Imagination Is Key

JOSEPHINE WALTERS

 

Working at a sex toy store is never boring. Generally speaking, customers are enthusiastic and excited about their purchases. Just look at our wares. Who could be unhappy in a room filled with rubber wear, dildos, vibrators, BDSM gear and the like? That doesn’t mean our clientele is all the same. Some of the men and women who wander our aisles are shy and giggly, while others know exactly what they’re looking for. The red-haired man seemed to fall into this last category. I noticed him right away, not only because of his flaming hair, but also due to the confidence in his stride.

I’ve always appreciated men who know what they want.

The first time I rang up his purchases, he was buying a set of regulation steel handcuffs. He tested the set out at the counter, making sure the key worked properly. I started to wrap the cuffs for him, but he shook his head. “Don’t bother,” he told me.

“Really?” I asked, playing coy. So many men come on to me in this job. But this time, I was the one to make the first move. “Why’s that?” I gazed up into his green eyes.

He leaned in close. “Imagine I have a date waiting for me in the car.”

I pictured a pretty blonde girl instantly. She was tall and lean, wearing a sexy black sheath and a string of beads around her throat.

“Can you see her in your mind?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

“Yes,” I told him.

“Now imagine that I’ve promised her I’d cuff her hands over her head and eat her pussy until she creamed.”

The statement made my panties wet. Both the way he said the words—that brusque, no-nonsense tone—and the thought that he might actually have a girl out in the car who was desperate to be cuffed.

When I gave him his change, the coins spilled onto the counter due to my own shaking hands. He laughed under his breath as I gathered up the silver, my cheeks flushed. “You’d like if I punished you for that, wouldn’t you?”

I met his eyes and said, “Yes. Yes I would.”

“Another night,” he promised, and he left with the cuffs in hand.

All week long, I waited to see if he’d come back. I’d just about lost hope when I saw him enter the store the following Friday evening. He was wearing black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a snug-fitting black tee that showed off his well-built form. I trailed after him on the pretext of offering assistance. “Can I help you with something special?” I asked.

“I don’t know how you can work here,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’d be in a constant state of arousal if I were surrounded by all of these delightful devices.”

I wanted to tell him that I was in a constant state of arousal— but it was due to him more than the toys.

“It’s never dull,” I admitted, “that’s for sure.” I followed his gaze to our display of nipple clamps. My own nipples hardened immediately. I felt breathless as I unlocked the case for him and watched him finger the different models. He chose an expensive jewel-encrusted set, and he paid with cash. I didn’t drop his change this time. I hoped he’d flirt with me as he had the previous encounter, and he didn’t let me down.

“You know how these work?” he asked.

“Yes.” I wanted to toss “Sir” on the end of the statement, but I hesitated.

“You’ve worn them before?”

“Ones like those.”

“Imagine I’m the one putting them on you,” he said. I briefly closed my eyes, painting the mental picture. “Would you like that? Would you wear them for me?”

Forget the blonde I’d envisioned before. Now, I saw myself in his bed, those clamps on my naked tits, my body writhing with pleasure. And then he left the store, and I was useless for the rest of my shift, hardly able to string two words together coherently.

The following Friday, he arrived intent on buying a blindfold. I was so excited to see him that it took everything I had to behave. “Let me guess,” I said, putting on my cockiest attitude, “you want me to imagine that you have a date in the car who is desperate for you to rob her of her sight, so you can lick her to ecstasy.”

He shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?” I wanted him to tell me a story, like he had previously.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” he said as he paid for the velvet blindfold.

“What surprise?”

He simply winked and left the store, and I was left to use my ten-minute break to jerk off in the back. The man had definitely gotten under my skin. Luckily for me, I carry a lipstick-sized vibrator in my purse, and I cruised the tip of that tool up and over my clit as I imagined the sexy stranger blindfolding me, cuffing my hands over my head and doing the dirtiest things to me. In one fantasy, I pictured him spanking me with one of our glossy wooden paddles. In another, I envisioned him using a leather strop to tan my skin. By the time I came, my whole body was trembling with the pleasure of my monster orgasm. I hadn’t come that hard in weeks.

Unfortunately, now it seemed I would have to wait a full seven days to see him again. That is, if he was true to his pervious schedule. Of course, maybe he came in when I wasn’t at work. That was a possibility. But I didn’t think so. I got the feeling that he timed his appearances to my schedule. At least, I hoped he did.

On Friday, I was ready. In fact, I was more than ready. I had on one of my favorite outfits, a slutty little skirt that showed my panties if I bent too low, fishnet stockings, a shirt that was way too tight to be appropriate and high-heeled boots. In any other retail environment I would have been sent home to redress myself in more traditional attire. At our little erotic boutique, I fit in perfectly.

