It was mid afternoon on a chill winter day. Mark was on his way to visit his mistress Heather in her residential unit in a quiet middle class area.
He was just turned forty, never married, was lean, fit and still had most of his hair. He still might have been considered reasonably youthful. At least his lady friend thought so. He was an investment advisor by occupation.
Heather, herself was slightly younger. One brief, unhappy marriage in her early thirties was now behind her. Best forgotten, she thought.
She still had most of her early slimness and was as healthy as her partner. Her oval face retained some of its youth and was attractively framed with short dark brown hair. She held a senior position in the office where she worked. After a bitter divorce she had managed to gain possession of the jointly shared apartment and was thankful for this. She was on good terms with most of the other residents in the building. It was here that she and Mark held most of their meetings.
The two had met at a local gathering four years ago. At first both were a little wary, but after a few outings had realized that, at first, each simply wanted ongoing companionship and had settled to a comfortable friendship. Then, as time passed they got to know each other and had finally became successful lovers. This pleased both of them.
A few months back their relationship had taken a new turn. One evening, after a satisfactory love-making they were sitting in the lounge of Heather's unit sipping drinks and idly watching late TV news. An item was broadcast concerning a bank raid that day in which three lady staff members had been bound and gagged. They had been in this situation for several hours before managing to get free and give the alarm. Now, one of them was on the screen herself telling, in some detail, how they had been surprised, overpowered and tied up. Heather and Mark had watched with interest.
After, they had looked at each other and then began to speculate how the captive trio must have felt as they were forcibly made helpless.
And wondered if, while in this condition they had been sexually taken advantage of. The raid had taken several hours and they were in their captors' power for some time. Such an item being delicately left out of a public news broadcast.
In short, there and then, they discovered they each had an interest in consensual bondage. And that very same evening did something about it.
Heather produced two old bed sheets which they tore into long strips and sashes. And then, very carefully and gently, Mark tied Heather up.
Later she tied him to her bed, undid his clothing and did some delightful things to his genitals. At the end of the evening they carefully put away the restraints they had used in a box to be used for future pleasures. Their lovemaking, previously cautious and restrained, had entered whole new era. One they looked forward to with eager anticipation.
And so it had progressed, if slowly. They gradually elaborated their procedures, tentatively and imaginatively developing scenarios to add spice to what they were doing. A long deprived old maid, victim of a home invasion, who deliberately resists her attacker, hoping to arouse and provoke him to assault. The delicately reared young woman, kidnapped for white slave purposes. This called for scriptwriting imagination, which they wished they had more of. But which they tried hard at.
To get back to Mark's afternoon visit. As he entered the apartment building he wondered what playacting they might do tonight. Lately they had been running low on ideas. He wished that, between them, they had some inclination toward creative writing.
Heather let him in, took his coat, hung it up and led him to sit on her lounge. She was wearing a white blouse and trim neat skirt.
Surprisingly, she offered him a drink. Normally this happened after their love-play was over. He wondered why.
"Tonight, things may be a little different," she began quietly, "Someone is on to us."
Mark was startled and looked at her. "What's happened?" he asked with surprise, "How'd this come about?"
"It all started after last time," she began. "You had just left. I was sitting here on the lounge like now in a state of exhausted bliss."
She smiled as she thought of it, "Remember. I had been a never married, middle aged schoolteacher whose house had been broken into by mistake. Her intruder felt he should still get something for his trouble. She, in her state of frustrated loneliness had agreed to this but insisted on being securely tied up and gagged first to save her reputation. Otherwise, she'd give a detailed and accurate description of him." She recalled this fondly, "I thought it was one of our best efforts." Mark nodded. He hadn't enjoyed it as much but had gone along with the act for her pleasure.
"Anyway," Heather continued, "I was lying here, delightfully relaxed, with the sashes, ties and the two gags on the table beside me, just where we'd left them. I was going to put them away later." She paused, "And then the front doorbell rang. Without thinking I got up and answered it."
"It was a lady from the next floor up. Two days ago I'd borrowed her blender and now she wanted it back in a hurry. She just pushed past me, into the room and walked to the table where our things were."
"Who is she?" asked Mark.
