Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Sun Jun 14, 2015 3:23 am

My name is Emma. I’ve started this thread more as a kind of “life story” than an experience or two. Or at least, “young life story”, as I think I’m probably a bit older than most of you on here. It’s also to remind me of those times I guess. To write it all down somewhere discreet, it kind of feels good to do that. All of what I’m going to write is true (as far as the detail I can remember). I’ll have to do it in parts, so I’ll revisit and update this thread as regularly as I can. I want to try and get as much of the flavour of what being a teenager was like in the 80s/90s as well if I can. I hope that makes sense. I’ve decided to put it here in the >17 section because it’s mostly more intimate stuff than just games. I suppose really, it’s about my sexuality in truth.

I suppose I better start at the beginning.

I grew up in a small rural town in the west of England. I was not much different to any other girl I suppose. I had Barbie and Sindy dolls, and loved ponies and all the other stuff young girls like. I went to parties, had pink clothes and liked ‘disco’ dancing. Along with my brothers and sisters, I had a pretty normal, working class country upbringing. We lived on a farm, just outside a small rural town of about 6000 population. After Primary school, I went to the local “comp” (Comprehensive to those of you who aren’t Brits). It was a pretty rough school. A lot of “Comprehensives” were back then, but it was ok standards wise. I ended up getting average grades in the end, but that was maybe more down to my ability than the school perhaps. I was never really an academic girl.

I guess this sounds a bit arrogant now, but by the time I was 14, I knew I was an attractive girl. I have always been small and slim, but that was really the first time I knew was when boys started noticing me. Even though I spoke with a soft, English West Country accent, people often assumed I was Italian or Greek, because of my dark complexion, brown eyes and dark shoulder length hair. I wasn’t arrogant about it. I liked the attention and was intrigued by it. Like many girls, I became aware of my sexuality quite early. There’s nothing unusual about that. Girls are often much more aware of boys from an earlier age.

I’m not sure what my first memories of “naughty games” were. I don’t really remember any serious ‘tie up games’ with other kids. At least, not ones that weren’t symbolic like a Cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers game. I remember if there was such a game, it always seemed to be the girls getting chased (and/or caught) by the boys. Even then, it just seemed natural that boys chased girls, and it never seemed to occur to me that it would be any other way. I remember long summer holidays, playing in the fields, or swimming in the river. I remember building camps or “dens”, and how I (and seemingly the other girls too) always seemed to fit into natural “role” models, while the boys went off to “hunt” or fight with each other. We seemed to be the ones who always had the subordinate roles in these “dens”, kind of like mini wives or housekeepers. It sounds sexist and I suppose it was, but I don’t think I or any of the girls saw it like that at the time.

Anyway, by now, I was seeing the wider world. This was in the late 1980s. I’d already long since started to notice images, clips in films, passages in books, the “damsel in distress” narrative that’s always been fairly common in our culture. To begin with I didn’t really understand it, only that I knew it was a little titillating. It seemed that it was always the girl that was in danger, always the girl that got tied up. I guess these were stereotype, but it never really occurred to me to question them. And anyway, as I got older and became more aware of boys, I became increasingly aware of this power dynamic. This is sort of around the time I first began to feel the kick that all this had, that sort of warm buzzy feeling inside that I used to get when I was being chased or pinned down by a boy. I began to imagine myself as the “damsel” in one of those films and the thought felt so good. I suppose though I also tried to suppress it to start with. The whole thing of feeling good about being tied up felt weird, and I felt guilty about even thinking that way.

This takes me up to about being 13 or 14, so I’ll stop there for the moment, and hopefully write some more later this week.
Last edited by Emma29 on Sat Aug 01, 2015 1:35 am, edited 2 times in total.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby canuck100 » Sun Jun 14, 2015 4:50 am

Welcome to the forum. You have a great writing style; looking forward to reading your TUGs life story!

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Sun Jun 14, 2015 7:01 am

Thanx for that Cannuck x

Here's a little more...

I suppose I should write a little about my family and the times here, to set this in context. This was the late 1980s. I guess my family were typically “working class”. I had a younger brother and two older sisters. My father was a blue collar manual worker, and my mum worked part time in a local old peoples home. Although this was the era of Maggie Thatcher, our area was still pretty depressed. The only real factory in the town had long since closed and there weren’t that many jobs about in what was really still a traditional agricultural community. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we got by. People just had less back then I guess. Petty crime among the young lads was fairly common, and one or two of the girls got pregnant quite early. These were the days before equality law actually meant very much. Not much was expected of the girls, and there were certainly fewer opportunities. Some of the older kids went on to college, but few of us, boys or girls, ever believed we were going to university. Most of our parents simply weren’t rich enough, and grants were hard to get for all but the most academic. Sounds a bit sad, but the boys didn’t have a great deal of job opportunities, and for the girls, our horizons were getting a job in one of the supermarkets or shops in the town, or going to college in the county town about 10 miles away. We didn’t think much beyond that.

By now I was in my third year group at school. I was 14 now and was starting to learn many things. And not just from the curriculum either. My sisters both had boyfriends, and as with many girls of that age, I was starting to become obsessed with boys too. And just as there was that order among the girls, so it was too among the boys. There were the ‘smart’ boys, there were the ‘shy’ boys. And there were the ‘tough’ boys. And, taking a lead from my friends, it was always the ‘tough’ boys that we all seemed to like. The sporty, football and rugby playing boys, the ones who smoked behind the bike shed and had self-inflicted tattoos in Indian ink on their arms. It was I suppose what would be called now “peer group” behaviour, but I couldn’t help it. I was fascinated by the “mean” boys. And I was starting to realise that it wasn’t just me who was fascinated by them either. The “shy” kids barely got a look in. The “smart” boys never seemed to set anything racing inside me or my friends.

These were our schooldays, and now I was approaching 15. I suppose by today’s standards, we might be seen as more “innocent”. Far from it. No one needed to tell us how to ‘modify’ our school uniform. I look at the kind of thing girls wear these days and it looks so boring. Trousers and trainers. Yuck. It all seems so “unisex” now. At our school, it was much more traditional. It was a blue plaid skirt for the girls, with a light blue blouse (with a tie), and white socks. That said, our school was not overly strict on the rules, and we got away with quite a few “modifications’. We tried having our blouses knotted under the bust long before Britney Spears did it, but seldom got away with it for long. In the summer, we mostly wore shorter and tighter, pleated skirts. Ankle socks, sometimes with a lace frill, or long patterned white knee socks were the norm. I always used to wear mine slouched down around my ankles, but I’ll come back to that particular enduring memory later.

It doesn’t need much to explain the attraction of shoes to girls. We tried to get away with all sorts of things, including wearing high heels (which most often had to be swapped for the flatties carried in your bag before going into school itself), although we seemed to be able to get away with the high heeled wedge sandals which were fashionable back then. We wore our hair up or down, in ponytails or with alice bands, wore ear rings and make up, in fact anything we could get away with. We chewed gum like hookers, smoked Embassy Regal’s like Marlene Deitrich, and tried to look cool and nonchalant like we didn’t give a monkey’s. And so it went. I guess some of these things will sound familiar to many girls remembering their schooldays.

I wasn’t exactly Lolita, but I did my fair share of fumbling behind the cricket pavilion or the bike shed. Nothing remotely explicit, a lot of kissing maybe, with perhaps my top button undone and a hand on my boob once or twice. I was careful, and to be honest, though all we girls talked a lot of bravado in front of our friends, we were all too shy, too prim and proper, when it really came down to it. There was nothing much unusual about any of this, and I wasn’t particularly fond of any of these 2 or 3 boys I kissed with behind the pavilion. But, incrementally at least, in the boy meets girl stakes, the bar always seemed to be getting set a little bit higher. I remember once my oldest sister bringing one of her boyfriend’s home one Friday night, and them sitting on the sofa watching TV when my parents were out. Or at least, the TV was on but there wasn’t much watching of it going on. I was fascinated by this boy, Chris they called him. He had a big Kawasaki bike, he was good looking and about 20 years old. I remember listening and spying on them through the gap in the front room door. I remember the deepness of his voice, and, more than anything else, being turned on by the submissive way my sister seemed to be behaving. It sounded like her arm was being twisted or she was being bitten, but her “owws” sounded too much like she was enjoying it, and only seemed to encourage whatever he was doing to her. I couldn’t see properly because the gap wasn’t big enough, and I wasn’t a 100% sure what was even happening on that sofa. But I knew from those sounds, and I couldn’t help but know I would have enjoyed it too.

