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Fellow Traveler

By: T@nman



I don't like traveling for business on weekends, but there wasn't a choice since this business conference was important. It was billed to be an intense, week long session that would be productive and filled with new approaches, new ideas, new processes and techniques, new technology, and new business for your company.

I'd soon see if that was all true when the conference began with a working breakfast tomorrow morning. But right now, I wanted to get settled into my hotel room and to get down to the fitness center for a work out. The cross country flight had been crowded and long. Fortunately, the hotel shuttle service and check-in was smooth and efficient.

When I got to my room, which was a two room suite, I quickly unpacked and changed into my exercise clothes. The fitness center was vacant, which I appreciated. After spending all day in a cramped and crowded airliner, it was nice not to have to wait around to use any of the equipment.

I worked through a careful stretching routine then worked through all the stations on the weight machine. After a session on a stair stepper, I moved to a treadmill to cool down by walking. I was just finishing up when the door opened and another guy came in. He looked around after he tossed his towel on a chair.

'It's all yours. I'm just finishing up.' I stepped off the treadmill and picked up my towel to wipe my face.

'O.K. Thanks.' He got on the treadmill and began to walk slowly. I went into the locker room and stripped in preparation for showering. Since I was by myself, I didn't bother to wrap a towel around my waist as I walked into the shower room. I was surprised to see that the showers were communal, rather than individual shower stalls. I hadn't seen a communal shower room since I'd been in high school.

I hung my towel on a hook then turned on the water. The hot water felt great. I enjoyed it for a couple of minutes before lathering up. I rinsed and was doing some stretches under the hot water when my fellow traveler entered the showers. He turned on a shower and stood under it. He watched me as I finished stretching. 'Feels nice to work out the kinks, doesn't it?'

I looked at him, 'It sure does. I hate being cooped up in a plane all day.'

'Me too.' 

I turned off the shower and got my towel. He was beginning lather up. I dried myself. I put on the clean clothes that I'd brought with me from my room. After taking my workout clothes back to my room, I got a newspaper and came back down to the coffee shop. After a quiet dinner, I went into the lounge for an after dinner drink.

I was chatting with the bartender when the guy from the fitness center walked in. He nodded in my direction as the bartender took his order. A few minutes later, the bartender sat a fresh drink in front of me. He nodded down the bar. I raised my drink in a salute of thanks. He picked up his drink and moved down the bar until he was near me.

'My name is Kevin. Are you here for the conference?'

'Yes.' I extended my hand, 'Thanks for the drink. I'm Paul.'

We talked for a few minutes, then I went back upstairs to my room. The next morning I went back to the fitness center and, after stretching, worked out of the treadmill for twenty minutes. Kevin was there on the weight machine. I finished my workout and went into the locker room. Kevin followed me. He stripped and walked into the shower. Before wrapping a towel around his waist, he stood there nude and chatted for a few minutes.

Instead of using the fitness center showers, I went up to my room to shower. While showering, I thought about Kevin's behavior. It was almost like he wanted me to get a good look at his body. Now, it doesn't bother me to be nude with other people in certain situations. And I appreciate looking at the nude human form, whether it is female or male. And Kevin did look like he was fit and took care of himself.

After negotiating the lobby of the conference center and the registration tables, I found a place in line for the working breakfast. Surprisingly, It was serve family style at each table rather than buffet style. A team of waiters seated people at tables as they entered the room. When a table was filled, other waiters brought and dished the food. I saw Kevin being seated at a nearby table.

Everyone at the table introduced themselves and the conversation, while we ate, was about general topics until the roomed lights dimmed. Large television monitors lit up and we finished the breakfast while watching videos that were intended to be motivational in nature. After the breakfast we trooped to a large conference room for a general welcome and the group started putting together our individual seminar and workshop schedules.

During a break, Kevin joined a small group that I was in. He introduced himself all around and joined our conversation. Members of the group eventually drifted to other groups and Kevin and I found ourselves alone.

'I hope I didn't offend you this morning.'

'Pardon me?'

'In the fitness center. Before I showered.'

I had to think back and then I remembered he has stood there in the buff for a few minutes while we chatted. 'No, I wasn't offended.'

'Good. Sometimes people are offended by nudity and are uncomfortable around other people when they are nude.'

'It wasn't like your were flaunting yourself or were in my face.'

'I got to thinking about it later and I was afraid you might think I was some kind of exhibitionist or coming on to you or something.' He sounded almost hopeful with the last comment.

'I thought nothing of the sort. If I thought anything, I thought you were a guy who was on his way to shower after working out and who stopped to shoot the bull for a minute.'

'Good. I'm glad you weren't offended. Well, we better get with our schedules. We've got a long day ahead of us.' He waved a piece of paper then turned and walked towards one of the many meeting rooms.

I watched as he walked away and I thought, 'For a guy, Kevin, you have a nice looking butt and, I have to admit, from what I've seen of you in the showers, you have a nice looking cut cock and a good set of balls on you.'

I smiled to myself, 'Careful, Paul. You're going places that he might not like to go. But, then again, I'm not so sure he might not be thinking of similar places.'

Now, I'm no prude or up tight jerk. I'm adventurous enough and curious enough to try and enjoy different things. I've had more than several blowjobs from other guys and I've given more than several blowjobs to other guys. I truly enjoy eating pussy and fucking and getting fucked by women. And I've enjoyed anal sex, both giving and receiving, with both sexes. Nothing is greater than having sex with a woman, but having sex with another guy always makes for an interesting diversion.

The day went by quickly. I skipped lunch and took a walk just so I could be away from other people for a few minutes. Immediately after the conference ended for the day, I hurried to my room and changed into my workout clothes. My room wasn't yet made up, but I figured the housekeeper would get to it while I was working out. After all, the hotel was filled to capacity and mine was just one of many rooms. But I would call housekeeping and request an early morning room make up.

There were several people already working out when I walked into the fitness center. Kevin was already there. I got into the queue for each of the machines and stations. By the time we finished, the center was packed and the showers, or at least the men's showers, were packed.

'I think I'll take a walk to cool down then shower in my room.'

'Good idea. May I join you?' Kevin grinned, 'In the walk, I mean.'

'Sure.' I got my bag with my change of clothes out of the locker. 'And I knew what you meant.'

Kevin grinned again, "Well, I just want to be sure that you know I'm not coming on to you.'

I grinned back, 'No, I know that. But the hotel might appreciate that.'

'Appreciate what?'

'People conserving water by showering together.' Now who was coming on to whom?

'That'd be a hoot, wouldn't it?' Kevin laughed, 'I can see it now, water use drops by half because all the guests are sharing showers.'

'They'd probably think the water meters were broken or something.'

We walked through the lower lobby and outside in a parking lot. We walked around the perimeter then took an elevator up to my floor. The housekeeper was just starting to make up my room.

'Well, I guess I'll wait to shower and go down to dinner later.'

'You've got your change of clothes. Why don't you come up to my room and shower and then, if it's o.k. with you, we could go to dinner together.'

'Sounds like a plan.'

We got back on the elevator and rode up to Kevin's floor. When he got to his room, which was a suite just like mine, he took two hotel robes and slippers out of the closet. and put them in the bathroom. 'After we shower, we can relax for a few minutes and have a drink or two before dressing and going out to dinner.'

Kevin showered first. He was tying the robe when he came out of the bathroom. 'Man! That felt good. It's all yours.'

I closed the bathroom door behind me and stripped. The shower did feel good. I quickly lathered and rinsed. After I dried myself, I hung the towel up and put on the robe. When I came out of the bathroom, Kevin held up a pitcher.

'I hope you like martinis. I whipped up a pitcher of them.' He poured two glasses.

I prefer wine to cocktails, but he did mix a pretty nice martini. We sat on opposite sides of his room as we chatted and sipped our drinks.

'Why don't we call room service and have something sent up?'

It took about forty-five minutes for our meal to be delivered. When there was a knock on the door, Kevin stood up, 'I've got to get something. Why don't you let the waiter in and sign my name?' He went into the bedroom and closed the door.

I signed his name. It was a scrawl since I didn't know his last name. He seemed a little embarrassed when he came out of the bedroom. 'That was silly of me.'

'What was?'

'Going into the other room. It was like I was hiding. Like the waiter would think we were, er, queer or something.'

'Why would he think that?'

'Well, er, two guys, in bathrobes, in a room together. You know, uh. . .'

'I'm sure they see things much more strange than people in bathrobes.'

He laughed, 'I suppose so.'

'Does it bother you that we are here together and that we happen to be wearing robes.'

'No. Lets eat. before it gets cold.'

We set out the food on a small table and pulled up two chairs. About halfway through the meal Kevin looked at me.

'I haven't been totally honest with you?'

'Oh, really? And about what?'

'Well, when you were showering yesterday evening, I couldn't help but notice your body.' He paused, "And I, er, almost had an urge to touch you.' Before I could say anything, he rushed on, 'It's not as if I'm queer, er, gay or something, but I've always fantasized about what it would be like to get it on with another guy.'

'By get it on, you mean. . .?'

Kevin looked startled, 'Er, yes. That's what I mean. . .'

'And I'm the guy?'

'Uh, no. I didn't mean that.'

I took a sip of my wine, 'Variety is the spice of life. Now please pour some more wine.'

He smiled as he refilled our glass. We finished eating dinner, put the dirty plates and empty food dishes on the service tray and set it out in the hallway. The atmosphere in the room was one of anticipation and a little anxiety. I sat on the couch and Kevin walked about the room.

'How long have you fantasized about having sex with another man?'

He sipped his wine before speaking, 'I don't know. Years, I guess.'

'Is there any part of man-on-man sex that you don't want to do? Or particularly want to do?'

'Man, you don't mess around, you go right to the heart of it.' He grinned, 'Actually, I've always wanted to take a hot cock in the butt.'

'Speaking of going to the heart.'

Kevin continued, 'My wife has done me with a strap-on and I've used vibes, plugs and other toys, but I've always wanted to feel the real thing.' He walked over to the desk which was in front of the curtained window.

'How would you start? If you were going to?' I set my wine glass aside, got off the couch and followed him.

He didn't turn around, 'Oh, I don't know. By hugging, I guess.'

I was standing right behind him as I put my hands on his waist and turned him around, 'Like this?'

As he turned, my robe came open. His robe brushed against my skin. He set his wine glass on the desk and he sort of gulped as he put his arms around me. We stood for a minute or so, before I pushed him back a step and untied his robe. We hugged again. 

'Put your hands inside my robe.'

He put his hands on my waist. I put my hands inside his robe. His skin was warm. 'Now, hug again.'

