How I met Louise
by freeman@oink.co.uk



Chapter one:

It had been a pleasant evening, but it was a cold night. On the way home from
the restaurant in that small historic northern city the streets were fairly
quiet, it being after midnight, but there was still a sprinkling of drunken
home-goers mixed with those still belatedly progressing to the clubs. My
companions and I hurried home ourselves, collars turned up against the cold
and eyes turned down to the ground.

Of course I didn't know then that it was Louise that I saw when a movement
made me glance across the street; it was just another girl wearing only a
dress that was as short as a T-shirt, high heels, a tiny bag on a long thin
shoulder strap and nothing else. She seemed not to notice the bitterness of
the night, as was entirely usual in northern cities: they even had a special
word for it - "nesh" - a mildly derisory word for those who feel cold.

"It's not cold, you're nesh" they might say.

No, it wasn't the lack of clothes, and to be honest, it wasn't even her
figure, at first sight, and at that distance, that caught my attention,
although I'll have to pause and tell you about them. She was about 5'9", with
long light coloured hair. Her micro dress was clinging to all the curves of
her body, and there were plenty of those. She was well built without being
huge. If I look back I can see that she carries not an ounce of fat - well
except her breasts, but they are firm anyway, and were hard as her body in
that cold night.

She did not quite have a perfect hourglass shape, for her legs were longer
than is truly reasonable. The only part of her body which did not punish her
dress when she moved was her waist which allowed the fabric to contract a
little, but that only served to emphasise the strain it was under as it moved
down over her hips and up across her swelling back and chest, and the severe
challenge posed to the strength of the fibres by the punishment it takes as it
crosses over her shoulders, straining at the seams every time she shrugged, or
tossed her head, showing that the british fashion industry is not yet deceased
completely. The short sleeves of her dress were yet the most tormented, as her
muscles flexed and contracted with every careless movement of her arm, and yet
I did not at first notice any of this, because the first thing that I noticed
about her was her smile.

Her face was oval, like a sleeping lady of the lake in a pre-Raphaelite
painting. She had sleepy, slightly hooded, wide green eyes set in an oval
face, which had the trick of looking soft and inviting as well as hard and
dangerous at the same time, perhaps a bit like a 1940's movie femme fatale,
but, whatever, her eyes made you want to climb into them and disappear, at the
same time as they weighed you up with a directness that made my legs tremble.
If the eyes could make me tremble both in fear and in love, then it was her
wide and generous mouth which confirmed in her smile that it was love.

When Louise smiled I felt that I had been judged and found not guilty, setting
my heart on fire and making me boil over with joy. The absence of the smile
was enough to freeze hell. To experience the smile and then lose its
warmth,would make any man, or any man as in love with her as me, feel so
lonely that he may as well be sentenced to life at the North Pole. Death would
be better. But this smile, and these eyes, set in her oval face with the cute
,cute hard as nails chin, and the baby doll nose, were not the first thing
that caught my attention that cold winter night.

The first thing that caught my attention was the man she was with.

He came at her with his arms flailing as if to hit her or to grab her to pull
her to him, I couldn't tell which, but before he could resolve his action, she
straightened her arms in front of her and pushed him hard in the chest. He did
not just stop in his tracks but he seemed to positively stagger backwards, and
then he seemed to begin a slow motion collapse at the knees. She reached out
and grabbed him by his jacket in a big bunch just under his throat, and with
her arm almost outstretched, she held him there, while his knees collapsed and
all his weight transferred to her arm. His head lolled forward and she pulled
him toward her so that her arm shortened and his head rested on her shoulder,
his arms hanging limply by his side. I stared, transfixed, at her, and she,
sensing our presence, turned her head toward us, caught my eye, and smiled.

My two companions did not appear to notice the incident, but I was aflame. I
walked with them as far as the corner, made some excuse about leaving
something in the restaurant, turned round and walked back. Louise was holding
the man against a wall, or shop window, pretty much in the same position I had
seen before; supporting him with one arm, and with the other she seemed to be
feeling in his pockets.

"Need any help?" I said

"Do I look as if I need any help?". Her voice was definately feminine, firmly
in the alto range but it had a richness of sound and a threatening softness
that is more usually associated with Al Pacino. I could almost here her saying
"Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"

"No, I can see that you're in complete control, but I'd like to help if there
is anything that I can do." i pleaded, trying to sound nonchalant, but with an
excitement in my voice that I couldn't quite suppress.

