Following the Rules Ch. 01

Author's note: In the interest of full disclosure, this story is a modified version of a story titled 'The Fourth Rule' that I posted several years ago but I've since removed from the site. That story was always in the wrong category, as pointed out by several readers, and I have made changes throughout to include a heavily revised the ending that will allow a sequel or two if the urge strikes me.

*****

My name is Brett Nicholson and I have a story I'd like to share with you. An event took place over a weekend about a month ago that was a most unusual and exhilarating experience for both me and my wife.

****

We had done it; managed another weekend away. Lisa and I are in a medical practice with two other physicians and our working hours make such trips difficult to arrange. That we had pulled this one off was due to Lisa's efforts. In addition to being a brilliant internist, she is tall, blonde, beautiful and determined to have her own way about many things, one of which was this weekend.

Lisa was driving as we started out. She drove fast and well. The little red convertible roadster perfectly suits her looks and temperament. I had bought it for her on a whim several years back and knew I had done well. Neither of us had ever regretted the choice. The little car had become synonymous with exciting times.

Watching her drive, both hands on the wheel at the ten-and-two positions, expertly downshifting into turns and accelerating smartly back out, I was struck by the picture she presented; as always artfully contrived on these trips to invoke memories of past pleasures and stimulate anticipation of good things yet to come.

Wearing a short flower-print dress and high heels with ankle straps, her legs were smooth, tanned, and bare. The dress buttoned full length up the front, a style I had come to appreciate. I was unable to tell what, if any, underwear might be concealed under the dress. If she wished me to know, I'd be allowed to find out before the drive ended. I already suspected she was braless because of the way her breasts responded to the motion of the car. It is sometimes difficult to tell. Lisa has the body tone of teenager.

Long-legged and high-breasted, she looks many years younger than her actual age. With her thick blonde hair and a face out of some fashion magazine, she is a knockout by any standard. And she knows it. Lisa makes the most of her attributes in a sultry and unbelievably sexy way. She also talks like a stevedore during sex and is naturally and shamelessly orgasmic.

As we sped up the highway, destination known only to Lisa, my mind drifted back over our previous weekends and the simple rules that govern them. The primary purpose of these trips is sex. Wild, uninhibited, restorative sex. We both have active imaginations and each trip is an opportunity to act out our sexual fantasies.

At first, we planned nothing specific. But over the past couple of years we had begun a more purposeful approach where one or the other of us would plan and prepare an elaborate scenario. By unspoken agreement we took turns. This trip, and its fantasy, was on Lisa.

There are a few rules.

Rule number one declares that whoever has ownership of the fantasy is completely in charge. The passive partner is strictly along for the ride. The owner thinks up the fantasy, provides any props required and directs all activities for the weekend. Everything is kept secret until revealed at the proper time.

Rule two requires the victim to cooperate completely, doing exactly as instructed to allow the fantasy to reach its intended conclusion.

Rule number three permits and encourages any scenario that does not cause excessive physical pain or embarrassment.

Rule four applies only to the passive partner and is the most important of them all. It mandates that we never question each other about the origin of a fantasy. It is shared and enjoyed in total trust, but its genesis remains sealed unless revealed by its owner. We might discuss how successfully a fantasy played out, but probing questions are not allowed. Each fantasy must be taken at face value. That simple rule allows complete enjoyment by the active partner without fear of embarrassment or recrimination later.

Learning to act out our fantasies lent a new and more satisfying dimension to our sex lives. Lisa had become increasingly inventive so I knew that whatever she had in mind for this trip would provide incredible sexual tension and shattering release for us both, probably several times. She had already informed me that this weekend was one I'd remember for the rest of my life.

The drive itself is an important part of each trip, a sort of foreplay. We have fun, make the most of our time and build incredible anticipation. We have also learned to keep a watchful eye for truckers. The roadster is in full view of passing trucks when the top is down. Carrying on some of our activities without being observed just adds to the excitement. On a trip last year, we had nearly caused a multiple car pileup when Lisa propped her feet on the dash and used a vibrator to bring herself to an exquisite orgasm. As a result of that experience, we now choose secondary roads with light traffic whenever possible.

