T

Empress Blog Page 5

Chapter 3

Plotting Her Ordeal

I had always had a strong interest in the “outliers” of sexual scenarios with an especial interest in watching naked women squirming to escape after they had been bound with ropes and leather. In fact, one of Empress’s and my earliest dates involved a six-by-six piece of flat wood from a weight machine’s shipping crate. 

After our Detroit gym had closed for the evening and Empress had gone home, I dragged this heavy board inside from the back alley. On this particular night it was going to get repurposed. I propped one end up on a sturdy weight bench and allowed the other end to rest on the carpeted floor. 

The day before, I had dropped into a Goodwill store and purchased an extra-large men’s sweat suit. At this point I should explain that Empress is five foot nine and a half inches tall. Have you ever heard the expression you could bounce a quarter off her ass? Yeah, it was like that. She weighed a hundred forty-pounds, with the longest and most perfect legs ever assigned to a beautiful woman. She was too pretty for makeup, and I could have stared at her big breasts for hours, especially when she pranced around topless and teasing inside her living room while doing impressions of everyone from Scarface to Robert DeNiro to Chris Rock. If it weren’t for her nipples perking up at the slightest provocation, she might never have owned a brassiere (proof that even a goddess has at least one flaw). 

I knew from the beginning that Empress’s natural habitat was a Spanish nude beach or a runway in Paris, not gloomy Detroit. But all I could give her at first was Chicago,