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Jackpot: Chapter Seven free porn video
Disclaimers & Warnings: This tale includes, elements of BDSM, and a healthy sprinkling of verbal humiliation. Readers who are offended or triggered by such material are advised to proceed with caution or bail out now.
© SheriffBart 2020. All rights reserved.
Feedback is welcome. Enjoy!
~~~~~ Chapter Seven: Olivia Dinner Date ~~~~~
My third dinner date with Olivia was going well. I'd made reservations at Ferrari's Italian grill, an upscale restaurant near her home in Addison. It had an old world charm that seemed to belong to a bygone era. The owner greeted each guest and made you feel like a member of the family. It was the perfect place for a romantic dinner.
Olivia Kennedy was a lovely, full-figured brunette with big dark eyes, full, sensuous lips, and the olive skin of Mediterranean ancestry. She stood about 5' 10 in her elegant heels and wore the black pinstriped pantsuit that was her daily uniform as an HR manager at a national retail chain. Her light blue blouse was unbuttoned just low enough to show a bit of cleavage. She looked elegant, refined, and sexy.
The two glasses of Merlot were working their magic and contributing to a relaxed vibe. After chatting about the current political climate and agreeing that it was worse than we'd ever seen, we moved to more intimate topics.
“So how did you and your wife get into polyamory? You've been together a long time. Has it always been an open marriage?
Oh lord. The how did we get here story. What do I tell her? I don't want to reveal all of Lilly's skeletons. I'd like for them to be friends, maybe more.
“Well no, we didn't start out with an open marriage. Quite the opposite. We actually met in a nondenominational church group. We were going to devote our lives to the ministry – travel, preach, etc. Then...things went sideways and, in the aftermath, we kind of lost ourselves. I guess monogamy was one of the first things that got jettisoned and there was a lot of heartache, for a long time. Several rounds of therapy ensued and, eventually, she discovered that she's bisexual. Always has been, it was just repressed.
“Naturally. Most church groups like to treat women as property. No sharing allowed. It's fine for the men to have a piece or two on the side, but the ladies are only allowed to open the legs for their husbands' pleasure.”
“Uh, yeah, that's actually pretty accurate. Of course we didn't know that going in, but that was part of the problem that wrecked everything. Anyway, we worked our way through it, made lots of mistakes, and eventually discovered that Lilly likes women. And, we figured that if God is love, and He wants us to love everyone unconditionally, He's probably not going to smite somebody for loving more than one person.”
“I like the way you put that, Bart. You're one of the few people I've met online so far who isn't just out for a quick lay. You seem to have half a brain. That's why I'm here.” She looked at me over her wine glass with a gleam in her eye that whispered an invitation. Another boundary had just been lowered. I felt the familiar rush of NRE – the quickened pulse and heightened perception – that had inspired poets and songwriters for millennia. I found her company exhilarating and I hoped she felt the same way about me on some level.
“Thank you. Likewise. For me, polyamory is all about intimacy, not just sex. Although the sex is fun too. In fact, Lilly says she's noticed that the telltale signs of NRE after I chat with you. Not that she's insecure about it. She's just” –
“Excuse me, what's NRE?”
“What? You mean, you're not familiar with- of course not, why else would you ask. Well, NRE is one of the first terms we learned when we started exploring polyamory. The acronym stands for New Relationship Energy. I interpret it as the poly equivalent for what most people refer to as falling in love – or, at least, infatuation.”
She curled her nose as if someone had drop a rotten egg in her wineglass. “Why do they have to ruin it with that word?”
Oh, right. The R word. She'd mentioned on one of our first OK Cupid chats that she hates the word 'relationship' Too many evils have been committed under the cover of that word. I don't use it.
“Right, you don't like the word 'relationship'. So, for you, I guess we'll have to call it...new connection energy?”
“That works. I kind of like the double entendre. I am definitely interested in connecting.” She held my gaze with a smoldering look as she sipped her wine.
“Mmm, connecting is one of my favorite pastimes. Although I prefer to do it selectively. I love the rush of a new re – connection – with a smart, sexy woman. But I look for women I can relate to intellectually, or on some other level. I'm not the kind of guy who is interested in picking up women in bars. And I was intrigued by your profile and your love of literature. Speaking of which...”
I took a sip of Merlot and sat back with a broad smile. I'd been waiting to share this gem with her for a few days and the anticipation lit up my face. She smiled back and arched her eyebrows inquisitively.
“I downloaded the kindle version of the novel you recommended last week.”
“House of Mirth?”
“Yes. First, I've gotta say, I love Edith Wharton's style. Her prose is beautiful.”
“Told ya!”
“Indeed you did. But the first thing that hit me was this passage where she introduced the main character. As you know, my lifestyle pseudonym is Bart. And My wife's name is Lilly.”
Her mouth opened slowly and her eyes widened in an Aha expression.
“So, on the very first page of the first book that my new girlfriend ha recommended, I'm introduced to a protagonist named Lilly Bart. I read that and laughed out loud.”
