Dating Scene

“Of course I want dessert. What, are you in a hurry or something?”

Way back in the day, before she became Mrs. Edge, we were at one of those upscale Italian restaurants. You know the kind: they are usually named after an island in the Mediterranean, the waiters are named after one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Terrapins, and where you can’t get spaghetti; instead you order Salmonella a la piccatta served over a bed of risotto cosi fan tutti. We’d been there before, because it was the place where I took my dates when I wanted to impress them. I had just discovered that she was wearing thigh-high stockings with a garter belt, and suddenly I was in a hurry to get her back to my condo and show her exactly what I thought about such behavior.

We ordered coffee named after some kind of a monkey and a tiramisu – which seems to be Italian for “soggy bitter cheesecake” – for her, and some kind of dark chocolate torte for me. I admired her out of the corner of my eye: She had that rare combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and looked a bit like Kirstie Alley in her pre-Jenny Craig spokesmodeling days. That night, she was wearing a low-cut black dress with huge red florals, reminding me of a Spanish dona on the costa del sol. I was dressed in a dark jacket with a dark shirt and loud red power tie (this being the late 1980s, I went with the uniform of the era). I’m sure we looked quite the couple – that is, we would have if you could have actually seen us in the dark, shaded booth in the back of the restaurant.

“Are you sure that you don’t want these ‘to go’?” I asked when the waiter returned. She elbowed me in the ribs and toyed with her liquor-soaked cake. I should have known better than to get between a woman and her dessert, and as she and I had been dating for a while, I knew that as much as she enjoyed a nice meal out, she would still be in the mood for some fun when we got back to my place. I bided my time, imagining what we would be doing later on.

Finally, the American Express card was put away, a last sip of milky coffee, and we were heading for the parking lot. I opened the door and helped her into the bucket seat of my SR5 “sport pickup,” pausing to run my hand up her thigh. She smiled and pulled her leg away, motioning me to get into the driver’s seat and head for home. I opened the moon roof and put the stereo on low, and we listened to jazzy blues for the twenty minute drive back to my townhouse condo in the suburbs. I didn’t need my right hand on the stick shift once we got to the interstate, so I caressed and fondled her leg the entire way home.

The ride back was very fast, but otherwise uneventful, and we teased and chatted on the way through the complex and on the walk from my parking spot to the entrance of my condo. The door had barely closed behind us when we were kissing passionately, grabbing, squeezing, fondling. I reached my hands under her skirt to feel the tops of her stockings when I discovered another surprise.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” I observed – not without some degree of awe.

“If I’d told you that in the restaurant, we’d never have made it through dinner, let alone for dessert,” she replied.

Nodding in agreement, I led her upstairs.

We had long since gotten past the “Will you still respect me in the morning?” issues. She had been divorced for seven or eight years and was not ashamed to enjoy the company of a man. My own marriage had ended two years previously and it was no secret that I had spent the last part of it starved for affection; I had spent most of the last couple of years trying to compensate. For us, the requisite head games lasted until our second date. It was nice to be with somebody who actually seemed to enjoy being with me.

She slipped out of her dress while I was still unbuttoning my shirt.

“C’mon, you slowpoke,” she teased, “I’m gonna have to start without you.”

Like hell, I thought, and stepped toward her, somehow managing not to trip on my pants. I dove at the bed – a queen-sized monstrosity that I only managed to get into the room by removing the double windows and hauling the mattress up from the sidewalk, but worth all the trouble because it was comfortable and roomy.

We tussled for a few minutes on the bed, and I asked her to leave her lingerie on. She decided to remove her bra, but agreed to leave her stocking and garter belt (you Brits call them “suspenders,” which is what we call the things that hold up your pants, which you call “braces”. And let’s not even get started on the confusion about the word “fanny”). For a young man, having sex with a woman who is wearing a bit of clothing is worldly, don’t you know, and I was intending to make the best of things.

I don’t quite remember how we got to the next part. We were still making out, and hadn’t yet determined which of us was directing things, but I do remember her leaning over the side of the bed and looking for the restraints.

Yes, of course I had restraints already tied to the corners of the bed. We had used them several weeks before – on her. Now it appeared to be my turn.

The restraints were a home-made affair, several lengths of heavy-duty nylon webbing with cuffs made from some Velcro’d tie-down straps. Not the snazzy leather and chrome jobs from the Stockroom (which probably hadn’t been invented yet), but not the flimsy “luv-cuffs” that the porn shops sell, either. This was long before the internet made it possible for people to buy such things without going to a part of town in which non-consensual beatings were a possibility.

