APRIL 9, 2011 3:55PM

My Night of Bondage and Discipline

Rate: 7 Flag

                            First posted here in October, 2009


I met her in one of those small nightclubs that cater to the older crowd. I was 50, she had just enough wrinkle to suggest mid 40s, but I wisely did not ask. She wasn’t a knock-out, nor unattractive, but was slender and petite. In a market place of expanded cheek sets and paunchy guts, slender can make up for greater aesthetic sins than the lack of absolute beauty.

 We became instant friends, both wired for charm and similar wit, and we made each other laugh as we drank and danced that night. We discussed our common situations, both being divorced (of course) with kids grown and gone. We live in the country, but weren’t what most would consider that to mean. We had enlightened attitudes, like city folks, we just didn’t like living close to other people.

 About midnight, as we slow danced to the 70’s cover band, we had our first kiss. I held her closer as we went back to the table, my desire to climb inside her growing. We sat close, face to face, hand in hand, the passion settling in.

 “Have you ever tried to be Andy?” she asked.

“Be Andy? Who’s Andy?”

She giggled. “I said have you ever tried B and D?”

 The truth is I have seen my fair share of porn, and Bondage and Discipline wasn’t on my hot button list. I just didn’t get it, but knew by the things I did “get” that it’s a question of different strokes. Besides, if she had asked if I wanted to eat earthworms and then have sex, I would have, like most men, heard the first part and listened to the second. Her not-so-subtle invitation prompted a no brainer reply:

 “I haven’t tried it, but would like to.”

 I agreed to follow her home, and did. It was in the hills and scrub oaks west of town, down section line roads vaguely familiar, as I had, over the years, driven most roads in the county. Her driveway must have been 400 feet long, winding between the trees. She parked next to her 1920’s type wood sided and truly a Farm House home.

 Inside, she offered a drink, but I was sauced to the point that all I wanted was a Coke. Besides, I figured too much drinking might disable my wonder wand, and that would be tragic. She handed me the Coke, kissed me and said she was going to change into something less comfortable.

 After several minutes she opened the door to her bedroom and stood with her hands high on the jambs. She had leather and wool shackles on wrists and ankles, and wore a teddy top thin enough to let her buttons show.

 As my eyes adjusted to the light of two small nightstand candles I saw a king sized four poster bed covered with a white comforter. She kissed me, dragging her fingernails backwards across the nape of my neck. Stepping back, she pulled the teddy top off, then hopped on the bed.

 “Now tie me up.”

 I grabbed one of the lengths of cotton rope hanging over the footboard of the bed. She offered her wrist, and I threaded the rope through the ring, double knotted it, and then tied the other end to the headboard post. Moving to the other side I did the same, but she told me to pull it tighter and tighter until her back arched up a bit.

 “That’s perfect, babe. Now bind up my boobies.”

 I remembered seeing this done in the porn pics, so I knew it was about doing a figure eight wrap, squeezing her passion pillows until they stood up. I remember thinking it made her buttons look like candy kisses, so I obliged before moving to the next task.

 As I tied the first ankle I became convinced that I had been selling B&D short. This was arousing my libido much more than I anticipated. I concluded it was like golf – more fun to play than watch.

 I pulled the second ankle rope tight. She thrust her hips upward, and then told me to make it tighter. Her hips lifted up, almost off the bed. She moved them again, but now just barely. “Yes,” she said, so I tied it off, then stepped back to take in the whole picture. If the most important part of an entrée is the presentation, this was going to be the meal of a lifetime.

 “Behind you, in the top drawer.”

 I opened the top drawer of her bureau to find a Butcher's knife. Now I knew how the panties came off. I slipped the blade sideways under one panty leg, then tipped the handle slightly to let the point press her skin a bit before I turned the blade up and sliced. She gasped, then moaned. Her eyes closed. I did the same on the other leg, but pressing the point a bit harder before cutting the panty, which disappeared in an elastic instant.

 Her hips convulsed. She cooed like a dove, only louder, and then began panting and quiverring. I figured that was my cue. I kicked off my shoes, let my trousers drop, then pulled down my boxers. Bondage and Discipline, here I...come! My heart was pounding, and with each beat my wonder wand ticked upward like a metronome. I hadn’t been this aroused in 20 years, since the Night of The Bi-Lesbians.

 She opened her eyes as I began sliding over the footboard.

 “No. No, no, no!”

 Her words took a second to impact my mind, what with all available blood dedicated to the effort down south.

 “Huh? Are you kidding me?”

 “No. No sex. That’s the Discipline part!”

 I stood up, my mind conflicted. She was in no position to stop me, and I wondered if it was part of the act. One look in her eyes told me she was serious. I thought about it a bit, and envisioned nothing but trouble arising from continuing, so I put on my boxers, pants and shoes.

                              *          *          *          *          *          *


I reviewed the event as I drove home. The truth is I’m perhaps too respectful of women sometimes, but that’s better than the reverse attitude. I was a bit angry that she had a climax and I didn’t, but that emotion soon faded. I tallied it as another life experience; a new story to tell. It was a morality play with the message that no means no, no matter what factors were involved. I had, after all, taken a powerful test on the subject of respect and discipline, and had passed.

I held no ill will towards her, and honestly hoped somebody would show up to untie her in time.



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Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it. . . .

You're the Tea Party. . . . and she's . . . . Reid?
The suspense was killing me. I didn't expect that ending. wow.
What a story! Coming from you made it even more alluring and wild. I didn't know you wrote this kind of stuff. Now I'm wondering if it really happened or if it was simply excellent fiction!
I always, and I am dead serious here friend, I always leave here tied to the bed and leave the hotel room for a while, go down to the bar and hang out for a while, do some shopping, perhaps, then come back to the room ... trust me, and, again, not kidding, they simply love this.

But, I always f&*k em, too- and quite a bit more ... I recommend visiting Waikiki, and, especially, SF and LA.
Pure fiction, patricia. It's a long form of a joke I wrote years ago, back when I did a little stand up comedy.
Oahu..as Larry Craig said...You nasty, nasty boy!
Your way sounds like fun, as long as the hotel doesn't catch fire.
I've never even understood leather jackets and pants, or talking dirty even much less S&M.
Cute. You and Man Talk travel in the same circles. In fact, I seem to recall he "dated" the same woman ... or maybe it was her sister. Oh, and you better hope Gordo doesn't get wind of this post -- he just might pay you a visit.
I never liked being dirty-talked to. It interfered with my fantasy of who I was making love to. Upon request, I have done the talk. It either has to work fast or I run out of things to say and start reciting the Gettysburg Address. Four score...yada yada...score no more.
Never say Gordon and "get wind" in the same sentence. Most geriatrics don't like being reminded of their control issues.
To Myriad, zan and rw
Thanks. Was busy today, ergo the re-post.
To all: I cuted-up the terms to avoid the act eclipsing the joke. Besides, I figure most here could insert their own in place. Oops. Wrong word. I should say "substitute."
My man - that ending is perfect. R.
Knot what you expected was it Andy?
Great read Paul! Don't know for sure if it's fact or fiction, but knowing you, and the goofy shit you could get in to sometimes - I say it's fact.

Jim Hewitt