This continues from a story from The Lark Tavern. One thing I’ll always remember about Albany, NY–I might never have met my girlfriend, Kristin, if the bartender from G. J.’s hadn’t been shot. It was a crazy time and a wild relationship. For background, see Part I and Part II.
“Awww, you spank me like a little boy would!” Kristin laughed. She had started it. We’d been laying naked on the mattress on my living floor, resting, when out of the blue she smacked my ass with her open hand. Then she laughed and did it again, so I rolled her over and returned the gesture. It had been another two nights spent with Kristin, and she’d been acting frisky the whole time. Apparently this had been building up.
“Big strong man,” she kept laughing now, “that’s as hard as you can hit?”
So I smacked her butt again, this time harder. And again, and again, until the bare skin on her bottom was starting to redden, but she didn’t protest. She just lay on her stomach and if anything she seemed to relax. If she’d been a kitten, she would have been purring.
“I like it when you’re aggressive,” she said later, after we’d finished screwing again. We had ended up doing just about everything this time. The spanking seemed to have set something loose in her.
“Some night you should tie me up and blindfold me,” she said now. “Then you can do whatever you want with me.”
Once again, I was playing catch-up with Kristin. I had noticed her on one of my first days in Albany–she’d been walking along the street by the tennis courts, wearing short shorts and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt. She was tall and slim, and she had the ease of a model, gliding down the sidewalk with a runway stride. Her blond hair bounced around her face. I watched her pass by and wondered, “What would it take to have a girlfriend like that?”
I’d see her time and time again in the Washington Park area, but never had the courage to say anything to her, not even hello. Then came the night when G. J.’s was closed because a bartender got shot, so I went to another bar . . . and out of nowhere Kristin would sit on an empty stool next to me. Everything about us–our meeting, and the way we fell into seeing each other more often–everything about our relationship was a little unexpected and mysterious.
Now Kristin surprised me again. She wanted me to be more aggressive? She wanted to be tied up? I started to think about where I could buy the stuff to do that. There was a small D/s boutique on Western Ave, just down the street from The Outside Inn. It was a dark, secretive little shop, and once inside I realized I had no idea what I was doing.
There were bondage masks, whips and chains, thigh-high vinyl lady’s boots, and fancy black leather corsets. “Can I help you?” the heavily-painted girl behind the counter asked. Despite the adult make-up, she looked as though she might be just out of high school.
She was a young girl, maybe eighteen-years-old, but a lot wiser and more experienced than I was in this, and she knew it. Beneath the glass top, the counter displayed an assortment of dildos–some of them huge, with beads, and studs, and extensions protruding in all directions.
The girl stood there smiling. “Just looking,” I told her, like an embarrassed rookie. I left the shop without buying anything, or asking any questions. I figured I might be able to find what I needed at a traditional department store.
At Flah’s, I looked through the racks of women’s scarves, and picked out a colorful one I thought might work as a blindfold. Then I bought some fancy, sort of designer cord that was probably meant for interior decorating. Instead of picking up something a little dark and sexy, I went back to my basement apartment with a bagful of vanilla stuff. I had no idea what I was doing–and when it came time to put everything to use, things got even worse.
That night I tied the scarf over Kristin’s eyes. I wrapped her wrists loosely with the designer cord, and secured the end of the cord to one of the couch’s short legs. But as we began screwing, the rocking and the movement made the scarf slip off her eyes. She kept turning her head to the side, trying to nudge the scarf back in place with her shoulder.
I reached down and pulled the scarf back up, then a few minutes later I had to do it again. All the while we kept going, but now the cord on her wrists had loosened to the point where her hands were essentially free. She still held her arms over her head, but she was doing it on her own.
At one point her legs were wrapped around my waist, then her ankles were up by my neck, so I pushed on the back of her thighs until she was doubled-up–and I continued to go at it. But the scarf had slipped down to a weird angle on her face again, and she was lying there as we screwed, holding her arms stretched out, with one closed eye exposed from the blindfold, pretending she was helpless.
We kept trashing away, but it was one of my more embarrassing first efforts at something new. Kristin was kind enough not to say anything.
Finally she pulled both her hands completely free, rolled over, and I spanked her ass as I fucked her from behind. “Spank my ass!” she hissed. “Slap my ass!”
Laying there afterward, Kristin still hadn’t said a word about the vanilla scarf, or the poor attempt at bondage. It was going to take a while to get a handle on all this, but I was beginning to see why she liked it. The freedom to just take her was stimulating for both of us.
Everything was working out, even if only in fits and starts. Kristin had become my steady girlfriend. “And why not?” I remember thinking at the time. After all, I was a bartender and she was a hot blonde. What else was there to consider?