Inspiration Ch. 05

DISCLAIMER:

Any and all erotic asphyxiation displayed within these and all MY stories are highly recommended for those who are truly experienced in the breath play fetish. Please, educate yourself and your partner before attempting this fetish and, always, use caution and precautions. Education and safety are a must within this realm of fetish!

"I'm meeting him at his place." Rosangela's voice shouted as she darted about her bedroom gathering up a pair of black vinyl heels.

Atop Rosangela's bed was her cell phone and from the speaker came Stew's voice, "So, another date night with the old guy, huh?" His voice chuckled.

Rosangela sat on the edge of the bed, worked on the spiked heel. She snipped, "Fuck you!" she giggled, "He sure in the hell doesn't look old."she grinned, "And, damn, doesn't act like it."

"Ew," Stew's voice continued to chuckle then he asked, "So, how many times you two fuck?"

Rosangela glared at her cell phone then said, "Wouldn't you like to know, you pervert!"

Stew agreed, "Yeah, I wanna know how many times you screwed an old guy."

She grabbed the phone then stated, "I gotta go."

Stew protested, "No, come on, details!"

She laughed then said, "Bye, Stew!" She tapped the pad of her thumb ending the call. She shook her head as she giggled and thought, Stew was such a nosy bitch.

She rose up off the bed, stepped to a full length mirror to check her appearance one last time before the cab arrived. She turned to the side, her hands smoothed down the somewhat simple but flattering wrap dress. She aimed her backside to the mirror then peered over her shoulder.

Her bright red lips grinned, knew exactly what she had hidden beneath the dress. Her thick black lashed eye winked at her reflection then she sang, "Damn straight!"

Near eight o'clock the yellow cab rolled up to the curb just outside the large once factory building.

Rosangela got out of the cab then handed the fee to the driver through the passenger window. She chimed, "Thanks." then she turned and peered up at the old historic building. She stepped towards the large double steel doors.

At the doors she eyed the row of names on the call box. Her blue eyes spotted author's name then she pressed and held her finger against the white button. She hummed as she held her finger firm.

From the call box came Victor's voice,

"Stop!"

She giggled then sang, "Hello, Mr. Hardway, it's me!"

Victor's voice commented, "No shit."

There came a buzzing and the double doors unlocked.

Rosangela again giggled then shoved open one of the heavy doors. She strutted through the somewhat lobby headed for the old elevator. She stepped into the elevator, pulled down the gate then pressed the top floor.

She stood in the elevator while chewing her bottom lip and slightly bouncing with excitement. She was actually going to be inside Victor Hardway's apartment. She was going to have a candlelit dinner with author Victor Hardway.

She frowned. Yes, perhaps the dinner was all her idea but it was a dinner date any way you looked at it.

The elevator came to a stop, there was a sound of classical music playing. Her eyes peered through the gaps of the gate. His apartment was wide open to the elevator, obviously occupied the entire top floor of the narrow building.

She bent down and lifted the gate. Her heart excitedly raced. Once the gate was up, she took a slow step forward, her eyes shifted side to side wondering where her date was. She took another step forward, listened to the soft piano music then heard the distinct sound of what she knew was dinner being made. She could even smell it, all the fragrant scents of oregano and other Italian spices.

She called out, "Hello!" She aimed the open toes of her heels in the direction of the sounds. She slowly stepped in the direction she assumed was the kitchen. She loudly sang, "Mr. Hardway!"

His voice called back, "In here!"

She shrugged and thought, where was here?

She moved around a dark brick wall and discovered a very open floor plan. The kitchen was within on massive room.

She smiled and continued his direction where he stood at a separating island and greeted, "Hi!"

He was much more casually dressed, no suit, just a simple v-neck sweater with the sleeves half rolled. Yet, she admired, he wore his signature fedora.

She commented, "So, just a guess, but you have a fedora for every kind of occasion."

He paused midway slicing the Italian bread. His head slightly lifted and he peered at her from within the shadows of his fedora. He smirked then replied, "I guess so."

She giggled then stepped up to the island and praised, "Smells damned good, Mr. Hardway."

He continued to smirk as he finished slicing the bread then stated, "Better be, especially after cooking it nearly all damned day."

