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We met in a public place, a Starbucks that I visited regularly. Waiting in line, I noticed her and I liked her hair (not to mention her legs!). Gotta say something. I come toward her and ask:
“S’cuse me, but I’m trying to get the waiter’s attention here and I’ve forgotten how to whistle, can you help?”
And she says: “Oh that’s easy, you just put your lips together… and blow.”
At that point I seem to lose concentration and fidget around not knowing where to look. Feeling her steely unrelenting gaze upon me, I become even more uneasy and can’t help wanting to look at her legs, hips, arms, neck, anything….. anything but her face, that’d be too much… So I go on glancing furtively for whatever I can get, when to my extreme embarrassment I notice an uncomfortable bulge growing in my pants. I reel around for some way to hide, and to make matters worse, I see she is still looking at me. This realization propels the bulge into an uncontrolled rocket, and now I’m in definite pain – emotionally as well as physically.
By the time I’m ready to give up all dignity and look straight at her while having a no hands orgasm, she comes forward saying:
“Hey I’m not that comfortable here either, ya wanna try that whistle and catch a cab?”
“Why yes ma’am, I think that’d be a splendid idea.” says I. We exit Starbuck’s and head toward the busy intersection. With her standing there waving for a ride, it was easy to get noticed, and within seconds a yellow cab pulled up.
Climbing into the taxi I hear her say, “Hotel Valencia” and somehow I know I’m in good hands.
In the cab, slipping down the Boulevard, I went on trying to sneak a glance here and there… Her hips, her calves and ankles, her shoulders bare in a thin summer dress, her skin so lovely. She took out a Sherman or one of those European cigarrettes and calmly looked at me. I snapped to, and fumbled for my lighter, saying:
“So we’re going to the Valencia… is that where you’re…..?”
“Yes dear, I want you to come have a drink with me. I’ve got an idea we should talk over.”
Wondering, I lit hers then my own as she continued:
“You see, I’m involved in a very elaborate project, something quite unusual. And I need to find the right person. Someone with…shall we say, the proper ‘creativity skills’…”
“Is this a job interview?” I blurted.
“In a way, but it won’t be like any job you’ve ever heard about. Nor will there be any salary… but I’m sure you won’t mind. If you’re selected, that is…”
“What kind of project is it?”
“Maybe ‘project’ was the wrong word. It’s impossible to describe it adequately with one word… You just relax, pay attention, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
As my mind reeled with questions, I couldn’t avoid the feeling of being enveloped. She had such an air of confidence and control. She was mature, sexy, and carried herself with style and grace. Worldly, experienced, she seemed to know exactly what she wanted. I wondered if she had any idea of just how attracted I was. Over the years I had developed this particular affinity. Gradually the young ‘barbie’ types had become less and less interesting, as fascination or appeal for the ‘mature’ grew and grew. Now at this point in my life I had a complete erotic fixation. How did she know?
The car pulled up to the hotel, she paid the cabby and we strolled thru the lobby on up to the mezzanine lounge. I felt like a school kid. It was thrilling to say the least, sitting at a private corner of the bar with this gorgeous, fancy dame. Anticipation of impending adventures reached a fever pitch. I tried to act calm, looking over the rather extensive drink menu.
“This is a good place, order anything you want,” she said. “I want you fully relaxed and open for what’s in store this evening.”
The bartender took our orders. I had my heart set on a Tanqueray-10 martini, she named some exclusive liquor I’d never heard of. We got our drinks, toasted to ‘creativity’ and she began to explain:
“I’ve been watching you longer casino oyna than you think…and I know some things about you.”
“Oh great. -You’re a stalker?”
“No, just careful…maybe a bit picky. I have to be selective when contemplating such…well, intimate encounters.”
“Yes really. I’m going to ask that you keep an open mind, and be able to give your total devotion to the task required of you,” she said with that same intense, steely gaze. “I know you can do it, if you will follow my instructions and just give it your all.”
“Well I won’t argue that.” I grinned shyly.
She stood up from the barstool, and in doing so, brushed the front of her body firmly against me. She had a sexy animal scent. For a moment I was close enough to kiss her neck. The bulge in my pants was coming back with a vengence.
“Just a minute…gotta visit the powder room.”
Upon returning she walked slowly closer as if part of a dance, then staring directly into my eyes she swiveled back on to the chair, only this time with her knees apart. I catch a glimpse, and to my total amazement – she is not wearing panties!!!
“Maybe this is what you’re lookin’ for… hmmmmm?” she says, casually pulling the pink silk undies from her purse and stuffing them into my shirt pocket.
