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The Ottoman

By: johnnieblue44



Catherine Carroll rolled over on the plush mattress and looked out of her window over the Swinomish Channel in Western Washington state.

Her distended and generous pussy lips still throbbed and dripped liberally from the vigorous masturbation session she had just completed. She ran her palm over her mons leisurely, massaging the moisture from the saturated, soft curls of her pubic hair framing her recently sated cunt into her skin. 

"A tonic for her soul and libido, an elixir, if you will," she thought to herself. "Nothing is better for the complexion than a fresh coating of cum."

Except perhaps for a man's cum, she mused, smiling at the thought of her fantasy lover, a stranger, fucking her intensely on the large ottoman that served as the centerpiece of this room in the quaint bed and breakfast, and then showering her with his semen. 

But, for now, at least, her trusty rabbit vibrator and knowing fingers sufficed more than satisfactorily this early Spring weekday afternoon.

This was just what the doctor ordered. Not that she had consulted with a doctor, per se, but if she had, well, a prescription for some 'alone time' would have been a piece of medical genius.

Yes, we all need to get away occasionally, Catherine rationalized, trying to clear her mind of some of the greater issues of her domestic life. True, she had it better than most wives, much better, she had to admit. 

Her husband of well over two decades was still virile and attentive, but as often happens over the course of a long marriage, no matter how solid the bond, the frequency and intensity of their sex life had abated significantly in recent years.

Catherine had taken the ferry over from Victoria in British Columbia to Anacortes on the American side , and then made the short trek down to this lovely little village, La Conner, that she had heard so much about. 

She had checked herself in to this bed and breakfast for a two-night stay, content to pamper herself with some rest and relaxation, a little shopping in the small town's boutiques, and ample samplings of the fine chardonnays that this region was known for.

Catherine rinsed away her musings with a long hot soak in the in-room Jacuzzi, and then a warm, cleansing shower. She examined herself in the mirror after slipping on a sheer, white thong that barely covered the thick folds of her labia. She also put on a gold belly chain that wrapped around her waist.

As she caressed her lithe, mature body, she glanced at that ottoman again. Her eyes were continually drawn to it, not just in admiration of the lush leather finishes. Catherine couldn't help but think how many guests ended up using the furniture accessory item as a play toy for their carnal activities.

"It's absolutely made for sex," she said to herself, her hands casually rubbing her breasts. "Yes, it's beautifully, classically crafted, but come on, what can't you help but think of when you see it? Why else is it in the room?"

Catherine found that her mind wandered more and more to all things sexual recently, sensuously rubbing the vanilla body lotion over her chest, pinching and twisting the nipples as she massaged the cream into her pores. 

Her perpetually sensitive nipples had been on full alert since her visit to the day spa earlier that afternoon, which, of course, eventually resulted in her solo pleasure session.

Catherine had recently turned fifty, a milestone for any woman. Yet, she smiled at the reflection staring back at her. She liked what she saw, and she knew that most men did as well. She could turn the heads of men half her age, as indicated by the comments of one of the twenty-something crew on the ferry a few hours ago.

As she walked to the terminal, the young man tipped his hat as he opened Catherine's car door for her. The hem on her dress had risen well above mid-thigh as she eased into the driver seat, a sight which did not go unnoticed by the valet.

"We hate to see you go, ma'am, but it's been my great pleasure to watch you leave," he smiled before giving her a big goodbye grin. 

That parting acclamation was enough to keep Catherine's pussy moist for hours, and the self-release that she had already provided to herself earlier was only a brief respite from the incessant churning in her loins. She was interminably horny today, even by her own standards. She smiled at the realization that she desperately craved a good, strong.........

".....chardonnay. Yes, that's what I need," Catherine mumbled to her image. "A buzz to match the one in my pussy. God, who would have ever thought that my hormones would be running so rampant at fifty?"

All in all, Catherine was a pretty amazing package for a fifty-year-old. She was on the tall side, 5'7" in bare feet, and close to six feet tall when adorned in the heels that she loved to wear. 

She weighed 140 lbs, but was trying hard to get back to 130 lbs... much better for the beach, she giggled. A natural brunette, but age now required that she use hair color to maintain it. Currently her hair was shorter than she was accustomed to keeping it... a bob with a 'just been fucked' look was how she termed it, for lack of a better description.

Her breasts were full, and sagged only slightly, just enough to add to the allure of her womanly body. Her stomach was still mostly flat, just the hint of a slight curve between her belly button and pussy. 

Her bush was immaculately trimmed in a neat inverted triangle, with just a few wisps of gray in her sparse pubic hair. Catherine liked this, paradoxically. If it was on my head, she admitted, I'd be tripping over myself to dye it brown. But she thought the grudging concession to age looked erotically sexy above her crotch. She was right.

She turned sideways to admire the shape of her buttocks, still high and firm, a rear end that could be the envy of women fifteen to twenty years her junior. And an obvious source of enjoyment for men aged eighteen to eighty.

But it was Catherine's legs that were her best feature, and she knew it. They were long, lean, and thinly muscled, testimony to the athlete that she once was, and still fancied herself to be. Her calves were toned from decades of regular running and aerobics, which also served to keep her thighs taut and slim. 

She still had that telltale little "gap" between her legs, "Inner Thigh Clearance", she called it, which was uncommon for a woman of almost any age, never mind one on the north side of the half-century mark. Legend had it that such a "crack" was attributable to good body structure and a fit lower torso. Either that, or a woman had sex a lot.

Catherine chalked it up to good bone structure and fitness, for sure, smiling to herself as she slipped on a flowered sundress over her shoulders. The dress was her first indulgence on her trip thus far. She bought it in one of those little boutiques shortly after arriving in town. She might be venturing out to dinner by herself later on, but dammit, she was going to look and feel mah-vah-lous while doing so, she told herself, smoothing the hem. 

She would go braless tonight, also, that's what solo road trips were for, to do things you wouldn't necessarily do at home. Her nipples expressed their excitement at their unexpected freedom by pointing proudly against the thin cotton of the dress. 

Catherine threw a baby blue silk shawl over her bare shoulders. She then headed down to the lobby after slipping on her favorite Jimmy Choo snake-print platform thong sandals with three-inch cork wedge heels for the complimentary wine and cheese 'happy hour' offering by the host and hostess of the inn. 

She was well into her second glass of an especially musky vintage from Woodinville when he walked into the lobby. From her spot on the patio, Catherine peered in through the half-closed Venetian blinds, trying to sneak a peek like a teenager at a school dance.

"Mmmm, crisp white shirt," Catherine said softly while running her finger over the wine glass rim. "I do so love a handsome man in a crisp white shirt and tie." She instinctively squeezed her legs together, conscious that the incessant moistness between them just became even pronounced.

She turned away when he finished the check-in process, aware that he had spotted her. She pretended to find something that captured her visual attention in the far away horizon of the Cascades mountains, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him approach, a travel bag tossed over his shoulder.

He appeared to be her age, maybe a few years older, early fifties, tops. He had close cropped salt and pepper hair and his green eyes twinkled as he examined her sitting in her cedar Adirondack chair. Now feeling the effects of the wine, Catherine returned his gaze and examined him in return.

She guessed he was maybe just shy of six feet tall, a bit stocky, no, muscular, the torso of a former athlete perhaps. Cute in a ruggedly preppy way, like an adolescent in accelerated development, with the mischievous smile of a schoolboy cutting class.

"Ah, there you are," he said, plopping his bag down on the deck, addressing Catherine like a long-lost crony. He eyeballed the glass in her manicured hands. He studied for a second how her finger circled lazily over the rim. "Started without me, I see. Good for you."

Catherine played along, eager to have a companion in the almost empty inn. And a good-looking one at that. What was it that the doctor ordered...?

"Well, you're late. Serves you right for missing the beginning of happy hour." She waved her hand around the solitary porch. "I chased off everyone else so that there'd still be some wine left over for stragglers like you."

"How kind of you," the new arrival replied graciously. He took the glass from her palm with such a casual ease that Catherine barely knew it was no longer in her hand until it wasn't. "So the least I can do is buy you the next round and join you." He walked back inside the lobby and emerged with two full goblets. He returned her glass and clinked it with his own.

"Cheers," he said, holding up his glass. "John."

Catherine held up her own glass and raised it to her lips. "Cheers to you as well, kind sir. Catherine."

He slipped in to the chair directly across from Catherine and his eyes dipped to her legs, now exposed well above the knee. Catherine noticed his gaze and parted her legs almost imperceptibly. She liked being admired, and by a handsome admirer at that.

"You stole my room, Catherine," he said, looking at her with a mock austere glare.

For a second, Catherine became defensive, not knowing the intent of his accusation. "What? What do you.....I did not. I mean...well, what do you mean?" 

John broke into a huge grin and took a sip of his wine in celebration. "Had ya going there for a minute, didn't I? What I meant was, I asked for the room that you're in when I checked in, and the woman told me that it was already occupied. By you. I stayed in that room last time I was here, and took a liking to it."

Catherine's relief was palpable. "Oh, you're a regular, are you? Why didn't you say so? No wonder you said 'Cheers'. You're like Normie from that old sitcom here, I assume. Where everybody knows your name, isn't that how the song went?"

He broke into song, and Catherine chimed in. They ended in tandem, "You wanna go where everybody knows your name........."

They clinked glasses again. "We make quite a duet," Catherine said.

John shook his head. "No, we sucked, actually. Good thing you chased away the crowd earlier or they would have booed us off the patio after that rendition."

Catherine rocked her head back in delight. "All those singing lessons that mom and dad bought for me, they'd be so distraught."

