Meet a stunning, petite woman who's hiding from something. Work to get to know her secrets.
HOW WE MET
Chapter 7:
Rough Waters
I was now hooked. Maybe it’s really the other way around. Maybe she had hooked me. Nevertheless, like the drug addict, I needed her in my life. She had some rough spots, no question, and I’ve never gotten into a relationship with the idea of “changing” someone to fit my needs. Heck, the things that attracted me in the first place should be enough, right? Her rough spots, for the most part, I could live with. Yes, she had boundaries. Many of them I could easily understand and live with. After all, she is a stunningly beautiful woman, she has a rockin’ body, and any heterosexual male on the planet would pursue her. She had to have some boundaries, as we all do. Hers had been established for her personal safety and the protection of her mental state – that pebbled path that brought her back from the land of Oz.
Now that I had broken through a few of her defenses, I had to explore the rest of her boundaries. It was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. I had completed the border, now I wanted to fill in the rest of the picture. Yet, I was at a loss. The pieces were there laid out in a haphazard mishmash. Somehow, I had to isolate them and get them arranged to see how they fit together. To further my woes, she seemed locked behind the walls of the University with few ways in. I had tried the usual things, like the spontaneous appearance wandering around campus. I had even taken the official tour. Both had worked to at least make my presence known. But she had warned me about pursuing her, about stalking her and the dire consequences entailed in that approach. However, when she left my boat last night she had said “… for our next encounter.”
I had no way to reach her other than through official means. The only way to gain any possibility of an audience with the Dame Harmony, was a chance encounter at the pub. I visited there for lunch and dinner regularly now. Every visit had me yearning for another glimpse of my tiny goddess. It wasn’t happening. It had been three days of pub food without even a trace of Heather.
I had become a regular, almost a fixture at the pub. I got to know the bartenders and the wait staff by name. I had visited there during off hours just to flirt and ask questions. Of course, as a horny old pervert, I always had a hope for some action with one or more of the perky college coeds keeping the place running.
I was particularly taken by one bartender. Her name was Zoey, and she was as fine a specimen as any. Rich, chocolate skin, smooth and supple. Hair in a short afro style topping her round face stylishly. Her eyes, the windows to her soul, seemed bottomless. And her 22 year old body? Let’s just not go there. Beyond belief is all I’ll say. I discovered that she worked on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday through both the lunch and dinner shifts. She started at 11 a.m. and went home at 7 p.m. I timed my visits.
“Hey, Zoey. How’s life?”
“Going okay. Kind of slow today, being Monday. How’s with you?”
“Oh, same old, same old. At my age I’m just glad that I wake up still alive every morning.” She flashed a grin. “How are your studies going? And what’s your major, by the way? What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Studies are going fine. I aced my last exam. Feeling good about that. Hope the witch doesn’t find some manufactured reason to ding my GPA. I’ve got a 4.0 so far.”
“The witch? One of your professors?”
“Yeah. Harmony. She’s the head of the R and D department.” Bingo! A possible way to see behind the curtain. “I’m majoring in that field. Hope to invent some new device or process to solve all the world’s problems. She can be benevolent, or she can vilify you, shred you to pieces, sometimes in the same exchange. Can’t quite figure her out. I think she likes me, though. She always seems to pick me first for those special projects she brings in.” I had to get to know Zoey better.
“Tell me, Zoey. What do you and your boyfriend do on your days off?”
“Oh, no steady boyfriend. Just casual dating. I don’t have time to tend to the needs of a regular, horny, sloppy, inconsiderate.… You understand, don’t you?”
“I certainly do.” As I ate my meal I was scheming, trying to land on an appropriate way to spend some “off” time with tempting Zoey. When she presented my check, I casually asked, “So, Zoey. Have you ever gone sailing?”
“Only once. It was in my uncle’s small sailboat up at his cabin on the lake.”
“You have any interest in a day on the water, on a real sailboat? Mine is 40 feet with all the comforts of home.”
“Wow. Really? That sounds awesome! I don’t have any wiggle room in my schedule to take a whole day, but I could arrange a morning or an afternoon. Would that work?”
“Sure. I can make that work. What day works for you?”
“Let’s see … Uh ….” Zoey looked at her calendar on her phone. “Actually, tomorrow morning would work. Could we take a short sail tomorrow?”
“Not a problem, Zoey. And to make you more comfortable about being alone on a boat with a man, why don’t you invite a few of your classmates from the R & D department. It’s always more fun with extra crew. Meet me at the marina at, say 10 a.m.?”