“You may keep them as a souvenir…enjoy. Probably pretty ripe, I’ve been wearing them since yesterday morning…”
I blushed. Didn’t know where to look nor how to act.
“Meanwhile, I think it’s time we adjourn to my suite…where we can continue this intellectual discussion – in private.”
With trembling knees and aching loins I followed her to the elevator, taking it one step at a time.
In the elevator she pressed 19th floor. After a brief silence which seemed way too long, I asked:
“Because you fit the demographic, silly!…as I said, I’ve been studying you for quite some time. Your internet browsing history, your age group, personal affairs and such – all served to qualify you as a likely prospect.” She paused as if observing my reaction. “Then it was easy to ensure a meeting…all I had to do was go to Starbuck’s any weekday at around 5pm.”
“How did you know I’d come over and say something..?”
“Ah now, that’s a secret of the feminine kind…..perhaps you’ll learn it someday.”
“Well I know one thing… you must be attracted to me in some way, probably have erotic adventures in mind – And I do admit I’m feelin’ lucky.”
“Oh, lucky you are, sweet boy! However, I must caution you… this will not be like any experience you’re familiar with – it will be very demanding. In the first place, you will have to pass inspection… then even if you do, the task will be great. My advice to you is to leave your ego at the door, and meet the challenge head on. I can be a real martinet at times, and the main objective here is my own selfish gratification… But if I am pleased with your performance, and if I see fit, I guarantee you rewards beyond your wildest dreams.”
Her eyes sparkled as she said this. She winked slyly and pinched me with a giggle. It hurt and thrilled me at the same time.
‘Ding’ – the elevator stopped at 19, we headed down the corridor to the Executive Suite.
“Room 1943, that’s the year I was born,” she said, pushing the door open. “I’m sixty two… does that scare you, or turn you on?”
“A little of both.” I swallowed, looking around. “Nice pad… this where you do your dirty work..?”
“Har har!… Yes, some may think it dirty. Sanctimonious morons – but you and I know better.”
She moved over to the desk, laying down her purse and picking up an official looking file folder and a clipboard.
“Before we go any further, I must have you sign a release….. Not to worry, it’s just a formality – to be sure everything is legal and consentual.”
I looked over the document, a standard contract for the purpose of verifying mutual consent. General agreement, no details. The letterhead had her business logo, and for slot oyna the first time I learned her name – Diana Finch-Hatton.
“Never knew anybody with a hyphenated name… You rich..?”
“Let’s just say I don’t have to worry… But I do have to be discreet. Now, are you gonna sign or not?”
I pondered, trying to be cautious. But the whole thing sounded so preposterous, so outrageously fun… Besides, at this point I would’ve done most anything to be with this woman. Feigning reluctance I scribbled my name.
“Very good then. Now let’s get to your physical exam..”
“Me, doctor??” I recited dramatically.
“Oh you are a card!” she laughed, “No, ME doctor, YOU patient.” “Just step over here and remove all your clothes, please.”
She then disappeared into a large expansive bathroom area. I could hear water running and what sounded like medical equipment being gathered and shuffled around.
“I’ll be a minute… when you’re finished undressing you can wait by the exam table – okay, hon’..?”
The table was the real thing. Recline-adjustable, and fully outfitted with stirrups, restraints, as well as attachments I didn’t recognize. I sat down on the paper cover (just like the doctor’s office) and waited pensively, trying to conceal my excitement.
She came out wearing a nurses apron tied around her dress, carrying a large doctors bag and some other items which she set on a medical cart nearby. I couldn’t forget the fact she had nothing on underneath that flimsy summer dress.
While I was sitting on the table, she did the routine taking of my vital signs – blood pressure, heart rate, ears, nose, eyes, reflexes, etc. Then it was over to the scale for height and weight. As I stood there with her taking careful readings, I felt very naked – exposed and vulnerable.
“Okay, now I want you to stand facing the table, spread your feet apart, and bend forward… that’s it, rest your arms on the table.”
I did as I was told but oh my God, she was putting on a surgical glove and reaching for the K-Y jelly!
“It’s most important that I check your prostate…to see what condition it’s in…” she stated, “I’ll be as gentle as I can…just relax.” “Tell me if anything hurts, okay?”
With that, she applied a generous glop of lube and began to insert first one, then two fingers into my puckered rectum. I breathed a sigh trying to relax, but it was all happening so fast. In spite of my extreme embarassment, it felt really good. She knew just where to apply the pressure. Sensuously probing way in deep, then pressing a fingertip firmly on the gland, she moved slowly back for the entire length, as if squeezing a toothpaste tube. Back and forth, out and in, several times. It made me feel like I was going to ejaculate. Yet I didn’t even have a full hard-on, nor was anything touching ‘Mr. Happy’.