John raised a finger to his lips. "Sssh. I won't tell them. After all, what happens in La Conner, stays in La Conner. Isn't that how the commercial goes? or do I have my cities mixed up?"

"Just a bit," Catherine admonished.

John caught Catherine by surprise with his next comment. "Well, one thing this joint has that Vegas couldn't hope to match is the biggest ottoman on the planet. And it happens to be in YOUR room now, which should be MY room." John stuck out his lower lip and feigned a pout. "I'm jealous. You could land a 747 on that thing."

Again, Catherine found herself laughing at his words. She had known this man for what, three minutes, and their banter was that of long-lost familiar friends, as comfortable as...well, as comfortable as an old ottoman. And when an attractive man could make Catherine laugh, well, inevitably it resulted in Catherine's nipples getting harder and her curious cunt seeping aromatic nectars. 

Catherine was acutely aware of both the flush on her face and the familiar throb in her oyster.

"So, Catherine," John said, picking up his bag and placing his wine glass on the porch ledge. "if you'll give me a few minutes to change into 'something more comfortable', I promise to treat you to the best salmon you've ever tasted. There's a restaurant down Maple Avenue called Kerstin's that has a deck that overlooks the channel. Great place to get drunk on wine and great conversation. And of course, afterwards we can indulge in sinful.....well, indulgences."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at this remark, although it was more for show. She had known this man for perhaps five minutes, yet had already begun to imagine how John's cock would taste in her mouth. The salmon would just be a palate cleanser. "Indulgences?" she asked.

John gave her a palms-up shrug. "Yeah, desserts. What did you think I meant?"

Catherine polished off her own glass, and sat watching the gulls circle the channel, diving for their own dinner. The wine had gone straight to her head. It had been awhile since she had a buzz on this early in the day, and the alcohol was lowering her inhibitions by the minute. 

She rubbed her thighs together as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. Her labia were swollen with arousal to the point where they threatened to swallow the thin triangular wedge of her thong up into her slit. The satin was now pushed up into her gash and Catherine could feel the thin material begin to puddle.

"God, I'm going to stick to the seat," she thought, "That is, if I don't starve first," realizing she needed something in her stomach as much as she needed a hard cock in her cunt. First things first, though, she mused. 

After all, when a strange man asks a woman to dinner, he does so only as a thinly veiled implication for other activities later in the evening. So wasn't it convenient that Catherine was all dressed up and had no place to go?

John was back before Catherine even was aware that he was now standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a golf sweater. The words came out of her mouth before she even could bite her tongue, the wine talking.

"Wow, you have great legs," she said, her voice unwittingly husky. John's legs were muscled but tapered, a product of many years of professional baseball in his younger years and good genes. Catherine couldn't help but to let her gaze linger as his third leg, too. 

"Must be a lefty," she said to herself, admiring the indentation of a mushroom-shaped cock head hanging down from the left side of his crotch. "He packs light, I see. There can't be any underwear covering that appendage...."

John chuckled. "Now that's the pot calling the kettle black, or whatever that stupid saying is. YOU are the one with fabulous legs, you room-stealer, you." John did a pirouette, whirling on one foot like a ballet dancer. yet not quite as gracefully. 

"But if you insist on ogling my legs, who am I to argue? A below-the-waist mutual admiration society." The double-entendre was not lost on Catherine. 

John went on, "Now it won't make me feel so guilty when I ogle yours. Shall we?" He held out his arm in a crooked position, and Catherine placed her own arm in his, and they began the walk down the steps and toward the main street.

One of the local tourist attractions in La Conner is the fact that many of the restaurants have stone grills right on the sidewalks outside of their doors so that pedestrians can sample the wares of fresh seafood. The couple stopped at several of these locations, and Catherine made little appreciative groaning noises with each savory morsel she was fed by the generous restaurateurs. 

Her pseudo-orgasmic utterances only served to further tantalize John, as he wondered if he would hear such moans of pleasure induced by non-culinary sensors after their meal. He watched in delight as she walked ahead of him to go from one restaurant to the next, sampling the delicacies of each.

Once seated in Kerstin's, on a corner table with a wonderful view of the nearby Rainbow Bridge, a suspension bridge that crossed the channel to Fidalgo Island, John ordered a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle. They enjoyed the ambiance and each other's company. 

Neither asked any probing personal questions over dinner, and that was the way they both preferred it. This was a moment in time that neither had planned, and there was no reason to let the outside world interfere with their chemistry and the only night they would likely share. As Catherine savored the last of the wine, it dawned on her that she didn't even know John's last name. Nor did he ask hers. 

Yes, that was just fine with her.

As the busboy cleaned their table, John looked at Catherine with a cat-ate-the-canary grin.

"What's so funny?" Catherine demanded, playfully slapping his arm, which gave her an excuse to touch him. Catherine liked to touch.

"Do you know every time one of the cooks out on the street gave you a treat, their eyes followed you down the block?" Catherine felt her face flush again from the compliment. She secretly loved to be watched by men, and often found great delight in surreptitiously providing men with the occasional flash of skin.

John continued. "But besides the obvious reason, which of course is your beauty, do you know what they were looking at?"

Catherine responded, "Not to sound vain, but I have a pretty good idea."

John nodded. "I see. Well, do you have any idea that as you were walking west, into the setting sun, that your dress is virtually transparent?"

Whatever blood that wasn't already swelling Catherine's labia rushed to her face. No, she hadn't even considered that. But neither did it bother her.

John leaned closer. "Why do you think I was walking behind you? You could see everything." John paused, letting his words pour slowly from his lips.

"Your entire silhouette. The curve of your body. The rise of your breasts. That tiny thong that looks like it is painted onto your butt and wedged up your crack....."

Catherine's own breathing was becoming more shallow now. John's narrative was as exciting as the realization that she was unwittingly exhibiting her torso in such an innocent yet blatant display.

John tried to lighten the sexual tension that was bubbling beneath the surface like a smoldering volcano in the distant mountain ranges. 

"I offer this information strictly as a gentleman, for informational purposes only, you understand. Any indication of my own interest or arousal is purely circumstantial. Any jury would have no choice but to acquit me of any charges, having been lured into the temptations of voyeurism. It's a crime of passion, sure, but a victimless crime."

The levity worked its magic. Catherine rocked her head back in laughter. "So, I'm dining with a hardened criminal now, am I? Or would you plead that you were coerced?"

"Well, criminal, no. But hardened? Yep, I was guilty like any other man. Every single one of them was no doubt wanting they could......." His words trailed off. He looked into Catherine's bewitching brown-green eyes. He loved brown-green eyes, so seductive.

She leaned closer across the table. "Wanted to...what, John? What were those men...wanting....?" She wanted him to say it. She wanted to hear it.


The Ottoman



Getting crazy one night while on a date night, my husband took me to a local X-rated movie theater and we would both be lying, if we said we weren't VERY turned on by the feature film. 

It was my first exposure to mild BSDM. I had heard stories and read things in the past about it- blushing all the while, but I never, ever, thought I could be interested in it. I was certain that the painful treatment of the women in the movie couldn't possibly be erotic and exciting. 

Nevertheless, this film intrigued us both, because it was mild bondage- soft, sensual. Not at all what I... we expected. 

I couldn't sit still. My nipples were hard as erasers and I was dripping wet- imagining it was me, tied naked to that coffee table- unable to resist the oral and manual stimulation the woman on the screen was receiving. My heart was beating so hard. I wanted to try this so badly I could taste it. 

My husband knew me too well and squeezed my hand gently to reassure me, that he was as excited about this as I was. We didn't know how to get started, but I knew we were going to try and soon.

Our townhouse was rather small and the furniture sparse and unassuming. We definitely didn't have such a spectacular table as was used in the movie. But with a twinkle in his eyes and a sly smile, my husband stopped at a small second-hand furniture store on our way home- to "take a look around".

I was visibly shaking as we entered the store, holding hands- unable to speak. 

We walked around checking out the items on display, but the selection quickly discouraged us. Rounding the end of an aisle, I spotted a large ottoman and sat down on it to rest and think. 

We had been looking for a table, but my husband, grinning ear to ear, said he had an idea- well half of one. 

This thing was huge- low, dark green Naugahyde, and almost the size of half a bed. What was amazing were the feet- large, sculpted blocks of dark wood with large bronze colored rings that looked like door knockers on each one. This thing had "possibilities". 

We paid for it and wrestled to get it part way into our car, bungeeing the trunk lid, and we were on our way home with our treasure. 

We giggled like children and talked about what we could do to improve upon it for our purposes, and still make it look harmless to anyone (like my mother) who might drop in unexpectedly. The rings were a perfect place for some kind of "removable" restraint system to attach and detach quickly. 

Still laughing and blushing, we searched online for some items to do the trick. We found some softly padded faux shackles. They had an amazing latching system that was very easy to close around an ankle or wrist. It took a special key (included) to reopen them. They also had steel rings attached to each for tying or chaining them together. We added a few different lengths of chains, which had dog leash type clips on both ends. 

We also located a pair of fur covered handcuffs and leather wrist cuffs. 

We finished up with a blindfold, some interesting vibrating toys, sexy & very sheer lingerie, and a faux whip. 

We paid with a credit card and waited for our purchases to arrive Fed Ex. I was unable to concentrate on anything else. I remained wet and hornier than I had ever been in anticipation.

A huge box showed up a couple days later (plain cardboard and unmarked, thank God). I signed for it, pushed it into the middle of the living room near the new ottoman, and called my husband giggling with excitement. I said I would wait for him to get home and we could open the box together. 

