tagBDSMDeja Who

Deja Who


She looked familiar. Not movie star familiar, but I knew I'd seen her somewhere before. I'll think of it, just probably won't get any sleep until I do. I have got to stop agonizing over stuff like this, but she looks so familiar. Why does that seem to disturb me so much?

I got it! She works at the court house. She's the clerk I paid my overdue parking tickets to. She was courteous and professional, but I had this fantasy about handcuffing and frisking her. It must have been an environmentally induced emanation. Well she seems to be alone, 'go offer to buy her a drink or something' I said to myself.

"Hi, you probably don't remember me, but you made paying my overdue parking tickets almost painless yesterday."

She said, "You're right I don't remember you."

"Can I buy you a drink, to say thanks for your courtesy?"

She said, "Thanks, but I'm meeting someone."

'But', the great bubble burster. I excuse myself and notice that she has a rather small butt perched on the bar stool. Later another guy moves in next to her, and after a minute also moves away. I guess women get used to this kind of behavior, it would wear on me. My attention drifts back to the overhead music and my half-gone drink. When the waitress checks back on me, I glance up and see the 'clerk' is still sitting alone. I order another drink from the waitress, then ask the waitress if she would invite bar-stool-chic to my booth. The waitress relays the message, and I see her look in my direction. She gets off her stool and walks my direction.

"You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" She says.

"Sure I do, I just thought you would be more comfortable waiting for your friend here. I'll leave when he arrives, and you can have the booth. At least you won't get hit on every ten minutes."

"Suppose you leave now?"

"That wouldn't keep the guys from trying to pick you up, it would just corner you."

"You got this all figured out." Was the first time she didn't sound defensive.

"Naw, it's just a consequence of have been raised with a modicum of manners, but you aren't obligated to accept." With that I turned my face back to my drink. Another idea that went from bad to worse. She walked back to the bar, to find that the bartender had cleaned up her spot. I guess her luck isn't any better than mine. I did get that fantasy again about handcuffing her, but this time it came with a strip search. Who knows; a couple more verbal barbs, and it could escalate to a cavity search. I need to find another kind of place to meet people. Bars are depressing. I finish my drink in much less time that I should have, leave a tip and head out of the bar. When I reach my car, she is about five meters behind me, holding her purse with both hands.

"Can I get a ride home from you?"

"I can think of a number of reasons why that's a bad idea." I say.

"I'm sorry I was rude in there. My date apparently isn't going to show up, and I need a lift home."

"A taxi? The bartender can call one for you." She hasn't got the corner on rude, but . . .

"I'm headed south along the river. I'm going for a bite to eat. You're welcome to come along."

"Sounds great," was what she said. What she meant was 'serves the asshole right'. But I didn't figure that out until later. My attention to manners had been at the expense of my understanding the politics of this dating game. When you're stupid, you're doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past and my Deja Vu sense of a pending calamity had been anesthetized by the alcohol consumed this evening.

I open the passengers' door for her, and begin another weekend misadventure. Dinner was a couple of 'Chicago Style' hot dogs, onion rings and soft drinks. For those who don't know what a 'Chicago Style' hot dog is, imagine a conventional tubular ground meat product and poppy seed bun, that makes a serious detour through the salad bar. Most anything except lettuce is fair game, especially hot peppers. There's not much point in eating something, if you're not going to notice it's taste. Heart burn not withstanding.

She didn't talk much about the date that stood her up, except to say that it was someone from work that she had been seeing on and off for the past two months. Apparently they had differing opinions on how serious this relationship was becoming. I asked if she wanted to stop by the local bowling alley, I wasn't into bowling, but did like the air-hockey table, and suggested it would be a safe diversion.

She said "Okay." Her name is Leslie Pemperton. She is about sixty-four inches tall, and generally what I would describe as 'skinny'. This evening she is wearing cowboy/girl boots, a short denim skirt, 'oatmeal' cotton shirt with embroidery around the front and back yoke and down the button placket. Her light brown hair rests on smallish shoulders, and down her back maybe an inch or two. I complement the stitch work on her blouse. She gives me a suspicious look.

