1 comments/ 16320 views/ 4 favorites Chloe's Pen Pal By: addictedtonylon I hadn't heard from him in six months. We met online when he asked me to edit stories that he had written for Literotica. Not really met, but e-mailed back and forth. He was twice my age, but that didn't seem to inhibit him in the least. We loved to talk about music, art, our lifestyles, and sex. We restricted ourselves to communicating by e-mail and remained anonymous to each other. That was best. What a great six months it was. I have to admit that he turned me on with his stories and banter. I referred to him as my pen pal, Addicted, because of his Literotica pseudonym Addictedtonylon. He called me C, never knowing my first name. Eventually, the e-mails ceased; I think we both ran out of things to say. He came to mind from time-to-time. I would occasionally reread the stories I had edited for him. I put him on my favorite authors list to keep track of his literary activities, but he never wrote again. On occasion, something would remind me of what we had talked about in our steamy exchanges. Recently, I had one of those days. I was looking at the jewelry in Nordstrom and it caught my attention. A monogramed gold ring with an elaborately caligraphized "C" engraved on the face of the ring. He always started his e-mails with "Dear C." He relished hearing about my uninhibited sexual attitudes and created a new persona, my private persona, that no one else knew existed. I still like to escape into the aura he created for me, at least in my imagination. I have a boyfriend. We live together and I love him very much, but there is a tempestuous, defiant, and prurient aspect of my personality he has never seen. Addicted knew this. He said I had entered the magic zone when I was naughty, enticing him with my literary and e-mailed eroticism. So I bought the ring. I did not put it on immediately. I didn't know if I would ever wear it. If I did, will it reawaken my hidden personality once again? About 10 days later, I was getting dressed for work. At the dressing table, I saw the clamshell box that contained the ring and opened it, deciding today was the day to wear it. I placed it on my fourth finger on my right hand, after removing the commonplace gold band I usually wore. I stood at my dresser for a few minutes, but felt no different. I went to my closet to choose my dress for the day. All the dresses I usually wore seemed mundane- I did not want to feel that today. At the back of the closet was a dress I had not worn recently. In fact, I had worn it only once. It wasn't exceptionally stylish, but it was sexy. A drop waist knit, flared at the bottom, and short, hemmed well above my knees, showing off my legs to perfection. Perhaps too short for work, I had thought the last time I wore it. Most co-workers in the office would be at a convention today. It would only be me, and my administrative assistant managing the phone. I pulled out the dress, put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror. I did look good. I took out a pair of coffee shaded pantyhose. Addicted would be proud. He loved nylons on women, especially darker tones. I added my red high heels with a tiny strap around the ankle. They were definitely "fuck me" shoes with 3 ½ inch heels. Knowing again that Addicted would approve, I set off to work. Intentionally, I stopped at the coffee shop and sipped my chai tea as I read the paper, causing a delay of 15 minutes later than my usual arrival time of 8:30 a.m. I was wearing a raincoat, which completely overwrapped my dress, but my legs and heels were evident. I walked into the office, my administrative assistant, Will, was at his desk. "Hello Will, I think it's just you and me today. Everyone else is at the convention downtown," I said as I greeted him. Now Will was nice enough, just about my age. He kept a picture of his wife on his desk. She is a trophy wife. She is tall and blonde, with high cheekbones, beautiful breasts and a perfect figure. I met her once or twice at company events, very aloof. I know Will needed to work a second job to provide for her clothing, spa, and gym memberships. In his drawer was another picture that I peeked at one day when he opened the drawer as I was staring over his shoulder. She was posed in a tight leotard, shiny nylons and leg warmers, all of which emphasized the perfection of her body. Did he use that picture for self-gratification, a substitute for the lack of physical interaction? Marrying a trophy wife has its pluses, but also its minuses. I don't think Will gets much sex. He is always lingering in my office, gazing at my figure, staring at my breasts. While I don't encourage him, I am flattered that he finds me attractive. So today, Will gets what he has wanted. Oh no, he won't touch me, but I will give him a taste of