I found excuse after excuse to walk past the box. Finally, I lost it and with a quick slit of a knife, it opened before my eyes. 

I HAD to inventory the items, so I removed them one by one and set them on the ottoman, as I checked them against the invoice. It Was All There!!! I was visibly shaking. 

The lingerie was incredible- so impossibly soft and sheer. I had to make sure it fit, so I stripped naked right there and put on the tiny baby doll outfit. Regular trips to the gym made it fit perfectly. I felt.... Naughty!!! 

Wondering if we had measured correctly, I tried to loop the chains thru the brass rings and under the ottoman. The clasps clipped right onto the rings of the shackles and the handcuffs. My heart was beating through my chest. I could barely breathe. I slid the panties down my legs and rubbed like mad to get a little relief. 

I couldn't resist putting an ankle in one shackle. It closed around me with a click and locked securely, while the key released it just as easily. 

I started to wonder if I could straddle the ottoman comfortably while shackled. Key firmly in hand, I attached the shackles to both ankles in a snap. They were actually quite nice and very titillating. 

The chains were short enough that my feet hung over the edge and my knees were wide apart, but still on the ottoman. It forced me awkwardly forward and my face landed on the cool surface. Bent over so, my naked ass and pussy were high in the air, vulnerable and positively dripping. I couldn't wait for my husband to get home and ravage me. 

Thoughts of what he would be doing to me from behind had me shaking. My nipples ached for some attention. 

I realized I was lying on top of a vibrator and the faux whip (a "cat of nine tails" type, but softer and made with knotted suede strands). I imagined him spanking me mockingly with it, telling me what a "bad girl" I have been. 

I moved these over and spotted the blindfold. I had to try it on too. Everything was pitch black and made every sound, feeling, and scent 100 times more noticeable. If anyone were to see me now, they would think I had completely lost my mind. 

I held the vibrator in the hand with the key and turned it on, but it never made it near my pussy. My other hand was already frigging it again with all I had, taking me over the edge to yet another glorious orgasm. 

As I slowly regained my composure and control of my breathing, I thought of the last piece to the puzzle- the furry handcuffs, which would leave me defenseless to my husband's will. 

I set the vibrator down next to me and firmly clasping the key, I put one wrist near a cuff and a slight nudge and it latched firmly around my wrist. I was already feeling a little panicked at the thought of being totally out of control of my situation, but I still had the key in my hand to release myself from the shackles and cuffs. I could reenter them later with my man. 

To think, I was but a push against the other cuff away from being unable to stop any debauchery he may think of, but I trusted him not to do anything too odd or dangerous. He knew my mind. It would take just a slight push.... CLICK.... 

I bumped the cuff such a tiny bit and it latched around my second wrist. It startled me and I heard a tinkling sound. I HAD DROPPED THE KEY.... I started to pull at my restraints harder and harder. They held firm. I was blushing and angry with myself for getting into this situation. I kept struggling to free a hand or reach the key. I had promised my husband I would wait for him to get home. How was I going to explain this? 

I continued to fidget awhile and suddenly my knees slipped off the ottoman spreading me even wider. I was too tired to get back up. My legs hadn't been splayed this far apart, since my days as a cheerleader in high school doing the splits. I finally gave up the struggle and started to drift off to sleep still completely exposed and resigned to the fact that there was nothing I could do about it. 

Suddenly, I woke to a start, as I realized the front door was wide open yet from when the delivery person was here. My exposed posterior was pointing straight at it. A flimsy screen door was all that separated my nakedness from the world. My heart was racing- I was about to have a panic attack. What would I do, if someone were to come to the door (except maybe my best friend Janie from across the street)? I would surely blush like mad, as she giggled hysterically, but she would free me and make me spill the complete and sordid story. 

Still about 3 and a half more hours until my husband would return home. What would I do if somebody... anybody else saw me like this...? No sooner had I thought this when a strong knock on the door pounded in my brain. "Oh, Dear God, No!!!" My face was burning with embarrassment. 

"Hello? Anybody ho....." It was a man's voice- deep and gravelly and I had no idea who it was. Blindfolded, I couldn't even look. As his voice trailed off, I knew he could see me through the screen. He could see parts of me no other man had seen but my doctor and my husband. I started shaking, but worse- my nipples were aching again. This was so erotic. I was getting.... excited. 

I heard a familiar click, knowing the screen door had opened and closed- footsteps... He was standing right beside me. Who was it? I hollered out for him to leave immediately, that my husband would be home any minute, and that he would have the cops take the man to jail. However, if he would leave right now....

I felt a large rough hand softly stroke my naked ass and reach down to rub my pussy. His touch was so soft and knowing- belying the calloused skin of a working man's hands. I prayed he hadn't noticed my pussy clenching tight, my labored breathing, and a hopefully inaudible sigh. 

"Please don't hurt me, mister." His hand disappeared for a moment. I felt almost... abandoned. I was trying desperately not to let on to the excited state of my body's betrayal. I again told him to leave or we would surely call the cops. But in his deep demanding voice, he said he was certain that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. 

Then suddenly a loud WHACK as his hand came down hard on my bare skin, sending a stinging pain straight to my head. I screamed out and cursed at him- begged him to leave. I was scared now, as I heard him close the front door. I pulled and pulled frantically at my restraints, cursing under my breath at putting myself in this predicament in the first place. 

He picked up the vibrator, turned it on- nudging it lightly against my pussy and bumping it against my swollen clit. It caused me to jump each time and I started to get very wet. My heart and breathing were racing and I could feel the telltale signs of an impending orgasm slowly building. How could I be responding to this stranger? He slowly inserted the vibrator into the entrance to my pussy. 

The vibrations were excruciatingly decadent. I found myself involuntarily pushing back against it to sink it deeper. He fed my hunger with a chuckle and teased me mercilessly. I was moaning now. I'm sure he could hear me. He let go of the vibrator and my clenching pussy held it tight, feeling the tingles in my clit amplified with every spasm. 

Just as I was starting to enjoy myself a little, a sharp crack filled the air and the whip seared my naked ass. It wasn't soft and fake. It stung to my core and I screamed out in terror and pain. The shock caused me to clench tighter, which made my clit more excited. My head was swimming. 

Another crack, and yet another (I lost count), but somewhere near 15 or 20, I was clenching solidly. And even through the pain, my "Benedict Arnold" clit was going to push me over the edge of another huge orgasm. 

How could I be getting any pleasure from this as tears streamed down my cheeks? My ass and the back of my legs burned- stung, as though someone had sprinkled salt into a wound. Even so, I came so hard I shook and juices started leaking down my inner thighs and the vibrator onto the ottoman below. 

He finally put the whip down. I guess he tired of it thankfully. My skin was on fire and I sobbed wretchedly into the ottoman, unable to stop the tears. 

He walked past me and disappeared. I thought, great, now he's going to rob me too. Then a short time later, I could hear the toilet flush and he reappeared next to me. The vibrator was still in my pussy and I was very aware of its tingling presence. 

Then much-welcomed relief- he slid his hand softly over my ass with coolness. He had gotten some aloe lotion from the bathroom and was attending to my sore bottom. He removed the vibrator and stroked me with the lotion. It was wonderful, helping to ease the pain and it started to get me aroused again. 

What is wrong with me? The knots from the whip must have made welts on my skin and they hurt like hell. The cooling lotion was a Godsend. I started to loath this ottoman though. I didn't ask for this. It was supposed to be a loving thing to do with my husband, yet a total stranger was abusing me on it. He was taking liberties with me no one else had ever tried... Moreover, I was enjoying most of it. 

The humiliation of it all- I hated myself. We were going to get rid of this thing immediately. It was a dumb idea. 

I had all these things going on in my mind, when I heard a noise, which jarred me back to reality. It was his belt as his pants hit the floor. I knew what was about to happen. 

No! Nobody but my husband has ever been inside of me. I was about to be raped. 

I felt his weight settle into the ottoman as it lowered slightly beneath me. His hands grabbed my hips and I could feel the head of his cock nudge at the entrance to my pussy. He rubbed it up and down the trough between my pussy lips, getting it slick with my own juices. It felt very large. He started to push at the opening, as tears again welled up in my eyes. 

No, please... But he pushed harder and the head popped inside. 

I was instantly and painfully aware that this man was huge. Way bigger than my husband in every way. I started to think this man might be black. I might be able to hide this rape from my husband. But what if I got pregnant; I would never be able to explain a black child. Still he pushed onward an inch or so at a time. 

I winced in pain, as I felt like a new virgin during her first time with a man. He would pull out and push in a bit further each time. I thought he would never bottom out- that he would surely choke me from the inside. He finally stopped pushing and I could feel his huge balls mashed snuggly between us. My pussy clutched at this huge invader and natural lubrication soaked in as my pussy stretched and relaxed. 

Holding my hips firmly, he started to piston that monster in and out faster and deeper, causing us to both grunt with each stroke. I felt funny inside, and my nipples swelled again. Oh, my God, I was responding to him. I knew that feeling, warm and throbbing from deep in my womb. 

I was going to come again and soon. This was so sick- so perverted. 

I felt so stuffed, my pussy and tummy stretched and distended, as if this was similar to carrying a baby inside me. Worse, I found myself voluntarily pushing back to match each stroke. I was on fire and out of my head with lust- every nerve ending alive. I never wanted this to stop. 

He was slamming it home now and I'd swear he was getting bigger and his balls were swelling. He was about to blast that magnificent cock off inside of me. I was fucking him back. Certain I had gone insane by this time, I was begging for more. 

