At one point, as I was finishing up the dishes, I glanced over my shoulder. The room was empty. They were gone. I didn’t see my wallet or my keys; or the gun for that matter, but I did see the door. I could easily slip out before I was noticed. I looked back towards the room they must be in, its door pulled nearly shut. I looked back at the front door. Back at their room. Back at the front door. I finished the dishes. When they were done and the table was clean and the food was put away I grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor. The girls suddenly burst into the room laughing, their eyes twinkling with amusement. As I swept I saw Ginny and Loli grab their coats and put them on. Ginny came over to me and said: “That’s enough for now, Doug. Come here.”

I laid the broom against the wall and walked over to stand before her. “Arms out” she said. I did as I was told and she expertly bound my wrists together. I’m not just saying that. I watched her carefully, being the proud owner of Ashley’s book of Knots, and she certainly knew exactly what she was doing. The long end once again went over the rafter and was secured. “We’re going to the store for a few… things”, Ginny said, with enough emphasis on the word things that my imagination quickly went overboard. I would find out soon enough. On her way out the door, Ginny called back over her shoulder: “Remember our agreement Sarah; you don’t touch him until we get back”, and they were gone.

Sarah puttered around the cabin as I, well, hung out. She drank some more wine, put some of her things away and generally seemed a little nervous to be alone with me. At one point she got a little worked up and came right over and looked me right in the face. “Who the fuck do you think you are spying on me, asshole?” she yelled. We stared at each other. Me trying with all my might to look sheepish and calm, and she, with nostrils flared, huffing like a brood mare in the stallion’s pen. She seemed to reach some kind of decision. “So you like to watch people, do you Doug? Is that how you get your kicks? What did you see Doug? Did you get turned on?” As she was taunting me with these questions she built up a stack of kindling and logs in the fireplace and soon a roaring fire was warming the room. Somehow the fire seemed to have a calming effect on her. Perhaps there was some truth to the aphorisms about fire and redheaded personalities after all. After putting on some soft bluesy jazz, heavy on the saxophone but thankfully not Kenny G, she lay back on a stack of pillows on a thick wool rug in front of the fire and looked up at me, sipping her wine. Soon she put the wine down and, reaching into her bag, pulled out a thin, perfectly rolled joint which she lit. She sucked in the smoke in huge lungfuls, like a pro, perfect lips pursed invitingly. After her third hit, she stood up and held the joint to my lips. I took a large hit myself, savoring the taste and exquisite aroma with the expansion in my chest. I held it so long when I exhaled only a hint of smoke came out. The weed, as I had hoped, was incredible. Already I was feeling rushes throughout my body, though how much of that may be attributable to the fact that I was practically hanging from the ceiling I can’t say. Tossing what remained of the joint into an ashtray on a table by the fireplace Sarah fell back amongst the pillows, glazed eyes appraising me thoughtfully.

“Did you get a good look from the window, Doug?” she asked me, her voice almost a whisper now, barely audible above the music. Then she pulled her sweatshirt over her head, revealing a lacy black bra that contrasted sharply with her fair and freckled skin. “Do you like what you see now, Doug?” She cupped her hands under her breasts and pushed them up and together, creating a substantial cleavage. She leaned over and ran her tongue between them, then ran her tongue over her lips, moaning deeply. “Bet you’d like to do that wouldn’t you, Doug”, she said, squeezing both breasts very hard and moaning again. She slipped the strap down over her left shoulder and pulled the bra cup down to reveal one delicious breast. Everything about it was perfect: the size, the shape, the color, the nipple, the freckles, everything. I stared. She leaned forward and sucked the nipple into her mouth, then let it go with a little popping sound. She leaned over again and this time caught it between her teeth. While she held it she turned her head to the side to look at me, and the look that must have been on my face made her burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed, and pretty soon I joined her. Then she suddenly jumped up and rearranged herself and left me alone in the room. I’ve been teased before but this girl made the best of them seem like go-cart racers at the Indy 500.

When Sarah returned she was wearing a men’s white pin striped dress shirt that, tall though she was, still came down almost to her knees. She was carrying a black satchel, which she dropped on the rug near the fireplace. After putting on some music with a little more back beat she sat down. Then she looked up at me, smiling in a genuine way. “I like you Doug. You’re okay, for a pervert.” She smiled at me again. “You know why, Doug?” I shook my head. “Because I’m a pervert too, Doug, that’s why. I like to be looked at Doug. And admired. You do like what you see, don’t you Doug?” As she was speaking she settled herself back onto the cushions so that her back was to the fire and she was facing me directly. One by one she began unfastening the buttons on her shirt. Her legs were spread wide apart with her knees raised and bent slightly, the tails of her shirt covering the Promised Land. She left one or two buttons fastened at the bottom of the shirt. “I want you to watch me, Doug.” She said, her voice just a little breathy and softer now. “I want you to watch.” She whispered hypnotically as she arched her back and slid both hands under her shirt to cover her breasts. Back she arched, further and impossibly further still, stopping only once her head came to rest on the floor behind her. She held that pose for a long moment. It was one of the sexiest sights I have ever seen. She was doing a complete back-bend, supporting her weight on her feet and her head, her hands squeezing her breasts forcefully, and her shirt open from her shoulders to just below her navel, the tails dangling between her legs.

