Vanessa walked by the TV set one Sunday afternoon, catching a glimpse of an extraordinarily sexy man being interviewed. "Oh, my", she murmured, like Susan Sarandon in Bull Durham except throatier with even more evil intentions. She didn't catch the man's name but his body oozed sex. He had a slender, tan chest coated with just the right amount of sweat and wavy dark brown hair that cascaded halfway down his neck. Wraparound sunglasses hide his eyes, but tight, faded jeans brazenly outlined his cock. In a coolly arrogant accent that was a beguiling cross between Brit and "surfer dude", he talked about the first gig he'd ever played. All Vanessa heard was "Fuck me." Doreen, her roommate, noticed her frenzied exit to her bedroom. "Hey, Beavis, she shouted, using the code name they had for each other when they got too infantile or horny, "lock the door if you're wanking off in there".

After Vanessa finished pleasuring herself, she discovered who had gotten her so hot in only a 10-second video clip.

Doreen told her he was a musician who had been a minor rock star about 20 years ago. Vanessa vaguely recalled the name. Save for a goofy article she remembered reading in the National Enquirer about him swindling some model, she didn't know anything about him. But if he got her as hot in person as his TV image did, she vowed to give him the best sex of his life. Words would be a waste of time with this stud. With the precision of a seasoned whore, she'd be on her knees sucking his cock and squeezing his balls without exchanging names. The delicious moment when she eased her body on top of his and watched him slip his gleaming eager cock inside her pussy would follow effortlessly. Games were not required with a stud like him--even his image on the TV screen telegraphed that clearly.

Doreen and her friends counseled Vanessa on where to meet him. After being raised on classical music, with a dash of Miles Davis and Sarah Vaughn, Nessa had little knowledge of rock 'n' roll M.O. Doreen recommended a club he often frequented. Vanessa knew he'd be an easy lay from all the stories she'd heard. However, work and real life intruded on her sexy fantasy. A few weeks passed, and she forgot about the hot guy on the TV.

Until one day, when real life and fantasy merged like a wet dream come true.

Michael noticed her because she was different. Because she didn't look like she belonged at a music industry party full of con artists, know-it alls, and career whores. Her sweet face caught his attention, but the nasty sexual look in her eyes sealed the deal. He'd never seen that before in a bird; the women he'd known were extreme. They were outright sleazy or feminist frigid, either a quick shag or a long argument. But this combination of shyness and sleaziness was new and irresistible. He didn't know how to approach her. When he winked at her, she smiled and lowered her head coyly, as though she was embarrassed that he had responded to her overture.

If I walk over, will she run away? He wondered. Michael slipped behind a gabbing crowd of girls and eased his way over to her. "Excuse me, love, you're looking very pretty tonight." He stopped himself from touching her bare midriff. It took all his self-restraint.

"Thank you," she said. She stared at his face, then seemed to grasp for words.

"I liked your presentation. I'd never known you could layer tracks like that with a sound program. My name is Vanessa. I work with your friend Kyle at the agency."

"A pleasure to meet you, Vanessa. My name's Michael." She had shoulder length sandy blonde hair that looked totally natural. No tell-tale dark roots anywhere. Her lucid blue eyes sparkled with girlish joy as she shook his hand.

He stared at her waist, and his gaze moved lazily upward to the belly shirt that barely covered her perky breasts. A perfect B cup, he thought, with prominent, sensitive nipples that strained underneath her thin cotton top.

"You don't really look like you belong here." It was the first thought that popped into his head, and he blurted it out. Her smile disappeared. Hurt and embarrassment registered subtly on her face. Usually, he didn't notice such things, but for some reason, he saw it in her eyes and backtracked. "What I meant was ... the other girls-er-women here look harder. You look very sweet."

"Well, I look sweet on the outside, but I'm wild at heart."

He was ready to turn on his heels and pursue some Betty Page lookalike who had just walked past when the phrase caught his ear.

He turned and touched her shoulder. "Umm, that sounds interesting ... care to go into details?"

"I'd like to show you."

"Right, show, don't tell, they say..."

They were both full of cheesy pick-up lines that night, and it got them back to his friends' guesthouse in the hills. His place was too far out in the desert; he couldn't possibly drive that far with his cock so hard.

