unexpected, and quite low-pitched, just loud enough to carry over the music. I froze, recognizing it. Oh, shit. "Hi, Ann," I said, turning to look at the small woman.

Ann's smile seemed predatory as she nodded greetings. Then she took a chair from another table, gesturing for Anita and myself to separate enough to give her room to sit between us.

"I'm only guessing I know which story Kayla isn't telling," she said, after she sat. Her grin was still devilish. "But unless she was invited to an orgy at a nunnery on Sunday, I think it's a good guess. Were you?" she asked, giving me a direct look.

"I don't know any nuns," I admitted.

"Kayla joined my roommate Alexis and me at a party on Saturday," Ann began.

"Alexis?" I interrupted. "I thought she was Alexandra."

"No, and don't try to distract me," Ann said. "It won't work. So, after Kayla wore me out at the party, she drove us both home, tossed me into bed, then fucked my roommate. My straight roommate."

Everyone's eyebrows were raised. Tiff was resting her elbow on the table, fingers supporting her chin, as she watched Ann in amusement.

Ann was't done, though. "Judging by Alex's expression in the morning, and the color she turned when I found her clothes in the den, she did a very fine job."

"It was a shirt," I grumbled. "Just one."

"It's true?" Tiff asked, still in Thinker pose.

"It's both true and accurate, and misleading and wrong," I said, then made a show of counting on my fingers. "Yes, both of those four things. There's no point in correcting the record, because I'd just be whining, so we won't talk about who was drunk or who was high or who exactly pushed Alexis into making out with a girl." I turned to return Ann's amused look. "And we certainly won't mention who was so far out of it she stripped stark naked in front of me to put herself to bed."

Ann's countenance flashed a fleeting look of surprise at the last. Apparently that memory had deserted her.

"So Kayla sought out the roommate," interjected Tiff, "so that she'd have an alibi in case you woke up nude and thought she'd roofied you."

"Uh, yes, that!" I said. "For self-protection. Also because she offered to make tea."

Tiff nodded thoughtfully. "Can't have an orgy without a good cup of tea."

"I'm sorry our evening was cut short," I said to Ann, sincerely. "You have my number. If you want to get coffee sometime..."

Ann gave a half-shrug, uncertain but not dismissive. "I might."

"And if you don't go into politics when you graduate," I added, "it would be a crying shame."

There was a gleam in her eyes as she smirked.

 

I had hoped to talk to Anita about visiting Gabby's on Thursday, but it would have been rude to talk across Ann. Emma was on my left, so I asked her what she knew about the event. She wasn't able to tell me much, but recommended I talk to Alan, whom she knew to be a regular.

Alan, when Emma pointed him out, proved to be the guy I'd spoken briefly with on my first visit, and whom I'd noticed with Ann the previous week. After a time I left the table and moved over to his, introducing myself to him and the two girls he was sitting with. When I told him what I wanted to ask, he invited me to join them.

The girl on Alan's right pushed the chair beside her out. I took it and sat beside her. She was dark-skinned, with rich brown eyes, full lips, and a nose stud. Her pale yellow tee had a deep neckline revealing full, high breasts. Dark braided hair nestled against the curve of her breast on the right, while on the left her braids were held behind her back, leaving her high cheekbones uncovered.

She introduced herself as Imani. Her expression seemed a little wary, but her hand was warm in mine when we shared a brief grip.

Across the table from me, on Alan's left, was Clare. Her skin tone was also dark, if a shade or two lighter than her friend's. Her brown eyes were merry, below narrow, pencil-darkened brows. She had an oval face with a wide smile, honey-brown hair loose, wide around her shoulders. Her red button-front shirt was high necked, but left her arms and most of her shoulders entirely bare.

Her hand took mine over the table, giving mine a quick squeeze.

As an afterthought, Alan took my hand for a moment, repeating his name. "So, Gabby's monthly adult dance," he said. "What do you want to know?"

"Not sure," I said. "I'm nervous about going alone. What should I expect?"

Alan's eyebrows rose. "That's easy, then," he said. "Don't go alone. I'll meet you there."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. If I were to go with him, that would affect what I'd be able to do.

Alan must have understood my thought, because he said, "Don't worry, I won't cramp your style. I'm meeting friends. Let's just meet early so I can field any specific questions before they arrive."

