The Last and First Time

My old girlfriend was about to go into the Air Force,
and as we had not spent any time together in several
weeks, I called her on a Friday night to get an
evening together. I figured it may very well be the
last one.

When I got her on the phone, she sounded like her
usual fun-loving self, and I suggested we take in a
show that was in town, one that we both desperately
wanted to see. I doubted we would make it, or that
there would be tickets, but offered the alternative of
dinner, which I owed her from her birthday. She gladly
accepted, and I dressed and went to pick her up.

When I got to her door, she was wearing a tight black
dress with tan hose, stiletto heels (which, by the
way, were not her norm), and a white lace choker
loosely fitted around her neck. I had not seen her
dressed like this before, and I thought to myself,
Boy, I wish I had.

We got into the car and immediately began chatting. I
asked her about her Air Force physical, the testing,
what field she had chosen, her last boyfriend, school,
the whole gamut. This particular girl and I never
lacked for something to talk about. The conversation
rolled all the way to the theatre, more than a half
hour away. But when we got there, the show was to
start in less than five minutes. I pulled into a small
parking lot just behind the theatre, and asked her
what she wanted to do.

She replied, “Well, I’d still like to go see the
show.”

“Wait here, I’ll go see if I can get tickets.” I ran
inside to find that they were sold out, and that the
waiting list was more than 30 people long. Frustrated
but polite, I thanked the ticket vendor and returned
to my car.

“No luck,” I said. “They’re sold out, and I doubt
we’ll get in before the first act ends.”

She sighed. “Oh well, it’s not all bad, at least I
still have dinner coming tonight!” She chuckled.

“Okay, where to?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Where else? Olive Garden!”

The trip back to the Olive Garden would take another
30 minutes, but once again we were not lacking for
conversation. However, this time it got a bit more
personal, as we had both grown much since we had
dated, an affair that never got sexual. I began
discussing her good friend, also another ex-girl-
friend, but one that got more than sexual. My friend
was talkative, but didn’t really seem to enjoy talking
about her. I, on the other hand, was still swamped by
feelings for the girl, and it was obvious to her.

“Look, she’s gone on, why can’t you?”

“I’m trying. It’s just hard for me.” That was true, I
had been older than her by a considerable margin for
our ages, in fact had been her voice teacher when we
became friends and finally lovers, and I had fallen
hard for her. However, my sexual life had taken quite
a turn since we had broken up, and I had been thinking
of many of my old girlfriends in this new light since
then. Including the one sitting next to me right now.

We got to the Olive Garden, pulled in, parked, and
walked inside. The waiting line was long, and I asked
how long the wait was. Told it was about 1/2 hour, I
asked if she would rather go elsewhere.

She said, “It’s up to you. Would you rather go
somewhere else?”

I debated. It was a Friday night. Every place we would
want to go would be like this. “No, on second thought,
let’s just wait.” We sat to wait. I looked around,
noticed a few old friends waiting as well, introduced
them to my friend, and talked for a few minutes. We
continued the conversation between ourselves, and it
didn’t seem long before we were seated, in a romantic
little corner replete with candle-light and Italian
music.

The conversation rolled back to a more mundane topic,
but I couldn’t help spicing it up by relating some
sexual content to it. She just laughed every time I
did, a far cry from the girl I dated over a year ago,
who wanted to remain a virgin until marriage. That was
one promise that didn’t last. I got spicier and more
lascivious as the date went on, which was assisted by
two Italian coladas (she was only 19, and couldn’t
handle her liquor), and she just seemed to warm to the
intimacy of the scene. Perhaps, it seemed, a dream
would at long last come true.

When dinner was done, we took our leftovers (one
always has leftovers at the Olive Garden, it’s just
that good) and went back to my mother’s house, where I
still lived with her. To my relief, she was out for
the night, which meant I had the house to myself with
my friend.

She was already slightly drunk, and I decided to just
let it all hang out by opening a bottle of wine I had
held for just such an occasion. We both had several
glasses, and she began to get even more tipsy. Then I
decided to play my hand, and opened some Fire Water
(101 proof), and gave her two shots immediately
together. She hit the first one, then balked before
slamming the second, but wouldn’t touch a third. No
matter, I thought, at this point you don’t even know
where you are!

Now I got daring. I went to my bedroom and got my
brand new handcuffs, and put the key in my pocket.
When I went back to where she was, she was on the
ground, slumped near a candle.

“Are you okay? Wake up, babe!”

She stirred, lazily. “Oh, yeah, uhmm, I’m okay.” Her
words were distinctly slurred. I placed the handcuffs
on her wrists, locking them in place. She gazed
dreamily at me. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. I just thought we might have a little
fun.”

“Cool.” She was so out of it, I thought, it might not
be as much fun as I hoped. I tried to get her to
stand, which was a mistake on my part, as she very
nearly fell on a table of candles. I all but carried
her into a back bedroom and laid her on the bottom
bunk of a set of bunk beds, and handcuffed her wrists
to the posts. She looked at me again, still dazed.
“Now what are you doing?”

