NEW YORK

By Sailor861

Michelle (Witchie) Murrin, 32, looked out her living room window at the early spring countryside of eastern Prince Edward Island that April weekend and nearly wept.

CBC Radio 2 was playing Saturday Afternoon at the Opera, live from the Metropolitan Opera at New York City's Lincoln Center, and the gorgeous arias of La Boheme had swept her imagination off to Paris and Christmas Eve, 1830, as she listened to poet Rodolfo (Luciano Pavarotti) sing his way into poor, consumptive Mimi's (Renee Flemming's) heart at the end of Act. 1.

" Che gelida manina ," (This little hand is frozen) he sings softly to her, holding Mimi's hand gently in the delicate, first contact of the two ill-fated lovers. " Se la lasci ricoldar" (Let me warm it here in mine).

In the Puccini opera, Mimi and Rodolfo are getting acquainted fast. Outside, Rodolfo's friends call him to join them. He would rather stay with Mimi but she shyly suggests they all go out together. "Tell me you love me," he pleads. She holds back, at first, but as this duet ends, they sing together for the first time and their first word is "Love."

"How can anything be so beautiful?" Michelle asked the window, listening to the soaring, heart-warming arias. "How could Mimi not fall in love with him?" Not getting any reply, her fractious mind tended back nine months to her breakup with her ex-, Graham Crocker.

After that breakup, which she had taken gracefully – much to his chagrin and disgust – Michelle had gotten herself into a couple of online relationships where she assumed, for the first time in her life, a submissive's role.

She wasn't terribly happy with her choice but a guy she had settled on, Derek, in St. John's Nfld., had made her happy, to a limited degree. He gets a seven, she thought.

Then, a week or so later, along came this other guy, Philip, a Briton from Portsmouth, England, whose sometimes funny, infrequently serious but always engrossing, little bondage stories, held her interest. Not only was he a pretty good writer, she thought early on in the long string of correspondence and notes he had sent her in March, he seemed inordinately interested in her.

In fact, they had collaborated in writing a small piece of fiction for a story contest and Philip had sent it along with an earnest, well-written covering letter. That same day, she had had a discussion with Kelli, her housemate, about this guy and his writings and they had both agreed he seemed to be an honorable, trustworthy sort and his stories were at times funny and sexy.

For her part, Michelle, a curvy, bright, university-educated young mom, had particularly liked seeing her name in the first of a series of 40 short stories he had sent her, describing her kidnap and bondage outside her Prince Edward Island home and her transport to a life of sex and servitude to men and women of a drug cartel in Ecuador.

But these were only words; this day, she wanted something more. She wanted to be loved – again – but the word struck anxiety in her heart, just as it did when her ex- had begun courting her at York University years ago in Toronto.

But at 3 p.m., that rainy, cool April, things started to happen that would lead to Michelle's first-ever bondage experience -- in New York City -- with her newfound confidante and co-author, Sailor , a guy she had met but never known.

"Riiing," the phone rang.

"Ding-dong," the front doorbell sounded at exactly the same time.

"Yeh, right," Michelle said, turning towards the door. "Never rains but it pours; no calls or visitors all friggin' week and here, Saturday afternoon, everyone wants me."

Ding-dong, ding-dong.

"Witchie," as she was known to her online pals, chose to answer the door first. She got up and walked quickly to the front door, ignoring the ringing telephone for the moment. Opening the door, she was greeted by an cold draught from the PEI spring and a young, bundled-up UPS courier, shivering in the grey afternoon dampness.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Murrin? Packages for you; UPS, please sign here," the skinny, pale courier said, showing her his clipboard with a mittened hand.

"Really? What are these?" she asked, trying to ignore the ringing phone in the living room.

"Dunno, ma'am, I just delivers," he said, turning over a large, saran-wrapped bouquet of 12 long-stemmed roses, a little note, a carton that suggested a bottle of wine inside as well as a securely-wrapped, one-cubic-foot UPS cardboard box.

Michelle penned her neat signature on the pink form and brought her packages into the living room, thanked the young man and closed her door, hurrying to the telephone as she pulled her sweater more closely around her.

 "Who on earth would be sending me flowers, a card and stuff? It's 'way after St. Valentine's Day," she said aloud as she ran to pick up the receiver after the16th ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Michelle, Philip here," came the assured, young British voice.

Oh no, she thought. It's like I know this guy so well yet I don't know him at all.

"Philip who?" she asked, curiosity replacing her usually cautious manner.

" Sailor , your co-author pal; 'member me?"

Michelle's blue eyes widened in surprise and she looked out the window at Duncan wandering in the front yard to gather her thoughts. How'd he get my number and what's on his alleged mind, anyway?

"Yes, of course, sailor, er, Philip," Michelle said, sitting to rally her thoughts. "It's just that I've never heard your voice before and you really caught me off guard. And how on earth did you get my phone number?"

"Did you get the flowers and things yet?" he replied, evading the latter question.

"Yes, they just arrived; thank you if they are from you."

"Uh-huh," she heard him reply.

"Would you like to open them? The packages that is? I'll wait."

"OK, it's your quarter, sailor."

Michelle set the phone down, sniffed the gentle bouquet of the long-stemmed roses, found a jar and plunked them in with a little water. She next read the card whose typewritten message said, simply, "To 'Witchie,' from a favourite admirer of your candor and warm humanity. Your Sailor."

"Awww, how sweet," Michelle said, putting the card on the table beside the flowers. She then grappled with the box and opened it, pulling out a pair of shiny, new, chrome-plated handcuffs, with no key, she noticed, and a long, light-blue nightgown.

"Wow, what has this guy got in mind, anyway?" Michelle said aloud as her housemate, Kelli, wandered in.

She then quickly turned to the wine-bottle-shaped package, unwrapped it and saw a 750 mL bottle of her favorite Ontario Reisling, Henry of Pelham Botris Affected .

"Sailor, is all this from you?" Michelle said, returning to the phone while Philip waited patiently at the other end.

"Uh-huh. S'mee."

"Well thank you very much; I hardly know where to begin. Goodness, roses, Reisling and things in early spring. I'm impressed. But we're way, way after St. Valentines."

"You're quite welcome, 'Witchie,'" he replied, his baritone voice giving her a small flood of images of what this guy looked like.

"What're you doing April 16 - 18?"

"Dunno. You?"

"How about a weekend in New York City. Ever been there?"

"Er, no, but I've heard it's a pretty fast-paced place -- faster 'n' a New York minute, like? You've been there?"

"Yeh," Philip replied. "I was there last in 1976 aboard HMS Bacchante for the bicentennial naval review; we anchored in the Hudson River at the foot of 57 ^th Street and I was one among 10,000 sailors in town that July 3 - 4.

"Anyroad, I was just wonderin', hopin', if you would like to fly down for a performance of La Boheme at the Met? And in our time off, we, umm, might exchange some story ideas – in the first-person – and take in the sights if we get a mo'.

"Can I think about this, please?"

"Sure, take all the time you want; but I would like to hear your decision by the time we ring off."

Is this guy British or what, she thought. Ring off?

"But let me tell you what I have, or soon will, arrange: if you say yes, today, I will book a flight for you from Charlottetown airport to Halifax International and on to JFK in New York, on Air Canada.

 "The onboard service from Halifax to JFK is great, the movies are mostly current and the flight is only about two hours now."

Michelle was caught off-guard but her imagination was sparked by the invitation of a fun-filled weekend with a guy she barely knew in New York City. She was tiring of life in rural Prince Edward Island and a weekend fling in springtime New York might be just the tonic for her cabin fever.

"Are you listening, Michelle?"

"Yes, go on; I'm here."

