Archive-name: Affairs/sexylady.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Sexy Lady


A long time after my adventure with Tyrone had ended, it seemed
useful to reconstruct the entire affair, to try to place it in
its proper perspective.  I was uncertain that it could be done at
all, even less certain that it could be done truthfully and
objectively.  But I resolved to try.  After a number of false
starts, one version emerged which on examination seems reasonably
close to the truth.  For what little it can teach you, you are
welcome to it.

Note that I describe it as an adventure rather than an affair. 
Affairs I have had before, but never anything resembling this in
the slightest.  No, adventure it is, or perhaps exploit or better
yet, escapade.  Pick the description that pleases you best. But
whatever it was, a love affair it was not.

The incidents described here are actual, though they may seen to
have been romanticized somewhat, and perhaps they were.  Details
may vary slightly from fact.  If so, the reason is obvious-
memory is irregular and faulty, and none of the events,
unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept. 
That is certainly too bad.  It would make fascinating reading
now, I am sure.  Still, these incidents were shared almost on a
daily basis with my friend Sara, and upon reading this file, she
says that her recollection is essentially similar with the record
(though she does say to leave her part out. Ha!).  Whether she
agrees with my conclusion is another matter.  But then, you don't
know my conclusion, do you?  

As an addenda to the preface above, written somewhat later, let
me report that a diary WAS kept.  Unbeknownst to me, Sara had
kept a personal diary in which she reported most of what I had
told her, along with her own reactions to each event.  I was
surprised to learn this, perhaps even a bit dismayed.  On
reflection, though, I concluded that it really made very little
difference- it did not change the substance at all of what
happened, and served later to reinforce my memory in looking back
on events that are truly important to me but probably not to
anyone else.  In reading the diary now, I find two interesting
things- that my memory is essentially correct and Sara's written
reaction to each thing that occurred is excited and exciting to
me.  So much for the addenda.  Now back to the report.

  
To tie things down, consider the background.  June, 1984. Herbert
is in Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for
other business.  He will be there for six weeks, perhaps 
eight.  Helen has not been able to go.  She plans to join him in 
the South of France later after his conference is over, in two 
weeks or so.  For now, she is still at home, busy but not
overwhelmed with her work.  Helen fancies herself a queen. She is
intelligent, attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body, and
she is fully aware of it and of a certain power that it gives. 
But she has a haughty, imperious, I-am-superior-to-you attitude
that annoys many people and absolutely infuriates others.  She is
married to an older man who obviously adores her, pampers her,
caters to her every whim, but who cannot at all control her and 
has never satisfied her.  Her husband travels extensively. 
 
The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to
the symphony, alone, and there encountered a man, Tyrone,  whom
she had known well once and disliked- a tall, spare man of
curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist,
stubborn, opinionated, willful-  a type that Helen usually
detested.  That evening, after the concert, he offered her a
drink, and thinking of avoiding a long cab ride home alone, she
accepted.  The thought of physical involvement with this man,
though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind. 
After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive
her to her house, made the expected pass, and she responded by
giving him a stinging slap in the face.  He replied as no man had
before. He twisted her arm, turned her away from him, and using a
hard bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the rump.  She
reacted immediately, and when he slapped her behind hard again,
she gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone.
Recognizing her reaction exactly for what it was, as complete
submission, he sat, pulled her over his lap, bottom-up, pulled
her skirt all the way up over her hips and slowly and with great
ceremony, pulled her panty hose down so that her now-bare ass was
in his complete view.  Now, firmly and with great authority, he
totally took control, spanking her bottom until it had turned
bright pink and she had begun to bawl like a baby. Ignoring her
cries as just so much nonsense (which both of them knew they
were), his hand wandered over her rosy red rump, found a path
between her tightly clenched thighs and when a finger tested, it
discovered that she was sopping wet, that her clit had emerged
and now stood upright like a miniature penis, indicating to him
just how  sincere her protests were.  He sensed total victory. In
only another moment he had her panty hose off completely, and now
with her totally obvious complete cooperation, had unzipped her
dress, pulled it over her head, tossed it on the floor as if it
was just a rag rather than the very expensive frock that it
really was (wasn't that the ULTIMATE indignity?, she thought).

He had unhooked her bra so that she stood nude before him, her
bare breasts in his face, her nipples now standing like
sentinels, offering themselves to his hard, sucking kisses, her
arms around his neck.  One of his hands fondled her rump while
the other hand was up between her widespread thighs, his finger
inserted full depth in her sensuous feminine flower, teasing it
and bringing her ever closer to  orgasm.  She had been totally
conquered by a simple spanking and by a bit of foreplay.  He had
won the prize and obviously it was now his for the taking.  He
knew this and so did she.  She was fully aware that she was
excited beyond anything in her experience, that very soon he
would want to use her, and however he chose to use her  that
there was simply no way that she could stop him or would stop him
or would even want to stop him.