"She's a tall, wiry lady, very strong, I'd say. Fifties, possibly older. Retired. She had a desk job in stage or film I believe. A very forceful person, strong personality, not someone you'd want to get on the wrong side of. Narrow, lined sort of face, greying hair." She concluded, "Her name's Chantelle. I don't know her other name, though I've known her for years."
"And she saw our stuff?" Mark asked.
"She walked right to the table, looked at it, recognized it instantly and didn't seem at all surprised ," Heather went on, "She just said, 'Into bondage are you? I've wondered about you two. I've seen that male friend of yours coming and going.' She looked at some of our things and even picked up one of the gags and said, 'I don't like this though. Too big and the wrong shape. You could choke on this.' She seemed to know all about it."
Mark was trying to take this in, "So she knew or guessed what we've been doing. What did she say from there?"
"She went on, 'I could help you two. Help you quite a lot. But not now. I'm too busy. Give me my blender and I'll be on my way.' "
Heather paused. "And so I got it and gave it to her. I only wanted her out of the place. Her last words from the door were, 'Next time your boy friend comes round I'll join you. I assure you I can really make things interesting.' Then she was gone."
"She wants to join us?" Mark was incredulous, "Make a threesome? That sounds kinky. Though," he smiled, "There are some who would say what we're doing already is pretty kinky. What sort of a woman is she?"
"Well," said Heather, "I've told you. She's a strong character. I think she worked for a film company before she retired. But I understand she did something very different most of her working life.
She's got a very inquiring, investigative mind. Always seems to know everything. Probably knows you're here now."
Mark was disbelieving. "She couldn't possibly know that. I've never even met her." At that moment the front doorbell rang.
The two looked at each other. Wordlessly, Heather got up to answer it.
And it was the mysterious Chantelle from the floor above. And she didn't stand on ceremony. "Good afternoon Heather," she began, "Your young man's here isn't he?" And with that she walked in, pushing the door closed behind her. The lock clicked shut.
She looked like Heather had described her. Tall, lean and exuded an air of command. She also wore a neat skirt, polished ankle length fashionable boots and above this a soft leather, belted jacket. This last was shiny black and glistened like silk. She walked straight over to where Mark was sitting.
"So you're the partner in bondage are you? She stood before him, both hands thrust deep into the pockets of her shining coat. "You're Matt, aren't you?"
Mark stood up to face this formidable woman. "Mark," he corrected, "And you, I believe, are Chantelle?"
"Right," she said, looking around at both of them, "You've probably heard something of me and I'll tell you now I didn't always work for Sublime Films. That came only recently. Before that, amongst other things, I was deeply involved in what you're at present only hesitantly finding your way. And I can help you. Very much indeed. To your great benefit. And perhaps save you some grief."
Mark and Heather gaped at this authoritative personage who had just walked into both their lives. She, in turn, looked from one to the other and smiled. "It was a speciality, one I very much enjoyed, as, I feel, I'm going to enjoy this." She turned and looked at the cardboard box containing their bondage things which had been placed on the table. "But, let's not waste time. To business."
Chantelle groped around in the box and found the gag that Heather had earlier said she had denounced as too large. "This is dangerous. A person could suffocate on this." And without further ado she untied it, refolded the cloth wad so that it was little more than half the size and retied it with the sash that held it in place. "There. Much more comfortable, just as effective and safe." Replacing it, she turned to look smiling at her two hosts. "Now then I've got a few ideas for you two as well." They looked at her.
Mark was wondering about this domineering woman. At first he had resented the way she was thrusting herself upon them. But then he had been feeling for some time that their bondage relationship was beginning to pall was now thinking that, if she was the experienced practician she implied she was, it might do something for it.
"You've been involved in this as a speciality, you say?" he asked.
"Most of my working lifetime. In this country and in others. And with some very highly placed men I might add. Some of the names I could quote would surprise you, and some of what they had a taste for would stagger you." Mark looked impressed, though he wondered how much was true. He looked at his lover. Without saying a word, both began to feel they had nothing to lose by going along with this self styled expert.
Chantelle turned around and looked at Heather's lounge furniture. Her gaze fastened on an old fashioned, heavy wooden framed armchair. "This will do nicely. Mark, you may sit down." Her shiny, leather coated arms seized him by the torso, moved him to the seat and pushed him down into it. He submitted without a word. "Heather, bring that box over here. We're going to tie your partner to this antique piece."