"My dear departed wife used to spend a lot of time at her sewing machine doing that kind of stuff to her clothes." I say, and her look changes.

"Your wife? Did she die?"

"No; just departed, with her half of our assets I might add." I smiled; bad joke, but a joke none the less. She smiled, but didn't laugh. "The divorce was final almost three years ago."

"Are you married now?" I couldn't tell if it was suspicion or concern I read in her eyes.

"Oh no, that kind of took the wind out of my sails. Plus it takes a while to get back into dating." I said.

"Any children?" I shake my head no, and she lets the topic drop, maybe she can tell it wasn't my favorite subject. Some guys, that's all they talk about, like it was some kind of batting record. Personally, it feels like being the pitcher who loses a no-hitter, all that effort and nothing good comes from it.

Her reflexes are very good. I win at air-hockey, but she makes me work for it.

"Couldn't you let me win just once?" Was her complaint after the fifth game.

"Sorry, but I don't know you that well." And I smiled to soften the retort.

"Well I'm certainly glad we weren't betting anything on this."

"Yeah, you'd have run out of money or clothes, Ha!"

"That's it, maybe I should show a little cleavage to distract you, is that it?" Her eyes twinkled when she said that.

"Oh sure missy, and you have as little to show as anyone I know."

"I'm not flat. I'm petite."

"Of course you are, and pretty too." Time to end this before I go from jester to jerk.

"What time do you have to be home?" I ask, to change the subject.

"No curfew, but I need to use a phone so my roomie won't worry." She returns some minutes later and says her bunk partner wasn't home and there were no messages on the answering machine. "What would you like to do next?" I hate it when they beat me to the question, puts the ball so squarely in my court again.

"Let's see what's playing at the movie house." I volunteer to treat.

Horror movies are not my forte, but when she says she hasn't seen this one yet, I get the impression she enjoys them. I get a popcorn to share and a soft drink to wash it down with, then we go looking for some seats. She says that she doesn't have her glasses and could we sit towards the front. That ended up being a good idea. It helped me feel more like a kid, when younger I would sit down front to get the 'full' picture. The screen would fill my peripheral vision making the experience more complete somehow.

She gave me three bruises over the course of the next two hours. But I didn't spill anything. Sitting alone with her in the dark, I began to notice how good she smelled. That brought back memories of happier days. Eventually I snuck my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close when the music signaled that a surprise was coming. That had the additional benefit of reducing the likely-hood of being bruised further.

We walked out of the movie with our arms around each others waists. That was when she caught a glimpse of 'her date' for the evening. She went ballistic. He was with a blonde who was showing a lot of cleavage. Leslie stomped over to his date and punched her in the face. I could hear it from where I was. Then she turned to "Jack" and stomped on his foot. She yelled something at him that didn't register with me. I was busy closing the distance between us. I grabbed her around the waist from behind and began pulling her toward the exits. She is screaming at the startled couple now for all she is worth, and I figure we're going to get arrested. I've still got her around the waist when I reach my car, and she is still very agitated.

"If you don't calm down, I'll handcuff ya and throw you in the trunk." I tell her. She gives me a strange look, like I'm the one who's a lunatic.

"Go ahead. I dare you." She says.

Well you got to be careful what you ask for in this world. I pop the glove box open and show her the stainless steel bracelets, so she'll get the idea I can make good on the threat. She calms down, turns around and puts her hands behind her back. She wants to call my bluff. She's so skinny I have them in the next to last notch, but the 'double-lock' seems to be holding okay.

"Are you sure you want this?" She just walks to the back of the car.

I open the trunk, spread my picnic blanket over the spare tire well and lift her in.

"Last chance to change your mind." She just closes her eyes, and I close the lid.

I have never driven so carefully in my entire life, as I did the next fifteen minutes. You would have thought I was transporting nitroglycerin or raw eggs. I didn't know where she lived so I brought her to my apartment. With my heart up in my throat I open the trunk. She's lying there with this big smile on her face.

"That was great." She says. I'm thinking what a nut case, and I'm still trying to form an apology for doing this to her.

"Have you got any more bondage stuff?" She sounds like a kid that got locked in a candy store. "I would really like to play with you." She sounded sincere.