She slyly tilted her head and eyed him. She sweetly said, "Thank you."

His smirk faded into a simple smile, he glanced at her then lifted his hand and tilted his hat to her in a welcome gesture. He delivered the bread to the dining table, candles and everything just as requested. He set the platter at the table center then pulled the chair out.

He looked to her then asked, "Shall we?" He gestured to the chair.

She gave a nod then giddily scuffled to the table and eagerly took the offered seat. Her wide and bright eyes scanned the traditional Italian dish looking positively delicious. She praised, "It looks amazing!"

He took a moment to light the two set candles. He simply smiled.

Dinner went on.

Rosangela discovered that the fabulous Victor Hardway was also an artist when it came to Italian cuisine. Yet, she was somewhat disappointed in herself because during the dinner she was silent, not as chatty as she had hoped.

Perhaps there was guilt, she thought, because she seemed to push him out his comfort zone. Had she taken advantage of the situation, his need for inspiration?

She set the fork down and glanced over at him. Her brows frowned, questioned herself not him. She could have been like the other inspirations and taken the money and let him have his way. But she wanted to be different. Sure, she could have used ten thousand dollars but there was so much more she needed that seemed more important than money.

He sensed her stare. His eyes shifted and looked into her eyes, they were directly aimed into his but seemed distant. He frowned then asked, "Something wrong?"

Her eyes blinked then she realized he was looking at her. She spread a smile over her lips then shook her head and denied her thoughts and concerns, "No, everything's fine." she awkwardly laughed then, changed the subject and complimented, "You're an amazing cook, Mr. Hardway, a man of many talents."

He chuckled then leaned back against the chair. He tucked a cigar between his lips and lit it up. He replied, "Thank you." then he relaxed, an arm crossed over his chest then suggested, "Lets relax for a little before dessert."

She leaned forward, rested an elbow atop the table then with a curious lift of her brow, she inquired, "What did ya whip up for dessert, hmm?" She truly wanted to set aside any of her concerns or perhaps guilt.

He grinned then coyly answered, "You'll have to wait, won't you?"

She gave him a brief glare then perked up again and stated, "I've got an idea for dessert too."

His brows lifted with intrigue then he couldn't help but ask, "And what is that?"

She gave a mocking laugh then denied him, "I ain't telling you. You won't tell me."

He took a lengthy drag from his cigar then agreed, "Fair enough."

She snidely smirked then hinted, "Bet my idea for dessert is better than yours."

His grin broadened as his brows frowned with question. He rose up from the chair, grabbed his wine glass then suggested, "Lets move this conversation to the sofa, hmm."

She smiled and nodded in agreement, grabbed her glass of wine then rose up. She sauntered in direction of the sofa with a cocky sway about her hips, knew what secret was hidden beneath the dress. She was damned determined to shift that evening into the right direction, under her dress.

At the black leather sofa, she turned and sat down on one end as he took a seat on the opposite end. She crossed her legs, her black stocking covered thigh exposed by the wrap dress slit. She took a sip of wine, her eyes quickly looked to the array of framed images she recognized as the covers of each of his books.

She smiled then asked, "Those are the originals, aren't they?"

Firstly his eyes were on her lovely and purposely exposed thigh then he glanced at the paintings but again looked to her, gave a nod as he took a drag from his cigar.

She praised, "Wow, the book covers don't do them justice."

Her eyes shifted back to him and she complimented, "You are truly an artist. They're beautiful."

He thanked her praise, "Thank you." then he had to hint, "And I'm hoping an eighth will shortly join them."

She giggled with a little roll of her eyes then stated, "Not sure how well that eighth will look up there with them."

His eyes again frowned with question, did he hear a bit of self consciousness within her comment? Was she quite possibly not as confident as she portrayed?

Her silence during dinner and that latest statement gave him a hint that perhaps his typically feisty inspirational muse had underlining confident issues. He studied her with his frown tensing those defining brow lines. Perhaps, he hoped, there was much more to explore beneath her unique exterior. He grinned with thought, of course there was a true woman inside her and all women have hidden self conscious issues. His grin softened into a smile as he thought, he would be the one to diminish those issues because her potential was far more superior.