She put them on me and figured out how to fasten them down, leaving a little bit of slack in the arms for comfort. And then she began.

One of the things that I learned about her was that she enjoyed – and indeed had a talent for – oral sex. She was probably one of the best partners I’d ever had; she wasn’t afraid of my cock, she didn’t treat it as some kind of distasteful object, nor did she slobber all over it. She used her tongue, her teeth, and her fingers, and before long she had me moaning and writhing. But she didn’t plan to end the evening so quickly.

She sat up around my hips and leaned forward, and I took a nipple into my mouth. She has very sensitive nipples, so I was careful as I sucked on it. After a short time, she removed it and replaced it with the other one, making me lean and stretch forward in order to taste it. The stockings felt smooth against my skin, and I enjoyed her warm body against me. She swung her legs over my head and soon I was licking and sucking while she did some writhing and moaning of her own.

It was summer, and my condo was built in the days when air conditioning was a luxury. I didn’t even have a window unit at the time, I just had a small fan in the window blowing in the sultry night air. After twenty or thirty minutes of teasing and kissing I could feel the slight stickiness of perspiration on her body, and smiled knowing that it wasn’t only the warm weather that was making her temperature rise.

Tiring of making me writhe and moan, she sat astride me and guided my wet and engorged cock into her, and rode me to a quick and quiet orgasm. I used to joke that she came like a Chicago voter: early and often. It’s true; somehow she can come an almost unlimited number of times with very little foreplay; even now she doesn’t need much time to warm up, which probably has contributed to her enjoyment of morning quickies.

But back then, all I could think of was the hot woman who was riding my cock.

She eased herself off of me and teased me a little more with her hands and mouth. Then she stopped and looked at me closely.

“I’m really horny,” she told me, “I hope you’re up for this.”

Warning me not to come, she placed her legs astride my hips, and bracing her hands on my chest for support, she lowered herself onto me. In the porn fiction they always write something about the hard, throbbing manhood and the seething hot womanhood. There’s a reason for that: sometimes that is exactly what it feels like. I was crazy with desire, and fought against the impulse to buck and thrust my hips to sink even more deeply into her.Well-primed from using my tongue, it didn’t take long before she was at the edge of coming. I watched her close her eyes in concentration, and felt her rock her hips over mine, slowly at first, then more and more quickly. She bit down on her lip and let out the smallest of moans… and moments later, a satisfied sigh.

Smiling, she cautioned me that she wasn’t done yet, and that I needed to hold out for a little longer. She rocked her hips over mine again, pushing down, her knees clasped against my sides, like a saddle. She sat up and leaned back a little to change the angle, and I could feel her heat along my shaft. I took deep, measured breaths to help me focus, not wanting to disappoint her. She moved up and down, pushing hard against my pelvis on the down stroke, her long red nails scratching my chest. Again, she closed her eyes in concentration.

A little moan escaped my lips and she shook her head. “Not yet, not yet,” she demanded, “I’m not done yet.” She moved faster and suddenly fell forward, her elbows resting on either side of me, and rocked her hips forward and back. I rose to meet them, and I heard her inhale sharply between her clenched teeth.

A moment in time stretched out for an eternity. . . and suddenly she collapsed forward onto me, nuzzling my neck, her fingers idly playing through my hair. She let out a huge, satisfied sigh and paused to catch her breath.

Somehow I had managed to maintain my composure, but after a few minutes I started to squirm. I had ridden up and down the edge of arousal for the last hour and was hoping for a well-deserved release. Finally she raised her self up on her arms, gave me a quick kiss.

“I’m hot,” she declared, “I think I need to take a shower to cool off.”

To my surprise, she immediately rolled off of me, stripped off her stockings and padded for the bathroom across the hall, shedding her garter belt as she went.

No problem, I thought. She’s gotta go pee.

I heard the bathroom door close.

I heard her peeing in the toilet.

And if I thought I was surprised before, it was nothing compared to how surprised I was when I heard her start the shower.

Oh for crying out loud, I thought to myself. She’s not really going to take a freaking shower and leave me here, is she?

I heard the shower curtain and the various sounds of shampoo bottles and soap dropping.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. I know, she must be just taking a quick rinse to cool off. She’ll be out any minute now.

Any minute now.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.


I heard the squeak of the tap and the sound of the water stopped.

Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou. . .