candy, so to speak. I went and sat at my desk. "Will, please go downstairs and get me an herbal tea?" He paused not a moment, anxious to do my bidding. As he left, I looked down at the monogrammed ring and planned out what I would do to this boy-toy. He stepped into my office with the cup of tea, and sat on the sofa at the corner my office. Turning to him, I crossed my legs, permitting him an eyeful of me. I could see his wandering eyes. I asked how his wife was, perhaps a cruel taunt in retrospect. "She has left for a few days. There is a new spa and she wanted to rejuvenate her body." Will said, remorse was not evident in his voice. "Thanks for bringing me the cup of tea, but there is one other thing I need done. They didn't empty my trash basket last night when they cleaned my office, and it is so full. Could you take it down to the bin at the end of the hall and empty it?" With that, I pushed my chair somewhat aside, but my dangling leg still remained in the way of any entry to the underside of the desk. Will made his way over and got on his knees. He took his time staring at my ankle, including the little strap that secured my shoe. He could not resist a lingering look at my calf and thigh, clad in the smooth, slightly shiny nylon. "Can you get by me?" I asked him in a coquettish tone. I uncrossed my legs, spread them slightly, positioning that dark tunnel between my thighs right at his eye level. His eyes stared longingly, before I turned slightly and he regained his composure. He retrieved the trash basket and pulled it out. As he stood up, the bulge in his pants and his discomfort was a clear sign that the ruse was a success. As soon as he returned the trash basket, he excused himself. I knew he was headed for the men's room for some self-inflicted relief. I waited for several minutes, and then I headed towards the adjoining women's restroom. Perfect timing, he walked out adjusting his belt buckle. "I hope those contortions under my desk didn't make you too stiff," I commented. He could not help but smile, as if he knew he was being played with, and returned to his desk. I returned to mine and made many phone calls, trying to maintain a semblance of productivity. After lunch, I had to play with him a little more. "Will, please come in here," I said, in a commanding tone. He stood aside my desk. As he did, I eyed the cup of soda sitting on the corner. When he was not looking, I pushed the cup off the side of the desk, splashing droplets of cola onto my lower legs, red shoes, and floor tiles. Being the obedient boy he was, he immediately looked for something to remedy the mess. There was a box of tissues on my desk. "Will, this is the only thing I have to clean this up. Will you help me?" I asked him. "I'm such a klutz." Once he saw the box of tissues, he got down on his knees. I handed him the first tissue which of course, was immediately saturated. He had started with the floors, and I proceeded to feed him one tissue after another, holding each with two fingers highlighted by my red acrylic fingernails. I started to imagine him completely nude, recollecting that Addicted appreciated CFNM fantasies. "Oh, it looks like it spilled on my shoes and stockings." I said as I unbuckled a small strap to remove my shoes. I had painted my toenails with a similar crimson red nail polish and wiggled my toes in front of his face. I took one of the tissues and started to wipe the droplets of cola off my stockinged legs as he completed his task on the floor. It made that distinctive swish of a nylon stocking that can drive certain men wild with desire. I then lifted my leg, putting the sole of my nylon covered foot within inches of his face. "Are there any droplets on my foot?" I asked him. "I see several, do you want me to dab them with my tissue?" Will inquired. I knew he would much rather lick them off, but he would not get that chance. He finished with my left foot, and I lifted my right foot in front of his face, even closer this time. I could see him follow my ankle to my calf up to my thigh with his eyes. My dress had ridden up, so once I saw he had full appreciation of the view I had given him, I rearranged my dress to a more modest repose. I couldn't resist one more tease. I leaned over and whispered in his ear with a breathy voice, "I know if I had done this at home, my boyfriend would tell me I needed to be punished for my mistake." It was apparently too much for Will to fathom, as he lowered his head to the floor and I heard a deep sigh. "I have to get back to my work," Will said, almost apologetically. He didn't wait for an answer, but arose, left my office, and shut door behind him. I saw him once again make his way towards the men's room. As I sat back in my chair, I realized how much I relished teasing this man, but thought further temptation