Now he led her to her bedroom, spanked her further and harder, to
her very great dismay- or perhaps to her very considerable joy.
He stripped.  Soon he joined her nude in her bed.  He was rigidly
erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent, totally
passionate, totally excited, totally and absolutely orgasmically
responsive.  He took her in strange positions and in strange
ways, vanquishing her completely and certainly satisfying her
better than she had ever been satisfied. During it all, with
Tyrone's cock buried to its full depth in her humid, squishy
pussy, when she had already had orgasm twice and knew she was on
the verge of a third, she thought that never, since the day at
age 16 when she had lost her virginity until perhaps an hour ago,
had she ever really known what sex was all about, what true
carnal pleasure could be, what submission to a strong individual
could do.  She had always liked sex. but really, certainly could
have done without it, too- but now?

Now it was hours later.  He had gone, almost without a word and 
she had to deal mentally with the evening's almost incredible
events.  Well, one thing of which she was certain- she would not 
be seeing him again.  He had brutalized her- well, not exactly
brutalized, but he certainly had spanked her.  Not that it had
hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity.  And he had
done strange things, disgusting things.  Like putting his finger 
into her anus, and then, of all things, kissing her there, a wet,
thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as far as he could. That was
absolutely bestial.  Animals behaved like that, not intelligent
people.  And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in 
pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before
leaving, firmly pinched her nipples, made her call him Master,
and made her suck his then semi-soft cock, brought him back erect
and was quickly impaled again on it.  Now she lay resting in bed,
thinking about all this, about the moment when he first took her,
spanked her and then stripped her bare and spanked her again,
brought her nude and excited into her own bedroom, stripped his
own clothes off and paraded around the room showing off his very
rigid erection, with the absolute implication of what he was
going to do with that awful thing -- right here, she thought, in
this very room, in my own bed.  And she found herself getting
overheated once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices
flowing.  Crazy,  she thought, absolutely crazy.  She was going
to cum again. 
 
She thought about the spanking- actually several spankings that 
he had given her, all with his bare hand against her naked
bottom, with her trying to twist away from the strokes, but at 
the same time, raising up slightly, perhaps unconsciously, to be 
accessible, to offer a more tempting target.  No man had ever
spanked her before.  In fact, in her entire life the only
spanking she received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening
coming home late and slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she
had found her mother waiting up, furious.  Her jeans were taken 
down, then and there, and her bottom basted by a very angry
parent.  That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than the
one did tonight. 
 
Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this
experience.  She would call Sara.  Now that they were really
close she would tell her everything.  Sara would just love to
hear about this adventure.  She loved kinky things and kinky
clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate, kinky 
talk.  Sara would flip!!!  Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I 
call her at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story. Helen lay back 
in bed, nude,  voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange 
thoughts.  This WAS a strange adventure, a marvelous kinky
adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one to be savored,
to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and
understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a
particularly  private moment (perhaps while lying with her face 
between Sara's elegant breasts, while kissing and gently sucking 
a mouth-watering, responsive nipple).  This was an experience to 
be digested and analyzed and understood, but NOT one to be 
repeated.

She chanced to look at her telephone, on the nightstand next to
her bed.  She willed it to ring.  Let some one call me, she
thought, anybody.  Nobody  did.  She thought, what if it rings
right now, and it is him- Tyrone, that bastard- and he orders me
to get into my car and drive to his house, stark naked, right
now!!!   Would I? she wondered.  She looked at her nightstand. 
There, on a sheet of paper was his parting shot- his telephone
number, written there just as he was leaving.  His verbal order
to her to call him tomorrow night, exactly at nine, or suffer the
consequences-- whatever that might mean.  Call him tomorrow?-
well, he could just forget about that.  She meant to crumple up
that piece of paper, right now, and to put it in the ashtray and
light a match to it- as if burning it meant burning the
relationship and burning that bastard Tyrone at the same time. 
But just then she did not have a match handy, so it would wait
until tomorrow.  Yes, she thought, I will burn it in the morning.

And speaking of burning, she thought, he certainly did burn my
bottom with that awful spanking.  And that thought was finally
too much for her- with a hand rubbing across her nipples,
caressing them, and the other hand teasing and rubbing her clit,
her body began to heave and shake and away she went into wild,
total orgasm again!! 

Helen had before tonight, very limited extramarital experience. 
In each of the three or four times that she had been bedded down,
the man was of the same type- a mature, intellectual,
professorial type, a man for whom she had profound respect, a man
who respected her own intellectual strength and her breeding, who
treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case 
was almost a clone for her husband. Every time so far the appeal
had been mental.  Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these
things that had interested her in the past.  He was a totally
different specimen- mature, yes, but not a great mind, not a
scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not
muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that 
she could identify.  She giggled, thinking that his penis wasn't
all that huge either, big enough certainly to get the job done,
but not huge either, like some of those that she had admired in
porno flicks.  Well, if the appeal wasn't mental, and it wasn't
completely physical either, then what was it?  What DID this guy
do that was so special?  All he did was take charge, ignore what
she wanted (or thought she wanted) take control of her,
discipline her, and--- well, what else, she thought. 
 