By now I was 15 and beginning my last year before my exams

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Matthewtheman » Thu Jun 18, 2015 12:13 pm

Good story, please continue.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Sun Jun 21, 2015 10:42 am

Thank you Matthew x

Hopefully, I'll get some more time this week.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby zack889919 » Wed Jul 01, 2015 2:47 pm

One of the best stories, or rather, narratives, that I've encountered! Please do continue!

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Thu Jul 02, 2015 11:36 pm

Thanks Zack. I've written some more :) x

I’m not sure how young I was when being “tied up” first became a conscious thought. That’s the thing I suppose my story is about. Where did that come from? Of course, I’d seen images of girls tied up in films and on tv before, and everyone knows the dragon had the princess tied up (even though I wondered how a dragon could tie knots if he only had wings). Ok they were stories, but deep inside I inevitably would arrive at the idea of someone tying me up, and that had a fuzzy, warm feeling. These things intrigued me but I always had this guilty feeling if I thought too much about it.

I remember once being at home on my own. Well, my parents were out and my younger brother was asleep upstairs, so that kind of counted as “alone” I guess. My parents used to go out drinking. And come back worse for wear in the deep hours. Anyway, this film came on at about 10pm. A western, one of those harsh, gritty, in your face films. Maybe I was 12 or 13. And this film started with a gunfight (like they did), and I was about to change channels (girl bored!!...there were only 4 channels in the Uk back then). Even though it was supposed to be based in the American west, it was a foreign language film with subtitles which didn’t really grab my young mind. To start with there didn’t appear to be any female characters in it for me to identify with, and quite clearly, even to my young mind, this was a film about violence and vendetta and I was losing interest.

Anyway, then there was this good looking girl in a long Victorian era Ivory dress, going somewhere on a horse. I’m not exactly sure of the plot now. She was the daughter of one of the “good guys” I think, but to me then it wasn’t really clear just exactly who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. That was I suppose why I watched it that little bit longer, that clearly there was an edge to this film I’d never really come across before. Anyway, just as I was about to change channels, one of the bad guys in the film takes her prisoner. Now suddenly, there is a naughty politic in this film, and I found myself wanting to watch it. After a dialogue where it is clear she is being kidnapped, the film cuts to a scene where she is being led along on horseback, and now her hands are tied behind her back. I can still remember her sullen face and the lingering camera shot of her slender wrists bound tightly behind her as the horse sways slightly from side to side. This made me feel that buzzy feeling in my tummy, only much stronger. I’d seen girls tied up in films before, but not like this. This was not a couple of flimsy wisps of silk loosely wrapped around her hands. Her hands were bound tightly with a leather or hide ligature and it looked very realistic.

But what intrigued me even more was that apart from a few scenes, she spends most of the rest of the film tied up, and in one scene she is gagged too. She never questions it, she is simply tied up while dialogue passes between them or the scene plays out. There was never any sense that a “hero” was going to rescue her either. The “bad guy” turned out to be not so bad, but it was the grittiness of the film and her seeming acceptance that kind of made it all feel “normal”. That maybe a girl getting tied up by a guy was something guys (and girls) thought about too?

Back then, tv was less explicit than it is today, and films aimed at an adult audience tended to be on later. Looking back, I think they call this kind of film “fan service”, but I didn’t know that then. I can’t remember what the film was even called, and I’ve never been able to find it again. But that didn’t really matter. I was beginning to realise that it wasn’t just me who thought about naughty things.

Anyway, in the next part, I’m going to write about that great fascination many guys have. Girl’s feet! C’mon boys, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, and if I'm honest it gave me that “buzzy” feeling too. But not half as much as some of the boys I’ve known ;)

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Fl0yd » Sat Jul 04, 2015 8:42 pm

Emma29 wrote:Girl’s feet! C’mon boys, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.


Can't wait :)

For me, "the thing" about girl's feet is tendons are popping through the skin. Don't know why exactly this, but we all are here because of our oddities :tied:

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Mon Jul 06, 2015 3:53 am

Never come across that one, Floyd. Mostly it was boys who just wanted to get my shoes off or get me barefoot! But yeah, I guess we all have our oddities :) x

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Mon Jul 06, 2015 7:45 am

Just a quick thank you to all those who have pm'd me asking me if I want to "RP". I'm not even sure I know what "RP" is (thou I think it means role play), but I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at it :) I'll just stick to story writing if that's ok, but many thanks anyway xx

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby zack889919 » Mon Jul 06, 2015 4:50 pm

Please continue!

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Tue Jul 07, 2015 12:11 am

zack889919 wrote:Please continue!


I will try to write some more this week. In the meantime, I want to post a picture. Can I do that directly to the site, or do I have to use Imageshack or similar?

Thanx x

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Fl0yd » Tue Jul 07, 2015 6:15 am

Emma29 wrote:
I will try to write some more this week. In the meantime, I want to post a picture. Can I do that directly to the site, or do I have to use Imageshack or similar?

Thanx x


You can use any appropriate method

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Tue Jul 07, 2015 6:53 am

This girl looks a lot like I did when I was a teenager. She has a dark complexion and brown eyes like mine, and her dark hair is similar to how mine was then. My mother is from Cyprus (my father served there with the RAF)

Emma2.jpg
Emma2.jpg (20.43 KiB) Viewed 3887 times
Last edited by Emma29 on Mon Aug 10, 2015 11:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Nexus » Wed Jul 08, 2015 6:50 am

You definitely have a knack for writing, great descriptions and tone. Looking forward to hearing all about your love of bondage.

...and I am one of the guilty males anxiously awaiting the next installment about the female foot! Figure'd I'd pose a question on the subject: do you favor nail polish on your toes? If so, what colour?

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Fri Jul 10, 2015 2:21 pm

Thanks Nexus. Yes, I do paint my toes. Mainly red or pink these days x

So, boys and their fascinations? And I don’t mean football either.

Starting secondary school is a big milestone for most of us I suppose. You become much more aware of the world around you and of the opposite sex. I guess it was because I was fairly small that I seemed to attract attention. I’ve always been quite petite, and I’m only 5” 4” now. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly bullied, I just seemed to get teased an awful lot more (mostly by boys) than the other girls. I wasn’t very strong and I was easy to control. Much of the time my friends even joined in. Like I said earlier, I didn’t dislike the attention. I suppose I’ve always had a submissive nature. It was mostly good humoured and in many ways it was flattering. But it just seemed that it was always me who got pinned down, locked in the janitor’s cupboard, or chased with a spider.

I suppose it was around this time, early in secondary school, that it first occurred to me that girl’s feet, and having a girl shoeless, might be a bit of a kick for some boys. This was because I often began to find myself with no shoes on. I think we’ve all seen that “shoes away” game at school at one time or another, and in my year group I was always certain to be the victim of games like that. I didn't want them off, I just couldn't do anything about it. And it would always be just me with no shoes on. I can remember literally dozens of occasions when it was only me who lost her shoes, but not one single occasion when it happened to another girl. Pleading didn't work. I'd just be left with no shoes on and feeling so self-conscious. And even though I would eventually get them back, I remember often being left sitting on the bike shed wall in my socks for the whole break, sometimes with no idea where my shoes even were. What struck me about this too was that the other girls seldom helped me get them back, and I’m sure some of them got a kick out of it as well. Most of the girls bossed me about too because I was so easy going. So it just seemed to become an accepted thing. You could tease Emma and boss her about. You could take Emma's schoolbag and put it on the roof of the wreck where she couldn't reach it. You could take Emma's shoes off and leave her like that for a while. And she could only have them back when someone else decided she could. It was control, and while my girlfriends took a less direct role in it, they co-operated with it. They seemed to enjoy confining and controlling me as much as the boys enjoyed teasing me. I guess it must have felt sweet to leave me with no shoes on when none of the other girls had to have theirs off.

