Libido: Fiction: Giraglia
Friday Night Bedtime Story, December 15. Print me out... take me to bed!
Fantasies Impromptu

By Mario Dworkin

In her mid-30s, Erin Daniels moved to Chicago from a college town in Ohio. She wanted to get away from people who "couldn’t react to either heat or light."

Within six months of moving to the Windy City, which she has since come to regard as an odd combination of sophistication and stupidity, Erin was introduced to Billy by his cousin, a woman who like Erin worked as a medical writer. Billy is a well-known Chicago actor/comedian with a gravelly, stentorian voice who can as easily do Mikhail Gorbachev as Jesse Jackson. It was a case of curiosity at first sight.

What attracted Erin most to Billy was his compulsion for drama even when he wasn’t performing. The first night they went out, he picked her up in a limo after his show and they drove around drinking Roederer champagne and fucking until three in the morning.

From Ohio to Billy’s limo was quite a trip, very flattering. But what really won Erin over began when she told him no man could possibly compete with her fantasies and he said, "Bullshit, I can make anything happen." That’s when Erin began to grasp that dating a case of galloping ego might have its perks, and that her fantasies need not necessarily stay inside her head.

A week later, Billy sent Erin a red leather blindfold with a note indicating he was ready for her to order up her first fantasy. Even now the memory of that note speeds adrenaline through her veins, sending a wavelet of pleasure and anxiety that makes the fine hairs on the back of her neck salute.

Actually, Erin never thought analytically about her fantasy repertoire until Billy. Her first flash when pressed to verbalize her private erotic thoughts was that bringing these personal "stories" to the surface would somehow expunge the powerful pleasures they had always provided her. But as she recounted them, what she felt was an unexpected embarrassment over how all the stories seemed to have the same theme: how a savvy, highly educated, independent woman whose idea of a really good time was a Saturday tour of a sub-atomic particle accelerator, could get off being turned into a little pleasure slave, so willing to be subjected to a grab bag of sexual humiliations.

There was something hugely exciting about revealing herself. She also admitted she liked the way Billy pleaded with her to give him the chance to bring her fantasies to life.

Erin compromised with herself by revealing one of her simplest scenarios. She half hoped Billy would laugh it off and tell her to come up with something more sophisticated -- her other half wasn’t sure how she wanted Billy to react. So as she swallowed the bottom of her second glass of wine, she said she’d always felt aroused by the prospect of being a harem slave about to be sold against her will to a more fearsome master. Erin winced at the cliché, but she held her composure.

Billy laughed. "Well, that’s easy enough."

Erin found herself overwhelmed with a desire to fuck Billy right then.

Nights later Billy showed up unannounced around eleven. He told Erin to throw on something simple, and then gently he removed her glasses and told her to get the blindfold. "Now do as I tell you," he said in a way that actually caused her pussy to tingle.

Billy said no more until they reached the car. Then, as if flipping a switch, he began haltingly in a Middle Eastern accent. "Call me Nessim," he said convincingly. Matter-of-factly, he said he favored her enormously and wanted to keep her, but there were unfortunate realities to consider. Oil revenues were down. He had received an offer for her he could not refuse.

Erin couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to tell "Nessim" to stop because she had chickened out. But then with perfect clarity she realized that to stop meant she and Billy really would have nothing to do but go home and tackle the Sunday Times’ crossword puzzle together. Erin decided she didn’t want to stop. "Be gentile with me, Nessim," she teased in her best little girl voice.

Windows down to warm summer sounds, they drove for a good half-hour, parking finally on a noisy street in a decidedly ethnic neighborhood. Passing a restaurant open to the sidewalk she heard Egyptian -- or was it Greek? -- music. At one point, Erin thought she could even smell deep-fried falafel. Erin gripped Billy’s arm, wondering whom in this crowd would notice her mask. No one said anything.

Abruptly, they turned into a sheltered entrance. Billy rang a doorbell, and Erin unexpectedly felt droplets of sweat trickling from her armpits. The door opened and a silent greeter led them down a long hallway to a room or an apartment where Erin heard men’s low laughter.

Another door unlocked, and Billy led Erin into a much smaller, quieter, very warm room. She thought she smelled clove cigarettes and cardamom. Were they drinking thick Arabian coffee? She thought: Billy hasn’t missed a beat.

Nessim announced he had brought "the woman" to be tested by the interested party. Erin heard a man grunt across the room. Despite herself, her nipples hardened. Nessim said he wanted a decision within a couple of hours. Then, he kissed Erin’s neck, whispered for her to be very, very good and shoved her into the arms of a man who led her into another room. He gently pushed her down onto a bed and then left her.

