Blinded by the Light - Sex Stories

Blinded by the Light

... Elaine, on the other hand, looked like she had just said, “Pass the salt, please.” Throughout dinner, she asked question after question. She asked questions so intimate and personal that a ton of people who are married never asked each other for that much detail and veracity. By the time Bob answered, she had another question lined up. He answered all of them truthfully, as truthfully as he could. Elaine didn’t seem to understand the concept of discretion as she asked more and more sexual questions within earshot of the other diners and she wasn’t concerned or moved that she might be offending them. That turned Bob on. Over the course of their meal, she learned everything about Bob that there was to know. She knew about his occasional cross dressing tendencies, his failed relationships, his crazy ex-wife, his drug and alcohol issues, his debt, and most importantly, his love of pain and suffering at the hands of a cruel and sadistic Domme. She signaled for the check and the waiter was there in seconds, wanting to hear more of their conversation so he could run back to the kitchen and tell people more of the bits and pieces he had gleaned from their taboo banter. “Do you have any questions for me, Bob,” she asked sincerely. “Well,” he stammered, “I guess. Actually, just two questions. First, how did you know, today, in the parking lot, that I would like pain, that I would respond the way I did?” “I consulted my African tarot cards and the voodoo gods told me that you need pain ...

... in order to feel arousal.” Bob swallowed hard. This woman was surely some sort of other-world sorceress who had magical and mystical powers that could see into his soul. He inhaled sharply, ready to ask his second question when she finished by saying, “You fucking idiot. I had no idea you liked pain. What makes you think I cared if you liked pain or not? I didn’t care then and I really don’t care now. I just thought it would be amusing to see if I could break your hand. I could tell you were into feet or shoes or legs or whatever, you aren’t very discrete when you stare, but I didn’t have the slightest clue about the pain thing. I guess you just lucked out.” OK, Bob was pretty much assured that she was a sociopath because she explained it all without even a hint of repentance. A deranged Black woman with no conscious just explained to him that she was unhinged and unapologetically cruel. She truly was the woman of his dreams. His second question would be his last chance, or so he thought, so he wanted to make it a good one. The entire evening was so arousing he would replay it over and over in his head for years to come adding details and making it end in a flurry of abuse and torture. He took another deep breath and whispered, almost ashamed to ask, “And the money?” He didn’t think he needed to explain further. He just knew for sure that she was going to say, “None of your fucking business,” but he had to ask; he wanted to know so he could put his suspicions to bed. Staring ...