"Well, you'd depart Charlottetown 1030, Friday, April 16; arrive YHX at 1110; depart Halifax at 1200 and arrive JFK at 1500 local. The weekend's on me. Just expect to be tied up that weekend." She heard a small chuckle.

:"I suspect you mean that quite literally, Philip," Michelle replied, visions of her fictitious frogtie in a van crossing her mind quickly as a small smile tickled across her lips.

"Uh-huh," he replied. "A lot of it depends on you, though, dear heart."

"Hmmm, let me think about this," Michelle dithered as she tried to focus. 'Think straight, think true, Michelle, think,' she said to herself as she looked out her living-room window.

"Gosh, this is all so sudden: I'll need identification, money, clothes and stuff. . . . "

"That can all be arranged in time," Philip replied assertively.

"How will I know it's you if I decide to go and when I get there?" she asked, a little doubt creeping in. "I don't even know what you look like and I certainly didn't recognize your voice. And where'll I meet you?"

"Michelle, here's what I want you to do. Write it down if you want: use the money I will send you and buy a grey, three-piece business suit with a white silk blouse. Shoes your choice. Underthings optional but not absolutely necessary.

"Snap both handcuffs on your right wrist and pin a little handcuff brooch I will send you shortly onto your jacket at Halifax International Airport. Meet me at Tim Horton's in the departures area and I'll look for you.

 "I'll be there well before you and I will look for a 32-year-old woman, in a grey business suit with a pair of handcuffs on her right wrist, a little brooch on her jacket, seated in a prominent table at the coffee shop. Order a medium and leave the rest up to me. It'll be too simple.

"What will you do if I say yes?" Michelle blurted, looking once again at the expensive gifts she had just received in the past few minutes -- a prelude to her extraordinary invitation.

"Well, I'll probably smile and do nothing; nearly everything's arranged now," Philip replied. "Will you come? Pardon the double-entendre ."

"Yes, I will, but help me with a few details?" Michelle replied; thinking, hoping, this could be one of the most amorous, adventurous weekends of her year, maybe her recent lifetime.

"How about the hotel?" Michelle asked. "Which one?"

"I've booked a suite for two at 60 Thompson in Soho, which is near the Lincoln Center," Philip replied. Michelle had heard of New York's Soho district and knew it to be the trendy, upscale area that overlooked the WTC site. Philip, delighted the way the conversation was heading, could barely disguise his enthusiasm.

"Go on the Internet, type in NYC hotel 60 Thompson and see what comes up. It's a Michelin five-star and I am sure will it meet with your approval."

This all sounded too good to be true for Michelle's generally reserved, suspicious nature.

"What's the catch, Philip dear?" she asked, her suspicious side rising to the occasion.

"No catch, Michelle," he replied. "Let's just you and me bring our little fantasies to reality for one short weekend. Trust me."

Where have I heard that before, Witchie thought dryly.

"We have the rest of our lives to think about – and remember – and I am always looking for good story ideas. I hate to use the expression but, most certainly, 'no strings attached'. Consider it my way of thanking you for your collaboration in Sold , the little story we sent off to bdsmlibrary.com 's contest. I am brand-new at this style of writing; I know I may have overstepped your limits in some of the stories I have written with you and Kelli as central characters but we learn by our mistakes.

 "Consider this a small token of my esteem to you, for your help and guidance in the past, and to thank you in advance for what seems to be a very interesting partnership.

"But you won't mind if I tie you up a few times? I seem to recall you enjoy being made helpless, under certain conditions, as long as trust, safety and consensus are established. It's been a long time since I was in the navy's seamanship school, which never used hemp, and I want to see firsthand how good you are at escaping my ties. Hee."

"Well, no, I shouldn't mind being tied up," Michelle replied, a note of caution again creeping in. "As long as we keep things the way you described and, of course, within limits. Now, whether I want to be tied up by you and escape, well, that remains to be seen.

"But I have given it some thought and, no, I don't think I will be able to escape your ties: you say you use square knots, clove hitches and round turns and two half-hitches and I'm just not that good at undoing those, especially on me!"

Philip affirmed he would consider her limits and requests as number-one priorities, adding he doubted very much whether she could escape the Japanese-style shibari hemp-rope bondage he had in mind to bind her in that bondage's fairly comfortable, yet absolutely inescapable positions. Safe words would be established and acted on immediately, he assured her.

"OK, let's go," Michelle said, convinced at last, her sexual curiosity throwing caution to the winds. "I'm game."

"Right, then," Philip replied, his voice steady yet enthusiastic.

"Philip, are you British?"

"Nay, m'lady; born, bred and dyed-in-the-wool Canajan ," he replied.

"Well, I gotta go and get some electronic tickets arranged for you on Air Canada from Charlottetown to Halifax and onwards to JFK and return, April 18 - 19," her friend replied. "I . . .

"What the heck to you look like, Philip? Just so's I'll know," Michelle asked, fearing the conversation would be cut too short too soon.

"I'm 6-feet, 180 pounds, physically fit, short, dark hair, ex-mil., clean-shaven, and talk with an 'Ampshire accent," he replied lightheartedly. "You?"

"I'm 32, 5-9, with reddish-blonde hair and a nose ring. 42DD."

"Sounds proper gorgeous to me," Philip replied. "Just wear that nice business suit, your cuffs and I am sure I can't miss you at Timmy's in the departures area of YHX, Friday, April 16, at 1110.

"I'm looking forward to meeting you, Michelle," Philip replied sincerely.

"Me too," she replied, dismayed a note of shyness had crept into her voice, unplanned.

Philip asked Michelle to send him a little note tonight about the Reisling and to let him know how her plans were progressing. He promised another bottle would be waiting for her in NYC.

That night, waiting in his inbox, was a little note from her saying: "wine cool and delicious. Didn't even share with Kelli because I didn't want to share your kindness with anyone. Very thoughtful, Philip, thank you.

M.

Philip was delighted as her got on the phone to Air Canada's reservations offices in Montreal. Next day, a little locator number, AF 1285 WX , appeared on AC computers worldwide reserving single seats for Ms. Michelle Murrin, from Charlottetown to YHX and on to JFK and return, April 18 - 19, 2004. At the same time, computer entries appeared in the databank at the swank 60 Thompson hotel in Soho, New York City, confirming a "double-occupancy" room for them on the fifth floor.

And a week later, Opera Box seats were reserved for Philip and Michelle at the Lincoln Center's glamorous Metropolitan Opera for 8 p.m., Saturday, April 17, 2004, the evening performance of Puccini's La Boheme, by the Metropolitan Opera Company Orchestra and Chorus -- with Renee Flemming and Luciano Pavarotti in the starring roles -- a world-class performance by any measure.

Philip would wait until he saw Michelle to tell her about what he expected in this performance and he quietly hoped she would be dazzled, enthralled and, quite possibly, moved to tears by the timeless story of ill-fated love, set in Paris, Christmas Eve, 1830, but just as romantic today as it was when premiered in Italy in 1898.

The days dragged past slowly until, finally, on Friday, April 16, Michelle checked through Charlottetown airport, her handcuffs tucked away in her checked hand baggage.

Shamelessly, she had forgone her underthings and quaked in her seat nervously at the sexy, new feelings under her skirt and blouse. She thought she could pick up some sexy, little items in a New York shop but that would be hours later.

Her Air Canada Jazz flight to Halifax was uneventful and comfortable and she arrived at Halifax International refreshed, excited and expectant, hoping to lay eyes on her co-author friend in just a few minutes as she walked up the ramp into the busy arrivals/ departures area.