It felt so wonderful, I found myself inadvertently thrusting my hips back toward her hand, the better to receive this rude invasion. I was lost in a dream, mindlessly panting as droplets of clear fluid fell from the tip of my half swollen member.
But it all ended too soon when she matter of factly removed her fingers and snapped off the glove, saying:
“Mm-hmm, seems to be in pretty good shape…” in a sing-songy tone of voice. Then with a loud slap to my bottom, “Turn around, let’s see whatcha got!”
The exposed and vulnerable feeling instantly went up by a factor of ten. I could barely bring myself to face the situation – knowing that she was about to calmly, clinically, assess my precious package. And that’s exactly what she did as I leaned back against the table, my face turned to the side looking straight at the floor, and my privates mere inches from her eyes.
With a matronly gaze that reminded me of the school nurse in seventh grade, she deftly circled her thumb and forefinger around my scrotum above the balls. She squeezed and rolled each testicle in the palm of her hand, feeling the size and weight. This went on for some time, then she went back to the circle grip, tightening canlı casino siteleri and pulling down.
“We want to keep the sac as loose as possible and the balls hanging low,” she explained, “It helps retard the impulse to orgasm….. plus, I prefer seeing them – all engorged and tender like that..”
She reached into a drawer and found a small leather strap. About five inches in length, it had metal snaps on the ends.
“This will be your formal collar for the evening, I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”
Snapping it around the neck of my ballsac, she gave me a pat and said, “There!”
It was a very snug fit, but not enough to cut off circulation. I looked down and confirmed my suspicion – ‘old purple head’ was standing at full attention.
She noticed my embarassment as I was forced to stand there with full erection in view, but paid it no mind. Gently cupping the newly collared scrotum and looking me in the eye, she said:
“Well um, it doesn’t exactly hurt…”
“Good. This is just the first step in the procedure… After you’ve become more accustomed and your sac is more relaxed, I’m going to replace this collar with a much wider band…”
“Wider..?” I trembled.
“Oh don’t worry, we won’t do that until you’re ready… It’s got foam padding, I’m sure you’ll like… For now just concentrate on your arousal… We both see that…there’s no use hiding it.”
“That’s for sure.” I mumbled, both of us staring intently at this blue-veined throbber pointed at the ceiling.
“Which brings us to the whole reason for this session,” she asserted, “your training…”
“Yes… tutelage, or coaching. You see, most all men need to develop their skills in the bedroom… more precisely, to attain better control, through discipline…”
She paused letting it sink in, then continued:
“What I am going to do is assist you in gaining control of your orgasms – to teach you how to govern the ejaculation impulse. This I will do by guiding you thru the stages of a strict physical program. Each stage may seem difficult, even frustrating at first, but as the process is repeated, your cells, your system, your entire body will achieve a newfound strength.”
Squeezing my balls and lightly stroking my hard-on, she chortled:
“Perhaps you will even master this little bad boy, and use it for the good of all womankind.”
“Okay, when do we start?” I blurted.
“You see there? We’ve already started dear boy, and so soon you’re thinking it’s time for a good spurt! – No no, Toddy… many a mile before we’re ready for that.”
I gulped, not knowing how to act.
“And don’t think I’m failing to notice these little drops of precum indicating you’re on final approach… I always know exactly how far along you are.”
My cock twitched, and she went on:
“It’s time to introduce you to a devilish little appliance, fondly known as the ‘Groom’s Girdle’…”
She pulled out a small, flesh colored latex hood which looked like a ski-cap about the size of a penis head or maybe slightly larger. It had two inflation bulb attachments which she snapped into place. My dick twitched again.
“A nice little hat for Mr. Happy,” she giggled, as she proceeded to fit the device over my swollen purple head – a helmet on a helmet.
The bottom edge of the device flipped snugly over the ridge of my corona, and she began pumping one of the inflation bulbs.
“This is expanding an air-tube ring which is designed to hold it in place,” she explained, “Then we blow up the inner balloon, which will squeeze the head of your penis down as small as it will go, leaving the shaft (or corpus cavernosa) fully engorged.”
Pft pft pft – she pumped gingerly. It felt extremely tight, but not at all painful.
“An elegant instrument, you must aggree,” she mused, “By compressing the spongy tissue of the head, it makes orgasm nearly impossible and yet the erection remains… given adequate stimulation, of course.”
With the device fully inflated, she unsnapped the bulbs and began stroking my rigid shaft in earnest. I slumped back on my elbows, closed my eyes, and felt like an over ripe gourd about ready to burst.
— to be continued —
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