Her black jacket creaked as she knelt behind the chair. She pulled Mark's arms around the sides and crossed them behind the chair back.
"Heather, get down here and tie his hands, firmly while I hold them."
Heather hesitated; she still had qualms about doing the bidding of this woman whom she found so mysterious. But she put the box of bondage ties on the floor, knelt beside Chantelle and began to tie her partner's wrists, tightly.
The two women bound Mark carefully and securely. His upper arms were tied to the side supports of the chair back. A thick sash secured his waist to the lower backrest. Then Chantelle directed her accomplice to tie his ankles to the lower parts of the splayed front legs while she lashed his knees to the front supports of the chair arms. This had the effect of spreading his legs wide apart. A procedure that seemed to worry him. "I take it you ladies know what you're doing?" he asked apprehensively.
Chantelle stood up, fondled his chin and brushed his cheek with her shiny black sleeve. "Let us worry about that darling," she murmured softly. "We just need you to be nicely tied up." As indeed Mark now was.
"Now before we go any further, there's something else we should do".
She took out two small grey plastic ear plugs and deftly inserted them in Mark's ears. "It's best you don't hear the following dialogue, darling," she admonished Mark, "It's ladies talk and also, it's time you were gagged." She took the gag she had so recently reconstructed and pushed it into his mouth. The recipient, had he been capable of speech, would have had to admit it was more comfortable and certainly just as effective.
"And from here we go to work." To her companion in bondage she said, "Heather my dear, you may unzip him." Heather looked at her then leaned forward and undid Mark's trousers zipper from top to bottom, exposing the stark white of his underpants. Chantelle then produced a small pair of scissors with which she cut away the front of his underwear, displaying his penis in all its glory. "You're going to need a new pair of u.p.'s out of this," she whispered softly.
At her instruction, she and Heather both knelt in front of the bound and gagged and totally helpless Mark. Gently she drew his member out to its full length and began to caress it softly. She began what she called a lesson of instruction in finding the most sensitive spots of a captive male's love organ. "One gauges one's success from the noises he makes and the way he twitches and writhes," she informed her, by now, very interested protégé who was learning by the minute. And success she was having too, judging by the noises the subject was making into his gag. And by the way he was straining against his bonds. There was one hyper-sensitive area behind the glans that produced a huge throbbing erection. Delicate finger work at this point soon brought on a heaving spurting ejaculation which Chantelle deftly caught in a small plastic jar quickly produced from her jacket pocket. "No sense in making a mess, darling," she laughed. After allowing the whole discharge to drain into the transparent container, she held it up for inspection before screwing on the cap. "Look at the size of it," she laughed, "Think of him pumping that into you. It'd have filled you to overflowing." The silent Heather had taken in every detail of how it had been done.
The two women stood up and faced the bound captive who sat limp and spent. Chantelle removed the earplugs but left the gag in place. She held the plastic jar in front of Mark's nose. "That's the largest amount I've seen in a long while. And I've seen plenty." She thrust both hands into her jacket pockets. The black leather rustled softly.
"Well now Heather and I are going out to the kitchen for some refreshment. Sorry we can't invite you but we're going to have some girl talk. And we'll leave that gag in position. You can sit and silently speculate on what's going to happen to you next. Just relax, you'll be comfortable enough." She playfully stroked his cheek. "Just don't go away." Both laughed softly.
In the kitchen Heather made coffee and both sat down to sip it.
Chantelle asked, "Have you got anything in black leather? Like this coat I’m wearing?" Her hostess said she didn't. "I ask you this because I can see he's a fetishist. I know, I've seen enough of them.
He hasn't been able to take his eyes off this since he saw me. And if I touch him with it he practically breaks out into a sweat." She smiled as she sipped some of her coffee. "If you ever get something like this, it'd do wonders for your relationship. He'd go frantic every time you put it on." She smiled again, "But, failing that, have you got anything stiff and heavy. Something that rustles and crackles when you move. That turns them on too." She laughed, "Half of leather's attraction is the noise it makes with every movement."
