Annabel had landed at Adelaide International, shuttled into the city and had a short nap in her luxurious hotel room that overlooked the green swathe of parklands along the River Torrens’ banks. She kept telling herself that everything would be OK, that she was going to enjoy her holiday Down Under, that she was sure her online master was really a nice guy and that she’d dialed appropriate responses into her safety network back home to ensure her safety.
He’d arranged to meet her for lunch. "Ah Dong’s in Rosewater", he said, "fair dinkum Thai cuisine. The tucker won’t be haute cuisine and our meal won’t be off the menu. Dong’s a good mate. He always looks after me and mine."
The meal is exquisite, spicy, light and leisurely. After the meal Ah Dong opened a delightful Queen Adelaide and proposed toasts to you and to the success of my forthcoming eye surgery. (It was scheduled early in the next week.) Fortunately you'd complied with my very reasonable requests to "keep the rest of your day free and had your International driving license in your purse" so we were able to take a scenic drive up the Gorge to Kangaroo Creek then across to Birdwood for afternoon tea. From the National Motor Museum, we nipped across to the Whispering Wall, just because you didn't believe me, and then back to my place just on dusk.
The skies had been azure and clear and the weather balmy and still. All in all, a very pleasant and enjoyable autumn day. You'd become accustomed to driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road and really started to enjoy driving my classic Statesman Caprice even though it's nearly as big as a Suburban. It does look nicer and does drive a lot better than the compacts that you’d grown used to.
Naturally, when we'd been out of the beast, I'd encouraged you to stay close to me. We'd either held hands or I'd casually slipped my arm around your waist or draped it across your shoulders. I even let you snuggle back against me when we looked out over Kangaroo Creek and down the Torrens Gorge. You could say that we clicked. We did share some more than friendly kisses: kisses that threatened to move the earth and change the curvature of both the Whispering Walls. You’d resisted the long lonely walk across the narrow top of the reservoir wall to the Lookout on the other side to look out over Cockatoo Valley and then heard my whispered command to smile and wave. Startled, you’d turned to see me standing beside the dam wall hundreds of feet away beckoning you back. I’d been smiling as you’d hurried back across the narrow wall and thinking that you just might become special for me.
We’d hit a couple of cellar doors where you’d sampled some great Australian wines and gradually opened up to me. I was surprised by the transparency of your need and your ready acceptance of guidance; so much so that I’d resolved to allow expose you to a somewhat different life in a, for you, totally foreign environment. For that matter a bloody different lifestyle enmeshed in a bloody different culture. We left the Barossa Valley and drove into the setting sun towards my place.
After the panel lift door closed behind the Statesman you met my Anzac and fell in love with her. You squatted down on your haunches to fondle her unusual ears (you'd never seen a dog that could make her ears meet before) and then felt a light tap just above your elbow on your right arm. There was a ratcheting sound and, as your arm was tugged backward I grasped your left forearm bringing your left elbow back to meet the other ratcheting cuff. Asta was carrying on like a pork chop, barking, 'yodeling' and generally trying to get you to make a fuss of her. And you, you were still squatting on your haunches, albeit now with your elbows manacled about five inches apart, being enthusiastically loved by about sixty pounds of determined Anzac. Oh, did I mention that you were firmly hand gagged and being marched into the games room where Slim Dusty's "Pub with No Beer" was playing? Once inside and away from Asta I told you that I had a 'little job' for you to do and that if you handled it well you would be well handled and that if you didn't make a good fist of it you wouldn't be handled well at all.
You seemed a little confused by this but did muse about a 'little job' that could be handled with your elbows manacled. I stuffed a couple of handkerchiefs easily into your open mouth and secured them with a half-inch leather strap that pulled back to the corners of your mouth and puffed out your cheeks when it was snugged tight. You started to lose interest in the 'little job' after I started to nuzzle behind your ear and caress your firm 36C breasts. They swelled, filling my hands, your nipples hardening and thrusting into my palms. Your hands strained for me, grasping, stroking, enjoying. I took the opportunity to take the 'slack' out of your gag and laid you on the soft carpeted floor. I reached under the sofa for another pair of handcuffs, sat back onto the back of your legs and applied the new cuffs to your wrists. I released the elbow cuffs. You weren't really happy but I rolled you over anyway, straddling your thighs to hold you still while I undid the buttons on your blouse and slid it back off your shoulders, nuzzling your now naked breasts with my beard, laving and nibbling your engorged nipples. Got to give myself one for planning; didn't even muss your hair.