I spent the afternoon and evening getting my Love Boat shipshape. Living alone as a bachelor, well, you can understand. Late in the day I poured my standard libation and opened my laptop. I scoured the internet, looking for any more information on my secretive Heather Harmony. I followed every link, went down rabbit hole after rabbit hole to discover that all I had achieved was time lost. I retired to my comfy aft quarters, lying awake thinking about you know who.
Over coffee I checked the weather. It looked like a perfect day for a short sail. Clear skies, 10 knot wind, minimal waves. The crew showed up promptly at 10. Zoey introduced me to her three friends, Amber, Joe, and Colleen. Once aboard and the mini tour complete, I gave the obligatory safety instructions. Life jackets here, first aid kit there, here’s how to call for help on the radio. We cast off and headed into the harbor. I deployed the sails, and we healed over, making about 3 knots. Not rip-roaring, but a leisurely sail for these non-boaters. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and I kept the beer flowing their way. None for the captain. Never when underway. Only once anchored or docked.
In addition to keeping the beer flowing, I kept the conversation going. I don’t think any of them realized that my enquiries were devoted to information about Ms. Harmony. I learned about some of her habits, her ability to know things about her students that she would have no way of knowing, and so much more. This trip was proving to be even better than the internet. Everything I learned was tucked away to be sorted and fit into the jigsaw puzzle I was determined to complete.
I spent the morning eyeballing the three scantily clad women gracing my cockpit. Their tight bodies, full breasts, and pretty faces captivated me. Sometimes it was so distracting that I’d fall off the wind too far, causing the sails to luff. I gave each of them the opportunity to stand at the helm and pilot my floating home. Joe enjoyed it the most, I think, although it was fun to stand close behind the girls, guiding them and pressing against their nubile frames as the boat twisted and turned in the waves.
We got back to the dock about 1 p.m. Zoey took off in a hurry, scampering away, calling back “Gotta run! Gonna be late for the witch’s class! Thanks, Sailor!” The others left shortly after. Colleen and Amber each gave me a kiss on the cheek. I wrapped my arm around their waist, getting a brief touch of what I was missing. Ah, well. I had my sights set elsewhere.
I tidied up the boat and went to the pub for a bite to eat. No Harmony. Drat. Nothing but decent food, a cold beer, and more eye candy. It had been, what, four days now without even a sighting of my fascination. I was having pangs of withdrawal.
In the evening, I relaxed aboard. The drink, the smoke and my longing were my only friends. I fired up my tablet and visited my favorite porn site. I absentmindedly swiped through video clip after clip, desperately searching for something new, some kink that I could relate to so that I could spank the monkey for some temporary relief. I found nothing and drifted to sleep unfulfilled. The phone ringing brought me back to reality. Nobody calls me, it’s always text or email. So, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see “Private number – Restricted” displayed. “Hello?”
“Sailor, damn it!” She was angry. “Do I have to have the attorneys send you a Cease and Desist letter? Or should I send Security over to cut your dock lines? Now you’re trying to infiltrate my world through my fucking students! Back off, quickly, Sailor. You’ve taken one step too far. I won’t have it. Stop this insanity now.” Click.
Oh, shit. I had raised the ire of my princess. I guess Zoey had blabbed to the others about her fun day on the water. My plan had backfired. I bent my head down into the palms of my hands and wept. I was infatuated and I was continually rebuffed. One time I had pulled away her shield and had the most exquisite time alone with her. I had hoped that she’d want more. She had even hinted at “the next time.” How had I fucked things up so royally. I needed a new plan.
Chapter 8:
The Reveal
I opened my wet locker and retrieved my suit bag. For the uninitiated, my Love Boat has two hanging closets in the aft captain’s quarters. One is a so-called wet locker. The wooden closet has a fiberglass bottom with a drain into the bilge. It is designed for hanging wetsuits or other dripping items. Unfortunately, I can no longer scuba dive, hence, no use for a wetsuit. I was certified to scuba dive and had taken several amazing underwater adventures before a serious auto accident removed that option. The accident had comminuted my upper sinus cavity. I could no longer endure the internal pressures that the water imposes. The water pressure doubles for each 32 feet below the surface you dive.
I had retained a Navy blue sports jacket, a pair of gray dress slacks and two button down Oxford shirts, along with two or three conservative neckties. I had taken these clothes along when I dropped off the grid only for those weddings and funerals that are inevitable. I tried them on and, albeit a bit musty smelling, they still fit.