Amazed by the busy, sound-filled interior of the huge, brightly-lit concourse, Michelle quickly found an immaculately-clean ladies' room, reached into her purse and snapped the two cuffs snugly on her right wrist, tugging down the cuff of her suit jacket over them discreetly.

Partially handcuffed, she found the coffee shop and the nearby bar easily. She strode in, her unconfined breasts undulating decorously under her silk blouse and suit jacket, sat down, ordered a medium coffee, as Philip had suggested, and placed her right wrist with her lower handcuff just peeking out of her sleeve on the white table top.

Looking down the wide hallway, she saw people coming and going. Moments later, a short-haired, tall, lean man walked erect and purposeful toward her from the western end.

In a moment, Philip sat down in front of Michelle and introduced himself:

"Hi, Witchie," he said, extending his right hand. Michelle took his right hand and shook it gently but warmly, the cuffs reminding her of their presence. She blushed slightly at this sudden, strange yet oddly familiar introduction.

"Buy you a coffee, sailor?" Michelle asked, smiling pleasantly, trying to placate her pounding heart.

'Yeh, medium double-double would be fine, thanks," Philip replied casually. "How was your flight?"

Michelle felt almost immediately comfortable in the presence of this man she had never met but with whom she had exchanged some of her most intimate, erotic details in the past several weeks. She began to scramble for words to tell him how much she looked forward to his short and longer stories.

Instead, she crossed her knees, felt her recently-ringed nipples erect through her silk blouse and smiled quietly. Her new, heavy, eight-gauge clit ring also began to itch, reminding her at this wrong time that she was in for an adventurous weekend. And this new guy, whom she barely knew, looked calm, quiet and confident as he looked around and back at her.

"The flight was just fine, thank you. Now, where do we start?" Michelle asked.

"Right here, right now," Philip replied.

Chapter Two

"I Love New York . . . ."

"Let me be the first to welcome you cordially to our first adventure to New York City," Philip said gallantly, leaning over the little formica table to kiss Michelle, his online friend and co-author of several weeks, gently on the cheek.

"So, welcome, Michelle; I hope our stay will be as pleasant as it will be memorable," he said softly, looking at Michelle's face closely for reaction. She was 26 years his junior but time, date, age, this weekend, were irrelevant.

Michelle said nothing as she looked at him, using her years of intuition, and the nature of his little peck on her cheek, to size this guy up. 'He speaks so well, he looks charming enough. But how will he treat me? Is he kind? Is he gentle? Oh well; I'm here and I am sure to find out very soon'.

Before her sat someone she knew through correspondence only -- but a man she still had much to learn about. Her curiosity was clearly piqued.

Michelle took a sip of her coffee with a cuffed right hand and sat quietly while Philip explained their itinerary.

A car, a 2004 red Mustang, waited for them in the rental area at JFK and he would drive them along the airport expressway that transected Brooklyn, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan and Soho, in about 45 minutes.

Hotel 60 Thompson was expecting them in about 90 minutes after their arrival, he said.

Finally, Philip stood up to get his coffee, returned and sat facing Michelle again. "Witchie," by now becoming more bewitched by the minute, held up her small coffee as a toast:

 "To a wonderful weekend, Philip," she said, hopefully, touching her cup to his. "You've been there before and hope I am in correct in feeling I am in good hands. Do not betray that trust, please, for our sake."

Michelle set her brown paper coffee cup down, her handcuffs making a light clunk on the table, after Philip returned her toast and placed his hand gently on her right. He engaged her eyes and Witchie felt, for an instant, she was his, at least temporarily:

"To you. Dear Michelle: Please trust me; I say these words for your eyes and ears only and I ask your complete, undivided attention for a minute.

"I, rather, we, will do nothing we do not agree to first, tacitly or explicitly, every moment for these next two precious days, I assure you. You have my word of honor. We have agreed to and arranged this weekend for our explorations, our pleasures and, ultimately, our memories. This last is most important and I want us to be able to remember the next two, very short days with fondness, with respect, with warmth and mutual goodwill for as long as we can.

"I will do whatever I can to assure you have memories that you will want to look to -- and cherish -- for a lifetime. Memories that only you can call up, remember with pride, happiness and pleasure, and that will be tucked away in your mind for as long as you choose. And if I am a part of your happy memories, if you allow me to become a part of you, in your mind, then I will be satisfied and pleased.

"I will be delighted, honored and pleased to know, when you walk away Sunday, you will take with you a wealth of the happiest, warmest memories you have known and that you will cherish them as long as you wish. That I was able to generate, and contribute to, these happy memories is satisfaction in itself and that is my goal.

"You will probably find the bondage I suspect we will indulge in later today, tonight, tomorrow and the next day may, perhaps, be a sidelight – a welcome sidelight to be sure – but certainly not the primary reason that has brought us together here.

"Let our weekend, instead, be first a collaboration of minds, of imaginations; our bodies are sure to follow. After all, isn't the brain, the cerebral cortex, the sexiest part of the human body? All sexy thoughts begin, are sustained and are brought to resolution up there," Philip said, tapping his forehead gently for emphasis. "I want my brain to communicate with yours, yours with mine, and our bodies will follow of their own accord.

"Do you understand?"

 Michelle smiled at this timely, but very fitting, analogy.

"On this subject," Philip continued, looking at Michelle's blue eyes carefully to try and determine what she was thinking, found inscrutability countered by a warm, inviting smile on her lips.

Encouraged, Philip continued: "We clearly have a mutual interest in exploratory dominance and submission as well as bondage that we have explored with one another, to varying degrees of success on the internet , and I am delighted – indeed honored – you have agreed to extend yourself, with trust, to me, fully expecting to be cared for, protected and entertained while tacitly or explicitly asking respect for your limits.

"This I will do," he said with an air of finality, "and my word is inviolate. Trust me, Michelle. New York City, you and me have so much to offer one another and I am not prepared to allow a simple transgression or an egregious misstep to ruin a single moment of the next two days for us. That's all I can say about this. Do you understand?"

"Thank you, Philip; that's so encouraging and comforting to hear," Michelle said, "and I am touched by your compassion, depth and sincerity. You talk like a doctor, somehow, so clinical in some ways, but so heartfelt in others.

"But as a woman, I need to be encouraged, to know I am in safe hands; to know, ultimately, you will respect me for who I am. If I am able to satisfy you, physically psychologically and emotionally, I will be a happy woman; if you, and I am quite confident you will be able to, satisfy me in the same measures, then I will be doubly content -- twice the woman."

Philip listened intently as this urbane woman spoke, quietly, eloquently, and, in turn, Michelle began to realize slowly, much to her mute astonishment and obvious relief, she was in the company of an honorable, gentle man who would, by his word, treat her with respect, dignity and honor. All they had to do was, for the moment, listen to one another, with patience, compassion and understanding.

She looked at him again carefully as he sipped his coffee, gazing down the gallery as the busy travellers.

To Michelle, his soft, brown eyes suggested he could do her no harm; not today, probably not ever. His actions would be the proof, she knew, but she believed him. 'He's a bright, intelligent, literate and thoughtful man, it appears; yes, perhaps, there are sexy things I can learn from him. Possibly more. He even loves the arts and has invited me to the opera'.

 Quietly, imperceptibly, she became more confident she had made the right choice to go to New York City -- to explore her boundaries, her fantasies and his -- and with his guidance, skills, imagination; honor and his integrity, make this a weekend to remember.

"How long were you in the navy?" Michelle asked, changing the topic quickly to gather her own thoughts. Focus, Michelle, she thought, focus. There is more to know than this.

She glanced at the nearby departures monitor and saw their flight, AC126, to JFK from YHX, was due to roll back from Gate 20 in 15 minutes and the preliminary boarding announcements had begun.