“That is weird” – she chuckled. “But...I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not your girlfriend. Because I'm not a girl. I'm a grown woman and I don't use patriarchal labels. And I hate the word 'lifestyle'. It's so fucking...preppy. I'm not even sure I care for the term “polyamory”. Nobody seems to be able to agree on what the hell it means.”
Damn. This woman is a walking mine field of hidden boundaries. First she tells me that I can't use the word 'relationship', despite the fact that we're pursuing one. Now, 'lifestyle' and 'girlfriend' are taboo. There went our moment of connection.
“Oookay. I'll add it to the list, along with 'relationship'.”
“Yes. Please do. I like you and I don't want this ruined by sloppy language. In case you can't tell, I'm interested. But I do have standards.”
“No problem, Olivia. And I'm flattered. So let me ask – since you don't like the term polyamory – how would you describe yourself? What brought you to....ethical non-monogamy and what are you looking for?”
She leaned forward and a bit of the gleam returned. Her full, red lips broadened into a captivating smile.
“Well, for me, it's not something I just discovered. I've been kinky as long as I can remember. And it's not something I hide. My family, my friends, even my co-workers pretty much know I'm not the typical corporate automaton. I work in the HR department of a Fortune 1000 corporation. I'm in charge of enforcing our company's sexual harassment policies.”
“We were at a company picnic recently, and the owner brought his dogs with him – which I adored. They're mastiffs. Well, being the dog lover that I am, I got down on the floor, and I was playing with them and one of them scratched me and I had a little blood on my nose. Everybody starts freaking out. I just patted his enormous head and said, 'It's okay boy, I like it rough, too.' You could have heard a pin drop.
“I'll bet. Definitely not the average HR manager.”
“Like I said, kinks is part of who I am. I'm not ashamed of it.” She leaned forward, paused and held my gaze. Her dark brown eyes flashed with passion.
“I like to be pinned. I like to be spanked. I like to be bound. I enjoy a good face-fucking, I love having my hair pulled. And I do love a good, hard pounding. I've been told I'm very sturdy.”
My mind flooded with images of all of the above.
“That aligns almost perfectly with my tastes. That's very exciting.”
“I can tell. I can see it in that hungry gleam in your eye, and I'll bet if this were a glass top table, I'd see it somewhere else. You forget, I can read men just as well as I can read profiles.”
“Pardon me?”
“Your OKC profile. In one of your questions, you mentioned something about verbal humiliation. Or did I get that mixed up with someone else?”
She's teasing me. That smile.
“Well, I don't normally discuss it in these kinds of venues. For one thing, my job doesn't allow me to be as...open as you are. Some of my clients are very conservative. So I prefer having these conversations in private. But yes, I have a verbal humiliation fetish. Nothing too extreme. Basically name-calling with a touch of slut-shaming. I don't get into some of the more extreme forms of it I've seen on Fetlife where people are...dehumanized if that's a word. Women on leashes in cages and shit like that.”
“Dehumanize is a word and it's the right one. It's not my thing either. And I can accept some of the words I think you like, as long as it's in the context of play and stays there. You can pull my hair and call me a slut when we're having fun, but don't you dare disrespect me! I sniff that shit out a mile away and I'm fucking gone. Just because I'm a bottom doesn't mean I'm not a fierce feminist.”
“That's fine with me. That makes me more comfortable actually. I like to know what the rules are. It's kind of scary exposing these, more intimate aspects of myself with new partners if I don't know how they'll react. And Olivia, I would love to pull your hair. I've been fantasizing about having my hands buried in your thick wavy hair with you” –
“Curly!” She sat back folded her arms across her chest and glowered at me.
“Excuse me?” My brain started re-winding the audio tape of the last ten seconds trying to find out where I'd screwed up.
I said wavy, not--
“My hair is curly, not wavy! I have long thick, curly hair, and I'm quite proud of it. You'll never get your hands in it if you don't get that right. Respect, remember?”
What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with this woman? Her hair is obviously wavy. Anybody who sees it would call it that. There's not a curl to be found. Whatever.
“Pardon me. Curly it is. Adding that to the list.”
The frown began to melt but not entirely. Indignation still shaded her features. There was an awkward silence while we sipped our wine and tried to find the path back toward the garden of delights. Rather than trying to drag her back onto the path, I attempted a leisurely detour.
“Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to share with you. I found an article on The Atlantic.com last night that's related to what we were just talking about. And it has some historical and cultural significance as well. Especially for geeks like me.”
Curiosity brightened her lovely face. “There's an article on The Atlantic.com about my naturally curly hair?”
A hearty guffaw leapt out of my lips before I could stop it. “No, about kink.”
“Oh. As in...kinky hair, or kinky feminists?”
“The latter. The article was about the man who created Wonder Woman. He was an ivy league professor named Marsden. He actually invented the lie detector, but that's beside the point.