Beyond the closed door, the language of innumerable glottal stops resumed. Two muted voices, neither Billy’s, began to argue. Erin began to tremble. She wanted to laugh at herself. But she could not.

Perhaps ten very long minutes later, in which Erin hoped she would expire from an adrenaline rush that left her soaked with perspiration, the door opened slowly. Distinctly she could smell a man, his yeastiness, his warmth. He approached and she could hear his breathing accelerate. Softly, in a voice she did not recognize, he said in tentative English that she had nothing to fear if she did as she was told.

Silently, he took her wrists and bound them in front with a thin, suede strap. He raised her arms, hooking her wrists to an attachment above her, and he stood very close for some moments, inhaling her scent. He did not touch her.

After a time he knelt and removed her sandals. He told her to stand perfectly still. Erin nearly catapulted as she felt him begin to cut away her dress.

Cool metallic blades inched between her thighs and around her waist until he pulled the fabric away, tearing the uncut cloth as he pulled the lower half of the dress to her bare feet, which he kissed.

Next he cut the shoulder straps, carefully gliding the scissors through the thin cotton between her breasts. He severed her lace bra, and the final frontier -- her panties -- were dispatched with two deft snips. "Better," he grunted, squatting before her and grasping her thighs from behind. "Much better." He lingered a few minutes with his nose about an inch from her pubis. Erin could not control her shivers.

He got up and methodically walked behind her to pinch the flesh on her buttocks, and to slide a finger deftly down her crack. Erin fought it, but a squeaking sound came from her throat when he found her telltale wetness. A voice in her head shouted: This is too fucking good.

She felt him reach around to feel the weight of her breasts with his hands, and to stroke the flesh of her sides with his nails. He said nothing as he pinched the skin at her waist. Then he disappeared for a moment. When he returned Erin thought she felt calipers measuring the thickness of her flesh.

He moved around front and knelt again, signaling for her to open her legs more. Again, she felt calipers measuring a fold of flesh behind her knee. Then again half way up her thigh, and before she was ready, the lips of her sex were separated and pulled back to expose her clit. A warm, lubricated, practiced, finger stroked her from the underside. Erin could not help sucking air as she felt her body begin the familiar slide to orgasm. But he stopped, abruptly, rudely. Her wordless noise revealed exactly how aroused she had become.

A new sensation -- a beard -- made her jump back, and close her legs. But then Erin’s knees knocked fiercely until he caught her in a hug and steadied her legs. With one hand he began again to separate her cunt lips. The cool points of calipers grasped her pea-sized hard-on. Gently, holding on to her nodule, he pulled and twisted the flesh ever so slightly until she was standing on her toes, buzzing like a bee, and squeezing her buttocks and praying that he’d do it long enough for her to come.

But he stopped again. He stood up, and unhooked her arms, massaging them as he brought them down. At that moment she was so close to orgasm that she vibrated in her frustration. She thought: This is all Billy’s doing! Damn him. I’m going to give him the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had. Then she wondered where he was: Does he even care what’s happening to me?

With his hand against the small of her back, the man guided Erin across the room, to push her on her stomach on the bed, onto a mound of pillows. They had been arranged (When did that happen?) to prop up her butt to some ridiculous height. Before Erin could comfortably adjust to this new humiliation, warm oil cascaded over her cheeks and between her legs. Without delay, latex-gloved fingers began to explore, venturing with great enthusiasm in and out of her various ports of entry, inserting penis-shaped objects into both her openings.

This was humiliating, yes, but also very hot.

When he caught Erin surreptitiously moving her own fingers between her legs to relieve the fierce ache in her swollen pudenda, he vigorously swatted her backside. "No! Not until I am ready to release you." Roughly he turned her over, spread her legs and buried his bearded face between them, nibbling at her with such deftness that she imagined he removed corks from champagne bottles for practice.

But each time Erin seemed ready to shoot off into the stratosphere, he found a new place to put his tongue. He is playing with me! He is playing with me! She felt an urge to rip his head off. But at last he completed his round-the-world trip and returned to her clit. This time, just before she went off, Erin noted a strong familiarity in the way this tongue licked upwards from behind her baby boner. Why did it seem so familiar?

Then it all became clear to her why this man hadn’t fucked her yet. Beard or no, it had been Billy all along. The realization sent Erin roaring heavenward in a spasm that took her out of space and time.