I reached under the sofa again to retrieve a couple of leather straps fitted with roller buckles. Flipped the hem of your long loose skirt up, crossed your ankles and firmly strapped them together. Another strap pulled tight just below your knees, a bit of help and you were back 'teetering’ on your heels. A steadying hand on your shoulder and the command to "turn around' resulted in your top falling to your wrists and then your upper arms were looped with a doubled length of fine white cotton ¼ inch cord. The doubled cord passed behind your arms several times and then through the bight, pulled firm, knotted and then cinched. Your elbows almost touched. Shoulders back your breasts seemed more prominent and proud. Nipples engorged and sensitive, you turned. Your pebbled nipples burnt into my broad chest as your creamy breasts crushed against my broad hairy chest.
God but you looked good. You could see your image reflected in the floor-to-ceiling game room windows and you thought so too.
There was an insistent ringing from the phone. Six, seven rings. Silence for a couple of seconds then a cultured male voice saying 'Roger we've got a problem at Holden Hill next Tuesday. Kath has had an accident and won't be able to sit. Can you...." and I picked up the hands free phone. I listened for a while and then said 'Hang on a bit. I'll check my diary".
You were left standing: topless, very aroused, effectively gagged and bound and did I mention pretty frustrated as I walked out of the room still talking on the phone.
Slim Dusty was singing "The windscreen wipers were beating in time" and the wall remote pealed. There was a beep and a woman's voice said, "Roger. Hi it's Angie. I just got home and found a note from Lewis asking me to bring this Enduring Power of Attorney envelope to you urgently". Silence then the same voice said, "No, I haven't opened it and I don't know anything about it."
Another beep and the telltale light on the panel went out. Slim Dusty was finishing his song singing about them remembering "the night I died when the lights on the hill were a-blinding me."
Someone started singing about D.I.V.O.R.C.E. and that strange woman's voice, the one from the wall speaker, said gaily, "I could hear country music out on the street so I thought I'd bring the envelope out here for you Roger" and the outside door swung open wide. Angie stopped dead in the doorway, mouth sagged open and eyes wide with shock. Then a sly grin that developed into a wide smile that lit up her face and eyes and she said, "Hi, I'm Angie. You’ve just gotta be Annabel. I hope that we're going to be friends".
You just said "Mmmppppphhh" and stared at this short, chubby middle aged Italian woman with black hair down to her waist, dressed in a mauve pharmacist's smock and sneakers. Angie just calmly sat down on the sofa, primly folded her hands in her lap, crossed her legs at the ankles, neatly tucked her feet almost under the sofa and beamed.
Silence reigned goldenly until I ambled past the window. Angie sprang up from the sofa, holding out the legal-sized buff envelope towards me saying, "When I got home from work Lewis wasn't home and his Discovery and Portia weren't there either. I found this envelope and a note from him telling me to bring it straight over to you."
‘Bloody typical,’ I thought. Lewis has left me holding his Rottweiller bitch and ducked out from under with his missus too. I tore the pro-offered envelope open and started to read the enclosed Enduring Power of Attorney.
Agitatedly Angie demanded, "Where is he? Do you know what's going on?"
Frustrated and ignored you angrily mmmpppphed and mmmppphed, conceded defeat in the task of remaining standing unsupported on effectively only one foot and gracefully settled back down on the sofa.
I just finished reading the document, smiled at you and grimly addressed Angie. I told her that Lewis had given me a limited power to act in his stead to do those things necessary to manage certain of his private affairs and that one of my responsibilities, if I accepted it, was to "keep her occupied for as long as I liked whenever he was otherwise occupied and I was prepared to tolerate her presence" and once finished was to "send her home in whatever state she was in when I finished."
I think that you were smiling behind your gag. You were shivering but it definitely wasn't because it was even cool. Angie wasn't smiling or shivering. She had slumped down onto the sofa beside you, shocked and aghast. She just stared up at me.
"I don't know what to say," she said. "Why would he want to do that? He loves me and I love him. What will I do?"
