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Archive-name: Affairs/sexylady.txt


Archive-title: Sexy Lady

A long time after my adventure with Tyrone had ended, it seemed

useful to reconstruct the entire affair, to try to place it in

its proper perspective.  I was uncertain that it could be done at

all, even less certain that it could be done truthfully and

objectively.  But I resolved to try.  After a number of false

starts, one version emerged which on examination seems reasonably

close to the truth.  For what little it can teach you, you are

welcome to it.

Note that I describe it as an adventure rather than an affair. 

Affairs I have had before, but never anything resembling this in

the slightest.  No, adventure it is, or perhaps exploit or better

yet, escapade.  Pick the description that pleases you best. But

whatever it was, a love affair it was not.

The incidents described here are actual, though they may seen to

have been romanticized somewhat, and perhaps they were.  Details

may vary slightly from fact.  If so, the reason is obvious-

memory is irregular and faulty, and none of the events,

unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept. 

That is certainly too bad.  It would make fascinating reading

now, I am sure.  Still, these incidents were shared almost on a

daily basis with my friend Sara, and upon reading this file, she

says that her recollection is essentially similar with the record

(though she does say to leave her part out. Ha!).  Whether she

agrees with my conclusion is another matter.  But then, you don't

know my conclusion, do you?  

As an addenda to the preface above, written somewhat later, let

me report that a diary WAS kept.  Unbeknownst to me, Sara had

kept a personal diary in which she reported most of what I had

told her, along with her own reactions to each event.  I was

surprised to learn this, perhaps even a bit dismayed.  On

reflection, though, I concluded that it really made very little

difference- it did not change the substance at all of what

happened, and served later to reinforce my memory in looking back

on events that are truly important to me but probably not to

anyone else.  In reading the diary now, I find two interesting

things- that my memory is essentially correct and Sara's written

reaction to each thing that occurred is excited and exciting to

me.  So much for the addenda.  Now back to the report.


To tie things down, consider the background.  June, 1984. Herbert

is in Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for

other business.  He will be there for six weeks, perhaps 

eight.  Helen has not been able to go.  She plans to join him in 

the South of France later after his conference is over, in two 

weeks or so.  For now, she is still at home, busy but not

overwhelmed with her work.  Helen fancies herself a queen. She is

intelligent, attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body, and

she is fully aware of it and of a certain power that it gives. 

But she has a haughty, imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude

that annoys many people and absolutely infuriates others.  She is

married to an older man who obviously adores her, pampers her,

caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and 

has never satisfied her.  Her husband travels extensively. 


The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to

the symphony, alone, and there encountered a man, Tyrone,  whom

she had known well once and disliked- a tall, spare man of

curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist,

stubborn, opinionated, willful-  a type that Helen usually

detested.  That evening, after the concert, he offered her a

drink, and thinking of avoiding a long cab ride home alone, she

accepted.  The thought of physical involvement with this man,

though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind. 

After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive

her to her house, made the expected pass, and she responded by

giving him a stinging slap in the face.  He replied as no man had

before. He twisted her arm, turned her away from him, and using a

hard bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the rump.  She

reacted immediately, and when he slapped her behind hard again,

she gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone.

Recognizing her reaction exactly for what it was, as complete

submission, he sat, pulled her over his lap, bottom-up, pulled

her skirt all the way up over her hips and slowly and with great

ceremony, pulled her panty hose down so that her now-bare ass was

in his complete view.  Now, firmly and with great authority, he

totally took control, spanking her bottom until it had turned

bright pink and she had begun to bawl like a baby. Ignoring her

cries as just so much nonsense (which both of them knew they

were), his hand wandered over her rosy red rump, found a path

between her tightly clenched thighs and when a finger tested, it

discovered that she was sopping wet, that her clit had emerged

and now stood upright like a miniature penis, indicating to him

just how  sincere her protests were.  He sensed total victory. In

only another moment he had her panty hose off completely, and now

with her totally obvious complete cooperation, had unzipped her

dress, pulled it over her head, tossed it on the floor as if it

was just a rag rather than the very expensive frock that it

really was (wasn't that the ULTIMATE indignity?, she thought).

He had unhooked her bra so that she stood nude before him, her

bare breasts in his face, her nipples now standing like

sentinels, offering themselves to his hard, sucking kisses, her

arms around his neck.  One of his hands fondled her rump while

the other hand was up between her widespread thighs, his finger

inserted full depth in her sensuous feminine flower, teasing it

and bringing her ever closer to  orgasm.  She had been totally

conquered by a simple spanking and by a bit of foreplay.  He had

won the prize and obviously it was now his for the taking.  He

knew this and so did she.  She was fully aware that she was

excited beyond anything in her experience, that very soon he

would want to use her, and however he chose to use her  that

there was simply no way that she could stop him or would stop him

or would even want to stop him.

Now he led her to her bedroom, spanked her further and harder, to

her very great dismay- or perhaps to her very considerable joy.