With a surge, the first glob leapt from his cock and sprayed hot and thick deep in my pussy. It seemed almost painful to him- probably because I was so tight. I milked him and he shot several more times, each harder than the first. It was too much for me and started to leak out past his cock, down my thighs, and onto the ottoman mixed with my own cum. I was shaking uncontrollably, teeth gnashed together, making a noise from somewhere deep inside as I came again harder than I ever have. My eyes bulged and tits swelled as I milked him of every drop. 

Then I collapsed on the cool surface below me, wet with our mutual enjoyment. He fell down on top of me, still throbbing inside me until he softened and finally slipped out. He rose, and wiped his cock off on my new matching panties, then dropped them on the ottoman next to my head, where I could smell our combined secretions vividly.

He dressed quickly- saying little more, than that, I was the best fuck he ever had. He left as quickly as he came. 

I still had no idea who it was and likely never would. I was cramping up from the long sequestration in chains, my legs ached, my tortured pussy was so sore, and the welts on my ass still stung. 

Suddenly, reality hit me, that my husband was due home any minute. How was I going to explain my restraint on our new toy without him, yet worse the red whip marks on my ass, and another man's cum leaking out of my pussy onto the ottoman? I didn't have to worry long, as I heard his car pull into the driveway and move to the back by the garage. 

He entered through the kitchen calling excitedly for me. Rounding the corner to the living room, he spied me in a most humiliating state. 

With a start, he ran to me to see that I was all right. As he surveyed the situation, he removed my blindfold to see the glazed eyes of a well-fucked woman. He had seen it before. He smiled a wide smile and didn't say a word. However, he didn't release me either. 

I didn't know what to say or do. I was so embarrassed. I started to say something- to explain, but he just held a finger to his lips and I became silent. He said he has never seen anything so hot in in his entire life. 

He shed his clothes, knelt and gave me a long wet kiss, then stood up and offered his hard cock to my mouth. I wasn't about to deny him anything by this point. So I began to suck him until he came down my throat. He released my feet from the shackles, and I was finally able to get my knees back onto the ottoman, relaxing my trembling leg muscles. Still he kept my hands bound. 

He massaged my ass cheeks with some more lotion, kissing my welts lovingly, sad that someone had hurt me like that. The attention was turning me on- again. His fingers rubbed lotion all over my legs and ass, causing me to part them voluntarily with a deep moan. They dipped down and touched my swollen but sore pussy lips, making me jump. 

He scooped a glob of the other man's cum from inside my pussy and fed it to my lips. I licked at the mixture of the man's and my goo hungrily, causing my legs to involuntarily part even more and my juices start to flow. 

My husband was getting hard again too and entered me from behind like the other man did. His cock was much smaller by comparison, but still felt wonderful and familiar. He seemed to be extra excited at fucking my pussy full of another man's cum. He didn't last long and shot his load deep inside me to add to the copious mess already in there. Knowing he loved me and wasn't going to say a word, I came yet again and for a while, we fell asleep on the ottoman still entwined. 

Somewhere in the night, he removed my restraints, as I was free by the next morning. He was already up, showered, and ready for work. I made him a hearty breakfast, still too embarrassed to say much. He didn't pry. I guess he was going to wait until I was ready to tell him what happened. It made me love him even more. I was still moving very slowly as I hurt all over, but just thinking about yesterday had my nipples hard as pencil erasers again. 

He gave me a huge kiss and a hug, and then headed out the door. I returned to the living room to put the "toys" away, when there was a knock at the door. 

I was instantly afraid the man had returned, knowing my husband had just left. 

Then, I heard a familiar voice through the door. It was Janie from across the street, my best friend. As I let her in, she teasingly asked me what I had bought yesterday. When I inquired what she was talking about, she said, "The salesman...? Yesterday afternoon...? The huge, hot-looking black man that went into your house...? He was there for a couple hours." I was blushing so hard my ears burned, to which she said, "Spill It!" 




The Ottoman



John understood inherently that this was arousing to her. "They wanted to fuck you, Catherine. All of them." He emphasized the verb "fuck" so that it came out almost in a sneer. He paused, letting her absorb the intent. "Just like I'm going to very soon. Isn't that right?"

Her eyes blazed back at him. She was on fire already. "Yes," she said, simply, quietly, but leaving no room for ambiguity.

"Yes, what, Catherine?" He wanted her to say it in a sentence, and he had a good reason.

"Yes, you are going to fuck me." 

There it was. She had answered in the passive tense. This was important to John. It indicated that Catherine wanted to be taken rather that act as the initiator or aggressor. It was simple yet vital information that would dictate how he would proceed. 

She was submissive. 

"In your fantasies, Catherine," John went on, his own eyes now twinkling with lust, his curiosity seeking more data, ".....your stranger takes you, doesn't he?"

Catherine's eyes narrowed as if she had run this scenario through her imagination many times. "In my fantasies," she began slowly. "......my lover knows exactly what to do, how to......well, how to 'maneuver' me. He controls my body yet lets me derive enjoyment by also using his body for my pleasure."

She waited a minute, as if lost in her thoughts. She looked out the window and then back at John.

"He eats me softly and fucks me hard. Rough, at times. Appropriately, playfully so. I'm being selfish, perhaps, but that's what I need tonight."

It was just then, almost as if on cue, that the young waitress returned with the check. he was cute, petite with jet black hair, and about half their age. She had been astute enough to leave them alone during the meal as she watched their obvious attention for each other. 

Yet she had mistaken the relationship of the older couple. Her words distracted them from their intense conversation.

"I can't help but to tell you two that you are so into each other." The young woman pointed to Catherine's wedding ring. "It's so neat to see. How many years have you been together. What's your secret? How do you do it?"

It was hard to tell which one was more amused, John or Catherine. The young lady couldn't have been more incorrect in her assumption. Oh, the naivete of youth. Things aren't always as they seem.

John spoke first. "Great sex. Every time is like the first time."

The waitress blushed at John's reply. The candor wasn't quite was she had been expecting. But as they say, never ask a question when you don't already know the answer.

Catherine jumped right in. "And fantasies. We live out our fantasies." She wiggled a finger at the youngster, motioning for her to lean closer, as if letting her in on the secret to matrimonial bliss. 

Catherine peered over her shoulder to fend off any international spies that could be eavesdropping for proprietary information that could compromise the sexual sanctity of North Americans. 

"Tonight, for example....." Catherine said quietly. "....we're acting out a role play where he and I are strangers and we've met for the first time."

The waitress stood upright and covered her mouth in suppressed glee. "Oh, my God, that is soooo hot." She looked at the mature couple with new found admiration. "I can't wait to tell my boyfriend about that." She looked around for those same secret-stealing undercover espionage agents disguised as sixty-somethings from Bellingham or Everett. 

"Things are getting a little stale in the bedroom for us lately," she whispered, which officially fell under the category of 'Too Much Information'.

John plopped a stack of twenties down on the table. "Buy an ottoman. That will help, I promise." He extended his hand to Catherine and lifted her from her chair, leaving the perplexed waitress to call over their shoulders the universal salutation of the service industry.

"Have a nice evening!!!"

Catherine tucked herself under John's arm as they exited the restaurant. "You're a good tipper," she complimented.

John shrugged, letting Catherine cuddle into his chest. "I think it was only just over twenty percent. It was worth it to stop the inquisition."

"No, I meant the ottoman thing. That's the best tip she'll ever get and she probably doesn't even realize what you meant." She flickered those fabulous brown-green, cat-like pupils. "Oh, but I did."

By now, darkness had fallen and the main street was down nearly devoid of the merchants and pedestrians from earlier. Catherine felt a pang of slight disappointment when she realized that she wouldn't be giving any sunset-induced 'peek shows' this time.  

As they continued their walk down Maple Avenue back to the inn, she pretended to spot something in a storefront with a vestibule that was recessed and somewhat shielded from the sidewalk.

John followed her to the rear of the small alcove, watching her lean over as if to examine something more closely. When he crouched down next to her, she took his head in her hands and kissed him. Softly at first, an exploration, the proverbial taste test.

They stood together, their bodies rising in tandem, their mouths locked in a fiery kiss that escalated with heat, expressing the mutual desire that had been peaking from almost the minute they had met on the patio, mere hours ago.

John's soft lips traced a trail down the nape of Catherine's long neck as she held his head more tightly, encouraging the descent to her collarbone and the top of her chest. Her hands fell from the small of his back, where she had been pressing his pelvis into her own, and she began to grope for the hard cock that she felt twitching against her thigh.

She gasped as she reached her target and stroked him through the fabric of his shorts. In reciprocation, he eased one of the straps of her dress from her slightly freckled shoulder and began to lick the crest of her breast. He sucked and nipped at her distended nipple as his other hand traversed southward and lifted the hem of her dress.

The act alone ignited Catherine's latent exhibitionism tendencies. She found the danger of public sex indescribably exciting, and a spark went off like a detonator inside her sodden pussy when John began to tug at her thong, pushing the fabric into her puffy folds.

Whenever Catherine became especially aroused, her pussy lips enlarged to such an extent that even after all these years, she still became a bit self-conscious. They approached the texture of a rubbery, deflated balloon. 

If she only knew the effect that such tumescence had on John, who felt the flaps expand as he tugged at her bloated labia majora. He eased a finger beneath her thong and into her humid, slippery slit and heard her groan huskily and bury her head in his chest.

Unconsciously, her legs parted involuntarily as she became aware John was now tucking the hemline into the gold chain around her stomach, which meant that she was more than partially exposed from the waist down. 