They had a limited amount of time to fuck before his friend Roger got home, but they made the most of it. She stripped down to a black lace pushup bra and leopard print thong and posed for him. He hadn't expected that; he'd envisioned her wrapped in gauzy white. The Fredericks' of Hollywood tawdriness against her tiny, pert-breasted body got him so hot he thought he would burst even before he touched her. He slid her shiny leopard thong against her thigh, uncovering her pussy, but did not strip it off, there was no time for that. First he fucked her with her bra on, and she laughed when he called her a whore. They fucked joyfully, relentlessly, then fell asleep only to wake up and do it again, this time with her supple body naked, on all fours, while he pleasured her from behind. Abruptly, the doorbell rang, and they made a date to meet at his apartment the next night.

She arrived at his door with a bottle of champagne and a small grocery bag full of gourmet food for dinner. She was dressed like a slut in a short red skirt and fishnet shirt with the skimpiest of bras underneath and boots.

"You look different. You're taller. Are you wearing heels?"

"No, they're flats like I always wear."

He admired her boots-they ran up to the top of her thighs, of supple suede, a little bit loose and crinkly. They reminded him of kinky fishing boots. They accentuated her upper thigh as it joined the curve of her ass, her ripe cheeks bare to the world underneath her flouncy skirt with only a virginal pink thong peeking out from beneath.

Michael studied her hot little body as she put the contents of her shopping bag into the fridge. Tease. But he knew she hadn't planned it that way. It made his hard-on more intense. "Never mind all that, love. Let's go to bed"

"No, I don't want to fuck yet." She hissed sweetly. "There's something I want to do first. Sit down."

Intrigued, he sat on the retro 1960s lime-green chair. "You know, I don't like all the unhealthy stuff you have in your fridge. You need to eat better."

Taken aback by her words, still he kept listening silently to see what she would do next. "Here. I have something for you." She picked up a silver filigree bowl loaded with strawberries. "I want you to eat better."

She bit into a strawberry, letting the juice ooze down her lips, and half closed her eyes. "Tastes so good-here, you try one," She picked up a strawberry and fed it to him, brushing it across his lips, gently teasing them apart. "There, that's not so hard, is it?

He bit into it, imagining how sweet her pussy tasted.

"Look, Michael." She taunted.

Vanessa unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the black lace push-up bra. "Here, have another one," She smiled, dropping a strawberry into her cleavage.

"Oh, baby, you are going to be the death of me." He bowed his head down and scooped the strawberry out with his tongue. Her soft skin tasted better than any of nature's other delights. He bit slowly into the strawberry and let the juice trickle down her breasts.

"That's a good boy, Michael. Will you promise me you'll eat better?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That's a good boy."

She put her hands around his neck, massaging it, before pulling his body to hers and kissing him, savoring the sweet mingling of strawberries in their mouths.

Michael pointed her to the bedroom. "You get those jeans off, sweetie." She smacked his ass. "You look so much better without 'em." Michael had barely slipped his belt off when she took action, unzipping him and reveling in his unashamed erection. Michael stood against the wall while she got on her knees and sucked his cock, as preparation for the main attraction. He couldn't stand the teasing, and lifted her into bed, where she straddled him, slathering baby oil all over his abs. She watched the oil drip down his stomach and coat his cock, illuminating it like a beacon of sin. She guided him inside her willing pussy. Michael gripped onto her waist and helped her bounce up and down on his greedy erection. When he showered her belly with cum, she fell backwards on the bed, happy and relieved at the same time. Riding such a bountiful cock gave as much pain as pleasure. Then he fell asleep, licking his lips like a sated bear.

When he woke up, he could not get out of bed. His hands were chained to the elaborate metal latticework on the headboard, and his feet were chained together with ankle cuffs that felt like they were made of some strong plastic and covered with black leather. "What the fuck..." He looked up and there she was, still naked, still smelling of perfume and strawberries.

"You just looked so beautiful there in bed, I didn't want you to leave."

"You're not some fucking psycho, are you? You're not gonna kill me." Unlike most people, Michael always had the bad-or childlike-habit of saying the first thing that entered his mind

She stopped, and her eyes teared up, but she didn't cry. "No, Michael, if you want me to untie you, I will." She picked up the key on the nightstand, her hand trembling as she fit it into the latch on the handcuff.

"No, love it's all right. Put the key down."

"But you said.."

"It's OK ... shh."

She sat by the foot of the bed and admired him. "You look beautiful just the way you are."

"Aah, I ain't beautiful."