He stripped.  Soon he joined her nude in her bed.  He was rigidly

erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent, totally

passionate, totally excited, totally and absolutely orgasmically

responsive.  He took her in strange positions and in strange

ways, vanquishing her completely and certainly satisfying her

better than she had ever been satisfied. During it all, with

Tyrone's cock buried to its full depth in her humid, squishy

pussy, when she had already had orgasm twice and knew she was on

the verge of a third, she thought that never, since the day at

age 16 when she had lost her virginity until perhaps an hour ago,

had she ever really known what sex was all about, what true

carnal pleasure could be, what submission to a strong individual

could do.  She had always liked sex. but really, certainly could

have done without it, too- but now?

Now it was hours later.  He had gone, almost without a word and 

she had to deal mentally with the evening's almost incredible

events.  Well, one thing of which she was certain- she would not 

be seeing him again.  He had brutalized her- well, not exactly

brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her.  Not that it had

hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity.  And he had

done strange things, disgusting things.  Like putting his finger 

into her anus, and then, of all things, kissing her there, a wet,

thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as far as he could. That was

absolutely bestial.  Animals behaved like that, not intelligent

people.  And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in 

pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before

leaving, firmly pinched her nipples, made her call him Master,

and made her suck his then semi-soft cock, brought him back erect

and was quickly impaled again on it.  Now she lay resting in bed,

thinking about all this, about the moment when he first took her,

spanked her and then stripped her bare and spanked her again,

brought her nude and excited into her own bedroom, stripped his

own clothes off and paraded around the room showing off his very

rigid erection, with the absolute implication of what he was

going to do with that awful thing -- right here, she thought, in

this very room, in my own bed.  And she found herself getting

overheated once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices

flowing.  Crazy,  she thought, absolutely crazy.  She was going

to cum again. 


She thought about the spanking- actually several spankings that 

he had given her, all with his bare hand against her naked

bottom, with her trying to twist away from the strokes, but at 

the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps unconsciously, to be 

accessible, to offer a more tempting target.  No man had ever

spanked her before.  In fact, in her entire life the only

spanking she received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening

coming home late and slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she

had found her mother waiting up, furious.  Her jeans were taken 

down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a very angry

parent.  That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the

one did tonight. 


Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this

experience.  She would call Sara.  Now that they were really

close she would tell her everything.  Sara would just love to

hear about this adventure.  She loved kinky things and kinky

clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate, kinky 

talk.  Sara would flip!!!  Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I 

call her at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story. Helen lay back 

in bed, nude,  voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange 

thoughts.  This WAS a strange adventure, a marvelous kinky

adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one to be savored,

to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and

understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a

particularly  private moment (perhaps while lying with her face 

between Sara's elegant breasts, while kissing and gently sucking 

a mouth-watering, responsive nipple).  This was an experience to 

be digested and analyzed and understood, but NOT one to be 


She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to

her bed.  She willed it to ring.  Let some one call me, she

thought, anybody.  Nobody  did.  She thought, what if it rings

right now, and it is him- Tyrone, that bastard- and he orders me

to get into my car and drive to his house, stark naked, right

now!!!   Would I? she wondered.  She looked at her nightstand. 

There, on a sheet of paper was his parting shot- his telephone

number, written there just as he was leaving.  His verbal order

to her to call him tomorrow night, exactly at nine, or suffer the

consequences-- whatever that might mean.  Call him tomorrow?-

well, he could just forget about that.  She meant to crumple up

that piece of paper, right now, and to put it in the ashtray and

light a match to it- as if burning it meant burning the

relationship and burning that bastard Tyrone at the same time. 

But just then she did not have a match handy, so it would wait

until tomorrow.  Yes, she thought, I will burn it in the morning.

And speaking of burning, she thought, he certainly did burn my

bottom with that awful spanking.  And that thought was finally

too much for her- with a hand rubbing across her nipples,

caressing them, and the other hand teasing and rubbing her clit,

her body began to heave and shake and away she went into wild,

total orgasm again!! 

Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. 

In each of the three or four times that she had been bedded down,

the man was of the same type- a mature, intellectual,

professorial type, a man for whom she had profound respect, a man

who respected her own intellectual strength and her breeding, who

treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case 

was almost a clone for her husband. Every time so far the appeal

had been mental.  Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these

things that had interested her in the past.  He was a totally

different specimen- mature, yes, but not a great mind, not a

scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not

muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that 

she could identify.  She giggled, thinking that his penis wasn't

all that huge either, big enough certainly to get the job done,

but not huge either, like some of those that she had admired in

porno flicks.  Well, if the appeal wasn't mental, and it wasn't

completely physical either, then what was it?  What DID this guy

do that was so special?  All he did was take charge, ignore what

she wanted (or thought she wanted) take control of her,

discipline her, and--- well, what else, she thought. 


The next morning she could think of nothing else.  But now she

had better personal insight in to what had really happened. He

had somehow peeled off the veneer layer from her,  and had gotten

down to the core, to what she felt was the fundamental person

inside.  He made her feel like a true love slave, ready, anxious 

to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely

wierd point about this whole episode was that she did not love 

this man- she did not even especially like him and did not

respect him. He did not have the deep bass voice that she 

sometimes found sensuously attractive.  He was not especially 

handsome nor tall.  He had no great brain.  What he did have was 

a certain presence, a command of the situation that she found 

just incredibly overpowering.  And he wanted her, obviously

wanted her, physically wanted her, carnally wanted her, and could

and would all but own her, body and soul, but mostly body. 