The next morning she could think of nothing else.  But now she
had better personal insight in to what had really happened. He
had somehow peeled off the veneer layer from her,  and had gotten
down to the core, to what she felt was the fundamental person
inside.  He made her feel like a true love slave, ready, anxious 
to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely
wierd point about this whole episode was that she did not love 
this man- she did not even especially like him and did not
respect him. He did not have the deep bass voice that she 
sometimes found sensuously attractive.  He was not especially 
handsome nor tall.  He had no great brain.  What he did have was 
a certain presence, a command of the situation that she found 
just incredibly overpowering.  And he wanted her, obviously
wanted her, physically wanted her, carnally wanted her, and could
and would all but own her, body and soul, but mostly body. 
 
She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and
found that Sara was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the
details as she was in telling them.  Helen found this part of the
adventure just doubly delectable- lying nude with Sara, her lips
nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue probing, her
hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching
between Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding exquisite
cream in that scrumptious cunny.  As the adventure proceeded,
Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom she had
met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long,
how, when, where.  Sara seemed to want to participate, but
vicariously, afraid really to cross the line and join directly in
the adventure.  And this Helen wanted to protect her from, not
really knowing where it was going.  Sara was Helen's secret. So
Sara knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and
his friends, but Tyrone never knew about Sara. 
 
Helen thought through her situation--her husband will be gone for
a month or more and for that month she has a master, one who owns
her, will train her in the image that he finds desirable.   He
will spank her when he pleases, perhaps in the privacy of her
bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching. That much he
has already told her.  She knows that she should flee him, refuse
to see him again or even speak to him.  And she is entirely
certain that she will not do that- that tomorrow she may be
terrified of what can happen, but she knows that she WILL see him
again.  And she will be spanked by him- and she is, of course. 
Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at all
severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare
hand or mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom.  They do
not even especially hurt.  They perhaps more than anything else
are symbolic, both to him and to her, of his sexual domination. 
They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving her heaving and
gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to
please him even more.  And he promises her nothing more than
regular, almost constant excitement, wild new adventures,
exciting new friends, and orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!!!! 
 
And so she does not go to Europe that summer.  She decides that 
the pressures at work are too great, that she cannot get away, 
that Herbert will travel alone and enjoy himself, that his
freedom will be good for him, invigorating. She tells all this to
Sara, and Sara thinks it is hysterically funny.  Sara believes
that women are mostly cunt anyway (expressed in exactly that
phrase).   She believes that all women occasionally have their
brains in their vaginas but that Helen's brains now are totally
confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that conclusion, Sara
leans forward, finds that delightful appendage, and emphasizes
her point by giving it a lovely kiss).  Sara thinks that Helen is
currently involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps
best called Mind Fuck, in Sara's judgment an effective and
acceptable form of therapy.   She approves of this adventure,
conditionally.  That is, the idea is good, the events so far have
been fun and very, very different. This will all be OK so long as
it can be kept in perspective and no long term damage is done.
She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows all about
him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been
so interesting.  Her only complaint is that Helen does not  have
as much private time for Sara, but the time they do have together
is absolutely marvelous- more intimate and exciting than it had
ever been before. 

So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her feminine
wiles of the past are useless, a man who has captured her, has
used her thoroughly and often and made her love him for it,
conquered her totally employed her sexually in every conceivable
way, introduced her to threesomes and foursomes and orgies,
photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses, kept her
constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces,
a series of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but
marvelously, voluptuously dangerous and exciting at the same
time.  The queen has become a willing sex slave to a highly
imaginative master, and never has she felt herself so much a
woman as now. 

In one of their private moments, Helen had confided some of her
unrealized fantasies to Tyrone.  One of these related to having
sex with a black man, something that she had thought about for
years, but had obviously never done.  Tyrone was fascinated with
the concept, but decided it needed expanding upon.  He knew of a
black couple, professionals, intelligent, and interested
themselves in swinging.  He arranged the meeting.  The two of
them, Helen and Tyrone went to the apartment where the black
couple, George and Grace, lived. Tyrone had told her that these
two were middle aged -perhaps late 30s or early 40s, and quite
attractive.  He was a physician, she a clinical psychologist and,
according to Tyrone, the least inhibited person that he knew. 

The prearranged plan was simplicity indeed.  The two women would
play with each other while the men watched.  And when all were
ready, they would simply swap...that is, Helen with George and
Grace with Tyrone.  The apartment was large, furnished well and
with taste- obviously the home of a successful couple.  Tyrone
had instructed Helen to bring along baby-doll nightie and bikini
panties.  Grace was already dressed that way, a short,  extremely
attractive, curvaceous lady, golden brown in shade, with an
exotic figure, short, curly black hair, a large red mouth, a
dashing pink tongue,  huge dark flashing eyes, and an entirely
winsome expression.  She appeared to be sex personified.  Helen
liked her immediately.

After some preliminary conversation, Grace led Helen to the
bedroom to dress, and of course, helped her to undress for her
baby-doll.  First though, Grace turned her face up for a kiss. 
When Helen responded, Grace thrust her tongue out what seemed to
be six inches, bathing the back of the roof of Helen's mouth-
what seemingly was the most exotic first kiss that Helen had ever
received.  Of course, the fact that Grace was unzipping this and
unhooking that all the while, delightful parts were coming
uncovered and bare and could be touched, and stroked and
stimulated.   This only fueled the flames that her tongue had
lit.  They continued this exchange of astonishingly appetizing
kisses, deep-tongue kisses, and almost forgot the two men waiting
for them.  Helen had a good look at her delightful playmate, at
her luscious golden, small but shapely titties with their spiffy
chocolate covered nipples, and that curly, sable pubic triangle
and the pink clit that seemed to be peeping out at her, at her
scrumptious hips and thighs and that beautiful ass, and thought
that she would have been just as glad to forget the men for the
evening- that she was really taken with this Grace and that what
she wanted from her was really more than a hors d'oeuvre.  Grace
would have made a delectable main course.  That was not to be, at
least not this evening.

