tagBDSMFemme Noir

Femme Noir

byPlayfulPisces©

I'm just about to call to see if something's happened to you when I hear you at the front door. "Hi, baby," I hear you say, "sorry I'm late." I watch you approach, admiring that beautiful face and body of yours and you put your arms around my neck and lean down and we kiss tenderly, as we always do when we've been apart for any length of time and are reunited. "What kept you?" I ask. "I was beginning to worry."

You roll your eyes. "I had to stop at the Post Office. You know what a pain that is."

"I do. A nightmare. We'll be better off when's it's gone."

You stroke the hair at my temple and look at me mischievously. "So, baby, what game would you like to play this evening? Hmm?"

I think for a moment. There are so many we enjoy playing. Which haven't we played in a while? Of course, it's one of our favorites and it's been a while since we've played it and you love playing it and do so well. I smile up at you. "I'll meet you there." I see you're eyes brighten and you grin and squirm in delight. I know that just the mention of playing this game has thrilled you and that you're probably already wet and your nipples hard.

"I can't wait, baby," you say gleefully.

"I know you can't." You turn and I watch you walk quickly to the bedroom to get dressed, wiggling your ass for me as you do. I don't even try to return to writing. I'm too distracted wondering how you will prepare yourself to look this time. You have so many different outfits and looks, all of them enough to make another man come in his pants just looking at you.

• • •

The waterfront bar in Newport Beach isn't crowded and I see a woman sitting by herself at the bar and that the stools on either side of her are unoccupied. Even at a distance she looks straight out of a 1940s noir film and the closer I get, the more she does. She's wearing a skintight black cocktail dress cut low in the back and black nylon stockings with thick seams in the back and black heels. Her outfit is topped off with a beret-like black hat atop her French twist and I see as I near her that the hat has a black fishnet veil attached in front that's covering her face. It's the part of her ensemble that fascinates and excites me the most and I find it hard to take my eyes off it as I arrive at her side and ask politely, "Anyone sitting here?" She turns her head slowly toward me and looks me up and down. I study her as she does. Her face is artfully made up: her arcing eyebrows are carefully defined, her eyelids are brushed just the right shade of light purplish blue to compliment the skin color of her face and her dark brown eyes, her black eyelashes are like upward-curving fans, long and the lashes separated, her blood red lipstick has been applied perfectly and her cheeks are rouged just enough to make her look like she's blushing naturally. Her expression is a mixture of supreme boredom. I see that she has beautiful large breasts and marvelous cleavage and that the bodice of her dress barely covers her nipples. I glance at her fingernails and toenails nestled in the open toes of her shoes and see they're blood red, too. I also notice her wedding band. She has trouble written all over her. I see her right eyebrow rise slightly.

"Do you see anyone?" she asks with a hint of disdain in her voice.

"Mind if I join you?"

"It's a public place," she says, turning her head away and picking up her martini glass. "Do as you please."

As I pull back the stool and sit, I watch the way she slowly raises the veil to sip her drink and then replaces it after she has and puts her glass gently on the bar. She moves gracefully and I can only imagine what that body of hers looks like when she walks. "I'm Dave." She looks at me like she's looking right through me and finally focuses on my eyes.

"Lana," she says, looking away.

"Nice to meet you. If you don't mind my asking, what's an elegant woman like you doing in a bar all by herself." She turns her head slowly toward me again and I can see by her expression that she minds very much my asking. She gazes coolly at me for a moment and I'm not at all sure what she's about to say.

"I've been cooped up in the house all day. I needed a change of scenery."

"Live around here?"

"Balboa Island," she says with a hint of condescension in her voice and her expression.

The bartender arrives and I order a dry vodka martini. "Must be a nice house."

"Very."

"Big?"

"E-norm-ous," she says, drawing out the word and giving all three syllables equal stress to emphasize the point.

I glance at her wedding band again. "What does your husband do?"

"Nothing. He doesn't have to. He's wealthy."

"Good for him, and you. Family money, or did he earn it?"

"He earned it. He was an investor. That was a long time ago."

I'm pretty sure, based on this information, that her husband is much older than she and she's a trophy wife. "Is he an older man?"