Sarah moaned loudly and her body settled down onto the rug with the grace of a dancer, the lithe movements of a cat. She was good. Very good. And I was captivated, bonds or no. She crawled over to my feet and, placing her nose an inch from my crotch, inhaled deeply. She exhaled a blast of hot breath that burned through my pants and seemed to sere the flesh of my straining cock. Her hand stole up, long, perfectly painted nails extended, but before they could touch me she made a sucking sound with her lips and said “Awwww, I’m not supposed to touch you, am I?” Then she pulled back and looked at my crotch intently, as if trying to divine exactly what lay behind the zipper, a master carpenter inspecting her handy-work. That I was extremely aroused was not in question. Whether her demonstration would cause me to shoot off in my pants, without being touched, was becoming increasingly so. She leaned in and gave another deep sniff, which under the circumstances I found sexy as hell, and then returned to the rug. Breathe Doug, breathe. Damn this woman had me going!

Again, she lay back with her legs spread and her knees raised, and unbuttoned the two remaining buttons. Then, as nonchalant as a summer breeze, she let the shirt fall open and she lay before me naked and magnificent, ten feet away. Her breasts were not what most men would call large, not quite a hand full really, but the nipples were so red and hard you would think they could burn your hand to touch them. Oh, how I wanted to touch them, and oh, how she knew it. I felt like a musical instrument being played by a master. Her gorgeous breasts rose out of the sea of alabaster that was the rest of her body, dotted here and there with little clusters of freckles. Her stomach was hard and flat, her legs long, muscular and shapely. One hundred percent athlete and one hundred percent goddess. Below her navel a tiny tuft of crimson hair perched high atop her pubic bone. And beneath that was heaven itself. The softest folds of skin glistened with a hint of moisture, open and inviting, pink and smooth as the inside of a conch shell. I could feel myself throbbing rhythmically as I took in this vision.

Wordlessly, she tossed the shirt aside and reached into the bag pulling out a small bottle of oil. As I watched, mesmerized, drops of the oil were slowly dripped onto her flesh, which responded, as though to drops of hot wax, with little twitches and shudders. I watched several land on her breasts and drip down her sides; others slide down her chest to form a small wading pool in her navel, and several landed directly on her clitoris to merge with the dew that was already collecting between her legs. Then she put the bottle down and began to rub it all in. Slowly. First it was just her fingertips, circling her nipples, then the palms of her hands circling her breasts, caressing and stroking, kneading and tugging. Then her hands roamed down her sides and across her stomach, back up her sides, over her chest and down to her hips. I was mesmerized. Sarah, meanwhile, was merely on fire. Her passionate self-caresses were becoming more hurried, more frantic, and her moans were steady, rhythmic whimpering sounds at the back of her throat. Previously, the fragrance of the fireplace had dominated the room; now it was the heavenly scent of roses and almonds. Roses, almonds and Essence of Sarah. I had never wanted anyone so much in my life.

One at a time, she raised each leg straight in the air until it was nearly touching her face. Then she slowly let them drift down, to the sides, until they formed a perfect, wide “V”, almost a perfect sideways split. A tremendous demonstration of agility. It was another image that burned into my memory forever. Her sex was stretched tight and pulled wide open, and beneath it, the cutest button of an asshole lay begging for my tongue. She grinned at the effect this was having on me.

Sarah stroked her legs lovingly, pausing only to apply more oil. Sometimes she massaged, sometimes she stroked, and sometimes her hands were the wings of a butterfly dancing on a daffodil. Then she slid down so that she lay on her back on the rug and threw both legs back up and tucked them under her shoulders. Her face was inches from her sex, which was an open book, spread wide for both our viewing pleasure. And her hands were left free. After glancing at me briefly, she began to touch herself. Two fingers dipped into her swollen pussy and came out drenched. She spread this mixture of oil and her own juices all over pussy lips and asshole, dipping into the fountain again and again for more and more of the precious lubricant until her fingers glided wherever they touched. The two fingers that were entering her became three, and began penetrating her to the last knuckle with every thrust. Her other hand, meanwhile, began to gently stroke just above and along the sides of her clitoris, down the sides, over the top, down the sides over the top. Following the rhythm of her thrusting fingers. Faster and faster she thrust into herself, stabbing almost violently, her fingers now pressing directly on her clitoris, rubbing across it, a blur of motion. Her whimpering became an uninhibited sobbing and finally I saw her toes curl and all of the muscles of her legs tighten. Her hand motions stopped, her breathing stopped, her sobbing stopped, and she hung there suspended as if dead, except that every muscle in her body was tight as rock. Finally, an inhuman moan escaped her lips and became a scream and all of her muscles began moving at once. Had I not known better I would have thought she was having an epileptic attack, so violent were her motions. Three fingers of her right hand were buried deeply in her vagina with the palm of her hand pressed tightly against her clitoris and pubic mound. Thin as she was, it was as if she were holding onto the pommel of a saddle while riding a bucking bronco.