Noises. Bangs, bumps, scrapes. . .

And suddenly the whir of the electric hair dryer.

Oh for crying out loud! She washed her hair and now she’s going to spend another half hour drying it, I thought. My balls were beginning to ache slightly from the pressure, which, oddly, made me even more aroused.

A good ten minutes after the shower stopped, I heard the bathroom door open. Light splashed briefly into the hallway, until she flicked off the switch and walked naked back into the bedroom, her fingers fluffing her hair. My erection had subsided somewhat, but rose immediately when she placed her hand on my thigh. She crawled back up onto the bed and without any indication that she had just left me alone for the last half hour, she resumed kissing my mouth and neck, and moving down my chest to my cock, which by now was swollen with desire.

I thought I heard her giggling as she teased me with her tongue. The feeling of her mouth on me was exquisite, and I was torn between begging to explode in her mouth, or to hold back so as to enjoy this for as long as possible.

She didn’t allow me to make that decision, though; after a few minutes of teasing she again surrounded my ears with her thighs, and demanded that I make her come some more. “Your tongue must have rested up by now,” she remarked- her only admission that she had literally walked off while leaving me on the edge. She rubbed her breasts around my chest and face. She smelled of my shampoo and conditioner, and between the woodsy aroma and the feel of her smooth, firm breasts against me I was lost in the sensuality. She spun around in a 69 position and lowered herself to my mouth. This is not her favorite position, but she managed a small orgasm while she teased and played with my cock. She collapsed on me for a few moments and swung around to face me.

“I think I’m wet again,” she sighed, “and I think I need you in me before I finish for the night. Would you like that?”

No way was I going to turn down an offer in my condition. Breathless, I nodded and she again lowered her hips over mine, guiding my cock into her a little, just enough to make me feel her heat. I tried to raise my hips to get in deeper, but she rode with me, maddeningly staying just out of reach. Then down a little more. Then up. Down a bit more. Then up. I remember being almost on the verge of pleading when she finally took me all the way in. She rocked back and forth, her eyes once again closed in concentration.

Although I’d had a chance to calm down during her shower, it didn’t take long before I was totally aroused again, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. I started pushing my hips up to meet hers, but she shook her head.

“No,” she murmured, “no coming. Don’t you come, don’t you dare…”

She never finished the sentence because she came herself as she was ordering me to control myself. She paused only briefly and then began rocking on my hips again, harder and faster than she had been a few minutes ago. I opened my eyes wide, thought about England, and tried to remember when I’d last vacuumed under the bed.

No use. I was losing it.

My breath was ragged now and I bucked my hips as much as I could manage. Again she shook her head at me.

“No coming, I told you,” she said more forcefully, “I’m not ready yet. Hold it!”

I couldn’t. I was gasping and panting from the effort, and still I could feel the muscles in my groin pull my balls up closer to my body. The feeling started deep inside my body, and I could feel my groan of release build from my diaphragm. I yelled softly and pushed and the muscles let loose and for a minute it was fire and lava and tension and then sweet, heavenly release.

I opened my eyes. I had expected to see her smiling beatifically down on me.

She was not pleased.

“Dammit, I told you not to come! I told you I wasn’t ready, didn’t I?”

It took a few seconds for this to register.


“Son of a bitch, I just got out of the shower and I was all clean and nice, and now you came right inside me. I told you I wasn’t ready for you to come!”

Wait – she wasn’t still role-playing. She was mad. What the hell?

“I wasn’t done coming, and I was all clean. You know what this means, right? You need to finish me.”

She lifted herself off of me and placed her hand between her legs. I was still coming down from the fantastic orgasm, but I was alert enough to figure out what she was talking about. Oh my God, she’s going to make me eat her, she’s going to make me clean my own come from her. For crying out loud, she’s really, really serious. She’s going to do it!

Oh sure, like a lot of guys I’d thought about tasting my own come. And like a lot of guys, I got weirded out by the idea, and could never bring myself to do so right after coming. I had never mentioned to her that this was a particularly hot fantasy of mine for some years now, mainly out of embarrassment. But now I was at one of those moment of truth points: Here was this hot women about to force me to do something that I’d thought about, hell, masturbated about – but having just come, I didn’t feel the inclination. Maybe if I offered to use my fingers instead? Maybe she could just wait a half hour? Maybe. . .