"You'll have to come back next week," said Clare, "and tell us what it's like." She pouted. "I'm still a junior, and I don't turn twenty-one until next semester. Neither of us do," she added, with a gesture to include Imani, who nodded agreement.

At the trio's insistence, I remained talking with them or dancing with one or two or all three of them at different times. Clare was warm and flirty, while Imani wasn't unfriendly, but seemed wary and distant.

Alan mentioned that there was more semi-formal dancing on Thursdays. Some of the older set were fond of ballroom dancing, and even the younger members enjoyed latin dances. So, before the band's second set, Alan attempted to lead me in a true cha-cha, rather than the more informal gyrations I was used to. He was very good, with hip movements, sinuous swaying of legs and chest and raised arms encompassing my space - at least the equal of any of the girls I'd danced with.

After the band returned he and I stayed on the dance floor, working through some of the steps, even though the beat didn't at all fit cha-cha steps. The two girls joined us and we entertained each other with out of tempo steps and turns.

At one point I saw Ann and Anita together. When I left the dance floor briefly, I looked around and couldn't find either of them. So whether or not Ann was disappointed to have faded out on Saturday, I figured she'd come out ahead this time.

By the end of the evening I found myself regretting my choice to remain chaste for the evening. I'd have liked to invite either of the girls home with me, even suspicious Imani. But I had my reasons. Also, I didn't know what the relationship was between Clare and Imani. Even if they weren't partners, I didn't know how one would react if I tried to pick the other one up. Maybe another time.

 

Since the Thursday event would be mostly non-students, I dressed up more than usual for it. My skirt was just above the knee, a deep autumn gold gauze over a mini-length gold panel. It had a matching top, an opaque tube top under a gold gauze wrap. The top left my shoulders and navel bare, though they were shrouded by the gauze. I donned sheer nude stockings and my best low-heeled boots, and a tan wrap jacket over the outfit.

The parking lot at Gabby's seemed especially full, and I was doubly glad that I'd taken an Uber. I didn't intend to drink much, but the idea of monitoring my intake closely while already being a little nervous was more than I wanted to deal with. I'd been texting with Alan, and as arranged, he met me at the door to the club.

Once inside, Alan's eyes skimmed over my body. There was nothing creepy or lascivious in his gaze, and after the quick sweep he nodded. "Very nice," he commented, then turned to enter.

There were a few people in the bar area, and several of them turned, apparently checking me out. I saw no one I'd consider from my generation. Even when Alan led me through the dividing curtain to the nightclub section it was obvious I was one of the youngest present. There were few close to my age. I felt out of place, and was pleased to have Alan's company.

By the time we'd finished our first drink, I'd been hit on twice by women at least fifteen years my senior. I think of myself as pretty open-minded, and it wasn't like anyone was looking for a relationship, but that age gap made me uncomfortable.

The band played a mix of numbers, from classic rock covers to latin beat, and I saw that Alan had been right about the popularity of latin dances. Couples of all gender combinations danced to Led Zeppelin or Stones covers, but many of them made an effort to dance a more structured rumba or cha-cha to some of the songs.

There was a greater percentage of men than I was used to from Monday evenings, possibly over half. I mentioned that to Alan. He explained that Gabby's was less popular with college-aged gay guys, who tended to prefer to participate in sports, frats and traditional masculine events. Alan was a post-grad, still at University but with less peer pressure to socialize with undergrad men.

"How do you know Imani and Clare?" I asked.

"From Gabby's," he replied. "The three of us began to visit at the same time and bonded over feeling uncomfortable together. Though everyone has been welcoming, and we've been regulars for the last year. They like you," he added. "Especially Imani, I think."

"Imani?" I felt my eyes go wide. "Are you sure? Clare flirted, but Imani seemed dubious."

"I think you're confusing doubt with thoughtfulness," Alan said. "She was sorry to see you leave."

"Are they together?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Never have been, to my knowledge."

Alan's friends started to arrive, and we moved over to join them. I didn't want to intrude, and was considering that it might be time to excuse myself, when I felt that I was being watched.

Unlike Monday, the second bar in the nightclub section was open. A platinum blonde in a long, figure-hugging emerald dress was regarding me from a stool at the corner of the bar. She gave me a slight nod, and I smiled in return. She remained where she was, but her gaze stayed on me. It seemed approving, and maybe a little intimidating, since from this distance it was apparent that she was not only gorgeous, but seriously classy.

