textfiles/sex/EROTICA/A/angie-2.txt

    "PERFECT LOVER" by Jeff Sinclair Is reprinted from "BONDAGE LIFE"
published by "Harmony Communications", 15756 Arminita Street, Van Nuys
California. It is a collection of user submitted photos and letters
printed on a monthly basis in magazine form.

****************************************************************************


           "THE PERFECT LOVER"

                         by

                  JEFF SINCLAIR

     Angie MacDougal glanced at the clock and sighed. Almost 4:30 on the
second Friday of the month .... she'd better start getting ready.

     She headed for the bathroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. She
shucked it off and dropped it, kicking it moodily out of the way, and
looked into the mirror, naked to the waist but for her bra.

     She put her hands on her flaring hips, frowning as she inspected her
image critically. She knew she was good looking, but she thought her mouth
was too wide for perfection and she would have signed a five - year lein on
her soul for blond hair instead of the rich brown silk that framed her
face. Joe "said" he liked her hair, but the models in his magazines were
all blondes.

     She unhooked her bra, dropping it on her blouse and stroking her
breasts. Damn it! Why couldn't they be bigger? Oh, they were rich and
ample on her slender frame, but Joe's magazines went in for big breasted
women - and with "red" nipples, damn it! Not brown! Her gray eyes flashed
with frustration as she unsnapped her jeans and stepped out of them,
tossing them atop the rest of her clothing. She rolled her panties off and
pitched them aside, studying her nakedness, and the smooth white skin of
her bikini shadow looked back from the mirror, framing her nipples and the
chestnut brush at the junction of her smoothly swelling thighs.

     Most of the time she was pleased with her body, tonite she hated it.
It was the "wrong" body. Joe wasn't interested in her any more. Not
really.

     She sighed again and turned on the shower, braiding her hair up to
keep it dry. The water was stingingly hot but bearable, as she stepped
under it, gasping as it struck her fine-grained skin. She worked the soap
mitt over her body, feeling the tingle it left behind. Her nipples swelled
and a core of heat glowed in her belly, but it was only physical, she
thought sadly.

     She showered quickly, uninterested in the long, languid showers she
used to enjoy so, especially on alternate Fridays. She was mechanical,
brusque, her mind grappling with the disturbing thought she had only
recently faced. She switched off the water and reached for a towel, drying
briskly. Again her vibrant sensuality tingled, again it could not ease her
mind.

     She went to her vanity table and dutifully prepared herself. First
the delicate body perfume, applied to breasts and belly and satin thighs.
Then the lip gloss and eyeliner. She felt as if she were making up a
mannequin, a puppet .... because she was convinced this was how Joe saw
her now.

     She finished and slid into the tiny satin tie-panties, knotting the
cords in bows on either hip. She adjusted the tiny triangular cups of the
matching bra and tied its cords, then slipped into the diaphanous white
negligee. She looked at herself in the mirror again, and her appearance
sent a spurt of erotic fire down her nerves.

     She shrugged her shoulders sadly and opened the heavy trunk to finger
the gleaming leather and coiled ropes, trace the hard edge of a buckle,
stroke the firmness of a gag. Then she folded her hands in her lap and
waited. She sighed. Maybe it was her fault. She'd been scared the first
time Joe suggested Bondage. It took him Months to talk her into trying it.
The thought of being tied up, helpless, unable to protect herself ... those
thoughts frightened her, and she'd always been taught it was wrong. But she
loved Joe - she "still" loved Joe, more than ever! - and she'd agreed to
try it because he wanted her to.

     They'd started gently, with loose bonds and minimal helplessness.
The fear has been there, but it had been distant, and somehow it added to
the melting arousal Joe had always awakened in her. From the first, the
warmth of his lips, the tingling touch of his fingers, had been magic for
her. But with the ropes on her wrists, her hands held back out of the way
while his were free to roam and stroke and caress like a feathery lash of
fire, she'd come so achingly alive she hadn't been able to believe it. The
knowlege of her helplessness had fanned her lust, burning in her until
her body became a hollow vessel filled with fire. And, when he took her -
when he drove his demanding hardness gently into her - she had answered
with passion she had never before known. Their lovemaking had been
tempestuous, almost a battle, as the bindings on her wrists miracuously
freed her from all inhibition. Her flesh had quaked with the force of his
impaling strokes and her breathless answering thrusts. She had smoked and
burned, and when she had come, it had been like the end of the world.

