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Cindy’s Borement

But as I was testing the instrument, Cindy had slumped over the kitchen table! I was at once alarmed for her health, although much to my shame I couldn’t help noticing that she had a very shapely, well-rounded rump. But that’s beside the point. I immediately rushed to her aid, and after she reassured me that she hadn’t fainted or started choking, I left. I never did discover what had caused her to fall bent over the table like that. I hope that it wasn’t due to failing health.

Over the next week our relationship grew more and more flirtatious and interesting, though I assure you it was all purely innocent. How I pitied her! Her brute of a husband really should have paid her more attention; it’s sad that the closest thing to romance in her life was coy flirtation with the mailman over morning tea. More Bondage erotica sex stories can be found on Just Erotic Stories dot com.

I was truly impressed with Cindy’s knowledge of foreign literature and culture. She showed me a copy of an Indian religious text. I had no idea that the Buddhists had such bizarre and intimate sacred rituals. Those were not half as strange a certain practice of the French nobility she later taught me of, known as “eating one another.” At first I found the idea revolting, but I try at all times to keep an open mind and I suppose that in time of famine no potential source of nutrition should be ignored.

Cindy had a rather unusual hobby as well: she collected police restraining devices. I found her collection charming in an eccentric sort of way. She was a bit careless with it however, as I discovered that Friday.

When I delivered her mail, I found her front door wide open. I shouted a “hello!” but there was no answer, so I let myself in to make sure she was all right. She called to me from her bedroom, unhurt, but what a predicament she had gotten herself into! Early that morning, before even getting dressed (she was wearing only a short nightgown, which, ah, lewd thoughts again, but how can I help myself!

I found most flattering to her curvaceous figure and pretty legs) she had been examining the latest addition to her handcuff collection, an early model used by the New York Police department. Somehow she had managed not only to get both hands locked up in the device, but with the chain looped around her bedpost! What a bondage scene it was! Charming and witty as she was, she was constantly doing utterly silly things like this.

It’s a good thing that it was I who found her in that compromising position, I told her, and not that lecherous swine John who works for UPS. Don’t get me wrong, John is a good friend of mine, but I find his attitudes towards the fair sex despicable. There’s no telling what he might have done under those circumstances.

The key to the handcuffs, Cindy explained, was on the bed directly beneath her buttocks. I admit to feeling a certain guilty pleasure with my hand upon the latter while retrieving the former. She applied numerous kisses of gratitude to my neck, chest, and earlobes as I unlocked her from her accidental bondage. This too gave me a great deal of sensual pleasure but I am proud to say that I exercised a gentlemanly restraint all the while.

Our conversation that morning was not as easygoing as usual, owing to Cindy’s frustration. She was understandably embarrassed and angry at herself for getting into that amusing situation with the handcuffs. I assured her that there was nothing to be ashamed of; I found her silliness rather charming in fact, but her mood only worsened when I told her this. To cheer her up and let her know that I thought no worse of her, as I left — bold move! — I kissed her on the cheek.

Alas for me, our “special friendship” ended the next day, but I am overjoyed for her. As I was delivering her mail, I heard from her open bedroom window the unmistakable sounds of marital bliss. At last! Her husband had come to his senses! I wondered if he had stayed home that Saturday for the express purpose of giving Cindy the sexual attention she so desired and deserved. I knew then that she no longer needed my company, which saddened me, but I suppose it was all for the best. Who knows what rumors were already going around about us?

John the UPS driver was making a delivery in that neighborhood at the time; I left a note the windshield of his van telling him that we must get together for a beer soon, and that I had a story for him that he would undoubtedly appreciate. (Of course, I did not intend to reveal the name of my “special friend,” only the circumstances. Her reputation must be protected, after all.)

I will always fondly cherish the memory of Cindy and our brief but pleasant relationship. And that, dear readers, is one of the things I like about being a mailman.