I'd been talking to the guys we were sitting with for a few minutes when I sensed a presence behind my shoulder. I turned to discover the bartender - the same one I knew from Mondays - looming over me, with a drink in hand.

"Uh, hello?" I said.

"The woman at the bar sent you this," she said. "She wanted to deliver it, but I don't like drinks from strangers to get out of my sight before they reach their owners, you know?"

Her tone wasn't warm. It wasn't exactly cold, just neutral. Maybe a little uneasy.

"Are you trying to tell me she might spike it?" I asked. "Is she a stranger?"

The bartender paused before replying. "No," she said, after a moment, "No to both. I'm certain she wouldn't, but she's a stranger to you." Yet she hadn't been so sure that she could answer immediately, and her tone hadn't changed.

Turning, I raised my glass to Emerald Dress, who was watching me, as the bartender headed back to her place.

Alan and his friends were all watching me curiously. I took a sip of the drink and almost choked. It was the same as I'd ordered on Monday, with some added alcohol, though it was hard to tell its flavor through the fire. I managed to control myself, and took another sip. "Alright, guys, what do I do?" I asked.

"Your call," one of them said. "She wants you, or she wouldn't have sent you a drink, but she's leaving it up to you. No pressure."

"She probably saw how you drove away the earlier ones," Alan said.

"Yeah, but they were forty-plus," I objected. "She's what, twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? I wouldn't react the same way."

I shouldn't have drawn attention to her. Half the table turned to check her out.

"She doesn't know that," Alan said. "If you want to talk to her, talk to her. If you don't, you can sit with us for as long as you like."

"Thanks, Alan," I said. "I'll go talk to her."

I picked up my purse, and my drink. "I owe you," I said to Alex, leaving my jacket on the chair as I headed to the bar.

 

"So, umm, hi?" I said, as I sat on the bar stool beside Emerald Dress. "Thanks for the drink."

"Michelle said it was your favorite," she said. Michelle must be the bartender. I'd never thought to learn her name, and that made me feel disappointed with myself.

Up close, the woman's platinum hair and bright blue eyes were striking. She had a narrow mouth, which was smiling at me, maybe a touch impishly. "I'm Danielle."

"Oh yeah," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Kayla."

Danielle took my hand and held onto it for far too long. I almost wanted to tug my hand out of hers before she finally relaxed her grip, her fingers trailing against mine as I drew back. "So, you're not going to kick me to the curb like the others?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Different situation entirely."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Her dress was off the shoulder, showing skin from her neck down and from one bare shoulder to the other, with just enough of a hint at the creamy surface of moderate breasts to make me ache to see more. She smirked, and I realized I was staring. I felt my face heat up and took a swallow of my drink, the heat shocking me again and making my face redden further.

"So, uh, what do you do?" I asked.

Danielle's smile turned wicked.. "I dance, and I pick up pretty girls," she said. My thighs tensed involuntarily at the feeling her words sent through me. I hoped she didn't notice. "And, of course, I dance with pretty girls until they're ready to be picked up," she added.

I cleared my throat. "I... see," I said. Steeling myself, I took another large sip of my cocktail. Its fire was the heat of excitement flowing down my throat and warming me.

"Are you ready to dance?" Danielle asked.

"Uh, yeah," I said. Hooking my tiny clutch purse over my shoulder I stood, then closed my eyes and downed the last of my glass, wincing at the burn.

Danielle rose, then tucked her hand under my arm and drew me against her, my upper arm pressed tightly to her side as we walked, as though she wouldn't risk me putting even an inch of space between us. She was taller than me in the heels she wore so naturally - heels so high that I felt wearing them would break my toes and ankles.

"I lead, okay?" It was more a statement than a question, and I nodded. The music had a latin beat. "Do you know salsa?" she asked.

"Basic steps, kinda," I admitted.

And oh my God could Danielle dance. Maybe Alan was better. But Alan kept his hands mostly to himself, just the dancing hold and a light touch to my back when we'd been close. Danielle's hands were all over me. Nothing inappropriate, just always present, a hand on my back, her arm wrapping around me as she spun me, then both hands on my waist.... Her touch made me wish it was inappropriate.

With no apparent need to think about her movements, her eyes were free to travel over my body, and this they did, frequently. Her pupils were wide and dark, and I felt certain that her imagination had peeled off my top and skirt.

Generally she held my body at least a few inches from hers, but she'd also spin me in to face her, setting her right hand on my upper back as we'd step together, and in those times I'd feel her breasts pressed to mine. Not just a brush, but a firm brief compression.