At the same time he’d arrived the prior three weeks, I began to pace. I hoped he’d pay more attention to me this time than to our various devices. Would I look desperate? I actually didn’t care. I was desperate. I might as well look the way I felt. Finally, the bell rang over the door, and he entered. To my relief, he didn’t go off in search of anything but me. He came right to my side and said, “Are you ready to hear how I use a blindfold?”

I nodded, breathless.

“Are you ready to find out yourself?”

“Yes,” I stammered, wishing I knew his name.

He seemed to understand, and he put out a hand. I shook it, as he said, “My name’s Craig.”

“Yes, Craig,” I said.

“And you are?”

“Ready,” I said, thinking that’s what he wanted me to say. He laughed and I blushed, realizing I’d failed at even remembering how to introduce myself properly. “I’m Josie.”

“Nice to meet you, Josie.” And then he said something that made my heart race and my cheeks go cherry pink. “Would you help me choose a paddle?”

I wished I could give in to the desires that flooded through my body at that request. But all I could do was squeeze my thighs together and nod. I get this type of request all the time, and it never fazes me, but with this customer, things were unusual because I was wickedly attracted to him. I showed him to our rack of paddles and watched as he hefted the different ones. Each time his fist wrapped around one of the handles, I felt a jolt that went straight to my clit. When he’d found the paddle that felt best in his grip, he paid for his purchase. Part of me was relieved. I’d made it through the sale without embarrassing myself. But the other part of me was desolate. Now he would leave, and I wouldn’t see him for another week. That’s when he said, “When do you get off, Josie?”

I wanted to tell him that I got off at every break, thinking of him punishing me and doing things with all sorts of the toys that we sell. Instead, I checked my watch and said, “Two hours.”

“Do you think you can wait?”

My pussy was throbbing. I thought that I might come without assistance simply from the proximity to this man.

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t think I can.”

He seemed to appreciate my honesty. “But you will,” he said. “Meet me outside when you get off. I’ll be waiting.” He hesitated. “And don’t cheat. Don’t sneak off and make yourself come. I’ll know.”

Before he could leave, I put my hand on his arm. “What do you do to girls who are blindfolded?”

He bent to whisper in my ear. “So many things. Things that are going to make your pussy wet. Things that are going to make you come harder than you ever have.” Then he left, and I found myself standing there like an idiot, staring after him and wishing I could rub out a quick orgasm to take the edge off.

I swallowed hard and moved back to my proper spot behind the counter. It took every ounce of self-control not to run to the bathroom and make myself come. I believed him. He’d know, somehow. He wouldn’t like that, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Two hours have never dragged on longer, but ultimately my shift was over and I grabbed my purse and coat and went out the door. Before I could even begin to worry that this was some elaborate tease, I saw him. There he was, leaning against a sports car, waiting for me.

I wanted to explain something before I got into the car. I stood at his side and said, “I don’t do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like get off work?”

“I don’t go home with customers. I have a rule.”

“I have lots of rules.” He smiled at me. “Why are you making an exception?”

I didn’t know. There was a connection I felt with Craig that I couldn’t deny, and I told him that, but then I asked, “Who was the girl you had in your car?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he said as he held the door for me.

“You’re not married or anything?”

He shook his head. I decided to believe him, and I got into the car and felt myself melt into the luxury of the leather seat. I wanted to throw myself at him, to start making out as soon as he entered his side of the car, to pull up my skirt and let him feel how wet my panties were. But I knew he was the dom in this game, and I stayed still.

We drove to his house, up the winding streets to the top of the hills. He was a gentleman the whole ride. He asked me how long I’d worked at the store and queried me to discern my sexual likes and dislikes. The questions continued until we pulled into his garage and he asked me for my safeword.

I took a deep breath and told him. He kissed me—our first kiss—and assured me I wouldn’t need to say it. The kiss was magical.

Once inside his home, our dynamic changed completely. “Take off your clothes,” he said. I stripped as he watched, and my fingers were trembling as I undid the buttons on my too-tight blouse.

“On your knees,” he said next, and I bent on my knees on his hardwood floor.

“Follow me.”

I trailed after him on all fours until we entered his bedroom, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Hollywood Hills. I sucked in my breath at the miraculous view. I live in an apartment in Hollywood, and my view is of another building.

“On the bed,” he commanded, pulling my attention away from the window. I climbed up on the mattress and waited. “Close your eyes.” I obeyed, and in seconds I felt the blindfold fastened into place. “Arms over your head.” I did this, too, and a set of handcuffs—the ones I’d sold him?—were locked into place on my wrists.

“Do you remember what I told you in the store?”

“About your date?” I asked, because yes, I remembered that well. Who was the woman? Where was she now?

“Good girl,” he said, and the mattress shifted as he climbed onto the bed with me. In seconds, he was between my legs, licking my pussy, and I let my worries go and basked in the sensation of his tongue against my most tender skin. He was good. His tongue tapped against my clit in a way that had me on the cusp in seconds. His lips surrounded my clit, and he sucked hard, sending me spiraling into a near-bliss that made me breathless and overflowing with want and need.