I remember one afternoon going into maths for the last lesson. This boy called Calvin was teasing me and another girl by trying to show us a picture of a large snake (god, boys then were just as stupid !x). I wasn’t responding to him and went to sit down on my chair, when he tried to pull my bag off the back of my seat. I tried to pull my chair back, but then he simply grabbed my ankle. Immediately I had that familiar helpless feeling that I was going to lose my shoe as I felt his grip tighten around my heel. My desk was in the front row next to the window, and as his grip tightened even more around the heel of my Mary Jane, it was obvious he was going to take my shoe off. I squealed something like “Calvin, stop it, we’re in class” and tried to pull my foot away. However as he had such a firm grip on my heel, I only succeeded in helping to pull my own shoe off, which produced a look of triumph on his face. Before I could even think about it, he grabbed my other foot and pulled it upwards, and that sinking feeling descended on me as I realised he was going to take the other one off too. I had on white ankle socks with the turnover top and those cute lace frills around the cuff, and I felt so helpless as my other shoe was pulled off too. The first shoe was on the floor, and as I pulled my foot away I tried to grab the other one out of his hand. But to my disbelief, he lifted his hand up, and tossed it out of the open classroom window behind me! I called him an idiot and there was laughter from around the room. And before it even occurred to me that he was sure to like the idea of both of my shoes being where I couldn't get them, he bent down, picked up my other shoe and threw that one out of the window too!

The maths room was on the first floor of the two story block, and as I knelt up on my chair amid the laughter to look out of the window, there on the grass below were my shoes! At that moment, Mr Parker, the stern maths teacher, walked in and demanded to know what all the fuss was about. As I sat there, too embarrassed to speak, my friend Ellie sitting next to me, told Mr Parker with a smirk that “Calvin has thrown Emma’s shoes out of the window”. This bought another muted ripple of laughter from the class.
Mr Parker shook his head wearily, then called for quiet. He looked out of the window briefly, then barked firmly at Calvin (using his surname as they always did back then) to get back to his desk and sit down. Then without further ado, he stood in front of the chalk board and said “Ok, we were doing long division….” And that was that! The lesson was starting! For a moment, I sat there not quite sure if Mr Parker had heard Ellie. Surely he’d make Calvin go down and get my shoes? Or at least, let me go down and get them? But he just continued talking about long division, as I sat there too nervous to interrupt him. And as the minutes ticked by, it became obvious I wasn’t getting my shoes back. I was simply left in my cute white socks for the rest of the lesson. I felt so self-conscious. All I could think about was the boys in the rows behind me, and I could almost feel Ellie was getting a kick out of this too. That last lesson was always an hour and five minutes long. But that one felt like three.

Anyway, by the time I’d got into my 3rd year, the teasing (and losing my shoes) seemed to stop. We were all getting a little bit older and (some of us anyway) more mature. In any case, I’d begun to wear shoes that were harder to pull off, not just for that reason, but more because the older girls wore them, like the high cork wedge sandals that were fashionable that year. They had straps so they couldn't easily be undone. I don’t seem to remember it happening again at school after my 2nd year. Little did I know it then, but once boyfriends came along, I’d go back to losing my shoes again, and it would be for much longer!

That’s some of those enduring memories I mentioned earlier. Although sometimes during these ‘games’ I was barefoot, most of the time I was at school I wore socks, so that’s why socks are in many of my enduring memories I suppose. I liked those school socks, the knee high patterned ones, because they were so soft. I used to slouch them down with the cuff just above my ankles, which looked sweet and had that careless, ‘Lolita’ look. And because I’ve got small feet (size 4), it was always pretty difficult to find adult socks to fit me, so I often ended up wearing girls socks even after I left school. I guess it’s hardly surprising that even now thinking about them makes me feel a bit naughty.

Anyway, in the next part I’ll write about Jez. I adored Jez, and even if I wrote a whole book about it, I doubt I’d be able to sum up just how much I fantasised about him and what I’d have liked him to have done with me. Sadly, it was unrequited, like a lot of teenage girl’s fantasies. And so I’ll write too about my first experiences with the older boys. After all, lots of us had our first real fun in the back of a car.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Mon Jul 13, 2015 2:56 pm

Ok, I got side tracked there so I’d better get back on time. In this part, I’m going to talk about Jez (swoon! x) and other boys, about the teenage “S word” (Sex!) and also about my early experiments with every kinky teenagers obsession, self-bondage.

So, first of all, what is all this S-E-X stuff about? Well, in the 80s, you could have been forgiven for scratching your head. The trouble was, sex education (where it even existed) was poor. It seemed to comprise of some mumbling biological body part descriptions by a teacher in RE, and a few dodgy drawings come diagrams in odd textbooks. That was pretty much it. When someone did bring in a dog eared copy of the “Joy of Sex”, it soon got grabbed by the year idiots and ended up being confiscated. Of course, some of the lads bought “dirty magazines” (as they were euphemistically called then) in to school, and sometimes individual ripped out pages would do the rounds. And sadly, that’s where the majority of what little knowledge we did have came from. These were mainly from Mayfair or Fiesta magazine. Porn was pretty much exclusively published for men, so the images were almost exclusively of naked or scantily clothed girls for the pleasure of guys. And who can blame them. As I’ve already said, TV was still pretty conservative and only consisted of 4 channels. What was on it was pretty tame even after the watershed (which was 9pm). And anything after the watershed generally followed the same recipe of naked girls pleasuring guys.

Drop into the middle of all this, a submissive natured, teenage girl. I already kind of understood the way “it’s a man’s world” worked, and the older I got, the more I understood. Even as a teenager, I liked the idea (very much) that men were in charge. I felt safe that way and my mind was only comfortable with it that way. And more importantly, it was the way my body worked too. I couldn’t do anything about that. Any feminists out there would hate me to say this, but I was very much in tune with the times. And that was down to very hard wired biological circuits inside me more than any considered choice. To use an analogy, to start with, the general outline was there. And as I got older, bits of the jigsaw slowly began to fall into place.

I’ve already mentioned those fumbling encounters in the cricket pavilion. We’d given up “Jackie” magazine now. Up until about 15, that was the sum total of most of our collective experience. I didn’t really feel anything much for any of these few boys I kissed with. I mean, I didn’t dislike them. But they didn’t ‘do’ anything. Although in the term of the times, I was “going out” with one of them. It lasted all of 2 weeks before I “chucked” him. I suppose they were my early experiments. And I guess because my girlfriends were doing it too.

And into all this walked Jez. Or rather, he appeared. Lately, I’d decided to start walking home rather than getting the coach. It was only a mile and a half anyway. But it meant I could go via the park with the other girls, which (surprise surprise) just happened to be where the older boys hung out. I first saw him there when I was walking home one afternoon. He was with a group of older boys who all had cars or motorbikes. You know how it goes with teenage girls. He was “dreamy”. He was “gorgeous”. He was a “hunk”. It wasn’t just me though. He was in fact, very good looking, devastatingly so. He had short blond hair, chiselled good looks and a gorgeous body. He was tall, he was handsome, he was everything a young girl looks for in a boy. Except he was 20 years old. He, on the other hand, barely even noticed me. I was just “a kid”.

Not that that stopped me from becoming absolutely, totally and ridiculously smitten with him. It was like I’d been hypnotised or given a drug. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I wrote his name on my school books and talked about him to the other girls all the time. I constantly tried to imagine the most likely scenarios where he and I could get together. I was convinced I loved him, and that he’d love me too if only he would get to know me. I lay on my bed crying at the unfairness of it all, swearing that I would wait forever until he noticed me and we could live happily ever after.