She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and

found that Sara was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the

details as she was in telling them.  Helen found this part of the

adventure just doubly delectable- lying nude with Sara, her lips

nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue probing, her

hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching

between Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding exquisite

cream in that scrumptious cunny.  As the adventure proceeded,

Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom she had

met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long,

how, when, where.  Sara seemed to want to participate, but

vicariously, afraid really to cross the line and join directly in

the adventure.  And this Helen wanted to protect her from, not

really knowing where it was going.  Sara was Helen's secret. So

Sara knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and

his friends, but Tyrone never knew about Sara. 


Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for

a month or more and for that month she has a master, one who owns

her, will train her in the image that he finds desirable.   He

will spank her when he pleases, perhaps in the privacy of her

bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching. That much he

has already told her.  She knows that she should flee him, refuse

to see him again or even speak to him.  And she is entirely

certain that she will not do that- that tomorrow she may be

terrified of what can happen, but she knows that she WILL see him

again.  And she will be spanked by him- and she is, of course. 

Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at all

severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare

hand or mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom.  They do

not even especially hurt.  They perhaps more than anything else

are symbolic, both to him and to her, of his sexual domination. 

They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving her heaving and

gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to

please him even more.  And he promises her nothing more than

regular, almost constant excitement, wild new adventures,

exciting new friends, and orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!!!! 


And so she does not go to Europe that summer.  She decides that 

the pressures at work are too great, that she cannot get away, 

that Herbert will travel alone and enjoy himself, that his

freedom will be good for him, invigorating. She tells all this to

Sara, and Sara thinks it is hysterically funny.  Sara believes

that women are mostly cunt anyway (expressed in exactly that

phrase).   She believes that all women occasionally have their

brains in their vaginas but that Helen's brains now are totally

confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that conclusion, Sara

leans forward, finds that delightful appendage, and emphasizes

her point by giving it a lovely kiss).  Sara thinks that Helen is

currently involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps

best called Mind Fuck, in Sara's judgment an effective and

acceptable form of therapy.   She approves of this adventure,

conditionally.  That is, the idea is good, the events so far have

been fun and very, very different. This will all be OK so long as

it can be kept in perspective and no long term damage is done.

She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows all about

him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been

so interesting.  Her only complaint is that Helen does not  have

as much private time for Sara, but the time they do have together

is absolutely marvelous- more intimate and exciting than it had

ever been before. 

So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her feminine

wiles of the past are useless, a man who has captured her, has

used her thoroughly and often and made her love him for it,

conquered her totally employed her sexually in every conceivable

way, introduced her to threesomes and foursomes and orgies,

photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses, kept her

constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces,

a series of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but

marvelously, voluptuously dangerous and exciting at the same

time.  The queen has become a willing sex slave to a highly

imaginative master, and never has she felt herself so much a

woman as now. 

In one of their private moments, Helen had confided some of her

unrealized fantasies to Tyrone.  One of these related to having

sex with a black man, something that she had thought about for

years, but had obviously never done.  Tyrone was fascinated with

the concept, but decided it needed expanding upon.  He knew of a

black couple, professionals, intelligent, and interested

themselves in swinging.  He arranged the meeting.  The two of

them, Helen and Tyrone went to the apartment where the black

couple, George and Grace, lived. Tyrone had told her that these

two were middle aged -perhaps late 30s or early 40s, and quite

attractive.  He was a physician, she a clinical psychologist and,

according to Tyrone, the least inhibited person that he knew. 

The prearranged plan was simplicity indeed.  The two women would

play with each other while the men watched.  And when all were

ready, they would simply swap...that is, Helen with George and

Grace with Tyrone.  The apartment was large, furnished well and

with taste- obviously the home of a successful couple.  Tyrone

had instructed Helen to bring along baby-doll nightie and bikini

panties.  Grace was already dressed that way, a short,  extremely

attractive, curvaceous lady, golden brown in shade, with an

exotic figure, short, curly black hair, a large red mouth, a

dashing pink tongue,  huge dark flashing eyes, and an entirely

winsome expression.  She appeared to be sex personified.  Helen

liked her immediately.

After some preliminary conversation, Grace led Helen to the

bedroom to dress, and of course, helped her to undress for her

baby-doll.  First though, Grace turned her face up for a kiss. 

When Helen responded, Grace thrust her tongue out what seemed to

be six inches, bathing the back of the roof of Helen's mouth-

what seemingly was the most exotic first kiss that Helen had ever

received.  Of course, the fact that Grace was unzipping this and

unhooking that all the while, delightful parts were coming

uncovered and bare and could be touched, and stroked and

stimulated.   This only fueled the flames that her tongue had

lit.  They continued this exchange of astonishingly appetizing

kisses, deep-tongue kisses, and almost forgot the two men waiting

for them.  Helen had a good look at her delightful playmate, at

her luscious golden, small but shapely titties with their spiffy

chocolate covered nipples, and that curly, sable pubic triangle

and the pink clit that seemed to be peeping out at her, at her

scrumptious hips and thighs and that beautiful ass, and thought

that she would have been just as glad to forget the men for the

evening- that she was really taken with this Grace and that what

she wanted from her was really more than a hors d'oeuvre.  Grace

would have made a delectable main course.  That was not to be, at

least not this evening.