But then he stopped.

“What did I tell you that first night?”

Oh, fuck. He wanted me to talk while he was eating my pussy? I guessed that this was some sort of test, so I pried my lips apart and tried to answer.

“You said you had a girl in the car.”

He made a tsk noise with his tongue, and in a heartbeat I was on my stomach as he flipped me on the mattress. I thought I knew what was coming a second before it happened, and I was right. The paddle smacked against my naked ass. I yelped and squirmed, then settled into the pain.

“What did I tell you?”

Now, I wracked my brain trying to remember the exact phrasing of the words. “You told me...” I started. “You said...”

“Think.” He smacked my ass again with the paddle, and this time, I pressed my hips forward, crushing my clit against the mattress. Oh, did that feel good. He spanked me several blistering times in a row, and I thought I could actually come from the punishment. That had never happened to me before. Not that I’m a spanking novice. But I’d never been with a man who seemed so perfectly hardwired to my desires.

“What did I tell you?” he asked again, and then I realized what the answer was. Still, me being the naughty vixen that I am, I was torn for a moment as to whether I should give him what he desired. The spanking was so deliciously erotic, I didn’t want it to stop. But I took a deep breath, and I said, “You told me to imagine that you had a date in the car…”

“Right. Imagine.”

He smacked me again. I moaned with pleasure.

“And what did you do?” he asked.

“I pictured this…this pretty blonde woman.” How odd. I’m dark haired, dark eyed. Why wouldn’t I envision myself?

“I don’t go for blondes,” he said. “I like your look. Glossy dark hair. Those huge brown eyes. I wanted you to think of yourself. And really, I wanted you to think about me,” Craig said. “I wanted you to want what I have to give.”

He spanked me again, and I shivered. Each time he landed a blow, the sweetness built within my pussy, as if he were stoking my erotic furnace. I could feel how wet I’d become. My thighs were dripping with my juices, and I’d made a puddle under my pussy on the mattress.

“I did,” I confessed. “After you’d come into the store, I’d…I’d come.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d take my break and touch myself in the bathroom, fantasizing about what you’d told me.”

He seemed to like that. He landed a final few blows, and then flipped me back around. I wondered what would happen next. And suddenly I wished I could see his beautiful eyes. He obviously understood, because he whipped off the blindfold so we were staring face-to-face. Then he pressed the head of his cock to the split of my body and ever so gently thrust inside me. For a moment, I was worried. Something was wrong. I didn’t want nice, sweet sex. I wanted rocking, thrusting, seriously hardcore fucking. Had I misjudged him?

“What?” he asked innocently. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” I said, my breath shaky.

He repeated the initial action, sliding his cock between my swollen, juicy lips with all the finesse of a metronome. Was this how vanilla couples made love? Then I saw the gleam in his eyes.

Damn him. He was going to make me ask for what I needed. He was going to make me spell out the words.

“Fuck me,” I said. “Just fuck me.”

“Aren’t I fucking you?”

“Not like that.” I pressed my hips upward, gaining the contact that I desired. “I want you to really fuck me.”

“Oh, really fuck you,” he said, and then he started, giving me the speed and the friction I was craving. To my ultimate relief, he was good, as good as I’d imagined while making myself come at work. He rode me the way I needed, slamming his cock inside me, then withdrawing, only to do it again. And again. My wrists were still bound, or I would have wrapped my arms around him. As it was, I wrapped my legs around him and held on as he worked me, taking me higher and higher with each powerful thrust. He rotated his hips so that his cockhead touched me deep inside, and after the fiercest of thrusts, he stayed sealed to me so that I could recover before he pounded me all over again.

Right when I was reaching my peak, he slid a hand between our bodies to strum my clit as he fucked me, and in moments I was a goner, coming like he’d promised, coming like I never had before. It was surreal. I felt as if the climax never would stop, waves breaking on waves as I crested on the pleasure. My pussy milked his cock, contracting over and over around his shaft. He waited me out, then ground his hips against my body and let himself go. I watched his face as he reached his own finish, the pleasure lighting him up from within.

Afterward, he released my wrists from the cuffs and held me close. “That was the longest foreplay I’ve ever engaged in,” he confessed, nuzzling the back of my neck with his lips.

“Me, too,” I sighed. “But it was worth it,” I assured him.

“I’m not going to wait another month to fuck you again,” he said, as he reached into his nightstand and brought out the set of jeweled nipple clamps.

“I couldn’t stand it if you did,” I said, honestly. “Those little teasing tidbits you told me had me on edge for weeks.”

“You ready for the next part of the tale?” he asked as he fastened the clips in place and gave me a kiss. “You’ll help me write each installment,” he promised, and I took a deep breath as we started to begin the next chapter of our story.