Dressed as lawyer-like as I could muster given my circumstances, I found the University administration building. Upon entering the lobby, I consulted the directory. The legal department was on the fifth floor. The lift emptied into a hallway with glass windows stretching in each direction, enclosing several different offices: admissions, financial aid, security, and, of course, legal. I entered the legal department and a stern looking woman looked up from her typing. “May I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Sailor, an attorney here on behalf of the marina across the street. Is the General Counsel available?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The General Counsel is unavailable. If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll get someone who can help you.”
Shortly, a young man approached. He strode toward me with his hand extended. “Hello. Mr. Sailor? I’m Darren Hodges. Please follow me to my office.”
We shook hands and I followed him down a hallway to a tiny little office tucked between the photocopier and the supply room. It didn’t appear as if he was very high on the totem pole. As we entered his office, a maintenance man was finishing hanging a framed piece on the wall. I examined it. Mr. Hodges had graduated from Law School only months prior. Fresh off the press as they say.
“What may I help you with Mr. Sailor?”
“It was brought to my attention that some representatives from the University visited my client recently. They spoke of University expansion and flashed a subpoena at the dockmaster, leaving with some copies of some papers. The marina has engaged me to investigate further. Can you shed some light on this matter, Mr. Hodges?”
Darren began tapping away on his computer as he said, “Well, I’m not specifically aware of any of what you’ve said. But let me look for a copy of that subpoena. We keep images of all documents that flow through this office. It boggles my mind how many trees we cut down just in this industry alone. Ahhh … here it is. Would you like a copy?”
“Please. That will be most helpful, Mr. Hodges.”
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Sailor?”
“No, thank you. I really appreciate your assistance. I’m sure that my client will be satisfied at this point. Thank you, again. I’ll see my way out.”
I couldn’t wait to shed my real world clothes and take a look at this subpoena. Once I was comfortably back in only boxers and a tee shirt, I poured a fresh cup of coffee and began my examination. Back and forth between the paper in my hand and my laptop, I attempted to verify the veracity of the subpoena. Not much was adding up. It certainly looked official, but court documents had been standardized years ago. An insider’s secret that the general population doesn’t know, is that lawyers don’t actually draft much of anything. They simply fill in the blanks on already tried and true templates. Then, of course, they bill the client for “creating” the whole shebang.
To begin with, the nomination of the court that had issued this subpoena didn’t exist. Sure, it had all the expected District #, Division #, Civil, State and County headings all blazoned across the top. Yet, the state court system website had no such court listed. And then, there were the irregularities in the font among various sections on the document. The forger had apparently not paid attention to that seemingly unnecessary detail. The balance of the fake was all in order. The signature couldn’t be verified because it was only a photocopy and it appeared to be machine applied, like an autopen.
I sat and stewed. It had been so long since I had used these parts of my brain, I kept getting lost in esoteric legal theories, remedies, and possible responses. I called an old colleague of mine. We had worked together in the legal department at a giant international technology company years ago. He was a trusted friend, and I respected his take on things. I gave him a few sparse facts, just enough to let him know who “the opposition” was. He warned me about taking on the University. “They’re very big and very powerful, you know. Watch your back.”
It was now at the tail end of the lunch hour. Against all odds, I visited the pub, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of my angel. As I crossed the street, my eye caught the merest hint of her, blocks away, her skirt swishing away as she turned and walked into the hallowed halls of academia. Damn! Just missed her. I enjoyed a draught and a sandwich. I also enjoyed the view of the lovely young staff wiggling around, strutting their stuff, and taunting old perverts such as me. I felt as if I were in an art gallery exhibiting the finest statues known to mankind. The National Gallery had nothing on this place.
The afternoon was spent fretting and worrying, conniving and scheming, all with an end to finding a way to make contact with my drug supplier. I was having serious withdrawal pains with the added stress of knowing that she was pissed off at me. My blundering stunt with her students had raised the hackles on her back and I feared that I had driven the final nail into my own coffin. Her scathing phone call, dressing me down yet again, had been the last contact with her. I was getting desperate. I started my best efforts to crawl into the nearly empty scotch bottle sitting on the counter as the sun sank out of sight.
Tap, tap. In my half-drunk malaise I shouted “Go away whoever it is. I’m not in the mood for company.” More insistently, TAP, TAP, TAP. As I slid open the hatchway to dispose of this annoyance, I barked out “I told you I’m not ….” It was her. Standing like Aphrodite herself, in flesh and blood.
“May I come aboard?” Prim and proper. No apparent attitude. A pleasant expression on her face, completely disarming me.
