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One Of Those Days

Ever have one of those days where everything goes your way?
It was one of those days for me. I pulled the curtains to darken
the room, then turned to gaze upon Cindy, who was relaxing in the
reclining chair. I felt my nipples harden just that little bit.
Finally.
The soft sound of ocean waves, from the environmental tape,
washed across the room relaxing her further and I moved closer
to look down upon her face. Such a lovely face.
Finally.
She was vulnerable, now, and I was going to take full advantage.
I had been waiting a long time. She had such a delectable body,
one that I desired to use, to use in many different ways. The mere
thought caused a shiver to run up and down my spine.
Finally.
I sat down on the footstool next to the recliner and touched
chair's control. The vibrator gently hummed to life and Cindy gave
out with a little groan.
"Oh, that's nice," she murmured, shifting slightly as the
chair's vibrator hummed and massaged her.
"Yes," I whispered, "very nice. Just relax and let yourself
drift. You need to calm down. Just relax."
I had always suspected that she would be susceptible to
suggestion and I had prepared the ground thoroughly. Now I would
find out for sure.
She trusted me, trusted me implicitly. I was the big sister
to whom she could come with any problem, who would listen to her
sympathetically, without judging. I was the one who would make
time for her, no matter when, who would go out of my way for her.
And she was grateful, so grateful.
Of course Cindy would want to reciprocate - she didn't want
the relationship to be one-sided - and I, of course, would let her.
Just little things, meaningless things in the greater ebb and flow
of our lives, just little things which would seem to make my life
a little easier. Like, if she were going to the store anyway,
picking me up something I'd have run out of, thus saving me a
trip. And I appreciated the 'trouble' she took for me, oh yes, and
she was so happy that she had pleased me, so happy that she was
repaying the debt.
Yes, meaningless things, yet meaningful in an entirely different
way. She was now so used to acceding to my requests that she never
even stopped to ask what I wanted when she agreed to do me a
'favour', for I never, ever, took advantage.
That was about to change.
Finally.

It was a hot day and that, too, was good. Everything, as
I said earlier, was going my way. This heat took all the energy
out of you, sapped your strength, made you feel sluggish, fogged
the mind a little if there was no need to stay sharp.
"Why don't I help you out of your shoes?" I asked quietly.
"You'll be more comfortable."
"'Kay," she replied, sounding half asleep.
I moved to the end of the chair and looked down at her
reclining body. Her legs were slightly parted (who would want
to keep them together in this heat) and I suppressed the urge
to move too fast, too soon. I would be seeing more of those
lovely thighs soon enough. Better to wait than to risk the
chance of something going wrong at this early moment. Instead
I gently placed one hand on her shin as I pulled off one shoe,
then did the same for the other.
It was the first time I had touched her like this and I
savoured the feel of her moist skin. My heart rate must have
jumped, for I felt a little giddy. I absently licked at my hand
as I placed her shoes on the floor beside the recliner. I liked
the salty taste of her sweat. Yes, I liked the taste of her and
closed my eyes as I thought of how I would further enjoy the
taste of her, and how she would enjoy the taste of me. If
she didn't enjoy it at first, she would learn.
I smiled to myself and opened my eyes to see her looking
at me through half-opened eyes. Her eyes had such depths to
them, such depths. I could stare into them forever. She gave
a tired, sleepy chuckle.
"Sebum," she murmured, then closed her eyes again and
groaned once more as she relaxed even further.

Sebum.
For quite a while she had been on about that. She had been
listening to a radio show where the guest had brought it up. It
seems we all have this gland in our skin, the sebaceous gland.
The sebaceous gland, apparently, secretes a semifluid called
sebum.
"So?" I had asked her, not interested at all, yet giving
forth the impression of being interested. All my attention had
been on her.
"So, the guy says that we get addicted to each other's
sebum." Cindy's eyes were wide, incredulous. Such lovely blue
eyes, eyes that you could drown in, as the saying goes.
"Really - how?" I put as much animation as I could into my
expression.
"Like when we kiss - or I guess lick - each other's skin,
we ingest traces of this sebum. After a while we become accustomed
to it and then addicted. It's all part of the chemistry of love,
he says. That's one reason why, when a guy dumps you or you break
up somehow, you become depressed. You're in withdrawal," she
concluded triumphantly.
"Amazing," I laughed. "So the idea is, if you don't plan
to have a long relationship with a guy, is to be careful to
wash your lips after every time you kiss?"
"Oh, Di, you're incorrigible."
We laughed together. Gods but how I loved to hear her laugh.
The next night we were out at a political debate, after
which the candidates mingled with the crowd. One candidate,
after answering my question, shook my hand before moving off.
Cindy's mouth was at my ear.
"Careful," she whispered. "Don't lick your hand. Sebum.
You might end up voting for the wrong party."
I nearly choked. Cindy, seeing my condition, almost
convulsed with laughter herself and we beat a hasty retreat.
Since then it had become an in-joke. Yet, every time she
brought it up, my thoughts would go to my long range plans for
Cindy. Sebum.