     She had not hesitated when next he suggested Bondage, though she
didn't understand it. She'd thought it was something men enjoyed "doing
to" women - not that women enjoyed having done to them. But she had been
as eager as he, willing to try "anything" which added such a glorious
depth to her unabashadly erotic nature. It had not taken long to graduate
from simple, loose, almost imagined confinement into true Bondage -
immobilizing, often strenuous, sometimes downright strict Bondage.

     And that was when things changed. Angie shook her head sadly and put
a bare foot into the trunk, prodding the neatly arranged instruments of her
wild release and ultimate defeat.

     What had started out as something to try "just" to please Joe had
become important to her. Very important. It might have been different if
Joe were harsh. If he had wanted to tie her up so he could "hurt" her, she
would never have agreed to it. But he didn't want that. It was strange,
but somehow being bound had made her feel that she was even more precious
to him. He had been so gentle, so meltingly sensual in contrast to the
unyelding confinement of his ropes and straps and chains. The more
helpless she became, the more utterly immobile and defenseless she was,
the more she was awake, alive, "tuned" to his loving and commanding touch.
His need to confine her had been a form of worship, her need to be
confined had been a love offering which returned to her a hundredfold.

     But as Bondage became more complex, he seemed to become more
interested in the act of binding her than he was in "her". It was as if she
had become a model, a pliant body, a canvas on which to practice the art of
his ropes and straps. He spent more and more time studying magazines and
photos, searching, always searching for new ideas, new positions, new
concepts. He became a Master of Bondage, but as his mastery increased it
seemed to take him away from her, as if she were becoming just one more of
the video and magazine models whose bound beauty fueled his fantasies. He
bound her, and his ropes raised her to madness, but no longer for her
pleasure. Only for his, and even his fascination was with the binding and
not the loving.

     So now she sat at the foot of her bed and waited for her husband,
waited to become his captive once more. She did not doubt that she would
find physical pleasure before the night was done, but something inside her
was on the verge of tears at the thought of what she had given up when she
became no more than a vehicle for Joe's Bondage artistry.

     Angie looked up as Joe opened the bedroom door. She rose, and his arms
went around her, cradling her. She shut her eyes, pressing her face to his
chest, trying to pretend it was the way it always had been. But it wasn't.
She knew that it wasn't.

     "Well, Hon," he said cheerfully, "lets try something special tonite."

     "Sounds Good," she said, forcing herself to match his cheerfulness.

     "Why not take off the gown, Angie? Lets get started."

     Angie Nodded gracefully, trying to hide how his casual haste had
stabbed her. It hurt, but she said nothing. Instead, she opened the gown
and let it slide to the floor. Joe's eyes brightened further and he smiled.
The light in his face would have filled her with delight if she had been
able to believe it was for "her" and not just ths Bondage.

     When he reached out his hand to her, she put her fingers in his and
followed him across the room.

     He did not caress her. Instead, he buckled the thick collar snugly
around her slender neck. Angie's grey eyes widened, smoldering as she felt
the leather and a familiar surge of lust tingled through her loins, her
nipples hardening and swelling with aching heat. She smelled her own
passion, and that sent still stronger currents quivering across her
intimate flesh.

     Joe smiled at her and picked up the stretchy spandex hood. Angie
trembled as she always did when he chose to render her blind, the heat in
her climbed still higher, drumming in her blood.

     He slid the spandex over her motionless head, her eyes closing
involuntarily as it slipped down over her forehead and nose. She felt it
pressing down on her cheeks - then it stopped. She turned her head, eyes
open now, but seeing only the glow of diffused light through the fabric.
She heard a drawer open, and then he touched her chin, opening her mouth,
and frilly softness pressed between her lips. Her thighs shifted against
one another as she recognized the texture of her own panties. No other
gag had the same effect on her - not even the raging, panting passion she
felt when it was his shorts, still tasting of his sweat, could match it.
She moaned involuntarily, almost against her will  .... she knew the sound
would please him only in a detached, professional way. Then there was a
second pair of panties in her mouth. A third. And wide tape, clinging to
her lips, a second strip lower, across her rounded chin, a third strip
higher, drawing at the smooth skin of her cheeks. She felt his fingers,
burnishing the tape and the movement quivered through her. Her hands
gripped her naked thighs, and she trembled as he rolled the spandex fully
down.