In her altered state of semi-intoxication from the wine and the thrill of this stranger's boldness, she barely noticed that he was now on his knees in front of her until she felt the warm tip of his tongue circle the perimeter of her vulva.

He peered up at her and saw that her head was tilted back and her eyes were shut. Her hands gripped the back of his skull involuntarily, pushing his face into her overheated gash, which now all but emitted steam in the cool evening air.

"A below-the-waist admiration society, remember?" he murmured into her cunt, flicking his tongue into her narrow opening, tongue-fucking her and lapping greedily at the juices dripping liberally from her vagina like tiny raindrops rolling from the blossoming petals of a tulip. 

The thrusts of her hips caused the hem to fall from the chain. The dress now covered John's head like a veil.

He took her to the edge of euphoric bliss within seconds. Though he could see virtually nothing except her pink cunt, which hung like a fluffy robe on a hanger on the tip of his nose, he felt her thighs quiver and her stomach muscles rumble with the animated declaration of her impending explosion.

His hands cupped her firm buttocks and he heard the loud grunt announcing her release at the same instant he felt the cascade of her foamy ejaculate rush into his mouth. 

He frantically tried to open and close his mouth like a hooked fish to capture each drop of her as small streams of fluid rushed from her cunt. He watched in wonder as the filaments of her thick labia contracted and compressed, like the flags of a sailboat in a Puget Sound breeze.

When he emerged from his clandestine hiding place, like a shy sparrow coming out of its roost, he saw that her eyes were ablaze in unbridled lust. 

One nipple, the one that he had been sucking upon, still was exposed, and he was surprised to see that two of her long fingers had encircled the nub, pinching and pulling on it so that it protruded more than a quarter-inch from her skin.

Without a word, she brought his mouth to hers and sucked the fresh overflow of her own cum into her lips. She scooped her sweet nectars out of his mouth like she was eagerly savoring the residue from a melting ice cream cone. 

Catherine had always loved the way she tasted. She wondered why any man wouldn't want to eat pussy constantly. Catherine had some limited experience with women in her experimental past, and she longed for another opportunity to make oral love to a woman sometime again.

But for now, for tonight, she had a nice cock to suck of her very own. And she knew just the spot for it.

"C'mon," she demanded, virtually pulling John out of the vestibule, not looking or caring if anyone was nearby. "Since I 'stole' your room from you, I need to pay my dues for the upgrade." Almost as an afterthought, she winked at John and remarked casually, "Oh, and I'm sure you've been told this before, but my God, you have an incredible tongue, stranger."

When they reached Catherine's room, there was not a need to discuss if John was going to go his room. In fact, there was not a need to talk about anything. Catherine's mouth would be busy for the immediate future.

Though a self-described 'submissive' by nature, Catherine had a single-minded agenda when the door was unlocked. She pulled the dress over her shoulders and stood naked in front of John, clad only in her Jimmy Choos, the belly chain, and the lascivious grin of a hungry feline preparing to enjoy an "indulgence". After all, they hadn't had dessert, had they?

Catherine walked across the room with John's eyes riveted on her luscious ass. She intentionally walked with the swagger of a runway model, her hips sashaying evocatively. She sat on the edge of the oversized ottoman. In both of their minds, there was only one reason that the piece of furniture was in the room. It served only one true purpose.

She parted her legs lewdly and ran her palm across her still percolating pussy. With two fingers, she pulled apart the billowy creases of her labia and exposed her clit. She stuffed a finger into her sticky tunnel, and the squishing became the only sound in the room, save for their clipped breathing.

John required no further direction. Catherine had already provided an easy-to-decipher roadmap. With his eyes still focused on the wanton display of self-exploration by this married woman he had met earlier today, he unzipped his shorts and kicked his legs so that they fell to the floor.

He joined Catherine in a brief mutual masturbation session, each fully cognizant of the eroticism of the moment.

Catherine admired the handsome man stroking his manhood in appreciation of her own wares. Though by no means a 'size queen', Catherine wasn't adverse to a well-endowed piece of equipment, either. And the cock in front of her was quite a prolific specimen. 

Catherine estimated its length to be maybe seven inches, though she was not a very accurate appraiser of penile inventory. What was most noticeable, and impressive, however, was its girth. The circumference of John's cock would be more than a mouthful, she thought to herself, and the cock head itself looked like a small plum. Succulent, for sure, and certainly scrumptiously edible. 

Catherine watched intently as John removed the remainder of his clothing. He had a thick, muscular torso, a few extra pounds, perhaps, but the well-preserved body of a desirable, mature man. A smattering of salt-and-pepper hair on his chest, and a thick but 'manscaped' curl of black pubic hair with small patches of gray interspersed.

He approached her, holding his erect cock tightly in his grip, as if proffering a precious gift for Catherine to accept.

Which she did, willingly, happily. She took a generous suck on his shaft as an opening salvo, taking perhaps four inches into her mouth. She felt her jawbone expand to accommodate his width as she engulfed his gorgeous rod repeatedly. There was nothing subtle in her technique, not tonight, not now. 

Though a bit rusty, Catherine had a lot of techniques in her oral arsenal. She considered herself quite the accomplished and talented cocksucker, a description that was echoed by many a fortunate male recipient back in the day. Catherine had enjoyed as many as three cocks in her mouth (and cunt, for that matter) in one day, so she unequivocally knew her way around a dick.

But for 'Mister Right Now', well, she needed him deep in her mouth. She would be greedy, enthusiastic, ravenous. An unabashed, uninhibited cock whore, a one-night excursion into "anything goes". 

"There's just something decadently wicked about a new cock," Catherine mused silently as she hummed on John's cock, reveling in the feeling of its gradual expansion to full, unfettered arousal with each fervent series of sucking methods.

John wrapped his hand around a shock of Catherine's hair, not so much for the purpose of face-fucking her, which he could easily do if he so desired. It was more so that he could control the pace of Catherine's expert administrations. 

With each half-inch that his impromptu lover consumed of his dick, he had to consciously restrain himself. Catherine had all but maybe an inch and a half stuffed down her throat now,and John had designs on at least one more of Catherine's orifices before he blew his initial load.

"Maybe my assessment of her submissiveness was a bit premature," John thought to himself as he watched the indentation of his cock tip push against Catherine's cheek. Though her eyes were slits, concentrating on the task at hand, what he could see in the glint in her pupils was unadulterated craving. A voracious craving for cock. If this was a hot-dog eating contest at Coney Island, she would be a strong contender.

That left John little choice but to take command of the situation. He stepped back and a strand of saliva led from his engorged cockhead to Catherine's lips. She whimpered slightly when he withdrew, like a kitten who had its beloved chew toy pilfered.

Her mood brightened considerably, and quickly, when John took her hips in his hands and lifted her in one motion from the ottoman. His strength both surprised and excited Catherine. Her whimper turned to a mutes squeal when he sat on the ottoman in the same position that Catherine had occupied and lowered her lithe torso onto his lap.

Instinctively, she spread her legs so that each was on the outside of John's thighs and she straddled him, facing him. His thickly veined cock jumped and danced in anticipation of that first penetration, and Catherine took her hand to her pussy and opened herself up to him, allowing full access to her jewel.

She threw her arms around the back of John's neck and eagerly waited for the insertion, the magic moment when new cock meets strange pussy for the first time. Is there anything more erotic, Catherine asked herself silently, feeling his enlarged tip slide into the irriguous cauldron of her needy vagina. Especially for a married woman?

He entered her slowly at first. Experience had taught him that most women required time to acclimate to his thickness. Catherine, however, seemed to adapt easily, comfortably, and within a few seconds, his length was buried snugly inside her furnace. She rocked and bucked on his lap like a jet ski rider on a choppy bay.

He lowered his head and began to suck on the brownish-pink nipple of her left tit. Her areola were smallish, and he traced circles around it with his tongue as she held his neck with one hand, and cupped her tit with the other, presenting it to him as an offering. "My body is yours," she groaned through clenched teeth, as her chest flushed a bright red as he nibbled on her thimble-like nub. "Take it."

She was tight. He was thick and meaty. He stretched her with each thrust, and she began to growl as his cock reached places within her that hadn't been explored in far too long. 

"She's quite a moaner," he smiled to himself, enjoying the verbal response he was evoking from her as his cock probed her upper spongy walls. "I wouldn't have guessed she'd be a loud one. Goes to show you just never know...."

It didn't take them long at all to establish a vigorous rhythm that belied the fact that this was their initial tryst. This was not lovemaking, this was a pure, hot fuck. Call it what you will. Neither had any pretense that this was anything but an exercise in salacious concupiscence.

John could feel Catherine's talented inner muscles gripping his shaft in accelerated convulsions, her pussy pistons churning as his cylinder pumped frenetically within her. Again, wanting to prolong the delectation, he lifted her hips once more an spun her around 180 degrees so that she straddled him now with her back to him. 

Hesitantly, before easing back down on him, she peered back over her shoulder, uncertain as to what to hang onto. He had a solution.

"Wrap your calves around the back of my calves," he instructed. "And let me do the rest."

She complied, and her calves held onto his in a death grip, her manicured toes clutching at the bottom of his strong legs. He placed his one hand around her waist as he slid his cock back into her. 

"Reach back and cling your arms to the back of my neck," he directed while tightening his hold on her body. "And hold on."

Those were prophetic words. 

He stood up, and Catherine suddenly realized that she was suspended in mid-air, with no place to land except her pussy directly on his cock. John tossed her up and down, up and down, and each time Catherine's g-spot was stimulated directly by his cock slamming into the top and rear of her tunnel. She could feel John's cock literally snap inside of her as it bounced against her cervix. 