"Oh, just under 30 years," Philip replied lightly. "I rose through the ranks from ordinary seaman to seaman petty officer 2 ^nd class then, many years later, was commissioned from the ranks and retired as a lieutenant September 23, 2001, 28 years to the day I enlisted.

"I was injured; lost part of my hearing through main-armament gunfire and injured my left shoulder, which gave me generous pensions, free medical treatments and a good superannuation.

"I've had the best of both worlds, you might say: I've seen quite a bit of the world and the oceans through the 'grey-funnel' line; I've travelled to Europe, the UK and North and South America fairly extensively with the 'mob'.

"Today, I'm just content to sit at home and write about things that interest me and that, particularly, is bondage and the willing female subject. And at this very moment, I am quite pleased to be here with you to take my bondage fantasies a step further – with you.

"And that, dear lady, is where you and I come into the picture. And, might I add, it is nice to be in league with such pleasant, like-minded company.

"I see," Michelle said, as she drained her lukewarm coffee, noticing travellers wandering toward the gate. She became a little anxious to get going.

"Well, I am pleased you did not abandon your writings and, I must say, I really had many second thoughts after our first, um, chat. There are so many disreputable people and organizations out there and, well, I did not want to get burnt.

"But that was then and this is now. I've read and saved all your works you have sent me and, yes, some are better than others -- you have an interesting, direct and very erotic style, I must say, and, yes, I have looked forward to reading your instalments and commenting on them." Philip smiled as he remembered certain transgressions he had taken with Michelle's character as he explored bondage fantasies with her as their online relationship began to develop.

"I think it's about time to go, 'Witchie'."

"I'm ready when you are," Michelle said finally, taking his cue, feeling a little less uncomfortable as her weekend began to take shape.

Philip stood up and Michelle noticed his trim, muscular frame and broad shoulders for the first time close up.

'Mmm, not bad,' Michelle said to herself. 'Wonder what sailor looked like in uniform?'

Philip picked up Michelle's weekend bag, his own, and escorted her towards Gate 20 and the big, roomy 767 that awaited down the long passageway. Michelle slipped her cuffed right hand into Philip's empty left hand and the pair walked into the cabin interior, finding their seats together in the first-class cabin.

Philip and Michelle settled into their seats together and Michelle looked at him gently.

"Key, please?" Michelle asked Philip quietly.

"Mmm. Whassat?" Philip replied quietly, keeping his eyes on hers.

Michelle blushed. "Philip, would you kindly unlock one or both of these?" she said, holding out her right wrist with both steel cuffs locked snugly on it.

"Mmm, lemme see, sweetheart," Philip said.

In a minute, he had fished the handcuff key from his wallet and unsnapped the left cuff.

"There, Michelle, now you can just lock it onto your other wrist, if you care to?"

Michelle smiled and placed the two halves of the left cuff gently over her left wrist and pushed the jaws closed in a series of snicks that no longer startled or frightened her.

 "May I see, please, Michelle? I've only dreamed of a moment like this," Philip asked as he looked down at her lap.

"Most certainly," Michelle said as she held her closely handcuffed wrists up for his inspection.

"Ah, perfect, and they will hide very nicely under your suit jacket, will they not?"

Yes, they ought to," Michelle replied, pulling her jacket cuffs down to cover the cuffs to avoid unwanted stares from the cabin attendants and other first-class passengers seated partially obscured by the big chairs nearby.

Michelle thrilled at the sensation at being handcuffed in a passenger jet seated beside a man she barely knew and about to take off for New York City. But she felt more and more comfortable by the minute and sexily excited at what he had in mind for her in the coming hours.

She wondered when, and if, he would unlock her again.

After a half-hour of smalltalk and careful handcuff-hiding manoeuvres by Michelle, the big plane was taxiing out towards the main east-west runway to await clearance for takeoff. Moments later, Michelle was pushed gently into the back of her seat as the four big RollsRoyce turbines went to full power, hurtling the 767 down the runway and into the Nova Scotia overcast, southbound for the Atlantic coast and New York City -- two hours away.

The flight showed Spike Lee's 25 ^th Hour , a post-9/11 look at New York City through the eyes of a drug dealer about to be sent up to Otisville for seven years, and Michelle was captivated by the acting abilities of Edward Norton and the supporting cast.

Before she knew it, the plane was ready to descend into JFK.

"Here we are, Michelle; I'll feel better if I uncuff you now before we go through US customs and security again," Philip said. "I don't want us to be delayed any more than necessary."

Michelle held out her wrists as Philip uncuffed her, pocketed her cuffs then assisted her out of the her seat, down the aisle and out of the big plane and into the brightly-lit, organized chaos of JFK airport's international arrivals area.

 They passed though US customs with no problem and, collecting their bags, found the lower passenger-vehicle area and the rentals office where Philip picked up keys to the cherry-red 2004 Mustang.

Moments later, they were motoring away from JFK airport, on a highway that transected Brooklyn and in a matter of 20 minutes, Michelle looked out at the huge steel expanses of the Brooklyn Bridge that linked to Manhattan.

Philip skilfully drove into Manhattan, obviously knowing where he was going, and in 20 minutes, Michelle was amazed to find him pulling up to 60 Thompson in Soho, a luxury 12-storey hotel near the Lincoln Center.

"Reservations for Philip M... and Michelle M..., please," Philip asked the jacketed desk clerk politely. "Yes, sir, and ma'am; passports, please, and a credit card, Visa , Amex or MasterCard ."

Michelle was taken aback by the rapidity of events that had brought her from rural Prince Edward Island to the lap of luxury in downtown Manhattan in a matter of hours. After Philip completed the registration, he took Michelle lightly by the arm and escorted her towards the elevator lobby.

Michelle and Philip were quickly en route to their first, longed-for, private encounter, bags to follow. Michelle's heart pounded in excitement as she entered the classy, mirrored elevator car that hastened them to the 5 ^th floor. Philip took her in his arms and hugged her lightly and she felt comfort and serenity she had not felt for a long time.

Down the hall and to the left lay door 509, painted in royal blue with brass numerals, secured with a heavy magnetic key lock. Philip unlocked it with the keycard, Michelle strolled in and saw a vision of immaculate loveliness that was entirely satisfactory to her discerning taste.

There, in front of her, was New American decor and comfortable luxury she had only seen pictures of. A huge double bed, thick, wall-to-wall carpeting, a large, curtained window overlooking Thompson Street with sandblasted, turn-of-the-century, brick-and-mortar buildings adjacent; a fully-equipped, sparkling bath, heat lamps, dressers, mirrors, bar fridge, TV, radio and stereo – and Philip – all promising for a super, sexy weekend.

 A bouquet of carnations and roses waited for Michelle on the bed and she immediately spotted a long, slinky nightgown folded neatly on one side of the bed – courtesy 60 Thompson.

"Tomorrow night, at 8 p.m., is La Boheme, with Renee Fleming as Mimi and Luciano Pavarotti as Rodolfo at the Met. so, dear heart, we have about 30 hours to ourselves; where would you like to begin?" Michelle now wanted to get laid in the worst way and bound in the most erotic fashion Philip could muster.

"Well, you could start by perhaps tying me up?" Michelle added softly, hopefully, sitting at the edge of the big, comfortable bed.

"I'll attend to that right away,' Philip said, busying himself at his flight bag. "We will release you at, say, supper time? Which is 7 p.m.; it's now just after 3:45 p.m."

"Get started, sailor; I'm waiting," Michelle said, feeling her sex-drive kicking into high gear as she threw caution to the wind. But she wondered why he used the pronoun 'we'.