"If I say you're beautiful, you are."

Then she kissed him, blessing his chest, his arms, and his elbows. She treated everything like she treated his cock, worshipping and castigating him at the same time. "I love your fingers," she breathed, "so long and bony and perfect." Vanessa kissed each one, slipping them inside her pussy, blessing them with her sweet juice, then sliding each one of her fingers into his mouth. "Here. Taste,"

With her, sex was a ceremony, not a quick copycat fuck. Michael had never known sex that could be more than hit and run. "I will be right back." She kissed him, and he let her leave without protest, relaxing totally for the first time since he could remember. A sense of calm overtook him. It was weird. Tied to a bedpost by this crazy little bird who'd left him alone and naked, and he never felt freer.

Because he knew she'd come back.

He waited for her. There was no clock in the room. He looked down at the nightstand, where he had left his watch. It was gone. "Vanessa." He said her name clearly and without fear. Music filtered in from the next room, Clarence Carter singing "Slip Away". He heard the rattling of dishes and her low voice on the phone. "Vanessa. What are you doing in there?"

She sang along with the radio, sweetly and on key, much better than he ever could. He stared at the ceiling. "Baby, don't torture.." Then he realized that's exactly what she wanted. He laughed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" She turned the music off. He heard nothing but stray sounds here and there, a clanging, and a swooshing of fabric. He got aroused again. Pretty good for a middle-aged bloke, he thought. She closed the door suddenly. He only saw her hand. "Vanessa, Vanessa," he called again. Now he got scared. Maybe it was more than a game to her. "Jesus." He looked at the chains-were they toys or the real thing? If they were fake, he could wriggle his way out. Just then, the door swung open.

She walked in, wearing nothing but boots and gloves and hiding something behind her back. "I didn't mean to worry you, Michael. I had some things to prepare, as you can see. Umm, I can see it was worth the wait for you, too." She touched his cock tip with a cool gloved finger.

"Jack me off. I can't stand it. Get on top of me and ride like you did last night."

"No, not until I'm good and ready." She rubbed a finger against his lips, then pressed the key against them.

"I bet you're glad I'm doing this for real," She slipped it into the cuff.

"Oh, God, I didn't realize these things dug so deep in my skin."

"See, you're not the tough he-man you thought you were-there's some real gentleness there," She kissed his hand, then undid the cuffs on his legs. "Kneel down."

"C'mon, stop that, that's enough. Let's fuck."

"You think I'm joking around. Get on your knees."

It drove him wild to hear such a sweet skinned little princess spit out such demands. If he got any harder, he thought it would burst. And he saw it turned her on as well. Her clit was full and visible, proud, like her own appendage. How many times had he said or implied the same thing to women? His knees hit the carpet. She seemed pleased. He wanted to suck her tits, but he dared not ask.

"Get on all fours-that's even better."

"What?"

"C'mon. Do it."

The only way he could bring himself to do such a thing was to keep his eyes on her on her body, her wet clit, the way her breasts bounced. Then she bent down and spanked him. How thoughtful of her to place a mirror by the edge of the bed so they could not escape their indiscretions. She ordered him to eat her pussy and he obeyed, stopping only when she gently lifted his head up and made him drink a fizzy peppermint shake she left on the nightstand. Then he ate her again, swirling his tongue on her clit and ever so deftly inside her. He savored her cries of indescribable pleasure. "May I fuck you now, mistress?" he begged, no longer able to subdue his cock. "Yes, my beautiful slave." They both looked in the mirror, watching his body writhe and bounce against her. He lost all sense of time, not even remembering where he was until he heard Franco, his Lab, paw at the bedroom door the next morning.

At work, his clients subtly noticed the change in him, though they could not pinpoint it. He joked around more, wasn't so abrupt and snarly. "Did you change your hair?" one girl asked.

"Yeah. Dyed it.' he said with a wink. She believed it.

Vanessa did not return his call that night. He didn't answer when another girlfriend of his called. Instead, he looked at the mirror that she had placed by his bed, and when he saw his reflection there alone he felt a sudden twinge of regret. What are you, a girl? He scolded himself as he reached for the phone, before thinking better of it, wanked off and fell asleep.

She did not come round until a week later, unannounced, when he was washing his car. Franco scampered up to her, practically knocking her over. Franco was a friendly dog, to be sure, but he rarely fawned over someone he had only seen once. She giggled like a schoolgirl and petted him. "Oh sweetie, aren't you just a crazy thing like your Daddy..."

