THE LIBRARY: Deaf, Dumb & Blind Date Part 1


{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by Steve.
We thank them for letting us share it with you here}


She opened the door on my first ring. She was as spectacular as her ex-husband said she would be. Tall ... maybe 5'7" in her flat shoes. A glorious face; big blue-green eyes, a straight, small nose, and wonderfully generous lips that curled naturally into a kewpie-doll smile. A smile that would have been sensual had not her expression so completely exuded honeyed innocence.

She had been very sheltered growing up and in the marriage, I had been told, and looking at her now, I could completely accept that. Here was a young lady who, despite her amazing face and incredible body, had no real comprehension of her effect.

To her she was just a nice person. But to everyone else...especially me...she was something else again. Dark, thick, wavy red hair, which was parted on the left side, swirling down to her shoulders around a strong jawline just made to anchor cloth or tape. But I was getting ahead of myself. Not by much, but still....

"Hi. You must be Randy," she said with no hint of irony, in a soft, modulated, voice.

"I am," I replied, with a hint.

"You're right on time," she continued brightly, as only a sheltered girl on her first big date after a separation from an overly controlling husband could. "Come on in while I get my coat."

The house was as big and well-furnished and empty of other people as he said it would be, and, sure enough, she was dressed as conservatively as he said she would be: in a simple, dark, severe, triangular pullover that went from her neck to her knees like a sheath, and dark, ribbed leggings, ending in flat, leather, ankle boots.

She turned and started to hop up the stairs, the movement just hinting at the riches I had been assured of beneath the pullover dress.

I stepped in, swiftly closed the door behind me, pulled the 125,000 volt zapper from my coat pocket and moved quickly after her.

She reached the landing which joined the bedroom hall with the living room, dining room, and kitchen doorway when I reached under her skirt, jammed the prods against her thigh and thumbed the switch. She went down onto the teak wood flooring like a felled tree.

Despite all that followed, it was almost my favorite moment.

I stepped up to stand over her, looking down into her lovely face, whose expression changed like upstate weather. At first it was all wide-eyed, open mouth shock -- both literally and figuratively. What had happened? Then her brow furrowed in a painful unspoken question: what is happening to me?

Then came the dawn.

Watching her try to say or do something and seeing her realize she couldn't was priceless. I could practically hear her brain crying out to her mouth to scream and to her body to react. Stand, fight, run...! But she couldn't do any of it.

Only then did her face scrunch up in child-like frustration, and the tears began to flow... her crying like an abandoned child lost in the woods.

I walked around her cringing, quivering form until I was beside her shoulder. I leaned down, looking into her alternately blubbering and wide-eye-surprised face, then surveying her long, shapely, stiffening legs and twisting, curvy torso.

"Oh no," I said quietly. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere, Erin."

I kneeled down beside her, carefully gripping the zipper at the top of her tunic.

"Do you know how long we've been planning this? Do you know how long this took to set up? Do you really think our meeting in that coffee house was by chance?"

She tried so hard to scream that she started to gasp: great, wracking semi-sobs jerking from her throat as if she were being electrocuted every few seconds. They thrust her chest up, jerking her head back, bending her knees.

I pulled down the zipper all the way to her waist. "Holy Madonna, mother of pop," I whispered.

Her chest was magnificent. Huge, high, and real: obvious even in the sea and sky blue, lace, scalloped underwire bra with the little blue rose between her breasts.

"Your little hubby gave you that, didn't he?" I chided. "Gave you all your lingerie, didn't he? Haven't had time, or the money, to go shop for something less ... sexbomb ... have you?" Her gasps had become long, wrenching, teeth-gritting grunts now, as if she were trying to lift a 500 pound weight.

I merely reached down, curled my forefingers under the bra cups, and pulled them down.

Her huge breasts bounced free, spreading across her upper chest like two big jello-molds. I nearly caught my breath in my throat. Her aureoles and nipples were accordingly big: like pancake-bathtub stoppers in the lower center of the mounds. I nearly sat on her waist then, my member yearning to ram itself between the molten mountains.

"Nice tits," I understated. No wonder her ex-hub didn't want her free. Then I merely reached down and flipped up her dress hem. There were her glorious gams and hips encased in the ribbed tights. I snaked my hand beneath the elastic waist and felt the soft, warm hair down there. "Nice cunt," I called her.

She started to keen piteously, her head back, her eyes closed, her body rocking side to side. Ah well, I thought, better get down to it. I reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out the big, pink, pliant ball.

I reached up and started stuffing it into her mouth. Her eyes snapped open and the blue-green pupils shot down to the bottom lids. She made this "aw, aw, awwww," noise but then it popped in behind her teeth, muffling the gargling sounds.

Then out came the thick, insulated cloth duct tape, in a nice shiny shade of gray. As I had figured, it fit in the valley between her nose and chin as if tailored there, sealing her luscious lips closed. She tried to cry out; it emerged a hum. Her head went back, eyes closing again in despair, but froze in place as I slipped the collar under her neck.

That's a good bitch," I said quietly, tightening the studded black leather around her elegant throat. She choked in amazement, her eyes wide under beautifully furrowed auburn brows.


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