For a time I tried to help, to anticipate how she was going to move me, but I abandoned the effort, put myself entirely into her capable hands and started to really enjoy the dance. She'd cross our arms as she turned me and herself in ways that wouldn't seem to be possible without tangling, yet with a light touch she'd have us both turning multiple times, finishing up with my back to her, her arms crossed with mine over my belly. I could feel myself grinning with enjoyment when the song ended.

I recognized the opening of the band's cover of Santana's "Smooth" instantly. Apparently so did Danielle, because she immediately moved me into a cha-cha step. Though it took a few bars for me to catch up, soon she was moving me around like I knew what I was doing, and I felt like I almost did. The more I let go and put myself under her control, the more I enjoyed it, and the more I felt a desire to be against her.

When Danielle finally led me off the dance floor, her hand was casually in mine rather than the possessive way she had captured my arm earlier.

"Kayla," Danielle said, musingly, as slipped back onto the bar stool. "It suits you. Is that what you go by, or do you have a nickname? Kay, maybe? And what do you want to drink? Another fire special?"

"Just Kayla," I replied. I thought about it for a second. I wanted something less potent than the earlier drink. "Mimosa"

"Kayla Mimosa," she said. "That's a good name. I'm Danielle Martini. Stirred, not shaken."

"No you're not," I griped. "Neither of us is a cocktail."

Danielle had succeeded in attracting Michelle's attention. As the bartender approached, she turned to me. "Are you absolutely sure of that?" she asked, her voice a deep purr, and the look she gave me sped my heart right back up and soaked my thong.

She placed her order. Michelle glanced at me with concern, but I nodded. I was sober, just turned on as hell. And I wasn't driving.

"Would I be mistaken if I suspected you'd thought the women who approached you earlier were too old?" Danielle asked.

"Well, I didn't want to commit too soon when I knew so little about the environment," I prevaricated, before deciding to fess up. "But yeah, that. Mostly."

"What's your cutoff age?" Danielle asked.

"I'm twenty-three," I answered. "So? Five years? Twenty eight? I mean, I wouldn't sleep with a seventeen year old, which would be one more in the other direction."

"That's not quite the same," Danielle said. "She'd be a minor."

"True, but it helps me to think about what an age gap is," I said. "So okay, maybe twenty-nine? Could stretch to thirty? But you're less than that, right?" I added nervously.

"Sweetie, thanks for the compliment, but I'm thirty-three. Way out of your comfort zone," Danielle said.

"No shit?" I yelped. "You don't look it. And... I painted myself into a corner pretty hard, didn't I?"

"With the slowest drying oils," Danielle replied, with a knowing smirk.

"Can we just get a reset on this entire conversation?" I asked, taking a nervous sip of my mimosa.

"I hope so, sweetie," she said, "because I'm even more determined to take you home and tie you to my bed."

I coughed as my drink went down the wrong way.

Danielle's eyes sparkled. "Have you never been tied up?" When I shook my head, she cried, "Oh my, a virgin!"

With the dance floor sounds filling the bar I'm certain that her words didn't even reach the bartender. But I felt like everyone was staring at me.

Ten minutes later, I gave Alan a guilty grin as I collected my jacket before following Danielle from the bar. He responded with a wink.

 

Danielle led me to a sporty Audi in metallic green. The vehicle seemed almost silent when she drove, yet it was powerful, and she was an excellent driver. I was also acutely aware that without my car I was very much more under Danielle's influence that I was comfortable with. And if she was really going to be tying me up - I shivered - I'd soon have even less control.

The Audi drew to a halt before a tall townhouse in a gentrified neighborhood not far from Suse's. Danielle had no parking problems, however, since the first floor was largely given over to a two car garage. She slapped a cord into the vehicle's charging port - that would explain the quiet drive - then led me to the second floor kitchen where she poured us both sparkling white wine without asking. The wine was dry and fruity, better than the champagne Michelle had used for my mimosas. It helped me feel less uncomfortable.

We continued up a second staircase. The third floor comprised only the master bedroom and a lounge with master bathroom access, which was overlooked by a room on yet another floor, the top. Danielle chuckled at my wide eyes, and responded when I asked that the fourth floor was a lounge / game room with a balcony. Two smaller bedrooms were below us on the second floor.

