Mistress Ellen’s Academy 2

by Bob Salinas

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2007 - Bob Salinas - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbm; M/f; F/m; bond; D/s; toys; cons; X

(story continues from )

Chapter 2 – Betsy Chalmers Makes a New Friend

I twisted over in bed and slapped the alarm clock into stunned silence. After about thirty seconds' worth of drowsy hesitation, I tossed back the quilt from my naked body, tumbled that body out into the cool morning air, and padded across the floor into the the bathroom and the shower. While the burbles and smells of Mister Coffee wafted in from the kitchen. I started the water and adjusted the temperature. Some Nordic polar-bear fools may enjoy ice water- not me! I hung a fresh, fluffy towel by the door and stepped into the warm spray, still not at 'Jeopardy!'-level alertness. I woke up slowly and took my time showering, as usual I enjoy a leisurely shower while I take the opportunity to caress my feminine curves and make very sure that every part of me is clean. I make no bones about it - I enjoy caressing myself!

But finally I turned off the water, patted myself dry and checked out the bedside clock. After that leisurely start to my day, I was running a bit late, so I made only a brief stop in the kitchen to microwave and wolf down a breakfast muffin with a couple of cups of coffee and then dressed quickly.

I started with a little black French-cut bra, the wide-set straps and a bit of clever engineering emphasize my cleavage, which I think every woman likes or ought to. (Too many women and people in general don't like our bodies and ourselves... a pity.) Next, a snug little panty girdle. Although my butt may be just a trifle on the ample side for my figure (I mean, nobody's ever complained), I enjoy that girdle mainly for the squeezed-all-day-long good feeling it gives me. I reached into the closet for a pair of 'Guess?' jeans (what are they supposed to make you guess- what's under them?) and a plain white blouse to cover up my carefully selected under­wear and to complete my work outfit.

Hurrying off to work, I drove the van up I-680 to Tracy. Just before the plant gate I crossed the five Southern Pacific tracks and, a block later, four Union Pacific tracks (the Bay area is a major transportation hub, and the little town had formed where they intersect). As I crossed the tracks at about 25 M.P.H., I glanced down to see my boobs wiggling liquidly in the supporting embrace of the lacy bra. Although it may have its flaws, I do so enjoy my body!

The lab had a backlog of work waiting for me because of the holiday weekend, so I dove right in. The process of developing and printing is pretty much automated, so I just tended the machine and monitored the output, making sure that the machine was doing its job. A couple of hours later, a flash of tan caught my eye, so I leaned over to check it out. I pulled the packet and its paperwork out-of-line and sat back to eyeball it. The lab is pretty liberal, considering what you can buy at the corner drug store any more, but they still have guidelines about what we're supposed to let through - kiddie and snuff porn, for starters, are totally verboten and warrant a phone call to the police instantaneously. Stupid to have that kind of stuff developed at a commercial lab, but I've seen more than one of both.

This particular batch of pictures, though well within the guidelines, tickled my favorite kinky bone. Some not-bad-looking guy, apparently alone, was posing naked in a beautiful pillory with various bondage toys. I started to get turned on (which isn't hard for me) just looking! I broke several company rules by keeping the photo packet and took my lunch hour in the back of the van. I sat down in the back, set the pictures on the table, and in moments had my blouse and my bra on the floor. After a second glance out the tinted window at verify that the parking lot was clear (I didn't want to discover a cluster of people cheering me on!), I enthusiastically pulled my girdle down around my knees. With one hand maneuvering the pictures and the other dancing between my breasts and my crotch, I discovered I wasn't hungry!

The pictures went home in my purse (what the heck, I was following the spirit of the law and the pictures would get delivered somehow) and I again perused them carefully, even using a magnifying glass to check out his nipple clamps and his asshole's reaction to a dildo. Finally, after two hours and three glasses of wine, I screwed up my courage and called the phone number on the packet. A deep voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hi- Bob Kowalski?"

"That's me."

"Hello, Bob. My name is Betsy, and I'm embarrassed as hell, so please let me blurt out my well-rehearsed little speech and then we'll talk. Please?" I could hear the curiosity in his voice.

"Okay, Betsy, talk!"

The words flooded out of my mouth. "I work for the photo lab in Tracy, and I just developed your roll of film. I'm into the same sort of kink as you are, but I'm alone and chicken and horny. Can we consider each other?"

