A String of Minor Disasters

His kiss was wonderful but I turned my head away. He tried to kiss me again and I turned away again. He tried again, again, and again. My head was twisting, turning away constantly and then suddenly something flipped inside me. I can't explain it. I began to kiss him back.

I did not kiss him back casually. I kissed back with a passion I had not realized I had within myself. We kissed like that, the two of us, standing in the room, kissing, and kissing, and kissing. I don't know for long we just stood there kissing, but it was at least a good, solid five minutes. Probably it was closer to ten minutes. Maybe it was fifteen?

I did not know how to extricate myself gently from the situation. I had just been reading novels of submission, both the Story of O and Emmanuelle, and it just seemed less awkward to submit a bit.

Either way I was screwed, so to speak. If I were to submit I would inevitably have sex with a colleague, never a good idea. If I did not I would be sexually rejecting a colleague after letting him wine and dine me and taking him to the most suggestive hotel room I had ever seen. This was a lose-lose choice. Which was worse?

Clearly having sex was worse, but I was drunk, horny, and hopelessly aroused if only from the kissing. Also, however I was turned on by all the submissive literature I had been reading, and somehow I became inexplicably overcome with lust. I felt I needed to obey the nymph. She had left me no choice. It was so strange! When Carl went to remove my blouse, to my own shock not only did I not stop him but I raised my arms so that it glided over my head and off.

It just seemed easier to give in. One more one-night stand to add to my collection of bad decisions over the years? No big deal in the grand scheme of things, right? He pushed me onto the bed and I reluctantly fell down onto it, nevertheless smiling up at him.

I suddenly had yet another change of heart. I looked at Carl with fresh eyes. As Beatrice had earlier pointed out he was, in essence, an attractive man, but suddenly he now looked downright handsome to me, even sexy. I thought about how charming he had been both at lunch and at dinner. A change swept over me and I found myself sexually desiring him. Really! By chance I glanced at the painting and damn if I did not see one of the water nymphs wink at me! The mind certainly does play tricks every so often.

Men never look at ceilings, whereas women often do close studies of them while lying on their backs with a man pumping away on top of them. It did not take very long before I was wearing only my bra and panties while we continued to kiss. Carl had already effortlessly removed my blouse and as he went to remove my skirt I even raised my hips both to help him and to save my skirt from possible damage.

When I got Carl's pants and briefs off I noticed his cock was already as hard as a rock. I felt mesmerized by it. I had never before been a big fan of men's penises as aesthetic objects but I had just had a change of heart. It looked gorgeous. What was going on? This was so unlike me. Yet it was me. The feelings were genuine.

By chance my eyes caught the painting again and for a fleeting moment I thought I saw the cock of one of the centaurs throbbing, and even leaking precum. I blinked a few times and the imagined image disappeared. I began to worry for my sanity.

I remembered the quote that stuck with me when I was reading The Story of O the previous night. It was, "Whatever he wanted of her she wanted too, solely because he was asking it of her." This was my chance to be O herself. I wanted to be O. I needed to be O. I felt compelled to be O! Carl was going to get whatever he wanted, albeit just for one night only.

Carl was now naked and I was still in my bra and panties. I had not let Carl remove them, in a pathetic attempt to forestall what now was beginning to seem inevitable, even desirous. I playfully grabbed a dildo and held it next to Carl's nicely erect cock. It was the smallest dildo of the three although it was not small, and it matched his cock perfectly. I sexily sucked on the dildo while holding it right next to Carl's twitching cock. I sucked it lovingly and to demonstrate my skill set I swallowed the entire schlong right up to its plastic ball sack.

I pushed aside my panties and I stuck it in my vag and pumped it for a little while Carl watched me, eyes agog. My eyes were fixed on his, even if he had eyes only for what I was doing with the dildo. I removed it from my vag only to insert it ever so slowly and gently into my asshole, again pushing aside my panties, grunting a bit as I did it. I am one of those weird women who enjoys an occasional bout of anal sex and so I am used to having a man's cock up my ass. I live in Arkansas and in Arkansas men seem especially to be anal aficionados.

I said it. I was channeling O. "Whatever you want from me, Carl, I want it too. It's enough just for you to ask," I said quickly, my voice quite breathy. It gets like that when I'm turned on. I was much too turned on.

