The Story of F, Part Two
Read part one of this story.
Now I nervously did just what my last sentence stated. I had surprised myself with my bluntness, my extremely blatant descriptions, of how each item would feel, of how they would be used. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long•about ten minutes later, there was a ding proclaming I had just received a new email, and of course, it was from “F.” I waited a few, very tense seconds, then opened it.
Subject: Re: My trip to the store
Please excuse my slight pause before sending you a reply…I could have replied instantly, as I was at my computer, but picturing you in the store, picking out your toys, and then picturing you using them, well, it kept me “busy” for a few minutes. I hope this isn’t too forward of me (but after your last email, I doubt it could possibly be so), but I was hoping you could do something for me.
I’d like you to put on the vibrator and the corset, and meet me at my apartment. I want you to come on your way here, to have to hide how much pleasure you’re experiencing, to maybe have it make you embarassed, to maybe make you blush, and fight to hide your climax, so make sure the vibrator is turned on high enough to bring you over the edge. Bring anything else you deem necessary. I live in the apartment complex six blocks down from you, on the corner of 17th and Lincoln. Tell the doorman you’re here to see The Duc de Blangis…or Franklin Pierce, if you’d prefer to be “incognito.” I doubt Jerry is familiar with de Sade’s masterwork, anyway, so any potential embarassment on your part would be far too minimal to be worthwhile.
Hoping to see you soon,
Now this was an interesting development. I actually knew his name now, and not only that•I had a chance to see him face to face! It took just a few seconds for me to decide what to do, and I guess you could say my pussy chose for me•it was already slick from his words, already anticipating what might come next. I pulled my dress over my head, wiggled out of my panties, and then paused for a moment, staring at the items on the bed. Did I really want to do this, meet an almost complete stranger in his home, not knowing what he’d do to me, what would happen?
Yes, I did. I really, really did. I picked up the vibrator, stepping into the straps, and cinched it up, the dildo sliding into me easy as anything. Its penetration, my pussy tight around it, well, it certainly didn’t dissuade me from turning it on. I almost jumped as the vibration began, and I realized that I was actually a little nervous. No, more than a little. But it was the good kind of nervous, the one often tinged with excitement and possibilities.
Next, I put on the corset, and had a bitch of a time getting it secured around me correctly. No wonder women of the past (women of the Marquis de Sade’s time, I thought, remembering Franklin’s comment) had help putting these things on. I did the best I could, though, wishing for a moment that Franklin was here, behind me, cinching up the ribbons, encasing me in leather. I looked at myself in the mirror on my bedroom door. My breasts, shoved tight against each other, practically overflowed over the top of the leather, and the pink, silicone butterfly cupping my mons pubis. The sensation from the part nestled against my clit, buzzing away, pushed me towards the door. The vibrator’s controler nestled in my hand, I rushed towards the door.
I slid on some ballet flats, the innocence implied by them a sharp contrast to my mostly-naked body. Then I put on a trench coat, grabbed my purse…and just as I was about to exit, I remembered the plug still sitting on my bed. Going back into the bedroom, I scooped it up and placed it inside my coat pocket. Looking down, there was a blatantly obvious outline, but I decided I’d just hold my purse in front of it.
Outside, the air was crisp, hints of winter carried towards me on an icy wind. I felt my nipples harden, fighting as best they could against the leather that restrained them. I knew the vibrations, pleasurable as they were, still couldn’t get me off in six blocks, so I reached into the front pocket of my purse, fumbling around until I had a quite noticeable answer to whether I’d turned the vibrations up or down. My body practically humming with pleasure, I did my best to keep my face still, hoping that I wouldn’t encounter anyone on the way to Franklin’s building.
The wind kept tossing my coat around, but I didn’t quicken my step. If I flashed anyone walking by, I hoped that it would be the least exciting part of my night, and maybe the least exciting part of theirs, as well. But it was a quiet night on the street, and I only passed by one person, a thirtysomething man walking his husky. He gave me a funny look as he walked by, then grinned and winked, looking like men always look when they’d decided you were just as perverted as them. I probably had a funny look on my own face, after all, as I was getting closer and closer to coming.
Then, just as I reached the apartment building that had to be Franklin’s, I felt that warm, flowing pulse, as my pussy clenched, once, twice•and then I was coming. I bit my lip as hard as I could, and though I could see the doorman standing next to the door, he was turned away at that moment, so he didn’t see me fighting to hide the pleasure I was feeling. Usually, when I come, I can’t help it•I make noises, ones that partners have always praised me for. “So, you’re a screamer?” they almost always say, and their look of awe always surprises me.
So, now that I had to control myself, to hold in all the signs of the pleasure I was feeling, I was practically shaking, and I couldn’t help it, a few noises escaped my lips. Then the doorman turned, and reached for the door, and I shut the vibrator off as quickly as I could, the last ripples of the orgasm making me shudder just a little.
“Miss? Are you here to see someone?”
“No,” I said, surprising myself. “No, I’m just going for a walk.”
“On a night like this? Brrr,” and he rubbed his gloved hands against each other, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t shaking because of the cold. “You should head home, heat up some chicken soup, maybe have some tea.”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” I said.
The next day at work, I asked around. Was there a Franklin Pierce who had one of the private offices in the building? My only responses were “no’s,” “uh-uh’s,” and the last few just shook their heads. I waited for a few days, to see if he’d send me another email, telling me how rude I’d been, that he wished I’d shown up, but I refused to write to him first. There was nothing, not a single email for weeks. Then, that December, my ex-boyfriend came to my apartment, surprising me with a bouquet of lilies, asking me to get back together with him. He said he’d received an email that week from one of my bosses, a Mr. Pierce, and the man had told him that I showed signs of missing Will, my ex, almost daily, and it was just too sad to see a lovely woman such as myself single and lonely.
Will and I got back together that night, for good, and the next night, I walked down the street and handed a just-purchased box of belgium chocolates to the doorman I’d met a few weeks ago. “Give these to Mr. Pierce,” I said, shoving them into his hands, then rushed out the door before he could say anything back. The next night, I received an email.
Thank you for the chocolates.
I hope you and Will are very happy.