But all this had another effect, somewhere deep inside. Up until now, the warm buzzy feelings inside me that were sparked by various thoughts or images, they had nothing much to be focused on. Now they had. I began to imagine being alone with Jez. I began to imagine what would happen when we were alone, and now the images from those magazines and films were replayed. He’d want to undress me of course. I’d have no clothes on! The thought made me want to put my hand over my mouth and write “Gasp”, like they did in girl’s comics. It never even occurred to me that he’d ever be undressed. Of course I’d be undressed and naked for him, because I was a girl. I’d be his girl. But in my mind he was always dressed. The warm buzzy feeling now went far, far off the scale at these thoughts and one night turned into my first orgasm. Then night after night, I had these fantasies where I was naked on his knee, his hands all over my body. We’d watch TV in the dark, the light flickering over us, me naked for hours and hours while he was dressed! He could take my clothes away from me and lock them away, so I couldn’t have them unless he decided I could! That’s what boys liked doing, isn’t it? Then I’d really be his girl? I already liked the idea , and the more I thought about it, the sweeter it became. I never, ever, had any problem coming with that idea, and the thought of a gorgeous guy.

Slowly, it came round to the idea of him…whisper it…tying me up! God! I tried to imagine how this would happen, and came up with dozens of ideas and scenarios, none of which were entirely convincing. The problem was, I still felt this deep guilt about wanting to be tied up. Jez was a “nice guy”, and I couldn’t imagine that nice guys tied girls up (or at least, that’s what I thought). I was still stuck with those “good guys” and “bad guys” brackets. So I was always left with the conclusion that it was me, who wanted to be tied up, who was the weird one. And consequently guilt always got the better of me.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop the feelings inside me, and that led me to my first experiments with self-bondage. If no one else knew, what harm could there be in tying myself up? My efforts were not very successful at first. Mainly because of the lack of opportunity and the fear of overdoing it and getting found. The embarrassment would have killed me. So I took to tying myself up in bed at night. Not every night. But increasingly often. I’d get a couple of hair ties, wrap them around my wrists, then by rotating my wrists around each other, I could come up with a pretty convincing feeling of having my hands tied. Better still, I could do this with my hands behind my back. I didn’t want my hands in front, or tied to bed posts or anything like that. I’ve always wanted my hands tied behind my back, tightly, securely and inescapably. Ok, if a guy wanted to tie my hands in front, that’s better than nothing. But if it was down to me, it would always, always be hands behind my back, good and tight. Anyway, once I’d gotten this off to a fine art, I could make it feel pretty secure (although the nagging feeling was always there that a few rotations of my wrists would release them). Still, it got better when I finally got my own room. Then I began to tie my ankles too (with a slip knot), and once my hands were done too, the feeling of being properly tied up was multiplied a hundred times. And now I had my own room, I’d leave myself like this as long as possible. I wanted to stay tied up all night, and after a bit of practice, I could fall asleep like that. Eventually, I’d wake up after a couple of hours with pins and needles. But the places I went to once I was asleep like that were like nothing else. The dreams I have when I’m asleep that way are indescribably horny, and I love the feeling of waking, still securely tied up and sopping wet. Back then I was still a kid and I could only manage a few hours, but the idea of being put to bed by Jez, and to lie securely tied up in his arms, all night long was my deepest and most longed after fantasy.

Sadly, it never happened with Jez. Nothing happened with Jez. He started going out with a girl of 19, and eventually, like all crushes, I got over him. But the fire that ignited inside me couldn’t now be put out.

I know I was going to talk about other lads, but I’ve run out of time in this post. It will have to be in the next one.
x
Last edited by Emma29 on Tue Jul 14, 2015 12:18 am, edited 2 times in total.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Fl0yd » Mon Jul 13, 2015 8:46 pm

Very interesting :)

You just live your life (like Jez did), and don't even know about someone beside you, whose life was changed completely only because you exist.

Please continue :tied:

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Thu Jul 16, 2015 1:46 pm

Over that last school summer holiday and in that last year at school, I and a few of the other girls in my year group started hanging around that park, and other places where the older boys went. We’d left the boys of our own age far behind, and now we were only interested in the older ones. I still saw Jez hanging around there from time to time, but I’d (kind of) got over all that now. There were lots of other boys, I thought to myself defiantly.

But we were still very young, and that is generally where things started to get a bit more risky. Some of these lads had a bit of a reputation, which they didn’t get by accident. At first we hung around, smoking, posing, trying to attract attention and look grown up. A lot of the older lads had motorbikes and cars, and that was part of the attraction. They were “grown up” (we thought), they had cars and jobs, and money, and we wanted to be regarded as grown up too. We weren’t of course. We were still teenagers, and they were still youths. But it’s funny how you think you know everything when you are young, when in fact you know very little.

But I liked this new feeling, this new ‘rebellious’ streak we all thought we had. And being taken out in some boy’s car, perhaps to a coffee bar, or even to a different town, was all part of that streak. If the price of that was occasionally a little heavy snogging or touching in the back seat, well, that was a price worth paying. I realised by now that were this to happen, it would probably be a bit more than the previous fumbling behind the bike shed. But I knew I would lose face if I ‘wimped out’ and my friends found out. I told myself I’d be careful, not to let anything get out of hand, but I was determined I was going to do what my friends and the other girls did.

As it happened, the first time out was early in the new term, after school when three of us went out with two boys in one of their cars. Looking back it seemed almost comical, the three of us girls giggling and talking over each other in the back seat of a Ford Granada, waving and shouting at other girls we knew as we passed by. Being driven around by two boys of about 18, with leather jackets and slicked back hair, arms out of the window while 50s music played on the stereo. We thought we were the Pink Ladies in “Grease”. It was a hot afternoon and I remember the breeze coming in through the window and singing at the tops of our voices. We drove around for an hour or so, and nothing much else happened. But the effect on us was profound. Suddenly, we weren’t “kids” anymore. Now we hung around with the older crowd, and they’d accepted us, so we told ourselves.

It wasn’t long after this, mid-September that year, when a boy they called “Tommer” started to take an interest in me. He was 18, and he had a job as a steel fitter with a local construction firm. I kind of liked the interest because he wasn’t bad looking. It started when I casually asked him for a light for my cigarette, and from then on he would offer me cigarettes whenever I was there. I don’t know why I smoked, they always made me cough, but I suppose it was because I thought they made me look grown up. I told him I was 16 (which wasn’t exactly true because my 16th birthday was still 6 months off), and it wasn’t long before he asked me if I wanted to go out in his car. At first I was nervous and said no, but my friends kept asking me why I hadn’t gone. They told him I’d changed my mind, and I ended up going for a short drive in his Escort Mexico that Saturday morning. Nothing much happened. We drove around the village for a while and that was that, but we agreed that he’d pick me up from school the following Thursday, when he had a day off work.

Tommer (his real name was Andy, but all the boys had nicknames) was definitely the strong, silent type. He never said very much. He also had a reputation as a hard lad, and even the other boys were a little bit scared of him. But I’d agreed to this now, and if I backed out I’d look silly among my friends. And in any case, interest from an older boy was not exactly unwanted. And to be honest, what really intrigued me about Tommer was that edginess about him, and precisely because he was a little bit scary. As I thought about it over that weekend, Gloria Estafan singing that Miami Sound Machine song kept repeating in my head. “Boys will be boys – bad boys, bad boys”

Tommer picked me up after school on the Thursday as promised. As I waited near the school, my friends forecasted my imminent doom and prophesised that I’d be found under a hedge the following day. As it happened, I wasn’t found under a hedge, and Tommer turned out not to be so bad after all. He drove around with me sat nervously in the passenger seat for a while, and then eventually we ended up at a secluded beauty spot, my heart in my mouth. He kissed me, a surprisingly passionate kiss for a boy not much older than me as I remember. And I was soon deposited in the back seat with him.

