View Full Version : Woman Of His Dreams by Wild_At_Heart

02-24-2008, 11:57 PM
Chapter 1
She was 5'10" and her body was absolutely my wildest fantasy. Put that together with her beautiful face, long flowing auburn hair, and exquisitely sexy clothes, and maybe you can understand what happened to me.

The first time I saw her, I did a double-take, because she looked so much like the supermodel Stephanie Seymour, about whom I'd had countless wet dreams. She was washing her car while wearing a skimpy black bikini in the condominium parking lot. I lived less than three miles away, but had arrived for a tennis match with a friend.

As I walked past her on the way to the courts, I couldn't help but ogle her ass as she bent over to dip the sponge in the bucket of soapy water. She noticed me looking, and as I caught her eye, she straightened up, looked right at me, and gave me a real friendly smile. "Hi," she said; I couldn't have continued walking if I'd wanted to . . . and I didn't want to. I stammered a hello, and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Nicole – when I told her my name (Pete), she smiled again, and I felt like I had walked into a dream. After she had thoroughly and deliberately wrung the excess water out of the sponge, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time, I excused myself by saying I was headed to the tennis courts for my match.

About midway through my match, I noticed her sitting on a bench outside the court watching us play. She was wearing a skimpy white t-shirt over her bikini top, but nothing else but the bikini bottom was covering her. I tried not to get too distracted, or to make it obvious I was staring at her, but when I waved hello, she grinned ear to ear and gave me a friendly wave in return, and uncrossed and re-crossed her long, tan legs. As crazy as it sounds, the semi-hardon I'd begun to feel when I talked to her by her car had continued nonstop and was still there.

When our match concluded, my friend took off (he had to work) – he hadn't really even noticed our spectator. I walked over to speak to Nicole – she stood up and looked me right in the eye as we talked. It was all I could do to keep myself from blatantly checking out her body as the somewhat damp t-shirt clung to her perfect tits, and her bare legs shone in the sun. I asked her if she'd like to see a movie that evening. She smiled again, and said "Sure, I'd love to. Do you have something you can write down my number with?"

I wore navy blue shorts and a black t-shirt (we'd decided to dress casually) when I picked her up for the movie. She was wearing a short silky patterned skirt, with a tank top that almost covered her belly-button (but not quite), and a pair of "fuck-me" pumps. When we got to the cineplex and found our theatre, I was sort of happy when she wanted to sit near the back and off to the side where not a lot of people were around.

We began to hold hands and watch the movie. After about 15 minutes, she let go of my hand, and rested her hand on my leg, sort of running her fingers over my inner thigh. I tried to act like nothing out of the ordinary was happening – play it cool. (It wasn't easy. I'm about 6'4' and considered very good-looking, but it's not exactly common that I meet a Stephanie Seymour lookalike and have her hand touching my leg three inches from my crotch all in the same day.)

After a couple minutes of this, she leaned over, and began to whisper something in my ear. It was heavenly to feel her warm breath and her soft hair so close to my ear. She whispered, "Pete, do you mind if I touch your cock?" I turned to glance at her, and she pressed toward me again, saying "Right now?" I smiled and shook my head – I didn't mind, but for some reason I couldn't choke out my approval verbally. She smiled and gave me a kiss.

I guess I must have sort of expected her to "touch my cock" through my shorts, because I was surprised again when she used her long, sexy fingers to unzip my shorts, fish into my briefs, and retrieve my cock. I wasn't worried we'd be seen; nobody was really sitting very close to us. (By the way, in case you're wondering why we did this at the theatre instead of at one of our homes, I don't really know – I was 28 at the time, and she was 25. It's not like we were teenagers.)

She held my completely stiff pole in her hand without moving for what seemed like forever. She simply held my cock and watched the movie. Then, without warning, she fished back into my briefs and sort of tugged at my scrotum, until my balls were out too, and she rested the palm of her hand there for a while. (For you readers who are beginning to sense what's going on here, that's right – she now had my balls in the palm of her hand. It wasn't until much later that I realized the full significance of that statement.)

Then she started to stroke my pole – up and down with the tips of her fingers running over my shaft. The relatively tight opening on my briefs provided additional friction around my balls and the base of my tool as she moved it around. I reached the point where I began to think less about how great I felt and more about shooting my load (I think my male readers all know exactly what I mean.)