Her husky howls pronouncing her carnal exhilaration reverberated off the walls of the room like a percussion ensemble. A cacophony of prayers, drums and cymbals crashed within her ears, and pyrotechnics flashed behind her shut pupils. 

He fucked her like this for perhaps ninety seconds, and with each return from the stratosphere, Catherine experienced one mind-blowing orgasm after another. An endless, continuous string, one after the other after the other.

Exhausted by the sexual calisthenics, he finally, mercifully, sat back down on the ottoman, still firmly inside of her cunt, which spewed milky moisture out of her sides like a punctured pipe.

Catherine was nearly hyperventilating, the sensation left her glassy-eyed and dizzy. "Holy shit," she gasped. "What the fuck was THAT?"

"Did you like that?" he asked, fighting to catch his own breath. He already had an inkling that she did.

"That was fucking intense," she panted. "Christ. Where did you ever learn that?"

"I invented it," he said quietly, moving his pelvis in small circles, continuing to stimulate her electrified cunt.

"You invented it? You invent sexual positions?"




The Ottoman



"It's a hobby."

She couldn't help but laugh, while wiggling her pussy deeper into his lap. "A hobby? Most people collect stamps, or go bowling. What do you call that, does it have a name?"

"I call it 'fucking'". 

She shook her head as she felt his hand begin to massage her tits. She was still writhing from the aftershocks of the orgasms. "That's taken already, sorry. How about 'The Gravity Defier', you like that?"

"Too many syllables. And I'm not even sure 'defier' is even a word. I still like 'fucking'. It's catchy."

Catherine wasn't ready to concede just yet. "You can't just invent fucking."

John was persuasive in the simplicity of his argument, however. "Sure you can. Tell me who holds the patent on it."

Try as she might, Catherine somehow saw the logic in that. Or maybe she was just fucked so silly that it didn't compute in her scientists' brain.

She was about to continue to banter with him over semantics, but he picked her up again, effectively ending the marketing campaign. This time he had to extract his cock from her. 

He spun her around so that her stomach was perpendicular to the ottoman, and she had no choice but to reach out and brace herself with her hands. He reached down and cupped his hands under her belly button to support her, holding her up, raising her ass to his pelvis. He entered her once more, sliding in effortlessly to her sodden pussy.

"This one already has a name," he said, fucking her powerfully, his balls slapping against her ass. "I believe they call it, 'The Wheelbarrow'".

Catherine was now grunting and moaning vociferously. She was beginning to feel like a carnival barker, caught in one whirly-twirly ride after another. 

She was flexible, but this was starting to rival an Olympic gymnastics tryout. "Don't get me wrong, but don't you ever cum?" she asked, hoping the inquiry didn't come off as impolite. After all, she didn't want to sound ungrateful for the best fuck she'd had in decades.

"Funny you should mention that," John replied calmly. "I was just deciding where I was going to cum on you."

"Decisions, decisions," Catherine thought. "God forbid I have a say in the matter." But it was clear by now that Catherine was along for the proverbial ride. Not that she was complaining. 

To bring the issue to an amicable resolution, John had one more position in mind. This time, Catherine placed next to the ottoman, on the floor, with her head on the carpet and her ass in the air. Her long legs were bent over her head. John climbed up on the ottoman and hovered above her.

"Pile driver," he said simply, plowing his rod straight down and into her slick cunt. He fucked her savagely like that, his face contorted. Catherine's own head thrashed about wildly from side to side. She felt like his dick so far up her stomach that it was halfway to her throat. Her pussy was beginning to throb with a dull ache from the ravaging, but it was a sweet pain.

She felt his dick surge and swell within her one final time, and he broadcast his pending release with a guttural roar. "Here it comes......."

He pulled out of her with an audible 'pop' and held onto his twitching cock like a firefighter grappling with a gushing hose. 

The first blast landed right on Catherine's tummy and settled into her belly button. Shots two, three and four, fired from a distance of about six feet above her, ricocheted off of various part of her body. Subsequent smaller trickles were shaken from his dick over her swollen, gaping cunt. 

Catherine purred like a content kitten and rubbed the semen all over her body. Her mind raced back a few hours, before she had met and just had her brains fucked out by this perfectly imperfect stranger, when she had massaged her own cum into her pores.

She remembered what she was thinking. "A tonic for her soul and libido, an elixir, if you will. Nothing is better for the complexion than a fresh coating of cum".

She propped herself up on her elbows an motioned to the Jacuzzi behind her. "I don't know about you, cowboy, but this woman needs a soak."

In the warm, bubbly waters, they caressed and groped each other, kissing passionately, basking in the afterglow of intense, mind-blowing sex.

John kissed and suckled and tweaked Catherine's sensitive nipples, and finger-fucked her gently to another orgasm or three. Catherine literally had lost count now. if this was a sporting event where someone was keeping score, the mercy rule would be in effect.

She tried in vain to coax his flaccid dick back to life by stroking it beneath the surface, but it was on extended time-out. "He's not going anywhere for a little bit, Catherine," John informed her. "He hasn't had a workout like that in years. He'll need some recovery time." 

Catherine was always amused how men referred to their equipment in the third person, especially when they were in a recuperative stage, as if, "Hey, it's not my fault, lady. I'm more than ready to go again, but the big fella here, well, what can I tell ya?"

They dried each other off and snuggled into the huge king four-post bed. John dozed off almost immediately, cradling Catherine's head in his arm. 

She lay there, content, yet randy. Unlike men, who were undeniably wired differently, Catherine was not too dissimilar from most women in that the more sex she had, the more sex she wanted.

She fidgeted restlessly for the better part of an hour, at first afraid that her movements would wake John, but eventually realizing that short of a Richter-scale event and a sonic boom, her new one-night lover wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Catherine began to idly run her fingers over her still swollen and protruding labia. Her mind imagined the looks of the men on Maple Avenue earlier this evening as they looked straight through her sheer dress in the sunlight. She thought of John's words at dinner. 

"They wanted to fuck you, Catherine. All of them."

Catherine had to suppress a groan as she eased a finger into her sodden snatch, wiggling it up into her soft inner flesh. All of them. Yes, that was a fantasy, alright. Fucking a small town. Now THAT would be a vacation story. She looked at John. As if this wild fuck wasn't good enough already. How about one man after the other, absorbing a brigade of unsuspecting Western Washingtonian cocks?

Her mind drifted back to that weekend a quarter century ago, before she was even married, when she spent a weekend with her boyfriend at the time, who had "surprised" her by also inviting two of his friends. With only minimal coercing, she ended up fucking the trio of men dozens of times over the course of forty-eight glorious, wickedly sinful hours. 

Her pussy warmed at the mere flashback of the decadence, even to this day. Yes, she thought, she certainly had the capacity to be a wanton slut. It was her alter ego, one that she rarely released, and only on special occasion with even to her husband.

But tonight was one of those nights where circumstance and opportunity collided. She looked down at John's flaccid, slumbering cock and decided it,, too, required some incentivizing. Self-stimulation would be for another night. There was a gorgeous cock next to her, and it wasn't going to go to waste.

She slipped down under his arm and began a slow descent down his chest, covered with soft brown curls, and licked gently around each of his nipples.

She followed the trail of his hair that led like a path to his belly button, while slipping a hand beneath his testicles, cupping him, raising his ass slightly off of the mattress. He stirred unconsciously in response to the tactile stimulus.

She slithered a bit farther down and moved her own body sideways to afford herself a better angle to the desired target, like a hunter zeroing in on its seven-inch prey. 

She lifted his limp penis with her palm and pressed it against his tummy. She began to softly suckle on his large balls, knowing that she would be inducing "seconds" of his sperm before her reconnaissance mission for cock was complete.

She started to stroke her one-night lover's cock slowly, watching it intently, still content to allow him to sleep, at least for the time being. For whatever silly reason, she thought of the cartoon where Elmer Fudd would look at the screen and make a shushing motion to the audience and say with that speech impediment, "Ssssh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting wabbits."

Well, in this case, Catherine thought to herself, her battery-operated 'wabbit' wouldn't be required tonight. Mimicking Elmer's voice to herself silently, she parodied, "Sssh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting cock. Heh-heh-heh-heh-eh."

She took the tip of John's cock, once so angry and swollen and bright purple, but now peacefully deflated and a light pale pink, between her soft lips, and began to suck on just that.

Catherine loved the thrilling sensation of reviving a limp and 'left-for-dead' penis with her talented mouth. It was like a rescue mission for sexual road kill, taking an enervated and temporarily incapacitated appurtenance of the male body and transforming it with her adroit oral homage into a mighty, armor-laden sheath, resurrected for her own recreation.

Catherine began to pump the bottom of his shaft while sucking on the top, feeling it stiffen gradually with each elicitation. So enraptured in her objective was Catherine that she was startled when she felt John's hand on the back of her skull.

She looked up, wide-eyed, to see him peering down at her. He wrapped a shock of her hair inside his grip, tightening it. "You love to suck cock, don't you?" he asked quietly.

She resumed the function of rejuvenating the cock she desperately wanted for multi-task purposes. She consumed a few inches of the now-almost fully hard penis. 

"Mmmm, hmmmm," she hummed, mouth stuffed with the product of her choice. She extracted it and ran the thickness over her cheeks and chin, savoring her success, looking him squarely in the eye. With her lips curled in a semi-sneer, she uttered huskily, "I invented it."

He smiled. A married woman who loved sucking cock and was a smart-ass. His dream woman. He wanted to urge her on, to push buttons. "You like being a slut, don't you?"

