Brandi walked into my studio and plonked herself down on the couch. It was not so much a walk as an immediate presence. Brandi is 24 years old, over 6 feet tall, has long slender legs, well-developed breasts and on this occasion was dressed in a black, shiny, leather full length coat with calf length, matching-black boots. I already knew this was how she would dress--it was what she had told me she'd wear when she wrote to me. Still, the picture of her beauty far transcended my imagination. I swallowed hard as I recalled what else she had written. I still had the letter somewhere and the past few days had seen it read many a time as the delicious reason for her visit had been rehearsed in my mind over and over.
She sat down, unbuttoned the coat and revealed a skimpy, navy jumper. When she smiled across the divide to where I was sitting behind my desk, notebook in hand, I knew she was going to give me a real treat, and so it turned out.
Brandi began by giving me a rundown of her life story. She'd been Convent educated and boarded there because her parents were diplomats and often travelled abroad. During term time it would have been too disruptive to take their teenage daughter with them, so she boarded. Although the Convent was strict the nuns were mostly fair and the boarders made a good life for themselves. Indeed, Brandi had formed a couple of special relationships and it was a result of one of those relationships that her fantasy had begun.
She'd discovered in her late teens that she was more than a little interested in sex and she had spent much time wondering just how far she could make her body go. She'd spent much time writing of her fantasies and then, a few years previously, one of her special friends had shared a similar desire with her. They had, inevitably, experimented and discovered new things about their own sexualities. But, for Brandi at least, her own particular fantasy had gone unfulfilled. This was why she was sat opposite me now--because she wanted to do something about it. She was in her mid twenties and still looking for the right guy to fulfil her need. Another friend, also a friend of mine, put her in touch and after a couple of meetings we'd set up this session for today.
Brandi had written me a very detailed letter about her fantasy and how she wanted it to be fulfilled. As she rambled on about her life story (all part of the act) I noticed she was getting more and more agitated. Suddenly she took the plunge. She'd been opening and closing her legs like a frightened schoolgirl for several minutes, weighing up the situation, as if anxious that now she was on the very threshold it might be too much for her. With a startling change in voice, from casual to hauntingly seductive, she jumped straight to the point of our meeting.
"You were interested in what I wrote to you about?" She smiled again and leaned forward seductively. "Do you think you can help me fulfil my fantasy?"
"Yes, very interested, but you can change your mind about talking to me if you want to." My cock was already rising at the thought of helping this young, attractive, woman fulfil the sexual fantasy that had been haunting her for a decade.
"No point in that. One thing, though, you must do everything that was in the letter."
I sat speechless for a moment, as the script demanded, before I responded.
"Well," I stuttered, "I don't see why not."
"Every bit of it," she looked seriously at me, her big, blue eyes, fluttering slightly as she did so.
"Okay."
"Actually, I've had some more thoughts on the subject. I thought I'd write them all down for you. I badly need a pee, so could you read what I've written and then when I come back ask me any questions?"
"Okay."
She handed me a few pages of paper. They contained more information than what I already knew from her previous letter, but her insistence that we would have to enact her fantasy already had me harder than I had been for some time. This was going to be an afternoon worth remembering.
She was gone for nearly ten minutes. I'd read the pages, rehearsed the action and made myself ready.
She appeared in the doorway minus her coat and stood there looking at me with a big grin on her face.
"Have I been naughty, writing that?" She purred as she looked at me.
"I rather think you have. The question is, how realistic do you want things to be?"
"Very realistic. In fact, you are only going to get to print that story if things are entirely realistic."
"Very well. In that case, when exactly did your fantasy begin?"
While Brandi confirmed her desires for bondage began in her late teens, she came into the room and sat back on the couch. She explained that the fantasy went unfulfilled until she was nineteen years old. Then, and purely by chance, she'd been fooling round with a boyfriend. She'd been wearing a stupid roll-top and he'd tried to get it off, over her head, but the wretched garment had got stuck. With her head covered by the garment and her hands behind her head, the boyfriend had taken advantage. She'd not been wearing a bra and in a moment had felt his warm breath wafting across her nipples, stiffening them as her own vulnerability excited her. He'd gone further, stroking the nipples with his fingers, tickling her as they played lightly over her breasts. All the time she was in her state of mild bondage, unable to resist, unable to see.
"And what happened next?" I asked, my cock throbbing from under the table where I was taking copious notes.
"Not a lot. He tried to touch me between my legs but I was so surprised that I squealed and someone came and knocked on my bedroom door. That was the end of that. Of course, I've had lots more experiences since then, but what I wrote to you about is my biggest, and as yet unfulfilled, fantasy. Now, I would like to get started. I'm getting wet just thinking about things and I don't want to waste any more time."
"Okay, if you're sure you are ready."
"I am."
"In that case, stand up, turn round and put your hands out in front of you."
She didn't raise an eyebrow. It was exactly as she'd written it, her desire to be commanded into this position.
When she was standing I walked up in front of her with the pair of fur-lined handcuffs she'd brought and fastened them around her wrists. The key was on my desk, ready for the moment she changed her mind.
With her hands manacled I walked round her. Her skirt was full and long, a stark contrast to the top which was only just decent.
I led her to the low coffee table. It was about four feet in length, two feet wide and stood about eighteen inches off the ground on its four, wooden legs.
"Lie on the coffee table," I commanded her, just as the script demanded.
She did so without a word.
)