A few moments later, the ladies emerged, arm in arm, obviously
already well acquainted.  Grace peeled Helen out of her baby-
doll, to show her figure off to George, then took off her own,
and nude, the girls began their enchanting love-play, with an
almost delirious audience.  Deep tongue kisses were exchanged,
nipples were lovingly stroked and kissed, clits petted, kissed,
sucked, vaginas were tasted, each girl doing the foreplay for the
other to prepare her for the injection which would soon follow. 
Along the way, the two men stripped.  Helen looked up, first saw
Tyrone nude and hard.  Across the room, George was also nude,
very large, very erect, obviously very ready for Helen.  Helen
was very ready for George, too.

The girls separated, each going to a man.  George put his arm
around Helen, captured the cheek of her bottom in his hand, and
led her to a bedroom.  Once through the door, he turned her
towards him, delightfully squeezed both cheeks of her scrumptious
ass, his rigid cock pressing against her belly.  They exchanged a
deep, wet kiss.  In only a moment, Helen was on the bed, on her
back, her legs spread wide, George's eager face between her
thighs, his tongue tasting her now squishy-wet pussy.  She turned
around so that they were in a position of 69.  She took his huge,
thick, chocolate Tootsie Roll in her hand, squeezed it, leaned
towards it, kissed it, and took as much of it as she could into
her mouth.  For long moments, she sucked the rigid ebony bar,
really enjoying the sensation as it throbbed in her mouth.  It
was almost too much to contain and it hurt her jaw a bit, but it
was that very well known pleasure-pain, that lovely combination
of the best of both.  It was her intention eventually to turn
around and take him in her fully-ready vagina, but they waited an
instant too long.

Now understand this moment.  Before Tyrone, she had done oral sex
only a relatively few times, practically never with her husband. 
She had done it with each of her previous lovers, but generally
as a means of erecting an otherwise flaccid penis, perhaps after
they had already had intercourse once.  No man had ever cum in
her mouth.  Even Tyrone, who had undeniably expanded her
experiences in sucking a cock, and who certainly could have cum
in her mouth if he chose to, did not do so. The  thought of a man
squirting his thick, oily essence into her fully ready vagina was
pleasant, even downright exciting.  And since she had recently
been re-introduced into anal sex (and liked it, in typical
masochistic fashion), having a man cumming into her anus was
fine, even fun.  Still, the idea of a cock going off into her
mouth, while not actually disgusting, was perhaps a little bit
frightening- the ultimate invasion of her personal privacy.  And
now, right now, it obviously was going to happen. 

She just knew it was going to happen, that he was going to go off
like a fire hose.  She thought that she did not even know what to
do.  She did not have to do anything.  He grabbed her face with
both his hands. pulled her closer so that most of his full depth
was inserted in her mouth, the glans almost down her throat.  She
could not help but think of a porno film that she and Sara had
watched together in which the heroine has sucked down a huge
prick, taking the whole thing, taking it all the way to her
lover's orgasm.  Now she could feel George approaching orgasm-
the head of his cock swelled even larger, receded, swelled again,
and then suddenly a thick, hot, oily, salty squirt against the
back of her palate.  Her gave her a huge oral injection, and in
the position she was, she could do nothing other than to swallow
it down.  And with his tongue furiously stroking her, the sheer
masochistic sensation overpowering her, she had orgasm, too, a
wild response on her part to an absolutely wild feeling.

So she had been treated to her first taste of cum, and a royal
mouthful it was.  And she had dutifully swallowed it down, and
had herself cum while doing it.  A marvelous experience!!!  What
in the world, she wondered, had she been afraid of?  The taste? 
Well, yes, a bit strange, but certainly not unpleasant, perhaps
similar in a sense to raw oysters, she thought.  She felt
disappointed, on the one hand, because she had really wanted
George to measure her internal dimensions with that gorgeous
monster, to probe her for depth and diameter.  On the other hand,
she did have the experience of servicing him orally, all the way,
and had been rewarded for her efforts by his obvious pleasure and
by the copious salty (and marvelously palatable, no question
about that) squirt he had shot down her throat.

They rested together for a bit, and as he relaxed, she knelt on
the bed before him.  Now, absolutely unafraid, with a new feeling
of confidence and control. she leaned forward, her lips brushed
against his now semi-soft prick.  She thrust out her tongue,
licking its length, and marveled at it as it grew before her
eyes.  In only an instant, or so it seemed, he was erect again. 
He pulled her on top of him.  She spread a leg on either side,
now perched above that again large, fairly hard, brown rod.  His
hands were on her hips, slowly pulling her down, impaling her
squishy cunt until his full depth was buried. It felt absolutely
marvelous.  It stretched her beyond where she had ever before
been expanded. Now they rode, now his hands holding and squeezing
her behind, which she just loved, and later holding each luscious
breast, gently pinching her nipples, but all the while stroking
upwards, deep, slow plunges, and with the front of his shaft
gently massaging her clit on each stroke.  For another ten
minutes this went on.  Helen perhaps had another orgasm then,
perhaps not.  She did not later remember.  George certainly did,
inundating her with another lovely flood.