Apparently, Professor Marsden and his wife were polyamorous. They fell in love with a young college girl who happened to be Margaret Sanger's niece. The three of them were quite an item on campus. So much so that their indiscretion got the good professor canned. In desperation, he started writing comic books and came up with idea of Wonder Woman.”
She scrunched up one side of her face, squinting at me impatiently. “But...you said this was about kink, not poly.”
“Yes, well, that's the next thing. I've been noticing that all of the poly women I've met- well, all of them I've gotten to know well anyway – are kinky. They're almost all subs, but there are a switch or two and at least one domme. But the connection between poly and kink – specifically power exchange - is amazingly consistent. I started asking about it online, in all my lifestyle groups, and most of the respondents claim they hadn't noticed it. Some acknowledge it and some deny it altogether, so it's started kind of a running debate.”
“So imagine my elation when the documentary mentioned that Professor Marsden and his two lovely companions soon discovered an all-consuming love of BDSM. Marsden actually wrote it into the comic books and insisted that the artists depict it with extreme accuracy. So here you have this comic book character, in literature ostensibly aimed at c***dren, running around in hot pants getting tied up on the regular. Or, more often, tying other people up and making men submit to her. Marsden believed that women were superior and that the only way to save civilization was to get men to submit themselves to strong women. Hence the golden lasso.”
“Wow. That's pretty cool. I had no idea Wonder Woman was that progressive.”
“Me neither. I knew there was bondage in it. I'd read years ago that one of the items cited by the author of Seduction of the Innocent – that's the book that lit the firestorm that started the decline of comic books in the fifties - was the prevalence of Wonder Woman comic books depicting cover art with her all tied up. Eventually of course, it backfired. Marden's insistence on explicit BDSM themes in k**dy books fueled the backlash that actually put several companies out of business. And of course, got him canned. Again.”
“Well that sucks. Leave it to the crusaders to spoil everybody's fun. They just can't stand seeing other people enjoying their bodies without the Patriarchy's permission.”
“True dat.”
“She sat back and gave me another scrunchy face, like she'd just bit into a sour lemon. “Uh, no.
Neither you nor I are cool enough to get away with 'true dat'.”
“Hey, I've been sayin' true dat for years” – I protested dramatically. “Cause I'm cool like dat.”
“No.”
“Whatever. Anyway, the point is, the connection between kink and polyamory goes back almost a hundred years! What's up with that?”
“I don't' know, but that's pretty intriguing. Suddenly, I have more respect for Wonder Woman. Especially the Gal Godot version. Although” – she leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and cradled her face in her hands – “if I were in one of those comic books, I wouldn't be the one tying people up. I'd be the one on the cover, with my arms and legs spread eagle, lashed to a St. Andrew's cross, staring up at a big dark man with his hand around my throat.”
Yes! Back on the path to nirvana.
“Well, I'm afraid I don't have access to a St Andrews cross, but, I think the rest can be arranged.”
“I certainly hope so. I was beginning to think you didn't want me. This is our third date and you haven't even touched me yet.”
“What? I haven't...”
Damn, she's right. I've been so concerned about not stepping on another of her verbal land minds, that I haven't laid a hand on her.
“Well, I try to be a gentleman. In public spaces anyway. And we haven't had a chance to spend any time in private yet.”
“And who's fault is that? Am I...I mean, I know your wife is drop-dead gorgeous. Am I... not pretty enough for you, Bart?”
“No! I mean yes! Yes of course you are. You're stunning. Olivia, I think you're beautiful, smart and sexy as hell!”
“Then what's going on here? You claim to be a dom, or at least to know a lot about power exchange and kink. I haven't exactly been subtle. And like I said, I know you're hungry for some of this. And yet, I don't get the feeling you're about to ravish me. Or maybe... yes, that's it.”
"You don't know how, do you? You're still trying to figure this out.”
“Well no, I--I mean of course I know how, it's just – Fuck. This is the last place I want to have this conversation. Look, I'd really rather not talk about here. This is rather personal.”
“Ohhhh, so it's okay for us to talk about my most intimate desires over salmon and lasagna, but not yours? That sounds more than a little hypocritical.”
“Okay, okay, you're right. Here goes. I don't like to get into this because it can make some people feel awkward and I don't generally like to mix race and dating, but” –
“Race? Well obviously I don't have a problem with interracial dating, so let's hear it.”
This could go downhill really quickly. I'm about to tell this incredibly sexy, kinky woman that I probably not the man she's looking for. Whatever. I'd rather be honest and rejected now than try to keep up a facade and have it come crashing down later.
I paused, gathered my thoughts and tried to lay it out as succinctly as possible.
“Okay, so... I was raised by a single m0ther. My mom grew up in Alabama in the Jim Crow era. She had horrible experiences and, as any m0ther would, she tried to protect me from certain aspects of racism. About the time I became old enough to date, she started telling me stories about young black men who had been jailed or worse for flirting with white girls. And about black men who had consensual sex with white women, who then turned around and accused them of ****. Some of those innocent men were lynched. It just... It got in my head. I started worrying about what could happen if I ended up with the wrong girl.”