“Same thing. I’ll be right back.”

I went back to the front, blew out all the candles,
and poured two glasses of wine. When I got back to the
bedroom with the wine, she had at least wised up to
the situation.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing that you won’t enjoy. Now then. I want to ask
you something. We never had the chance when we were
dating, and you are too much of a friend to just
completely take advantage of, so I’m asking. Will you
have sex with me?”

“Sure,” she sighed.

I kissed her deeply, and began to pull her top off,
carefully avoiding the choker that was turning me on
so badly. I pulled the top up to her elbows, realizing
that it would go no further. As I removed her bra, I
kissed and licked her nipples, which were jutting up
in the air, like my cock wanted to do.

Slowly, I unlocked one of her wrists, pulling the
clothing around her hand, and then replacing the cuff
onto the post. She never even noticed. I kept up my
kissing and licking, then slowly worked my way down,
removing her skirt just before my mouth reached it. I
licked and nibbled her clit, and she began to moan, a
sound I had so wanted to hear since we had met.

No quiet moaner, she, this was a passionate, forceful
moan, almost as if she were singing low. Of course,
this turned me on even more, and after moving
everything out of the way, I climbed on top of her.
Slowly I slid my pants down to my knees, rubbing
against her as I did so. I slid my underwear down as
well, rubbing flesh against flesh, and she moaned
again, even louder.

She began to lean her head back, and her choker
pressed into her neck, causing my already raging
erection to scream even louder for more. I slid into
her, and she gasped as I did. I thrust into her
forcefully, causing her to wail even higher (this girl
was obviously a singer!), and I began a rhythm, with
her singing a new and stronger pitch on every thrust.
That feeling began to build within me, so I slowed,
then pulled out and looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“Nothing.” I paused momentarily. She said nothing, but
smiled. I looked at her. “I have something I want to
try. I think you might enjoy it too. Would you like to
try?”

“Sure,” she replied dreamily again.

I stood up, and went to get a belt I kept for the
occasion. I also got a scarf. I returned with my toys.

“What’s all that for?”

“You’ll find out,” I replied. Patiently, I took the
scarf and blindfolded her. She laughed.

“That tickles!”

I continued until her eyes were incapable of finding
any light. Then I got really daring. I slowly slid the
belt around the back of her neck, and looped it once
around her throat.

She nearly yelped. “What’s that for?”

Calmly, I said, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I promise
I won’t hurt you.”

She quivered, but said, “Okay.”

I climbed back on top of her. Slowly I slid my still-
raging erection into her. She moaned again, but this
time the fear was evident in her voice. She didn’t
know what to expect.

We built back up to a rhythm, and she began to “sing”
again. She also leaned her head back, which strained
the belt against her neck, almost daring me to do it.
I grabbed the ends of the belt, and slowly pulled the
slack out. She lowered her head, gasped, and froze. I
kissed her, plunging my tongue into her mouth, and she
relaxed. I waited a moment, then began to tighten the
belt, all the while kissing and thrusting into her.
Her moans continued through the kiss, until the belt
began to tighten. She gurgled, then broke the kiss and
leaned her head back.

She whispered breathlessly, “Do it.”

I began fucking her hard now, and pulled the belt even
tighter. Her moans now became hoarse gasps and
wheezes, but she leaned her head back even farther. I
pulled more.

She wheezed. “Oh yes! Harder!”

I pulled. I could see the red building up on her neck,
her arms thrashing in their restraints, but her legs
grabbed my waist, and she almost sat up.

“Do it! Yes! Oh, so hard!”

I pulled hard, the belt now tightened almost to
breaking. Her breath came in short bursts, gasps, and
cracks. But she kept pumping against me! I continued
to pull, and her eyes opened slightly, being puffed
up. She took one last gasp, and went limp. Just then,
she came hard, on me, the bed, everywhere, the most
forceful come I had ever witnessed. Then, it was my
turn, and I pulled out, spraying her stomach with my
come, an orgasm equally as intense as hers. I grunted
as I finished, then quickly removed the belt from her
neck. I kissed her, blowing some air into her as I
did.

She coughed, then slowly roused. Her wrists, ankles,
and neck were all bruised, and we were both covered in
sticky come. She took a few deep breaths, coughing and
sputtering, then said, “So, is that what you wanted to
try?”

We both began to laugh. I said, “Well, yes, unless you
have something else in mind.”

She didn’t stop laughing, but looked at me. Then she
said, “Gee, I didn’t even get a chance to go down on
you!” To this she began roaring in laughter, and I,
flabbergasted, joined her. I gave her a glass of wine,
which she downed quickly, then gave her my glass as
well. She sipped this more slowly.

(To make a long story short, she rested, then
proceeded to give me the best blow job I had had in
ages, since our mutual friend and I had been together.
Oh, and she demanded that I use the belt while she
blew me. I came twice in her mouth.

She and I have maintained contact, as she is in the
Air Force now, and she has almost no recollection of
that night. I keep hinting that we should attempt a
repeat performance sometime, but she doesn’t think her
fianc� would approve. Oh well.)