She looked at me for a moment. The green eyes seemed to look into the back of
my head.

"You can take out your dick and wank off" she said

My hands had no choice but to move towards my trouser zip, as if controlled
directly by her voice. They didn't seem to have any choice but to do as they
were told. She kept looking at me with that hard stare and the little smile
playing at the corners of her mouth, still holding the man effortlessly
against the wall with one hand, shifting her body in her little dress, her
muscles rippling up and down her thighs and the bicep on her right arm balled
up hard and large just visible between her and the man she supported so
easily. She turned her body a little towards me, waiting for me to come as
instructed, cock out in the main street. Every fibre of my body wanted to take
out my dick and run my hand up and down it, pointed at the sky, rubbing fast
in my fist - one stroke would have been enough. To stand there hips thrust
forward, knees bent sideways, grasping my knob while watching the muscles in
her arms legs and now her her stomach flex and relax, watching her stare at
me, ordering me to wank, completly in one command , dominant, controlling me
by her sexuality, utterly.

My hands were shaking and my legs were beginning to crumble - I couldn't take
my dick out in the street, but my hands were out of my control.

"I can't wank standing up my legs won't support me" I blurted out in
desperation.

She looked hard at me. I imagined that she, just for a second, was trying to
decide whether this was a genuine problem or insubordination. I hoped she
didn't decide that it was insubordination.

Her left arm reached out and grabbed my coat, catching up a great handful into
a ball under my chin. I felt the coat tighten around my shoulders and under my
arms. Her hand wriggled round catching up more cloth till there was no slack
left in the material and she had phsical control of me. Then another pause
while she looked at me again, her eyes boring into mine, my eyes passive,
afraid even, my whole body still and passive, my hands falling away from my
cock as she gave me a little shake, the tightness of the material obliging my
arms to fall away from my body and dangle helplessly. I was kippered, and
afraid.

Then she lifted me up.

I watched as her arm flexed and a great peak of muscle rose from where only a
smoothly contoured arm had been before. Her forearm rose about a foot and
swelled, and I felt myself lifted off the ground, suspende by my coat so that
my head and arms fell back slightly, lolling backwards, while the coat and the
hand that held the coat pressed hard into my chest and the throat below my
chin.

She held me there for a lifetime, dangling at the end of her arm, and as I
think back now I see myself kicking my feet like a hanging man, my whole life
history, or at least the good bits flashing in front of my eyes. Heaven in an
instant.

Then I was swung violently to one side and slammed into the same shop-window
that the other man was still pressed against. I banged my head against the
unyielding toughened glass, and I didn't like it. The shock of the bang is
certainly the reason why I did not fill my pants with several pounds of
stickiness. For a moment I lost my erection altogether. I just felt like a guy
who has been beaten up, and who can do nothing about it. I wanted to hang my
head and cry.

I opened my eyes and took stock of my situation. I was being forcibly held
against a shop window by the left arm of an incredibly beautiful girl in a
mini-skirt, who was similarly holding up another man with her right arm. We
were both entirely helpless and indeed he appeared to be unconscious, and
whereas his feet were on the floor, I was suspended about a foot off it, and
whereas she was holding him up partly with her body, I was being held by her
outstretched arm against the window, and although her arm was only flexed a
little her bicep bulged out of the short sleeve of her dress like only a very
strong woman's can. Helped only by the window, she was holding up 200lbs in
each hand, standing in high heels and not even breathing hard.

"Do you want me to wank now" I said.

"Haven't you come in your pants already?" she said.

"You didn't give me permission to do that"

She stared at me for an instant, and then the full smile came flooding back.

"You're a funny guy", she said and after a few seconds, and to my intense
disapointment, she put me down.

"I'm Louise" she said, and I told her my name. She let go of the other guy and
he slid to the floor. She reached down and put her right hand under his
trouser belt and lifted him up again by his middle, so that his head and legs
draped on the floor. She reached for something in his pocket, and at the same
time said to me,

"If you wanna help you can get me a taxi"

I hesitated, my shaky legs not anxious to set off all alone down the street,
a feeling of loneliness already welling up inside me at the thought of leaving
her.

"Fuck off then - now!" and she gives me that stare, so my feet reluctantly set
off down the street, but my heart refuses to leave.