     The hood covered her entire face and drew snug about her throat. He
adjusted it carefully, smoothing the excess fabric over her like a second
skin stretchy and strong, supple and possessive as a lover's hand .... as
his hand had once been.

     She stood motionless as he fastened a leather harness over the hood,
buckling it with exquisite care. The harder leather pressed against the
spandex, sealing her into a leather and cloth and tape scented darkness.

     She trembled as she breathed the incense of captivity, but his silent
absorption in his work chilled her.

     He crossed her wrists and braided cord around them. She turned her head
blindly, not needing to see to visualize the wide cuff winding around her
wrists. She'd seen it too many times, felt it too often. The rope's grip
spread evenly, caressing even as it imprisoned, never pinching.

     When he was satisfied, he looped the free end of the cord through the
ring on the back of her collar. He tugged gently, and Angie shifted as her
bound hands drew up to brush her shoulderblades. Once it might have hurt,
but she was experienced now. There was no discomfort - only the firm, grip
of his control.

     She trembled like a fawn as her hands were made captive. Sweat gleamed
on her flawless skin, beading her like precious rain. The damp fire at her
center rippled with heat, crackling in her nipples. She breathed through
her nose,  as he looped rope around her right elbow, then across her torso
and around her left elbow. He drew the cord taut, pulling her elbows in
against her ribs, arching her spine gracefully. He made three loops of the
rope, lacing the free end through the the front ring of her collar so that
the taut cord sank between her breasts, and she was curdled and wracked by
the pleasure washing through her. If only, she thought ... if only ....

     She could not see him as he eased her into the heavy wooden armchair
and knelt, noosing her ankles to the ends of the three foot spreader bar.
She felt the stretch and play of muscles under her butter smooth flesh. Her
limber body was spread gracefully as he opened her long, splendid legs. He
tied the cord, and Angie breathed deeply, making herself draw slow, even
breaths despite her pounding heart and the tremors in her intimate flesh.

     She cocked her head, trying to visualize his actions beyond the
spandex, but it was useless. She was his captive. His pliant toy. She had
become, all too truly, the object of his desire, not his lover. This sad
thought moved through her like a counterpointed rhythm. Somehow, it
sharpened her physical reactions even as it chilled her soul, and her body
reacted with a sort of mechanical eagerness as he lifted the spreader bar
to the chair arms, folding her in the wooden chair. She arched, her bound
wrists trapped firmly but gently between her shoulders and the chair back,
as he lashed the spreader in place, her spread knees framing her spandex
clad head.

     It was harder to breathe with her belly folded, but he didn't leave
her so for long. His hands slid into her armpits, hard and hot in the
sweat-damp hollows. He lifted her easily, gently as if she were a child.

     Angie gasped and jerked, erotic fire licking between her thighs as she
was bent over the top of the chair.

     He lifted her again, slipping a folded blanket between her and the
wood as a thin cushion - then the leather straps around her hood vibrated
as he laced rope through the ring atop her head and drew it down and around
the bottom rung of the chair.

     She was bent back, helpless, totally at his mercy, and the fire within
her grew. She trembled quiveringly, wrists and ankles tugging involuntarily
at her bonds as if to test their strength, to assure herself of her
captivity. Her bondage was a little more strenuous than usual, but he had
arranged it all so carefully, balanced her with such precision, that the
strain was no more than a minor garnish upon her passion. She felt herself
answering to the ropes, and half of her hated it, knowing that he would
leave it all to her helplessness. Knowing that her would ignore her as a
person, because all that mattered was the act and art of binding her.

     He would leave her now, she thought. Or perhaps he would strip her the
rest of the way first. But it was part of his ritual - this letting her
explore and savor the completeness of her helplessness in isolation. He
prided himself on the fact that his knowlege of her sensuality was so exact
he could guage to the second the moment when her inner fires would crest.
Only then - after the fire within her had impersonally consumed her and
melted her down - would he take her with a few, brisk strokes.

     She felt the gentle tugs as he untied her bra and plucked it from her
breasts. Her nipples rolled, captive to gravity as she was to his ropes,
pointing toward her arched, collared throat.

     Then he tugged again, opening first one side of her panties, then the
other, until they, too, fell free. She was naked. Arched and stretched over
the heavy chair, her glorious body bared and vibrantly, eagerly helpless.
Her head rolled. Not even the knowlege that he saw her as a priceless art
object instead of a woman could slake the furnace heat rousing within her.