Later -- from somewhere outside her consciousness -- a knocking and an impatient man’s voice interrupted her post- orgasmic trance. Billy rose from the sea of pillows and opened the door. Erin heard voices, but felt so blissed there was no need to cover herself.

A champagne cork did pop. There was laughter. Erin heard Billy toasting: "My fellow thespians…"

That was the start of Erin and Billy’s fantasy enactments. She gave him a plot and Billy made it happen. Billy took these assignments seriously and more often than not, the scenes involved costumes, dialogue and Billy’s friends -- who were as hot for an appearance in one of Billy’s erotic numbers as they were about scoring bit parts off-Broadway. Sometimes he has participated, but mostly he has simply watched. He says it pleases him to observe her ecstasy.

Erin acknowledges that in the last year, Billy has been responsible for choreographing the most extraordinary sex she ever has had. But when pressed, she insists that the one enactment that continues to remain her secret favorite -- because it involved a woman -- was the one she did not initiate, and which ultimately required the least of Billy’s organizational skills. It’s a story she calls "Madame and Monsieur."

Unexpectedly one evening Billy called late to say that there was a party he wanted Erin to go to. She protested the hour, but he insisted. In the car he turned to her with a new blindfold and said, "I’m loaning you to a friend for the evening. Take off your pantyhose." When Erin complied, awkwardly for there was little room in his car, he reached over to touch her bare cunt. "You’ll enjoy this," he said so sensuously than in a moment she began to seep onto his fingers. He licked them and smiled.

Every other time he had given Erin ground rules for the evening events. She came to rely on these as hints for what to expect. But this time he said nothing. She found herself becoming anxious. Images from The Story of O kept popping to mind.

She felt better when she remembered Billy hadn’t read it.

The car stopped and Billy put on the flashers. As he got out, someone opened the car door on Erin’s side. A hand slid up her bare thighs dangerously close to her pussy before pulling down her skirt, taking her arm and guiding her to the sidewalk.

"Do I need my purse?" Erin asked foolishly. Billy said "No, no…" and a man’s voice said in a distinctly French accent, "Ah, very nice. She is delightful." Billy’s deep, rich laughter filled Erin’s ears. "I’ll come back for you later."

The strange man wrapped his arm under Erin’s to guide her. Keys tinkled and a heavy iron gate creaked. Once inside, a second pair of hands, much cooler, came from nowhere to put a collar around her neck. Erin found herself tightly restrained. Later, in her notes, she wrote about this feeling, I bristle at the restraint, its silent command more powerful than words. Billy had hit upon her deepest fantasy -- and her deepest fear.

"Call me Madame," a woman said curtly. "He is Monsieur. Understand?" Erin was led, awkwardly, up a steep, wooden staircase. Maddeningly, the man and woman spoke quietly in French, a language she did not understand. She could not tell exactly whose hand guided her legs while resting on her butt.

Entering a room through a heavy door, Erin found her other senses working overtime to make up for her lack of sight. The air was fresh but sweet with a hint of incense when she did not feel the breeze from a window. Somewhere Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos played. "Take off her clothes," said Madame firmly. Monsieur knelt to take off Erin’s shoes and then removed clothing as he moved up, commenting in French on what he was uncovering. Erin could smell herself. She smelled like sex.

"Come, I will bathe you," Madame said, and she pulled Erin by the leash, moving too fast to walk comfortably. The man and woman laughed as Erin awkwardly waved her hands protectively in front of her. But they stopped when she knocked a glass or bottle off a counter and it broke on the floor.

Monsieur carried Erin into a small bathroom with a tub full of warm water. "Kneel on all fours," Madame commanded.

Warm water cascaded over Erin’s back, and the feeling of it running down her arms and thighs, over her butt and between her legs opened wide made Erin feel suddenly free. She had felt this exhilaration during some of the other dramas, but for the first time she understood it: She could completely enjoy what would happen here because the situation was completely out of her control. Whatever happened, she was not responsible. She thought: In a few hours I will return to my apartment, to Billy, to my life, but right now I am captive to Madame’s whims. And it made her very excited.

Madame’s hand, holding a bar of soap, slid across the taut flesh of Erin’s rear end. "Elle est belle, eh?" he said. "Oui," Madame replied, as if weighing the word very carefully."Elle est aussi très petite. Sa con est comme une fille," she said as her index finger made a first probe of Erin’s cunt. Shifting gears Madame said so Erin would understand her completely, "Your body is like a girl’s. Your skin is so very soft and pale. Your nipples are pink and unused. I shall enjoy pinching them." Which she proceeded to do.