Catherine never shied away from this moniker, if presented in proper context. Besides, she was hardly in a position to quibble, considering she was sucking the cock of a man she hadn't known as recently as mid-afternoon. 

She played along. "I do. I like being a slut for the right man, especially one I know I'll never see again. And you like having your cock sucked by slutty married women, don't you? What does that say about you?"

John pondered this while lifting his pelvis so as to buck his dick deeper into Catherine's mouth, strengthening the grip on her hair, clenching his hand around her thick 'bob'.

"It says that you're the sexiest woman that I've met, and that I'm a lucky man. I won't forget this night."

Catherine wasn't expecting such a sweet, unrehearsed remark. It touched her. She literally felt butterflies in her stomach. She lifted her head from his lap and raised her mouth to his. 

They kissed, deeply, eagerly, hungrily. He cradled her head in his hands, whereas a moment before it was a controlling grip while she sucked him, now it was a tender caress.

But the scientist in Catherine refused to let her become sentimental or emotional. Despite the unmistakable sexual chemistry that had already developed between them, and the intellectual attraction she felt for this man, this was strictly a one-time thing. An aberration. Truth was, Catherine very much loved her husband, but this was not about him, not tonight. So neither would she let herself succumb to guilt.

This was a hot fuck only, she told herself, nothing more. Physical gratification, the sexual equivalent of instant coffee. Real life would return soon enough, as soon as she got back on that ferry for the return trip home.

Ridding herself of complicated thoughts, she climbed on top of John and placed her legs on either side of his muscular thighs. She took his revitalized tool in her hand and positioned it at the puffy entrance to her vulva. She aimed the thick trunk of meat straight at her fissure, and gave him a simple edict that was without any pretense of ambiguity. She had to put this back on a level she was comfortable with.

"Fuck my slutty cunt, you lucky man."

Catherine thus took the wheel of this journey, rocking up and down on him gently, enjoying the expansion of her tunnel as he stretched her again. John was content to be the sight-seeing co-pilot, looking up at her, reveling in her beauty and the knowledge of the pleasure he was providing to his captivating mature lover.

He watched her run one hand over her tits. If a woman in her early fifties could have tits that could be described as "perky", well, Catherine had such a set. Her other hand idly drummed her clit, peeking through its cover like Little Pink Riding Hood. 

John raised two fingers to her mouth and she greedily sucked on them, as if devouring a two-pronged dick. He prodded her verbally, realizing it heated her up even more. "You wish those fingers were a cock, don't you, Catherine?" 

With the fingers still engulfed between her lips, she murmured through them, "Yes."

Curious, wondering if he should traverse this slippery slope, he couldn't help but to inquire, "Have you had two men at once?"

He felt her cunt quiver and tighten around him at the bold inquisition. "Yes," she admitted. His cock twitched inside of her, hearing her confession.

He reached back and eased his index finger into her brown puckered asshole, feeling the the heat radiating from her body, her anus serving as a conductor of sorts for the sexual electricity shooting charges through her every fiber.

She tried to relax her sphincter to accommodate the digital intrusion. John cautiously snaked his finger into her ass up to the first knuckle.

"How about more than two men at once, Catherine?" he continued. It was as if he knew her history.

"Yes," she grunted, squeezing his finger within her backside muscles, while still churning her cunt on his dick and sucking the fingers on his other hand, preparing to detonate once again.

He was out of fingers now, and his toes weren't going to reach. "More than three?" 

Catherine opened her eyes and gave him a mockingly stern look. "Don't press your luck. What do you think I am, a slut or something?" They smiled at each other, a lovers' inside joke.

Duly chastised, and knowing when to shut up and fuck (or just shut the fuck up), they fucked leisurely in a myriad of positions for the better part of an hour as the clock ticked past three AM. Coherent conversation stopped except for their mutual expressions of pleasure uttered in monosyllabic, muted grunts of desire.

Every several minutes, John would withdraw from Catherine and begin to lick and suck on her pussy, lapping up the residue of juices from her small mini-orgasms that dribbled and hung on her labia. C

Catherine would return the favor by sucking John to the precipice of orgasm, stopping just short each time she felt his sack begin to swell. Their frantic fucking from earlier in the evening had evolved into a middle-of-the-night harmonious two-performer ballet, each sharing turns as the choreographer.

In the midst of this carnal marathon, John changed the subject category to 'current events'. "You never know until you ask, right?" he reasoned in his head.

"Since you're stuck with just me, do you want a certain stranger to fuck you in the ass tonight, Catherine?"

She leaned down to kiss him with a gleam in her eye. The kiss lasted for several minutes while their mutual thrusting escalated. It was a kiss that indicated an affirmative reply. She hopped off of him. "Be right back." 

She was going 'wabbit hunting'.

She came back to bed and proudly held up her toy. "I don't have any lube, so we'll have to improvise, OK?" John looked the the sleek jelly vibrator with some awe. He articulated his wonderment. "It looks like they are making some great technological advances in the vibrator field these days. I haven't seen one quite like that, I admit."

Catherine playfully rubbed the vibrator over his testicles. "Novice. And here I thought you might have invented it."

She rolled onto her side and inserted Mister Bunny snugly into her already stretched cunt. Her juices dribbled out of the side of her snatch, on the perimeter of the dildo. She curled a leg first up in the air and then over John's back. 

He, too, had rolled onto his side and was effectively spooning her now. She drooled some saliva onto her palm and began to give John an energetic hand job, serving the dual purpose of both lubricating and further stiffening him.

She smiled over her shoulder at him after a few moments and nodded, indicating she was ready to accept him in this most intimate way, feeling his sword at her sacred entrance. "Go slow," she whispered. "You're like a double-wide going into a one-lane tunnel."

He kissed her the entire time he eased into her anus, trying to divert her attention during this transition from temporary discomfort to intense, exhilarating pleasure. The rabbit stimulating her vagina and clit also served to further relax Catherine, and John's shaft eventually slipped past her anal ring and deeper into her bowels.

Her body shook and trembled as some subterranean tsunami rumbled deep within her. Reacting to her cues, John kissed Catherine's neck and tweaked her impossibly erect nipples, stimulating all of her sensitive pressure points. 

With a cock embedded firmly in her anus, a vibrator in her cunt, hands on her breasts, and lips on her neck, Catherine.........waited...........held off.......and..................

God, how she came. Punctuated by a series of guttural, primal squeals and moans that rattled the ornaments on the mantle of the fireplace.

Provoked by her proclamations of glee, John fired his own volley of blasts into her anal cavity. Her last waking thought before collapsing into semi-consciousness, and then slumber, was John pulling out of her cum-soaked asshole and feeling the trickles of their mixed cum roll down her thighs.

She was awakened hours later by the first streams of sunlight peeking through the window panes. Taking a few seconds to get her bearings, she rolled over to see that she was.......alone. No stranger in her bed, not this morning. She rubbed her eyes. How much had she had to drink? Was it all a dream? The dull throbbing in her ass told her that, no, it was most definitely not a dream.

She looked throughout the room and saw that her dress was folded neatly on ottoman. Yes, that ottoman. She felt a profound pang of disappointment, more than that actually. Sadness. 

Had he just left, just like that, without a word? And then she saw the note. She staggered out of bed on unsteady legs, like a newborn filly, and anticipated it was the "had a great time" didactic farewell epistle.

Instead, she could barely make out his scrawl, but it said, "Showered in my room. Didn't want to wake you. Will be back with breakfast for us."

She clutched the note to her naked chest and grinned like a schoolgirl who just got the phone call for the prom invitation by her crush. She walked into the bathroom, leaned over the porcelain sink to splash some water on her face, and looked at her image in the mirror.

Her hair, usually neatly coiffed, was splayed in enough directions to make Don King envious. 

"Wow. Now, THAT is a just-fucked look," she mused. She jumped in the shower, letting the warm water restore her to some semblance of morning vitality. When she emerged, she was just about to adorn herself in the plush robe after toweling off when he poked his head in the door. To her surprise and amusement, he was naked, his cock full, thick, semi-erect.




The Ottoman



"Strict rules of the Inn, ma'am. No clothes during breakfast. It's naked breakfast Friday, a long tradition at the Inn. No exceptions, no ifs, and, or....." He turned and slapped himself playfully on his nude buttocks. "........butts. Don't make me call the enforcement Gestapo on you. They're brutal here in La Conner. The KGB sends their operatives here to train."

Catherine did not even try to disguise her happiness at seeing him. She kissed him deeply, taking his tongue in her mouth and sucking on it enthusiastically. She reached down to grope him. She had every intention of squatting and absorbing his manhood in her mouth right then and there. 

And John sensed it, but he had other plans. He wasn't necessarily resisting her idea, just deferring it for a bit.

He took her by the hand and led her back to the main room. It was her turn to ogle his bare backside this time, watching his cock dangle between his legs as he walked. The image made Catherine instantly wetter. God, she couldn't get enough. She assumed her time with this man was waning, so she was going to be selfish and go for all the cock she could, to put it very bluntly.

As she re-entered the room, Catherine inhaled the delicious scent of apples, apricot and other more exotic fruits. She looked at the ottoman where she had found his note and where her dress had been neatly folded just a few moments before. The dress was now hanging over the post of the bed and replaced by a silver tray on the ottoman. The tray held several bowls filled with an assortment of fresh delicacies. 

"Mmmm, that smells simply delicious. I'm famished. Someone fucked me beyond hunger last night. May I?" asked Catherine, reaching for a blueberry.

