Chapter 5: Getting to know each other better

His doorbell rang, and he stooped to the peephole to confirm it was her. It was. The distorted fisheye view through the lens made her boobs seem even bigger.

He let her in, and she deigned to allow his lips to brush her cheek momentarily before she passed into the room. He'd been cooking Italian, something he was quite good at, and she inhaled its aroma appreciatively.

She looked great. A bun-hugging lime-green mini dress, high heels, and her hair with all its extensions piled up like a beehive. Like the Supremes minus two. And very top-heavy in front.

She dropped her carrybag on the carpet and stood before the big picture-window of his living room, admiring the view of downtown with the harbour beyond. In the early evening it was all lit up like a fairyland.

"Nice place" she commented. "Nice view".

"I guess. After a while I kinda stopped noticing it."

"At my auntie's place we see a brick wall, and some fire escapes. Who did the decorating in here? You?"

"My ex-wife. I don't have much of an eye for such things."

"I thought I detected a woman's touch."

"Her tastes are a lot more sophisticated than mine. All I really ask out of life is a place to keep the rain off my CD player."

That's not something to joke about, she thought inwardly. Not in my neighbourhood.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Got any white wine?"

It so happened he did. Some good stuff, too. South African, "Groot Constantia", all the way from a place called Stellenbosch.

When he returned with her glass, he found she'd sunk back into the big leather sofa. He sat in the matching armchair opposite.

She didn't bother about sitting modestly. He could see right up between her thighs to her knickers. She saw him looking, and adjusted her legs slightly to give him an even better view.

"Here's to us" she toasted, and they both took a slug before putting their glasses back down.

"Yes, about us" he queried. "What are you planning? Are we going to have a regular relationship, like regular folks?"

"Shit, I hope not!"

"What, then?"

"We're gonna get our freak on. An' we're gonna just take it day by day. If you ever piss me off too much, I'll be outta here."

"Does it bother you that there's an inter-generational gap here?"

"Nope."

"There's an economic gap, too."

"Now you're pissing me off!"

"So you want me for my body, not my money?"

"Money's nice, I can't deny. I won't refuse any that you want to spend on me, but that's up to you."

He appreciated her honesty. And he let that subject drop.

She braced herself for mention of an inter-racial gap, but mercifully that hadn't formed any kind of a blip on his radar as yet. Luckily for him. She was ready to let him have it, if ever he did bring it up.

There was a silence for a time.

"Take your dick out."

"What?"

"Your dick. Take it out."

"Why?"

"It's mine. I want to see it."

Hmmm... this was Sub-clause 2(a) of their arrangement, right? He complied, unzipping and fishing around through his fly until his willy was hanging out through the gap.

"Leave it like that for the rest of the evening. Until I tell you to put it away again."

"Okay, but it could make life interesting when I go fry the mushrooms!"

She giggled.

"I might just sprinkle some hot oil on it for you myself!"

He noticed her glass was empty, and got up to fetch the bottle. As he refilled it, he was conscious of her gaze upon his dick. It stirred slightly in response to this attention.

Sitting down again with his own glass replenished, he wondered what to say next. Serious topics like intergenerational gaps suddenly seem neither here nor there when one's willy is hanging out of one's trousers. He felt slightly ridiculous. In one slick move, she'd shifted the dynamics of their interactions firmly in her own favour.

"I... I'll just toss the salad, and then we can eat!"

He leapt up and went to the small kitchen. He saw her stand and scrutinize the contents of his CD shelf. Exactly the kind of thing he'd do too, if in another's home for the first time. And he wasn't at all sure what she'd make of his CD selections. Mostly modern jazz, with some seventies hard rock and some classical thrown in. The majority of it recorded before she was even born.

A couple of minutes later there issued forth the sound of a heavy hip-hop beat. What the heck? Then a watery-sounding trumpet came in over the top. Ah, yes. The very last Miles Davis album. She'd astutely chosen the only CD he possessed that was capable of bridging any inter-generational divide.

She joined him in the kitchen, to keep him company. He deftly completed the mixing of greens, and got some plates out. All the while his half-erect penis wobbled about before him. She enjoyed the sight immensely.

The mushrooms only needed a quick fry in butter, posing not nearly the hazard to his manhood that he'd made it out to be. And then he had everything ready on the table. Seafood pasta, with salad, mushrooms and garlic bread. The wine had sharpened her appetite, and she tucked in with gusto.

"This is good! You have hidden talents!"

"Well, talents, anyway. Are you much of a cook yourself?"

She shook her head.

"I give good blowjobs, though."

"That I have yet to ascertain."

"I save them for special occasions."

Suddenly he laughed.

"What?"

"You just reminded me of something I once read."

"Yeah? Go on."

"The lead singer of this grunge band... can't remember which one, "Hole" or "Bucket" or something like that, was asked in an interview what she thought her life's greatest accomplishments were. She said, "I make nice sponge cakes, and give great head"!"

She laughed at that one too, and commented with a hint of sarcasm "What dizzier heights could a girl aspire to?"

What, indeed. Her pasta was fast disappearing, and her glass needed topping up again. He found himself admiring her cleavage. Her dark, soft boobs had a look of being about to spill out of that dress at any moment.

They chatted some more about this and that, joking and teasing each other. He was captivated by her big round eyes, which still seemingly had the ability to scrutinize his very soul.

As they talked and ate, he felt her touch his leg under the table. She wormed her foot up between his thighs to his crotch, where it rested on his prick. Every so often she idly rolled it about or pressed harder against it, keeping him in a lovely state of suspense.

She finished up her plate, and he offered her more but she put up her hand in refusal. Standing, she made her way back to the sofa. The Miles CD had finished, but she didn't go and change it. He put on some coffee, then went and sat in the armchair again.

She still wasn't sitting modestly, and his exposed prick stirred again at the sight of her smooth brown thighs.

She noticed his noticing, and pulled her skirt up a bit higher to show off even more leg, and a glimpse of black panties.

"Time to play. Get my bag for me."

He reached for the carrybag and passed it across.

"Get your trousers right off."

He did as she asked, and his underwear too, while she got the familiar webbing straps out for deployment.

She looked at him again.

"And the shirt."

Now he was completely naked. He moved to draw the drapes, but she said "Leave them!"

She'd already sussed out the possibilities of the joint in terms of anchor points for webbing straps. The three-seater leather sofa almost literally weighed a ton, and it's stubby wooden legs would do nicely to restrain his arms, thank you very much. She indicated where she wanted him to lie, and he assumed the position.

Soon he was spreadeagled with arms out wide and unable to be moved more than a couple of inches either way. His ankles also got bound up, and tied to the leg of the armchair. This he could probably move if he really wanted, though it'd take a lot of effort.

She stood over him, holding the carrybag.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah."

She reached into the bag again and produced a short whip. A cat-o-nine-tails, made of braided horsehair.

"I mean, no!" he blurted nervously, catching sight of it. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Titillate you a 'lil."

"You can't be serious! I mean, this is so clichéd..."

His voice died in his throat as she drew the tails of the whip slowly across his chest. Caressing him with it, stimulating his nipples. It felt rather nice. His cock liked it too, when she used it to tickle him to a respectable erection. Standing astride him as she moved the whip back and forth, she afforded him an excellent view up her dress of her black-nylon covered sit-sack, and lots of bare brown buttock. Very arousing.

The sudden sting caught him by surprise. She'd swiped him smartly across his left nipple with it.

"Ow! Christ! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"We'll see how much of this you can stand."

"Not much, I can tell you! I'm not into pain!"

"Think of it as an added stimulation."