The Suitcase

Our First Night Together

Our First Night Together

Guys get to a certain age when instinctually you know not to divulge the details of a hot date... to anyone. Nothing to be gained in teasing even your closest friends with info on a Friday night conquest.

Still, I must offer some background for this story. It leads to Jackie.

To my apartment. Certain personal attributes concerning Becky come to light, things which are not... cannot be... apparent in a professional office environment.

First... assertiveness. Expected should I be an underling in her department at work. Not expected when socializing... and visiting in my own home.

“Ryan, no more for you,” the directive coming as we step through my apartment door. “Pour me a nice glass of well chilled white wine. Water is best for you... lots of water.”

“I really don’t drink water.”

“You will tonight. You do want to perform for me,” the enunciation not that of a question.

I nod, going to the kitchen. I dutifully pour a glass for her, then fill a tumbler from the tap for me... not into the pricey bottled water thing. In returning to my living room, Becky’s not there.

Lady’s room?

No. She exits my bedroom, returning to the living room to calmly stand before me, smiling smugly.

I did write assertive. Perhaps brazen?

“Some old neck ties,” holding up some broad strips of silk from another era in terms of office attire. “Still have uses.”

I hand her the wine glass. She sips, her look becoming devilish.

“Drink up, Ryan. Then get yourself another glassful and join me.”

I drink indeed, beginning some small talk about the apartment building, the quiet elderly neighbors, the proximity to work... and she cuts me off.

“I said drink.”

Yes, assertive.

I down the glass, for some reason finding myself immediately returning to the kitchen for more. Coming back to the living room, Becky is sitting... on the couch. Being a guy, horniness spurred in the restaurant bar, I cannot help noticing that she has raised her pencil skirt quite high before sitting... and her stockings are gone. Removed when? In visiting my bedroom?

As she points to the floor I also note that the necklace and attached key dangle even more prominently.

“You’ll let me know if you need to use the bathroom. Ask permission,” her tone pleasant yet surprisingly firm as she raises her wine glass, gesturing for me to again drink.

I do, compliantly downing a second glass as I lower myself with chagrined eagerness to sit on my plush carpet.

As stated, Becky is attractive. Nearness warms my heart... and other places.

And then comes the second attribute... not apparent in a professional office environment.

“You’re looking at the key again, Ryan. It intrigues I know.”

Another Becky attribute... she likes to tease... in an erotic if not kinky manner.

“It’s... old... and...” I attempt to explain myself.

“Oddly shaped. Comes from Europe... eastern Europe. Sent to Mom... before Jackie arrived. It unlocks his penis... for cleaning... and when I want him to perform for me.”

The words bring a brisance... plainly yet boldly offered, and delivered to k****e a frothy sexiness. Yet her look is that of noting the time of day.

“Perform?” I cannot help inquiring.

“He’ll put on a stand for me... when I want to be entertained. And perhaps... on occasions... I’ll address his needs... his male needs.”

I gulp. Becky places down her wine glass, gesturing with one of the silk ties, her eyes going to my right hand. There comes this somatic reaction... I extend my arm. She knots one end of the tie about my wrist.

“One more glass, Ryan. Then perhaps you’d like to disrobe for me before you sit again.”

I am mesmerized. By what? I rise, take my glass back to the kitchen, refill and know to drink, leaving it behind.

Perform... she has stepbrother Jackie perform for her. And she is suggesting... subtly... commandingly?.. that I am to perform as well. What is it to perform?

Horniness... I know little Ryan below has been secreting. And now there come more twinges and swelling. How can I not learn exactly what it is to ‘perform’?

Curious that I began this missive suggesting that a guy does not divulge the details of his Friday night ‘conquest’. Did I really use that term?

Returning, p***s firming, bladder filling, I step back into the living room. Becky smiles, leaning forth on the low couch to pat the carpet where I had moments ago been sitting.

“Come Ryan, be a good boy for me. Take off your clothes and sit. You have another wrist. And I have more ties.”

Why does there come more compliance?

I disrobe. I sit, presenting my left wrist. As it is tethered, I sense this contrasting combination of both thrill and shame. And Becky speaks, as if needing to explain herself. In a way she does, and I must wonder... not if... but when I will be able to use the bathroom.