A while later, they walked out, nude, hand in hand, to the other
bedroom, to find Grace in the identical position, sitting astride
Tyrone's cock. As they walked in, they were behind the couple
making love, and had an intimate view of Grace's elegant,
shapely, full bottom, her thighs spread, Tyrone's prick inserted
deeply in her pussy.  As she stroked up and down they were
treated to the sight of the muscular action in her rump, a
totally erotic sight to Helen.  Grace bent forward to give Tyrone
a long kiss, now lying parallel over him, rubbing her titties on
his chest, and exposing as she did so, her winking brown rosette. 
It seemed to be begging for a kiss, so Helen did just that- knelt
behind, bent her head forward, kissed it lovingly, and attempted
to thrust her tongue through.  That seemed a totally appropriate
gesture for the marvelous feelings that she had just now.  She
began to laugh, but nobody quite knew why.  She thought, just at
that instant, that she had become a graduate student again, this
time in a PhD program in Advanced Fancy Fucking.  And that Tyrone
was her tutor. She was currently doing research for her
dissertation, that Grace's apartment was her laboratory.  She
giggled--yes, she would report that to Sara tomorrow, and they
would be hysterical together.

One point to be considered.  Helen had isolated Sara from her
experience with Tyrone.  But she did report everything to Sara,
so she did tell her all about George and Grace.  Perhaps of the
entire affair this was the portion that most excited Sara.  There
was nothing to be done about it then.  However, perhaps a year
later, when Tyrone was history, the topic came up between the
girls for perhaps the hundredth time, and Helen agreed to
introduce Sara to the black couple.  They all met for dinner, and
retired to Helen's house for dessert (Herbert was away).  Would
George like to see all three girls naked and playing  together? 
Oh wow!!! But yes.  Would it be OK so far as Grace was concerned? 
Well, certainly. And did they?  Of course. In a marvelous kind of
daisy chain, like a reverse Oreo Cookie, a mouth-watering
chocolate layer sandwiched between two whites. And was he given
his choice of the three to try on for size, personally?  Well,
yes he was.  And who was the choice?  That question is
ridiculous.  You know the answer to that.  And did Helen and
Grace play their own private games while George reamed out Sara's
scrumptious cunt?  Don't even bother to ask.

But now back to the great Tyrone adventure.  For the two year
period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly dancing
lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at
the end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly
dancer, an elegant, exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had
learned this dance in the old country as a girl.  This older
woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen.  She is slim,
lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half
her age.  She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and
two other ladies as an advanced class, taught privately. She has
taught them things that the YWCA classes did not even
contemplate- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she
has taught them about the sexuality of the dance.  She believes
that belly dancing is inherently erotic, that it is meant to
excite both the dancer and the watchers, and that it is senseless
and practically impossible for the dancer not to have sex after
she is through dancing.  If she has no partner available, then
masturbation is expected and understood. She believes that belly
dancing without orgasm following is absolute nonsense.  Sara, of
course, has a young, strong, very vigorous husband.  When she
comes home from a lesson, he is delighted to help relieve her of
her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored,
traditional way.  Helen's husband, on the other hand, is not
always there and is not as sexually involved.  For her,
masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual. 
 

Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun,
marvelous exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings
imaginable. When she began her lessons, she thought that they
might put some thrills in her otherwise hum-drum workaday
existence.  Well, she thought, they certainly have done that. 
Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting
forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of
the female movements in sexual intercourse.  Consider the
source,too.  Belly dancing was first done in the Harems of the
Sultans in the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers were always harem
slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure that
the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs,
and a delicious, magnificent bottom.  Helen's figure matches this
description exactly. 
 
And further, the Harem slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose
whole purpose is pleasing her master, however he might wish to be
pleased.  It is her responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond
control, so that he will then take her, manfully, forcefully. 

During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students  dress in
sweatpants and shirts and tennis shoes, a ragpack looking group,
not in the least pleasing in appearance.  After the YWCA phase,
the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara and the ladies buy the
appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials, designed 
to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are
apparent, nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and
bottoms carnally displayed as much as they are hid.  One Saturday
afternoon, the girls made an excursion to Greek Town to an
obscure shop, and bought the costumes.  Later in the week they
met, each to see how the other looked dressed.  Helen looked very
attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous.  Her pitch black
hair, intense brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring
gave her an Italian look, almost like Sophia Loren.  She was sex
personified in this costume, her gorgeous body almost completely
revealed and still hidden slightly.  She looked the perfect
Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems
think await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to
satisfy, to give perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost
beyond the comprehension of mortal man. 
 
Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then,
one for the other, obviously both very stimulated.  Sara
approached the end of her dance, and in Harem manner, began to
remove the few articles of clothing she wore. First the
pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and
underpants.  Helen removed her own pantaloons.  Sara unbuttoned
the vest, showing Helen her gorgeous breasts for the first time,
utterly delicious looking love apples, high and full and firm,
with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect, almost
demanding to be kissed.  Helen stared, transfixed.  Sara danced
closer, took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and
danced, her legs spread, her podex wiggling, her black pubic
triangle in front of Helen's eyes.  She turned, her gorgeous bare
bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the
cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss
it.  Helen stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her
glance away from the heavenly sight of Sara, now turned again
towards her, her legs slightly spread, her unbelievable
femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward
and back, offering itself for her kisses. Helen pulled off her
few items of clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and
moved forward, her face now between the dancers legs.  And for
the first time, she kissed that glorious cunny.  Her tongue found
the erect clit.  She massaged it wetly.  Now the two nude girls
stood, the dancing stopped though the music went on.  They kissed
deeply and wildly.  In an instant they were on the couch, in a
position of 69, each feasting on the sopping, squishy. appetizing
cunt of the other.  Both have found the only logical, the only
possible end of a true Harem belly dance when no man is present. 

And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has
decided that Helen will do a public performance of the belly
dance, before a small audience, in his own home. An elegant
buffet has been catered and served, with fine wines.  The group
is small, but intelligent.  The conversation has been lively. 
The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed over coffee and
dessert.  They are ready for entertainment and Helen has gone to
don her costume.  She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest,
deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples
are easily visible.  She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again
of a diaphanous material through which her panties can be seen,
again  almost transparent, and through which can be seen the
shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage of her
behind.  She is wearing a boxfull of junk jewelry, assorted
baubles and bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and
greens and yellows and blues.  She has on dazzling makeup, and a 
spray of perfume in strategic places.  The perfume itself is a
special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent.  It is potent
when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused
her body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air
takes on a carnal, erotic aroma, almost like incense.  This
arouses her, and she knows that it excites the audience.  There
will not be a flaccid cock in the room, later on. 
 
She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and 
slow and rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well
as hear.  She dances in, her body throbbing in time with the 
music, her sexuality obvious, her exhilaration clearly showing.  
Those present applaud, enjoying the private show.  Very soon, the
tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements 
change.  Quickly her master signals her.  Her pantaloons are 
removed.  She dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in 
constant motion, more excited now than before.  The master
signals again.  Her vest flutters down.  She now stands bare
breasted before the audience, her nipples rigidly erect, her
almost orgasmic feeling growing.  Will her panties come off,
next?  Of course they do.  Now she is nude, continuing the
motions, the parody.  She knows what to expect next.  She is 
wild with shameless carnality, with arousal.  The sensual music 
is itself seductively hypnotic.  The aphrodisiac aromas, the 
mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her  permeate 
the room.  In her mind she knows that never has she looked so 
exciting as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a 
true wanton, never so much like a woman. 
 
When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it
concludes with the nude dancer being given for the night to one 
or more of the guests.  Sometimes the person selected will take 
her, then and there, with the others watching, cheering him on. 
She will already be fully ready.  No foreplay is necessary. The
male selected may or may not need further stimulation.  If so,
the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to
excite him, to prepare him to take her.  And when he takes her,
he will take her however he pleases, in any orifice in any way. 
Will he want to spank her naked bottom with a strop or a cane? 
Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan or any
other person there.  He is the chosen guest and has been given
the use of the dancer, and use her he will, as he pleases. 
 
There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan. 
In those days, a eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo 
cane.  If the Sultan decided that the dancer's pace was too slow,
or if there was a certain movement that he wanted emphasized, a 
sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer across her 
behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results.  This might be 
repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel.  Tonight, 
of course, there is no eunuch and none would be needed. 
 
This night, the audience is composed of the master, three other 
men and a woman, her master's friends.  She has not seen any of 
them before this evening.  Helen dances on, now turning her back 
to the audience, bending far forward, and slightly spreading her 
legs. Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from those
watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex 
wiggling and wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at 
those watching.  As she is bent forward, her body so intimately 
exposed to those who watch, her own feelings are of gigantic 
stimulation.  She knows that soon her master will give her for 
the night to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the 
men, or perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her 
part to please this person.

She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it
is as much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if
she really was a slave.  And in a sense she is.  Since she has
come under the control of this master, she has been getting
regular punishment- which she loves and hates at the same time. 
There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned
over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her
master's hand- it is not.  The spankings are not at all that
hard.  But at the same time, she adores the wild sexuality that
she feels when spanked, knowing that her master will then use her
in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his friends.

Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but
never has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man. 
Yes, he totally is boss and she would not willingly have him any
other way. And she absolutely revels in the joy she feels as her
master shows off her beautiful body to strangers and willingly
shares her most intimate charms with others. 
 