"Right away, milady," Philip replied. "Permit me to kiss your hand before we begin?"

Michelle held out her right and Philip planted a warm kiss on the back of her soft hand, sending a thrill up Michelle's arms. She was ready for just about anything and she suspected Philip would be very good at foreplaying her to the right plateau before proceeding further.

But first:

Michelle watched as Philip withdrew long lengths of small-diameter hemp rope, a pair of handcuffs and ankle chains and a harness gag of some sort out of his bag.

"We'll start gradually, Witchie," Philip said softly as he walked behind her.

Michelle slipped off her Versace suit jacket and voluntarily placed her forearms parallel to each other behind her back, sighing with a slight annoyance as she began feeling the double loops of hemp drawn snugly but not too tightly around her forearms -- the beginning of the Japanese cradle she had heard Philip refer to from time to time.

Michelle's first real-life bondage adventure of 2004 had just begun.

Two minutes later, she would be entirely immobile and mute but Philip had just begun.

Philip began humming quietly to himself as he passed loop after loop around Michelle's elbows and torso, pulling each length taut but not uncomfortably so.

 "Oh, that bottle of Ontario reisling," he said suddenly, just finishing his first elbow tie on Michelle's blouse-covered arm.

"Gimme a sec., Witchie," Philip said, as he strolled over to the little bar fridge.

"Yep, it's there; cool, not cold; our treat for when you are tied up to my, er, our satisfaction."

"C'mere, sailor, and finish what you're doing," Michelle smiled, turning her back towards him. "Show me the square knot, the clove hitch and round turn and two half-hitches I've heard you talking about, seaman guy."

"All in good time, my dear: neatness, snugness and strategically-placed knots – not to mention the willingness of the subject – are the essence of good bondage, as you will soon see," he said.

Philip resumed and Michelle felt her bonds growing tighter and more complex by the minute; she knew she was being tied as skilfully as she had ever been bound. But she would save that little revelation 'til later, much later, she thought.

"I love my work," Philip said, as he kissed Michelle gently on the lips. It was the first time she had been kissed thus and she turned to return the gesture. But she could not move her torso without straining her arms.

Michelle's bondage had begun in earnest. And she was content.

"Nearly done here, Michelle," Philip said softly as he finished tying clove-hitch cinches snugging down her elbow ties to the two bands of eight passes of hemp that encircled above and below her breasts.

Finally, he passed a doubled, long length of hemp from her left elbow cinch, up across the back of her neck, descending to be secured at her right elbow cinch, ensuring the entire ensemble could not be slipped by any arm manipulation.

"There's much more to this tie, Michelle, but this is all I want to secure you with for the moment," Philip said, coiling up an unused, 30-foot length of 1/4-inch hempcord.

"Try those bonds for 30 seconds and see if you can loosen anything. Don't struggle too hard because the knots are so designed and placed that the more you struggle and pull, the tighter they become. But go ahead and try."

 Philip delved into his flight bag for another package, out of sight of Michelle who was sitting on the edge of the bed looking curiously at her bound reflection in the dresser mirror.

" Miiiiffffffrrrrrr ," she groaned, as she tried to pry her arms apart. Nothing gave so much as a quarter-inch. " Mmmnnnng ." Fooey . Nothing.

"I can't budge at all, Philip."

Ah, music to my ears, Michelle" he replied. "The lower additions to this tie are either a frogtie, with which you should already be familiar, or a more stringent hogtie, and with those ties you will be utterly immobile. But I have something I want to give you first and I would like you to turn your back to me for an instant."

Michelle complied as she felt something cool, smooth and hard encircling her neck.

"Don't look," Philip said.

Michelle heard a little click at the back of her neck and felt something like a screw being tightened down into the band around her neck.

"There, done," Philip said, tossing a miniature screwdriver back into his flight bag.

"Have a look at your jewellery for the opera tomorrow night."

Michelle opened her eyes and saw her neck encircled by a half-inch-wide, curved band of bright gold, locked out of sight at the rear of her neck, with the date 18-04-04 prominently engraved in deep figures on the front curvature.

Michelle's first impulse was to reach for the collar with her hands but all she could do was wriggle her fingers. She looked at her face and torso in the big mirror, turning her head and neck this way and that, to the limited degrees her bondage allowed, and admired the fine craftsmanship of the expensive jewellery Philip had just given her.

"It cost about $10,000, from Cartier Corp., New York City, and I had it measured and designed just for you," Philip said. "Wear it with pride and remembrance of this weekend. It's 22kt gold, a pittance to the value I place on having you as company here this weekend. I hope you like it."

"It's simply gorgeous," Michelle enthused, wriggling around to face him. "I've never had such a piece of jewellery in my life; it makes me look so feminine, so, how can I say, owned? Is that the right word, Philip?"

"I think so."

Michelle stood up awkwardly and walked over to Philip, now seated in an armchair, and sat on his lap, snuggling her face close to his neck, feeling his warm, masculine scent. She kissed him on the cheek and lips and was rewarded with the sight of a firm swelling in Philip's snug grey-flannel slacks as Michelle swung her legs out in a more comfortable position.

"Reisling, my dear?"

"Yes, that would be fine," Michelle replied, feeling her new collar snug her neck as she spoke.

Philip excused himself, lifted Michelle easily and powerfully off his lap in one easy motion, plopped her on the bed, got the wine bottle out of the little bar fridge, popped it open quickly and brought the bottle back to the chair where the happy couple resumed their original positions.

"To heck with the glasses," Philip said, offering Witchie the bottle. Michelle opened her mouth slightly and Philip poured in a mouthful and then took two swallows himself.

"Mmm, good stuff," Philip said.

"Yes, my only favorite." Michelle thought, as she licked her lips, savoring the expensive Ontario dry wine.

The two lovers drained most of the large bottle in quiet enjoyment as Michelle, bound and sitting languorously in her lover's lap, watched the shadows of the mid-spring afternoon draw across the hotel room window.

She felt bound, warm, secure and slightly tipsy as she lay across Philip's lap, her head resting on his muscular shoulder.

Philip's hand crept down Michelle's right leg and under her skirt, easing it up, inch by inch, until he had reached her sex, kissing her fully on her lips as he did so.

Witchie tugged at her bound arms only once as Philip immediately located her ringed, swelling clitoris and the moist, outer recesses of her warm sex, snuggling her head still closer to his, bound as she was.

"Mmm, what lovely physiology, what inviting topography; so nice, so warm, so moist and so intriguingly inviting," Philip whispered in Michelle's ear. "Mmm," she replied softly. 'This guy is so corny', her inner voice chided.

Using his index and second fingers, he massaged and stroked Michelle's now-throbbing clitoris and clitoral hood slowly, rhythmically, her big, grey steel clit ring flicking back and forth. He then inserted two, then three fingers deeper into her sex to find her elusive Grafenberg spot tucked away just inside and to the right-upper curvature.

Tightly bound, Michelle's breath quickened and she spread her legs as widely as her skirt would allow. "Skirt has to go, darling," she whispered finally. "Button and zipper are on the right." Ziiip , and Michelle's skirt was around her ankles in a motion that took her breath away while Philip's nimble fingers began undoing the seven pearl buttons on Michelle's expensive Italian blouse, bound snugly here and there by the Shibari hemprope harness that encircled her forearms, elbows and breasts.

After a few seconds of tugging and pulling, Michelle's breasts, bound tightly above and below, fell under Philip's delicate caress. Like all men, she thought, he goes first for the nipples. There are other erogenous zones to the breast beside those, she said to herself, as she wriggled her body to face him closely. She was then forcibly reminded of her nipple rings as he playfully tugged on them, making her quiver.