“I actually had a girl in high school who liked me a lot. We were both artists and rivals, but became pretty close. Then really close. Wendy Bennett. Pretty blonde, big hips, sexy ass, really talented and very sweet. Anyway, we ended up working late at school one night, painting some backdrops for the theater department. I offered to give her a ride home. We took a detour, and parked by the roadside.”
“Sounds like typical teenage antics.”
“Yep. Things were going along pretty well. Necking, fogging up the windows and all that. After about 15 minutes of fun, a cop car pulls up.”
Olivia gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh no, what happened?”
“Well nothing Rodney Kingish. I mean, he made us zip up and move along. But after the heat of passion had passed, Wendy came to her senses and told me she couldn't date me anyway because if her father ever found out, he'd kill us both. Turns out her dad was a hard-core racist. Anyway, that shit gets in your head. It made me timid.”
Well, that and being raised by a domineering, angry black woman.
“I've been trying to work my way out of that, but it's taken a long time. So, as I said, my reluctance has nothing to do with my level of attraction to you. I'm just...trying to clear some inner hurdles.”
Olivia sat silently for a few minutes, looking down at her plate. She was uncharacteristically inscrutable. I began to feel like our garden of delight was downwind from a hidden water treatment plant. Then she straightened up, took a deep breath and looked me squarely in the eye. There was a trace of desire still there, but shaded with something I couldn't quite place.
“Well, that sucks. I can't say I know what you're going through, but I do know that I am not that kind of woman. So here's what we'll do. I don't usually tell men how to get me in bed.. That's not how this is supposed to work. But...here's how we get past that.”
“You take me to a nice hotel. You meet me in the bar. We chat for a while, have a few drinks. You woo me properly. Then, we go upstairs. You tie me to the bed and have your way with me. If you're not the rope master type, you can just throw me up against a wall and fuck my brains out. I swear to God, Allah, and Almighty Vishnu, I won't have you arrested. Just don't disrespect me when we're done. Deal?”
“Miss Kennedy we have a deal.” I raised my wine glass and we toasted our newly minted detente. An aura of anticipation suffused the rest of the evening. We made pleasant small talk while we waited for the check. All was copacetic as we exited the restaurant and I walked her to her Porsche SUV. The night air was warm and humid.
She was parked in a dimly lit area, which gave me a little more courage. I was determined not to let her get away without stealing a kiss. Although, based on everything I now knew, it wouldn't be stealing. More like taking what she wanted to give. As she reached the door of her Macan and turned to bid me adieu, I placed both hands on her shoulders.
“Olivia, thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Thank you for a lovely dinner. It was fun. I'm looking forward to what ever debauchery you have in store for me.”
“I smiled, placed my hands on either side of her face and kissed her. The touch of her warm soft lips sent a mild charge though me. The current doubled when she parted her lips and snaked her tongue into my mouth. The kiss intensified and I slid my hands into her thick dark hair.
Curly, Frank. Remember that.
She began to moan softly. Then suddenly, the tone changed sharply and her soft moan became a muffled question mark.
She broke the kiss and looked up at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh, my God. I am so stupid! You made up that whole Wonder Woman story as a pretense to get me into bed with your wife, didn't you?”
My eyebrows vaulted toward my hairline and I pulled back in shock. “What? No, I didn't make that up! I told you, I read it on The Atlantic.com. I can send you the link. Besides, if I wanted to share you with my wife, I'd just ask. As I said, she is recently but enthusiastically bisexual.”
Her expression darkened a little and she looked genuinely hurt. “You'd just ask...and you haven't. Which means, you don't want to share me with your wife. Why not? Does she think I'm ugly? I mean, I know I'm not as pretty as she is but” –
“No! I mean, Yes! Of course you are! Of course we do. I'd love to share you with Lilly. It's just that – well, with so many couples chasing that fantasy, it's become something of a taboo in poly circles to even broach the subject. We don't want to be branded as unicorn hunters. But I can assure you that if you wouldn't be offended or feel objectified or anything” –
She looked at me with that sassy smirk.
“Right. After everything we've talked about tonight, that's the last thing I should be worried about. Just um...trying to be...nice. Again. So! Let's just assume that the next time you see me, I will be accompanied by my lovely wife and that you will be the center of our attention. She does like you. I showed her your profile pictures on OK Cupid and she paid you the highest compliment she can give to another woman.”
“And that would be...?”
“She's yummy!”
“Oh goodie!” she purred. “Maybe you can tie me to the bed and take turns tasting me.”
I took her face into my hands again and kissed her passionately. She melted into the kiss and the voltage began flowing again, sending blood to strategic locations. As we finally broke the kiss and drifted slowly apart, I slid one hand around her throat.”
“Olivia, prepare to be the main course at our debauchery buffet.”