Carl smiled. He called the front desk and spoke with Beatrice. Smiling more broadly now, he went to the cupboard under the television and removed bondage restraints. This B&B was even more amazing than I had thought. Minutes later I was bound hand and foot on the bed. I had never done bondage before and I would have thought I'd have been terrified and possibly disgusted. It was only my extraordinary arousal and my new submissive state that allowed me to comply.

As I glanced at that mysterious painting a water nymph again winked at me and then I almost fainted because a centaur moved to her, mounted her, and they began to do the nasty. Chains wrapped around her binding her to the spot as she appeared to giggle. The centaur brutally shoved his huge cock inside her and she closed her eyes in a look of bliss. I shook my head as if to clear it, blinked a few times, and the image was gone. The painting had returned to normal. Am I going mad? I wondered. I was scared for my sanity.

The brief copulation of the water nymph and the centaur had the effect of flipping my mind once again. My fear left and I suddenly got highly aroused at the idea of being bound. I would be helpless and have no alternative but to submit.

I had always been a bit of a control freak and I certainly was a control freak as regards my work. In the Eros Room however the idea of submission was both arousing and compelling. It was an antidote to my neurotic obsession with having control at all times. As Carl bound me and stroked my tummy I felt myself lubricating in anticipation.

I would be freed, if only for one evening, of the compulsion to be in control. That idea for an obsessive-compulsive perfectionist such as myself felt liberating just then.

Another phone call and another cabinet and Carl had a whip and a feather. At this point I was a bit nervous but I kept channeling Pauline Réage, the author of the Story of O, even it was in reality a pen name for Anne Desclos. He gets whatever he wants, he gets whatever he wants, I kept repeating silently to myself. Each time I repeated it to myself I got more aroused.

Carl is one of those men who carries a small pocket knife. He could not slip off my bra and panties without removing the bondage he had already laboriously applied, so he simply cut them off. I was now naked and with ruined lingerie.

Carl began with the feather applied to my pussy. He kept tickling it and when the feather found my clitoris I truly lost it. I kept rising up to meet the feather but was restricted by the constraints. The feather tease was deadly and I became desperate to be touched, to be seriously touched. I needed to be forcefully, aggressively touched; to be punished, even.

I could tell this did not come naturally to Carl and that he was winging it. I said nothing though. Probably his knowledge came from porn videos on the internet. When he whipped me, his heart was obviously not into it. He was a nice guy and being a sadist was simply alien to him.

It nevertheless turned me on in the extreme. In contrast to Carl, being a sexual masochist certainly came naturally to me. I had never realized this but now that I had I began to look back on my sexually active years before that fateful night. There were quite a few times I had reluctantly submitted to a man's desires, even to the point of copulation, just to be polite!

Upon reflection, though, I was beginning to think that was exactly the scenario I had wanted all along. I had wanted to be reluctant and for the man to pressure me into sex. Absolved of responsibility I was free to relax and - especially - to cum. Submission after reluctance almost invariably led to an orgasm and its consequent pleasure combined with relief.

I had never before been bound, nor whipped, nor teased with a feather. I was sure my pussy was soaking wet at this point. I took pity on the man. He was trying hard but it was obvious (or at least it was to me) that what he really wanted was just good old-fashioned sex. "Please fuck me now, Carl. I need your strong cock inside me. Please, for the love of God, fuck me and fuck me hard!" I said, riding to Carl's rescue.

Carl stood up and got his iPhone. "No! No pictures!" I exclaimed.

Carl threw my words right back at me. "Whatever you want from me, Carl, I want it too. It's enough just for you to ask, you said, Ashley. I want a picture of you. Just for me."

"Okay," I said softly. Just saying the word 'okay' provoked yet another increase in my arousal level. I had never before let anyone photograph my naked body. My boobs sure, a couple of my former lovers had pictures of my boobs; but my entire naked body, legs spread wide showing off my pussy in all of its glory, and being tied up in bondage? Seriously?

I tried to smile nicely for the picture. He took a few. One of them had the largest dildo down my throat. Another had it stuffed deep inside my pussy. I felt like such a slut! Not having a choice in the matter and feeling like a slut aroused me in extremis.