     Suddenly, she jerked, gasping into her gag, as he touched her belly.
She moaned, confused, as he looped a single rope around her narrow waist and
cinched it tight. What was he doing? He NEVER touched her again this soon!
NEVER! Her nakedness was the signal that he was about to leave her to moan
in passionate loneliness! But he WAS touching her, and the departure from
routine confused her, made her feel shy, almost frightened. For the first
time in months she felt free of the portrait of his fascination with
Bondage.

     An end of the waist cord dropped over her pelvis, and Angie's thighs
shifted as the small loop in its end brushed her. What was he doing?!! Then
she felt him tying more cords to her waist rope, running them down her
belly, tucking them through the loop and letting them dangle between her
thighs. Her head rolled again, confused eroticism trickling through her
gag in little whimpers and quivering moans. He was tying another cord to
the loop! She twitched and jerked - not in fear, but in burning lust and
uncertainty as he carefully threaded the last cord between her thighs and
looped it around the chairback.

     She felt him adjust it minutely as it looped through the chestnut
curls of her crotch - then twisted in panting, gasping shock and delight
as he cinched it. It bisected her plump mound, its smoothness biting
gently but insistently up into her softness, sinking into her rear crevice.
Her hips shifted, and she groaned in delight as the cord moved against her
clitoris and deep within her ass, stabbing her with fire.

     But he wasn't done. The other cords from her waist rope were drawn
around her smooth thighs and then looped up under the waist rope to the
chair back. She moaned, her belly shimmying with pleasure spasms as he tied
them, gently pinching her petals together along the center cinch. Her hips
surged, and her eyes bulged under the spandex as the slight motion strummed
her bound body with strains of pleasure.

     He finished the last knot and his hands left her. She moaned, knowing
that now he would turn away indeed, now that he had provided the final,
perfect Bondage touch. She no longer needed his beautiful, masculine
hardness to bring her pleasure - she could do it herself, merely by
squirming against the ropes. And she knew she WOULD squirm. Her own lusty
nature would overpower her, and she would bring herself to whining pleasure
on the rope. The impersonal, mechanical rope. The rope that underscored
Joe's utter fascination with Bondage and his vanished concern with sharing
her bliss. Now the lonely waiting would begin ......


     But it didn't. Something warm and thick trickled onto her naked
breasts, its suddeness shocking her motionless. What? What was it?!! She
wasn't frightened - not of Joe - but her mind whipsawed with confusion, as
achingly, vibrantly sensitized as in the very first days of Bondage. She
squirmed, gasping at the delicious fire in her crotch. He was departing
from the routine she had come to dread. Once more, as she had not in far to
long, she felt the burning uncertainty, the wonderment and anticipation as
she tried to guess what he would do next!

     His fingers touched her, sliding through the wetness, ahe felt it
spread over her breasts. Oil. It was oil, she thought. She could even smell
its spicy, subtly erotic incense, and she moaned and quivered as his
fingers slid quickly over her fine grained skin. They toyed with her,
stroking and trickling, trailing flickeringly across her like little
tongues of flame. He captured her nipples, rolling them, drawing them,
letting the skim of oil between his flesh and hers communicate its fire
into her. The brown cherries swelled, thickening, hardening like heated
stones against the white bikini shadow, and Angie smouldered as she
shuddered.

     More oil caressed her ribs, trickling over her panting, velvet belly
and the tracery of her crotch ropes. The liquid tendrils oozed into her
deep navel, bubbling there, thrusting out thin tentacles that reached with
agonizing slowness towards her corded mound. She groaned, hips grinding
pleadingly, crotch rope stabbing her with fire as her mind wrenched free of
her unhappiness. She thrust herself at him, begging him to remove the rope,
to impale her, to take her now - while she burned - but his hands returned
to the oil. smoothing it over her ribcage, working across her shuddering
belly, down her smooth flanks. She sobbed under the spandex, afire with
lust and a throbbing tenderness she had not felt in months as his oily
hands slowly traced the insides of her thighs, brushing the passion into
her. The skin shimmered, muscles dancing under firm flesh, but "still" he
would not take her. She moaned slowly, languorously yet urgently, pleading
with him, and his hands teased and taunted, flickering madly over her
rope-kissed petals.