“Name the date, Professor.” And with a saucy smile, she spun on her heel, closed the door on the present, and drove away, leaving me hungry for the future.
© SheriffBart 2020. All rights reserved.
Feedback is welcome. Enjoy!
~~~~~ Chapter Seven: Olivia Dinner Date ~~~~~
My third dinner date with Olivia was going well. I'd made reservations at Ferrari's Italian grill, an upscale restaurant near her home in Addison. It had an old world charm that seemed to belong to a bygone era. The owner greeted each guest and made you feel like a member of the family. It was the perfect place for a romantic dinner.
Olivia Kennedy was a lovely, full-figured brunette with big dark eyes, full, sensuous lips, and the olive skin of Mediterranean ancestry. She stood about 5' 10 in her elegant heels and wore the black pinstriped pantsuit that was her daily uniform as an HR manager at a national retail chain. Her light blue blouse was unbuttoned just low enough to show a bit of cleavage. She looked elegant, refined, and sexy.
The two glasses of Merlot were working their magic and contributing to a relaxed vibe. After chatting about the current political climate and agreeing that it was worse than we'd ever seen, we moved to more intimate topics.
“So how did you and your wife get into polyamory? You've been together a long time. Has it always been an open marriage?
Oh lord. The how did we get here story. What do I tell her? I don't want to reveal all of Lilly's skeletons. I'd like for them to be friends, maybe more.
“Well no, we didn't start out with an open marriage. Quite the opposite. We actually met in a nondenominational church group. We were going to devote our lives to the ministry – travel, preach, etc. Then...things went sideways and, in the aftermath, we kind of lost ourselves. I guess monogamy was one of the first things that got jettisoned and there was a lot of heartache, for a long time. Several rounds of therapy ensued and, eventually, she discovered that she's bisexual. Always has been, it was just repressed.
“Naturally. Most church groups like to treat women as property. No sharing allowed. It's fine for the men to have a piece or two on the side, but the ladies are only allowed to open the legs for their husbands' pleasure.”
“Uh, yeah, that's actually pretty accurate. Of course we didn't know that going in, but that was part of the problem that wrecked everything. Anyway, we worked our way through it, made lots of mistakes, and eventually discovered that Lilly likes women. And, we figured that if God is love, and He wants us to love everyone unconditionally, He's probably not going to smite somebody for loving more than one person.”
“I like the way you put that, Bart. You're one of the few people I've met online so far who isn't just out for a quick lay. You seem to have half a brain. That's why I'm here.” She looked at me over her wine glass with a gleam in her eye that whispered an invitation. Another boundary had just been lowered. I felt the familiar rush of NRE – the quickened pulse and heightened perception – that had inspired poets and songwriters for millennia. I found her company exhilarating and I hoped she felt the same way about me on some level.
“Thank you. Likewise. For me, polyamory is all about intimacy, not just sex. Although the sex is fun too. In fact, Lilly says she's noticed that the telltale signs of NRE after I chat with you. Not that she's insecure about it. She's just” –
“Excuse me, what's NRE?”
“What? You mean, you're not familiar with- of course not, why else would you ask. Well, NRE is one of the first terms we learned when we started exploring polyamory. The acronym stands for New Relationship Energy. I interpret it as the poly equivalent for what most people refer to as falling in love – or, at least, infatuation.”
She curled her nose as if someone had drop a rotten egg in her wineglass. “Why do they have to ruin it with that word?”
Oh, right. The R word. She'd mentioned on one of our first OK Cupid chats that she hates the word 'relationship' Too many evils have been committed under the cover of that word. I don't use it.
“Right, you don't like the word 'relationship'. So, for you, I guess we'll have to call it...new connection energy?”
“That works. I kind of like the double entendre. I am definitely interested in connecting.” She held my gaze with a smoldering look as she sipped her wine.
“Mmm, connecting is one of my favorite pastimes. Although I prefer to do it selectively. I love the rush of a new re – connection – with a smart, sexy woman. But I look for women I can relate to intellectually, or on some other level. I'm not the kind of guy who is interested in picking up women in bars. And I was intrigued by your profile and your love of literature. Speaking of which...”
I took a sip of Merlot and sat back with a broad smile. I'd been waiting to share this gem with her for a few days and the anticipation lit up my face. She smiled back and arched her eyebrows inquisitively.
“I downloaded the kindle version of the novel you recommended last week.”
“House of Mirth?”
“Yes. First, I've gotta say, I love Edith Wharton's style. Her prose is beautiful.”
“Told ya!”
“Indeed you did. But the first thing that hit me was this passage where she introduced the main character. As you know, my lifestyle pseudonym is Bart. And My wife's name is Lilly.”
Her mouth opened slowly and her eyes widened in an Aha expression.
“So, on the very first page of the first book that my new girlfriend ha recommended, I'm introduced to a protagonist named Lilly Bart. I read that and laughed out loud.”