She felt a bit odd having said what she had. Her eyes shifted from him, his study of her made her feel slightly exposed. Her eyes scanned about the large apartment as she took a silencing swallow of wine. There were many other indications of the author's talents. Throughout her view there were many framed photos of various other poses of each of the past inspirations.

She reached and grabbed a framed photo off the oval glass coffee table set before the sofa. Her eyes widened as they focused on the truly beautiful photo which depicted an intricate display of bondage. She studied the photo, more so studied how obviously beautiful the woman was. She silently thought, they were all beautiful.

He studied her, she was again silent which seemed to be a theme for that evening, unlike her previous demeanor from days before. He noted, more indication of that somewhat undesired vulnerability. He broke the silence and asked, "What do you think?"

She blinked, looked at him then asked, "Of what?"

He gestured with a nod to the framed portrait in hand then stated, "Of the photo?" He took a drag and exhale from the crooked slant at the corner of his mouth.

She slightly forced a smile as she set the photo back down then replied, "She's beautiful."

His questioning frown remained then he reworded, "No, not just the woman, what do you think of the photograph in all?"

She again looked at the portrait then basically repeated, "It's beautiful."

He questioned her, "Beautiful? That's all?"

She slightly shrugged and reluctantly looked at him. What else was she to say? All she could think, the woman was beautiful. All she could ask herself, was she even remotely as beautiful as that woman or the others?

His head slightly tilted as he understood more and more her newly displayed alternate demeanor. He took a lengthy drag from his cigar, held the smoke for a moment then slowly exhaled from his nose.

She felt awkward by how he stared at her and asked, "What?"

He commented, "You're different tonight."

She was a bit surprised but then again, she understood what he obviously observed. She slightly confessed, "Well, tonight's different."

He quickly asked, "How so?"

She somewhat huffed then explained, "Well, this isn't my place, this is yours." some of the truth confessed, "It's like an animal in a new environment." her eyes again awkwardly scanned that new environment, "I'm out of my usual habitat, I guess you can say." she again reluctantly looked at him, "I'm in the predator's territory now."

His lips formed their naturally slanted smirk, loved her perfect metaphorical interpretation of the situation.

Yes, he always was a type of predator, always on the hunt for his muses, but in no way was he a vicious hunter. He loved to play with his inspirational prey first then devour them if permitted. Yet, he was currently on a whole different path of his typical predatory instincts because of the prey, her.

He agreed with her, "Yes, you are." but he added, "Yet, the prey has the control at the moment."

She grinned in response to his statement then coyly asked, "The prey does?"

He gave a slow nod then stated, "Yes, she does." he suggested, "And perhaps if she reveals her idea for dessert, her control just might increase during her invasion of the predator's territory."

She loudly giggled, loved his wording, a true writer. She uncrossed her legs, set down the glass of wine then slowly rose up from the sofa. Her eyes focused on him, perhaps that little tidbit of metaphorical word play was the boost she needed.

She asked, "So, the predator doesn't mind the prey's invasion of his territory?"

He slowly shook his head then confessed, "Not at all, in fact, I believe this predator is definitely enjoying this invasion." His large dark eyes watched as she stepped closer heel over heel as her fingers toyed with the bow at the side of the wrap dress.

She stepped before, faced him as her fingers pinched the wrap dress belt. She needed to ask, "Why me, Mr. Hardway? Why did you choose me?"

She wondered constantly from the very beginning why chose her. She truly was a bit confused what made her exactly what he needed as inspiration when his obvious past muses were far from, well, her.

His grin held firm as he answered with a question, "Why not, Rosangela?"

Her lips softly puckered as her eyes focused on him with a slight narrow of suspicion. She sang her observation, "Well, I am by far not even close to any of your past inspirational prey, Mr. Hardway, not a one."

He agreed, "Exactly."

She smirked, still thought it odd he chose her and had to ask, "What makes me so damned special, hmm?" She slowly drew the bow loose.

His eyes locked with hers then truthfully he answered, "You are unique. Everything about you is unique, different."

Her head titled with curiosity and she inquired, "Why's that?" She drew the bow undone but kept the dress wrapped with a press of her hands.

He took a moment to snuff out the smoked cigar then again locked his eyes firmly with hers. He replied, "Look at you." his eyes scanned down her lovely and curvy figure then returned to hers, "You're gorgeous, beautiful, and you're the first of my prey to ever have control and that makes you beyond impressive and unique."