A deafening silence hung on the line for two, three, four seconds before I finally heard, "Wow... I'm kinda floored, Betsy! I never had the faintest notion something like this might happen. How can I know you're not..." I cut in.
"Look at it from MY side, Bob, I have a lot more to lose than you do. I'm 'way out on a limb just talking to you. Look, if you're not interested..."

"Hell, yes, I'm interested, Betsy! I'm alone, just like you are. Why don't we meet for dinner tomorrow after work, no strings, no questions, and we'll see if we like each others' heads?" So we made arrangements for the next evening.

Right after work on Wednesday, I shot home (breaking most of the rules even on the Indy 680, where 80 M.P.H. in a 65 M.P.H. zone is the norm), quickly showered, and redressed. I picked out (mainly for me, since the implicit agreement was that this wouldn't be 'The Night') a pair of black nylon thong panties, a blue garter belt and a pair of black patterned stockings (I like the bare-ass-under-the-skirt feel they give me) to go with a fresh match to the bra I had worn that day. Then I selected a pretty dress, dinner-sexy with a low neckline that showed off my boobs and a slit skirt that enhanced my average-length legs... I wanted to look inviting but not utterly brazen or too cheap for our first meeting.

I was watching the front door of "The Hungry Hunter" (a classy and rather pricey prime-rib restaurant) from the bar when Bob walked in. Not bad, although of course I had seen more of him in his pictures; he was dressed for the casual silicon-valley office, black slacks and a dress shirt. The dark blue shirt had the nice touch of his initials embroidered in pseudo-Cyrillic characters on the breast pocket. He looked around uncertainly (remember he had never seen me and I had just told him I’d be waiting), looking quickly at each of the women waiting, wondering which would claim him. I tossed down the last of my martini and silently walked up to him. "Hello, Bob!"

I smiled as he looked me up and down quickly with a smile breaking across his face. "Hello, Betsy! I'm very happy to meet you." He gave me the up-and-down again, slower this time, both of us knowing that I knew that he knew that I knew he was sizing me up. "Ready to eat?" I nodded, and he gestured casually to the maitre'd with his left hand.

I followed the maitre'd to a table; Bob frowned, spoke quietly for a moment, and gestured toward a booth. The maitre's, a young man with a short black pony-tail, indicated the booth was impossible until Bob leaned 'way over him and spoke some more, a hint of unhappiness in his voice. Clearly intimidated, the young man led us to the booth and seated us.

In a few minutes, a waiter showed up and took our orders; Bob eased back and listened while I ordered. (It's nice to be with a guy who has enough self-confidence that he'll let me place my own order and doesn't have to imitate Shaft by placing my order too.) Bob and I chatted lightly over drinks and salad- innocuous stuff like jobs and home towns (he was from Chicago, whereas I grew up in upstate New York) until Bob steered the conversation gently into more sensual topics. Not cheap stuff like on "Love Connection" or "Studs", but more delicate stuff like my taste in fabrics and clothes.

Through dinner we just talked lightly, both of us having other things on out minds, until Bob opened up The Subject For The Evening (and he even pronounced the capital letters somehow!): "Well, Betsy, let's talk about What Brought Us Together. Okay?" I smiled and silently nodded my assent; Bob led off. "Long, long ago, in a galaxy far far away, I rented a cheap apartment in inner-city Milwaukee- 27th and Lisbon, which was fair then but I wouldn't let you drive through now. One Saturday I got bored and walked west, aimlessly eyeballing shop windows, and just two blocks away found a porno shop- the kind with no name, just an open door with a room divider to keep out the gawkers.

"So I stepped in to browse (I was really bucks-down back then) and soon what should leap into my hands" (we both smiled at the absurdity of that) "but a copy of a magazine titled 'Bound To Please'. On the back, in full color, was a pretty black girl, thirty-something, seen from behind, wearing a lacy black bra and yellow latex panties which really molded her curves.

"Rather moderate for a porno shop, except that her elbows were touching, tied together behind her back with about five neat loops of rope and very tidily cinched. The rope went around her waist three times, sinking into her flesh, before it was tied in a knot in front of her, dipped down, and disappeared between her legs. The rope went through her crotch, pulled so tight between her thighs you could see her flesh” (he delicately avoided saying ‘pussy lips’) “wrapping around the rope. The rope spread her cheeks on the way up, and looped around the waist rope in back. The rope went through her crotch twice like that; and I know the rope was doing delicious things to her through her latex under­pants.