Once again, this woman had powers over me that I can’t explain. I stood there, halfway up the companionway, stammering and stuttering, “Uh … Uhh … Uhmmm …” as she climbed aboard. She stepped into the cockpit, her eyebrows raised.
“Well, are you going to invite me below or shall I just stand here waiting for the cruise to start?”
I climbed down out of the way, and she seemingly floated down the steps. As her lithe, demure body wafted past me I inhaled her scent, her aura. I restrained myself from reaching out and smothering her with my repressed affections. She drifted to her spot on the settee and settled in. Looking around she noticed the now empty bottle on the counter and the melting ice cubes disappearing in the empty glass next to it.
“Appears as if I’m too late for a touch of happiness. The bottle seems to be empty. Such a pity.”
I nearly fell over myself securing the Irish Whiskey bottle. I assembled two hefty pours over ice and presented one to her. Not quite understanding why she was making this unexpected visit, I remained silent and sat on the bed opposite her. My gaze was constant, soaking in her beauty, and I merely waited with an inquisitive look upon my face.
She was, apparently, in no hurry. She adjusted herself, scootching her adorable bottom around on the seat, training her hair behind her ear, fiddling with her necklace. The glass of whiskey found her lips, and she swallowed a fair mouthful, followed in rapid succession by another. “You’re quite resourceful, aren’t you Mr. Sailor? With every one of your tricks, I gain a new respect for you. One must admire your chutzpah, making enquiries of the General Counsel. I had an uncomfortable summons to his office, having to dodge and weave my way around his questioning.”
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or got you in any hot water, Director Harmony. I recall that you left me last time with words about ‘our next meeting’ or some such. You’ve made it impossible for me to contact you, so what was a forlorn seaman to do? I can’t remain as a vagabond stuck in the doldrums, left with nothing except my unrequited feelings.”
She let this sink in as she emptied her glass of whiskey. She held it out for a refill. I handed her another full pour. She swallowed half the amount and cleared her throat. “I admit that I may seem distant, Mr. Sailor. That’s on purpose. Your feelings for me are not totally unrequited. I’ve taken a liking to you and your sophomoric pursuit of me. It has been a pleasant distraction to watch you twist and turn in your desperate attempts to woo me. I assure you, Mr. Sailor, that it has not gone unnoticed.”
She paused, a pregnant pause, as she emptied her glass for the second time. I didn’t wait for her to hold it out expectantly. I took it from her hand and refilled it. “What I’m about to share with you is only known by an extremely *********** few. I can count them on one hand. I’m even feeling as if we should sign some sort of retainer agreement so that you’ll be held to the strictest rules of client confidentiality.”
She had my full attention. I didn’t know what she was going to divulge but I was all ears. My mind raced to guess what this confidential secret was that she was about to lay on me. Another piece of the unfinished jigsaw puzzle.
“You’ve been around the block. Several times, I can tell. You seem perceptive and ‘worldly’ in your own way.” She paused again, looking down at her dainty hands folded in her lap, unsure of herself for the first time in my presence. She raised her eyes to mine, a painful eeriness to them. “How much do you know about BDSM, Mr. Sailor?”
Chapter 9:
The Learning
Not only was Ms. Heather Harmony a living doll, not only was she an intellect, but she had kinks. And she was way ahead of me, again. I must admit that I had only been exposed to the BDSM world through watching some random videos on various porn sites and reading or hearing about the establishment versions of it churned out by mainstream media. I had never practiced any of it, never experienced what I regarded as sadistic behavior. In my gentrified world, I had only known sex as something pleasurable, never involving pain. Sex was a way to experience pleasure and a vehicle to administer pleasure. The activities I had witnessed on the porn sites seemed to only inflict pain, torture, and suffering. Little did I know.
“Do you want an honest answer Ms. Harmony? Or shall I lead you on and pretend as if I’m an expert?”
“Mr. Sailor, I haven’t been aware of you ever lying to me. There’s no reason to start now. From your irresolute reply I can only deduce that you know little or nothing about the universe of bondage, discipline, submission, and sadomasochism. To give you a starting point, the world of BDSM involves a variety of kinks and fetishes involving power dynamics and the consensual exchange of control and pleasure. There are many more than 50 shades of this gray.”
“I’m having a hard time seeing how flogging some poor lass, tied up, naked to the world could be pleasurable to anybody except the cruelest, most vile, scum. You know, the type of person who would go out of their way to run over a cat on the street. I’ve seen convicts accused of horrendous crimes being led into court in handcuffs and leg shackles. They always appear to be so humble, so humiliated. They typically stand before the judge, head bowed subserviently, uncomfortable in their prison garb. As soon as they’re freed, they immediately rape the first skirt they see.”