But she continued at about the same pace, until I felt like I couldn't hold back. She suddenly squeezed the base of my cock and pulled all the skin between the base and the tip down toward the base. I felt my cock swell and she kept squeezing down. It was too late. The load began to ooze out of my engorged rod. But her squeezing had at least prevented any embarrassing contractions and 6-foot spurts of come. As she eased off her grip (still not looking), the come oozed out – the whole load came out in what seemed to be one long, thick stream, and it ran onto my navy blue shorts. When she let go of my cock, it sort of flapped back against my black T-shirt, depositing a load of ooze there as well.

I didn't feel any satisfaction at all, however. Just embarrassment, and, strangely, the desire to ravish Nicole. I really needed to climax!!

What happened next is something to this day I don't understand. Nicole, who had been watching the movie while her hand was making this all happen, looked over and saw the thick gobs of come on my dark shorts and T-shirt. She looked up from my cock to my face, looking me right in the eye. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. "How could you do that to me?" she asked. "I can't believe you would shoot your load at a time like this." I stammered that I hadn't "shot" my load, it just sort of oozed out unintentionally. She looked at me and said, "Oh, and I guess you think that makes it all right?"

Without another word, she got up from her seat and clip-clopped out of the movie. Obviously, I couldn't follow her immediately. In fact, I wasn't sure how I would leave the theatre at all – we hadn't even stopped to get popcorn on our way in and I didn't have a single napkin. By the time the stains dried, the movie had ended, and I walked into the lobby, half-expecting to see Nicole waiting for me. She was nowhere to be seen. I decided to head for home.

I got out of my clothes and went to bed, my mind (and balls) still reeling from my experiences of the last 12 hours. I could not get Nicole out of my mind. After tossing and turning in confusion for what seemed like hours, and having a hardon that would not go away, I turned on the light. For some reason, even though I needed a shuddering, spastic orgasm so badly I could scream, I didn't want to masturbate. After feeling Nicole's hand on my balls, I didn't want to come alone.

Then I made a decision I still don't completely understand . . . and which changed my life forever.

At 3 in the morning, I picked up the phone and called Nicole's number.

02-25-2008, 05:59 PM
Please add more, you have me hooked.

02-26-2008, 02:31 PM
interesting story

02-28-2008, 05:53 AM
good story cant wait to read the rest

02-28-2008, 11:43 PM
hot stuff
keep em cumming!

02-29-2008, 11:54 PM
The phone rang several times, as I lay naked in my bed, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder. I was on top of the covers, lying on my back. My pole, as might be expected under the circumstances, was stiffly protruding upward. As the phone rang, I sort of clenched my cock muscles, "flexing" my hard appendage; it wasn't an orgasm, I figured, but it felt pretty damn good.

I was actually trembling a little when someone picked up the phone. There was a pause, then Nicole's voice. "Hello?" She sounded sexy my cock twitched, this time unintentionally. "Nicole?" I managed to croak.

"Is this Pete? Why are you calling me?" came her response.

I hadn't planned what I'd say. I stammered out a flow of words I hardly knew I had in me, telling her I felt bad about what happened and I was crazy about her, could she give me another chance, could we at least be friends; I don't even remember everything that came flooding out.

My answer seemed to surprise her . . . it surprised me too. When I finished talking, there was a long, very pregnant pause. "Are you naked?" she asked.

I immediately admitted I was, but I quickly assured her that I always slept that way, and I hadn't been able to sleep at all since I got home from the movie.

"Is your cock hard?"

I had never had a day like the previous one, and I had never had a conversation like this one. I guess the fact it was the middle of the night and I was so damn crazy about this beautiful creature made me carry on with the conversation as if this line of questioning was not at all unusual.

"Yes, but I'm not touching it it's been hard since I met you, to tell the truth. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." I paused . . . silence. "Can I come over and talk?" Silence. "Please?"

Her answer blew my mind. "Sure, I wasn't sleeping very well myself. I guess I could use someone to talk to."

It began to sink in she thought I meant could I come over right then, and she had said it was OK. After another pause, I said I'd be over in a few minutes. "Be sure to put some clothes on," she said, giggling, then she hung up the phone.

I got back into my shorts and T-shirt and drove to her condo. When I stood on the porch and knocked, the porch light came on, Nicole pulled the curtain aside to make sure it was me, then came and opened the door. When I came inside, she closed the door behind me. I noticed the only light on was a small lamp in the living room. She said, "Come on in, we can talk in here." I sat down on the sofa, turning to look at Nicole for the first time.