     Angie convulsed as a climax rippled through her. Then another. And
another! She gsaped in delight as each small shock thrust her against the
crotch rope, sparking yet another, and yet each bright flash of pleasure
only hinted at the world-smashing earthquake rumbling within her. And he
knew it. And SHE knew it! He understood exactly what was happening to her,
knew every nerve in her body was cable taut with need - and knew that the
longer she was denied, the longer his gentle, loving caresses made her
wait, the more volcanic and all consuming would be her explosion.

     He brought her to a dancing, groaning, shuddering pitch. Her pinnioned
body quivered and jerked, soaked with sweat under the gleaming oil, shining
like a precious statue as her own oils mingled with his, and STILL he would
not take her. She whined deleriously, wracked with the uncontrollable need
humming within her ... and then his hands left her.

     She gasped, bucking and jerking at the ropes. He couldn't! He couldn't
stop - not now! It would not be bliss to wait and anticipate when he had
brought her to such a fever pitch - it would be torture!

     Angie convulsed, groaning deep in her throat as his mouth suddenly
swept over her, his tongue probing her fountaining folds around the rope.
She whined as his lips and teeth nibbled and sought, delicately working her
rigid clitoris free of the cord, prisoning it so his tongue could lash it
with unendurable flame. Her eyes were wide and staring under the spandex,
her hair plastered to her scalp by sweat, her skin flushed rosily with
passion - and then she came.

     She came like the end of all creation. Armageddon exploded in her
flesh, a fireball racing outward from her center, bursting in her
stuttering nipples, erupting in the firm spheres of her breasts and burning
in her very bones. It raced outward with the speed of light, yet to her
fevered senses the shockfront was slow, languorous, licking out to consume
her with elegant grace.

     It raced out to the furthest extremities of her helplessly bound
beauty, raced out until she could actually feel it tingle in her toes and
ache in her fingers. And then it collapsed inward. It roared in like a
flaming cataract, cresting and curling and exploding as her muscles locked
down, writhing and shuddering in the shipwreck of orgasm.

     She screamed. Her head went back, the cords in her throat like iron
bars under the collar. Her thighs shuddered, her entire body vibrating and
quivering and rigid. She came again and again, writhing in a vortex of
passionate foam and striking lightenings.

     She came as she had not come in months. She came as, perhaps, she had
never come before.

     It lasted an eternity, yet ended too soon. The last shockwave flared
and died, guttering to extinction. Angie Slumped limp against her bonds,
head hanging, breasts heaving, sweat and oil dripping from her prisoned
flesh in slow, glistening drops. The tide of her passion flowed slowly,
gleaming wetly down her open thighs like spent strength. Yet even through
her delicious exhaustion, she felt the heat bubbling devilishly at her
center, ready to be roused once more. Ready to consume her afresh.

     Then he reached between her thighs, caressing her flutteringly, and
she gasped as a fingertip wormed past the crotch rope to pierce her gently.
hovering just inside her as he bent to kiss her through the spandex and
whispered in her ear.

     "I said it would be special, Angie," he whispered, "I think you
actually forgot this is our anniversary, didn't you?" Her head rolled as
far as it could as she tried to think, to pick her way through her scrambled
thoughts to understanding. She HAD forgotten. She had been so concerned
with what she had lost that she hadn't even thought about it.

     "Well, I remembered," Joe whispered again. "And this is your
anniversary present. Tonite is yours. All yours, because I may not have
told you often enough that I love you. You're going to come more times than
you ever have before. I promise. Because thats all I'm going to do - thats
how I'm going to spend the entire night. We can worry about me later."

     Angie drew a deep breath, trembling as fresh strength flowed into her.
She'd never felt ANYTHING like it! And he was going to do it again?!! Again
and again and again? He'd kill her! But what a wonderful, perfect, glorious
way to die!

     "You see," he whispered a final time, his hands gliding down her oiled
flesh as he sank to his knees before her again, "all that matters tonite
is you. I'm going to show you just how much I love you." And his mouth
descended upon her again.


     Angie twisted in delight as his tongue slid past the rope into her.
Damn! Oh, damn had she been wrong! Maybe he Was obsessed with the perfect
act of Bondage - but he was absessed with her, as well She moaned in
anguished pleasure as the pressure built, bearing her up towards the clouds
once more. And as she rose, she knew she'd been wrong.

     She wasn't just a medium for him to practice Bondage upon. She was
simply his, as he was hers. She was his captive, his prisoner, his eagerly
sharing partner, and she knew she would NEVER wonder about it again. Not
now.

     Not in the melting Bondage of her "PERFECT LOVER."