“That is weird” – she chuckled. “But...I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not your girlfriend. Because I'm not a girl. I'm a grown woman and I don't use patriarchal labels. And I hate the word 'lifestyle'. It's so fucking...preppy. I'm not even sure I care for the term “polyamory”. Nobody seems to be able to agree on what the hell it means.”
Damn. This woman is a walking mine field of hidden boundaries. First she tells me that I can't use the word 'relationship', despite the fact that we're pursuing one. Now, 'lifestyle' and 'girlfriend' are taboo. There went our moment of connection.
“Oookay. I'll add it to the list, along with 'relationship'.”
“Yes. Please do. I like you and I don't want this ruined by sloppy language. In case you can't tell, I'm interested. But I do have standards.”
“No problem, Olivia. And I'm flattered. So let me ask – since you don't like the term polyamory – how would you describe yourself? What brought you to....ethical non-monogamy and what are you looking for?”
She leaned forward and a bit of the gleam returned. Her full, red lips broadened into a captivating smile.
“Well, for me, it's not something I just discovered. I've been kinky as long as I can remember. And it's not something I hide. My family, my friends, even my co-workers pretty much know I'm not the typical corporate automaton. I work in the HR department of a Fortune 1000 corporation. I'm in charge of enforcing our company's sexual harassment policies.”
“We were at a company picnic recently, and the owner brought his dogs with him – which I adored. They're mastiffs. Well, being the dog lover that I am, I got down on the floor, and I was playing with them and one of them scratched me and I had a little blood on my nose. Everybody starts freaking out. I just patted his enormous head and said, 'It's okay boy, I like it rough, too.' You could have heard a pin drop.
“I'll bet. Definitely not the average HR manager.”
“Like I said, kinks is part of who I am. I'm not ashamed of it.” She leaned forward, paused and held my gaze. Her dark brown eyes flashed with passion.
“I like to be pinned. I like to be spanked. I like to be bound. I enjoy a good face-fucking, I love having my hair pulled. And I do love a good, hard pounding. I've been told I'm very sturdy.”
My mind flooded with images of all of the above.
“That aligns almost perfectly with my tastes. That's very exciting.”
“I can tell. I can see it in that hungry gleam in your eye, and I'll bet if this were a glass top table, I'd see it somewhere else. You forget, I can read men just as well as I can read profiles.”
“Pardon me?”
“Your OKC profile. In one of your questions, you mentioned something about verbal humiliation. Or did I get that mixed up with someone else?”
She's teasing me. That smile.
“Well, I don't normally discuss it in these kinds of venues. For one thing, my job doesn't allow me to be as...open as you are. Some of my clients are very conservative. So I prefer having these conversations in private. But yes, I have a verbal humiliation fetish. Nothing too extreme. Basically name-calling with a touch of slut-shaming. I don't get into some of the more extreme forms of it I've seen on Fetlife where people are...dehumanized if that's a word. Women on leashes in cages and shit like that.”
“Dehumanize is a word and it's the right one. It's not my thing either. And I can accept some of the words I think you like, as long as it's in the context of play and stays there. You can pull my hair and call me a slut when we're having fun, but don't you dare disrespect me! I sniff that shit out a mile away and I'm fucking gone. Just because I'm a bottom doesn't mean I'm not a fierce feminist.”
“That's fine with me. That makes me more comfortable actually. I like to know what the rules are. It's kind of scary exposing these, more intimate aspects of myself with new partners if I don't know how they'll react. And Olivia, I would love to pull your hair. I've been fantasizing about having my hands buried in your thick wavy hair with you” –
“Curly!” She sat back folded her arms across her chest and glowered at me.
“Excuse me?” My brain started re-winding the audio tape of the last ten seconds trying to find out where I'd screwed up.
I said wavy, not--
“My hair is curly, not wavy! I have long thick, curly hair, and I'm quite proud of it. You'll never get your hands in it if you don't get that right. Respect, remember?”
What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with this woman? Her hair is obviously wavy. Anybody who sees it would call it that. There's not a curl to be found. Whatever.
“Pardon me. Curly it is. Adding that to the list.”
The frown began to melt but not entirely. Indignation still shaded her features. There was an awkward silence while we sipped our wine and tried to find the path back toward the garden of delights. Rather than trying to drag her back onto the path, I attempted a leisurely detour.
“Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to share with you. I found an article on The Atlantic.com last night that's related to what we were just talking about. And it has some historical and cultural significance as well. Especially for geeks like me.”
Curiosity brightened her lovely face. “There's an article on The Atlantic.com about my naturally curly hair?”
A hearty guffaw leapt out of my lips before I could stop it. “No, about kink.”
“Oh. As in...kinky hair, or kinky feminists?”
“The latter. The article was about the man who created Wonder Woman. He was an ivy league professor named Marsden. He actually invented the lie detector, but that's beside the point.
Apparently, Professor Marsden and his wife were polyamorous. They fell in love with a young college girl who happened to be Margaret Sanger's niece. The three of them were quite an item on campus. So much so that their indiscretion got the good professor canned. In desperation, he started writing comic books and came up with idea of Wonder Woman.”