A few moments later, the ladies emerged, arm in arm, obviously

already well acquainted.  Grace peeled Helen out of her baby-

doll, to show her figure off to George, then took off her own,

and nude, the girls began their enchanting love-play, with an

almost delirious audience.  Deep tongue kisses were exchanged,

nipples were lovingly stroked and kissed, clits petted, kissed,

sucked, vaginas were tasted, each girl doing the foreplay for the

other to prepare her for the injection which would soon follow. 

Along the way, the two men stripped.  Helen looked up, first saw

Tyrone nude and hard.  Across the room, George was also nude,

very large, very erect, obviously very ready for Helen.  Helen

was very ready for George, too.

The girls separated, each going to a man.  George put his arm

around Helen, captured the cheek of her bottom in his hand, and

led her to a bedroom.  Once through the door, he turned her

towards him, delightfully squeezed both cheeks of her scrumptious

ass, his rigid cock pressing against her belly.  They exchanged a

deep, wet kiss.  In only a moment, Helen was on the bed, on her

back, her legs spread wide, George's eager face between her

thighs, his tongue tasting her now squishy-wet pussy.  She turned

around so that they were in a position of 69.  She took his huge,

thick, chocolate Tootsie Roll in her hand, squeezed it, leaned

towards it, kissed it, and took as much of it as she could into

her mouth.  For long moments, she sucked the rigid ebony bar,

really enjoying the sensation as it throbbed in her mouth.  It

was almost too much to contain and it hurt her jaw a bit, but it

was that very well known pleasure-pain, that lovely combination

of the best of both.  It was her intention eventually to turn

around and take him in her fully-ready vagina, but they waited an

instant too long.

Now understand this moment.  Before Tyrone, she had done oral sex

only a relatively few times, practically never with her husband. 

She had done it with each of her previous lovers, but generally

as a means of erecting an otherwise flaccid penis, perhaps after

they had already had intercourse once.  No man had ever cum in

her mouth.  Even Tyrone, who had undeniably expanded her

experiences in sucking a cock, and who certainly could have cum

in her mouth if he chose to, did not do so. The  thought of a man

squirting his thick, oily essence into her fully ready vagina was

pleasant, even downright exciting.  And since she had recently

been re-introduced into anal sex (and liked it, in typical

masochistic fashion), having a man cumming into her anus was

fine, even fun.  Still, the idea of a cock going off into her

mouth, while not actually disgusting, was perhaps a little bit

frightening- the ultimate invasion of her personal privacy.  And

now, right now, it obviously was going to happen. 

She just knew it was going to happen, that he was going to go off

like a fire hose.  She thought that she did not even know what to

do.  She did not have to do anything.  He grabbed her face with

both his hands. pulled her closer so that most of his full depth

was inserted in her mouth, the glans almost down her throat.  She

could not help but think of a porno film that she and Sara had

watched together in which the heroine has sucked down a huge

prick, taking the whole thing, taking it all the way to her

lover's orgasm.  Now she could feel George approaching orgasm-

the head of his cock swelled even larger, receded, swelled again,

and then suddenly a thick, hot, oily, salty squirt against the

back of her palate.  Her gave her a huge oral injection, and in

the position she was, she could do nothing other than to swallow

it down.  And with his tongue furiously stroking her, the sheer

masochistic sensation overpowering her, she had orgasm, too, a

wild response on her part to an absolutely wild feeling.

So she had been treated to her first taste of cum, and a royal

mouthful it was.  And she had dutifully swallowed it down, and

had herself cum while doing it.  A marvelous experience!!!  What

in the world, she wondered, had she been afraid of?  The taste? 

Well, yes, a bit strange, but certainly not unpleasant, perhaps

similar in a sense to raw oysters, she thought.  She felt

disappointed, on the one hand, because she had really wanted

George to measure her internal dimensions with that gorgeous

monster, to probe her for depth and diameter.  On the other hand,

she did have the experience of servicing him orally, all the way,

and had been rewarded for her efforts by his obvious pleasure and

by the copious salty (and marvelously palatable, no question

about that) squirt he had shot down her throat.

They rested together for a bit, and as he relaxed, she knelt on

the bed before him.  Now, absolutely unafraid, with a new feeling

of confidence and control. she leaned forward, her lips brushed

against his now semi-soft prick.  She thrust out her tongue,

licking its length, and marveled at it as it grew before her

eyes.  In only an instant, or so it seemed, he was erect again. 

He pulled her on top of him.  She spread a leg on either side,

now perched above that again large, fairly hard, brown rod.  His

hands were on her hips, slowly pulling her down, impaling her

squishy cunt until his full depth was buried. It felt absolutely

marvelous.  It stretched her beyond where she had ever before

been expanded. Now they rode, now his hands holding and squeezing

her behind, which she just loved, and later holding each luscious

breast, gently pinching her nipples, but all the while stroking

upwards, deep, slow plunges, and with the front of his shaft

gently massaging her clit on each stroke.  For another ten

minutes this went on.  Helen perhaps had another orgasm then,

perhaps not.  She did not later remember.  George certainly did,

inundating her with another lovely flood.