"Much. He's 82 and in poor health. He's spends his days in a wheelchair with a cannula in his nose and an oxygen tank at his side. He requires round the clock care. There's always someone with him."

"That doesn't sound like very much fun for you."

"It isn't," she says and lifts her veil and brings her glass slowly to her lips and sips and puts the glass slowly down on the bar and replaces her veil.

I like they way she pursed her lips just before the rim of the glass touched them. There was something very sexy about the way she did it and, of course, I'm imagining her doing the same thing just before the tip of my cock touches her lips and she gives it a kiss, not that it will ever happen. This woman is prickly and barely approachable and it doesn't seem I'm ever going to break the ice with her. Still, those pursed lips of hers kissing the tip of my cock is a nice image. It doesn't sound like she and her husband have sex and I'm curious why such a beautiful young woman is married to an 82-year-old man in poor health. I want to dig deeper into the subject of sex, but have to approach it very carefully with her. "How long have you been married?"

"A year."

"Sounds like it's been a lonely year for you." Until now she's looked at me coolly, but now she looks at me icily and I can see that even the merest hint that I want to discuss her personal life is an affront to her. I study her eyes as she looks at me and, again, have no idea what she's about to say. I see her right eyebrow rise slightly again.

"I know how to amuse myself."

"Why'd you marry him, if you don't mind my asking."

"I do, but, since you're here, now I think I'll amuse myself with you. You're a typical man, interested in only one thing, as all men are: sex. I married him for his money, plain and simple."

"So, what's the deal? What's expected of you?"

"Don't you think that's a little too personal a question? Are you always this forward with women?"

"Well, I'm a writer. I'm fascinated by people and love hearing their stories." I see her expression soften ever so slightly and the hint of interest appear in her eyes.

"A writer, huh? What do you write?"

"Novels."

"About?"

"People and their stories."

"Published?"

"Will be soon. So, back to my question." I watch her take another sip of her martini, pursing her lips just before the rim of the glass touches them. I can't get that imagine out of my mind. She puts her glass on the bar and replaces her veil and looks at me and I can see by her expression that she's decided she's going to open up and talk, the way she would to her doctor or shrink.

"I relieve him from time to time."

I see her hesitate. She's such a self-contained woman and having allowed herself to cross the line with me, she's now having second thoughts and, again, I have no idea what she's about to say.

"With my hand," she finally says.

"How often?"

"A few times a week."

"Just your hand? Not your mouth?" Until now I've only seen the hint of condescension in her expression, but now it's unmistakable and verging on contempt.

"Never. There isn't a man on earth who's worthy of having his cock in my mouth."

"Never have?" I watch her eyes narrow and bore into mine.

"Never."

"Wow, that's pretty remarkable. Does he do anything to you?"

"I expose my breasts and he plays with them."

"Is that all? Does he stimulate you between your legs?"

"No. I take care of myself there."

We're both finished with our drinks and I figure it's a good time to invite her back to my place. The possibility that she'll accept the invitation seems beyond remote, but it's worth a try. "So, Lana, I live close, too, in Irvine. Why don't we continue our conversation at my place? We can relax and have drinks and talk in a more private setting." She looks at me and raises her eyebrows, as if I'd just invited her to give me a blowjob here at the bar. A few long moments go by as she stares at me while she considers my invitation and, again, I have no idea what's she about to say.

"If I weren't so bored, I'd say no," she finally says.

I open the front door and she enters past me. I didn't say a word to her on the ride back and wasn't surprised that she didn't say anything to me. I could tell she was thinking about what would happen when we arrived and I wanted to leave her alone with her thoughts, whatever they might have been. I watch her walk to the middle of the living room and stop and look around, checking the place out. She turns and looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

"My, how very...small."

"It suits me fine. Drink?"

"Gin martini with a twist of lemon."

"Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable." I watch her from the kitchen as I make our drinks. She's sitting on the couch, posed like a model with her legs crossed and one hand on the cushion beside her and the other draped over her knee. She's a truly beautiful and extremely sexy woman and as much as I want to have those clothes off her, I wouldn't mind just spending the evening looking at her as she is now. The veil alone is enough to keep me on the edge of coming. I've never met a woman who turns me on this way, so aloof and unapproachable, yet so alluring. It's a potent mix. I walk to her and hand her drink to her and sit in a chair across from her and hold up my glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

We sip our martinis and eye each other over the rims of our glasses. I'm still amazed that she accepted my invitation and can't believe that she's actually sitting there. I know she knows we're not here to chat, although I'm sure she doesn't know what I have in store for her and I can only imagine what's been going through her mind ever since we left the bar. She's looking at me with an expression of mild curiosity, as if asking, well, now that we're here, what happens next? I want to find out a bit more about her to try to understand where her "above it all" attitude is coming from. "How'd you meet your husband?"

"He's a friend of the family, a former business associate of my grandfather's."

"You're family rich, too?"

"Filthy. I've lived in the lap of luxury and been pampered my entire life. It's the only lifestyle I know. Whatever I want, I get."

"Must be nice. So why did you marry your husband if your family's wealthy?" She looks at me as if I'm a complete idiot for having bothered to ask the question.

"You can never have too much money."

"Right. You don't seem to have a very good opinion of men. Why's that?"

"I told you. Men have only one thing in mind. They entertain adolescent fantasies about conquering and dominating beautiful women, as if they actually could do it. When it comes to sex, men are little boys. Men worship and adore me, which I allow them to do because it amuses me, but that's all I allow them to do."

"I see." I sip my drink and watch her sip hers and we study each other again over the rims of our glasses. I've found out everything about her I need to know for present purposes and the time has come to advance the action. I nod at the round red lacquer Japanese box on the coffee table in front of her. "Open it and have a look." I watch her place her glass on the table and pick up the box and place it in her lap. I study her face as she removes the lid with both hands and places it on the cushion beside her. She looks down at the box and then up at me and I can tell she's trying her best to maintain her composure and not show her fear. She looks back down at the box and removes the handcuffs and looks at me with raised eyebrows as she holds them up.

"And what do you plan to do with these?"

I smile. "Handcuff your hands behind your back."

"You can't be serious?"

"Couldn't be more."

"And what if I don't want you to?"

We've arrived at the critical moment where it's important that I not say anything and allow her psychology to do the work for me. We sit frozen, she holding up the dangling handcuffs and I holding my glass, staring into each other's eyes. Finally she slowly lowers the handcuffs back into the box and places the box on the table and sits back and crosses her arms and cocks her head slightly.

"You'd force me to, wouldn't you?"

I sip my drink and watch her over the rim of my glass as she shifts nervously. I have no intention of forcing her to do anything against her will. My intention is to bend her will to my purpose, which will be quite an accomplishment, if I can accomplish it, since she seems to have a will like steel.

"You want to hurt me, don't you? Slap me around? Pull my hair?"

I let a long moment go by and put my glass on the table and stand and walk to her and take the handcuffs from the box. I look down at her and she looks up at me and can tell by her expression that she knows she's helpless to do anything about the situation and isn't going to resist. "Lean forward and put your hands behind your back." I see a flash of defiance in her eyes, but she slowly and reluctantly does as she's told and I put the handcuffs on her wrists and unzip her dress and pull it down around her waist, revealing those large beautiful breasts of hers. "Sit back," I say and I walk around and sit beside her. She glares at me as I admire her breasts and her veiled faced, the sight of which, now that her breasts are exposed, is driving me crazy. I know what she's thinking: how dare I treat her this way, the untouchable goddess that she is. "When your husband plays with your breasts, how does he? Is he gentle?"

"Very," she hisses.

"Never handles them roughly?"

"Never."

I begin gently massaging her breasts, first one, then the other, and giving her nipples a little squeeze now and then as I do and it isn't long before they're standing proudly erect. I put an arm around her shoulders and draw her to me and place my lips on hers through her veil. She doesn't respond at first and simply lets me kiss her, but as I press harder, I feel her press back and when I part my lips and lick hers with my tongue, she parts her lips and I slide my tongue in her mouth and feel hers enter mine. I can tell by the conversation we're having with our tongues now that she's enjoying herself, but I know she'd never admit that she is, that she wants me to believe she feels she's being violated and forced to act against her will. She's an interesting and complex creature this woman.