When the bar of soap splashed into the tub, Madame’s fingers moved to expertly soap and stroke Erin’s exposed posterior, from her anus to her clitoris. Erin wondered, Does she know that her fingers have me as glistening on the inside as the outside. She caught her breath. Madame had found her swollen clit.

Then abruptly Erin was ordered to stand. "Dry her," Madame said gruffly. Something in the woman’s tone made Erin tremble. He wrapped a towel around her and gently rubbed her dry. "All is well," he said soothingly, "let yourself go with the excitement now." Erin leaned against him. Her head fell against his shoulder. She knew instinctively that this man, too was Madame’s slave, and that he would not hurt her. Later, in the notes for her therapist she wrote:

He knows me as he knows himself.
His voice touched my heart.
Her voice touched my soul.
Together they held me captive.
I have both a master to command me
And her slave to soothe me.

Monsieur led Erin to a big, raised bed and whispered for her to lie face down." Madame ordered him to tie Erin’s wrists, and he complied gently. Then he tied her legs, opened wide, and Erin felt deliciously helpless. Hands -- she was not certain whose -- oiled her back and her buttocks. Fingers lightly teased her anus, which she raised to meet them.

"She is not excited enough for release," Madame said. "She must be wetter than this. Whip her."

The words sent a chill through Erin’s body. For several agonizing moments she held herself stiffly, waiting for the first blow. And for a moment after it landed on her butt, she was not certain how to react -- to cry out or to writhe in pleasure. When it landed again she realized that this whip made considerable noise, but did not hurt much. Rather it seemed to make her skin glow. She imagined a rosy red that spread with each swing. Between swats Madame rubbed the spot with her warm fingers. Erin realized the game had become one of anticipation, especially when Madam caressed her tender and glowing flesh with what felt like a riding crop.

Later she wrote: The whip wraps itself around my body, again and again, always in a different spot. Then I hear the whip but feel no pain, and it is Monsieur who groans. I am strangely excited by the thought of his reaction, a reaction we now share. But all too soon she stops.

Erin was left alone to savor the warmth on her skin and to silently grind her pubis into the bed. Down the hall she heard Madame and Monsieur talking in mixed English and French. She wanted desperately to know what they were saying, but she could hear only snatches of the conversation: "She is too quiet..."I want to make her moan."..."anal penetration..."..."She doesn’t like it."..."We’ll soon see what she likes."

Madame’s laugh was positively manic. A momentary panic seized Erin. She struggled vainly against her bindings as the sounds of Madame’s high heels approached.

But it was Monsieur who stretched out on the bed beside Erin. She could feel he was naked. He caressed her face and neck. He said: "Would you rather be fucked by me or Madame?" Erin felt such confusion she could not speak. His gentleness gave her courage. But it was Madame who excited and frightened her at the same time.

"Madame," whispered Erin in a voice so small, he had to put his ear next to her lips to hear it.

What happened after that, Erin can not remember exactly, not at least as a linear series of events. She remembers twenty fingers touching and teasing, then one finger probing her anus, then two fingers gently squeezing the engorged lips over her hard-as-a-pebble clitoris. She remembers thrusting her butt as high into the air as she could squeeze it. She remembers grunting as something too hard to be human entered her. She remembers being cut loose from her bindings and spreading latex across Madame’s furry and very wet cunt. She remembers tonguing Madame into an orgasm, and feeling very powerful. She remembers taking Monsieur’s condomed cock into her mouth and making him croon. She remembers Madame and Monsieur fucking on top of her. She remembers thinking that her body had become her sex, and that she could not quite tell where her body ended and theirs began. She remembers melting into a huge liquid pond of sensation. She remembers lying with them for a long time, still uncertain whom, exactly, these people were, yet feeling so close to them that she wanted the moment to last for ever. She does not remember getting dressed.

When Billy came to pick her up, Erin could hardly speak. She was exhausted, but still very much into her body, which she could feel glowing. In the car Billy tugged at the collar Madame and Monsieur had left on her, and he laughed his deep, rich laugh. "Well?" he said pregnantly.

And she couldn’t wait to get Billy home to tell him all about it. She wanted to see his thick penis swell and harden from envy.

From the Libido anthology: The Ecstatic Moments, available in the Libido Shop.

This story also has been adapted for video, starring Shanna McCullough, Gina, Claudio Rome and Mickey G. Look for Ecstatic Moments in the Libido Shop.