Kevin inhaled sharply as we pressed our nearly naked bodies together. I ran my hands over his back. He followed my lead. We touched each other for a minute then I pushed his robe off his shoulders. Kevin stepped back. I shrugged off my robe and let it fall to the floor. I stood naked in front of him.

Kevin would either follow or else he would pass on his chance to live out his fantasy. He smiled as he took off his robe. Two naked men were standing and facing each other. We stepped together and hugged. My cock pressed against Kevin's thigh and I could feel his pressing against mine. His face was pressed against my neck.

'What do you want to do?'

He looked up, 'I want to look at you and touch you.. I stepped back from him. His gaze traveled from my head to my feet and back up. Kevin unconsciously fingered his cock. I stepped forward so we were closer. He wiggled his cock and rubbed the head against my shaft. Reaching down, I gripped both of our cocks and squeezed them together. I moved my hand so Kevin, alone, was holding our cocks.

He looked down and smiled, 'I've never handled another guy's dick.'

Moving around, I pulled out the desk chair and sat down in front of Kevin. Using a finger, I lifted his semi-rigid cock. I looked up at his face. 'You have a nice tool.' He grinned. 'You trim your hair?'

'Yeah, I trim around the base and my balls.'

'Thought so.' Running my thumb over his cockhead, I could feel that it was slick from a little pre-cum. The next step was easy for me. Kevin gasped as I leaned forward and swallowed his cock. My lips slid down his shaft. I had gulped air before I ate him. Kevin's cock was thick. I could feel it swelling and lengthening and filling my mouth.

Pulling my lips back to the tip, I took him out of my mouth. After swabbing his cockhead with my tongue, I looked up at him. Kevin had a goofy grin on his face. His fully erect cock filled my hand. I licked the under side of his cockhead right in the sensitive vee. Kevin's cock was thick and veiny. A prominent ridge ran the length of the underbelly.

Kevin interrupted my thoughts, 'My wife doesn't suck me very often. She says my dick is too big and thick.'

'Don't let that worry you, Kevin.' I swabbed his cockhead again. 'You have a cocksucker's delight and I'm going to enjoy this more than you are.' He sighed as I wrapped my lips around his shaft and pushed him deep into my mouth.

Kevin's cock was thick, but not uncomfortably so. He was an eager feeder. After I had been sucking his delicious dick for a few minutes, he began to hump his hips. I like the feel of a cock sliding between my lips so I let him fuck my face for a couple of minutes before pushing him back.

I was sucking a nut when I heard Kevin say 'Oh, fuck!' and I felt a warm liquid on my face. "I'm sorry. I hadn't planned on cumming. It felt so good that I couldn't control myself.'

'That's O.K.' I was gripping his cock and his cum was pooling around my fingers. 'Hand me something to catch this before it drips onto the carpet.' He handed me a newspaper. Using my free hand, I put the paper on the carpet. Cum was oozing from the little slit in his cockhead. I wanted a taste.

Kevin's cum tasted sharp and salty as I licked his cockhead. I wanted more so I wrapped my lips around his cockhead and began to suck his remaining cum from deep in his balls. His spilled cum dripped and splattered on the newspaper.

After sucking him dry and licking his shaft clean, I looked up at him, 'How was that?'

'Damn, Paul, that was great!. I'm sorry I shot my load.'

'Don't be. That's the object of a blowjob. A mouthful of cum is a cocksucker's payoff.' I stood up. 'You ever taste your cum?' I wiped a finger load off of my hand, put it on my tongue then, holding Kevin's head, I pushed my tongue into his mouth as I kissed him.

He jerked back, 'Shit! I've never been kissed by a man before!'

'How did your cum taste?' I ignored the comment about the kiss.

Kevin grinned, 'I've tasted it before. After jacking off, but I've never had it pushed into my mouth before.'

'Your wife never. . .?'

'She never let me cum in her mouth.'

'Too bad. She's missed the best part of sucking cock. What do you want to do now?'

'Well, I've always pictured myself worshipping another guy's cock.'

'Tell me how you'd do that.'

'Well, I'm on my knees between his and lick his cock all over, rub it all over my face, stroke it, and finally suck it until he tells me to stop.'

I'd given myself a hard-on while sucking Kevin. 'Instead of thinking about it or talking about it, why haven't you done it?'

He grinned, 'Until now, I've never had the opportunity. Or the partner. Sit down.'

He got down on his knees after I sat back down on the desk chair. My rigid cock pointed straight at his face. Before Kevin could touch me, I scooted forward, held my cock in my hand and ran my cockhead over his face. His beard scratched in an erotic manner. Kevin closed his eyes as my cockhead ran over his eyelids. He extended the tip of his tongue when I slid it across his lips. When he put his hand on mine, I slid back in the chair and gave my cock to him.

Kevin kept his eyes closed as he continued to rub my cockhead over his face. Finally, he pushed my shaft upright and licked the underbelly. After licking up and down several times, he opened his eyes and smiled at me, 'I can't believe I'm doing this.'

Between his licking and handling me, my cock was a full erection. 'Believe me, you're doing fine.'

He licked the cockhead the pushed his lips down over it. If Kevin had never had a cock in his mouth before, he had either studied what to do or he had really thought about what he was going to do. His tongue swirled over the surface and around the edge of the rim.

I leaned back and spread my legs to give him easier access to my ball sac if he wanted it. He raised up on his knees and got directly over me. With his free hand he held and stroked his cock as his hand and lips slid up and down my cockshaft. Every so often, he'd stop and lightly suck on my cockhead.

For a novice, Kevin was doing alright. Actually, he was doing better than alright. My nuts were tight. I touched his head, 'I'm going to cum.' He took my cock out of his mouth and stroked up and down. He grinned as my stream of cum squirted up into the air. The cum dripped and spattered onto Kevin's hand, my thighs, the seat cover and the newspaper which was still on the floor.

As he got to his feet and stood in front of me, he wiped his hand on his chest. His erection poked out in front of him. Sliding off the chair and onto my knees, I took Kevin's cock back into my mouth. I enjoy sucking cock in the slave position because it gives me easy access to his balls and, if he is willing, to all of his ass.

Using my fingertips, I lifted and massaged Kevin's balls as I nursed on his succulent cock.. He began to move his hips. As I said, I enjoy the feeling of a cock slipping in and out of my mouth. Keeping my tongue moving, I laved his cock all over as he fucked my face for the second time.


Fellow Traveler



There is a framed, color photograph resting on one of the built-in shelves in the living room of my 5th floor apartment. Everyone who visits me here in downtown Baltimore pauses to pick it up and look.

There are nine bare-chested guys in the photo, all in their late teens or early 20s, standing beside each other, outstretched arms over arms, on a bright sunny beach, their backs to the Atlantic surf. They are all thick, hard-muscled and deeply tanned. And all wearing identical fire-engine red swim trunks with the words "Kill Devil Hills Lifeguard Service" emblazoned on the right leg.

There's a tenth guy on the very end, one who doesn't fit in. It's the same lifeguard trunks, but he's thin, lanky with unkempt hair and leftover boyhood freckles. Physically, he's not quite grown yet. Not filled out. Even in the still-photo, you can see an awkwardness. That boy would be me.

Don't misunderstand, I was a good lifeguard. I can still swim with the best of them, and that summer -- five years ago -- I pulled two people from killer rip currents and plucked a half dozen frantically struggling kids out of the water after they had disappeared below the surface, unnoticed by distracted parents.

It's just that I didn't fit the part. And though the photo is embarrassing even still to look at, I obsessively pick it up and wonder if the image of that gawky teenage boy is what Mrs. Adderson saw that summer.

* * *

"Hello. Are you the one I see about renting a chair and an umbrella for the day?"

Those were her first words to me. I looked down at her from atop the 14-foot wooden lifeguard stand where I sat facing the ocean, in a chair with my binoculars, towel, two-way radio, suntan lotion and a rescue float at hand.

She was correct. I was the one to see. All of the lifeguards in the towns on the Outer Banks islands off the east coast oversee the heavy wooden chairs and cumbersome umbrellas that people rent.

So I climbed down and, after handing me $15 for the day, she headed to the end set of chairs to my left.

She was middle-aged, brunette and alone. That's about all that stuck with me. After all, it was still early morning, and in another hour the crowds would start trekking down from The Viking Hotel, the 15-story high-rise behind me, and with them would be dozens of frisky teenage girls to flirt with, most of them wearing barely-there bikinis. They had such beautiful asses, and a few were beginning to suntan topless. Some of them would spend evenings cruising the beach bars, honing in on lifeguards especially. Surely, at some point I would get lucky.

I'm laughing at my words. Unlike the other lifeguards that summer, I had a poor track record with girls on the beach. Jennifer had taken a liking to me, but was just 17 and on a short leash from her parents. Their week at the beach ended with nothing more than a goodbye wave from her.

In truth, I'd only had sex with two girls, both back at Syracuse during that freshman year. One girl, wobbly-legged drunk, pulled me onto her bed in her dorm. The other, devastated by a bad breakup, turned to me for solace one Saturday night. I doubt either remember my name. Is it enough to say that each experience took only a few moments at the most? All I ever really wanted was to finish school, get a good job and find a nice, normal girl to settle down with and have lots of sex. I mean lots. In the meantime, I would pursue the girls on the beach.

All those aspirations began to change later that morning when, sitting on the lifeguard tower, I looked to my left and saw the middle-aged woman walking slowly from her chair to the water's edge, a hundred feet away from her. For me, it was just curiosity at first. She was tall, delicately slender, had endless legs and wore a basic black, modest one-piece, offset by alabaster skin. She did not belong in the sun, even at this morning hour.

As she splashed her feet around at the water's edge, I picked up my binoculars for a closer look, noticing her hair, light brown with streaks of gray, a wrinkle or two on her face, a few age spots around. I guessed maybe she was in her early 50s. Nonetheless, I kept watching her close up, invading her privacy, a completely voyeuristic act on my part.

She turned toward me, bent over to pick a small shell out of the water and one of the straps slipped from her shoulder, part of the suit falling with it, bringing much of her left breast into view. I even caught a glimpse of her brown nipple. Calmly, she pulled the strap back up, stood up and looked directly at me looking at her -- with my binoculars, no less. I was caught, and embarrassed. And she knew it.

It was the walk back to her chair that did it for me. I could see now that she was attractive, though not beautiful, and looked her age. But her walk was slow, at a measured pace, confident. This was a woman comfortable in her own skin, totally in charge of herself, and not unnerved that I was spying on her. I figured an accountant, or an attorney, maybe a CEO. I could just sense that she was smarter than the rest of us, and with every movement she became more and more attractive. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I was captivated.