“Your impressions have been skewed by views not held by the many who indulge. Humiliation can be one element of the practice, Sailor. Just one. There are nearly as many variations on the activities practiced as there are participants. Did it ever occur to you that the young lass you described actually wanted, no needed, that treatment? That the flogging you described was, in fact, pleasurable to her? Did you consider that she may have consented to, maybe even requested that treatment? Did you ever look beyond what the main stream media presents about this? I’m confident that the answer is no. Further, have you ever held a woman’s wrists together above her head while you were thrashing away at her pussy? That, Mr. Sailor, is a mild form of BDSM.”
It was obvious to even the casual observer that I was in way over my head. This diminutive morsel of goodness had outdone me once again. “Heather, I honestly hadn’t ever given it much thought. The only reason I’ve ever watched such things is to hope to stumble upon one where the young lass is restrained and the man can use her mouth without any resistance. If you’ll recall, that’s one of my kinks. Skull fucking. It's a big fantasy of mine to be able to watch my dick sliding in and out of a pretty face. It’s even more exciting if it’s a ‘no hands’ session. Sometimes a woman will hold her hand on the cock to limit how deep it can go. I want it to go all the way, pushing past the deepthroat door.”
“Sailor, that’s possible with the right partner. But you need to know much more about this world before you simply tie some hot coed up and rape her mouth. These situations are, believe it or not, based on many things, not just availability. They are, first and foremost, usually based on a preexisting relationship. Essential to any successful coupling is mutual consent, need, desire and understanding. As I said, in almost every case, there is a preexisting relationship. Trust, feelings, emotions are all a part of the equation. And a set of ground rules is discussed beforehand. The videos you’ve seen are, undoubtedly, either rehearsed, arranged, or practiced between seasoned professionals. You might be surprised to learn that many people who engage in these activities are, to the outside world, loving husbands and wives. Or husbands and husbands. You are aware, it’s not gender specific. Seeing your colleague and his wife at church on Sunday would never tip you off that as soon as they got home, they couldn’t wait to begin their private ‘playtime.’”
I was reeling with this information. It was bouncing around upstairs like a pinball in an arcade game. Lights were flashing, bells were dinging, chaos was in control. Images of Heather bound and gagged, being manhandled, every orifice being filled by tattooed bruins with leather jackets and whips slashing around flashed through my mind. It was horrifying, troubling and not something I could accept. I would soon learn that those images, those fears, were far from the normal reality. Although those scenes may occur between some participants, those instances are only a tiny percentage of how the aficionados operate. It is much more common to find loving participants, feeding their partners with only the level of ‘torture’ they have agreed upon, intent on creating mutual satisfaction. I reached for my drink only to find my glass empty.
“Sailor, I can see that you’re upset. Why don’t you pour yourself another drink and take a deep breath.” After filling my glass, I sat back down and took several deep breaths. I tried to clear my mind, glaring at her perfect body sitting across from me, hoping that her beauty would have a calming influence. She gave the appearance of being quite at ease. She was, as they say, cool, calm, and collected.
We remained silent, sipping our drinks. A couple of times I started to say something, but bit my tongue. “But if….” She raised her eyebrows. “How about….” She tilted her head. “What happens when….”
“Do me a favor, Sailor. You look perplexed and anxious. I can feel that you don’t understand how these concepts all fit together just yet. I want you to relax and clear your head. We can explore all the myriad details at another time. For now, please just lay back on the bed.” I did so, taking some deep breaths. Suddenly Heather was lying down next to me. She rubbed her hand on my chest, soothing me. She nuzzled her pretty face against my neck and the side of my face. Then she whispered, barely audibly, in my ear, “Just relax, Sailor. Everything will be okay. You’ll learn. You may even enjoy this hidden world.”
The next thing I knew she had my belt buckle undone and had fished my limp noodle out. She twisted around and took just his head between her tender ruby lips. Her tongue probed, circling around my swelling glans. It slid to the underside, to my sensitive frenulum, causing him to respond according to the laws of nature. I was surprised that this petite woman, everything built at half size, had a mouth large enough to fully engulf my generous piece. And she swallowed. They say that the difference between like and love is that one spits, the other swallows.
“I need you to bone up on the topics we discussed tonight, Sailor. Do not breach the bounds of confidentiality. Doing so will cause you much pain and discomfort. I want you to be prepared the next time I visit. You might want to have some rope handy, restraint is an important part of my repertoire.” She evaporated into thin air, wafting up the companionway into the night air.