All of this went through my mind in about the three seconds it took her to move up to the head of the bed and lower herself onto my face. She had been holding her lips closed, and but removed her hand to brace herself against the wall. I felt my own come dripping onto my nose and cheeks as she moved into a better position, and before I could protest she was grinding herself on my face. Tentatively I opened my mouth and licked, half embarrassed, half curious.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she demanded, “you were doing it so well before.”

Throwing caution to the winds, I thrust my tongue as deeply into her as it would reach, and began moving it back and forth, side to side, up and down. Unfamiliar juices slid down into my throat and I had to keep swallowing in order to not to choke. I felt her hand in my hair, pulling on the back of my head, moving me into a better position. I could hear her ordering me to make it good for her, and I wondered what she would think of me.

“I told you not to come, didn’t I? I was all nice and clean, and then you came in me,” she said, breathing hard, “and now you’ve got to make me clean again. C’mon, eat me and don’t stop until I’m finished!”

And then I realized that all that mattered was making it good for her; I broke through the doubt and embarrassment and I sucked her lips into my mouth and teased them with my tongue, playing them back and forth. I alternated between using the tip of my tongue and giving her long, sweeping strokes. She began rocking her hips back and forth again, and my neck was hurting from trying to bear her weight.

She must have been leaning her head against the wall, because she reached down both hands to hold my head. I could hear her panting, and she moved faster and faster as I sucked on her swollen clit, never once ceasing the flicking of my tongue. She was pushing my head right into the bed, and just when I wondered if I’d be allowed to breathe, her thighs tightened around my head and she pushed down hard. Understanding what was happening, I pushed up as much as I could and pressed my tongue and firmly as I could manage.

Five seconds.


I felt her body sag, as the tension drained out of her muscles. I couldn’t hear anything with her thighs against my ears, but I could feel her trembling slightly, felt her breathing hard. A few moments later she lifted herself off of me and stretched out beside me. I wanted to tell her how incredible that was, but when I started to speak, she put her hand over my lips. She leaned over to kiss me, and whispered “Thank you.” Then she nestled up, her head on my chest, an arm tossed across my body, and drifted off to sleep.

If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.

About Tom Allen

The Grey Geezer Dauntless defender of, um, something that needed dauntless defending. Dammit, I can't read this script without my glasses. Hey, you kids, get off my damn lawn!
This entry was posted in Beyond the Edge, Chastity & Orgasm Denial, D/s, D/s & BDSM, Dating, Erotic Musings, Erotica, Femdommery, intimacy, orgasm control, orgasm denial, relationships, sensuality, sex, True Tales and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

17 Responses to Dating Scene

  1. havingmycake says:

    She went to sleep leaving you trussed up? Great story, Tom x


  2. I couldn’t stop reading this – I couldn’t wait to see what happened next! You spin a good tale, Tom 🙂

    xx Dee


  3. Tom Allen says:

    Cake, I just knew that somebody was going to call me on that one; that and that she left me for over a half hour. Kinksters who have been watching the news are already sensitive to this because of the guy who was hospitalized after having been left alone for 20 minutes at the Nutcracker in NYC last week.

    She never thought about it, not having experimented much with BDSM in the past. At the time, though, I knew that there was enough slack so that it probably wouldn’t be a problem.

    Dee, I may have left out a few small parts, but I still rate that as one of the best sexual experiences I’ve ever had. That’s what made it all the more incomprehensible when after we got married, Mrs. Edge simply had no interest in playing anymore. In fact, when I’ve asked her about that particular night, she acts as if she barely remembers it at all. Weird.


  4. Fuse says:

    I don’t even have words to express all the stuff running through my head about this post, just wow, wow, and now she pretends she can’t remember this??? wow…

    Oh, and yeah, that would be a pretty big highlight for me too…

    Restraints… *sigh*


  5. says:

    First I want to present my admiration for anyone who has the abdominal capacity and simultaneous desire to have dessert following a typical restaurant meal. It is even more impressive when followed by acrobatic sex afterward. Although I tend to eat small meals, I never have the volume to accommodate dessert. Then again, your tongue-in-cheek description may imply that the meal was not all that great, and that not finishing it would allow consumption of potentially decadent carbohydrates masquarading as you described.

    As for the sex afterward, “ho hum”.

    Just kidding. It was well written in your usual style, and damn provocative. I could not have done better. I could almost picture myself in your place.


  6. Luka says:

    I am mystified at the turnaround in Mrs Edge’s playtime preferences. It sounds as if you both got so much out of that experience it would bear both remembering and repeating.