may be crossing the line. I took off the ring and put it in its box. I thought to myself, Addicted, your powers are amazing. The ring was left on my dresser after that, as I thought about the situation with Will. A month later, I was to attend a business conclave, a retreat of sorts to brainstorm new ideas. I was looking forward to this meeting. It was to take place at downtown hotel. This was an opportunity to network with some of the leaders in the business. I awoke, showered, and walked out into the bedroom. I put the ring on my finger and positioned the C on the ring face. I stared at it, feeling some vague premonition that this was going to be an interesting day, somehow. It did not take long. I started to get dressed, opening my lingerie drawer to find suitable panties and a bra. As I fumbled through the drawer, in the back was my pair of crotchless panties. The last time I wore them was during an e-mail challenge from Addicted. I had told him I had never masturbated at work. In response, he recorded an audio story, luring me to undertake the naughty deed in my office after listening to his audio. I had worn the crotchless panties that day, anticipating that I might actually do what he had commanded me to do, masturbate to orgasm at work. Was I feeling the effects of the ring? I put the panties on, just a large enough opening to allow access to my pussy, and found the matching demi-bra. I completed my outfit with the business suit, gray in color, and matching heels. The skirt buttoned up the front, so I left the lowest button undone. No nylons today. My legs were nicely tanned, and I had shaved them last night. I had also tidied up my pussy, keeping it strictly hairless, smooth to the touch. We gathered in a large conference room with a long executive table. At one end, there was a podium, projector, and screen. There were name cards of the 40 participants, mine having been placed at the opposite end of the table. I looked at the program. The third speaker was Ryan. I had met him previously, and noted he would speak later today. When I had seen him the last time, he reminded me of Michael Vegas, the porn star. He had sandy hair, nicely styled, slightly curly, a solid jaw, and a body that could not be more perfect. Ryan arrived at 11, and walked into the room. As he passed behind me, I felt his hand touch my right shoulder as he bent down and whispered in my ear, "It's good to see you again, Chloe." That stimulated a tingling twinge of excitement between my legs. He had not changed even slightly since I had last seen him, and immediately brought to mind those porn scenes of Michael Vegas voraciously performing oral sex on the screen. He began his talk, standing at the podium. As I stared at him, I thought why can't I just climb under the podium, pull out his cock and lick it while he gives his presentation? No one would know. I could feel myself getting damp below. I recalled the crotchless panties that I had put on this morning. Reaching down underneath the table cloth, I unbuttoned one of the buttons in the front of my dress, allowing access to my pussy. Chloe, don't do it. You're meeting with other professionals. What if you brought on an orgasm? You can't hide an orgasm, you know that. Despite the voice in my head, I reached down between my legs, feeling the opening in my panties, and took two fingers to spread apart my pussy lips, being careful not to touch my clitoris. Oh, Ryan, why don't you just crawl under this table? I imagined him on all fours, stalking his prey like a feral cat, prowling the length of the table until he reached the opposite end, and take that tongue of yours to my pussy. I imagined, there he was, while giving his presentation, his face in my pussy, on all fours, underneath the table, the words muffled as he devoured my cunt with that Vegas-like abandon. What could I do to calm myself down? In front of me was a glass with ice water. The room was now darkened for the presentation. As I reached into the cup, the ring was on my finger, the engraved C staring back at me. Chloe, what is wrong with you? I reached in my water glass with my hand, took one of the smaller cubes, reached under the table, and started to rub the cold smooth ice cube between my lips. This must to be the antidote to direct my attention to the matter at hand. As Ryan spoke, he would frequently divert his eyes directly at me as if knew I was playing with myself, knowing the arousal he was causing in me. I had my head supported on my left hand, staring amorously at that man, my right hand positioned in my lap, twiddling with my clit using the ice cube. The ice was not enough to subdue my ardor. It had melted and I could feel the cold water trickle between the cheeks of my buttocks. More melted ice might reveal a puddle of dampness when I stood