Designed, Specifically for You

I remember on the morning of my Husband's birthday years ago writing this after he had left for work and the kid for school, lying on my bed in a quiet house exploring the senses while I gently brought myself...

You - in your denim jeans, your black boots, bare chested, tattoos on your perfectly sculpted arms, shaved head, glistening with perspiration - perfectly you - tied to a chair, in the centre of a darkened stage.

There you sit - contemplating, slightly unsure - awaiting a performance, designed specifically for you.

Spotlight - directly overhead - even with the blindfold on, I know the light will be harsh on your eyes. Your head tilts forward, eyes cast down, I'm sure.

The spotlight fades and soft light creeps in. The dim light and the smell of heavy incense wafting across the stage, makes for an erotic, exotic titillation of the senses.

But the first: scent

A stage whisper - feminine, American, "Inhale."

You raise your head, a sharp intake of breath.

The smoke, a blend of jasmine, lavender and ylang ylang - designed to heighten sensuality - fills your lungs, thickens your blood.

A presence before you; a woman, though you cannot see her, you are aware. You are awakening. Her arms on either side of yours, she leans in. Not touching, but she can feel your breath on her barely clad breasts.

"Breathe," she beckons, with a voice so small it could easily be missed on a breezy day.

Seduction through scent. You have always said you are a very scent sensitive person.

I watch your body tense, and smile because I know it's true.

A delicate aroma of sandalwood - the most sensually stirring of all the oils - blended with just a touch of rose. Erotic oils such as these, rubbed onto a hot, female body... I imagine your bodies writhing together, hot and heavy with scent, and feel my eyelids grow heavy with lust.

You inhale deeply once more, and then she is gone.

Silence.

Suddenly, a drum beat, loud. I see you jump violently in your chair.

A camp, English, male voice, "And now, how about something for the auditory senses? Ladies?" His shrill stage voice is oddly unsettling.

I watch you shift in your seat.

Female giggles, the scuttering of feet, and then silence once again.

Tense, you wait.

Music. Soft, classic. Your perfect form - relaxing.

A voice. Angelic, foreign. Opera.

She moves towards you. You realise that you are in the presence of greatness. Her voice is that of a goddess.

You cannot understand the Italian language, but know she is singing just for you. A temptress. Nothing raunchy, yet deeply arousing.

Your body is so still, you look as though you are in deep meditation.

She ends her song but the music continues. Instead of the footsteps retreating as you expect, you hear another person enter and walk directly toward you both. A woman. The two speak heatedly in Italian, a slap, then kissing. Moaning.

You shift forward in your chair. Groaning. I imagine you are cursing under your breath because your sight has been taken from you.

"Ooooh." They are only inches away from you, but you cannot touch. You strain slightly against the ropes, and slightly against your jeans.

"Get ready for the third act," whispers the Italian angel, "taste." Running feet, and they are gone.

Sharp pain. Intense heat. "What the fuck?" you yell. Your cry falls on deaf ears. Your arm is bleeding. Your breath quickens, you straighten your back. I can almost see your hackles up. I smile. Nothing like a bit of pain to heighten the senses.

"Do you trust me?" asks a voice in your ear. "I said, do you trust me?" Her accent is thick, African.

"I don't even fucking know who you are," you answer, hostile.

"Open your mouth," she commands. You refuse.

You feel something soft and sticky, yet firm graze your lips. That smell again...the oils make you dizzy. Licking your lips you taste a familiar flavour - honey. Something at your lips again. Recognition. A nipple. You open your mouth.

With a honeyed nipple in your mouth, you suck.

I visualise your cock - hard - straining against your zipper. I close my eyes, run my tongue over my lips. I imagine YOUR tongue on MY lips, in my mouth.

The black beauty reaches down and between her legs, strokes herself there and softly moans. She places her fingers beneath your nose. A scent you are familiar with and adore.

"Open your mouth." And this time you readily accept.

One by one you lick at her fingers, take them into your amazing, pleasure seeking mouth.

"Enough for you," she says, pushing your head back.

The lights go out.

A loud female voice - Asian accent - yells:

"Act four. For your delight, we give you sight!"

A tug at your head and the blindfold drops to the floor.

Harsh, white light. Then strobe, fucking with your already troubled, readjusting eyes. You squint, taking a minute to get your bearings.

Enter the women. The music starts - classic trance with a steady beat.

"With corsets and cat suits and four willing women, you'd think that he'd died and been taken to heaven," squealed the camp, English man.

Barely distracted by the voice, you dare not look away.

Four women, strangers; each a goddess in her own right. A black woman, a blonde woman, an Asian woman and a redhead. With cat suits on, they drop to the floor and crawl to you. Their eyes on nothing but you.

The African and the blonde move to your left, the Asian and the redhead, to your right. They kiss. Pulling at their zippers, they expose their breasts, licking them, biting them. Teasing each other, pleasing each other.

Peeling off leather, they lay naked together.

Strobes off. Darkness.

Spotlight on a raven haired beauty. Your raven haired beauty. Me.

Corset on, breasts barely contained. Suspenders, spike heels, panty-less.

Dim light falls across the stage.

Your stunned look of pure delight is clear for all to see, and I know that after all these years you are still in love with me.

The music ends and I strut towards you, smirking, eyebrows raised. The women kneel at my feet, reaching out to grope me.

Darkness, feet scurrying across the stage. You feel a tugging at your arms and realise the ropes are gone - no restrictions.

"Last act," I call, "touch."

Drums are beaten and candles are lit. Tribal.

You are taken by the hands and led to a freshly laid rug. Two women lay you down and stroke you. Your eyes remain on me.

I am sitting with the black beauty and the dirty blonde. Pashing and panting and sucking on breasts. You gasp as the red head takes your cock into her mouth. The Asian squats above you, offering herself for you to eat. You oblige. I watch your tongue work on her clit, then enter her, you devour her. She moans as you take hold of her thighs and when you are done, you push her gently away. You turn your head towards me.

You watch as I finger fuck another woman. You watch as I lay gently back and have a breast placed in between my lips.

You suddenly scramble to your knees. "Baby," you call to me, then crawl to me.

Taking hold of me roughly, you flip me onto my belly and force your giant cock inside of me. Hard and fast, you ram and slam -

Why thankyou sir,

No, thankyou ma'am.

Lying on top of me, you burst into uncontrollable laughter. You roll off, and we sit together, mostly naked and cuddling.

"How the fuck did you do this?" you ask, dumbfounded.

"This is what they do," I replied, motioning to the cast and crew. "They own the theatre and the ad said 'A performance of your choice, designed specifically for you'. You like?"

Nodding, you answer, "Hell yes, I like."

Throwing my arms around your neck, I sing 'Happy Birthday' dreamily into your ear.