Her brow lifted with intrigue then she asked, "The first, huh?"

He nodded.

She gave a little laugh then, took the lead and announced, "Time for dessert, you ass kisser!" She pulled back the wrap and swiftly allowed the dress to drop to the floor.

His eyes firstly darted to the prominent fleshy mounds of her breasts firmly lifted and hugged by lovely slick black vinyl. Down his eyes shifted, studied the nearly wet shine of the vinyl corset as it hugged around her curves beautifully and enhanced them so remarkably. His eyes paused at the low hem of the snug corset where the nakedness between her curvy thighs was quite nicely exposed. Stretched from the corset hem were garters attached to semi sheer black stockings.

Her hands pressed against the smooth vinyl about her waist then she stated, "I bought this a while back and only wore it the day it arrived." she enjoyed his detailed study of her body cinched within the corset, "This sounds pathetic but besides myself, you're the second person to see it."

His eyes dragged upward, took in the reversal image of her glorious curves. His eyes again found hers then he commented, "Thank you for that honor."

She nearly shyly giggled then shooed him with her hand and said, "Stop kissing ass!"

No matter how hard she tried, she knew there was plenty indication of all those years being alone within her little erotic world. Yet, because of him, that little world was expanding to nearly unimaginable girth.

He was perplexed by her, one moment she oozed confidence then the next it seemed faded. He recognized easily those hints of her inability to see her true worth to him because of those underlining issues. Again, he thought, he would pluck away those issues and open her up to shine.

He questioned, "You don't believe what I say?"

She shrugged, her fingers nervously fidgeted against the slick vinyl.

He lifted his hands and brought them against her cinched waist. As he peered up at her, he slightly nudged her forward between his knees. He urged her, "Rosangela, believe what I say and have said, please." then he stated, "I speak nothing but the truth."

She lowered her eyes, felt somewhat awkward again.

With an encouraging tone, he asked, "Where's that feisty creature from yesterday and the night before?"

She finally looked him in the eyes then answered, "Oh, she's around." It was the truth, that mouthy and blunt woman was right before him but somewhat being held back by another small side that lingered from the past.

He chuckled then firmly asked, "Well, what in the hell do I have to do to make her show herself, hmm?"

She laughed then quipped, "What ya wanna do to make her?" Yes, he had the ability to seem to trigger the reemergence of the side of her she more so desired to be around twenty-four seven.

His hands slid back against the vinyl then lowered down against both her bared ass cheeks. He continued to peer up at her, saw that spark of mischief within her blue eyes. Oh, yes, he praised himself, he most definitely was a man of many talents and one was pulling forward from a willing shell, a confident woman.

He confidently stated, "Oh, there's plenty I can do, that I guarantee." And, yes, there was plenty within his large fetish erotic repertoire to make her shine.

"Well," she chimed, "Then do plenty, Mr. Hardway." She wanted plenty, needed plenty, and wanted and needed that plenty to come from him.

He rose up from the sofa, kept his eyes with hers. His imagination started to weave those lovely images that she so perfectly inspired. He kept both hands firm against her ass, tucked his fingers beneath the tight garters then nudged her against him.

He neared his lips to hers then stated, "Then plenty I shall do."

His lips lightly grazed against hers. He felt the smooth labret against his lips as he very gently suckled her soft pierced bottom lip and tasted the flavor of her red lipstick mingled with the sweetness from the wine.

The gentleness of his kiss was remarkable, every subtle motion of his lips against hers was as electric as his firm aggressive kiss. Her breaths heightened, pressed her tits against the snug corset bodice. She instinctively brought her arms up and around his neck, pressed both hands back against the wavy length of his dark hair just below the brim of his charcoal gray fedora.

He dragged his hands upward, curled his fingertips into the flesh of her milky ass. Upward against the sleek vinyl his hands trailed then shifted, moved over the snug heave of her vinyl coated ribs. He could feel the building heat of her body through the thick vinyl as his hands slid upward then stopped and molded over the under shape of the vinyl cups.

He indulged in the distinct heave of her chest as his lips continued a tender ritual with the tip of his tongue ever so slightly exploring the soft crease of her mouth.