  7. Tom Allen says:

    Fuse –
    I don’t think that she pretends that certain things didn’t happen. Rather, I think that she just puts them out of her mind. I used to ask her about that evening she just never responded with anything. I haven’t asked her for a few years, though. Maybe she’ll have a different take on it now.

    SP –
    I almost never finish a meal at a restaurant, and that night we probably took half of it home. My remarks had less to do with the quality of the food and were more a commentary on trendy ethnic dinner spots.

    Now that we’re older, we often just get appetizers instead of dinner, and maybe split a bottle of wine. We have friends that go out and get appetizers, eat dinner, and then get desserts – I have no idea how normal people manage to eat that way.

    Luka –
    Yeah, you’d think so.

    At some point during dating, she decided that she didn’t want to be blindfolded or restrained. By the time we got married, she seemed to have lost interest in anything non-vanilla.

    We did have a sort-of repeat on our honeymoon, and then that was it for about five years, when I practically literally begged her for something, anything a bit more spicy. That led to a couple of experiments, and to one exceptionally bad time that left me too humiliated to ask anymore.

    I have to say, though, at the time our relationship was different. Mrs. Edge is just now learning how to be emotionally intimate, and discovering how that ties into the sexual part of our relationship. It took a long time for us to understand that she had no idea what being intimate meant, which really colored the first dozen years of our marriage. I never understood that about her; it had gotten to the point where I just assumed that she didn’t care.


  8. Fuse says:

    Mrs. Edge is just now learning how to be emotionally intimate, and discovering how that ties into the sexual part of our relationship. It took a long time for us to understand that she had no idea what being intimate meant…

    Very interesting Tom, makes me think back to my marriage. What if’s, huh?


  9. Tom Allen says:

    I really need to do some follow-up posts on the intimacy thing.

    Edit later: It’s a stereotype that men avoid intimacy and women revel in it. My parents were emotionally very cool, and most of my relationships were difficult for me when my partners wanted me to be more intimate, more emotionally giving. It’s not that I didn’t have it, it’s that I had no idea of how to express it or what to do with it.

    My wife’s parents split up when she was young, and her mother was an alcoholic. She got her ideas of what marriage was supposed to be like from television. Imagine having the Brady Bunch as your role model. When I used to talk to her about being more open, she had no clue, and just never responded. Over time, I interpreted this to mean that she didn’t care. She just figured that I was demanding something of her that she didn’t have, and it made her feel inadequate, and perhaps a touch resentful. And of course, I’m wondering why she’s mad at me all the time, so I try to get her to open up more…


  10. ladypandora says:

    It’s always good to remember the good times – especially the beginnings of relationships.

    I hope that at this current time of dissonance with Mrs. Edge that these memories will see you through to the other side which I am sure you will work your way to together.


  11. Cat says:

    It’s hard to imagine you two would start out that way and then just stop. I wonder why your wife doesn’t miss it the same way you do.


  12. Gillette says:

    And a good time was had by all. Yummy story, Tom, told well. Thanks.


  13. Elizavetta says:

    I’m a little late to this party, but…
    Wow, what a story. And your telling of it… well… what a story!

    But, though I think it’s unfortunate that Mrs.Edge has put this memory out of her mind, as you say, it doesn’t seem as odd to me as some of the other commenters thought.

    The corridors of memory are a labyrinth of strangeness and unpredictability – almost as much so as the corridors of the erotic mind.

    And I’m sure you’ve read all the theories of how and why people change, sometimes drastically, once they become married.

    But whatever the reasons are, as you know, couples just go through “stuff.” We cycle and dance around and away from and back to each other over the years.

    And though it’s true you can never go back, I echo ladypandora’s sentiment and hope you both find a way to sashay back to something that at least feels again like that night.

    And yes, you need to do some follow-up posts on the intimacy thing 🙂

    I’m waiting… oh-so not patiently.


  14. Lotus says:

    oooh, of course I have to read this when sweet Slave Bob is asleep, we’ve already shagged, AND he has to get up and go to work in three hours…

    One of the down sides of being on different schedules. 😦

    Very hot story, thank you. 🙂


  15. L says:

    Well, I’m late to this party too! I’ve only just discovered your blog, Tom, and I must say it keeps me reading. Very interesting, and intelligently written. This post in particular was very hot and has just inspired me for a tie-up date with my boy toy tonight… Thanks 😀


  16. Tom Allen says:

    Thanks, L – I love it when women compliment my mind 😉


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