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Cindy’s Borement

Being a mailman may not sound like the most glamorous occupation in the world, but it does have certain occasional benefits. As a case in point, there is a lady who lives near the end of my route, whom I shall call Cindy. I prefer bondage and threesome sex and all the fantasy about it.

This is not her real name of course, but the story I’m about to relate might be interpreted by some as somewhat scandalous and I wish to protect her reputation.

“Cindy,” an attractive woman in her late thirties, invited me in for tea one morning as I delivered her mail. She is a delightful conversationalist, though I could tell from a certain pleading tone in her voice that she was desperately lonely. Her husband, you see, spent long hours at the office and had little time for her. She told me that she was looking for a “special friend” to help ease her boredom.

Now I must admit that I don’t have much of a social life either; I welcomed her offer of friendship wholeheartedly. She smiled and expressed her gratitude. Unfortunately the conversation ended there for at this point she stretched out her arms, yawned, and walked down the hall towards her bedroom. She was obviously tired from our long talk — heavens! it must have been over an hour! — and wanted to take a nap.

Not wanting to overstay my newly acquired welcome in her home (and also anxious to complete the last of my route) I thanked her for the tea and headed for the front door. She implored me to stay, but I knew it was only out of politeness that she did so. I thanked her again and left.

The next day I made a point of delivering Cindy’s mail last of all, so that if she invited me in again I would be able to stay longer (her afternoon nap notwithstanding) without having to worry about finishing my route. Much to my delight, she was waiting for me with a fresh pot of tea and some cookies.

This is rather embarrassing, but I suppose that as this story is of a “Sexy Christmas” or maybe Bondage pornstories nature, I might as well not try to hide any of the facts. I don’t mean to titillate or scandalize; please forgive me if you find what I am about to describe unseemly.

You see, Cindy has a quite ample bosom, and this particular day she was wearing a low cut summer dress that emphasized her decolletage. Being a healthy, normal male, I am suspect to sensual desires, and found that my gaze kept dropping inadvertently downward from her eyes as we spoke. She noticed this ungentlemanly behavior, but thankfully she didn’t mind. She winked at me as if to say “I understand, that’s all right,” and to make it absolutely clear, she leaned across the sofa to pour another glass of tea, and very nearly — pardon my language brushed my face with her beautiful breasts.

(Please don’t think poorly of her because of this. This is, after all, the nineties, and such openness should not be taken as immodesty, but rather as a healthy attitude towards the human body.)

After this incident, the strap of her dress inexplicably kept falling from her shoulder. She would demurely push it back up, only to have it fall again. Despite my utmost respect for Cindy, and her previously displayed candor concerning this most pleasant part of her anatomy, I found myself too distracted to keep up my end of the conversation. I kept stuttering, and how ashamed I am to admit it, I could not refrain from thinking vaguely lewd thoughts.

To avoid any further embarrassment, I hastily excused myself. I was deeply attracted to her, but she was a married woman. That she was unhappily married made no difference; I could not allow myself such indiscreet bondage and sex stories xxx thoughts. She begged me to stay a while longer, saying that the conversation was just getting interesting, how kind of her, to so politely excuse my clumsy stammering.. but at last I begged off and left her house.

The next day was a Saturday. Cindy’s husband was playing golf when I made my rounds. The poor woman! No wonder she so valued my company, despite my undeniable and obvious attraction to her. Then again, perhaps it was precisely because I demonstrated a desire for her that she kept inviting me in. That is perfectly understandable; it must have been flattering to have the attentions of a man when her husband
denied her such.

At any rate, she was dressed much more modestly that morning. While her husband played golf she was planning to go horseback riding, or so I surmised from her outfit. I had long suspected from her cultivated demeanor that she was a prep school girl; her sharp riding suit confirmed this suspicion. She had obviously enjoyed the benefit of a classical English education.

I didn’t stay long in order not to delay her any further from her afternoon expedition, but one unusual event took place that is worth mentioning. She handed me her riding crop and asked me if I wanted to “try it out.” It was a perfectly good crop, I suppose, a nice, sturdy model that smacked solidly in the palm of my hand; of course I’m no expert in such matters.