"Play with me? Are you sure, you're not just being self-destructive because of your bad date this evening?"

"What bad date? This has been the best date of my life."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I told Jack off, and clocked my slut roommate. I feel great."

"You like riding in the trunk?"

"Of course not, but it was much more exciting than the movie. In fact it was just like a movie, only scarier, bumpier and smellier. I only wish you had gagged me. It was so hard not to scream."

"Do you realize there are probably police patrols out looking for us right now? Everyone in that movie theater parking lot had to have seen me put you in the trunk of my car."

"You worry too much." Was what she said. She's right, but for good cause I think.

"Turn around, I'll take the cuffs off of you."

"NO" and she pronounced both letters, "Not until you've fucked my brains out, please!"

I don't know why I do this. I know all about looking gift horses in the mouth, and all the rest of the good, very solid reasons for not giving into temptation. I guess some of her self-destructive nature must have rubbed off.

"How do you want this done to you?"

"No real limits; except no piercing, and I have to be at work on Monday." I think she'd done this before. Well so have I, it's just been a few years.

"Okay, once we start, the safe word is your name, or three grunts in a row, OK?" She nods her head. "Repeat it back to me?"

"Safe word is my name or three grunts in a row." She didn't lift her head.

When we get to the apartment, I tell her to show me her tits. She stands there looking at me, doing nothing. I slap her face and repeat the command. She shows me her cuffed hands to which I tell her.

"Figure something out. You don't need your hands free." With that a new light dawns on her reality. By the time I return with ball-gag, leather hood, straps and ropes she has her blouse mostly open.

"I said tits, that's plural. I only see one so far. That will be one stroke for disobedience and one for not knowing how to count."

"Yes sir." She says. At this rate I think our bruise count will even out before the weekend is over.

"Come here and I'll help you. Turn around." I remove the handcuffs and her blouse. I tie her hands and elbows together, anchoring them to her chest and shoulders.

"Too tight?" She nods her head yes. "Good, maybe I'll loosen them later. If you're good." I think I see a smile sneaking around on her face.

"Drop the skirt." She hesitates. "I've got two, do I hear three?" Her hands immediately begin shifting the waist band of the skirt, until she reaches the clasp. Seconds later she is shaking the skirt from her hips.

"Good girl. I'll help you with the panty hose." I dragged her panties down at the same time. They were wet and fragrant. Lusty woman juice is making her pussy glisten in the room light.

"Kneel down." I pull her hair back, and begin working a soft leather hood over her head. It has a large a rubber plug for her mouth, soon she will have no sight or sound. Total seclusion. Her hair flows out between the laces forming a fan like pony tail.

"You going to be okay?" and she nods her head. She shifts her shoulders to remind me that they are very tight, but that can wait for the moment. With her arms pulled back she looks a little like a boy, except her nipples are very erect. Speaking of erect, it is getting hard to stand up straight, and I don't have any condoms in the place. I ask her if she has any and she moves her head in a negative fashion.

I bisect her ankles with a two inch wide leather strap, which will keep her knees spread and travel plans to a minimum. I considered putting her in a chair, but she might fall while I'm gone, she can't fall off the floor. She can make noise however, so I elect to elevate her ankles. I pass a rope loop under the straps and tie it off to the closet doorknob, keeping her feet about eighteen inches off the floor, and most of her weight on her chest. Forms a nice arch, and will give her something to do while I'm gone to the store. You know, figuring out how to flip over to east the strain on her back or something.

I head off to the bedroom. I've been perspiring and need to change my shirt. This is unaccustomed work. Delightful work, but there are going to be plenty of sore muscles for both of us before this is over. I ditch the light blue polo shirt I had on and get a red T-shirt with 'This Bud's for Me' stenciled across the front, and 'get your own' on the back. I check back on my captive, and she is pretty much where I left her. The only thing I see moving is her fingers, I suspect some minor circulation problems, but her coloring is still very good. In fact she looks a little pinker than when we started.

"I'm making a quick trip to the corner drug store. Behave yourself." She grunts. "That's one, do I hear two and three?" She shakes her head vigorously to the negative. "Okay, shouldn't be more than ten or fifteen minutes. You going to be okay?" And she nods her head - sort of.