She scrunched up one side of her face, squinting at me impatiently. “But...you said this was about kink, not poly.”
“Yes, well, that's the next thing. I've been noticing that all of the poly women I've met- well, all of them I've gotten to know well anyway – are kinky. They're almost all subs, but there are a switch or two and at least one domme. But the connection between poly and kink – specifically power exchange - is amazingly consistent. I started asking about it online, in all my lifestyle groups, and most of the respondents claim they hadn't noticed it. Some acknowledge it and some deny it altogether, so it's started kind of a running debate.”
“So imagine my elation when the documentary mentioned that Professor Marsden and his two lovely companions soon discovered an all-consuming love of BDSM. Marsden actually wrote it into the comic books and insisted that the artists depict it with extreme accuracy. So here you have this comic book character, in literature ostensibly aimed at c***dren, running around in hot pants getting tied up on the regular. Or, more often, tying other people up and making men submit to her. Marsden believed that women were superior and that the only way to save civilization was to get men to submit themselves to strong women. Hence the golden lasso.”
“Wow. That's pretty cool. I had no idea Wonder Woman was that progressive.”
“Me neither. I knew there was bondage in it. I'd read years ago that one of the items cited by the author of Seduction of the Innocent – that's the book that lit the firestorm that started the decline of comic books in the fifties - was the prevalence of Wonder Woman comic books depicting cover art with her all tied up. Eventually of course, it backfired. Marden's insistence on explicit BDSM themes in k**dy books fueled the backlash that actually put several companies out of business. And of course, got him canned. Again.”
“Well that sucks. Leave it to the crusaders to spoil everybody's fun. They just can't stand seeing other people enjoying their bodies without the Patriarchy's permission.”
“True dat.”
“She sat back and gave me another scrunchy face, like she'd just bit into a sour lemon. “Uh, no.
Neither you nor I are cool enough to get away with 'true dat'.”
“Hey, I've been sayin' true dat for years” – I protested dramatically. “Cause I'm cool like dat.”
“No.”
“Whatever. Anyway, the point is, the connection between kink and polyamory goes back almost a hundred years! What's up with that?”
“I don't' know, but that's pretty intriguing. Suddenly, I have more respect for Wonder Woman. Especially the Gal Godot version. Although” – she leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and cradled her face in her hands – “if I were in one of those comic books, I wouldn't be the one tying people up. I'd be the one on the cover, with my arms and legs spread eagle, lashed to a St. Andrew's cross, staring up at a big dark man with his hand around my throat.”
Yes! Back on the path to nirvana.
“Well, I'm afraid I don't have access to a St Andrews cross, but, I think the rest can be arranged.”
“I certainly hope so. I was beginning to think you didn't want me. This is our third date and you haven't even touched me yet.”
“What? I haven't...”
Damn, she's right. I've been so concerned about not stepping on another of her verbal land minds, that I haven't laid a hand on her.
“Well, I try to be a gentleman. In public spaces anyway. And we haven't had a chance to spend any time in private yet.”
“And who's fault is that? Am I...I mean, I know your wife is drop-dead gorgeous. Am I... not pretty enough for you, Bart?”
“No! I mean yes! Yes of course you are. You're stunning. Olivia, I think you're beautiful, smart and sexy as hell!”
“Then what's going on here? You claim to be a dom, or at least to know a lot about power exchange and kink. I haven't exactly been subtle. And like I said, I know you're hungry for some of this. And yet, I don't get the feeling you're about to ravish me. Or maybe... yes, that's it.”
"You don't know how, do you? You're still trying to figure this out.”
“Well no, I--I mean of course I know how, it's just – Fuck. This is the last place I want to have this conversation. Look, I'd really rather not talk about here. This is rather personal.”
“Ohhhh, so it's okay for us to talk about my most intimate desires over salmon and lasagna, but not yours? That sounds more than a little hypocritical.”
“Okay, okay, you're right. Here goes. I don't like to get into this because it can make some people feel awkward and I don't generally like to mix race and dating, but” –
“Race? Well obviously I don't have a problem with interracial dating, so let's hear it.”
This could go downhill really quickly. I'm about to tell this incredibly sexy, kinky woman that I probably not the man she's looking for. Whatever. I'd rather be honest and rejected now than try to keep up a facade and have it come crashing down later.
I paused, gathered my thoughts and tried to lay it out as succinctly as possible.
“Okay, so... I was raised by a single m0ther. My mom grew up in Alabama in the Jim Crow era. She had horrible experiences and, as any m0ther would, she tried to protect me from certain aspects of racism. About the time I became old enough to date, she started telling me stories about young black men who had been jailed or worse for flirting with white girls. And about black men who had consensual sex with white women, who then turned around and accused them of ****. Some of those innocent men were lynched. It just... It got in my head. I started worrying about what could happen if I ended up with the wrong girl.”