Photography done, Carl got down to business. He climbed aboard, inserted his cock gently and slowly and then oh my lord did he fuck my pussy! The man might be a novice with bondage, but he sure as hell knew how to fuck a girl! He moved his cock with true expertise and he drove me to quite a nice climax, which I gratefully screamed out. Probably even Beatrice downstairs heard my scream of ecstasy.

For me, sex brings affection. As Carl ravished me so exquisitely I kissed his body, any part of it within reach of my mouth. He grabbed my boobs while he pumped his cock inside me and I moaned out my approval. When he thrust hard deep inside me I groaned. When his cock did a good imitation of a piston engine I managed to stutter out, "Yes! Oh my God, YES!"

Carl shot his load inside me. He had not even asked me about birth control, the asshole. I guess I could have said something? Since I'm on the pill however it does not matter. It's the thought though, or the lack of it. Still, feeling him ejaculate inside me felt so nice, so very nice! I love the feel of a cock retracting and then exploding inside me. In Carl's case he ejaculated at least three times in rapid succession.

He pulled out of me, pulled on his pants and his shirt and left the room, leaving the door to the room ajar for ease of reentry, even though I was nude, full of his cum, and tied spread eagle to the bed. I hoped to God nobody would come by and stick his head in the room and see me there!

He came back around ten minutes later. I had been leaking his cum and was now lying on the wet spot. He was carrying a tray with two large glasses of port, two pieces of cake, and six cookies. "Beatrice sends her love," he said.

Carl released me from my restraints but he told me to stay naked. We drank the port wine and ate the cake which was ethereally delicious! Nobody can bake like Beatrice. The woman is a godsend. The Port was ten years old. I assumed that was a good age for port wine. We talked.

"I had no idea what a talented lover you are, Carl," I said.

"You inspire me, Ashley. I absolutely love how kinky you are!" Again, I blushed. "Oh, by the way, Beatrice said the airline called. Your bag is now in Providence, Rhode Island, and is being delivered by truck. It should arrive tomorrow afternoon."

Oh shit. I should have bought more work clothes and certainly more underwear! What was I going to do tomorrow?

Carl saw my face. "What's wrong, Ashley?"

"My only work clothes I wore today and they are sweaty from the disgusting weather, and you just cut up my only lingerie. I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow, and tomorrow we meet the big honchos!" I said. I was on the verge of tears.

"You could wear your work clothes again, a second day. You looked pretty in them, you know," Carl said.

"The blouse is sheer. You can see through it," I said.

"I know. I thought you looked sexy as hell all day long. It was correct, though. Your bra kept your boobs nicely covered up. Lots of women dress like that," Carl said, trying to be reassuring. I was seeing his sweet side.

"You just cut up my only bra. It's ruined. The others for this trip are in my suitcase in Providence," I said. "You can see my boobs right through the blouse if I am without a bra. Not to mention not wearing a bra when meeting the head honchos is suicidal!"

"Maybe there's an all-night store that sells lingerie?" Carl said. I could tell he felt guilty for having cut my bra and panties to get them off me.

"Duane Reade is open 24 hours here in New York, for example," he said.

"Isn't that a drugstore?"

"Yes, but they sell all manner of things in addition to medicine," he said. "Maybe Beatrice has an idea?"

I got dressed and while I looked completely lewd and smelled of sex, Carl and I went to a close by Duane Reade. He was right, the store sold most everything, but it did not sell women's clothes nor lingerie. We returned to the B&B defeated. I was in total panic mode. I was on the verge of peeing into my panties except I had no panties!

Beatrice was my last hope. I hoped I would not wake her up. I think the woman never sleeps. I left Carl in the common room and went privately to see Beatrice. I apologized for the intrusion.

"It's okay I was just watching a video," she said. "Very sexy," and she gave me a wink. What's that all about? I wondered, why the wink?

I explained my problem. It was a bit embarrassing to do so but I was beyond caring at that point. I confessed to the bondage and the consequent destruction of my lingerie. "Good for Carl! I did not think he had it in him, but also I just knew the Eros Room would inspire him. It does that with men, you know."

"Women too, I'm afraid. I never would have let Carl uh, you know, with me and submitted to bondage if I had been staying in the Italian room, for example," I said.