I'd never be able to afford a place like this on a software developer's salary. I'd already realized that Danielle's pockets were deep, but I'd underestimated her resources. I had become too accustomed to starving students.

She opened a chest against one wall and took out a long, soft-looking piece of cord. "Strip to your underwear," she instructed, before removing two shorter cords.

"That's it?" I challenged, frowning. "No foreplay? No seduction? Just strip?"

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie, there will be foreplay," Danielle responded, with a smirk. "But once you're tied up, it's hard to get your clothes off. Unless you want me to cut them off you? That could be fun."

My stomach roiled at the idea. "No, no, I guess you're right," I said. Still, it went against my instincts, and I stripped to my bra and thong with poor grace, then swallowed about half of my wine. The wine was good, and didn't deserve such treatment. Danielle's eyes roved as they had done while dancing. This time she wouldn't need much imagination. I scowled at her, but her indifferent haughtiness was oddly arousing. I grasped the frame of my glasses, to take them off, but Danielle shook her head.

"No, leave them on," she said. "I like the way they look."

I scowled, but left them in place. Great, she was a glasses fetishist. I mean, I liked the way they looked, too, but keeping them on during sex wasn't something I'd ever done, and the thought disturbed me that she might have decided to seduce me because of my eyewear. But then, making me wear my glasses was far from the most disturbing of her plans for me.

Danielle kicked off her heels, shrinking several inches, then indicated the bed with her chin. It was a California king with lattice headboard and footboard in highly polished dark wood. I wouldn't be surprised if it matched her vehicle in value. At least the bed covering seemed fairly plain. She wasn't going to make me drip on a ten thousand dollar designer set.

So I climbed to the center of the bed as directed. Danielle, still in her long dress, tied my hands over my head and a couple of feet apart. Then she looped the ends of the rope through the latticework. and tied them off. Her knots looked like slip knots, but I pulled against the rope experimentally, and there was no give on my end, though their grip was gentle.

Hooking her fingers into the waistband of my thong, she pressed my thighs together, then tugged the garment down with no more ceremony than she'd used in telling me to strip. Once it was gone, she parted my legs, then with the other two soft ropes she fastened my feet to the lattice footboard. When she was done, I wasn't under any tension, but I couldn't move more than a couple of inches.

Danielle's gaze had already been intense. Now she stepped back and looked at me with such transparent lust that I wanted to cover myself with my hands, but my arms and legs were fastened wide. My breasts quivered inside the low, strapless bra, as the intensity of her gaze made me shiver. Her lips were parted, and she absently brushed her upper lip with her tongue.

I was at the edge of panic. If Danielle had any ill intentions, I couldn't resist her. That hadn't been an option from the moment the rope had met the headboard. The thought left me nervous, but it also left me wet.

She wasn't inconsiderate, though. Now that she had me exactly where she wanted me, she began to strip, giving me a show. This wasn't cursory, like my disrobing had been, and as she slowly unfastened and stepped out of her dress I almost felt guilty about the quick, impersonal way I'd dumped my clothes, even though it's what she'd seemed to want. She swayed and spun, letting me feast my eyes - and my arousal - on the sensuous motions as she revealed herself to me

Ten years my senior, Danielle had grown into a richness of beauty, perfect skin, and muscle definition that showed power without the angularity of athletes of my age. A slight rippling of breasts that were round and taut within their confinement. Her display excited and frustrated me with my need to touch her.

When her performance was complete, Danielle stood beside the bed in black lacy stockings clipped to an honest-to-goodness garter belt. Was she wearing it because it was a more comfortable way of dealing with stockings than tension and friction, or because, you know, garter belt? Did it matter? I'd never worn one, but I'd been tempted at times. And if she looked a little stereotyped, she also looked damned good.

In her stockings, panties and bra - and of course the obligatory garter belt - Danielle strode across the room to retrieve something else from the wooden crate. I could lift my head far enough to see that, but not to determine what it was, except that it was small and black.

Returning with her prize, Danielle mounted the bed, then knelt, her knees astride my hips, her ass lowered to rest on my thighs. Pinned as I was, I had absolutely no way to influence her actions. I had no objection to her sitting on my thighs, her sex almost touching mine, but it emphasized the reality that she was in absolute control. The amusement in her expression seemed to show that she saw my growing understanding.

Danielle began to rock gently against my thighs. She raised her hands to her bra and began to toy with her breasts. The view excited me, and my breathing quickened. A faint flush on her cheeks implied she was also enjoying the activity.