"The photography was exquisite. She was looking back at me (not at the camera, but at ME) over her shoulder with an expression that said 'please get me loose and pleasure me... at least pleasure me...' I bought the magazine and headed home right away. In maybe thirty seconds after I came through the door I was naked in the kitchen, leaning back with my butt against the sink, my right hand full of soap suds, and the magazine opened on the table in front of me.

"I was hooked right away. Within a week, I had gone back to the bookstore twice for bondage magazines and bought myself a pair of handcuffs. Interesting thing..." Bob hesitated for a moment and then jumped into the sort of self-disclosure that's most unusual for a man. "From the first, I identified with that girl bound in the rubber panties. I'm incredibly straight, but in my bondage fantasy I WAS that girl- young and slender and sexy and submissive. At least until I wanted to cum, at which time I wanted my dick back!

"Anyway, back to the handcuffs. The first time I tried them out, I studied them carefully enough to figure out that, if I was going to lock my wrists behind my back and still get loose some­time, I had better make sure that the keyhole opening faced me so I could get the key into the keyhole.

"So I put one of my favorite magazines on the kitchen table, propped up against a box of cereal or something, and got naked. I put the keys on the table and ratcheted one cuff down on one wrist... what a feeling that sound produced! Then I gave my cock a couple of mild strokes, enough to bring it to iron-hard but not enough to cum- and I was within about three strokes, I think.” He was becoming less bashful about explicit talk. “ I slipped my arms behind my back and ratcheted the other cuff down on my other wrist. What a sensation! I was really helpless, and I squirmed and postured for a while, imagining.

"But the thrill of being handcuffed naked in front of a porno magazine wore thin after ten or twenty minutes... I mean, I couldn't touch myself or anything. Then I set about freeing myself, and for several long moments of near-panic I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get loose. Those keys can be damned hard to manipulate if you're not used to them."

I chuckled... "Yeah, I know what you mean- I guess all of ‘us’ have gone through that moment."

"Well, before I tried that again I cut a six-inch piece out of a strip of steel, drilled and tapped a couple of holes,  and mounted the keys on it. With that as a tool I could get loose much easier.

"I didn't get much fancier than that for quite a while; I found that tying my legs together kick-started my fantasies of being a beautiful young woman in bondage. And I bought a pair of nipple clamps at that same book store- just for me when I was that bound young lady. I found I could manage my loneliness by fantasizing. Later, I got a good job in Washington, and discovered some really heavy-duty 14th-street porno stores.

"Anyway, several years passed before I moved to Baltimore and bought a town­house. I did some moderately creative things to the basement... nothing that would damage the resale value. I mean, can you imaging a real estate agent bringing in a preacher and his wife to tour the house and finding a dungeon in the basement? Wow...” I chuckled with him. “The basement had 2X12 beams in the ceiling; I drilled some holes for pulleys and a rope hoist and set up some pretty elaborate do-it-yourself scenes.

"I found that suspension was just right for me- it was easy to arrange in my private 'basement dungeon' and the force of gravity turned my own weight into a bondage partner. And things took a great turn for the autoerotic incredible when I put together an electronic timer which managed an electromagnet.

"In one of my greatest enactments, I wrapped my chest in rope, making a bra sort of thing..."

"Yeah, I saw... nice tits!"

"Thanks." He blushed a little and continued. "I guess it's sort of like being a hermaphrodite, I guess. I have no urge at all to screw a man, but with a good dick and a nice pair of tits I can do pretty well as a couple!

"But back to my fantasy."

"Yes, please." I was really interested and stared deep into his eyes while my pussy ached.

"I set the timer for about a half hour. Then I tied my legs rigidly together and hung a small weight from my balls."

"How much?", I interrupted.

"I found that four pounds was about right. Less than that just didn't feel like too much, and much more screwed up my orgasm. Anyway, after I set the weight on the chair, I hooked a chain to a hook in the ceiling and used it to pull myself up on a chair. Then I hooked the chain to my rope bra, with just a couple of inches' slack. I could've walked around on the chair, no more.

"After that, I locked the hand­cuffs on my wrists behind my back. I squirmed and wiggled, imagining a Mistress, savoring my helplessness, for a bit; then I leaned sideways until the chain pulled tight and kicked the chair halfway across the floor. I hung from the chain, helpless, spinning, with the ropes tormenting my tits and the weight twisting at my balls, for what seemed like hours until the timer finally dropped the key so I could free myself. Within thirty seconds after I was free I was spurting cum across the floor!"