Philip's left hand was still busily massaging Michelle's now very moist sex and Michelle's breathing became more rapid, shallow and pre-orgasmic as his right hand caressed her breasts gently, lovingly, exploringly, toying with her nipples now and then.

Gently, Philip continued stroking the pencil-eraser-sized nub that protruded from under the dark-pink folds of her clitoral hood and Michelle moaned softly as the first, warm, pink waves of sexual pleasure radiated up her abdomen, infused her chest, neck and face.

Michelle knew herself now to be in the hands of a quiet, competent and very-skilled lover by the time she had reached her first orgasmic plateau.

Presently, she was writhing in Philip's arms gently, trying to tug at her bound arms, while her lover continued to massage her clit and G-spot alternately with unrelenting, increasing pressure and frequency.

Moments later, Michelle felt her first orgasm break through like clouds parting pinkly, warm and humid, after a summer sun shower.

She groaned and shuddered as her pelvic-floor muscles, hard, rigid and undulating to Philip's finger manipulations, quivered her legs. Her breath quickened, gasping, as her heart thundered in her breast.

 " Ohhhhhh, noooohhhh, Mmmmmm ," Michelle moaned, gazing with limpid eyes into Philip's face as the first little orgasmic wave overtook her.

Philip looked at her and smiled, stroking her clit more gently, sensing Michelle's second orgasmic wave as he kissed her gently on the lips, cheek and neck. " Ahhhhhhh, oh, goooood, mmmm, that is so good. Doooon't stop ," Michelle sighed.

Philip continued and Michelle came a third time, more quietly this time, but she felt a flood of ejaculate squirt out of her sex as a fourth orgasm wracked her rope-bound body, her hands now balled into fists as the exquisite pleasure transported her into subspace for the first time that day.

" Oooohhh, toooo good, Philip ," Michelle sighed. "Please let me rest; put me to bed and do me some more. But let me catch my breath."

"Here, dear, a little grape?" Philip held the now half-empty bottle to Michelle's lips and she took a large gulp.

"Ah, hic, mmmmm," she said. "S'good."

Philip placed a warm kiss on Michelle's waiting, open lips and lingered there, feeling the urgent sensuousness of this woman's mouth tight against his lips. He could not remember having been kissed so passionately before. Michelle tried to flex her bound arms behind her back but could not move them an inch.

It had been many, many years since a woman had returned his kiss so deeply, so eagerly, he recalled, and he knew he would remember that embrace forever. Easily, he picked Michelle up again, placed her on the bed with her head slightly raised on the pillow.

With practised ease, he snapped a pair of chains on Michelle's waiting ankles, looked up and saw Michelle's face echo feminine contentment. He knew then she was happy, safe and secure and that she would never doubt him again.

Michelle, too, realized this was inevitable; she, too, felt safe, secure and content, in bondage, with this man she scarcely knew but someone she had come to trust implicitly in such a short time. She could hardly believe her feminine sensibilities. Had her intuition abandoned her? Has he changed her, somehow, in some manner unknown to her. What sort of power was he wielding over her, anyway?

 Here she was, in New York City, collared, bound and chained by her quite-talented lover/co-author/friend, and loving every minute of it. She reflected: This, to her, was the best – the apotheosis -- of her several bondage experiences. Ropes and chains, applied carefully, lovingly and securely, rendering her utterly helpless yet still able to please her partner, was the ultimate in sexual bondage to Michelle Murrin. And to her lover, too, she hoped.

Idly, she looked down her nearly naked form and saw Philip undressing, his thick manhood springing to life as he dropped his slacks on the floor.

" Mmm , big man," Michelle said to herself quietly. "I wonder whether his lovemaking is as good as his bondage techniques?

She would soon find out.

Philip slid into bed at Michelle's feet, placed her ankle chains behind his neck and back and slithered upwards to place his face directly on her sex.

Michelle's ankle chains were now taut across the small of Philip's back and she forced her knees wide on either side of his hips as his tongue began to flick and caress her inflamed, erect clit, back, forth, up and down. Michelle moaned in exquisite sexual splendour, bound as she was into helplessness and sexual ecstasy.

Moments later, the tightly bound woman was moaning and writhing in the throes of yet another mini-orgasm, her fourth in just several minutes, as Philip's hands and fingers crept up to find, explore and tweak her erect ringed nipples.

Philip quietly, carefully and skilfully brought Michelle to a series of several consecutive orgasms until Michelle's head reeled, overcharged by excitement, stimulation and near-climaxes potent enough to make her ears ring.

Utterly satiated, Michelle straightened her quivering legs and gasped: "You, my love, have just made my day complete. I've never cum this hard, this long, before in my life," she panted. "I've come these many miles to be with you. You have treated me as your lover, like your equal, like a lady and you have gone to great lengths to give me the greatest pleasures I have experienced in many years." (Michelle could not remember when she had been so sexually turned on).

"And yes, Philip, my lover, you have given me memories that I will cherish for a lifetime."

 "Let's get dressed for supper, Michelle," was Philip's reply. "I'm starved and saving myself for you for later."

Philip replied, his tongue flicking at her clit again teasingly. Michelle could tell her mate was still extremely aroused and, obviously, he wanted more but was willing to wait.

"We've been making love now for just over three hours, it's coming up to 6:45 p.m., and supper is served at 7," Philip said, straightening his back causing Michelle's ankle chains to tighten even further. Michelle nodded, tugging at her bound arms behind her back.

"Hey, buster, how about untying me?"

Philip slid out from under her ankle chains, stood up and began undoing his tight, skilful knots and hitches that secured Michelle's arms, elbows and chest so securely for the past three hours. Moments later, Philip and Michelle looked at the several long piles of rope that lay on the floor beside their bed.

Michelle stood up on shaky lags and looked bemusedly at the red ligatures around her elbows, wrists and breasts while Philip unlocked her shackles.

"Which dress?" Michelle asked Philip, walking to the closet to hold up a couple of her favorites. "I prefer the little black number."

"Me too; Witchie; try it on."

Michelle slipped into her famous little, all-wool black dress – the one her friend, Kelli, told her fit like a second skin -- decolletage to there and hemline to four inches above the knee -- making her look like everyman's 'babe,' as Kelli said.

She turned around for Philip's attention and her lover whistled his admiration.

"Dynamite, gal, that one does wonders for you. Look how the gold collar stands out now against the black."

Michelle looked in the mirror. Mmm . True.

"C'mere, doll," Philip said, and he gave Michelle a bearhug, feeling her big, soft, unconfined breasts flatten against his bare, muscular chest, turning both of them on yet again.

Michelle wriggled away reluctantly, started to comb her hair but was delighted when Philip crept up behind her, put his arms around from behind her and gently squeezed and tweaked her nipples into full erection under the thin, black fabric of her dress.

"Oh, you. You just know they are going to stay like that all night, Philip," Michelle said, smiling, trying to smooth down the ringed nubs that pointed so invitingly on the soft curves of her 42DD breasts swelling her cleavage so invitingly.

A few primps, brushes and squirts here and there and Michelle was ready; Philip was already dressed in blazer, white shirt, navy tie, grey flannels and shiny black shoes – his new uniform – and Michelle stood beside him, looking at their reflection.

"Hi, hunk," she said, patting his solid chest warmly.

"Hi, gal," Philip replied. "Let's get some chow, I'm starved."

The two walked, hand-in-hand, down the hallway into the sumptuous dining room.