"Well," began Heather, "There's an old rubberized raincoat that used to belong to my mother. She's been gone many years now but she got this a few months before she passed away and never wore it much. It's years old, very much out of fashion but I haven't had the heart to throw it out. Yet it's hardly been used."
"We'll have a look at it later. Meanwhile there's a few things I'd like to tell you." And Chantelle proceeded to tell Heather the intricacies and delights of advanced bondage procedures. Clearly she was a specialist in the practice. And equally clearly here, she had an avid pupil.
Their coffee finished, the pair went into the bedroom where Heather got out her mother's old waterproof. On Chantelle's advice she put it on. It was dark blue, heavy and when buttoned up, ran from throat to within a foot of the floor. With the wide belt firmly done up it rustled with every move. "I think it might do," said the instructress, "Let's go and see his reaction. Has he ever seen it before?" It turned out he hadn't. "Then it'll be a surprise," she smiled.
The two women, both dressed for cold and bad weather, stood before the bound and gagged Mark. His eyes bulged as he looked at the belted, rain coated Heather. Who stood there smiling, slowly rubbing her hands up and down the rubberized sleeves. "Let's get on with stage two then," said Chantelle. "This will be slightly different though. This time you're going to be blindfolded Mark." And without further ado she tied a black sash around his head. Unlike last time, he could hear but not see what his two captor tormentors were going to do.
This time the hapless Mark was to be fellated. "In time, you'll make up your own private language for these practices," said their instructress, "Which will be good. It'll individualize your relationship. But now the important thing is to learn the correct procedure." The pair had tentatively attempted this particular act before but had never been really successful with it. Chantelle was determined to rectify this.
Two cushions were placed in front of Mark and his two lady mentors knelt on them, their outer clothing which so aroused him, rustling as they did so. Some preliminary fondling and caressing brought some life into his member once again and then the serious business began. They took turns. At first the blindfolded Mark could tell who was attending to him. Whether it the novice, but fast learning Heather or the vastly experienced practitioner who had come into their lives. But as the act proceeded, as he started to lose control of his senses and as his companion picked up the technique, he completely lost the capacity to distinguish who was handling him, or more correctly, mouthing him.
The end came with the straining, heaving Mark having a shattering orgasm which, but for the gag in his mouth, would have been heard in the street outside. He had no idea who had brought him to climax.
He lay, spent, flaccid and helpless in his chair. His two tormentors slowly rose, replaced the cushions and allowed time to pass while the exhausted male slowly drifted back to earth. They then began to quietly untie his bonds. He hardly noticed them.
Half an hour later Mark was still seated. He had not moved. Two other chairs and a small table had been drawn up and arranged around him.
His two lady companions, both still wearing jacket and raincoat, were seated in them. A bottle and carafe of water were on the table. All three were holding a stiff drink.
"Well then," said Chantelle, looking at Mark. "I take it your needs have been satisfied? At least for the time being?" The best Mark could manage was a weak smile and a nod. "I hope so. Unfortunately we can't say the same for Heather. I'm sorry my dear, but you have not been looked after. We can't expect anything much from your partner but you could be masturbated if necessary. I could oblige if required. Quite professionally I assure you."
Heather smiled. "Thank you, but no. At least not now. It would be very much an anti-climax. I'll be OK. Leave it until our next session."
"Alright then," said their temptress, "I can understand that. Next time it'll be your turn. You'll be tied up, perhaps gagged securely and it'll be Mark's pleasure and privilege to do the honours. We'll work out a good scenario to enhance it. And, I think," she smiled faintly, "I think you might wear that waterproof as well." At this, Mark's head lifted at this and turned to look at his raincoat clad partner. His eyes fastened on her. This was not lost on Chantelle.
"Put your drink down and stand up Heather," she ordered, pushing the table to one side and clearing a space in front of the still recumbent Mark. "And now stand in front of him," Heather did so. Her coat hung loosely on her. "Now tighten up those wrist straps and do up that belt another notch." The rubberized fabric whispered softly as this was done and when completed had the effect of emphasizing her already trim waist. Finally she stood, slim waisted, girlish and dressed for the worst of weather.
"Very good," commented her advisor, "Now put your hands deeply into those big front pockets, pull your shoulders back so that your bust is accentuated and then slowly walk up and down in front of him. Keep your eyes down but glance at him from time to time." Heather did all of this. The only sound was the faint rustle of her raincoat. There was no doubt she could be an actress when she chose to be. Mark could not keep his eyes off her. His mouth hung partly open.