She lifted her breasts as she kneaded them, making the upper surface swell against the low-cut bra's confines. My eyes were riveted. Then, after a time, Danielle pushed her bra straps over her shoulders, causing the neckline to lower slightly, though her hands against the cups kept my view obscured. The slow motions of her hips against my thighs were building up a deep stimulation in my sex, and the frustration of not quite seeing her breasts as she turned herself on made me groan.

Holding her left arm before her to keep the bra in place, Danielle extended her right arm, leaning forward so that her fingers reached my lips. I realized that she wanted me to lick them, so I did, but I drew her finger into my mouth and sucked it, making her grin.

Lowering the bra, Danielle allowed me to see the fullness of her breast, as she cupped it, then pinched her nipple with her moistened fingers, making herself moan. My breath caught and my thighs tensed as I watched her pull on her hard, pale nipple, stretching and shaping the trembling flesh. I wanted to take it into my mouth. I wanted it to be me who was making her eyes darken with need, and I squirmed against my restraints.

My struggles must have been the cue that Danielle was seeking. She hoisted her bra straps back into place and smirked at me. "Did you like what you saw?" When I nodded, making a frustrated sound, she continued, "Good. Now you can see them in your imagination."

Puzzled, I frowned. Danielle reached forward, pinched the bridge of my glasses, before lifting them from my face, saying, "I'm afraid these come off now," then tossing them onto the nightstand. She raised the small dark object. Even without my glasses I could see what it was - a black padded blindfold. "No, don't do that," I whined. "I want to see you."

Danielle went instantly still. "Do you really mean no?" she asked. "I do take consent very seriously. Is that what you want?"

"No," I said. "I don't think so."

"We need a safe word," she said. "Give me a word you will use if you want to withdraw consent. If you don't say that word, I'll take all of your objections as real but non-binding. Right?"

"Alright," I said. I'd agree to almost anything to ensure she didn't stop. "What kind of word?"

"Something you'd be unlikely to say. So, not coffee, or bacon, or stop," she suggested.

"Sunflower," I said, the word just popping into my head.

Danielle just nodded and repeated the word. "Sunflower." She picked up the blindfold. "So I'm going to put this on you. Do you want that?"

"No," I said, my tone again plaintive.

"Am I going to do it anyway?" she asked.

"I'm sure you are," I griped.

She laid the padded eye cushions over my face, then drew the wide, soft band over my hair, tightening it against the back of my head until it was not uncomfortable but was completely secure. My world was pitch black.

When Danielle had satisfied herself that the fit of the blindfold was flawless, she moved off my thighs. The bed rose as she stepped down from it. I couldn't move and my world was dark. I heard the sounds of her moving things around, and of her leaving the room. She returned a couple of minutes later, before I'd submitted to panic.

I could sense when she returned to stand beside the bed. "Have you ever tried temperature play? Like hot wax or hot metal on your body?"

"No," I said, the idea making my skin itch. Was I already feeling the heat from something she was carrying?

"I'm pretty sure this isn't too hot," Danielle said. "I hope it isn't, but everyone's tastes are different." She paused, and I began to get nervous. "I'm going to touch you with something. If it burns too much, let me know. Okay?"

"I don't know if this is a good i..." I began, then cried out as searing pain scorched a sharp point at the center of my chest. My body twisted as I tried to pull myself free, which of course did nothing. Except...

Except that my chest wasn't actually hurting, and I wasn't actually hot. In fact there was a wet, icy place where I thought I'd been burned. Danielle had set me up to expect heat, so when my body felt an extreme temperature change, it interpreted the touch as burning.

I chuckled nervously. I felt her fingernails tracing along my chest around the piece of ice they held. "That was mean," I said.

"It was," Danielle said, "but it made you squirm so nicely. And you even laughed!"

The bed dipped as she climbed back onto it, then I felt her knees on either side of me as she lowered herself back to my thighs.

Fingers grazed my ribs, sliding through the cold of the ice. They moved up to the base of my bra, then between the cups where the front catch lay. In a second, she lifted the bra, then drew it out, from beneath my back. I gasped as icy, slippery fingertips lightly explored my chest, gliding over the surface seemingly with no friction, not the slightest roughness in their touch. The effect, especially as they slid over my nipples, was intensely erotic.