A while later, they walked out, nude, hand in hand, to the other

bedroom, to find Grace in the identical position, sitting astride

Tyrone's cock. As they walked in, they were behind the couple

making love, and had an intimate view of Grace's elegant,

shapely, full bottom, her thighs spread, Tyrone's prick inserted

deeply in her pussy.  As she stroked up and down they were

treated to the sight of the muscular action in her rump, a

totally erotic sight to Helen.  Grace bent forward to give Tyrone

a long kiss, now lying parallel over him, rubbing her titties on

his chest, and exposing as she did so, her winking brown rosette. 

It seemed to be begging for a kiss, so Helen did just that- knelt

behind, bent her head forward, kissed it lovingly, and attempted

to thrust her tongue through.  That seemed a totally appropriate

gesture for the marvelous feelings that she had just now.  She

began to laugh, but nobody quite knew why.  She thought, just at

that instant, that she had become a graduate student again, this

time in a PhD program in Advanced Fancy Fucking.  And that Tyrone

was her tutor. She was currently doing research for her

dissertation, that Grace's apartment was her laboratory.  She

giggled--yes, she would report that to Sara tomorrow, and they

would be hysterical together.

One point to be considered.  Helen had isolated Sara from her

experience with Tyrone.  But she did report everything to Sara,

so she did tell her all about George and Grace.  Perhaps of the

entire affair this was the portion that most excited Sara.  There

was nothing to be done about it then.  However, perhaps a year

later, when Tyrone was history, the topic came up between the

girls for perhaps the hundredth time, and Helen agreed to

introduce Sara to the black couple.  They all met for dinner, and

retired to Helen's house for dessert (Herbert was away).  Would

George like to see all three girls naked and playing  together? 

Oh wow!!! But yes.  Would it be OK so far as Grace was concerned? 

Well, certainly. And did they?  Of course. In a marvelous kind of

daisy chain, like a reverse Oreo Cookie, a mouth-watering

chocolate layer sandwiched between two whites. And was he given

his choice of the three to try on for size, personally?  Well,

yes he was.  And who was the choice?  That question is

ridiculous.  You know the answer to that.  And did Helen and

Grace play their own private games while George reamed out Sara's

scrumptious cunt?  Don't even bother to ask.

But now back to the great Tyrone adventure.  For the two year

period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly dancing

lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at

the end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly

dancer, an elegant, exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had

learned this dance in the old country as a girl.  This older

woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen.  She is slim,

lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half

her age.  She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and

two other ladies as an advanced class, taught privately. She has

taught them things that the YWCA classes did not even

contemplate- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she

has taught them about the sexuality of the dance.  She believes

that belly dancing is inherently erotic, that it is meant to

excite both the dancer and the watchers, and that it is senseless

and practically impossible for the dancer not to have sex after

she is through dancing.  If she has no partner available, then

masturbation is expected and understood. She believes that belly

dancing without orgasm following is absolute nonsense.  Sara, of

course, has a young, strong, very vigorous husband.  When she

comes home from a lesson, he is delighted to help relieve her of

her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored,

traditional way.  Helen's husband, on the other hand, is not

always there and is not as sexually involved.  For her,

masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual. 


Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun,

marvelous exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings

imaginable. When she began her lessons, she thought that they

might put some thrills in her otherwise hum-drum workaday

existence.  Well, she thought, they certainly have done that. 

Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting

forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of

the female movements in sexual intercourse.  Consider the

source,too.  Belly dancing was first done in the Harems of the

Sultans in the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers were always harem

slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure that

the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs,

and a delicious, magnificent bottom.  Helen's figure matches this

description exactly. 


And further, the Harem slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose

whole purpose is pleasing her master, however he might wish to be

pleased.  It is her responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond

control, so that he will then take her, manfully, forcefully. 

During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students  dress in

sweatpants and shirts and tennis shoes, a ragpack looking group,

not in the least pleasing in appearance.  After the YWCA phase,

the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara and the ladies buy the

appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials, designed 

to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are

apparent, nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and

bottoms carnally displayed as much as they are hid.  One Saturday

afternoon, the girls made an excursion to Greek Town to an

obscure shop, and bought the costumes.  Later in the week they

met, each to see how the other looked dressed.  Helen looked very

attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous.  Her pitch black

hair, intense brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring

gave her an Italian look, almost like Sophia Loren.  She was sex

personified in this costume, her gorgeous body almost completely

revealed and still hidden slightly.  She looked the perfect

Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems

think await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to

satisfy, to give perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost

beyond the comprehension of mortal man. 


Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then,

one for the other, obviously both very stimulated.  Sara

approached the end of her dance, and in Harem manner, began to

remove the few articles of clothing she wore. First the

pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and

underpants.  Helen removed her own pantaloons.  Sara unbuttoned

the vest, showing Helen her gorgeous breasts for the first time,

utterly delicious looking love apples, high and full and firm,

with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect, almost

demanding to be kissed.  Helen stared, transfixed.  Sara danced

closer, took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and

danced, her legs spread, her podex wiggling, her black pubic

triangle in front of Helen's eyes.  She turned, her gorgeous bare

bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the

cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss

it.  Helen stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her

glance away from the heavenly sight of Sara, now turned again

towards her, her legs slightly spread, her unbelievable

femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward

and back, offering itself for her kisses. Helen pulled off her

few items of clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and

moved forward, her face now between the dancers legs.  And for

the first time, she kissed that glorious cunny.  Her tongue found

the erect clit.  She massaged it wetly.  Now the two nude girls

stood, the dancing stopped though the music went on.  They kissed

deeply and wildly.  In an instant they were on the couch, in a

position of 69, each feasting on the sopping, squishy. appetizing

cunt of the other.  Both have found the only logical, the only

possible end of a true Harem belly dance when no man is present. 

And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has

decided that Helen will do a public performance of the belly

dance, before a small audience, in his own home. An elegant

buffet has been catered and served, with fine wines.  The group

is small, but intelligent.  The conversation has been lively. 

The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed over coffee and

dessert.  They are ready for entertainment and Helen has gone to

don her costume.  She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest,

deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples

are easily visible.  She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again

of a diaphanous material through which her panties can be seen,

again  almost transparent, and through which can be seen the

shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage of her

behind.  She is wearing a boxfull of junk jewelry, assorted

baubles and bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and

greens and yellows and blues.  She has on dazzling makeup, and a 

spray of perfume in strategic places.  The perfume itself is a

special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent.  It is potent

when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused

her body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air

takes on a carnal, erotic aroma, almost like incense.  This

arouses her, and she knows that it excites the audience.  There

will not be a flaccid cock in the room, later on. 


She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and 

slow and rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well

as hear.  She dances in, her body throbbing in time with the 

music, her sexuality obvious, her exhilaration clearly showing.  

Those present applaud, enjoying the private show.  Very soon, the

tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements 

change.  Quickly her master signals her.  Her pantaloons are 

removed.  She dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in 

constant motion, more excited now than before.  The master

signals again.  Her vest flutters down.  She now stands bare

breasted before the audience, her nipples rigidly erect, her

almost orgasmic feeling growing.  Will her panties come off,

next?  Of course they do.  Now she is nude, continuing the

motions, the parody.  She knows what to expect next.  She is 

wild with shameless carnality, with arousal.  The sensual music 

is itself seductively hypnotic.  The aphrodisiac aromas, the 

mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her  permeate 

the room.  In her mind she knows that never has she looked so 

exciting as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a 

true wanton, never so much like a woman. 


When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it

concludes with the nude dancer being given for the night to one 

or more of the guests.  Sometimes the person selected will take 

her, then and there, with the others watching, cheering him on. 

She will already be fully ready.  No foreplay is necessary. The

male selected may or may not need further stimulation.  If so,

the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to

excite him, to prepare him to take her.  And when he takes her,

he will take her however he pleases, in any orifice in any way. 

Will he want to spank her naked bottom with a strop or a cane? 

Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan or any

other person there.  He is the chosen guest and has been given

the use of the dancer, and use her he will, as he pleases. 


There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan. 

In those days, a eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo 

cane.  If the Sultan decided that the dancer's pace was too slow,

or if there was a certain movement that he wanted emphasized, a 

sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer across her 

behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results.  This might be 

repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel.  Tonight, 

of course, there is no eunuch and none would be needed. 


This night, the audience is composed of the master, three other 

men and a woman, her master's friends.  She has not seen any of 

them before this evening.  Helen dances on, now turning her back 

to the audience, bending far forward, and slightly spreading her 

legs. Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from those

watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex 

wiggling and wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at 

those watching.  As she is bent forward, her body so intimately 

exposed to those who watch, her own feelings are of gigantic 

stimulation.  She knows that soon her master will give her for 

the night to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the 

men, or perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her 

part to please this person.

She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it

is as much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if

she really was a slave.  And in a sense she is.  Since she has

come under the control of this master, she has been getting

regular punishment- which she loves and hates at the same time. 

There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned

over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her

master's hand- it is not.  The spankings are not at all that

hard.  But at the same time, she adores the wild sexuality that

she feels when spanked, knowing that her master will then use her

in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his friends.

Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but

never has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man. 

Yes, he totally is boss and she would not willingly have him any

other way. And she absolutely revels in the joy she feels as her

master shows off her beautiful body to strangers and willingly

shares her most intimate charms with others. 


She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning.  At times her 

back is turned to the audience, and they then are treated to the 

sight of the muscles working in her beautiful thighs and ass, a 

particular delight in the eyes of her master and provocative 

absolutely to any man.  Perhaps whomever gets her tonight will 

want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and 

spread-legged bend forward that emphasizes that particular

delight to the audience, signifying perhaps that there is 

orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong man.  And who will

the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps right

there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions?  Maybe it 

will be the woman this time.  She is attractive enough, about 40,

shapely, quite well dressed, with a good, slim figure. Her name

is Amy, an executive in the fashion industry, and during dinner

her contributions to the conversation were lively and animated

and interesting.  Helen dances a little bit, just for her, and

this is immediately obvious to all.  Yes, Helen thinks, that one

might just spread her thighs  and Helen would kneel between them

cheerfully, gladly looking into and then kissing and worshipping

her glorious femininity.