Part of my problem with girls, aside from my dorky looks, was a basic shyness. Which makes it all the more remarkable, even now, to realize that I promptly climbed down from my lifeguard stand and walked as nonchalantly as possible over to her.

"These rays are murderous on fair skin, ma'am. You have enough sunscreen?"

"Thank-you, yes." she said from her chair, without even a smile. "But I'll keep putting on more, especially since I can't seem to keep my suit from falling off of me." She was looking dead-on into my eyes. She wasn't laughing.

Now my awkwardness and paralyzing shyness began catching up to me. About ready to retreat, I thankfully noticed the paperback she was holding: It was a copy of "Henry and June."

Finally, all those years of reading alone and frustrated in my bedroom just might pay off. You see, I had read "Henry and June," when all the other guys were playing soccer or, more likely, taking the panties off girls in the back seats of their cars. I knew the likes of Anais Nin, a now largely forgotten writer from the 1930s and '40s who consistently wrote not just about sex, but hot, hot sex. "White heat" she called it.

"You like Anais Nin?" I asked, incredulously, as if only perverts like myself would be caught reading her, especially in public.

"You're familiar with her, then?" she replied.

I told her I spent a lot of time reading Nin, including the endless personal journals about her numerous affairs, one of which was published as "Henry and June."

So where are you in the book? I asked, simply because I could think of nothing else quickly enough.

She looked down to the page and began reading aloud:

"Beautiful women and handsome men arouse fierce desires in me. I want to dance. I want to know perverse people, to be intimate with them. I never look at naive faces. I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it."

"And, of course," I responded, "You know this is the same woman who also once said, 'I have no brakes on.' "

And with that, Mrs. Anna Adderson smiled at me, an actual smile, mind you. She extended her hand and introduced herself. "I am Henry," I responded, asking how long she would be at the beach and if she was staying at The Viking.

"I'm here for the week, but I've rented the little cottage beside the hotel," she said, turning around and pointing to a small, older house with a screened-in back deck, much like hundreds of other 1950's-style cottages that still lined the beach, between the big hotels.

As she turned around in her chair to point it out, I began to notice that her modest black swimsuit -- made of nylon, I guess -- was abnormally thin, some kind of designer suit, I suppose, which clinged to her every curve, affording me a perfect outline of her breasts with her nipples pushing through the fabric. I could even see impressions from her puffy areolas. Her breasts were small, but absolutely perfect for her figure. And the suit showed the flawless curve of her hips.

As she turned, her legs parted, the slit of her pussy clearly outlined and the slightly swollen lips pushing out against the wet fabric. I can still today taste the fierce desire it aroused in me. You may ask yourself if you can taste desire. I could, at least on that day. I knew then I wanted her. I was all of 18 years old.

And so we became beach friends, sort of. She rented the chair for the rest of the week and said hello each morning. Once or twice during the day, I would invent some reason to chat her up for a few minutes, mostly about the beach. I'd point out the sandpipers and skimmers. She, in turn, would walk over to my lifeguard tower where we would somehow get onto some odd topics: South American travel, noir films, little-known authors, and champagne, which was her favorite drink. And she liked to talk about Anais Nin. That was good. I could keep up. Even her voice aroused me -- low and soft, choosing her words as carefully as she seemed to choose each footstep she took. I hung onto every word, every syllable, she spoke.

The younger women and teenage girls on the beach began to fade from my thoughts, even the two gorgeous young blondes sunbathing topless each day just a few yards in front of my tower. They looked nothing alike, but I dubbed them the "twins" because each had breasts exactly like the other. Even their nipples matched. How odd. It didn't matter. My erections, which seemed to occur incessantly in the hottest part of the day, were for Mrs. Adderson now.

Just before lunchtime Wednesday, after climbing down from the tower, the "twins" came up and, standing no more than two feet in front of me, proceeded to ask which were the hottest bars after sundown, the ones they should head to. I knew they were playing with me, standing so close. They had no interest in me, just wanted to tease me, fluster me as their tits lightly swung from side to side while walking toward me. I played the ever-professional lifeguard who's used to seeing half-naked women. I refused to let them catch me glancing at their tits -- though they were indeed fabulous.

"Perks of the job, I guess?" asked Mrs. Adderson as she walked up just as the "twins" headed back to the hotel, now bored with me.

"They were just looking for information," I said.

"I think they were hitting on you, Henry," she said, with a slight smile.

"No, I'm definitely not their type."

"But are they your type?" she came back.

"Maybe once, not now."

"And what are you looking for now?"

"I'm not sure."

"Maybe something different?" she asked.

"You and I seem to have the oddest conversations, Mrs. Adderson. Why is that?" I asked.

"Kindred spirits, maybe," she said as she walked away.

Could I ask her out? She was 50, maybe older. She was sophisticated, graceful, possibly rich, and the first woman I'd ever talked to who -- in my mind at least -- was truly "seductive." I now knew what the word really meant. But I had no illusions about my own awkwardness, immaturity and goofy looks. And what if she rejected me, laughed at me for even asking? There would be no way to face her again. I was frozen, too terrified to act.

Maybe it was providence that stepped in. On Thursday, as her week's vacation drew near its end, I was on my tower in the late morning with my eye on a girl -- she looked to be about 10 -- who was out too deep in the water, no parents around. Sure enough, she went under, came up, screamed and sank again. I bolted off the tower, gave three quick whistle blasts to let the lifeguards on my flank know there was trouble, and raced into the waves, with them running down the beach to catch up.

My eyes were glued to the spot where she had disappeared. When I reached it, I dove under, couldn't find her, dove again and finally felt a hand touch my outstretched arm. A stroke of luck. I brought her to the surface, pulled her ashore and carried her to my tower, helped by the other lifeguards. A crowd formed, the rescue squad arrived, but the girl was okay, though a bit terrified until her mom showed up.

The rest of the day was busy but uneventful. Mrs. Adderson didn't talk to me. She lounged in her chair under her umbrella, other than to take a dip in the water every hour or so, with me again watching through binoculars and her knowing exactly what I was doing. I think it was beginning to amuse her.

As usual, by 4:30 the beach was about empty, everyone now back at their rooms to take showers and be ready to hit the bars and restaurants after sunset. Mrs. Adderson had left too. After I packed away the chairs and umbrellas, I walked down to the water's edge -- I did this at the end of every day -- just to watch the surf and to feel the breeze on my face, without having to keep my eye on swimmers. Fishing boats this time of day were often chugging their way back to the docks at Wanchese, not too far south of our beach.

As I stood, arms folded on my chest, I felt the heat of a human body standing beside me, just inches from my arm. It was Mrs. Adderson. She smiled, said nothing, and joined me in just watching the tide start to come in, a little closer with each foamy wave. Our feet began to get wet.

"You've had quite a day," she said finally, above the roar of the incoming waves.

"Thursdays are always busy, thousands of people on the beach," I answered.

"No. I mean saving that little girl. I saw you moving faster than I've seen anyone run. That was amazing. She owes her life to you."

I shrugged, sort of like quarterbacks used to do when asked about the game-winning pass they just threw to beat Notre Dame. An "it-was-nothing" attitude in my gesture, but I said nothing more.

"I thought you deserved something, so I got you this," she said, handing me a bottle of true French champagne. She reminded me that it was her drink of choice. This, I guess, was my reward. I was both flattered and embarrassed.

"Take it and drink it all in a single night of revelry with some girlfriend," she said.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Then silence, only the noise of the waves and the east wind brushing past our faces as I read the bottle's label. I hated these awkward, quiet moments with her that so often followed my comments.

"Would you consider drinking it with me?" I asked.

* * *

"Tell me something about yourself, that no one knows," she said.

We were sitting on her screened-in deck facing the ocean. A small round table was between us with the now-opened champagne bottle being passed back and forth. We were on our third glass. Actually, we were drinking out of clear plastic cups.

She was asking nothing less than for me to open my soul, to reach down for my most guarded list of secrets withheld from everyone. What did she want me to do, tell her that I masturbate in the shower? Who was this woman? I wasn't clever enough for a quick retort.

"Too hard, huh," she replied, not looking at me, instead gazing out at the ocean, her right foot raised up, resting on the arm of the empty, third chair at our table. That put her exquisite long leg, and especially her ivory thigh, above the table top. There's something about a woman's thighs, especially when her legs are open, that just does it for me.

I wish I could say I was bone-hard and ready to rip off her swimsuit. Instead, I felt a weakness in my gut, and was shivering from nervousness. Seriously.

"Ok, then tell me about some fantasy you've had," she said.

"You really like to get to the heart of things, don't you," I managed somehow.

"Would you rather me ask about your family or the weather?" she questioned. "Do you own a dog? We could talk about your dog." Her right eyebrow arched as she said it. I got the sarcasm.

After a long pause from me: "Ok, fair enough. I don't know if this counts, but in high school I fantasized all the time about girls out of my reach -- cheerleaders and beauty queens. Like those two topless girls on the beach. But dating them was about as realistic as my walking on the moon."

"So you never even asked the cheerleaders or beauty queens out?

 "No. Never," I said, laughing at myself and my humiliating lack of self-confidence in high school. The stories I could tell.

"Anyone else you fantasized about?"

"You don't let up, do you," I said. "Just remember, you asked. I've never told anyone this, and I don't know why I'm telling you, but I dwell a lot on my stepsister."

"Aa-haa. Now we're getting somewhere," she said. We both laughed.

"This is so twisted. She's two years older than me. But she was the first real 'woman' that I paid attention to. After high school she went to a local junior college and still lived at home. And out of the blue, just a few months before I left for Syracuse she began walking around the house in her underwear. And she would surreptitiously crawl in my bed at the first hint of a thunderstorm and lie on top of me."

"But worse, I'd be brushing my teeth and she'd come in the bathroom in her pajamas, strip them down and sit on the toilet, peeing right in front of me. She wouldn't even close her legs. She would ask if I thought she should get a landing strip. Or would I help trim her pubic hair. Everything was to embarrass me. To jerk my chain. Mostly, it made me obsess over her."

"Don't get me wrong," I said. "Nothing ever happened. And I do love her as my sister. I guess she's always been my best friend. Still, it's creepy."

"It's not creepy," Mrs. Adderson said. "So, did you give her that landing strip?

She looked at my face. "Never mind. I have my answer."

"It was just a pervy lark, I guess. Nothing else happened."

"Maybe like Anais Nin, you're tempted by what she called unknown pleasures," Mrs. Adderson said.

"What about you," I asked, emboldened by the champagne as we finished off the bottle. "Who do you fantasize about?"

"I don't really fantasize so much about specific people, more about situations," she answered.