"You should try hot wax sometime, though," she murmured. "With the right kind of wax, and a partner who knows what she's doing, the pain level is perfect to get your blood flowing in the best places." The fingers paused their exploration. I felt them pick up the ice from my lower chest. Then a sharp point of cold drifted over my right nipple, which went instantly hard and sensitive. The ice drifted all over my breast, but focused on my nipple, drawing a moan from my throat.

Fingers began to caress the slick moisture over my right nipple as the ice transferred to my left. Again, the nipple went instantly hard. I felt my belly tense as I squirmed at the touch.

"Why is the ice so slippery?" My voice was hoarse as I forced out the question.

"It isn't frozen water," Danielle said. "It's frozen lube. Water-based edible lube. I buy it locally and keep a tray in the freezer. For special occasions." A finger touched my lips, then slithered between them. It tasted slightly salty, with a light rose flavor.

She pressed the ice against the top of my left breast, holding it in place until the whole breast was uncomfortably cold, then running it around the hard-swollen nipple. This time, when she transferred the ice back to my right boob, I felt her lean forward. In a moment, her lips and tongue were bringing new life into my chilled left nipple. Her mouth felt extra hot after the ice, and the temperature spike sent a wave of heat to my clit.

My nipples were now so sensitive that just a touch of the ice to them made me groan with frustration. I needed more, but the lubed gliding of Danielle's fingers was building my arousal without giving me any focus for my release. And the bonds weren't allowing me to grab her and press my body against hers, or even to touch myself and end the sweet torment.

Even as I thought that, I felt the cold spot migrating south. Danielle was caressing my left nipple with her teeth as the ice glided down to my inner right thigh. Her fingernails lightly scratched at the slippery skin.

My inner thighs were already sensitive, but the cold touch of her fingertips magnified the effect, and I groaned as I writhed. My breaths were coming deep and heavy, and my nipples were so stimulated that the air against my bare skin made me tingle. My hips were trying to push up against her hand without any conscious effort on my part.

The lube ice cube had shrunk in size. Most of it was coating my breasts and belly, making Danielle's touch electric. There was enough left that when she slipped her fingers into me, I felt the cold thrill of ice sliding against the wall of my sex.

"Oh God," I groaned.

Danielle tugged at my nipple with her teeth, then her hand covered my breast and squeezed hard. The sudden sensation made me cry out.

In the blindfolded dark, colors were beginning to chase each other around the edge of my vision. But, being bound, I could do nothing to change the context of my increasingly intense arousal. I wanted to press myself against her, or to touch my clit. I needed her, desperately.

As if sensing my desires, Danielle released my breast and slid down my body, her tongue and teeth grazing skin feeling sensitized by lube. The sense of anticipation of her touch against the slippery moistness, amplified by the chill inside my sex as Danielle stroked the frozen lube against it, made every graze of her fingers an erotic sensation.

My breasts felt tight, swollen within the confines of my skin. I wanted to squeeze them for relief, but my hands were held tightly. "Aaagh!" I yowled in frustration.

Then her lips touched my pussy, and I cried out again as a storm of arousal swept into me.

Without being able to see what Danielle did, each touch came as an erotic shock. Her lips encompassed my swelling clit, and her tongue flicked against it, then caressed my labia. I panted and tried lifting my sex to press into her face.

"No, you don't get to do that," she murmured, and backed away.

"Do what?" I whined.

"Take control," she said. I felt her fingers withdraw, taking the ice with them.

"But Dani..." I insisted. "I need..."

The tension on my left leg vanished. She must have untied the rope. But then I felt my ankle being drawn up to my thigh. The rope looped around my leg, then tightened as she secured my leg to itself.

A moment later my right leg was similarly fastened. Now I wouldn't be able to use my legs to lift my body.

I felt her push both of my legs to my right, twisting my body and lifting my left buttock off the bed. Suddenly pain lanced through me as she delivered a stinging slap to my exposed butt. I yelped. "That's for trying to take control." Then another slap. "And that's for calling me Dani."

Each smack made me jump, my body tensing. I felt my eyes water within the blindfold, and I gasped as the pain of the second slap built on the first. My immediate reaction was to yell "Sunflower," but I held it back. The pain hadn't killed the mood. Instead, I ached yet more strongly for her touch.

"Danielle..." I croaked.

"Better," she said, and I could hear satisfied amusement in her tone.