Michelle felt her breasts sway gently under her dress and knew she was thrilling Philip and the few other diners scattered here and there as she made her way to their assigned table -- right by the huge picture windows that overlooked Thompson Street, Soho. Seated, they could see the black diamonds of the lit Manhattan skyline in the background -- and the unearthly glow from the WTC site off in the near distance – sending a chill up Michelle's spine at the juxtaposed images of romance, commerce and terrible tragedy.

Philip and Michelle dined on a wonderful meal of Chateaubriand bouquetiaire and bordeaux wine, followed by French demi-tasse coffees, tarts and Grand Marnier before they retired, comfortably full and tired, back to their room.

This time, Michelle insisted on being tied more tightly still as a prelude to sex and Philip graciously complied, placing her once again in a Japanese-cradle arm tie and snug frogtie that lashed her ankles to the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs widely for her lover as she lay back on her bound arms, her legs tucked double under her.

"Open, please, Michelle," Philip said, as he gently slipped a big ring gag into her waiting mouth, locking the three straps under her chin, atop her head and behind her neck in the traditional head harness Michelle had seen so many times surfing bondage websites.

Michelle now found herself fully and completely gagged, silent but for some soft, sniffling and deep, moaning groans from the back of her throat as she tried to adjust her jaws around this huge intruder.

Hmmmmmmmmm , Michelle heard the strange, soft buzz of a vibrator, called an "eroscillator," Philip had brought along for Michelle's pleasures.

Deftly, Philip once again found Michelle's clit, the big ring there and her and G-spot at the apex of her widely-spread, bound thighs and began stroking the intensely-vibrating device, whose head oscillated at 3,500 cycles per minute, against her love spots.

 Within moments Michelle, bound as tightly as she was gagged, was nearing her fifth series of orgasms under the unrelenting, questing probe of the little, soft-serrated head.

" Mmmmrrrfffff ," Michelle groaned softly through her gag, shaking her head in pleasure and disbelief her body could react so quickly and so powerfully just an hour after she had been so thoroughly stimulated.

" Nnnnnmmmmmmaaaahhhh ." Another climax soared through her being and Michelle lay there, barely quivering, sweating, panting noisily through her nose and her ring-gagged mouth.

Philip set aside the devilish device and lay beside his tautly-bound, gagged co-author/ friend. Michelle turned her harnessed face towards him and Philip kissed her fully on the three-inch-diameter ball gag, triggering the delayed shutter release on the digital camera Michelle had set up next to the bed. Michelle tried to return the kiss but could not, sighing in exasperation against her bonds and head harness.

Philip easily mounted Michelle's loins and had his eight–inch-long cock deep inside her womb in one easy stroke, moaning softly as he plunged his manhood deep, eliciting a moan of deep despair and longing from her.

" Mffffnn ," Michelle gasped. Philip slowly, gently, thrust into her, over and over, and Michelle revelled yet again in the incredible sensations his body imparted to hers. She tried to thrust her breasts up against his chest but was thwarted by the bonds that wrapped her so securely.

Fifteen minutes of powerful, deep and alternate, rapid, shallow strokes in Michelle's pussy brought the partners to shuddering, ear-burning orgasm as Philip unleashed a huge load of semen deep into Michelle's gaping, moist womb.

Philip, perspiring and panting, wriggled up, kissed Michelle's forehead and rolled off her, collapsing into a tired, heaving mass while Michelle lay there, utterly satiated, completely bound, and content as she had never been before.

Had she ever had sex so intense? This complete? So satisfying, so mutually rewarding, before? She asked herself as she lay there in her bonds and gag. She thought not, as she closed her eyes. She turned to face her lover but her eyes closed slowly, dreamily, as sleep overtook both of them.

 Philip and Michelle slept as they were until 6 a.m. when Michelle's pinioned knees screamed for release.

Michelle managed to roll onto her left side and nudged Philip with her harnessed head, her breath gasping around the ring gag. She had amazed herself she had been able to sleep bound and gagged so tightly. What was it in her that allowed this to happen? She wondered.

" Piffer ," she managed. " Piffer, pleef. Unmmmfff ."

Philip awoke, untied Michelle completely, except for her gag and ankle chains, and the two lovers fell back asleep in each other's arms, sleeping through until 2:30 p.m., Saturday afternoon.

Finally, they awoke, Philip unlocked Michelle's chains and gag, the two enjoyed a hot shower together and they decided to go and explore the sights before getting ready for the opera in about four hours' time.

Philip and Michelle, dressed in jackets, T-shirts and jeans, walked out of the lobby, arm-in-arm, Michelle's jaws aching slightly and legs wobbly from the exertions and bondage of the past several hours, and strolled up to Times Square to window-shop, get a famous Times Square hot dog and a Coke, have their pictures taken and stroll back to the hotel for a leisurely supper then to dress for the opera.

They had their portraits taken at a five-minute photo shop near Soho and the picture delighted them: there was a tall, slim, dark-haired man, in his late-50s, with a reddish-blonde-haired woman, 32, perched on his arm, both wearing jackets over their T-shirts and jeans, Michelle's ringed nipples poking out nicely while both smiled warmly for the camera.

It was yet another picture for Michelle's growing collection of wonderful memories from her unforgettable weekend in New York.

Back in their hotel room, Michelle unfolded her long, floor-length evening gown, a black, spaghetti-strapped, low-backed, low-necklined number that would turn heads anywhere.

Michelle's full, buxom figure and lovely, content face, with her gold collar, set off the dress's classical lines perfectly.

"Michelle, you are the vision of absolute loveliness," Philip said, as he adjusted his tie. "Not only do you look like you just got the best lay of your life just recently, you undoubtedly are to be the loveliest Canadian woman there tonight, without a doubt."

 "Thank you, kind sir; and you are, or will be the best-looking, best-hung stud there tonight," she said, smiling at their good-humored exchange.

Michelle strolled over casually and gave Philip a sincere kiss of thanks on his lips.

She thought she detected a tear at the corner of his eye but put the thought in the back of her mind. Why would he be sad tonight? She wondered. She had yet to plumb the deeper emotions of this man she was just getting to know.

"Would you please wear these small gold 'slave bracelets' I had made especially for you by Cartier Bros., Michelle?" Philip said quietly. "Just for you, just for tonight."

Philip held out two pairs of thin, gold cuffs, about a half-inch wide that would encircle her wrists and ankles; jewellery, by name only, but with a powerful, sexy implication.

"Of course I will, Philip, they look lovely," Michelle replied, realizing she might look like an extremely well-dressed, unchained woman at the Metropolitan Opera. The thought stirred her.

Philip easily snapped a pair on Michelle's slightly red-marked wrists and knelt down and placed another on each ankle.

Snug, light and comfortable, Michelle could feel their metallic grasp with every movement she made. They would pass as jewellery, she knew, but their other, hidden message was quite obvious! She would be, for tonight only, like a special woman, braceleted, yet unchained; possessed and taken, yet still free. She was equally ravished, and admired, by someone she was just getting to know.

Other sexy thoughts flooded into her mind as she looked at her image again in heir hotel room mirror. The ankle cuffs were hidden under the hem of her long dress but her wrist cuffs were clearly obvious; thankfully, the reddish-pink ligatures of her rope bondages were beginning to fade but she could still feel the rough indentations left in her wrists and elbows.

"Ah, so what?" she thought. "There's probably at least one other woman in the city who would have been bound as I was last night. Perhaps not as severely, though."

Chapter 3

A Night at the Opera, a Sad Farewell

Carefully, Philip explained the plot summary to Michelle: "This is Puccini's most expressive opera," he said, "It draws from a collection of true-life sketches describing life among the original bohemians, the poor artists of Paris's Latin Quarter.