"I think you'll use of that garment a lot in times to come," smiled Chantelle. Then Mark stood up. Heather had just walked about two metres away from him and turned around, she stopped when she saw her lover was on his feet. He strode quickly to her and put his arms around her. She looked at him, then pulled her hands out of her raincoat pockets and firmly embraced him. The only sound was the swishing waterproof fabric of her coat.
The two remained entwined for almost a minute. Then Mark spoke.
"Incredible as it may seem I think I may be able to rise to the occasion yet again." He looked down into Heather's face, "So perhaps darling, you may be catered for after all." He smiled.
She looked at him mischievously then unclasped her hands and reached down toward his private parts. His fly was already fully unzipped, his underpants had been carefully cut away by Chantelle. Her searching, gentle fingers found his penis and indeed, his appendage, already twice ejaculated that evening, was stiffening yet a third time.
"Well you are a strong boy and no mistake," this from Chantelle who had leaned forward in her chair to see this rising drama. "Heather, you are a fortunate girl indeed." Then she was on her feet and standing beside the pair. Swiftly, expertly, she seized and caressed his member herself, continuing with her right hand the process Heather had begun. At the same time with the other she loosened the belt of the girl's raincoat and undid several of the buttons as well. Without pausing, this probing hand reached inside the waterproof, unfastened the catch and zip on her skirt and pushed it down onto the floor.
Heather felt her knickers follow it immediately. Within seconds she had been deftly and efficiently rendered naked from the waist down.
This woman was a professional indeed. Meanwhile, she continued to caress Mark's manhood. She also began to stroke his partner's orifice, which she noted, had already begun to moisten generously.
"And now Mark," she murmured softly, "It's time for you to give your lady what she so urgently wants and so richly deserves." Mark straightened, moving his hands slowly up and down Heather's back.
"Perhaps you'd both like to adjourn to the bedroom?" Chantelle suggested softly.
"No," It was Heather, speaking for the first time, firmly and decisively. "Here," she said, "And now." She pointed to a large white, fluffed up sheepskin rug on the floor in front of a stone mock fireplace. "There, on that, and quickly." Without further ado she got down onto it. Sitting, she stretched her legs and spread them, then swiftly undid the remaining lower buttons of her raincoat and flung aside the flaps, exposing her vaginal orifice in all its glory.
Finally she lay back, closed her eyes and arched her back slightly.
The waterproof fabric rustled softly.
She did not waste words, she simply said, "Mark, at once, if you please." It was a command and not to be disobeyed.
And as was only fitting, Mark responded immediately. He knelt on the rug between the outstretched legs of his partner. A few caresses to her gaping love orifice, by now almost dripping with anticipation, he descended and entered and was lovingly received. He began to thrust, gently at first, then with increasing enthusiasm. Heather's response was to moan softly in ecstasy, then her legs and back began to move in unison with his movements. The raincoat whispered and creaked as they both strove together.
Chantelle, still standing, watched the coupling with a smile then gathered up the three half emptied drink glasses. "Go to it children,"
she murmured as as she walked out to the kitchen. Heather and Mark, moving happily to a delightful shared orgasm, were quite oblivious.
Forty minutes later, all three were seated again. This time around the kitchen table, the drinks had been recharged and the two love partners looked dreamily satiated and satisfied. No one spoke for a while, all three stared out the window at middle class suburbia.
"Well then," Chantelle was the first to speak. She was still wearing her buttoned and tightly belted shiny black jacket. "I think we can call that a success then." Mark and Heather smiled and nodded. "Very much so," Mark whispered. Heather looked contented.
"Bearing in mind what we accomplished," she continued, "Are we ready for another joint effort in the future?" The couple both voiced their approval. "Very well then," said the instructress/temptress, "I'll leave it for for you to choose when. This time it'll be Heather's turn to be rendered incapable. We'll make full use of your sashes and bindings and perhaps we can make use of your waterproof again." Both of their faces shone. "I can provide a good scenario if required. I've done this many times before, believe me. But for now, let's all drink to future success, and happiness."
All three glasses were raised and clinked together.
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