John rushed in front of her, blocking her path. "Not so fast, lovely lady. Be patient. Allow me, please." John removed the tray and placed it on a nearby table. He then took several towels and placed them on top of the ottoman as an impromptu place setting of sorts.

"Where did you get all those towels?" Catherine asked, curious. They surely hadn't come from her room.

John smiled, arranging the towels on top of the ottoman fastidiously. "It pays to make friends with the housekeeping ladies. I told them we were having an in-room picnic. They were more than happy to help." 

He motioned for Catherine to sit. So, she did, lowering her butt to the edge of the ottoman, her legs still on the floor.

He knelt in front of her, placing the tray of fruit next to him, within arms reach. He kissed her eagerly and ran his hand leisurely over her breasts. Her nipples distended from her small areola like the stems of an apple. He tenderly cupped her pussy and grinned when he felt her incessant heat. He then gently pushed her back on the ottoman so that her back lay on the soft towels now covering the upholstery.

He pulled Catherine's legs apart slowly so that she was splayed on the ottoman, her luscious oyster fully exposed and glistening, still wet from the shower and of course, her perpetual arousal since early last evening.

John gently straddled her, his legs on the outside of hers so that his weight would not be borne by her torso. Leaning forward, he held down her forearms while he swept her face, breasts and arms with a veil of feathery caresses. 

Then his lips followed their journey, laying a trail of kisses across her soft skin like light footprints in snow. He released her arms, sucking and nibbling on Catherine's fingertips, then stroked her softly, grazing his own fingertips down her body until her nipples felt as stiff as little pebbles.

She groaned and writhed at the sweet torture. Her cunt felt as if it would combust spontaneously. Her hips bucked involuntarily, aching for attention in her nether region. "Please," she whimpered. "I need you inside of me." Tongue, fingers, cock, anything, she thought. Just put SOMETHING in my cunt. Now.

John sat up straight and laughed at her provocatively.

"So, you don't like fruit, lover? I'm learning about you every minute. What about this?" He leaned across and picked up from the fruit bowl a ripe peach.

He rolled it across her cheek and then his own. It was cool and round and soft. 

"See how ripe it looks," said John, rubbing the fruit over a patch of her skin on the side of her breast. "As pink as your lovely nipples."

He held the peach against each nipple, comparing and admiring them. Then he ran it across her breasts and over her flat belly. Dragging it down her body, he brushed its fur against her own. 

"Mmmm. How round it is," he muttered. "And look at its cleft," he said, drawing her finger down its groove. "As luscious as your ripe cunt." He hissed the last word, letting it linger in the air. "And you know what I'd like to do to that, don't you?"

He closed his eyes reverentially and bit into the peach. Its pungent perfume filled the air. The juice ran down his chin and his throat, dripping over Catherine's belly like a Springtime rainfall. He rubbed it into her pussy and then lent her his fingers. 

She sucked and licked the rich syrupy juice off them thirstily. She was so excited and desperate for him. He bit again from the peach and then offered it to her and she did likewise.

Now, he'll go down on me and put me out of this agony, she thought.

"I need you inside me, John. Please, God, eat me or fuck me now," she ranted. It was always good to give a man some options, and Catherine wasn't picky. She just needed her cunt sated before it ignited.

"But you've hardly eaten any of your fruit yet, have you?" he chided.

John took a banana from the bowl. Teasingly he peeled back the skin very slowly and deliberately. By now Catherine could only imagine what he was going to use it for. The anticipation made her stomach churn. 

Unpeeled, the flesh within looked hard and pale. 

"Hmmm," he murmured as he traced its length with his fingers. Slowly and laughingly, he turned it from the horizontal to the vertical as though the banana was becoming aroused.

"You like it thick, don't you?" he whispered teasingly. 

"Yes, yes, please. Here," she spluttered, indicating downwards.

Instead, he drew it temptingly across her mouth. Catherine licked at it hungrily as it passed her lips but he pulled it quickly away. Then he drew it down her neck to her perky breasts. He pushed them together and John stroked the banana between them as if her breasts were tit-fucking a man's long, thick cock. 

By now the banana felt smooth and wet on her chest from their saliva. He rolled it across her belly, leaving a thin trail of slippery wetness, like a man's juice.

John parted the lips of Catherine's saturated pussy and ran the length of the fruit between them. Now it was slick with her own wetness. With his left hand he parted the lips further and slipped in between her impossibly swollen labia. 

It was like having the rabbit within her but softer and smoother. He pushed the banana in maybe an inch, drew it out and slid it back in, slowly fucking Catherine with it. It felt so good, but she wanted more. 

Then he drew it out completely and, staring at her intently, offered it to her mouth. She sucked hard on the end, her tongue and lips performing deft fellatio. 

She nipped off the tip with her lips, licked the end smooth. Smiling, then John lowered the fruit and pressed the next inch into her, fucking Catherine for a little longer this time. Again, he withdrew it. They each took it in their mouths, and he invited Catherine to bite off the end.

They carried on like this, first enjoying her fruit fuck, then taking turns to lick, suck and eat the banana, until it was all gone. When it was finished, John climbed off her and, crouching between them, spread her long legs wide. 

"Now, would you like me to taste your fruit, Catherine?" he whispered.

"Yes ..... yes ...... now ...... please," she pleaded.

Acquiescing finally, John's lips glided up and down the insides of Catherine's thighs, slick and sweet with both peach juice as well as her own natural fluids. He sucked at her soft, giving lips. Each little motion of his tongue sent spasms through her. Her stomach heaved and waves of delicious agony whirred from her pussy and stomach through every nerve in her body and radiated back to their source. 

By now John had buried his face completely in her "V", bathing himself in the different juices. She could feel his chin and nose and forehead rubbing against every intimate crevice. 

She was on the verge of delirium, as he brought her nearer and nearer the orgasmic cliff, until she surrendered herself completely to her release. She spewed milky foam all over his mouth, and John swallowed the warm ejaculate greedily.

He pulled himself up next to her and they lay together kissing on the soft surface of the ottoman, savoring the taste of the juices of the peach, banana and Catherine on their lips. 

"You know," said John, "Doctors recommend at least one good portion of fruit each day."

"Healthy eating to start the day," Catherine replied, "Very important. I understand some circles recommend a good energetic aerobic exercise, also."

By the time their workout was complete forty-five minutes later, Catherine was bent over the edge of the ottoman with John's heavy balls slapping her ass, his cock slip-sliding relentlessly through the slippery contours of her cunt. She was wailing muffled obscenities into the fabric of the ottoman, and John matched her decibels when he enunciated his own orgasm with a primal grunt. 

His hot sperm flew all over Catherine's back and buttocks. She whirled around to finish and clean him with her mouth, sucking every last drop of his cum. He literally had to beg the insatiable 'inventor of cocksucking' to take a merciful break, lest his cock fall off from her eager oral administrations due to the ultra-sensitivity in his nerve fibers.

He held her head gingerly, gazing into those seductive eyes, the color of autumn leaves. She nuzzled her face into the curls of his pubic hair, not wanting to hear what she knew he was going to announce.

"I have to go," he said quietly, reluctantly.

"I know," she responded, still kneeling at his feet.

"My plane...at Sea-Tac," he stammered, awkward for the first time since they had met last night. "Well, I can't miss it."

"I know," she said, understanding that real life had collided with their fantasy time together.

"You were absolutely incredible," he said softly, trying not to display his emotions. He didn't want to leave this woman, but knew she was married, and well...it would get complicated. Better to just leave it this way. Cut it clean.

"I know," she said, grinning. "I was absolutely incredible, wasn't I?" 

They embraced and laughed until she sobbed softly into his shoulder. He hugged her and then went to find his shorts so he could return to his own room, the bed there still unused, to gather his things and drive down to Seattle's airport. Philadelphia was a long way away. He wouldn't be back here until..............

He eased into his shorts, blew her a kiss, and then he was gone.

Catherine slipped on her robe and looked out the window for the better part of an hour, until she was sure he was indeed gone. She didn't want to risk running into him in the lobby and becoming emotional in public.

She spent the day walking through the town alone, enjoying the shops and sitting on the marina and watching the boats come and go. The gulls squawked and seemed to call to her as they dove for their meals in the channel. 

Her return ferry ticket wasn't until tomorrow morning. She tried not to think of him. That was over, she told herself. She'd be returning to her husband and her life tomorrow. She didn't know John's last name, his phone number, his e-mail, or anything personal. Nor did he know hers. 

Yes, it was safer this way.

By mid-day, she was feeling some fatigue and decided to go back to the room for a short nap before dinner. When she walked into the lobby, the innkeeper called to her.

"Oh, Ms. Carroll, a delivery package arrived for you. The gentleman that was our guest last night sent it and called and insisted that it be placed on the ottoman in your room."

She almost skipped to her room, fumbling for the key when she got to the door.

There was a large picnic basket on the ottoman, filled with fruits, and a large bottle of chardonnay in the center. The basket was surrounded by a bouquet of Western Washington wildflowers, a kaleidoscope of bright hues.

Tucked inside of the floral arrangement was an envelope with "Catherine" scrawled on it in handwriting she recognized instantly.

"Catherine," it said. "Exactly one year from today, book this room again. For two. There's a BYOO festival on that date........."

Catherine scrunched up her nose. BYOO? 

Only then she realized that the note continued on the other side.

"......Bring Your Own Ottoman. And I'll need to borrow yours, since you keep stealing mine. See you then?"

"xo"

Catherine tucked the note to her chest and sat on the ottoman.

"It's a date," she said to herself. "And only 365 days away. It'll go fast."

Before checking out the following morning, she had already confirmed her reservation.