After a few more brief kisses, I quickly ended up with no shoes on again. And immediately I was back in the 1st or 2nd year of school again. There was no discussion or any suggestion that I was having a choice, he simply took my shoes off and tossed them into the front of the car. I remember sitting there on his lap in my white schools socks and feeling so self-conscious, yet with that warm, buzzy glow pulsating inside me at the feeling of having no choice. I kind of understood it now. I knew he was in charge and it felt oh so good. This was the first time I’d even been properly kissed, and to my surprise, Tommer was good at it. From time to time, his hands wandered up my skirt and I remember being turned on by my own “owws” and mews of protest, rather like I’d heard from my sister that night in our own front room. But despite his reputation, Tommer turned out to be mostly a gentleman. A gruff one, but one who knew there were limits.

That evening turned out to be the first of quite a few, and Tommer turned out to be my first proper boyfriend. It lasted over 6 months, until I was just gone 16. We’d go somewhere to be alone, but mostly that was in his car. I’d be kissed and fondled, but I’d always be barefoot. Sometimes we’d just drive around, but he’d always keep me barefoot the whole time. And I liked it that way. It was more an expression of dominance, and that felt good. I’d already learned to associate being barefoot with being controlled, so it always made me feel warm and buzzy inside. Half of me wanted him to undress me, to take my clothes and keep me naked, to play that game I’d imagined with Jez, but the other half of me kept enough defence up to stop it happening.

I know I was exploring, and I think somehow, he knew that. I’d struggle with him half-heartedly at times, inviting to be restrained for a kiss. Sometimes, when his arms were around me, I’d feel my hands unconsciously gravitate to my sides, almost inviting themselves to be pinioned behind my back. Sometimes he obliged, sometimes not. But I couldn’t help it. I had a strong and growing need to be dominated, and yet I was still far too young for a serious relationship.

In any case, somehow, Tommer was not the man (boy?) for that anyway. He was “mean” insofar as he looked, and he was tough. But inside, he was a bit of a softy. He gently dominated me, because I think he sensed what I wanted but was restrained enough not to go too far. In many ways, I’m glad I had my first real intimate experiences with him. A girl like me could easily have been taken advantage of, but Tommer never did. What did for it in the end was that because of my exams, along with the fact my parents never approved of poor old misunderstood Tommer, I had to end it.

I left school the following summer, but by that time, he’d started to work away with the steel fixing gangs and I rarely saw him again after that. Deep inside, my longing was still growing, but for now, I had to knuckle down to 6th form college. There would be other boyfriends in my late teenage years, and I’d lose my virginity before I was 18, but none of them really set anything on fire. It would be another 4 years after that, when I was 22, before I would meet the guy that would burn down the house.

So eventually, I’m going to get around to writing about that next. If you’d told me when I was 18 that I’d meet a guy who was everything I’d ever dreamed of and more, I wouldn’t have believed you. At that time, I didn’t believe he existed. It lasted for 17 months, and I’ve never forgotten a single moment of it.

I even have a drawing I made of that first night which I'll post later

x

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Nexus » Fri Jul 24, 2015 5:03 am

Another great installment! Keeping his lady barefoot, that Tommer knew what he was doing :)

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Mon Aug 10, 2015 8:52 am

I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. Even at 18 or 19, I dreamed of a handsome hero who was coming to sweep me off my feet, and then we’d live happily ever after. I guess that was the root of my guilt about my naughty “secrets”. Nice girls (and guys) didn’t do the kind of things I often day dreamed about. But as I got older and began to learn more, that guilt slowly began to recede. I’ve never liked hardcore bdsm, the masks, chains and harnesses you see in mainstream images. That doesn’t turn me on. I don’t want to be humiliated or hurt, or for anyone else to be.

There were other guys who came and went in those late teenage years. Again, I don’t want to sound big headed. I was small, quite petite, slim and attractive, so it wasn’t getting the attention of guys that was the problem. It was my perception of them. Having (like many girls I guess) a submissive nature, I wanted them to make the first move. I didn’t want to say “hey look at me, dominate me”. I wanted them to KNOW that. But generally, the kind of guys who are quick to make the first move are usually quick to leave once they’ve got what they want. So I often kind of held them at arm’s length. I had a few relationships, one that lasted a year, but mostly casual. Nothing much out of the ordinary happened. I was too afraid to openly say what I wanted. I occasionally dropped tiny hints. And in any case, “saying” it would mean it was me initiating it, and I didn’t want that. Confusing, I know. So there wasn’t that “spark” there, that natural domination I wanted from a guy. And all the while, this yearning had nowhere to go, and so my fantasies grew.

In my earliest fantasies, my guy would tie me up as punishment (and maybe spank me too x), because it bypassed the guilt by having me tied up for some (minor) wrongdoing, not because I wanted to be tied up (even though I did). Confusing isn’t it? It never really occurred to me then that some guys might enjoy tying a girl up as much as she enjoyed being tied up herself. That would have been nirvana. That was how strong the guilt I felt was. It took me some time to come round to the idea that a bound girl was actually very pleasing for some (many?) guys. But once I did, the idea that a guy might actually want and enjoy having me tied up was a much, much bigger turn on than anything I’d ever previously known. Because now, it meant the issue of it being my choice could be taken away. Yes, of course I wanted to be tied up. But I didn’t want it to be my choice. I wanted to have any choice I had in the matter completely taken away. He could tie me up whenever he liked, for as long as he liked. It would be his choice, and never, ever mine. If I could have a guy like that, he’d blow every fuse I had.

This was the antidote to my guilt. My fantasies became largely grounded in a romantic setting, where my guy was always loving and fair. Except of course, I’d be totally dominated by him. And he’d enjoy tying me up very much. I didn’t really want casual relationships on that basis, because it was far too important and too intimate to me. I guess that is why I didn’t have any casual tie up games with casual boyfriends. It had to have setting. And I guess that’s why it turns me on to have that domination set against a normal, domestic background. In my ideal world, my guy would simply leave me tied up, naked, red faced and self-conscious, while he just read a book or watched tv for as long as he liked. He’d think nothing of leaving me tied up in bed while he went to the pub or did some shopping (I know, guys don’t actually do shopping). Did a guy like that actually exist? Actually, he did. And this is the whole story (I'll get there eventually x).

After college, I had a succession of low grade jobs, and my fantasies simmered on the backburner for a long while as I struggled with life. I was determined I would get out of my one horse village one way or the other. Eventually I applied for a job with a large capital equipment supplier in the county town ten miles away, and was surprised to find I got an interview. This company was quite large, nationally connected, being the franchised dealer of several household names in earthmoving and agricultural equipment (diggers and tractors!). I was even more surprised when I got the job, and even though the pay wasn’t a great deal better than I was getting, it definitely had much greater prospects. I was employed as an admin assistant, a junior role in a large open plan office, where if nothing else, I got to see the day to day happenings (commercial and personal) in busy national company.

I first saw Jack about a month after I’d started. It was one of those moments where everything else in the picture blurred away. I don’t know about love at first sight, but the moment I first saw him, I swear my heart stopped momentarily. He was 5’ 11” tall, with short dark hair, a wiry, muscular body and that kind of boyish, handsome face women adore. More than anything else though, he had presence. You just knew he was in the room. He had these dark, lazy eyes that just seemed to grab you like space ship tractor beams and draw you in. Something inside me just seemed to know that Jack had a wickedness in him. I fell for him immediately. I fell into those eyes and I just couldn’t get out. And, to begin with anyway, just like with Jez, I don’t think he even noticed at all.

Jack didn’t work in our office, he was based in another branch about 30 miles away. After a few days of discreet questions I found out a bit more about him. He was 31 years old, an Account Manager for one of the Earthmover brands we sold. He was an ex-soldier and he was very fit. I kept my questions discreet as I could, but they would lead to sympathetic smiles from my female work friends. As I discovered, woe is me…that he was married! And that, it seemed, was the end of that. I tried to put him out of my head, and watched from afar as, from time to time, he appeared in our office. I thought that I had it under control. But that was to prove as wrong as it could possibly be.