"Such as?"  "Mmmmmm. Like having sex on an overnight flight to Europe."

"Go ahead," I said as casually as I could speak the words, though I was in complete disbelief that she was actually going to talk about this. I was too flustered to look at her. So there we were, both of us beginning to talk intimately, and now each of us was staring out at the waves, not looking at each other.

"Well, in my fantasy, my partner and I are sitting side by side along an aisle, and ask a flight attendant for a blanket as the lights are turned down low since it's nightime over the ocean."

Mrs. Adderson goes on but puts her leg down and turns toward me now. peering directly into my eyes.

"We raise the chair's arm between us and then spoon, him in back of me. We're covered by the blanket, you see. He rearranges our clothes to gain access to me, but we have to be very quiet since the other passengers have settled down, many of them sleeping or watching a movie. And then just as things get interesting between us, just as we start, shall I say the 'connection' between us, the plane hits turbulence. Not much, but just enough to get that roller-coaster movement as the plane lifts and falls. It makes sex almost impossible to do but breath-takingly exciting. What's even more exciting is that we can't make any noise or we'll be discovered."

"And who's your partner? Mr. Adderson?"

"It's really not important who he is. Sometimes an imaginary boyfriend, other times a stranger I happen to sit down beside. . . . Do you like this fantasy of mine?"

"Very much. Keep going," I said, somehow getting the words out. "Did you say a stranger?"

This, the most erotic conversation I've ever had with anyone, is now interrupted by her cellphone ringing. She answers, gives me a look and I know it's time to go. As I'm heading down her steps into the sand, I stop and ask: "Have you ever really done something like that?"




Fellow Traveler



She covers the phone with her hand and says, "Thanks for letting me share the champagne with you, Henry."

I knew she wouldn't answer.

* * *

Friday. Mrs. Adderson's last full day on the beach. The week's vacationers have to check out at 11 a.m. on Saturday, so most have to spend all Saturday morning packing and cleaning up their condos with no time to hit the beach. Friday's the last fun day up and down the coast.

I had decided that after my lunch break, I would stop by her beach chair and ask her to dinner for that evening. I wanted to keep talking to her. I needed that connection with her. As perverted as it may seem, I wasn't so much thinking about having sex with her as I was just talking about sex. But when I returned from a quick bite at a raw bar down the block, her chair was empty. At 4:30, still no Mrs. Adderson. I knocked on her cottage door with no luck.

That night I was dejected, lost. I had waited too late. Who knows where she was or who she was with.

I hung out at The Viking's lounge, restless and edgy, drinking beer and, every hour, walking across the sand to her beach house, hoping she'd be there. Hoping we could continue our conversation. She wasn't there. The place was dark. It was getting late.

By 11 p.m., I walked out to the hotel's large patio, overlooking the ocean, and sat at one of the 20 or so tables, the only person out there that late. I stared at the dark waves, aimlessly.

How could I be utterly devastated over a woman as old as my mother, someone I had known only a few days? But I was. And at the moment, I didn't care much about college, getting laid by girls on the beach, or working toward some future I had set out for me. I was obsessed. Her walk, that quiet confidence, her body, and that surreal conversation on her deck. A desolateness invaded me. I was a mess.

After sitting a half hour in the darkness, her hand caressed my shoulder from behind, accompanied by that now familiar voice.

"Hello, Henry," she said rather quietly. "What keeps you out here so late -- and so alone?"

Instantaneously, I shifted from utter despair to high anxiety, my heart racing. I had no answer for her, but offered her a chair.

The black swimsuit had been replaced with a white cotton beach dress. It was strapless, hugging her snugly down to her waist, then flowing freely to just above her knees. She was barefoot. She had now morphed into a goddess.

"You look so forlorn. Whatever is wrong?"

For me, the moment had come. I had nothing left to lose. So I said, "I don't at all understand it, Mrs. Adderson, but I feel connected to you somehow. I'm embarrassed and it's silly. I mean I've known you for only a few days. And to you, I know I'm just a kid. But I don't want you to leave tomorrow."

"The age difference doesn't matter, Henry. I see us as fellow travelers, you and me. I believe we're on similar paths. You may not understand it yet. but I'm glad you see the connection between us."

I said nothing but wondered what she meant. We both were quiet awhile, our eyes cast out over the ocean, just luxuriating in the breeze at our faces. I hadn't the faintest clue of what else to say, or do.

Without speaking, she took hold of my hand and led me onto the beach and to her house. She turned on no lights, instead leaving the doors and windows wide open, the moonlight illuminating us and the room in a misty sheen of black and white. A steady, salty breeze flowed through the windows. I had no idea what to expect, but I was terrified.

She led me to a chair in the living room, then brought in a glass of red wine, just one, for us to share. Still in silence, Mrs. Adderson did an amazing thing. She straddled my legs, facing me, and sat down, her soft hips on my knees. We exchanged sips of wine before she put the glass down on a table beside us. She ran her fingers through my hair slowly, almost lovingly. She stroked my face. I could hardly breathe.

She cocked her head to one side, slightly, as if trying to figure me out. Then locked in on my eyes and spoke for the first time in 10 minutes. She said these words that I will never forget. Who could?

"Henry, would you like to see my pussy?"

It was matter-of-fact, no emotion. As if she had asked if I wanted another drink of wine.

I couldn't respond. I don't believe my mind comprehended what she was saying.

Not bothering for an answer, she reached down, took the hem of her sun dress, and slowly pulled it up to her waist, exposing her sex to me. She had on no panties. In the moon-illuminated room I could make out her ivory white thighs and a small, soft-looking bit of pubic hair. Not much, but enough to be magical. She kept looking at me, as I kept looking at "it," staring, really, in disbelief.

She leaned forward, very lightly brushing my lips with hers, for only a second. She whispered in my ear: "Touch me."

She guided my hand down and between ler legs. With one finger, I reached for the slit between her vagina's lips. I was trembling. Her moisture drenched my finger in a silkiness as I began sliding it ever so gently back and forth over her small opening. She was already practically dripping on the floor. I slid my finger inside and out, repeating that again and again, all the while her gaze still locked on my eyes. She began rocking her hips slowly back and forth.

With my finger still inside her, my thumb found her clit. She moved her arms behind her, grabbing my knees and arching her back, pushing her pussy closer to me. By now, my hand was cramping, but I was never going to stop, not unless she made me.

I could now begin to smell her sex. Though her pussy seemed small, it had a wonderful smell of the ocean at night -- clean and pure and the slight scent of sea air. I swear it was really her and not the beach I was smelling. And it all mixed in with some kind of exotic perfume on her neck.

She began breathing deeply, rapidly, rocking her body back and forth as I moved my fingers in and out. We were in a rhythm that began moving faster and faster, then faster still. And harder. She grabbed my hand, pulled my fingers out and crushed the palm of my hand hard against her mound, holding it there as she pushed her clit against me with all her might. Then froze still, as an orgasm swept across her in waves, one after another, then another -- I could feel them, sense each wave, like feeling her pulse -- until she was done.

She pulled down her dress and brought me a towel for my hand.

"Henry. Do you remember reading what Anais Nin's cousin once said to her: Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones."

I nodded, but not really getting her point.

"Do you have your car with you?" she asked.

"I don't have a car, just my motorcycle"

"Is it in the hotel parking lot?"

I nodded. "Then it will do," she said. "Come. Let's go."

* * *

We sped south out of town, past the hotels and restaurants, until there were no more street lights, just beaches and seaside homes. Mrs. Adderson sat behind me, arms around my waist as we rode along the two-lane blacktop in the dark. I swear I could feel the heat and wetness between her legs as she pressed up against my hips. We found the home she wanted and an attractive mid-30s woman let us in. I had no idea what we were up to.

The woman led us upstairs to a bedroom where another woman, an absolutely beautiful redhead, and a man were waiting. All three were wearing shorts and T-s, typical beach wear for nearly everyone on the islands. They seemed so normal as they turned off the overhead, leaving only two lamps by the bed still on. There was no talking.

Mrs. Adderson motioned me to sit in a stuffed chair, she sat on the arm. She looked at me with index finger to her lips, a warning not to talk. The three began undressing. We watched.

The redhead, now naked, lay on the bed, less than five feet in front of us. She was slender, with deep red hair and shaved pubic area, her pale skin just flawless. The other woman, more voluptuous with large breasts swinging back and forth, had black hair and was unshaved. The man was well built, with a hard erection already. All were probably in their 30s. I had no clue who they were.

The brunette and the man began stroking, caressing the beautiful redhead, both sitting cross-legged on the bed, one on each side of her. Mrs. Adderson scooted down into my lap, with one arm around my neck, her legs draped over the other arm of the stuffed chair, her face close enough to me that I could smell her skin and that strange perfume that hinted of some far-off paradise. She paid scant attention to me. She was fixated on them, completely mesmerized.

The three began making love, the brunette and the man each kissing, pinching, then sucking the redhead's nipples in an obvious mix of pain and pleasure, she on her right breast, he on her left. Her nipples became bright red and extended. She was sighing deeply, then moaning almost as soon as they moved down to between her legs. They each took turns licking her pussy, which was now opened, pink and glistening. From our chair we could smell the sex in the air.

The brunette was now on her knees on the bed, her beautiful ass up in the air toward us, affording us unmistakably raw views of each woman's pussy.

"Which do you think has the prettier sex?" Mrs. Adderson whispered in my ear.

I'm not sure why I chose the redhead, but Mrs. Adderson agreed. "Beautiful, so beautiful," she whispered. "God, she's got a cunt to fucking die for." Since it already was a night of unimaginable surprises, I shouldn't have been taken aback by her language, but I was.

Mrs. Adderson's eyes never left the three as the brunette began alternately licking the redhead's clitoris, then turning to suck the man's cock. I wondered if the guy was married to one of them.

Mrs. Adderson reached for the top of her sun dress and slowly pulled it down to her waist, completely freeing her breasts. They were delicate and soft, but with those large brown nipples and areolas I had seen through her swimsuit. She began gently and slowly brushing them with her fingers as she watched the man mount the redhead, letting the brunette reach behind him and hold his balls as he moved his dick in and out.

It became a three-way orgy, hard to keep up with who was doing what to whom. If truth be known, I wasn't much interested as I witnessed my first threesome. After all, I was sitting with Mrs. Adderson in my lap, bare-breasted and watching her caress her own nipples.

"Henry," Mrs. Adderson whispered. "Pinch my nipples and pull on them." I did what I was told, but was reprimanded. "Gently, very gently," she said. Then later, "harder, much harder, pull." I pulled them outward until she winced, then she licked her lips and smiled to no one in particular.