Perhaps it will be one of the men.  One, seated in the center, 

attracts her especially. He is an attorney named Paul, a man of

refinement and power, very obviously successful, understated in

dress. He is tall and sturdily built, perhaps 50, salt and pepper

grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful look-- and obviously now

very aroused. Now, she dances especially for him, facing him, her

thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and

as she moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly,

her pink clit now erect and peeping out at him.  The perfume is

now at its fullest effect and the sight of her nude body,

obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be conquered, has

all of the audience incredibly excited.  They now want the dance

to end and to see Helen take up another challenge-  the total

satisfaction of another person. 


The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize. As 

she had hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair.  He 

seizes her immediately, his hands rubbing across her back and 

down over her bottom, and as he grasps each cheek of her rump in 

a huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long, wet kiss, his 

tongue plunging deep in her mouth.  And of course she responds to

his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples 

rubbing against his shirt.  They are in full view of the others, 

but she does not care at all who watches- in her mind she is a 

fully stimulated slave girl who will do her utmost, her absolute 

utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as her lover for 

tonight by her master.  He bends slightly forward, taking a 

nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost

too hard for her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating.  He

stands and his trousers immediately drop to expose a monstrous 

erection, standing straight out, all but pointing at her.  Helen 

drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do.  She 

greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head 

with her slippery tongue. The dance has done what it always does 

for her-left her feeling almost orgasmic.  Now she wants to pay 

homage to this lovely huge cock, to make it even more ready so 

that it will invade her body, give her spectacular pleasure and 

then squirt its full tribute into her.  And she will willingly do

as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where 

this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure 

whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with 

her new lover, cummmming for him  again and again until he has 

had enough. 


He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his

clothing so that he, like she, is nude. She wonders if this new 

lover will want to spank her first- there is master's leather 

strop, hanging on a hook on the wall.  Will he want to use this 

on her, to demonstrate his total control?  He does not.  She

drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured 

by him.  He kneels before her, first giving her enticing, wet 

pussy a deep tonguing kiss.  She responds wildly, raising her 

bottom up to meet him, throwing her legs up and back so they rest

on his shoulders.  He raises his head, thrusts a finger into her 

oily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and searches for and 

finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her bottom. 

She gasps.  She knows that he will very quickly make her cumm for

the first time this evening- that she had practically but not 

quite been there a number of times during the dance, and this 

oral stimulation and anal stimulation she cannot resist.  But not

yet.  He moves his body forward so that his rigid cock is at her 

outer portals.  She will get, will need, no further foreplay.  

Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until 

it's entire depth is planted in her.  It feels simply marvelous- 

stretching her, filling her with true masochistic joy to be 

impaled on this huge log of a cock in the presence of this very, 

very interested audience.   He strokes back and then forward 

again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him 

best. She feels waves of pleasure, consistently increasing in

amplitude, taking her with each slow stroke closer to some edge,

to some cliff over which she must soon plunge. She feels more

absolutely vanquished than ever before.  And suddenly, she locks

her arms around his neck and says loudly for all to hear,

ooooooh,oooooo I'mcummmmmmmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!".  Her new lover

beams, his macho self-esteem satisfied.  He has conquered this

tigerish bitch.  He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond

ecstatically and wildly, made her surrender totally her orgasm to

him.  He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant, a hero.  And

he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and

stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps.  He

continues the slow pace.

 Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished

at all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep

powerful strokes, his finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping

time with the strokes of his cock.  Never has she enjoyed fucking 

so much as this instant, but at the moment she thinks how

dreadful it is to do this with people watching, how embarrassing,

how disgraceful, how utterly appalling, how dangerous, how

absolutely sensualistically marvelous!!.

And her thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this

whole event,  choreographed it, and she loves him for

understanding her so well, for analyzing her needs for sensation

and humiliation and having them satisfied.  Her head turns, she

sees the audience watching, transfixed.  The woman is obviously

aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen,

though she has her panty-hose on.  They make eye contact.  The

woman's lips purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen

makes the response, her tongue emerging and making a licking

motion.  Helen knows, absolutely knows, that when the others

leave, that lady will remain, those panty hose will come off, and

Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights

and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight,

and at the thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes

through the throes of a second orgasm. 


Another hour passes.  Two of the guests have left already.  Paul

is now fully dressed, immaculate looking again.  Helen knows that

he would like to see her again, but the understanding that she

has with her master prevents private contact.  If he is to see

her, Tyrone will arrange it.  He leaves.  Helen has showered,

sipping a small glass of brandy, still nude but now relaxed.

Tyrone is not in sight, nor Amy.