Several months went past. I was starting to do rather well at work, and was starting to become trusted to get things done. One morning, the Branch Manager, a nice old guy called Mike who was kind of like everyone’s dad, called me into his office. When I opened the door and walked in, standing there with Mike to my surprise was Jack! I stood there, flicking my hair nervously and trying to avoid Jacks eyes, as Mike explained that Jack had been tasked to do a presentation for a big construction company which we were on the verge of getting a large order from. This was going to take place at a nearby hotel, and was going to need some organising. Some of the clients would be needing accommodation and there would be “entertaining” afterwards. I was needed to help with the organisation, and could I work with Jack for the next week to sort it out? Could I work with Jack? You bet I could. Wild horses wouldn’t stop me.

So the following week, I was to go to the hotel every day to help set up and organise a presentation for about 30 guys from this construction company. To my disappointment, on the first day, Jack wasn’t even there. I’d taken great care to dress right, and had to work that day on my own. But I wasn’t going to be put off. On the Tuesday (the event was due to take place that Thursday), Jack turned up, and it was just him and I. I remember I was wearing a tight, black pencil skirt and these sexy black stiletto court shoes that were barely passable as office/work wear. At first, I was a little shy of him, as I ran around organising rooms and client names, sorting out meals and transport for those arriving by train, and so on. But as the day wore on, he began to make me laugh with his jokes, and we got a rapport going as I sat there in the empty room enthralled as I watched Jack do a dry run of his presentation. I thought it was wonderful, and was sure anyone would give him an order. But then I guess it must have been pretty clear to him (and anyone else if they’d been watching) that I was hopelessly besotted by him. I almost hung on his every word. If he’d told me to kneel in front of him and sing baa baa black sheep, I’d have done it.

And so it came to the day. It passed over in a whirl. There were about 40 people there including our own staff, and I was running around like a girl possessed. Everything passed off smoothly on the afternoon, the presentation went like clockwork, and Jack got a warm round of applause from his audience of impressed potential clients. Afterwards, there were drinks and then everyone went to their rooms to get showered and changed before the evening meal. I came down in a long black evening dress and these wicked strappy sandals I’d bought for the night, to lots of appreciative comments from the almost exclusively male guests. But it wasn't them I was interested in. Following the meal, every one retired to the bar, and quite a bit of alcohol was consumed. During the evening, Jack came over and thanked me for all my help, and I gushed like a schoolgirl after a few too many Bacardi and cokes. Nothing much more happened. But I went to my room about midnight, happy and more than a little drunk. And as I laid back in bed, my work phone pinged. In those days, mobile phones were still relatively new. Texting was only possible between phones on the same network. I’d only had my work phone for a few weeks, and wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. I picked it up, and there was a message from Jacks phone.

It said simply “By the way, you looked incredible in that dress”

My mouth dropped open and I sat there looking at the phone for ages. You can imagine that in those days when mobile phones were still pretty new, the intimacy of getting an exclusive message, let alone one like that, was electric. It took some time before I managed to send one back saying “Thanks”.

The next day when I got up, Jack was already gone. But I had breakfast with Mike, and he couldn’t pay me enough compliments for the work I’d done. He already knew we were getting an order for 70 machines, even before the presentation. And there were going to be more. He told me that Jack had been impressed, and Mike wanted me to help him with the contract.

I went back to the office and spent the rest of the day in a kind of daydream. I was going to be working with Jack. And something told me that work was not going to be his main focus.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Tue Aug 11, 2015 8:10 am

Emma in the Hotel room (which comes later in the story!)

3_1280c.jpg

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby barefoot99 » Tue Aug 11, 2015 2:02 pm

please continue
BAREFOOT AND CUFFED, THAT'S THE ONLY WAY TO GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby SelenaGfan » Wed Aug 12, 2015 12:40 pm

Emma29 wrote:This girl looks a lot like I did when I was a teenager. She has a dark complexion and brown eyes like mine, and her dark hair is similar to how mine was then. My mother is from Cyprus (my father served there with the RAF)

Emma2.jpg

Beautiful

Re: Summer of 89 (and after)

Postby Emma29 » Sat Aug 15, 2015 9:38 am

SelenaGfan wrote:Beautiful


Why thank you kind sir x

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby zack889919 » Sat Aug 15, 2015 4:07 pm

More Please!

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Sun Aug 16, 2015 11:05 am

The next week, I was made up to “Sales Administrator”, looking after Jacks clients and orders. And as he seemed to be pretty much the most successful sales guy in the whole company, there were a lot of them. For a start I got my own office, and I got a pay rise too. But at the time, all that seemed incidental. All I could think about was Jack.

It wasn’t just that he was good looking. Lots of guys are good looking. And he was certainly that. Jack was a natural leader. He literally oozed confidence. The other guys called it “sure of himself”, but whatever it was, you couldn’t help but be affected by it. He was economic with words. He never used ten when three would do. He was direct, and he never flowered anything up. His eyes never rushed, they moved slowly, deliberately, without any hurry. When he made eye contact with you, you didn’t see it, you felt it. He didn’t waste time with meaningless niceties, but he had an easy charm which he could switch on and off like a light. He also had a quick, dry sense of humour and a wicked smile that, when he chose to use it, could turn grown women into helpless kittens. It was no surprise that I fell so deeply for him. He was everything I had ever been looking for in a man.

For that first week, I didn’t even see him. I was too busy learning my new job. But I spoke to him on the phone a fair bit that week, and with each conversation, I could feel our working relationship forming. Even though my attraction to him must have already been obvious, over the next few weeks I became more and more flirty, and he became a little more jokey with me. I dressed not for the protocols of the office, but to make myself attractive to him. I wore tight skirts and often left my top button undone. I always wore high heels anyway, and still do, on account of not being very tall, but some of the shoes or boots I wore then were hardly office wear. I suppose in retrospect, I was an easy conquest for him. I found myself ignoring the fact that he was married. I was so besotted with him by now that inconvenient facts like that weren’t going to get in my way. It was wrong I know. But judgements about my involvement with him or his infidelity belong elsewhere. This is just the story of what happened.

It was about now that the text messages started. To begin with, they were loosely work connected, sometimes about other people or events in the company, but they quickly started to become more personal. And as they did, I began to play up my role as his “assistant”, and this started to become the underlying and jokey theme of our texts. I sometimes wrote “yes sir” with a smiley face, or joked about having to ask his permission to leave my desk. He’d play along, and sometimes these exchanges would go on intermittently all afternoon, with me playing this jokey, but actually very real role as an obedient girl. This forerunner of “sexting” turned me on badly, and as the days went by the sexual tension began to grow rapidly.

After a few more weeks of this, I guess it really began one Friday night after work. I was in the office finishing off an order to submit to the manufacturer. The office was quiet and there was hardly anyone around. My phone pinged and it was a message from Jack. It just said “I’m 30 minutes away, fancy a drink?” It was 4.40pm on a Friday. The guy I was crazy about had asked me if I wanted a drink. I quickly texted him back saying “yes please”.

By 5.20 I was in the bar of a local pub with him. We sat down in the corner, and he did most of the talking while I smiled and gazed longingly at him. I just as well have waved a banner saying “take me I’m yours” over my head. But it didn’t quite come to that just yet. By 7.45 I was seriously tipsy. In those days you could still smoke inside, but we went outside for a cigarette anyway. I remember it as if it were yesterday. We were leaning against a wall and I was gushing on about something work related. He placed his arm around me because it was getting a little chilly, and I simply pulled in close to him. It just felt so natural. Then he leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. I know it sounds corny, but it was just like one of those film clichés. That kiss went on for a good minute before he broke off. He apologised, and I made an excuse for him, saying, “oh don’t be daft, its ok”, while silently wishing that he’d take me in his arms and carry me away somewhere secret and ravish me. We had another drink and talked a bit longer. And yet despite the apology, I think we both knew then that something was going to happen, and that it was now unstoppable. Eventually, he paid for a taxi for me and I left. All the way home I just dreamed of him in that warm taxi with me.