Moments, no maybe a half hour, later -- I couldn't keep track of time -- the orgy ended as the man spurted his semen into the mouths of both women as they huddled their faces together in front of him. By my count, it must have been his third orgasm. And then it was over.

Mrs. Adderson pulled up the top of her dress and walked me to the door. The brunette grabbed a robe and led us downstairs. As she opened the door, Mrs. Adderson pulled a white envelope out of a pocket somewhere on her dress, handing it to the woman. I didn't want to venture a guess about its contents. We left and rode back into town. I somehow knew it best to ask no questions.

* * *

"Do you think I'm mad, Henry?"

She said this as we were once again back in her dark cottage, again with the night breeze flowing through the wide-open windows and doors, but now becoming stronger and louder.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't care. You make me forget about all other women, Mrs. Adderson."

"You're such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said, just before lifting my T-shirt over my head, then undoing my shorts and helping me to step out of them. Then my boxers. She stood, her breasts against my chest, looking at my face -- and I think into my soul -- while one of her hands reached down to gently feel my dick, which mercifully was starting to get engorged and hard. The feeling of her soft hand on me is one I relive every day.

"Such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said again, still standing and looking at me, as she massaged my balls.

Somehow I wound up on my back in her bed. She sat cross-legged and naked beside me with a bottle of scented oil that she began smoothing over my skin, starting with my face. It smelled like mangos.

"Do you like me naked?" she asked, as she moved down to my thighs, rubbing oil in, getting my body glisteningly slippery.

I could only nod a yes.

As she was massaging me, partly to keep from coming too quickly, I asked why she was so interested in Anais Nin? She continued caressing me.

"You have to marvel at her fierce desires, Henry. Such an appetite for lust. Didn't you love how she just swam in passion, devoured lovers. Took joy in masturbating all the time and luxuriously, and without remorse. Relished the unknown pleasures. She harbored this insatiable desire for the white, white heat -- this hunger."

She smoothed the oil back up my legs and to my dick, then my balls, caressing them gently but unceasingly, while I fought hard to not come all over her.

She leaned down, close to my face. And in a half-whisper said:

"You see, Henry, I have this hunger too."

"I'm drunk with lust, young man. Don't make love to me, Henry. Right now I need to be fucked. Ravaged. Vulgarized. For the here and now, I am yours to do with what you want. But do it now."

Already exhausted and feeling sensory overload from the night, I nonetheless desperately wanted her. I pulled her to me and began kissing her feverishly, our tongues pushing deep into our mouths, searching and searching. I never much liked kissing before. But now, we could hardly stop, taking only quick breaths, wanting to kiss forever, our mouths becoming sore.

I pulled back, rolled on top and began kissing her neck and shoulders, then nipping them and finally biting into her, leaving marks. She began clawing my arms and back.

I did the same to her breasts, loving the thickness of her hard nipples against such tender skin. I bit around her waist, moved down to her pussy and pulled her pubic hair with my teeth, causing her to jump in pain. She grabbed my dick, pulling it hard, daring me to come. I refused. She grabbed my balls, squeezing just enough to get my attention. But the look in her eyes told me she could hurt me if she wanted to.

I pushed her legs wide apart, then slid my tongue in her pussy. She was so wet, my tongue was practically swimming inside her. I pulled my tongue out and used the tip to rub and twirl her clit, not stopping until she came hard on my face minutes later, my nose, eyes and mouth covered in her liquid. Even my ears were wet.

I turned her over, pulled her up on her knees with her ass in my face and began licking her anus. I had no idea why. I'd never done that before, never even thought about it. But I had to have Mrs. Adderson, couldn't get enough of her. I think I wanted to know her soul. I plunged my tongue mercilessly into the small hole, pushing as deep as I could, opening it up. I couldn't believe myself.

"Yes," she said in a muffled voice, her face buried into the bedsheets. "Yes."

I reached around her ass and found her clit, massaging it gently, then hard, then gently again until she came again, my tongue still in her asshole, searching for something deep within her.

I pushed her back on the bed, this time on her back, doing it as roughly as I could. Then I rammed myself inside her, hard and fast, not giving her small pussy any time to accommodate my dick, which felt as hard and thick as concrete. I began fucking her as hard as possible. She wrapped her long legs around me and squeezed me in a vice until it hurt. She even laughed a little.

I stayed in her as long as I could, pumping, endlessly pumping, slamming into her clit again and again, her hands pulling my hair and scratching my face. The night breeze, now a 20 mph wind, drowned out her scream as she came, followed by me coming, and screaming too. I was dazed by our savagery, our white hot fever. We were cannibals.

Then we lay sweating onto the sheets, gasping for breath. As the moments passed and a calmness came over us, she said in that quiet voice: "In the morning, Henry, I want you to make love to me, sweet gentle love. Will you do that?"

I don't know if I ever replied. Exhaustion probably made it impossible. I slept.

Sometime before dawn, I awakened briefly to find myself spooning with her, her hips pushed up against my dick, the back of her legs resting against the front of mine. It was an exquisite feeling. Her eyes were open.

"Such a beautiful, beautiful boy," she said softly. "A fellow traveler, I believe." I fell back asleep, blissfully in love.

* * *

It wasn't the morning sun that awakened me finally. It was the chatter of a colony of gulls outside as they glided by in their V-formation, low over the beach, a daily ritual on the Outer Banks.

Mrs. Adderson wasn't in the bed, and I didn't see her anywhere in the cottage. I suspected that she was sitting on the deck or, like thousands of tourists, walking the beach before the sun grew too hot. I headed to the bathroom to take a leak and noticed in the mirror the bite marks and scars on my shoulders and neck. Only some of them did I remember getting.

I looked on the floor of the bedroom to find my boxers -- I was still naked -- when I noticed none of her clothes were around. I did a 360-turn in slow motion, dreadfully realizing that all of her clothes, toiletries and luggage were gone. She had left without so much as a goodbye.

Frantically, I dressed, headed to my motorcycle and then 10 blocks down the street to the cottage's leasing agency, hoping to get there before she checked out. I was too late. Worse yet, they had no information on her. She had paid everything, including her deposit, in cash, so they didn't bother with license plate numbers or credit card information.

Back at the beach house, I went through all the drawers and closets, hoping to find something, anything. I ended up sitting on the bed, head in hands, crying for half an hour.

* * *

With the fall semester looming, I had only two weeks left until Labor Day, the end of the lifeguard season. Most of it I spent on the tower, repeatedly looking over my shoulder at the beach house. It was a senseless gesture, because just a day after Mrs. Adderson disappeared, a family with kids moved in for the next week. My heart was truly broken.

I went back to Syracuse but picked up my lifeguard duties at Kill Devil Hills for the next three summers before graduating. No sign of her. And, believe me, I looked. In time, I guess you could say I got my life back on track. From there it was on to law school and afterward joining a startup law firm with five other young attorneys in Baltimore, where I am now.

Along the way, I grew up, filled out, lost the freckles and some of the awkwardness, and I guess became decent enough to attract several serious girlfriends, actually three. Each was very pretty, smart and as my mother would often say: "came from good stock." Each was the kind of girl to settle down with. But in each relationship, I would find myself lying in bed after making love, staring into the darkness, wondering why I was so dissatisfied. Each romance from there just wound down in a slow, sad death.

That brings us to last week when I came to work at 8 am on Friday and, with coffee in hand, signed on to look at my emails. More than 20 had added up over night, so I began looking down the list for the important ones.

And there, coming in at 3:20 am, was one listed from "A Fellow Traveler."

It was a shattering moment. Before opening it, I sat back in my chair, waiting for my heart to quit pounding. Then I clicked on the email. There was no message, just an attached video. Clicking it brought up a small screen. The video began.




Fellow Traveler



And there she was, Mrs. Adderson, right in front of me, close up, and looking right into the screen at me. She was sitting in a chair looking into what probably was a videocam on the computer. Her hair had more gray, a luscious soft silvery kind of gray, very becoming. Otherwise, she looked the same.

No smile, as usual. Just a soul-searching look into my eyes. She cocked her head to one side in a gesture that has been etched in my memory since the first time she did it back at the beach house that long-ago night.

I could tell there was sound, yet she said nothing. She stood up and behind her I could see a bed. Her bedroom? I wondered. She walked over and sat on it. She was naked and beautiful. She sat up with her back against the headboard and several pillows. She slowly spread her legs -- wide, directly in front of the camera.

Her eyes still fixed on the camera, she began stroking her pussy with her fingers, then slid one fnger in her slit as she grew moist. I'm staring at that place between her legs, which I never thought I would see ever again.

After a moment, she leaned over and picked up something from the floor, a champagne bottle. Why was I not surprised? I'm watching, trying not even to blink. I want to miss nothing that happens, not even a millisecond.

I sat transfixed as she took a swig, then slowly inserted the neck of the bottle between her vagina's lips. pushing it gradually inside her, deep in, all the way. I had no idea it would go that far. She then began slowly pulling it half way out, then sliding it back in, all the while circling her clit with the middle finger on her other hand.

Slowly, as the moments went by, she began breathing heavily, even loud enough to be picked up by the microphone, but still keeping her eyes on me. She grew more and more aroused and rubbed her clit faster while moving the champagne bottle back and forth, gaining momentum. Champagne began spilling out of her pussy onto the bed. Her nipples were hard. At the last moment, she pulled out the bottle and she came, her hips moving back and forth on the bed, her thigh muscles contracting, her breasts heaving. And at her peak I saw a small spurt shoot out from her pussy onto the sheets.

She calmly got off the bed and reached for a white T-shirt that she slipped over her arms before sitting back down in the chair, her face now once again directly in front of mine. No words. But she winked, a very slow-motion, deliberate wink, with her left eye. Then her hand moved up to the monitor and the screen went black.

But I caught a half-second look at the T-shirt and some writing on it: "Rosarito Beach" in large letters and below it the word "Baja."

I looked for a replay button, but there wasn't one. I got out of the email and re-entered. Try as I might, I couldn't open the video again. I suppose it was somehow installed that way, to view just once. Is that possible? Maybe I could have tracked the video host, but am not sure they could tell me anything helpful.

By the time I went to the office Monday morning, I had found Rosarito Beach online. It's a playground of restaurants and dance clubs in Baja California. I also had typed out my letter of resignation to a surprised bunch of friends.

On Tuesday, I gave the cat away. By Wednesday, half of my furniture was in storage, the other half trucked off to a homeless shelter. And for some inexplicable reason, I also sold my beautiful two-door Mercedes, a present to myself when I won my first significant case a few months earlier.