up. I'm sure I can control it, I reassured myself, that is, if it does happen. I reached down with my two fingers and first inserted them into my pussy, with a very subtle in and out motion, remaining outwardly still, imagining his cock doing likewise. The wetness was overwhelming. I moved my fingers to my clitoris. The room was very dark. With me solo at the end of the table, a tablecloth overlying my lap, I rationalized to myself. No one will know, as long as I do not make a sound, this room is so dark. I took my index finger and started to make small circles around my clitoris, avoiding its most sensitive spot. Then occasionally, my finger would graze across that forbidden nubbin of ecstasy. Each time I touched it, my deep breathing was interrupted with a small gasp. It felt so good, as I imagined Ryan fucking me. Increasingly, I concentrated my finger on my clit. Surreptitiously, I avoided any vigorous moves but nonetheless, it happened. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, distorting my visage if anyone was looking. An orgasm. A big orgasm. A really big orgasm. I tensed all my muscles, squeezing my whole body, silently dissipating the energy from the eruption of pleasure. I had not noticed the talk was over and the lights had come on. My eyes were tightly closed, my body contorted as I remained cognizant that undue motion could draw attention to my predicament. It lasted 15, 20, maybe 30 seconds, then I felt the enormous relief as my orgasm was held in control, the sexual tension draining from my body as if an overflowing dam had unexpectedly broken. I am sure Ryan knew. As he looked at me, my eyes now halfway closed, I was sitting somewhat slumped in my seat. The shutters of my body had likely been obvious to him. He asked, "Did you have a question, Chloe?" I looked directly in his eyes, matching his gaze with my sultry, spent habitus. I saw him smile briefly; he had obviously had a similar effect on other women in his life. He knew, I know he knew, but I didn't care. I had done it; I had to tell Addicted I had masturbated at work, no, at a meeting, in public. I know he will appreciate that. The ring was now a friend, but to be used in only the most provocative occasions. One of these was soon to follow. My boyfriend was going to be away for the week on business. I would be left alone, relying solely on Skype and my vibrator to keep me company. He was to return on Friday, and while typically one might expect him to be tired, the opposite is true. He is a sexual animal after travel and absence. His birthday was upcoming, and I had to concoct something very special. On Tuesday night, I still had not thought of an appropriate celebration when he returned in a few days. We had talked on the phone, and I clearly heard from the conversation he was expecting raw, crass sex the night he returned. I wanted it to be a spectacular celebration, an event he never anticipated. I thought about the ring, maybe it would help me conjure up an event for him. I looked for it on my dresser, but it wasn't where I had left it. I always put my jewelry in my jewelry box, and I searched through the items several times, but it was gone. In the laundry bag were the clothes I had worn for the last several days. I searched through each pocket to see if I had inadvertently taken it off. OMG, I hope I didn't lose it, I can't see where I might have. But then I remembered. I was washing my hands after they were contaminated with toner dust. I had taken of the ring, wiped it off, and put it in my purse. I ran out of the kitchen, opened my purse, searched through the bottom with my hand and found the item. This ring has a strange influence on me, I thought. I was a believer in its powers. It seemed to eradicate that last semblance of sexual inhibition. I put the ring on and kept it on all night as I slept, awaiting the image of a fantasy like no other. The next morning, when I went to work, an idea struck like an electric shock to my brain, a spark to my pleasure center. I had admitted to Addicted my desire to be bound with Shabari rope, an ancient oriental practice. I should have time to arrange what I needed before Friday evening. I went on the internet, searching for a practitioner of the art. I made a few phone calls, obtained a reference or two, and talked to an Oriental gentleman, Mr. Ling, over the phone. Later that same day, I met with him to make final arrangements. He told me I had nothing to worry about, as the practice had been ongoing for centuries. He showed me pictures of the women he had bound. I was taken aback by the beauty of the women in their confining ropes. My desire for this was intense as I left. I arrived home slightly early from work on Friday, around 3 p.m. My boyfriend's flight should have already taken off. I had to check on his