The weekend went by so slowly, and on the Monday, I knew he was at head office and then in Cheshire, so there weren’t many texts. Then on the Tuesday afternoon, the text conversation below happened. He’d been quiet all morning, and I was feeling anxious. In the end, I couldn't wait for him to text me any longer, so I sent one anyway. It was a long time ago, but I remember the conversation went something like this.

Emma: Hi. Are you still in Cheshire?

Jack: Yes

Emma: Jane has just left a load of entries for the warranty log on my desk

Jack: Not your job. Tell her you aren’t doing them

Emma: Ok. What are you doing?

Jack: Been with *client name* this morning. Staying over tonight

Emma: Ooh, that sounds nice. How come it’s just the boys who have all the fun?

Jack: It’s business

Emma: Spoilsport

Jack: It’s a lad’s night out afterwards. That’s the way it works

Emma: I could go shopping after the meeting :)

There was a long pause.

Jack: I guess you could take notes at the next one

That was a line in and we both knew it. My face was prickling as I quickly wrote my reply.

Emma: Sure, I can do that

Jack: This is an important client

Emma: I know how hard you’ve worked on this

Jack: Ok. You better be a good girl for me Emma

I nearly fell off my chair. I’d only been waiting my entire life to hear someone say that.

Emma: I’ll be a good girl Jack

Jack: It’s a boy’s night out afterwards. And there won’t be any shopping

Emma: I guessed that :)

Jack: You won’t even be allowed out of the hotel room

Oh god! I wouldn't even be allowed out of the room! My mind went numb at all the meanings that might have, but to see it written like that just made me feel so wet.

Emma: I understand Jack.

Jack: Good. Anyway, have to go. Will catch you later


And with that abrupt ending, he was gone. For a moment, I sat there in disbelief, unsure if all that had just happened. Back then, text messages didn’t save. They just replaced the previous one, so I couldn’t read it back. I quickly pulled out the planner to find out when the next meeting was with that client. It was the Wednesday of the following week, eight days away. Oh lord!

For the rest of the afternoon I could think of nothing else. I barely got any work done. At about 4.45pm, my internal line rang. It was Mike. Jack needed me to help out at a meeting with *client name* next week in Cheshire. Would I be able to go up there and stay overnight, all expenses paid of course? I tried to sound as if I were thinking about it, but readily agreed, before he changed his mind. That was it. I was going away with Jack. And this time, we’d be alone.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Tue Aug 18, 2015 4:20 pm

The next few days went by without any texts at all. From later experience, I came to find he did things like that on purpose. He liked to build up tension, to make me wait. Because, a crucial quality in a guy, he could wait himself. I suppose he knew he could have had me at any time he liked. But he didn’t simply rush in, take what he wanted, and then disappear. He always took his time. He knew that expectation was part of the experience itself. It was like that with everything he did, he made it slow, he made it last, he made it inevitable. That’s why he was so different to any other man I’d ever met. He knew that all I would be thinking about was him, and he was right.

The following day, he was back. The messages went straight to being about work, and it was as if he had forgotten all about this week. Several messages passed back and forth as if those texts had never happened. I wanted to get back to where our last conversation had ended, but fear of breaking the spell stopped me. Also, he was a married man, and I was a young girl. Yet I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t know the answer to the obvious question, and that was that we were going away together and we’d both be in one room. Then, suddenly, he was there again. It went something like this -

Jack: We’ll be leaving at 8am to drive up on Weds

I smiled. This was where we’d left off.

Emma: Great. What should I take?

Jack: Just yourself will be fine

Emma: Silly! I mean, what should I wear for the meeting?

Jack: Black dress. You look good in black

Emma: Ok. What about afterwards?

There was a long pause.

Jack: I’ll be taking the guys for a drink

Emma: Ok. What about me?

Jack: I told you. You won’t be allowed out of the room

This time there was a long pause because I was almost too nervous to reply. It was full of possibilities, but the meanings were all the same. He was going to be totally in charge. All these years I had dreamed and fantasised about this moment, and now it was here I was almost too nervous to reply. The words came almost automatically, and I watched my fingers as they typed in my message.

Emma: I’ll be your prisoner

And then the message had gone. I sat there staring at the phone, almost in disbelief that I’d just sent that message. I hadn’t even put a question mark! An agonising few moments passed as I waited for his reply, doubt swirling and thoughts of him thinking I was some kind of weirdo flashing up in my mind. Then my phone pinged.

Jack: That’s the way I want it

Suddenly a huge weight lifted off me. There was no guilt anymore, I wasn’t weird anymore.

Emma: That sounds sweet 

Jack: Completely

Emma: wow!

Jack: No conditions

I sat in my chair, my mouth wide open. Everything I’d ever secretly fantasised about was in those few lines. Nervously I typed in my reply. It was frightening, like signing a mortgage, but nothing could stop me sending it now.

Emma: No conditions

Jack: Good. I have to go into a meeting now. See you later

And then he was gone again. Enough to turn me upside down, enough to make me want him even more. Then he would disappear for days. But that was Jack.

Over the weekend, I went shopping. I’d just been paid and I went mad. I bought a black dress, something that was sexy but would get me through a meeting. It was fitted, midi length, just below the knee, with capped sleeves. It hugged my body perfectly, but it wasn’t lined. So I bought a sweet Ivory satin slip and some little white bikini type panties, which would be a nice surprise for him to find underneath when I lost my dress (which was going to be inevitable). Then I bought some gorgeous black leather court shoes with high curving stiletto heels, an almond shaped toe and a low vamp. I loved the way they felt, and the inner upper was quite low too, meaning the arch of my foot was visible, which looked sweet (and you could just about see a glimpse of the expensive label if you looked hard enough too!!). And they were expensive. They cost me a week’s wages but they looked so good. I also bought an anklet chain with a tiny heart shaped locket on it, and some big, gold hoop earrings. Finally, I got a new handbag and some nice perfume. At the end of it I was skint, but I knew I would look good, and that was all that mattered to me.

Monday and Tuesday dragged by extraordinary slowly. We texted a few times and I spoke to him on the phone about an order. I was expecting that first spoken conversation after those texts to be awkward, but it wasn’t. He was his usual self, and a little more humorous than normal. Nothing was said about the coming trip, but having that unspoken secret between us felt so very sexy.

On the Wednesday morning, I got up at a stupidly early time to get ready. I must have looked at myself a hundred times in the mirror before I was ready. I was glad we were going straight off at 8am, and that none of the other women would be in at that time. They’d see through it instantly. No woman spent that much time getting ready for a Wednesday at that place. Anyway, I was ready. It was 7.40am and the weather was overcast but mild as I caught the bus into work.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby Emma29 » Sun Aug 23, 2015 12:55 pm

Jack had a BMW company car, and as he pulled into the yard my heart was beating like a drum. He placed my bag in the back as I got into the passenger seat, and then we were away before anyone had even known we were there. As we accelerated away from the depot, I had this enormous feeling of freedom, of exhilaration, like I was setting off on an adventure, which in reality I actually was.

I was a working class girl, my family had never had much money. My dad had always had second hand cars, old Fords or Vauxhalls. I know it sounds daft today, but I’d never been in a BMW before. They were much more expensive than regular cars of the day back then. It was an automatic, it had leather seats, electric windows and loads of other toys most cars didn’t have. As we joined the M5 motorway and headed north, we seemed to simply pass everything on the slip road like a bolt of lightning. It was heaven. I felt like a princess being driven along in that car.