“I actually had a girl in high school who liked me a lot. We were both artists and rivals, but became pretty close. Then really close. Wendy Bennett. Pretty blonde, big hips, sexy ass, really talented and very sweet. Anyway, we ended up working late at school one night, painting some backdrops for the theater department. I offered to give her a ride home. We took a detour, and parked by the roadside.”
“Sounds like typical teenage antics.”
“Yep. Things were going along pretty well. Necking, fogging up the windows and all that. After about 15 minutes of fun, a cop car pulls up.”
Olivia gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh no, what happened?”
“Well nothing Rodney Kingish. I mean, he made us zip up and move along. But after the heat of passion had passed, Wendy came to her senses and told me she couldn't date me anyway because if her father ever found out, he'd kill us both. Turns out her dad was a hard-core racist. Anyway, that shit gets in your head. It made me timid.”
Well, that and being raised by a domineering, angry black woman.
“I've been trying to work my way out of that, but it's taken a long time. So, as I said, my reluctance has nothing to do with my level of attraction to you. I'm just...trying to clear some inner hurdles.”
Olivia sat silently for a few minutes, looking down at her plate. She was uncharacteristically inscrutable. I began to feel like our garden of delight was downwind from a hidden water treatment plant. Then she straightened up, took a deep breath and looked me squarely in the eye. There was a trace of desire still there, but shaded with something I couldn't quite place.
“Well, that sucks. I can't say I know what you're going through, but I do know that I am not that kind of woman. So here's what we'll do. I don't usually tell men how to get me in bed.. That's not how this is supposed to work. But...here's how we get past that.”
“You take me to a nice hotel. You meet me in the bar. We chat for a while, have a few drinks. You woo me properly. Then, we go upstairs. You tie me to the bed and have your way with me. If you're not the rope master type, you can just throw me up against a wall and fuck my brains out. I swear to God, Allah, and Almighty Vishnu, I won't have you arrested. Just don't disrespect me when we're done. Deal?”
“Miss Kennedy we have a deal.” I raised my wine glass and we toasted our newly minted detente. An aura of anticipation suffused the rest of the evening. We made pleasant small talk while we waited for the check. All was copacetic as we exited the restaurant and I walked her to her Porsche SUV. The night air was warm and humid.
She was parked in a dimly lit area, which gave me a little more courage. I was determined not to let her get away without stealing a kiss. Although, based on everything I now knew, it wouldn't be stealing. More like taking what she wanted to give. As she reached the door of her Macan and turned to bid me adieu, I placed both hands on her shoulders.
“Olivia, thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Thank you for a lovely dinner. It was fun. I'm looking forward to what ever debauchery you have in store for me.”
“I smiled, placed my hands on either side of her face and kissed her. The touch of her warm soft lips sent a mild charge though me. The current doubled when she parted her lips and snaked her tongue into my mouth. The kiss intensified and I slid my hands into her thick dark hair.
Curly, Frank. Remember that.
She began to moan softly. Then suddenly, the tone changed sharply and her soft moan became a muffled question mark.
She broke the kiss and looked up at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh, my God. I am so stupid! You made up that whole Wonder Woman story as a pretense to get me into bed with your wife, didn't you?”
My eyebrows vaulted toward my hairline and I pulled back in shock. “What? No, I didn't make that up! I told you, I read it on The Atlantic.com. I can send you the link. Besides, if I wanted to share you with my wife, I'd just ask. As I said, she is recently but enthusiastically bisexual.”
Her expression darkened a little and she looked genuinely hurt. “You'd just ask...and you haven't. Which means, you don't want to share me with your wife. Why not? Does she think I'm ugly? I mean, I know I'm not as pretty as she is but” –
“No! I mean, Yes! Of course you are! Of course we do. I'd love to share you with Lilly. It's just that – well, with so many couples chasing that fantasy, it's become something of a taboo in poly circles to even broach the subject. We don't want to be branded as unicorn hunters. But I can assure you that if you wouldn't be offended or feel objectified or anything” –
She looked at me with that sassy smirk.
“Right. After everything we've talked about tonight, that's the last thing I should be worried about. Just um...trying to be...nice. Again. So! Let's just assume that the next time you see me, I will be accompanied by my lovely wife and that you will be the center of our attention. She does like you. I showed her your profile pictures on OK Cupid and she paid you the highest compliment she can give to another woman.”
“And that would be...?”
“She's yummy!”
“Oh goodie!” she purred. “Maybe you can tie me to the bed and take turns tasting me.”
I took her face into my hands again and kissed her passionately. She melted into the kiss and the voltage began flowing again, sending blood to strategic locations. As we finally broke the kiss and drifted slowly apart, I slid one hand around her throat.”
“Olivia, prepare to be the main course at our debauchery buffet.”
“Name the date, Professor.” And with a saucy smile, she spun on her heel, closed the door on the present, and drove away, leaving me hungry for the future.
Jerri
- 28.09.2020
- 25
- 0