Although a fantasy occasionally requires or permits the passenger to touch the driver, such activity is the exception rather than the rule. But I always try. So, as usual, that Saturday morning I decided to check my theories about Lisa's underwear. Turning sideways in my seat, I reached out to lightly stroke her naked thigh. Without so much as a glance in my direction, she pushed my hand sharply away.

A couple more attempts, each with the same result, told me two things; something about this fantasy dictated a hands-off policy, at least for the time being, and the bra-and-panty question was to remain unanswered until she decided otherwise.

So for the first leg of our journey that day I had to be content with studying Lisa's splendid body in profile and thinking back over previous weekends. She really is a beautiful woman and it excited me to know that I was going to get laid in some unique and exciting manner later that night.

****

A change in the engine note broke my reverie. Time to stop for lunch and a change of drivers. Swinging her legs out of the car one at a time with the hem of her dress pulled up to her hips, then bending forward to grasp my offered hand, the mystery of her underwear was solved. Suspicions confirmed, I escorted her protectively into the small streamside restaurant.

Later, continuing east at Lisa's direction, I held the car to a steady pace. Lisa ignored me. Reclining the passenger seat slightly, she rested in peaceful repose, eyes shut, hands slightly curled and resting in her lap. I thought she was sleeping until her hands started to stir.

In slow motion she began to run her hands up and down her thighs. After a while, her right hand sensuously tracing the curves inside her thighs through the material of her dress, she moved her left hand up to lightly stroke her breasts.

I had seen her do this many times before. Lisa's masturbatory techniques are unbelievably erotic. In a world entirely her own, she brings herself slowly and gracefully to orgasm. She is a natural exhibitionist who has refined female masturbation into an art form. Watching her is mind blowing. I was rapidly developing an erection in anticipation of what would happen next.

As I tried to keep one eye on the road and one on Lisa, she slowly parted her legs. Her dress had ridden to mid-thigh. Each motion of her hand now brought the hem fractionally higher until, after an eternity, the blonde triangle and creamy skin between her tan lines was exposed. She began to comb her fingers lightly through the silky hair. Gentle, exploratory probing followed. Then she started a rhythm where slow insertion of her middle finger was followed by withdrawal and a gliding motion up to and around her clitoris. Reinsertion of the finger followed and the pattern repeated.

Lisa took her time. After several minutes, she began to slowly open and close her legs in time with the movements of her fingers. A slight arch of her back and tiny pelvic thrusts followed. A small cry escaped her lips, barely audible over the engine note.

I knew the signs. Lisa's cries while masturbating always begin as small sounds of pleasure until she reaches an acceptable level of excitement. There she will teeter on the brink, crying out more forcefully, until she can no longer stand the tension. Her orgasms during intercourse are usually preceded by gutter-talk demands to "fuck me, fuck me harder!" or something of the sort, followed by unintelligible gasps and cries of release. When taking matters into her own hands, she vocalizes less but can sustain a high level of arousal for lengthy periods because she is in complete control. I watched as her left hand moved down from her breasts to assist the efforts of her right.

Parting herself with the fingers of one hand, Lisa began a more urgent rhythm, still inserting, withdrawing and circling with one finger. When a second finger was employed to manipulate both sides of her clitoris simultaneously, I knew she was close. Her legs remained open now and her pelvic motion more pronounced. As she moved with greater intensity, she began to chant.

"Oh! Oh! Oh God!" Then, suddenly arching her back, she ceased all motion except the probing fingers. With a muted cry and a visible shudder she fell back into the seat, breathing heavily.

Once, on an earlier trip, I had whipped the car onto a deserted country lane seconds after witnessing one of Lisa's demonstrations. Sliding to a halt on a shaded pullover, I yanked her from the seat and fucked her on the hood of our car, violating the fantasy rules. Although I knew she had been secretly pleased with her effect on me, I never did it again. On this particular morning a no-touch rule was clearly part of the plan so I managed, with great difficulty, to keep my hands to myself.