But most of all, the feeling of being alone in the car with Jack was intoxicating. Our conversation seemed easy and relaxed, telling him what I’d done at the weekend, stuff about work and our colleagues and so on. From time to time he glanced across at me, and then after about 10 minutes he said casually…

“You look incredible by the way”

It wouldn’t have been possible for me to feel better than I did then. I’d spent a lot of time to make sure I looked my best. I’d thought about everything I was going to wear, spent ages on my hair (like girls do), and everything else. And it had been worth it.

“Thank you” I blushed

While he concentrated on the traffic, I looked down at myself to appreciate my efforts (we girls do that, guys, when you aren’t looking!) The dress looked even better than it did in the shop. It hugged me everywhere, but it had a kind of elegance that prevented it looking too suggestive. But to say it followed every curve I had would be an understatement. It was on the verge of acceptable for a business meeting, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be desired. And as any book on sexual psychology will tell you, girls get turned on by being desired.

I don’t have big tits. I have a small handful, as I’ve been told :) Being small too, boob guys tend not to be interested. But I do have good legs, and a girl always makes use of her best assets. I’ve never been one for tights (what Americans call pantyhose). I don’t like them, and never really have, although I will wear them for special occasions. I’d rather wear socks, or better still, go with bare legs if I’m wearing a skirt or a dress. That day was no exception. I’d shaved my legs twice and moisturised them until they were soft and smooth. I didn’t need fake tan, my skin is a natural olive tone anyway. And as we drove along, I was conscious of his attention occasionally wandering in my direction, and especially my legs. The dress was quite tight around my thighs, accentuating their shape. Those shoes were just bloody gorgeous, and that low inside upper was tantalising. The anklet chain couldn’t help but draw the eye (which was why I bought it).

And as we drove along in the busy morning traffic, the exhilaration of being alone with him in the car was making me feel so excited. The domination thing of being driven around in cars with guys when I was younger came back to me, mostly with me having no shoes on, and the idea of him doing that with me started to turn me on even more. But all the while he remained cool and business like, and all I got instead was traffic, and lots of it. By the time we got to Birmingham, the motorway had started to snarl up, and I found myself looking out at people in other cars and wondering what they had to look forward to today. After a considerable delay, we got clear of Birmingham, and eventually stopped near Stafford for coffee and something to eat.

We then pushed on, up past Stoke on Trent, and into Cheshire, eventually coming off the motorway and onto trunk routes for the last 30 minutes or so. We eventually arrived at the client’s offices at around 12.30. The meeting wasn’t until 1.00pm, so we killed 20 minutes with a cigarette break in a nearby pull in, while Jack explained to me who was who within the client’s team. Then, just as we were about to get back in the car, he took my arm and pulled me firmly too him. He kissed me passionately, and when he broke off the surprise left me like a rabbit caught in headlights. He had a dark wantonness in his eyes as he whispered into my ear

“You belong to me now”

I flushed deeply as a wave of arousal surged through me, and I stammered a reply. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but it was a pretty breathless confirmation that it was absolutely true. And that was Jack. We were about to go into a meeting, my first one, with a big client and important people I’d never met before. And 5 minutes before it, he turns me into a hot and flushed teenage girl again. But that was just the start of it.

We went into reception and signed in then we were led to a boardroom on the first floor. Jack began to prepare and I, somewhat self-consciously, took out a pad and pencil. The client’s people came in a short while later, two guys, the commercial manager and the plant manager, and a woman, the finance director. The two guys were pretty much run of the mill operators, but it was clear that the woman, Claire, was the one in charge of the proceedings. She was a smallish, attractive woman in her 40s, well dressed and sharp as a knife.

There was a large boardroom table with leather chairs, and Jack and I sat opposite each other at one end, while they sat in at the other end with Claire in the middle. A feature of this table was that it was narrower at each end, and its legs comprised of two solid wooden panels that extended the table’s full width. So that the two seats at each end, where Jack and I were sitting, were separated from by this panel. It looked something like this >

boardroom-table.jpg


There was a pretty extensive agenda, and the meeting started with Jack giving them an update on deliveries and the forward plan, bearing in mind they had now over 100 machines on order. This was followed by Claire updating everyone on the finance plan and payment mechanism (for which there were commercially advantageous terms because of the order value), and then the commercial manager did a power point presentation on handover procedure of new machines and the disposal process for the older machines that were being de-fleeted.

It was during Claire’s update that I felt Jacks lower leg move behind mine. His face remained expressionless, but I felt him move his leg a little more, so that I was unable to move my foot backwards. This sudden contact early in the meeting made me jump a little, and as I looked across at him, his eyes slowly motioned backwards. Unable to pull my foot back, I pulled my chair in a little so that I was closer to him, and a moment or two later I saw him lean forward, placing his chin on his left hand, as if he were listening more intently to Claire. It wasn’t until I felt a sensation around the back of my calf that I realised his right hand was under the table. Now I realised what he was doing. The panel meant that no one sitting at the other end could see what was going on under the table! With my eyes widening, he then slowly lifted his hand towards him, so that my left leg slipped over his knee and my foot was in his lap. His eyes narrowed a little, and he glanced down briefly to the right, then flicked his eyes upwards. Obediently I lifted my right leg and felt him take my ankle, so that I was now sitting with my feet in his lap under the table!

I bit my lip softly as his hand tightened around the heel of my shoes, and then I felt them being slowly and teasingly pulled off. I opened my eyes wide as he let them drop carelessly to the floor in front of him. There is a distinctive, hollow sort of sound a woman’s shoe makes when it hits even a carpeted floor, and one of the guys looked around curiously, possibly knowing what it was, but outwardly nothing seemed out of place. I took a sharp intake of breath as I felt his fingers almost imperceptibly caress the instep of my feet, causing Claire to glance momentarily at me. I put my hand over my mouth apologetically as she continued, but the feeling of having my feet fondled under the table was tingling up my spine and making it difficult for me to sit still. I felt so self-conscious and so turned on, sitting there with my feet in his lap while the meeting went on around me. I could barely concentrate and my handwriting looked like a spiders scrawl as I tried to make it look like I was there for a purpose. This went on for some time, until Claire finished, and then it was Jacks turn to answer her questions. At this point Jack suddenly stood up, and I was left flushed and with no shoes on again for the rest of the meeting because they were under Jacks chair.

After the Commercial managers presentation, another middle aged guy from their operations team came in to talk about the attachments (buckets, grabs, hydraulic outlets) needed for certain orders, and he sat right next to me. After he’d said his bit, he stayed while the meeting went into a long Q&A session which Jack fielded. It was hard to sit for long with my legs stretched out and take notes at the same time, so eventually I had to tuck my feet under my chair. After a while this guy must have noticed that I was barefoot and kept looking down while I sat there self-consciously.

At long last, after 2 and a half hours, the meeting wound up and everyone stood up. I had to stay sitting down and pretend to be finishing the notes, because if I stood up I’d appear to be 4 inches shorter than when I sat down :) Jack left me like that, taking his time to pack away his stuff until everyone had left the room, when I finally got my shoes back.

When I’d first set eyes on Jack, I knew instinctively that we’d be compatible. I don’t know how, but I knew it somehow. When we got back in the car, I was simply so horny. Not many words were spoken, but his eyes bored into me with a look that told me everything I’d hoped about him was going to be true. I didn’t know what awaited me when we were alone in our room, but whatever it was, I couldn’t wait for it. That last half hour drive to the hotel was the longest half hour of the day.

Finally, we arrived at the hotel, a nice place in the countryside with a long, cinder drive lined by iron railings. We parked in the car park, and I waited in the car nervously while he went to check in. At last, he came back, collected our bags, and led me up the back stairs to a room on the first floor.
Last edited by Emma29 on Wed Aug 26, 2015 9:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Re: Summer of 89 (and after) M/f

Postby cellofello » Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:00 pm

Emma29 wrote:[A]s any book on sexual psychology will tell you, girls get turned on by being desired.


There are also guys for whom this is true, BTW.

I am very much enjoying your story. Please do keep on with it!