She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning.  At times her 
back is turned to the audience, and they then are treated to the 
sight of the muscles working in her beautiful thighs and ass, a 
particular delight in the eyes of her master and provocative 
absolutely to any man.  Perhaps whomever gets her tonight will 
want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and 
spread-legged bend forward that emphasizes that particular
delight to the audience, signifying perhaps that there is 
orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong man.  And who will
the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps right
there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions?  Maybe it 
will be the woman this time.  She is attractive enough, about 40,
shapely, quite well dressed, with a good, slim figure. Her name
is Amy, an executive in the fashion industry, and during dinner
her contributions to the conversation were lively and animated
and interesting.  Helen dances a little bit, just for her, and
this is immediately obvious to all.  Yes, Helen thinks, that one
might just spread her thighs  and Helen would kneel between them
cheerfully, gladly looking into and then kissing and worshipping
her glorious femininity.

Perhaps it will be one of the men.  One, seated in the center, 
attracts her especially. He is an attorney named Paul, a man of
refinement and power, very obviously successful, understated in
dress. He is tall and sturdily built, perhaps 50, salt and pepper
grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful look-- and obviously now
very aroused. Now, she dances especially for him, facing him, her
thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and
as she moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly,
her pink clit now erect and peeping out at him.  The perfume is
now at its fullest effect and the sight of her nude body,
obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be conquered, has
all of the audience incredibly excited.  They now want the dance
to end and to see Helen take up another challenge-  the total
satisfaction of another person. 
 
The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize. As 
she had hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair.  He 
seizes her immediately, his hands rubbing across her back and 
down over her bottom, and as he grasps each cheek of her rump in 
a huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long, wet kiss, his 
tongue plunging deep in her mouth.  And of course she responds to
his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples 
rubbing against his shirt.  They are in full view of the others, 
but she does not care at all who watches- in her mind she is a 
fully stimulated slave girl who will do her utmost, her absolute 
utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as her lover for 
tonight by her master.  He bends slightly forward, taking a 
nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost
too hard for her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating.  He
stands and his trousers immediately drop to expose a monstrous 
erection, standing straight out, all but pointing at her.  Helen 
drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do.  She 
greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head 
with her slippery tongue. The dance has done what it always does 
for her-left her feeling almost orgasmic.  Now she wants to pay 
homage to this lovely huge cock, to make it even more ready so 
that it will invade her body, give her spectacular pleasure and 
then squirt its full tribute into her.  And she will willingly do
as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where 
this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure 
whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with 
her new lover, cummmming for him  again and again until he has 
had enough. 
 
He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his
clothing so that he, like she, is nude. She wonders if this new 
lover will want to spank her first- there is master's leather 
strop, hanging on a hook on the wall.  Will he want to use this 
on her, to demonstrate his total control?  He does not.  She
drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured 
by him.  He kneels before her, first giving her enticing, wet 
pussy a deep tonguing kiss.  She responds wildly, raising her 
bottom up to meet him, throwing her legs up and back so they rest
on his shoulders.  He raises his head, thrusts a finger into her 
oily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and searches for and 
finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her bottom. 

She gasps.  She knows that he will very quickly make her cumm for
the first time this evening- that she had practically but not 
quite been there a number of times during the dance, and this 
oral stimulation and anal stimulation she cannot resist.  But not
yet.  He moves his body forward so that his rigid cock is at her 
outer portals.  She will get, will need, no further foreplay.  
Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until 
it's entire depth is planted in her.  It feels simply marvelous- 
stretching her, filling her with true masochistic joy to be 
impaled on this huge log of a cock in the presence of this very, 
very interested audience.   He strokes back and then forward 
again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him 
best. She feels waves of pleasure, consistently increasing in
amplitude, taking her with each slow stroke closer to some edge,
to some cliff over which she must soon plunge. She feels more
absolutely vanquished than ever before.  And suddenly, she locks
her arms around his neck and says loudly for all to hear,
ooooooh,oooooo I'mcummmmmmmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!".  Her new lover
beams, his macho self-esteem satisfied.  He has conquered this
tigerish bitch.  He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond
ecstatically and wildly, made her surrender totally her orgasm to
him.  He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant, a hero.  And
he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and
stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps.  He
continues the slow pace.

 Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished
at all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep
powerful strokes, his finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping
time with the strokes of his cock.  Never has she enjoyed fucking 
so much as this instant, but at the moment she thinks how
dreadful it is to do this with people watching, how embarrassing,
how disgraceful, how utterly appalling, how dangerous, how
absolutely sensualistically marvelous!!.

And her thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this
whole event,  choreographed it, and she loves him for
understanding her so well, for analyzing her needs for sensation
and humiliation and having them satisfied.  Her head turns, she
sees the audience watching, transfixed.  The woman is obviously
aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen,
though she has her panty-hose on.  They make eye contact.  The
woman's lips purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen
makes the response, her tongue emerging and making a licking
motion.  Helen knows, absolutely knows, that when the others
leave, that lady will remain, those panty hose will come off, and
Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights
and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight,
and at the thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes
through the throes of a second orgasm. 
 
Another hour passes.  Two of the guests have left already.  Paul
is now fully dressed, immaculate looking again.  Helen knows that
he would like to see her again, but the understanding that she
has with her master prevents private contact.  If he is to see
her, Tyrone will arrange it.  He leaves.  Helen has showered,
sipping a small glass of brandy, still nude but now relaxed.
Tyrone is not in sight, nor Amy.