I came out of my reverie with a shake of my head. That
often happened after looking at her - *thinking* about her, sent
me far away, deep into my own libidinous thoughts. My gaze
went to Cindy, but she was out of it, she wouldn't have noticed
anything.
Her face was so sweet, especially when relaxed as it now
was. Little beads of perspiration were on her forehead. I
touched the back of my hand to her forehead, ostensibly to check
her temperature, and felt my pulse rate go up just a little bit
further.
"How are you doing," my voice was low, cool and soothing,
in contrast to the heat and excitement my body was beginning to
feel.
"Nice, so nice," she replied. She was on the edge of
sleep.
The edge of sleep. The place where suggestions become
very powerful. I licked at the back of my hand. So nice and
salty. Sebum. I had to smile.
Yes, little darling, you'll get your share of sebum, too.
All you want, and then more. I don't think I'll mind having
you addicted to me, I don't think I'll mind that at all. Sebum.
If only.
"It would be a good idea for you to get some sleep. You
need a little nap," I crooned in Cindy's ear.
"Sleep?" Her voice was faint.
"Yes, Cindy, sleep. You do want to take a little nap,
don't you?"
"Nap," she agreed, docilely, and snuggled deeper into
the recliner.
"Ah, but not here," I chided her gently. "In the bedroom,
where it's not quite so hot. That sounds good, doesn't it?"
"Sounds good," she mumbled, agreeing with me as I knew
she would.
"Good. Now, just remain relaxed, and I'll help you along.
Everything is all ready for you. Just stay relaxed. I'm here.
I'll take care of everything."
Everything was ready, all right. The restraints were anchored
to the four posts of the bed and the little box of treats was
all ready for dear little Cindy. The restraints weren't there
to hold her against her will, of course. Such was not my intention
at all. There were merely to reinforce her feeling of helplessness,
to make it easier for her to go along with everything. I wanted her
to feel good, very good, so good she would want to, no, *need* to do
anything to repay me.
In the box was the butterfly vibrator, to keep her in a state
of constant arousal, oils and lubes, and the strap-on. That last
had one portion that would fit in me, one portion for her. I hadn't
used it before, but the saleswoman had told me we would both get
a wonderful fuck out of it. I didn't think I'd use it this time,
regrettable as that was, yet one never knew and it didn't hurt
to be prepared. My nipples hardened at the thought and I began
to feel very moist and squishy within. No. Maybe next time.
For now I'd just keep her content with the butterfly - and aroused
enough to want to please me, of course.
Yes, everything was ready, even the video camera in the
corner, suitably covered and disguised - in case I wanted to
keep a record of this.
I stroked Cindy's hair and smiled at the contented hum she
gave.
"Time to get up, babe. Slowly, gently. Remain relaxed."
I soothed and calmed her. It was like getting a small child
ready for bed. She was mostly asleep, yet could still obey.
She was on her feet, still out of it, entranced you could
say. And, ironically enough, that was what had brought her here,
to me, this very wonderful day - this day where everything was
going my way.