Helen has a reflective pause, thinking of the evening and its

events.  She has been, she thinks, spectacularly, forcefully

fucked.  In public, so to speak, before an audience who saw every

facet of the engagement.  Never before had she been as well

satisfied.  Was it Paul- a man of obvious charm, potent physical

attraction for her, undeniable virility, spectacular sexual

technique. Or was it the circumstances, the erotic dance, the

public nudity, the outrageous exhibitionism.  She simply did not

know which of these things, singly or in combination, had so done

her in.  Paul's massive dimensions were undoubtedly impressive-

bigger than she had ever had before, and perhaps that alone would

have satisfied her so well.  Ladies, talking vulgarly, often say

that bigger is better, but that technique transcends everything. 

If so, he would have been rated super-superior on both scores.

But she knew that his huge erection notwithstanding plus his

outstanding technique, a massive component, for her, of this

feeling of satisfaction was the awareness that all of this was

forbidden and dangerous, and therefore doubly delightful.  And in

that same context, she knew that Tyrone's rules or no, that she

would be seeing this Paul again.  He did not know where to find

her?  Well, perhaps, but she knew where to find him, and there

certainly was nothing that prevented her from initiating the

contact, if she chose to do so.  Perhaps  she would so choose.

A moment later, Amy appeared, with Tyrone.  She was wearing a

revealing Teddy top that showed her sweet, sexy figure.  They

joined Helen in a brandy. As it was designed, Amy was offered to

Helen, or perhaps vice versa.  Amy has had definite lesbian

interests, so far unresolved.  Tyrone, moving people as another

would move chess pieces, has put her in a situation offering the

maximum of temptation along with the maximum of opportunity.

Tyrone left the room, the ladies alone, sipping their respective

brandies, obviously very interested in each other. Helen is

bewildered.  She has had sex, marvelous, successful sex tonight

that transcended all her earlier experiences, and here she was,

excited again, interested in seeing what made this Amy tick.

Their hands touched and in an instant, their lips- and then

deeply, their tongues.

In only a moment, Helen was on her knees before the enthralled

Amy, taking a closer look at those feminine charms earlier hinted

at, and now clearly displayed for her.  She knew that Tyrone

expected that she would bury her face between these lovely

thighs.  She very strongly thought that Amy also wanted exactly

that, though just now she does not know if Amy wanted  to, was

ready to reciprocate.  Helen's lips worked their way down Amy's

body- over little but very shapely breasts, offering sweet

sucking kisses to each nipple. Down across her tummy, paying a

salutation in passing to her naval.  And across her curly black

triangle until, descending further, she found that sweet, creamy

moisture that she knew she would find, that little clit

protruding slightly and awaiting her nibbling kisses.  And

immediately, Amy's thighs clenched around Helen's face, locking

her in a passionate grip.  In only seconds, Amy cumms, sweetly,

quietly, but with great movement of her hips and bottom.

 Helen relaxed, lying back nude, comfortable, wondering if Amy

will choose to return the compliment.  And Amy, slowly, almost

haltingly at first, overcame her own natural shyness and explored

Helen's body with lips and tongue, every crevice, every lovely

part until she brought Helen to yet another orgasm. And, of

course, Tyrone has returned- he stood in the doorway, silently,

approvingly, watching the love play between the two ladies, his

smile acknowledging the accomplishment of yet one more purpose of

his. He had invited Amy to an event that he thought would

stimulate her incredibly, and make her recognize her fantasies,

and then later would provide her the means of dealing with them,

of accomplishing them.  This is Tyrone, a Mephistophilian

personality, ready to probe your desires and fantasies, demanding

that you satisfy them (more or less publically) in order better

to satisfy his own desires and fantasies.  And are people happier

for having played Tyrone's little games?

Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time?  Well, he 

regarded it as a marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip 

through Europe with an aged business colleague of his- a widower

of 67. This is something that they two had discussed frequently

in the past, something they felt they would one day do, but for

which they had never found the opportunity. This was the chance.

The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully examining all

the gothic cathedrals in France, dined variously at elegant and

expensive restaurants and sometimes at simple local bistros,

sampled interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at grand hotels,

small inns  and castles, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire,

went to Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a

square mile or so of fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to

Brittany and saw Le Mont St Michael, went to Notre Dame (and

perhaps found the hunchback?) met two delightful elderly English

school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all I know, even

got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and

rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of

course me missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to

be said for an occasional separate vacation.  He thinks that it

gives one a chance to study, to think.  It cleans the mind and

gives one a clearer perspective of what things are all about.  

Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed

absolutely.  Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine

for the wife, but her husband is damn well never going to go

without her.  I believe her.  It seems that she thinks that she

had better keep an eye on him. 

So far as I am concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned

back into a pumpkin, as it always seems to do.  King Tyrone was

deposed, relegated to the history books.  He had been commanding. 

He had been interesting and fascinating in his way. He had shown

a new path to be explored that at the time seemed dangerous but

like most strange new ground, could indeed be surmounted.  Still,

it might be, should be regarded as an adventure experienced, a

lesson learned, a challenge successfully overcome.  Perhaps, at

times, there had been, to some small degree, personal discomfort

or even embarrassment. Indeed. But that was yesterday. Today, it

was clearly time to move on. 


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