"Hungry but cheerful, the poet Rodolfo shares a garret with the painter Marcello and two others. One moonlit Christmas Eve, in Paris, 1830, the frail seamstress Mimi comes to Rodolfo's door for help, to light that famous candle of hers, and the two fall passionately in love, while Marcello carries on a turbulent affair with flirtatious Musetta. But Rodolfo is impossibly jealous of Mimi, and the two regretfully part, until Musetta reveals that Mimi is dying of consumption. Rodolfo flies to Mimi's side, and the lovers are united, only to be separated forever by Mimi's death.

"The orchestrations emphasize the libretto, the sung words of the opera, which consists of common language turned poetic. For example, when Rudolfo and Marcello burn Marcello's play for warmth, the orchestra depicts the reviving fire with a brilliant texture of pizzicato strings and detached woodwind and brass chords. Also, when Rodolfo learns Mimi is dead, the French horns play these long, powerful chords that are just hair-raising . . . . among the saddest and tragic in all opera, in my mind. Even the musicians themselves are frequently moved.

"I know Pavarotti and Flemming will be somewhere near their peak in this one and this is a performance not to be missed: the choruses, the solos, the arias and duets cover the range of human emotion -- from love and flirtation, to life and death, to fate and the human condition – all in two hours. A real, timeless love story; set in Paris, in 1830 and just as poignant today as it was then.

"Now, If you're quite ready, milady, let's go – and may I say, once again, Ms. Murrin, you look absolutely ravishing, just as Mimi did to Rodolfo in 1898."

Michelle was thrilled to be stepping out in formal gown -- to the Lincoln Center's Metropolitan Opera – to see two famous singers sing their hearts out to each other -- and to her.

"A taxi's waiting, Michelle, time to go," Philip announced.

Michelle picked up her little wrap to ward off the cool New York spring night air and they walked down into the lobby, Michelle's cuffs and anklets reminding her always of their presence with her every step. Her breasts undulated invitingly, her sensitive, ringed nipples poking through again under her thin bodice, as Philip glanced over appreciatively.

Michelle smiled back at her man, proud that her body could still turn him on at a glance.

" Lincoln Center, please," Philip said to the taxi driver. "Right away," the young driver replied. Ten minutes."

And in 10 minutes the happy couple rolled up to the brightly-lit, ornate steps of the famous Lincoln Center. Throngs of people were entering as Michelle and Philip ascended the big, marble stairs into the huge, cathedral-ceilinged lobby loaded with chandeliers, portraits and music from a chamber quartet playing selections from La Boheme .

They were escorted to their box and Michelle and Philip sat, holding hands, waiting for the audience to fill and settle down as the orchestra members filed into the pit, already tuned and ready for the concertmaster and conductor. Michelle quietly wished she could have sex with this man who sat beside her right then and there.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the national anthems of the United States of America and France," said a voice over the huge sound system.

Pavarotti and Renee Flemming, as the fated lovers, walked out onstage, holding hands both dressed in period costumes, as the orchestra and audience rose as one. A hush fell. Philip and Michelle rose, holding hands still, and the lights dimmed as conductor Claudio Abbado stroked the downbeat as the majestic strains of The Star-Spangled Banner filled the huge opera.

Hundreds of voices sang as one, led by the tenor, Pavarotti, and soprano, Flemming, as pride, sentiment and emotion filled the classic edifice, bringing a lump to every American throat.

Michelle thought the Star-Spangled Banner was the most patriotic anthem she had ever heard. But after a long tympani roll, when the orchestra broke into La Marseillaise, the emotional music and words, borne of the French Revolution's pain, struggle, rally, victory and resolution, took her breath away.

The audience seated and Michelle and Philip sat quietly as curtain rose. From 8:30 to 10:30 p.m., the couple were swept up in a spell of rapturous Romantic music expressing unrequited love, coquettishness, tragedy and death as only opera can do.

Although Michelle could not understand the librettos, Philip guided her gently by whispered explanations of who was doing what to whom and why and what would happen next.

Too soon, Rodolfo's haunting cries of "Mimi! Mimi!!" on learning his love has died, was over. And to rapturous applause, Michelle's first La Boheme -- one of the world's most beloved operas -- was concluded.

Back at their hotel a half-hour later, Philip, utterly moved by what he had just seen and heard, asked Michelle if she would like go out dancing.

After hearing the wonderful Puccini music and libretti, Michelle had to decline. She wanted to spend the last several hours with this special man, snuggle with him one last night; Sunday afternoon loomed too quickly.

That night, they lay together, naked, Michelle unbound for the first time in two days, and they hugged and kissed as though it was their last night on earth.

"Happy Witchie?" Philip asked, caressing his lover's left breast gently. "A penny for your thoughts."

Michelle was silent, struggling for words to describe how she felt about her weekend.

"Just hug me, Philip; tie me if you wish but I know I am safe, happy and content with you just as I am. I can still feel the ropes and chains on my body , even though they are not there. Your presence is like the ropes and chains that have bound me and I love it."

She felt Philip's manhood stirring against her and snuggled closer still. Philip drew his arms around Michelle's hips and she gently slid her body on top of his. Unbound, using her own strength, she impaled her sex deeply on his stiffening, thick cock.

Philip groaned as Michelle made love to him, passionately, deeply, meaningfully, communicating with him with her eyes only, filling her mental boudoir once again with as many memories as she could before they had to say goodbye.

Their sex that last night was steamy, yet romantic but, somehow, elusive as Michelle and Philip lay in one another's arms, silent, thoughtful, resting, Philip's manhood still embedded deeply inside his woman. They had feasted on each other's minds and bodies and had consummated their appetites, their libidos, their imaginations -- their very beings -- and they had loved every moment

Too soon, it was over, almost with operatic denouement.

Sunday afternoon, a grey, drizzly day in New York City, arrived far too early for both of them and they were quiet, sad, as they made their way back across the Brooklyn Bridge to JFK Airport, 40 minutes to the southeast from their charming hotel.

Hand-in-hand, they walked slowly to Gate 38D, looked at the huge digital clock overhead and Michelle and Philip held each other, unwilling, unready to let the weekend go.

"Air Canada Flight 128 now boarding for Halifax International Airport; last boarding call, please," the PA system announced.

The two sat quietly, each immersed in their own thoughts, on the way back. At Halifax, far too soon, Philip bade Michelle a warm farewell as she found the small gate for her connecting flight to Charlottetown.

"Write soon," Michelle told Philip as she let him go for the last time. "Thank you for this wonderful time; I shall never forget New York City. Or you."

"Goodbye, Michelle," Philip waved solemnly. "Go now. I'll write." Philip turned away, unable to say goodbye any other way without feeling vague, remote pain, a remnant of his years on sea duty in the navy.

Michelle sat on her short flight home with a heavy heart, wondering if she would ever hear from this wonderful man again who had made her feel like such a woman in such an incredibly romantic city, in such an unimaginably short time.

At home many hours later, Michelle did not hear from Philip for several weeks and her several questioning emails went unanswered. She thought he had abandoned her; heartbroken, bereft, she felt utterly abandoned, alone.

June 6, 2004, dawned bright, sunny and warm over her little white bungalow and Michelle sat disconsolately at her keyboard, checking her inbox for the usual spam and stuff.

 She sat at her keyboard and waited, thinking idly of Samuel Becket's theatre-of-the-absurd play, Waiting for Godot . Nothingness.

Suddenly, "Ping!" and the message "You have one new email" appeared on her monitor. It was from him!

"Goodness," Michelle thought. "Where has he been?"

"Hi Witchie," it said lightly. "Are you up to another story collaboration, dear heart?"

"Where the hell have you been, sailor?" Michelle wrote back.

"Not far, my love," came the prompt reply. "Not far away at all."