He, she and them - M+F / f; bdsm
He could have been the inspiration for the caricature you see so often, you know, the little old, distinguished looking gentleman with the round face, a fringe of white hair around a predominantly bald head and a big white mustache. Expecting his arrival, it wasn't seconds from the time he rang the bell until the two attendants, one male, the other female, opened the front door of the big, brick, Victorian house.
The male attendant disappeared while the female led him back to an isolated room in the middle of the house. It contained only one piece of furniture, a large comfortable chair in which he found his place immediately. Entering the room then was the male attendant with a martini, freshly prepared to his taste.
Both attendants then left the room to return moments later, one on either side of her, guiding her with a hand on each upper arm. She wore a loose knee length party dress, four inch heels – and a hood! They led her to the center of the room a few feet in front of his chair, raised her hands slightly above her head, securing her wrists in cuffs suspended from the ceiling. They then cut the shoulder straps of her dress allowing it to fall in a pool around her feet, exposing her voluptuous body and legs.
He pointed to the hood, waved a finger, wordlessly directing them to remove it. Then he pointed at the ball gag she wore indicating he wanted its removal. He didn't want anything to inhibit any reaction either vocal or in facial expression, to her imminent experience.
As the attendants stepped back he rose from the chair to have a closer look. Well built, she had probably been quite athletic in her past but now, being in her late thirties, maybe forties, she was softening deliciously. He handled her as if it were foreplay to a session of sweet lovemaking. With the backs of his fingers he caressed her smooth cheek and full soft lips causing her to look up. Their eyes met, his slightly indicating anxious anticipation, hers, definitely fear. In a similar, gentle way he ran the back of his fingers along the inside of her raised upper arm, then down over her shoulder, down her chest to the top of her breast. Residual tan line accentuated the creamy smooth, soft, tender white flesh below it. Then he weighed a slightly sagging C-cup breast before cupping it to gently squeeze and pull for a few seconds. After a gentle rolling and pulling on a hardened nipple he ran his hand down her front, over and past her pubic mound. Her first impulse was to close her slightly spread legs to prevent his feeling her there, but quickly reasoned that if she were cooperative they might do - whatever they were going to do – more gently.
Taking his time he walked around her noticing the flow of nervous perspiration running down her ribs, a drop already reaching her flaring hip. Then, again gently with the backs of his fingers, he caressed the smooth soft skin on her back, completely exposed by her hair done up in a roll at the back of her head. He imagined how striking instruments would sink into the twin vertical slabs of what had been beautifully toned muscle, now nicely softened. He bent slightly to feel the voluptuous buttocks and the top of a well formed, thick, but still firm thigh.
Then he returned to his comfortable chair and slowly sipped his martini while continuing to study the beauty before him. He enjoyed watching the muscles of her legs working as she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The four inch heals weren't necessary to enhance her legs – full, nicely rounded calves and firm, tapered thighs. He absorbed the full, rounded buttocks, the flaring hips at the base of a thickened, but still shapely waste.
He'd inspected her for almost ten minutes – no one was in a hurry here. One more sip of his martini and at last he showed facial expression and finally spoke. His lips curled cruelly as he quietly expressed the brief command: “hurt her.”
That was the last he or they would speak for two and a half hours.
The only human sounds in that room in the next two and a half hours would be hers – screaming, crying, pleading.
She was about to experience the longest two and a half hours of her life.