I draw my head back and look at her. She's still looking at me defiantly, as I knew she would be and will continue to do the entire evening. Her look of defiance and the pleasure she's obviously experiencing is an enormous turn on and my cock is so stiff it almost hurts. We'll have to take care of that soon, but first I want to spend a little time playing with her between her legs. "Spread your legs." She slowly spreads her legs and I slide my hand up the inside if her thigh and discover that she's not wearing underwear, only a garter belt and, surprisingly, that her pussy is shaved. "Why do you shave your pussy? Are you seeing other men?"

"No," she say archly. "For myself. I like the way it looks."

I smile. "Well, I'm glad you do. I love a shaved pussy." I keep my eyes on hers as I massage her clit and it isn't long before she begins squirming and having difficulty keeping her eyes open. I know she wants to close them because of the intense pleasure she's experiencing, but doesn't want to give me the satisfaction of seeing her giving herself over to it and me. She's extremely strong willed this woman. I've never met anyone like her. She's truly remarkable. "How do you pleasure yourself? Outside? Inside? Both?"

"Both."

She had to catch her breath before saying that and she didn't sound as defiant as before, although I know she's going to fight dropping her defiant pose with all her might. I slide two fingers into her and stroke her inside and out and it isn't long before her legs go stiff and then begin shaking and she's lifting her ass off the couch and thrusting herself against my hand and finally she can't help herself and closes her eyes and bites her lip and comes long and hard and lowers herself back down on the couch. I let her rest and stroke her cheek lightly with my fingertips and finally she opens her eyes and looks in mine and her look of defiance is back and as intense as ever. "You're one tough woman."

"Fuck you," she says contemptuously.

I catch her by surprise with my slap and it's hard enough to leave my white handprint on her rouged cheek. When she turns her face and looks at me again, her expression is one of shock and disbelief that anyone would even think of doing such a thing to her, let alone do it. I get the feeling she was never spanked for being naughty when she was a kid. I chuck her under the chin and smile. "Your attitude needed adjustment." She quickly recovers from the humiliating slap and her look of defiance returns. "Never had a cock in your mouth, huh?"

"No. The idea disgusts me."

"This will be a first then, and you're going to swallow every drop of my come."

"That idea disgusts me even more."

"I'm sure it does." I stand in front of her and unzip my pants and take out my cock. "Sit forward." She glares up at me, but slowly leans forward and slides her ass to the edge of the cushion. "I'm not going to put it in your mouth. You're going to take it." I lift her veil and watch her slowly open her mouth wide, keeping her eyes on mine and she stays that way without moving. It's almost as if she wants me to get a good admiring look at how she's posed for me, sitting there looking up at me defiantly, but helpless with her hands handcuffed behind her back and her dress pulled down around her waist and her breasts exposed, ready to be degraded by having to take my cock in her mouth. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was trying to please me. She slowly leans forward and closes her mouth as slowly as she opened it and, sure enough, purses her lips just before touching them to the tip of my cock and when she does, gives it a tender kiss through her veil and, to my surprise, doesn't stop at one, but kisses it repeatedly and all around the head while keeping her eyes on mine and looking at me defiantly. I lift her veil and place it back over her hat and she opens her mouth and wraps those luscious red lips around the base of the head of my cock and begins sucking, gently at first, but more forcefully as she takes my cock deeper into her mouth until she has all of it and flicks the tip with her tongue as she sucks and then slowly draws her head back, leaving the shaft streaked with lipstick. I drape the veil back over my cock and look at her eyes staring up at me defiantly through it and feel weak in the knees.

I'm ready to explode in her mouth, but I can tell by the feel of it that she isn't done yet and wants more and I'm determined to give her have as much as she wants. It seems like her sucking and licking will never end and then she slowly takes all of me again and I feel her nose pressing against my groin and the head of my cock brushing against her uvula and I know she wants me to come and I do. As I begin bucking, she tightens her lips on the base of my shaft to keep my cock in her mouth until she's drained the last drop out of me. What an amazing orgasm, one of the most intense and pleasurable I've ever experienced. She slowly draws her head back and lets my cock free and sits there looking up at me defiantly. This woman is unbelievable. I smile down at her. "You're almost as good as the love of my life." She raises her eyebrows and cocks her head slightly and looks at me questioningly.

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