I said "Well, you're here now aren't you?"
She nodded glumly.
I said, "Go home, get changed into something more appropriate, pick out things that you think I might like and be back here by seven pm. Oh, and leave your car and keys at home." I slipped my arm around your shoulders and drew you to me as I settled onto the sofa.
"You better get a move on, it's after six already."
Angie departed rather rapidly and after a brief kiss, that ended with us stretched out on the floor straining against each other from head-to-toe, I though it would be a good idea to 'take a break' for a while to have a cuppa and a chat if you liked. A ccordingly I removed your gag and un-strapped your ankles.
The idea was to regroup, not quit, and we were going to enjoy ourselves even if it took all the long weekend. I draped your top over your shoulders and took you down to the old dog's run to meet Portia.
A very bossy Rottweiller, Portia weighs in at about sixty pounds and is very protective of her family, Protective, well maybe possessive would be a better word. I’d ceded Portia to Lewis after a shoulder injury slowed me down and made competition a drag. Together Lewis and Portia competed in Obedience Trials and she’d attained her Australian Champion title in the show ring too. She knew that she was a good dog. Portia’s really like fire, a great mate when controlled, a real bastard when she even thinks she's got the upper hand.
Could you just meet Portia and be nice? No, not you. You had to get sassy, rubbing your long, beautiful leg between mine and trying to trip me. Your long skirt came off easily as we went back to the games room for essential supplies. A ten-foot length of fine white cotton ¼ inch cord doubled, passed around your knees three times through the bight, knotted then cinched firmly so that the bindings really hugged your legs together just below your knees. It made it bloody difficult for you to run and kick. Would you believe that it even might have made it a bit difficult for you to climb stairs? What I really liked was way it enhanced the wiggle when you walked.
Back to the kitchen and I added water as required for a 'cup-a-soup', had some myself and then held the mug while you sipped at it. I asked if you wanted a toilet break but you said "Later maybe."
The wall remote in the kitchen pealed and we heard Angie rather breathlessly say, "Please let me come in."
Lewis and Angie live a couple of miles by road from my place. There's the Triangle, originally a railway right-of-way and two green parks comprising about two square miles and a couple of neighborhood streets between the Triangle and their place. No wonder that Angie was a bit breathless, if Lewis intended the arrangement to continue she would be getting quite a bit of exercise. I noted the time as 1855, so I keyed the remote to open the gate and told her to go the games room to unpack and display everything that she had brought.
I saw Angie as being Lewis’ problem predominantly. So the thought of imposing some ‘think’ time for her wouldn’t impinge on my preferred agenda and allowed me to enjoy you. I led you into the TV room to catch the seven o'clock national news. Once I settled into my recliner I tugged you onto my lap and you fidgeted around until you were comfortable. Did I say comfortable? You had snuggled your shoulder into my armpit, legs over the arm, and incidentally over my arm as well, and you were nuzzling the side of my neck. Hell, if you had been a cat you'd have been purring. The news didn't really grab my attention and Stateline afterwards might not have been aired for all I noticed.
What I did notice was you.
My deft hand had been resting on your thigh, absently smoothing the velvet soft skin of your inner thigh as my attention was caught by the program. Your sweet scent teased me and my wandering hand brushed the crisp curls. Hot and slick. Very hot and very slick. And wet and bucking. And shuddering. Pleading and shuddering.
Then quiet and cuddly. Trusting and cuddly. In fact you nodded off for a while. You looked angelic.
Angelic and contented. Contented and safe.
My hands wandered and weighed, wandered and fondled, found and teased, rubbed and squeezed, caressed and ignited. And what I noticed was you. Hot and slick. Very hot and very slick. And wet and bucking. And shuddering. Pleading and shuddering. Then quiet and cuddly. Trusting and cuddly. And you nodded off again.
You’d had a long day so I rose from the recliner, carried you to my king size bed and tucked you under the covers and marveled that you looked so comfortable and serene. I pondered your unblemished and unadorned skin. A Canadian blonde who didn’t have any tan lines; she didn’t even have a tan. A Canadian blonde who didn’t even have her ears pierced. A virgin canvas?
Perhaps.
One called Annabel?
Not bloody likely! Annie maybe, He’d have to think about that.
Now, what to do about Angie?