Back at the car, I pop the trunk, fold up the blanket and toss it back in the wheel well. I arrived at the drug store in two minutes. I bought a box of condoms, regular pads, several travel size packets of creme rinse, tube of KY-Jelly, a four-pack of athletic tape and a couple two-inch wide elastic 'ace' bandages. Bill came to over twenty bucks, creme rinse must be really expensive. Heading back to my car I notice a police car parked at the far corner of the property. By the time I had the key in the door the patrolman was pulling up in front of my car. He exited his car and asked if he could talk with me for a few minutes. Do you spell 'screwed' with two or three "e's"? Visions of becoming the cell block captains' new girl friend substitute flood into my cranium.

"Certainly officer, what can I do for you." 'Like bend over maybe, you know just practicing for my new life style.'

"Where were you for the past couple hours?" He asks.

"Was at the bowling alley, playing air-hockey until about seven, then went home to watch a couple videos." Not a gross lie, but the best I can come up with on short notice. Besides it has some truth to it. That will probably be the part that gets me hung, now that I think about it.

"Thanks, we got a strange report about a guy in a blue shirt, and car similar to yours abducting some crazy woman out at the cineplex. Do you mind if I look in your trunk?"

"I guess not, but I'm pretty sure there aren't any women hiding in there." I open trunk, he shines his flashlight through once, and heads back to his patrol car.

"Sorry to have disturbed you." And he pulls away, heading north toward the movie theaters.

'Dodged another bullet' was what I said under my breath. I close the door of my car and realize that I'm sweating again. This isn't living on the edge, this is running headlong screaming over the edge. I'm sitting here with a bag full of Ted Bundy marital aids and could just as easily be on my way to the crowbar hotel to meet Mister LeMonjello and his cell-mates.

You know my driving is getting much better. The entire trip home was in slow motion. After parking the car; I head back the apartment, bag of goodies in tow. I still don't have complete control of my breathing. Upon opening the door, I glance at the closet and she's gone. The bag slips from my hand and I feel this crushing weight in my chest.

"Fuck!" Was the only word that formed in my head. Although I probably should have conjugated it to 'fucked' to indicate how violated I felt. Is that weird or what?

"Hello?" No answer; she has probably split, and the cops will be making a return visit. Well if she left, she did it naked or in my cloths, because I just spotted her skirt. My bladder is catching up with all the excitement of the evening and I head for the bathroom. The leather hood is hanging from the doorknob, I grab it and toss it onto my bed. I open the door, and she is sitting on the throne.

"Do you mind, I left the helmet on the doorknob so you'd know I was in here. Get out, I'll be done in a couple minutes." She looked like she was trying to stuff a pillow up her bum, and none too happy about it either. Everything except my bladder felt much better. Then it occurred to me that she had defeated some very serious rope bondage.

"Glad you're still here." And I meant every word.

"You were gone a long time, and your wife called while you were out."

"Ex-wife, I got stopped by the police, and I'm sorry for both."

"That's okay. She wants you to call her back."

"Did she leave a number?"

"I wrote it on your chalk board in the kitchen." I didn't recognize the number, but was glad it wasn't a local area code.

"Excuse me for a few minutes, while I take care of this." I dial the number and the 'ex-' answers on the fourth ring.

"Hi, it's Terry . . . not at the moment . . . it doesn't make any difference to me . . . I'm entertaining a woman this weekend . . . I'm sorry . . . okay with me . . . take care of yourself. Good bye." And I hang up.

"Everything okay?" Leslie didn't look too concerned. In fact she was looking in the sack I had dropped on the floor when I came in the apartment. "Creme rinse, you bought me creme rinse. Pretty sure of yourself aren't you?"

"I guess so, then again I expected to arrive back here and find you still tied up."

"Sorry about that, you'll have another chance. You bought tape. I love tape. It works so much better than rope."

"That depends on what it is to be used for." She looked at me for the first time I think she now has some understanding of just how deep this end of the pool can get.

"I don't want to be tied up for our first time. Just in case, do you understand?" That was all she said, and then walked into the bedroom. An hour and a half later we fell asleep in each other's arms.

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