Just as unexplainable, I bought a BMW k1200, which I'm told is a nice road bike that does well on long cross-country trips. I've packed one bag and one bag only to strap on the back. Tomorrow morning I'll gas it up and head southwest for what I guess will be a hard 10 days of riding.

I'm fully aware that my chances of finding her there are about one in a thousand. I mean, was the T-shirt a message to me, or just a T-shirt she threw on for the moment? Maybe she lives nowhere near Baja. Still, she had on the T-shirt and I don't believe she does much of anything that is purely accidental. She's a deliberate woman.

But why would she wait until now to contact me? She introduced herself to me as Mrs. Adderson. Was she really married? Is she still? Her name may not even be Anna Adderson.

She was right about one thing, though. We are both on the same path, bound together by this taste of white-heat living, these unknown pleasures. We are fellow travelers. I understand that now.

There are no other options for me. I have no choice. And maybe she knows that. I have to try. I need her. You see, I have this hunger.

Wish me luck.

end



Fellow Traveler



Kevin pushed his cock deep and his second helping of cum flooded my mouth. When he pulled back, his cock was coated with cum. I swallowed his load, then swallowed his cock. After sucking him dry and cleaning all the cum from his cockshaft, I released him.

Kevin helped me to my feet, 'It isn't very often that I get to cum twice in a row.'

'Twice the fun then, huh?'

He grinned, 'Yeah. Let's get on the bed.'

'Trying for a triple?'

'Maybe. If I'm lucky. Besides I want to get into a 69. I've never been in one with a man.'

'You prefer side mount or over-under?'

'I don't know. Let's do both.'

After getting ourselves arranged in the center of the bed, we resumed sucking cock. We started out with me leaning into Kevin's lap and catching his cock with my mouth. We stretched out and Kevin completed the 69 loop by eating my cock. After a few minutes and some grunting and pushing, we moved into an over-under with me on top.

I like this position because it allows for maximum movement. I fondled Kevin's balls as I pumped my lips up and down his hard shaft. Kevin has some ideas too. He gently squeezed my nuts and, occasionally, his fingers would roam up and down my ass crack. 

Without breaking our mouth to cock connections, we flopped over onto our sides again. I don't know about Kevin, but my jaw was getting tired. I rested by licking and swabbing his cockhead. He pushed himself up on his knees and straddled my head.

Kevin pushed his cock down and I tipped my head back. He fed his cock into my waiting mouth. Swallowing deeply, I felt his cock slide deep and his balls come to rest against my face. His cock pulled out a bit as he leaned forward onto his hands.

He grasped my cock, licked the head several times, then resumed sucking me. Using soda straw sucks, I worked on Kevin's cock. I tickled his balls with my finger tips and I caressed his ass crack. Each time I ran my fingers up and down his crack, I got bolder.

Kevin sucked me harder and faster when I touched him around his puckered butt hole. I pressed my thumb against it and he popped his nuts for the third time. It wasn't a copious amount of cum, but it was satisfying.

We lay side-by-side for a few minutes.

'Third time's a charm.'

'Yes. It is,' Kevin grinned. 'I haven't cum three times in the same night since I was first married.' He continued to talk as I got off the bed and went into the bathroom to wash the traces of his and my cum off my face, hands and thighs. 'I've got some other fantasies.'

'I didn't think you were a one night stand.'

He grinned, 'I was hoping you'd want to come back tomorrow night. Actually, I wish you could stay tonight.'

'You know that wouldn't look to cool.'

'Yeah, I know, but I want to do everything.'

'We'll see. It's late and we still have a conference to attend. I don't think our companies would be too happy if they found out we ducked out so we could spend our time sucking cock.'

'And maybe doing other manly things,' Kevin laughed.

When I finished dressing, he was standing in the center of the room. Still nude. I walked over and bent down and kissed hiss cockhead. He was grinning as I straightened up. 'We will do some more tomorrow night. Right?'

'Yes. You have those other fantasies.'

I should have showered when I got back to my room, but it was late and I was tired. Especially my jaw. 



Fellow Travelers



Luggage, carts, coats, newspapers, books, laptops and people. Lots of them. With visibility below minimums, Air Traffic Control was rerouting all incoming traffic and holding all departing flights. But there was still hope for those who were traveling and those awaiting incoming flights. 

And so, they waited. 

The people-watcher had no difficulty sorting out the A- from the B-type personalities. The As were ranting, whining, their body language aggressive. The Bs were accepting, very much into their 'que sera' mind frames. At 8:30, a female voice on the public address system announced: "Everyone with tickets aboard any carrier, kindly check with your airline. Because of inclement weather, all flights from Greensboro have been canceled this evening. Again, check with your carrier." 

The woman at the microphone, undoubtedly grateful she was out of sight, repeated the message, then clicked off.

The people-watcher, reclining on his chair in the corner, observed the commotion her words had caused. Everyone, it seemed, was saying much the same thing: "What'll we do now?" ... "This is preposterous" ... "I'll never use such-and-such a carrier again" ... "What are we supposed to do, sleep here all night?", and so on. 

He was amused, a little superior and he knew he was being smug. He could afford to be. His company car was in the nearby parking lot, his trip wasn't urgent and the motel on Route 9, just three miles from the airport, was owned by a friend. The traveler's inconvenience would be minimal.

People were on the move, to ticket counters, to hail cabs, or back to their cars. Activity was the key word. Except . . .!

Except, cater corner to where the people-watcher was making his observations. The woman there possessed a relaxed body language and a detached facial expression. She practically reposed, long legs crossed, as she, too, people watched. 

"Ah," he thought, "a fellow traveler, as it were."

Her eyes caught his the precise moment his thought ended. He smiled the approving smile usually given to strangers whose predicaments and methods of handling them are in sync. She returned the smile, raised her hand, and wiggled her index finger in the universal come hither gesture. 

Her smile held as he approached, and she said, "You're about the cockiest man in the whole building, aren't you?"

"I won't deny it, but maybe that's because I've been who those people are. Now I know enough not to cry about things I can do nothing about. But you, you're of a mind frame very much approximating my own. Why?"

"Because as much as I want to get home," she responded, "there's no way I'll impose my need on the aviator's sense of safety. Besides, I like dense fog. It's almost sexual."

The people-watcher's flare for snappy repartee deserted him. He was at a loss. He said nothing.

"Where are you going?" she resumed. 

"Toronto," he said. "And you?"

"Home to New York. Is Toronto your home?"

"Yes, but I'm here in Greensboro every week on company business. They've given me a car so I just leave it in the lot when I go."

"So what are you going to do between now and tomorrow morning?"

He explained about his friend and the motel, that with his car here he'd have no problem being rested and relaxed during his wait for clear skies. 

"And you?" he asked. 

"I'd made up my mind to just sit but, I must say, the idea of a warm room is very appealing."

"My Name is Alan Davis," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Alan. My name is Nancy Jones."

"Well, Miss Jones. Would you care to accompany me?"

"I'd be delighted," she said.

He drove very slowly, the fog allowing minimal vision. Miss Jones was relaxed and confident. Davis was alert and tense. 

"Mmm," she said, her hand reaching to touch his knee, "I love the way this weather makes me feel."

He hadn't been aloof to her charms. In fact, Davis's reaction to her touch caused a little movement in his pants. Miss Jones, herself an experienced observer, didn't allow the spectacle to escape her attention. She slid her hand up his leg directly to her target, applied small pressure, feeling him... and something else. That something else provoked her to squeeze just a little harder, evoking a small moan.

"Did you put it on or was it put on for you?" she asked.

He was slow to respond, even as she held and squeezed. He sighed and admitted it was a remembrance device snapped shut three days earlier by his sometime Mistress in Toronto.

"Sometime?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

"We don't have a permanent understanding. We get together occasionally. That's all. She asked that I not remove it until I get home."

Incredulous, she said, "Asked? Only asked?"

She squeezed harder. He whimpered. "If you were mine," she said, "your balls would be tied and separated. And I wouldn't be asking. What's more, I'd want the thong-ends coming out of your fly so I could play by pulling and torturing them at will."

"So, you stand for sensual female domination," he said.

"Absolutely. I'm no stranger to the harness you're wearing and, by the way, you'll be showing it to me in more detail later on."

Miss Jones released her grip, turned in her seat and rested her back against the door. Raising both legs from the floor, she positioned them in his lap. "Keep your eyes on the road, slave, at least the part you can see."

"Yes, Mistress."

She pressed down heavily.

He was as much aware of that "slave/Mistress" exchange as he'd ever been about any conversation in his life. And it excited him. 

"From this moment on, you will address me not as Miss Jones but as Mistress Nancy." 

"Yes, Mistress Nancy."

* * * * * 

Mistress Nancy and Davis checked-in without difficulty. She was sitting at the table enjoying a nightcap. He - his ankles and wrists bound with his ties - knelt on the floor, eyes cast downward. She'd had him disrobe and assume the position just minutes after they'd entered the room. Then Mistress Nancy bound him.

Peripherally, he saw the purse in her lap and her hands undoing the various fasteners. It took only a moment before the harmless, black leather purse strap became a standalone object of discipline. She stretched it between her hands, played with it for a moment or two, then stood and stepped the single pace separating them.

"Open your mouth, slave," she said.

She placed the strap between his lips, commanded that he hold it for her and remain still. The head of his cock glistened. Davis, the people-watcher, followed her with his eyes. Mistress Nancy opened her carry-on bag, retrieved a pair of black, 5" stiletto pumps, a pair of stay-ups and her make-up kit, then moved to the bathroom. She left the door open but his position didn't allow him to see.

When she emerged ten minutes later, he was stunned by the radical makeover. Now Mistress Nancy's lips were bright red, her eye shadow pronounced, her business suit was replaced by black bra, black panties, black stay-ups and those 5" spikes. She took the strap from his mouth, observed his erection, then resumed her place on the chair. Crossing her legs, she snapped her finger, pointing to the floor directly beneath her. He crawled as best he could, reached the spot, knelt upright with eyes lowered to her feet, just as he'd been taught. Mistress Nancy recognized his training but this wasn't her training.

"Face down, slave. Your holding position with me is entirely prostrate, your lips on the toe of my shoe."

"Yes, Mistress Nancy. Thank you, Mistress Nancy."

"The transition pleases me, slave. Your "cock of the walk" attitude at the airport is now more appropriate, don't you think? I much prefer your bound cock on the carpet." She nudged his lips with her shoe. "Lick," she commanded.

Davis abandoned himself to the task, laving the leather in great strokes. The more he licked, the greater his submission became. And, consequently, the more enthusiasm he gave to his worship of her shoe. His mind belonged to her.