Helen has a reflective pause, thinking of the evening and its
events.  She has been, she thinks, spectacularly, forcefully
fucked.  In public, so to speak, before an audience who saw every
facet of the engagement.  Never before had she been as well
satisfied.  Was it Paul- a man of obvious charm, potent physical
attraction for her, undeniable virility, spectacular sexual
technique. Or was it the circumstances, the erotic dance, the
public nudity, the outrageous exhibitionism.  She simply did not
know which of these things, singly or in combination, had so done
her in.  Paul's massive dimensions were undoubtedly impressive-
bigger than she had ever had before, and perhaps that alone would
have satisfied her so well.  Ladies, talking vulgarly, often say
that bigger is better, but that technique transcends everything. 
If so, he would have been rated super-superior on both scores.
But she knew that his huge erection notwithstanding plus his
outstanding technique, a massive component, for her, of this
feeling of satisfaction was the awareness that all of this was
forbidden and dangerous, and therefore doubly delightful.  And in
that same context, she knew that Tyrone's rules or no, that she
would be seeing this Paul again.  He did not know where to find
her?  Well, perhaps, but she knew where to find him, and there
certainly was nothing that prevented her from initiating the
contact, if she chose to do so.  Perhaps  she would so choose.

A moment later, Amy appeared, with Tyrone.  She was wearing a
revealing Teddy top that showed her sweet, sexy figure.  They
joined Helen in a brandy. As it was designed, Amy was offered to
Helen, or perhaps vice versa.  Amy has had definite lesbian
interests, so far unresolved.  Tyrone, moving people as another
would move chess pieces, has put her in a situation offering the
maximum of temptation along with the maximum of opportunity.

Tyrone left the room, the ladies alone, sipping their respective
brandies, obviously very interested in each other. Helen is
bewildered.  She has had sex, marvelous, successful sex tonight
that transcended all her earlier experiences, and here she was,
excited again, interested in seeing what made this Amy tick.
Their hands touched and in an instant, their lips- and then
deeply, their tongues.

In only a moment, Helen was on her knees before the enthralled
Amy, taking a closer look at those feminine charms earlier hinted
at, and now clearly displayed for her.  She knew that Tyrone
expected that she would bury her face between these lovely
thighs.  She very strongly thought that Amy also wanted exactly
that, though just now she does not know if Amy wanted  to, was
ready to reciprocate.  Helen's lips worked their way down Amy's
body- over little but very shapely breasts, offering sweet
sucking kisses to each nipple. Down across her tummy, paying a
salutation in passing to her naval.  And across her curly black
triangle until, descending further, she found that sweet, creamy
moisture that she knew she would find, that little clit
protruding slightly and awaiting her nibbling kisses.  And
immediately, Amy's thighs clenched around Helen's face, locking
her in a passionate grip.  In only seconds, Amy cumms, sweetly,
quietly, but with great movement of her hips and bottom.

 Helen relaxed, lying back nude, comfortable, wondering if Amy
will choose to return the compliment.  And Amy, slowly, almost
haltingly at first, overcame her own natural shyness and explored
Helen's body with lips and tongue, every crevice, every lovely
part until she brought Helen to yet another orgasm. And, of
course, Tyrone has returned- he stood in the doorway, silently,
approvingly, watching the love play between the two ladies, his
smile acknowledging the accomplishment of yet one more purpose of
his. He had invited Amy to an event that he thought would
stimulate her incredibly, and make her recognize her fantasies,
and then later would provide her the means of dealing with them,
of accomplishing them.  This is Tyrone, a Mephistophilian
personality, ready to probe your desires and fantasies, demanding
that you satisfy them (more or less publically) in order better
to satisfy his own desires and fantasies.  And are people happier
for having played Tyrone's little games?

Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time?  Well, he 
regarded it as a marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip 
through Europe with an aged business colleague of his- a widower
of 67. This is something that they two had discussed frequently
in the past, something they felt they would one day do, but for
which they had never found the opportunity. This was the chance.

The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully examining all
the gothic cathedrals in France, dined variously at elegant and
expensive restaurants and sometimes at simple local bistros,
sampled interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at grand hotels,
small inns  and castles, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire,
went to Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a
square mile or so of fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to
Brittany and saw Le Mont St Michael, went to Notre Dame (and
perhaps found the hunchback?) met two delightful elderly English
school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all I know, even
got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and
rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of
course me missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to
be said for an occasional separate vacation.  He thinks that it
gives one a chance to study, to think.  It cleans the mind and
gives one a clearer perspective of what things are all about.  
Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed
absolutely.  Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine
for the wife, but her husband is damn well never going to go
without her.  I believe her.  It seems that she thinks that she
had better keep an eye on him. 

So far as I am concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned
back into a pumpkin, as it always seems to do.  King Tyrone was
deposed, relegated to the history books.  He had been commanding. 
He had been interesting and fascinating in his way. He had shown
a new path to be explored that at the time seemed dangerous but
like most strange new ground, could indeed be surmounted.  Still,
it might be, should be regarded as an adventure experienced, a
lesson learned, a challenge successfully overcome.  Perhaps, at
times, there had been, to some small degree, personal discomfort
or even embarrassment. Indeed. But that was yesterday. Today, it
was clearly time to move on. 

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