She looked incredible! She was wearing a see-through, turquoise-colored teddy, and high-heeled shoes. "I didn't think you'd be here so quickly." Then she noticed for the first time what I was wearing the same shorts and T-shirt I'd been wearing to the movie . . . the same clothes that were soiled as a result of her incredibly sensual handjob . . . the handjob my untimely, unsatisfying near-climax had unintentionally ended. When I saw the look on her face, I'd have given anything to turn back time, go home and change clothes, change into anything else in my closet. Her expression was a combination of anger, disbelief, and genuinely hurt feelings.

I jumped up from the sofa and rushed to where she was standing, and put my arms around her, as she turned away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wasn't even thinking, I got dressed so quickly because I wanted to see you again I'm just crazy about you, it has nothing to do with coming." (What was I saying? I almost couldn't believe my own ears.)

She sort of composed herself, turned toward me again, and said, "It doesn't?"

I put my arms around her lovely waist, pulled her toward me and gave her the most passionate kiss I've ever given. As our lips parted after what seemed like several minutes, she asked me if I'd mind taking off my clothes. "I just want you to be naked that way I feel like there's no secrets, I'll know everything you're feeling while we talk."

I began to actually feel somewhat dizzy as I stripped off my T-shirt and dropped my shorts (I hadn't worn underpants, what a surprise!) to the floor. I stood face to face with Nicole. She was a perfect twin of Stephanie Seymour; it was absolutely uncanny. With the turquoise teddy and the high-heeled shoes, she looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog. I, on the other hand, probably looked like a fool, standing totally naked with an engorged cock just sort of sticking out, and come-stained clothes lying in a heap at my feet. She looked me right in the eye.

She reached down and cradled my balls in the palm of her hand, never breaking eye contact with me. Although I wanted her so desperately I could scream, I was frozen in place by the feeling of her soft palm under my balls. "Where are your balls right now, Pete?" she whispered. "Tell me exactly where your balls are."

If I could have spoken, I'd have answered. All I could do was moan. I was still feeling lightheaded this was the most amazing experience of my life. Nothing else had ever come close.

Nicole took my hand and led me down the hallway of her one-story condo. My cock sort of bounced as we walked. She opened a door, and led me inside. There were no lights on as she led me to the middle of the dark room. She asked if I minded raising my hands above my head, cupping my balls again as she whispered the question.

I raised my hands. She moved very close to me again, and we locked lips in a passionate kiss. I didn't know why she wanted me to raise my hands, but I still felt so guilty about what had happened at the theatre that I wanted to do whatever would make her comfortable. I felt her hands caress my biceps, then move up further along my arms as we kissed. I felt her move my arms back a little, and stretch them up above me, and I had a vague feeling of fabric or something else brushing against my wrists. Suddenly I heard a loud "SNAP" and felt a very firm grip around my wrists, which were stretched above my head. Nicole continued to kiss me for a few more seconds, as she caressed her way down my forearms, to my biceps, my shoulders, then rested her hands on my chest as our lips parted. She took a very short step back, and cupped my balls again in her hand.

I began to move my arms to put them around her waist again. They moved about one inch, then stopped. Nicole let go of my balls and walked away from me to another part of the dark room. I couldn't see her. In the dark, unable to see where Nicole had gone, I suddenly felt totally alone. But only for an instant.

I heard her strike a match, and she lit a small candle. Carrying it, she walked toward me again, and held the candle between us about six inches above eye level. Our eyes were locked on each others'.

Her eyes left mine, and wandered to the ceiling. My eyes followed, and I saw what she was looking at. My hands were cuffed in a very tight pair of velvet-covered wrist restraints about three inches long. It felt as if the velvet was covering solid manacles of steel. The cuffs were attached to a thick silver chain, which was in turn attached to a heavy steel eyelet which was screwed into a thick 4x4 beam that crossed the ceiling from wall to wall.

I could not move my hands more than one inch in any direction.

Her eyes met mine again, and she stepped closer. Her turquoise teddy rubbed against my naked, trembling body. She reached her hand between my legs again, and cradled my balls, her warm palm surrounding them.

"Did you mean what you said, Pete?" she cooed.