Beatrice smiled knowingly. "What are you, a D cup?" Beatrice asked.

"I'm a C cup," I said. Beatrice looked at me dubiously.

"Maybe a C and a half? It depends on the brand," I explained. "Sometimes it's C and sometimes it's D."

"C and a half is more properly called a D, Ashley. You're obviously a D cup," Beatrice said while staring at my boobs right through my sheer blouse. "I may have something for you," she said.

I got so excited I hugged and kissed her.

Beatrice disappeared and returned with two bras. "Try these on. One at least should fit."

"Beatrice this first one is a cup-less bra. The other one is a shelf bra. Everyone will see my nipples! They're nice bras, but I have to go to work tomorrow!" I said in dismay.

"Just cover them with your blouse, silly," Beatrice said.

"My blouse is sheer! It's the one I'm wearing and the one you're looking through! You can see right through it," I said. I was on the verge of crying.

"Calm yourself, my dear. Let me get you a camisole. You can wear it under your blouse," Beatrice said, using a sweet tone of voice.

I sniffed. "That would be great. Thank you so much!" I said.

The camisole was much too small and it clung to my body as if it were a wet T shirt. It perfectly outlined my boobs, with my largish nipples poking prominently at it. Still, technically I was covered. It would have to do. When I took it off later I looked at the label and while it was made of a stretchy material it was intended for girls aged ten to twelve years old! No wonder.

I went back to the room and modeled the next day's outfit for Carl. I looked at him questioningly.

"Looking at you I'm getting hard again," he said.

I began to cry.

"It's only because we just made love," Carl said, trying to undo the damage he had just done. It wasn't working. I knew the truth. I looked like a slut in work clothing.

"I should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be quite a trial for me," I said. "You should go now." I was not about to spend the night in bed with Carl right before my meeting with the big cheese in the morning tomorrow. It was scheduled for 8am.

I was downstairs for breakfast at 6am. For the second night in a row I had enjoyed the best sleep imaginable. True, I had again heard the soothing voices in my dreams. This time I remembered the dream clearly. I was a water nymph being raped by a centaur and absolutely loving it. This time the centaur used my vagina thank goodness and in two different positions including, of course, rear entry.

I knew such a dream must have come from the power of suggestion of the painting. The wet spot on the sheets between my legs had to be more of Carl's cum leaking out. What else could it have been? My vagina looked thoroughly inflamed. Could that still be from Carl? It had to be, hadn't it?

The B&B had one large table and everyone at breakfast sat at it. People began their days at different times of course, but there were three businessmen with me at breakfast when service began at 6am. Beatrice was not serving since even she had to sleep on occasion. Instead it was a nice 30-something woman serving everyone. Her name was Katy.

I dressed myself with the shelf bra, the camisole, and my sheer top. The air conditioning was now working and it was ramped up high with a vengeance. I was freezing. The cold made my nipples stand at attention and they poked furiously at the camisole and my blouse, trying to get out. Two of the men were lost in the newspaper and only half awake. The third man was blatantly checking out my boobs. Great, just great. Good thing none of them knew I was also without panties!

By 7AM I was in a taxi heading once again into the heart of the midtown concrete jungle to the innermost sanctums of Manhattan. My taxi bravely fought the crosstown traffic and I arrived at 7:30AM and a pretty twenty-something secretary had a cup of steaming hot coffee, prepared just the way I like it, waiting for me at my spot at the big table.

I was only the second person to arrive but ten minutes later the table was full. Seven men and me. The head honchos (there were two of them) were at the head of the table of course and the rest of us took turns reporting.

When it came to my turn I gave my report on the Southeastern US. It was one of our weakest markets, with the notable exceptions of Atlanta and Charlotte, North Carolina. The honchos asked me why we had not yet better penetrated the potentially huge Florida market and I stood up and gave my plans for just such a penetration.

I had only been in charge of the Southeast for two months, and that was too short of a time to produce miracles. I pointed out how inhomogeneous the Florida population was, and that we had made serious gains in certain regions that were more cosmopolitan, such as Miami, Orlando, and Gainesville. It was a flash decision to use the term 'more cosmopolitan' instead of 'less insular,' or 'less provincial.'