Of its own will, the car had slowed to about half the legal limit during the final seconds of Lisa's display as my attention was understandably diverted. Fortunately, there was no other traffic on the road.

Pulling myself together, I brought the car back up to speed and tried to concentrate on my driving. Lisa's breathing slowed as she tugged her dress back into place and returned her hands to their original relaxed position in her lap. I knew she would drift off into a light sleep. By her standards the orgasm had been a small one, just enough to take the edge off her arousal. It was a good sign. If she had become so excited thinking about the night ahead that she needed interim relief, I was in for a treat later on.

The remainder of the drive was considerably less dramatic. Lisa's directions eventually led us to a long, tree-lined dirt road that worked its way up into the Sierra Nevada mountain range, finally arriving at a small lake. Evergreens spilled down from the surrounding hills to enclose the water on all sides.

Cabins dotted the shore at intervals of a hundred yards or so. One near the road was marked by a carved sign that declared it to be the office for 'High Country Resort.' Across the parking lot from the office was a building identified as a fitness center that I doubted would fit into our plans for the weekend. A splendid A-frame home stood on a hillside behind the office, presumably the residence of the owners.

Lisa announced that she would wait in the car while I checked in. I entered the office to find it deserted. A small bell on the counter invited me to ring for service. At the sound, a woman's voice called from an adjoining room.

A moment or so later the voice took on added definition as a beautiful woman of indeterminate age and mixed lineage appeared. There was an exotic oriental cast to her features. Perhaps Japanese-American, I thought. She was nearly as tall as Lisa, similarly proportioned and equally gorgeous, with long black waist-length hair. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blouse in keeping with the cooler mountain temperatures, she was truly stunning.

Lisa had arranged everything on the phone. The woman had been expecting us. Our cabin on the far side of the lake had been made ready that morning, she told me, by her husband. Certain that we'd find everything to our liking she assured me that ours was the most isolated, yet most nicely appointed, cabin of the lot. She was quite sure we would enjoy our weekend.

As I turned to leave, a nice looking dark-haired man, about my own age and dressed in work clothes, entered the office. With a nod and friendly smile in my direction, he went behind the counter. Casually placing his arm about the woman's waist, he told me where to find kindling, firewood and a canoe near the cabin. Apparently this was the husband referred to earlier. If so, he and I were both lucky men, each married to beautiful creatures.

The cabin was more than I expected. A long porch ran its entire length, facing the lake. French doors opened from the porch into a huge room with a large stone fireplace and a sitting area at one end, a king-sized bed and night tables with small brass lamps at the other. Heavy, exposed beams supported the peaked roof.

The bed had a beautiful antique brass headboard with vertical risers and a sweeping arch. Tasteful accessories occupied shelves and walls. Several oriental throw rugs adorned the polished hardwood floors. A small dining area for two was near a large window overlooking the lake. Fresh flowers had been placed about the room. The bathroom was spacious and modern. It was hardly a 'cabin.' We were both thrilled.

I took a couple of minutes to explore the place. The only thing odd that caught my eye were the two metal plates, about three inches square and eighteen or so inches apart, that were set flush with the floor near one side of the bed. I almost missed them, so skillfully were they inlaid into the wood. Both were painted to closely match their surroundings and each had a hole in the center that was filled with a slotted metal plug. I couldn't imagine what their purpose might be, perhaps something electrical underneath.

Lisa was standing in the center of the room, hands on hips, looking about in concentration. I suspected that she was mentally fitting the surroundings into whatever she had planned for the night's activities.

"Would you bring the stuff in from the car?" she asked with a smile. "And then get a fire ready?"

I did as she requested, making two trips to retrieve the bags and boxes that had been stuffed into the small trunk of the roadster, most of their contents unknown to me. One more trip brought in kindling and some small logs which I arranged in the fireplace for later use.

By the time I finished emptying the car and getting the fire ready, Lisa had completed her musings and was ready to unpack. I was banished to the porch for a while so I knew she was doing things critical to success of her fantasy that I was not yet permitted to see.