Mistress Nancy raised her foot, offered her spiked heel to his mouth. "Suck it, slave. Suck and lick my heel. Worship it. Adore it. Make me know how much you need and want my special attentions. Show me how much you want to serve. That's it. I love watching your cheeks compress like that. You remind me of a squirrel. Give me your passion, slave. Right now, my shoe is the only thing in the world. You adore it. You respect its power, my power. Give my heel the respect it deserves. Good boy."

Davis's mind was aflame. She'd taken it to complete subservience. The Mistress in Toronto was entirely negated.

"Stop," she whispered.

So involved in his foot worship, her command took seconds to reach his intellect. He breathed a huge sigh and obeyed.

"Get back up on your knees, dog. I want to inspect your harness."

His precum hung, cock to floor, and she was pleased. Reaching out and down, Mistress Nancy gathered it upward on the ends of her fingers and offered them to his mouth. "Lick, slave. I want your mess cleaned up."

His tongue working Mistress Nancy's hand caused her a sentimental stir, the motion reminiscent of a favorite pet gently taking his treat. But that's what he'd already become, she realized, a pet. Her pet. Her dog. And she wanted to keep him, owning him body and soul. Davis's hands remained tied behind. She unsnapped the leather band around his penis, then the one around his scrotum, releasing him from the bondage.

"Turn around," she demanded. "I'm going to release your wrists and redo them in front. I need your help for something. Stay on your knees, slave."

It was true, she did need his help. But there was another reason for tying his wrists in front.

"Do you remember what I told you in the car about your balls?"

"Yes, Mistress Nancy. You said if I were yours, you'd want them tied."

"What else?"

"Tied and separated, Mistress Nancy."

"Lift your cock out of my way, slave. Your balls are mine and tied and separated is the way I'll have them."

She'd taken a shoe lace from a sneaker in her carry-on luggage. Doubling it, she made a small noose and slipped the lace over his balls, then tightened it at the fleshy base. She brought one end right down the middle and encircled his bag with it, then did the same with the other lace on the opposite ball. A knot quickly followed, leaving about 6" of dangling laces with which she could hold on to. His testicles looked like small balloons attached to strings in her hand. Davis's harness had been reasonably comfortable. The shoe lace was another story. Mistress Nancy had done the job well. He suffered a dull ache.

"There," she said. "You look much prettier now, don't you, slave? What do you say?"

"Yes, Mistress Nancy. Thank you, Mistress Nancy."

"You may alternate, at your choice, between my full name or simply 'Mistress'.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Davis continued to hold his cock out of her way and released it only on her command. It stood tall.

"Put your head in my lap, slave," she said, spreading her legs. "I want to feel the bridge of your nose right on top of my clitoris. Do it."

Davis was adept. The tip of his nose did battle with the nub of her essence. It was a short struggle. The nose vs. clit match was a first-round decision . . . For the clitoris. Mistress Nancy screamed her pleasure. * * * * * 

"And now you pay for the pleasure of bringing me to orgasm. Head on the floor, ass in the air. Your hands won't be getting in my way now, will they?"

"No, Mistress."

"Kiss it." She held the strap to his lips. He obeyed.

She stood beside him, strap in hand, and meted out her own brand of discipline. He moaned, loudly. Stepping from her panties, she balled them, ordered his mouth open, and jammed them inside. The gag was effective. No one in the adjoining rooms heard a thing. She loved his movements, his straining, his whimpering, the raising of his buttocks to meet the punishment. She alternated, cheek for cheek, until they were crimson from the top down to just above his thighs, then she stopped. 

"Kneel up, slave. Show me your face."

His eyes were red and his cheeks bloated from the makeshift gag. She held her hand to his mouth and retrieved the panties. Brushing a tear from his eye, she quietly said, "I'm very proud of you, slave. Now," she said as she resumed her seat, "thank me for disciplining you and taking you under my control."

He bent to her shoe, kissing, licking and offering his thanks for her domination; her understanding of him; her majestic presence. And then he was quiet as his tongue continued its worshiping ritual of his Mistress' footwear.

She released his wrists and ordered him to take cock in hand and show her how desirable she was. Davis's strokes were long and slow at first but, at her instigation, his hand became a blur.

"Ask me, slave. Beg me."

"Please, Mistress Nancy. Please allow me to cum. P-p-l-e-e-e-a-a-s-e!"

"On the toe of my shoe, slave. I want it all there. Shoot it for me. Let me see all that lovely slave-cum. Do it. Now!"

She made him lick her shoe dry, swallowing his cum in several gulps, before releasing his ankles. The shoe lace remained in place. * * * * * 

The day dawned bright. He awoke her as she'd instructed, by lifting the blankets at the bottom of the bed and revealing her feet. Davis knelt beside the bed, extended his head, and gently licked, sucking her toes.

Her eyes slowly opened and she smiled. "Good morning, slave."

"Good morning, Mistress Nancy."

They sat beside each other on the commuter flight to Atlanta where they'd catch their respective connecting flights home. He'd spread the airline blanket over himself, having earlier complained to the flight attendant of a chill. Mistress Nancy held the ends of the shoe lace the entire distance, giving one long, sensual, painful tug just as the plane's engines wound down at the gate.

He zipped up and both stood to retrieve their luggage, then waited in the aisle to disembark. Mistress Nancy turned to her new slave, motioned his face down close to hers and extended an arm around his neck. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Slave, don't take it off until you get home. Think of me the whole distance," and sealed the command with a sensual kiss to his lips. 

* * * * * Davis sat in his United Airlines seat bound for Toronto. He envisaged Mistress Nancy on her journey to New York. The events of the past 14 hours played heavily on his mind. He was an experienced submissive, yet the pure animal lust combined with her sensual domination affected him to a point far deeper than any similar scene ever had. He hated the distance between them, yet cherished the idea that they both had control over their itineraries. Both could plan business trips as they saw fit. He knew they'd be speaking about it. 

* * * * * Davis had vacation time owing. It had been a year since he'd been to his condo at West Palm Beach so he planned a 2-week visit for the end of October. Nancy, of course, knew of his plans since there'd been frequent phone conversations and E-mail ever since that first encounter.

Now, she made plans of her own. She had a client at Fort Lauderdale, just 25 minutes down I-95 from West Palm, who hadn't been visited for quite some time. She set up an appointment for the first Friday of Alan's vacation. She knew the weekend would prove, in Spock's words, ''fascinating''. This time, though, she'd be ready for her slave. Their first encounter had been a series of make-do implementation. Mistress Nancy packed her toys, including the amazing 5" black, patent spiked pumps, into the luggage she knew she'd be checking. No sense dicking with those security types who do the frisking at the airports, she thought. 

Thursday night she flew out, rented a car at the Fort Lauderdale airport, found a hotel for the night, took care of business Friday morning, and was now driving up the Florida Turnpike watching for the Lake Worth exit. She found a radio station playing Oldies and sang aloud with the Supremes' hit, ''Stop In The Name of Love''. It amused her because every time the lyric came up, she'd put a ''Don't'' in front of it. 

Driving allowed her mind to wander everywhere: from business to home... to friends... to sex... to next Thursday evening's class... to the Internet... to Literotica... to the beautiful writings there... to what she was about to initiate. Nancy dwelt on that a little longer. She loved it. And she found the thought of Alan Davis's submission delicious. 

She'd phoned him when she left Fort Lauderdale so she knew he'd be ready and waiting. His directions were simple to follow and she had no difficulty. Most of South Florida's roads were in the simple north-south-east-west pattern anyway. Now eastbound on Lake Worth Road, she passed the outlying hotels, fast food outlets, plazas and large car dealerships. She'd been watching for the Olive Garden restaurant on the northwest corner. That's where she knew she'd turn left.

Sure enough, there it was. An advance green allowed quick work of the intersection and now she slowed, then stopped. It was almost show time. Flipping down the sun visor to check her make-up in the vanity mirror, Mistress Nancy touched up her lips then added eyeliner. Satisfied with her appearance, she made quick work of the remaining block to Alan's condo. 

* * * * * He greeted her at the door, kissed her cheek and invited her in. Nancy also offered her hand to his lips which, of course, he also kissed.

"My car is in the visitor's spot across the way, the red Bonneville. Go and bring my luggage in from the trunk," she said, "including my briefcase." She handed him the keys, then - in his absence - gave herself a quick, private tour. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. "Perfect," she thought.

They sat in the living room with refreshments, catching up on each other's activities and making the usual small talk about the Florida weather, a departure from their respective climates up north. Alan had taken her luggage to the master bedroom and was privately amused by the term. He knew it could certainly not be described as that in their relationship. Nancy caught his reflective smile and asked what he was thinking. He told her, and she was amused. 

"You need it, don't you?", she asked. 

"Yes, Nancy, I do," he responded. 

"Tell me. Be specific. What do you need?" 

"I need to be under your control, Mistress. I need your guidance and discipline. I need to be trained properly so I can serve you in the manner you wish. I need to feel the unlimited love a puppy has for his Mistress. In fact, Mistress, the similarities between dog training and slave training are very much in sync. I hope to be worthy enough, Mistress, to genuinely be your slave, your puppy." 

"I can assure you, Alan, that we'll be finding out this weekend how malleable to my service you can become. I intend to break you." 

"Yes, Mistress. Please do so." Alan, who'd been fighting his proclivity for so long, had reached the point in his life where he accepted his submission and took pride in it. But he knew he needed a woman just like Nancy to take him the final distance. 

"Stand and strip, Alan. Take off everything, put it away neatly, then return here to me, on your knees." 

"Yes, Mistress," he said, moving off to the walk-in closet. 

While he was out of the room, Nancy had retrieved her briefcase and had it open on the sofa beside her. He crawled to her, stopping and kneeling up, hands clasped behind his back and his eyes lowered at her feet, as he'd been trained.

Mistress Nancy sat with her drink in hand quietly watching. Again, she reflected, he showed his previous training but it was not her instruction. Before correcting his posture, however, she reached forward, cupped his balls and tightened her grip. 

"You need to be dominated, don't you? It's deep inside you. You need the humiliation and discipline I can bring you. You need to feel my correction. That's true, isn't it, Alan?"




Fellow Travelers



Her voice was hypnotic, soft yet dominant and controlled.

"Yes, Mistress Nancy, I do." 

She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a leather thong, had him kiss it, then wrapped it around and between his balls, tying the ends tightly. Next came the three-inch wide posture collar with the locking clasp. Again, he was ordered to kiss it, then to bend so his forehead rested on her knee whiled she snapped and locked it closed. Finally, the leash. A kiss, then it was snapped onto his collar.

She had him change his position. "Just like our first time. Prostrate on the floor, your lips pressed to the toe of my shoe." 

"Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry. I forgot. This position has been drummed into me." 

"I understand, Alan, but if you're to become my slave there are a number of changes we have to make. Among them will be drumming new positions and obediences into you." 

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." 

She felt his lips pressing onto her toes through the leather of the shoe she'd been wearing since this morning and she reveled in it, reveled in her dominance and in his submission to her as she held the leash. 

Nancy stood and led him on hands and knees to the bedroom where she stopped and sat on the stool at the vanity. "Put my suitcase on the bed, slave, open it for me then return here and remain kneeling up, palms open and forward, the backs of your hands pressed against your thighs and your eyes lowered." 

"Yes, Mistress Nancy." 

His eyes popped when he saw some of the travel bag's contents but he wisely said nothing, returning to her. 

"Unzip me, Alan. I want to wear something more appropriate to your training." She put the leash's handle in his mouth and instructed he grip it there. He carefully found the zipper at the back of her dress and drew it downward. Nancy stood, allowing him to complete the task. Shrugging her shoulders, the dress fell to the floor and she stepped out of it. He paused for a moment, then took the initiative of picking it up, crawling to the closet, hanging it, and returning to her. 

"Good boy," she said. "But I didn't make it clear at the outset so I will tell you now. Do nothing, absolutely nothing, without my specific command." 

"Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry, Mistress." 

"That's alright, slave. Now that you know what I expect of you, don't presume anything. Just wait for my direction."

"Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry, Mistress." 

Alan held his position, watching his Mistress - now clad only in bra, panties and heels - as she combed her hair. He loved the way her back arched as her hand moved. He loved the strain it put on her shoulders and, thus, the way her movements emphasized her round, full and exciting breasts in the bra. Mistress Nancy wasn't oblivious to what she was doing and how it impacted on him. She knew that just by doing this simple exercise she was building his excitement and, she admitted to herself, she loved these exhibitionistic facets of domination. 

Reaching for the ends of the thong, Mistress grasped then tugged, saying, "By this time Sunday afternoon, you will have no doubt - if one existed - about who I am and what you are. Your only respites will come when we go out. But, even then, I expect you will be showing proper deference." 

Alan winced and thanked his Mistress. 

"Stay where you." She commanded, once more putting the leash in his mouth. Mistress Nancy stood, slipped out of her shoes, reached behind and unfastened her bra, dropped it on the floor and stepped out of her panties. She disrobed purposely in Alan's full view. Reaching into her suitcase, she extracted a black corset and put it on, taking care to let him see the fitting of her breasts into the cups. Next came the diaphanous black panties. Then she returned to the stool with stockings in her hand, sat and extended a leg. 

"Put my stockings on for me, slave. Kiss my foot first, then begin." 

Alan released the leash from his mouth, took Mistress Nancy's foot in his hands, kissed it, then accordioned the stocking into a small bundle with an opening. He eased it over her precious foot and began the rolling process up her leg. Mistress insisted on doing the garters herself. She knew the effect certain feminine movements had on men, and this was one of them. He reacted as she knew he would, staring as her fingers did their work. 

She gently lowered her leg and offered the other. Alan again offered his worship, rolling the stocking slowly up, up, up. This time he stopped, looking to her to show his ability as a quick learner. Mistress looked at him sternly, then said: "Didn't I tell you not to presume anything, slave. Attach the garters."

Alan completed the task quickly, then resumed his upright kneeling position. 

Mistress Nancy sent him crawling to her suitcase to retrieve her 5" black patent leather spikes. "Put them on me, slave. Do it gently." 

The chore was easy. He loved the effect her high-heeled feet had on him. 

"From now through the rest of our time together this weekend, slave, we will be involved in breaking your will and your resistance. Complete obedience will become second nature for you." 

Extending her shoe, she whispered, "You may lick." 

Alan put his tongue to work, listening as she continued, "I will sleep in the Mistress bedroom and you will be bound on the floor beside me. In fact, it's now time you were thoroughly restrained. Crawl back to my briefcase. Bring it to me. Stay on your hands and knees. In fact, stay on your hands and knees for the weekend, except when I give permission. Go. Hurry." 

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." * * * * * 

Mistress Nancy shook out the small cat'o nine tails, taken from the briefcase, and ran the lashes lovingly through her fingers. "It's a pretty, yet effective device, Alan, for letting you know how much I care for you, how much I want to ensure you always do the right thing. If I was at the office now and you were under my supervision, we'd call this next phase in your training "experiential development". In any case, the result will be the same. Now, sweetheart, I want you to bend right down so your forehead touches the floor, that's it. Yes, stay on your knees. Good boy. Now, put your wrists behind your back. I'm going to restrain you, Alan, because this phase will be pure discipline and I don't want your hands getting in the way as I whip you." 

Mistress Nancy used leather cuffs on his wrists, securing him tightly, and did the same with his ankles.

"Now, slave, it's time for your whipping. I'm going to be hard on you because we must establish what you can expect if you disobey. Be brave for me, Alan. I'm going to hurt you and you're going to cry. Give me your tears freely, sweetheart. I want them. Make them a gift to me. Show me your obedience and devotion. Beg me to whip and enslave you, Darling."

Mesmerized, he said, "Yes, Mistress Nancy. You're everything I've dreamed about. Please discipline me so I can be as close as I can to the perfect slave. Please make me feel pain so I can get closer to that ideal. Help me, Mistress, to be reliant on your kindnesses and cruelties knowing that for each I will become more and more adoring of you. Please whip me, Mistress." 

"Very well, slave. You know I want you as my submissive. And because you've begged me so nicely, I will now discipline you. Prepare yourself for my whip." She walked forward, bent on one knee and put the whip's handle to his mouth. "Kiss it, Alan. Kiss the whip I'll be using to bring you further into submission." 

In her other hand, she held the gag. When Alan had used his lips to show respect for the whip, Mistress let him see what she had. "Open your mouth, slave. You've got to be gagged. I don't want your neighbors to get the right idea." She laughed softly.

Alan lay bound and gagged on the floor, his ass in the air and his balls tied and separated. "Life doesn't get any better than this," she thought. 

Mistress knew him for the sensualist he was. She draped the whip on his upper buttocks and let it rest there. Slowly, she walked over to the kitchen, poured herself another drink, and returned. Mistress didn't do this because she was thirsty, rather she wanted to reinforce his desire for her by allowing him the visual treat of her body, her feet and her attire. 

Beside him and out of sight, he felt her touch him gently as she retrieved the whip. She ran the lashes tantalizingly down his back, stopped, then leaned over and brushed the cups of her breasts sensuously over him. 

Alan sighed with pleasure. 

"And now we begin, slave. Count for me around your gag. I want to hear you." 

Her lashes were entirely easy to handle, at first. Alan soon realized, however, that the preliminaries were simply to soften him up. The whipping became much more intense. From time to time, Mistress Nancy paused and stroked his ass. "I love seeing you down there, slave. And I love whipping you. Be brave, my darling. Suffer for me." 

It wasn't a frenzied discipline session. In fact, Mistress Nancy took the better part of an hour in bringing him to tears. The rest of his body language also told her of his plunge into abject servitude; the shoulders - how they were and what their appearance was now, his ass - rosy red and seemingly reaching up to meet her whip, his fingers - which splayed out as she began the discipline, now totally compliant. 

Mistress Nancy laid the whip on the small of his back, walked to his head, bent and removed his gag. She stood upright. 

"Slave, do you have something to say?" 

Alan slithered close to her feet, kissed her shoe, and thanked her for the discipline. "Mistress, how may I serve you?" 

* * * * * 

It was coming up on 6:30 and Mistress Nancy was hungry. She released Alan from all but his thong bondage, told him to shower and to get dressed. They were going out for supper. 

They sat with four other couples around the Japanese cooking table, watching as the chef did his magic on the food with his knives. The social setting and lack of privacy prohibited overt play so instead of resisting, they joined in the table talk. Because much of the fare was finger food, Mistress Nancy would occasionally have Alan suck and lick her fingers clean. Mistress and slave knew what was going on. The others looked on approvingly at what they saw as a loving relationship. 

"Perfect," she thought. "They have their perceptions, we have our reality." 

* * * * * 

Back at the condominium, once the door was closed and locked, Mistress Nancy reasserted herself, "Strip completely and bring me your collar, leash, wrist and ankle restraints. Be back here and in position within two minutes." 

Alan hurried. He was prostrate at her feet, lips pressed to the toe of her shoe, within the allotted time. His bondage devices were now beside her on the couch. 

"Give me your neck, slave," she commanded. 

Alan raised himself on his knees, then lowered his head to her knee. She wrapped the collar snugly, locking it closed, and attached the leash. 

"Head up, kneel back and give me your wrists." 

"Now put these on your ankles. I'll connect them for you before we go to sleep. Use the guest bathroom to do what you must. Report to me in the Mistress bedroom when you're ready to be bound and to sleep." 

Mistress Nancy sat at the vanity table, preparing. She'd removed her clothing and had changed to a sheer negligee with high-heeled mules. Alan soon crawled to her, flattened himself on the floor and pressed his lips to her foot. 

"Day one is over, slave. We've still got tomorrow and the better part of Sunday. You've made me very happy with your performance, Darling. You are going to be a wonderful slave for me. I have some chains in my briefcase. Go get them and attach one to the leg at the head of the bed and one to the leg at the bottom. I'll be using them to tie you down for the night, right beside me. You'll be on the floor, of course." 

Alan made the attachments and, by the time he'd finished, Mistress Nancy was ready to retire for the night. Taking him by the leash, she led him to the side of the bed and connected his wrist and ankle restraints to the chains. Sitting on the bed's edge, she slipped off the mules and rested her feet on his chest. 

"I think training should be done with love and with care. That way there will be a stronger, more lasting bond between us. Kiss my feet goodnight, slave." 

Alan worshipfully kissed and licked her feet all over, sucking her toes in the process. Mistress moved them from his face down to his genitals. His cock, of course, had been more often erect than flaccid throughout their time together today and Mistress Nancy was kind. She gripped it between her feet and moved them in the traditional manner, working to create orgasm for him. He knew enough to ask permission before ejaculation. 

"You have my permission, darling slave. Cum for me. Cum, sweetheart." 

He erupted in great spasms toward the ceiling, his cum landing on Mistress's feet and ankles. 

"Oh, thank you, Mistress. Thank you. Thank you." 

"You're welcome, slave. I'm not without consideration for your needs. Lick it all up, now. Clean my feet, darling, and then we'll go to sleep." 

Mistress Nancy crawled under the covers and fell asleep with her slave's leash handle encircling her wrist. 

Alan didn't fall asleep for many hours. 

* * *