She parted my thighs and lowered her face back to my sex, then drew her tongue around and kissed my clit until my whole body quivered with excitement, and I couldn't contain my moans. I was so, so ready for her to take me over the edge.

But she backed away again. I felt her slide off the bed. "Danielle...?" I whimpered.

"Just a moment, sweetie," came her voice from across the room. "Don't go anywhere."

"Hah!" I managed to reply, panting and desperate.

It was about two minutes before I felt the bed tremble. Then she lifted my legs, and her knees slid under them. She must be squatting on the bed, moving up to me.

Something firm touched my sex, parting my labia. Danielle held my legs as she moved closer. Whatever had parted my sex began to slip inside. It was wide, and felt slightly yielding.

"What are you doing?" I croaked.

"Let me know if I need more lube," Danielle said, not answering my question, as the object slipped further in.

Her games with the iced lube had left me slick outside and in. I gasped as the object pressed further in, but the resistance was only my passage being stretched wider, not friction. It wasn't entirely smooth, but ridged, it seemed, so that I felt every part of it slide into me. A dildo, I realized, filling me like a penis, but one longer and wider than I'd ever experienced. It slid home, and I felt Danielle's body against my sex.

"Oh, God," I breathed.

Then Danielle threaded her arms under my legs to grip my hips. She yielded no control as she held me tightly and began to move. I could do nothing to respond. My back was lifted from the bed, and my legs floated helplessly as she took me aggressively.

Within the first minute I felt myself begin an unstoppable climb to orgasm. Danielle moved me against her body as she slid forward, and I rolled my hips to allow the maximum possible penetration. It was all I was capable of affecting, and she didn't try to prevent me. But I was so impossibly aroused already that I wasn't able to just fall into climax.

I didn't try to suppress my moans. I had no brain power left for anything beyond my feeling, and as my butt and thighs began to tense, the starling colors flitting around the blackness began to coalesce. I felt tension and an electric thrill flow into me from my thighs, my butt, my belly, even my arms and my arching back. Then the sensations merged, crashing into me as a mighty orgasm.

I think I screamed. I know I lost a little time. When my awareness started to return, my climax still raged, but the light show was beginning to fade.

After a time, Danielle's thrusting slowed, and she lowered my butt into her lap. Her strap-on remained deep within me, and she pressed her sex firmly against mine. My bound thighs were parted, but resting on the bed, when I felt another icy stroke brush down my sex.

This time she didn't keep the ice around long, just enough so that I was again slick with lube, her fingers taking advantage of the coating to settle against either side of my clit, then to slide up and down in unison.

After my explosive climax, I thought it was unlikely that Danielle's touch would do anything other than possibly irritate me, but she had estimated my response better than I had, and within little over a minute I was groaning with rekindled arousal. At that point, Danielle's fingers abandoned my clit. Her hands wrapped around my hips, lifting me, as she began to resume her thrusting motion.

Almost immediately I found myself driven into another fierce orgrasm. Maybe the color flashes were due to being completely in the dark. Even in the dark I was used to having enough light to see a partner, but the blackness of the blindfold was absolute.

Danielle's grip, the power of her thrusts, and the sounds she made proved that her own excitement was brimming over. I had just reached a third peak when I felt her stiffen, then quiver, moaning.

Soon after, she withdrew. Her fingers roamed my body for a few minutes before she began to untie my legs. They tingled as I stretched them out on the bed. Then she unfastened my wrists, and left me to remove my blindfold, tossing me a box of tissues for the excess lube.

By the time I could see, Danielle was in the bathroom. She returned in bra and panties, without the harness she must have used to fuck me. Also without her garter belt and stockings. Maybe they'd come off when she donned the harness. She sat beside me on the bed as I fastened my bra. Retrieving my thong from somewhere, she handed it to me and I pulled it on.

"You should think of this as a teaser," she said, with a grin that showed a wicked promise. "I could show you so much more." She ran a fingernail down my outer thigh, making me tingle. "And I have candles. Call me."

I nodded, then used my phone to summon a ride before dressing in silence. Danielle returned the cords to the chest, folding them neatly.

I'm sure she left the chest open so that I would glance into it when passing. Which I couldn't resist doing, of course. There were leather items and a couple of long wand-like devices that must have been riding crops or whips. I shuddered, repulsed, but at the same time realizing that I could so easily be tempted to let her use one on me.

No, I didn't think I'd ever call her. I'd be far too nervous. But what she promised called to me anyway.