C'mere Franco." Michael threw a rubber chew toy into the backyard and Franco chased after it, disappearing out of the frame. "So, where have you been? I didn't expect to see you round here." Michael's voice turned cold and stiff, like a jilted lover.

"I've been busy."

"Busy spanking other dudes, I suppose. They must love you down at the leather warehouse."

"My, we're testy, aren't we? You need a little R and R"

"Rest and Relaxation?"

"No, Rockin and Rollin."

He took that to mean sex, cock in pussy or elsewhere, but she thought differently. "Have you been eating better? You look a little thinner-I know it's only been a week since I've seen you, but you look good." She opened the refrigerator and marveled at a half empty pint of strawberries. "My, you're a fast learner."

"Oh, yeah. You know, I forgot I even bought those."

She licked her lips and undid his belt. Silently kneeling down, he readied for her mouth, and thought of strawberry juice dripping on his cock, but he felt cold rubber and winced. She played with his cock with a strip of leather paddle. It made him hard. "You like this. You're so sensitive, so receptive, a good boy." She licked his cock tip, then quickly brushed cold leather against it. He fell to his knees, sweating. His cock had betrayed him once again.

"I can always depend on my best friend to help me," She traced his cock with her bare fingers, then pulled away from him when he pushed her head toward his crotch.

"Why do you do that ... you like to tease me. One day you're going to go too far."

"And what are you going to do-spank me? Tie me up? That's not your style-you just like people to think you're bad-you're quite an actor."

"And you're quite the actress ... you look like vanilla ice cream, but you taste like a hot pepper."

"Umm, that gives me an idea. Eat my pussy."

"No, that won't work. You got me too hard."

"Do what I tell you. You won't be sorry."

"No." Like a stubborn adolescent, he held his ground.

"All right ... all right," she whispered coyly, kneeling down quietly, she took him in her mouth. As he closed his eyes at the first lick, she changed gears. Before he knew what hit him, like a snake she had slithered behind him and cuffed his hands.

"What, do you hide those things in your pussy?" he mumbled.

"God, you talk more than any housefrau ... shut up and eat me," She lay down and arched her back, offering him her shaved pussy. He had no choice but to indulge her, to concentrate on her, working her over with his tongue licking her clit, going deep inside fucking her with his tongue, rimming her. All the while his cock did not rest, his stray appendage bouncing against her thigh. He came up for air, and there she lay, spent, a wild look in her eyes. He had licked her to the brink of insanity.

"I will uncuff you if you give me the best fuck of my life.'

"I'd love to. You need a money back guarantee?" he laughed.

"Do what I tell you. Promise. Fuck me so good I can't take it-then bring me back. If any man can do it, you can. You should know better than to disobey me."

She leaned back on the bed. Her opening flexed wide to greet him. The friction as he entered her was unbelievable. She was too receptive, too velvety soft. He fucked her harder ... sure of the task at hand; every nerve in his body tuned instinctively to her wishes, to how she wanted to be fucked. At first, he had been taken aback by her insistent desire; he'd found it simultaneously silly and frightening. Initially, it had been a job he had to perform to get what he wanted. Now it wasn't a job anymore. It was his pleasure.

Her normally high-pitched yelps of delight had now softened to a motorized purr. He got a rhythm going, fucking her gently, and then jabbing it in, just the way she liked it. Michael swept a few sweaty strands of hair off her forehead and kissed it. That evoked a frenzied response in her, even more so than mere fucking. Michael felt dizzy, in a warm, pagan way. His soul left his body; then he came, all the energy inside him released, rendering him still and pristine. Vanessa face contorted with joy and she bathed in his cum in slow-motion, adoring the fruits of their labor. He laughed, and the next thing he noticed was warm water and tickling of a loofah sponge on his back. "Did I owe you some money?"

"No, honey, no money ever made me feel so good. You didn't make love to just my body, Michael, I swear, you made love to my soul, my spirit, too-you worked so hard to please me. You are the best slave a woman could have." She let the strawberry-scented lather drip down his chest and onto his cock. "I love you, Michael. You work so hard to please me."

"I love you, Vanessa." She was his mistress. His sin. In her body lay the power to transform him from a man to a flesh and blood mythos. He could never go back to the little sluts of his past now that he was the property of a goddess.