When I was allowed to return, I could see nothing unusual. No surprise. I knew that anything needed later on had been carefully positioned to remain unseen but available when required. Lisa commanded me to go into the bathroom, shower and put on the clothing I would find there. Closing and carefully locking the French doors securely behind me, I crossed to the bathroom and did as I was told.

My clothing turned out to be a very short terry cloth wraparound towel that was secured by a Velcro tab. Over this was a short robe, again made of terry cloth. Nothing else.

When I emerged, Lisa placed a glass of white wine into my hand and retreated to the bathroom. In my absence, she had set a table for two with fruit, wine and cheese, a favorite meal of ours. Candles glowed softly. A flickering fire warmed the room. I stood at the window watching the last glow of sunset and sipped the wine.

After a time Lisa appeared, beautifully made up and wearing a dark blue ankle-length velvet robe. It had a high collar with white lace trim at neck and cuffs. It revealed nothing. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a style that accentuated her graceful neck and jaw line. She was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful.

She took my hand and led me to the table. As we ate and drank slowly, Lisa engaged me in small talk about a variety of topics, none of which gave the slightest clue about what was yet to come.

A long while later, Lisa rose from the table. Drawing the curtains, she asked me to go into the bathroom for a few minutes. I did as I was told, straining to decipher the small sounds I could hear through the door. When ready, she called softly to me.

I entered the room and was commanded to halt. I did so, glancing about. The changes were subtle. The table had been cleared but the lighted candles remained. A small lamp on one night table cast a soft glow. A chair from the dining area now faced the bed about three feet from the middle, headboard to the right. Nothing else seemed to have changed. Including Lisa.

After tying a blindfold around my eyes, Lisa removed my bathrobe, leaving only the terry cloth wraparound. She then led me a few steps further into the room, gently pushed me down into the chair, and ordered me to remain motionless. I did exactly as directed and would continue to do so the remainder of the night without hesitation. The success or her fantasy would depend on it.

I heard a metallic clinking sound and, seconds later, felt my ankles being secured by shackles of some sort. Moments afterward, my wrists were tied with soft ropes to the bottom of the chair near the back.

Standing behind me, Lisa removed the blindfold. I could not see her but I was able to examine my bonds. I realized immediately that escape was impossible when I saw how my ankles had been constrained. The chair had been placed so that the front legs were close to the two peculiar metal plates I had spotted earlier. The plugs had been removed and replaced by threaded ring bolts. The two pair of handcuffs we own had been used to shackle each of my ankles to a ringbolt. My wrists were expertly tied.

After testing the cuffs and ropes, it was plain that this fantasy required that I remain immobilized. We had used low-key bondage techniques before. Some were constructed to allow escape, some were not. Whatever was going to happen tonight required that I observe until released

After giving me a few moments to understand the initial rules of the fantasy, Lisa stepped out into the light from behind the chair. Her robe had been discarded. In its place was a baby doll night gown of pale blue silk trimmed with white eyelet lace. So short it dropped only an inch or two below her nipples, the gown revealed several inches of bare midriff and a tiny pair of panties, also of blue silk. Her feet were bare and she wore no jewelry. Her hair had been released to tumble luxuriously below her shoulders. She carried a glass of white wine in one hand.

Ignoring me, she crossed to the bed and sat facing me on its side. Placing the wine on the nightstand nearest my chair, she swung her legs up onto the bed, leaned back on some pillows propped against the headboard, and crossed her legs at the ankles.

Reaching back under the pillows, she withdrew a paperback book. I recognized it as one of several I had bought, at her request, from an adult bookstore some years earlier. I had never seen her read them but as their condition deteriorated over time, I knew that they had seen steady use. As she began to read the book I suddenly knew what this fantasy, at least in part, was all about.

Our jobs required that we travel from time to time, giving medical lectures in various parts of the country. I knew that Lisa masturbated regularly when we were apart. Although she had done so many times in front of me, I always suspected there might be an added dimension to the act when she was alone. It appeared as though I might find out. The thought quickened my pulse.