Have you ever 'been somewhere' and not even known you were
gone, much less where you were, until you returned. You don't
think so? Think again. I believe we all have. We become
'unfocused' and suddenly there is someone in front of us,
snapping her fingers or merely looking inquiringly into our
faces. You can call it a trance, I guess, but it is more than
that.
Well, that's what had happened to Cindy, what had brought her
to my place, shaken and ready to be ministered to. She had been
driving down the highway, she said, and had just passed the old
Drive-In Theatre some 5 miles outside the city limits. The next
thing she knew, she was already into the suburbs. It had shaken
her badly. The highway had turns aplenty and there was always a lot
of traffic - who knew what might have happened had there been any
sort of emergency. So, it being that my place was on the way into
the city, she had stopped here to recover from that fright.
It happens to us all, I guess, but not to that extent. This
was, I decided, another sign that she was susceptible to suggestion.
It would be easy to give her suggestions, easy to bend her to my
will. It was going to be oh so enjoyable.
Cindy, ah, beautiful Cindy. To feel her in my arms, my
breasts pressed against hers, my lips on hers, it was a dream
approaching reality. Later, after she'd become accustomed to it,
she would obey while fully conscious of what was going on. That
was my ultimate objective. Watching her move to please me. There
was something in the way that she moved - catlike - which I could
sit back and watch for hours without taking my eyes from her.
It was that sensuousness which attracted the men, held them
spell-bound, and it was all going to be mine.
"Come along. Not much farther now, you're doing fine, just
fine," I cooed as I led her through the bedroom door. She was
still out on her feet. I grinned a feral grin. Poor, poor, Cindy.
So trusting. Her good friend Di would never take advantage. Poor,
poor, Cindy.
A decision was reached and I moved away from her long enough
to start the camera. It would be interesting to keep a video
record. Later I wouldn't even have to hide it, disguise it. She
would want to play to it - oh happy thought.
"You don't want to sleep in those sweaty clothes, Cindy." I
no longer added the 'do you?' to make my statement a question.
"I'll help you take them off."
"'Kay," came the drugged response. She was deep into it now.
I untied her halter top and let it fall gently to the floor.
It took me all the control I had to not gasp with pleasure at
the sight of her lovely breasts, now uncovered for the first time.
Such lovely, firm breasts with such beautiful nipples. I was going
to enjoy this. I turned her slightly, to centre her in the camera's
eye, then removed her skirt.
"You feel so much better now."
"Mmmmm."
I was on my knees in front of her. "The panties have to
come off too, babe."
"'Kay."
As I pulled them gently down past her rounded hips, to the
floor, the scent of her came to me. Sweat mixed with . . . . I
picked up the panties as Cindy stepped out of them and breathed in
the intoxicating aroma of her. Yes, she, too, was hot, it was as
if her body knew what was going to happen. My smile widened. It
was going to be so much fun!
I helped her to the bed. "Yes," I whispered, "lie down on
the nice clean sheets and relax." I moved to adjust the camera
and pick up the butterfly vibrator before returning to her side.
I held the vibrator in my hand as I sat beside her. I wanted it
to be at body temperature so as to give no sudden shock.
Cindy's breasts looked so inviting. Her nipples were hard,
even as were mine. Like I said, some days everything goes your
way. I bent to them and licked a circle around each nipple.
She moaned softly. My little love slave, I thought, my dear
little love slave.
Cindy moaned again, writhing sensuously beneath my tongue - it
is so great to be in control - then murmured something.
"Yes, Cindy? What is it? Doesn't this feel good?"
"Sebum," she replied, her eyes opening, unfocused, yet meeting
mine nevertheless. Such lovely, lovely eyes.

It was like coming out of a thick fog. I slowly woke up,
feeling completely sated. I'd never felt so gloriously fucked
before. How many times had I cum? Who cared? It had been
wonderful. There was something at the edge of my awareness,
trying to make itself known. I tried to concentrate. It was
so difficult. I just lay there, limp and wiped, the taste of
Cindy on my lips. I was covered in sweat, as were the bedclothes
under me. Still, that something tried to get my attention.
Ah, of course. The butterfly. It was vibrating away,
ever so gently, at my clit. Somewhere, something told me this
was wrong, wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Yet it felt
right and nice, so nice. I relaxed for a moment to enjoy it,
but only for a moment. Enough is enough, and I was sated. I
moved my hand down to remove it. My hand didn't want to move.
Ah, of course, the restraints.
I was prone, a couple of large pillows under my stomach,
lifting my ass into the air and pressing up against the butterfly.
My legs were spread wide and I couldn't close them - didn't want to,
either, because of the butterfly, of course. I was so open, felt
so sexy. I hummed, a sated smile on my lips, but I had a niggling
thought that something wasn't exactly as it should be. The scene
was right, but the perspective was off somehow. My body spasmed
once again, as the butterfly did its work, and I stopped worrying
about it. Instead, after taking a few moments to recover, I
pulled my right hand, whose restraint had a little extra slack,
to my mouth, stretched my neck and unfastened the cuff.
With my right hand free I undid the velcro strap holding my
left wrist. It took a long time before I could get up the energy
to push myself to my widely spread knees, but eventually I made it.
I removed the ankle cuffs, then pulled down the straps which held
the butterfly to me. My clitty mourned the loss, yet was relieved.
God, but I was soaked. I needed a bath. I walked with that
distinctive 'well-fucked' gait to the bathroom and slid into the
tub, already waiting for me, with its nice warm water covered
with bubbles.
"Ahh, so good," I moaned as the water enveloped me.
Yet something was still nagging at me. It was so hard to
think when I wanted so much to just relax. Oh, that was it. The
cassette from the camera had been on the dressing table. I didn't
remember removing it - strange. It was on a piece of paper. The
paper had one word written on it, visible below the cassette itself:
Enjoy. I would, I grinned to myself, I would.
Now I could relax, sink down into the warm water and just
relax, so blissful. I sighed again.
Ever have one of those days when everything goes your way?
It's great. I love it.

My brow furrowed. Why did my thoughts keep going back to the
video cassette. A nameless suspicion wormed its way into my
consciousness and the desire to watch the video became compelling.
Why? And why did my ass feel as though it, too, had been well
used, very well used, indeed?


End of Story