flight to make sure that it had departed on time. It did. In the meantime, I took a leisurely bath with scented bubbles, making sure my pubic region was smooth as a baby's bottom. I cleansed myself especially well, and then applied a thick layer of a red acrylic polish to my toes and fingers. I used a dark eye shadow, and applied black mascara to highlight my eyes. At 4:15, I checked the computer and the flight had left as intended. As I had not heard from him that he was delayed, I was able to calculate his arrival time quite precisely. I called Mr. Ling and told him the project was a go. Chloe's Pen Pal He lived close by and arrived soon thereafter. He had brought with him multiple lengths of red silk rope. I greeted him at the door, and he asked me, "You wready, Ms. Chloe?" "Oh yes, Mr. Ling, this is something I have always wanted to try." Mr. Ling was an elderly man, I would guess in his 70s, somewhat stooped over. He wore more of a traditional Japanese kimono and sandals, the gown tied at the waist with a white cloth belt. It was if he was preparing for an ancient rite, a ceremony of the beauty of a woman. When I first met him, I knew he would be perfect to introduce me to this ancient art. I handed him the 10 $20 bills we had agreed on. "Onwy cash" is what he had told me in his oriental accent when I left him. I started to undress, and had no hesitation to exposing myself to Mr. Ling. I considered his status similar to a physician, and I had no embarrassment of my nudity in his presence. The only jewelry I wore was the ring engraved with a C. Mr. Ling dimmed the lights in the room. He told me it would take about an hour to complete his handiwork. He wanted me to stand, as he started the intricate design of the red rope over my torso. He pulled each rope tight, as this was a form of bondage, but not too tight that I couldn't move or was uncomfortable. Bisecting my torso was a series of elaborate knots. He created a pattern of intersecting diamond shapes over my back and chest. This was highlighted by a loop of rope tied around the circumference of each breast. The constricting rope only accentuated my firm breasts, extending them with an appealing plumpness, making them look at least a cup size bigger. He used a thinner rope and made a tight coil spiral around my neck, giving my neck an elongated appearance reminiscent of a model painted by Modigliani. He carefully tied the end of the neck confining string to the knotted rope on my chest securely. He then extended his design below my waist. He carefully ran rope between my pussy lips, and buttocks, carefully separating my cheeks as he laid the rope between and secured it to the already anchored rope around my waist. Ropes were tight underneath my buttocks, raising them and giving them an especially inviting appearance, I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror. It accentuated the physical feature I always thought was my most alluring. He took out a small bottle of cream, and applied it to each of my nipples. Immediately, they stiffened and a nipple protruded. He reassured me, "this herbal cream like Viagra for the nipples, keep them hard." My areola immediately contracted to a hard protruding brown nubbin that initially ached followed by numbness. He made a small circle around each nipple with his string, and gently tied a knot. He used the same string and tied it around the other nipple, connecting the two from which he hung a medallion with a Japanese letter. "That identify my work" he said. I recollected the same item in the bound women in the pictures he showed me a few days ago. It took him about 45 minutes, and then he laid me on the bed. "I now tie hands and feet." He said in his broken English, the culmination of the art of his bondage ropes. I didn't answer him, I just extended my arms, and spread my legs apart, indicating to him the final position I wanted to be left, awaiting my lover. Giving myself to him entirely. Showing him my obedience to his desires. Mr. Ling started at my knees, coiled the rope tightly over my calves, and then secured the rope to the bedframe. He repeated this on the other leg with a perfect symmetry.He took my two arms together, again coiling the rope tightly starting at my wrist and ending at my elbows. "I leave now, you be awight?" he said, after he examined his artwork, clearly proud of his creation. "There is a camera on my bed stand, please take pictures of what you have created for me." I instructed him. He took several pictures, and then showed them to me and I nodded. He had captured me perfectly in those images. He then added, "I call at 8 o'clock, I know you okay." I appreciated his concern for my safety. "You just pick up phone then hang up. Ling know you safe." I gave him a smile, and I shook my head yes and then mouthed the words "Oh thank you, Ling" as if what he had done, the art he had performed, prohibited me from speaking in anything other than whispered tones. I could still wiggle, but no matter how I turned, the restriction of the rope was felt on some part of the body. I looked down at his work, and it truly was beautiful. Precisely at 7 p.m., I heard the key open the lock on the front door. He had arrived, and my breathing became more of a pant. Mr. Ling had arranged me on the bed, it was a full moon, and the soft bluish light streamed from the sky light in our bedroom, bathing me in its luminescence to create a perfect erotic scene. I didn't say a word. I could hear Greg looking for me in the kitchen, den, and living room, calling my name. "Hey Chloe, I'm home and I want you." The last placed he looked was in the bedroom, probably not suspecting me to be there as the lights had been turned off. As he entered, I looked at him directly. He stopped, did not say a word but just gazed at what was before him. "Happy birthday," I said and struggled against my binds. It took him a several minutes to fully comprehend what I had given him for his birthday. I could see in his face a change from the initial shock of the bondage scene to contemplation of the possibilities. He walked slowly over to the side of the bed. He removed his shirt, pants, shoes and socks and stood in a pair of leather bikinis and t-shirt, as he had obviously planned for lovemaking activities. His thick manhood was clearly outlined by the supple leather, looking very inviting. The seductive aroma of the warmed leather was emanating from his bikini shorts, giving an earthy ether to inhale. A small zipper in the front of the bikinis was straining, begging me to release the package. The T-shirt was tight, accentuating his torso and firm muscles. There was a subtle shine to the leather, glistening in the ambient light. "You are in quite a predicament, aren't you, Chloe?" he said in a sarcastic tone of voice, toying with me as he had frequently done in the past. "How are you ever going to get out of those ropes if I don't help you?" I did not answer him, but I gave him a forlorn appearance, as if he was my only solution and I would be willing to do whatever he wanted. In reality, I was already craving for any design he had on my body. He started by straddling me, looking at the string that joined my two nipples, with the medallion of Mr. Ling still attached. He pretended to examine this emblem closely, but it was clear his intent was to tug firmly on my nipples, which had remained constricted but now much more sensitive. As the strings tensed, my nipples were pulled closer to his view. His eyes veered from the medallion to my breasts. "Are these ready for some attention?" he asked. "They look so firm, so ripe, so scrumptious." As he untied the strings, the hyperesthesia of my nipples was almost intolerable, as if they were being manipulated with tiny electric shocks imbedded in his fingertips. Once unbound from the constricting strings, his mouth reached for the prize, as he bathed each tit with his warm, moist tongue. The sensation was intensified by that herbal cream Mr. Ling had applied. I made a fleeting mental note that I had to return to his shop and purchase this magical cream. Greg dismounted me, and started to untie my legs from the bedframe. With his guiding firm hands, he repositioned me on my knees at the edge of the bed, and then bent me over so I was on all fours. As my arms had still remained tied, I had to hold up my chest with my elbows, causing my bottom to protrude over the edge of the bed. He pushed on my knees to widen the distance between them to the limits of my comfort. I felt him untie the thick rope that had been carefully placed by Mr. Ling between the most private area of my pussy lips and buttocks crack. That rope must be saturated with my sex was my only thought. Greg then came to face me, and knelt in front of me. "Unzip my package," he commanded . With some difficulty, I was able to get my teeth on the small zipper tag, and gradually lower it, allowing his swollen, erect penis to be set free from its leather confinement. He had the rope that emanated my female aroma, and he put it to his face, taking a deep breath. I watched his turgid penis engorge from the aphrodisiac. I held his cock between my palms, my fingers wrapped around it, accentuated with my red nailbeds on his shaft, with my arms still tied together with the ropes. I took it in my mouth, and gently licked it as I hummed the tune of Happy Birthday. He smiled at this once-a-year variation of something I had done many times before. Tonight, I wanted to complete the act, swallow his fiery liquid and clean his rod thoroughly with my tongue. I wanted him to relish his birthday gift. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the phone rang, and I remembered what Ling had promised. "Just pick up the phone and hang up." I had changed my tone of voice, as the phone would go to the answering machine after 4 rings, and Mr. Ling would appear soon thereafter. Greg looked as me quizzically, I repeated it and nearly screamed "Do it now!!" I watched as he went to the phone and he looked at me after picking it up, I nodded to make sure he put it back in the cradle. I thought he was returning so I could complete his gift of my warm, wet mouth on his erect penis. I could no longer see when he was planning. Conscious of the fact I was very exposed, I was totally helpless to defend myself against whatever he was intending to do. But I felt so aroused in those confining red ropes. By this time, every part of my body was aching to receive his attention. What will I feel next? His finger, his tongue, his cock? Every minute without erotic stimulation felt like an hour. If I was just untied, I could take what I wanted. Being restrained left me entirely to his agenda; I was unable to act on my passions. Then, I felt it. It was a strange sensation, something I had never felt before. It was fleeting, but unmistakably it happened. We have never even talked about it. First, I felt his warm breath on my butt cheeks. He introduced himself by blowing a stream of warm air at my anal dimple. Ohhhh, that feels good. His tongue, the very tip of his tongue, suddenly touched my tunnel. Not my pussy, but that tight tunnel, the forbidden passageway. And then it happened again, longer, more probing. What a sensation it gave. What is Greg doing? I knew, and I wanted it to continue. Don't stop, please don't stop. "Oh god, Greg, do it," I encouraged him. I did not want him to feel any inhibition to what he was doing to me. He paused, then resumed with even more attentiveness. His tongue playing with my dimple and that strangely ecstatic feeling it engendered. It gave me a rush through my whole body as I relaxed to receive his probing. My knees weakened. I strained against every rope over my entire body . There was an ecstasy, a dirty, naughty, corrupted ecstasy, unleashed by the most forbidden of sexual acts. I was so close to an orgasm, but I sensed he knew that as his lingual probing slowed and stopped. He then stood behind me, grabbing the ropes on my flanks and inserted the tip of his rigid cock in my pussy. The firm head sat in the passageway, not moving for minutes. Without warning, it glided in effortlessly, my pussy nectar bathing his cock in a slippery liquid. As he pumped, using the ropes for additional leverage, the force and depth of his penetration reached new extremes. There was no doubt the ropes draped over my body had invigorated his sexual prowess tonight. Push that cock in me. Fuck me hard. He moaned as the entered and reentered me, with each stroke entirely vacating my pussy, and returning to bury himself into me. The strokes were timed precisely, as if a metronome was on the bedstand, not fast, but each stroke deliberate. Maybe 30, or 50, I stopped counting. The result was a simultaneous orgasm. His, mine, together, indescribable rapture, ecstasy like never before achieved. I collapsed and he fell on top of me. We laid there for the rest of the evening, not speaking, as he slowly but deliberately untied the encasement of ropes over my body. He finally spoke to me in his most seductive voice, the voice that entices me to drop my panties whenever I hear it. "Chloe, you never fail to surprise me, but tonight was a climactic experience like no other." He gave me a deep, tongue manipulating kiss. "I have to know how you carried this out. You took me to the top. A birthday present which was, how do they say- priceless" "I'm not telling. It's a secret between me and ...." I didn't complete the thought, but Greg didn't notice. At that moment, I thought about the e-mails with Addicted, and how he had brought out my most hidden desires and encouraged me to follow my instincts, sexually that is. It was him. The ring only signified the ethereal effect of him on me. After that night, I wore the ring on rare occasion. One day, I wore it to work. I was sitting at my desk and looked at it, remembering the pen pal who created the persona of C. I sat down by my computer, went to my e-mail account and started: _____________________________ Hey, Addicted, Guess what I did for my boyfriend's birthday........... I finished by attaching a picture, a picture of me tied in those red shabari ropes, cropped to show just my body, just the artistry of the ancient practice of Mr. Ling. I paused for a minute or two, questioning the propriety of the email. Then, I looked at the ring and positioned the mouse to the send icon, and clicked. "Your message has been sent" appeared on the computer screen.