"But I never found anybody who was into bondage, at least with me. I got married, but when my wife found out about my kink, she immediately branded it Filth and me Immoral and Wicked and Depraved. There were other reasons, too, but we wound up getting divorced eight brutal years later."

Bob paused... it was clearly My Turn (amazing the way he could make me think in capital letters!), and I started. "I got my start in my 'horrible perversion' in junior college. I met a guy in one of my classes, a math major who was a lot of fun and turned out to be great in the sack... he kept hinting at kinky shit, and when I moved in with him I found he had porn magazines lying around... 'Playboy' was on the coffee table but things like 'Love Bondage' were stashed away in a closet.

"He eventually sweet-talked me into letting him tie me to the bed, which I later found out through girl-talk” (which is so much more explicit, gross, and generally unkind than locker room talk you just wouldn't believe it) “is something just about every nice suburban husband has done to his nice suburban wife a dozen times. He used three neckties to hogtie me, got me really hot and juicy-wet, and slowly screwed my mind loose! I enjoyed it, mostly the getting laid that went with it; he didn't know that much about bondage, either, except that it was supposed to be fun for both of us.

"Later, I got him loaded one night and convinced him to let ME be the boss: that's when I found out that I was born to be a Top. I got him naked and tied him to the bed, arms and legs tied spread-eagled to the corners of the bed, and caressed him until he was about to scream. He pleaded with me and I denied him his pleasure for what must have seemed like hours. Eventually I crawled on top of him and sat on his face. He went crazy and ate me like there was no tomorrow, but still begging to cum."

Bob was listening intently, trying to be cool, but I could see from a bit of sweat on his forehead that it was a real strain. (The bit of sweat was echoed by a similar moistness in my pussy, but it wouldn't have been at all ladylike to tell him that, would it?) "I knew better than to let him do me so soon. He was half out of his mind by the time I slid my pussy down onto his cock and rode him slowly, so slowly... each stroke took fifteen seconds with fifteen seconds' pause between strokes, no movement at all, just soaking in our passion. Finally I was ready to cum again and I took four fast, hard strokes- twisting and squeezing all the way, almost breaking his cock off at the base to make him scream as he came. He said later it was the best orgasm he ever had, at least up to then. Man, that was an incredible POWER rush! I came so hard that last time I soaked him and the sheets."

"We went on more or less normally until about two years ago. Bondage sex was a regular part of our repertoire, not exclusive, and he tended to want to be Top- and you know we couldn't both be on top! Then he got a job offer back in West Virginia, and I made it quite plain that I couldn't and wouldn't go... I'm a 'career lady', and Greater Wheeling just doesn't fit with that. Things got a little bit heated and I guess he's in Vest Virginia now."

"I haven't exactly been living in a convent, but I'm haven't had a steady relationship since then either. I go out regularly enough, but I've found that I can't tell anybody about my Dominant urges. If I do, the usual reaction is always that they either pull out their wallets or they want me to tie them up and give them a quick blow job. I'm not what they imagine- I'm just a hot little girl who happens to be a Top, who wants her man adoring her by crawling at her feet, and after he satisfies me he stands tall right at my side."

"I 'do myself' on a pretty regular basis- not many elaborate bondage scenes like yours, since I can't fulfil my Top fantasies that way. I do an occasional submissive bondage fantasy, though, usually being both Bottom and Top at the same time. It's difficult, but I've learned to make it work. Overall, though, I think I would be much happier with a real flesh-and-blood partner."

Over a couple of after-dinner drinks, Bob finally asked The Question. "Well, Betsy my friend, here's 'The Question'." (Somehow he enunciated the capital letters again.) "What do you think of me- as a person and as a partner? Do you want to be with me and be my Mistress?"

I told him truthfully that I liked him as a person and looked forward to him as a partner.

"Can we get together sometime soon? I'll leave it your choice of time and place."

"Well, I think you have the better facilities for a weekend meeting- I just have my apartment, which limits things. Why don't we meet at your place this weekend?"

"Sounds good to me... very, very good. When?"

"I'll be there at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. Directions?"

He pulled a sheet of computer paper out of his back pocket. "I came prepared and with a lot of hope in my heart", he said with a sweetly thankful look on his face. I took the piece of paper, leaned over, and kissed him tenderly. Then he grabbed the check and walked me out to the van.




story continues in