Gradually her gyrations subsided and she let her legs return to the floor. I thought she was done but, after a quick glance in my direction, she reached into her satchel and brought out a large red penis shaped dildo. She rubbed it between her breasts and over her belly to coat it with lubricant while staring directly into my eyes. Then, with perfect aim, and without breaking eye contact with me, she buried it to the hilt in her pussy. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she just held it there, savoring the sensation of being filled and penetrated. I noticed little tremors shake her body, as though she were enjoying dozens of little orgasms.

She held the dildo in place with her right hand and, raising her pelvis, settled down on top of her left hand. I thought this very odd and didn’t understand it at first, until I noticed where this put her fingers. By arching her back slightly, she was able to reach her long fingers up between her legs until they were on either side of the entrance to her vagina, rubbing the folds of her labia. They were instantly soaked by her secretions, and began to trace a path…south. When Sarah’s fingers reached her anus they deposited their moisture like bees returning to the hive with a load of pollen, then off to the pasture for more. With each return trip she would circle her anal ring, pressing and stretching, loosening the muscles. Soon they just stayed there, circling her asshole, stretching it out and opening it up. Finally, she raised her hips and I watched her settle down onto her two fingers, slowly burying them up to the second knuckle. Somehow she began to establish a rhythm, impaling herself on the fingers buried deep in her ass, then rising up and burying the dildo in her pussy. Up and down, up and down she fucked herself, grunting shamelessly with every thrust. Her motions grew more frantic and uncontrolled. She bucked wildly and with such abandon that occasionally she actually jerked the dildo out.

Not good enough. She whipped her left hand out from under her bottom and reaching into the bag grabbed another dildo, not as thick as the other one, but just as long. This time, instead of rubbing it over herself for lubrication, she leaned her head back and took the whole thing down her throat. The sound of a deep grunting moan filled the room and I realized it came from me. After deep throating the newcomer several times she positioned it on the rug against a pillow and settled herself down onto it, burying it deep within her ass. Now her dildo ducks were in a row. Her free left hand began to dance over her breasts, tweaking and pulling the nipples. Her hips raised and lowered onto the dildo in her bottom, and her right hand pumped the larger dildo into her pussy like a piston, accompanied by a very sensual squelching sound. Her grunts had become primitive and guttural. Now her left hand moved over her pubic bone. Two fingers spread her clitoral hood opened and her middle finger began to dance across her clit in a fast circular motion. She was a goner. Thirty seconds later an orgasm hit her that was unlike anything I have ever seen, before or since. She began to come and she began to scream. This one didn’t creep up on her like the last one. It hit her hard, like a freight train, and kept on coming. She began to thrash around on the rug, her right hand holding one dildo deeply in her pussy, her left hand holding another buried to the hilt in her asshole. She tossed and turned, rolled onto her stomach, raised up onto her knees, flopped onto her side and still it continued, wave after wave. At one point she rolled over onto her back, her two long legs spread wide apart, knees locked, and her legs just shook like they were being jolted with electricity. Then her feet slammed down onto the rug and she arched her back one last time, her shoulders completely off the rug, and she slowly settled to the ground, slid the dildos out and lay still.

I was in shock. I thought she was dead. If all of her orgasms were like that one no wonder she was in such great shape. Her breasts rose and fell as her breathing normalized. Then I heard a car door slam outside, and evidently so did she. Sarah hopped up as energetically as a kitten, and put the dildos, the oil, and her shirt into her bag. She walked over to me smiling, put two fingers into her cunt, then rubbed them across my mouth and upper lip while she whispered: “Shhhhhh”, and headed off toward the bedroom where I soon heard the shower running. I curled my upper lip up as far as I could and inhaled this temptress’ essence into the soul of my being, as if she weren’t tattooed there permanently already. I didn’t know where this weekend was headed, or what they had in store for me, but at that moment, somehow, strangely, I was a man completely at peace. A man whose eyes had been witness to a miracle. A man privileged to observe the very essence of femininity itself, like a goddess had revealed her power and glory to me and I had been cleansed, healed and reborn by bathing in her radiance.

Then the door opened and Ginny and Loli entered with arms full of bags, laughing and smiling at me like cats that ate a canary.