How I met Louise 
by freemanthesecond@yahoo.co.uk
Chapter 3 A Drink


"Who was he, that bloke, was he your boyfriend?"

"Are you interested in him or are you interested in me?" said Louise.

It wasn't a question and I didn't answer. Instead I stared at her with eyes
that I tried hard to stop from becoming doe-like, and I tried not to let the
weakness in my legs show and in short I tried not to look like a limp rag who
wanted to blurt out "you, Louise, you"

"I'm going for a drink", she said, and she turned and walked up the street. I
watched her legs pulsate with delicate smooth ridges of muscle as she walked
in her high heels loudly clacking up the pavement. I watched her just for a
second, and then I ran up to her and joined her.

"Where are you going, its nearly 2", I said as I danced alongside her like a
medieval fool capering at the skirts of his queen, being careful not to get in
the way, trying not to be left behind. She strode on purposefully.

"You must know somewhere, don't you", and fortunately I did.

I carefully slid my hand between her body and her upper arm and ever so gently
squeezed to catch her attention, and steered her to the left. She lifted up
her forearm and folded it across her waist, so that her arm swelled and forced
my fingers open. I squeezed harder, feeling the pleasure in that hardness,
exploring the swell and curve of that arm without moving my fingers pressing
each gently in turn and allowing the reverie of the moment to push all else
out of my mind. Her muscle felt like china, hard, uncrushable, smooth, and I
found my fingers gradually tightening more and more until my knuckles hurt and
I was starting to twist my body and grimace in order to squeeze harder and
harder, until I was trotting along behind her like a little twisted gnome,
dragged along by my grip on her muscle. Louise turned and smiled briefly,
briefly pressing with the lightest of pressure my hand between her arm and her
body, and then strode on up the street, dragging me behind her like a child
skipping to keep up with its mother, gripping for all it's worth for fear of
separation.

We continued like this from turn to turn with me steering her from behind,
squeezing the hard globe of her muscle as hard as my soft fingers could
squeeze, directing her but being dragged behind while she sailed up the road
majestic and purposeful.

Soon we approached Albricht's Bar, the venue of my choice, a bar where I was
indeed well known, so as soon as the door and the doorman came into sight I
let go of her arm. I didn't want the macho doorman to see me clinging to this
superwoman, who would just look like any other party girl to him, someone that
he was conditioned to think he needed to protect - a member of the weaker
defenceless sex. To him I would look ridiculous clinging to her arm, so I let
go and pointed in the direction of the entrance, straightening myself up and
preparing to lead the way.

"Are you going somewhere else?" said Louise, stopping and turning to face me.
She let her arm fall to her side, but let her muscles gently flex while her
arm hung down. I spluttered, and without another word she turned sideways on
to me, and my hands almost by themselves reached out, both of them, to grasp
her arm. Once again she lifted her forearm to her waist so that her bicep
forced my fingers apart, making me grip harder. She gave me one of those
smiles over her shoulder, a mark of approval that left me entirely imprisoned
in her power, and walked up to the door and straight past the doorman without
even a glance. He rushed to hold the door open for her and didn't even seem to
notice me, my erection or my foolish face as I was dragged past, trotting like
a Chinese eunuch into the club.

Inside Albricht's it was hot and busy. The band were just announcing their
final number, and the room was packed with dancers and drinkers, but they were
all crammed into the area in front of the band, and the bar was almost
deserted.

"Red wine", said Louise, and shrugging my hands away from her arm she headed
into the tightly packed crowd. I walked to the bar and bought two large
glasses and carried them into the crowd as quickly as possible. She had forced
her way through all the standing crowd to the edge of the equally jam-packed
dance floor. I say dance floor, but in this sardine tin club the only
difference between those standing packed tight together and those dancing
packed tight together was a gentle swaying movement. It was quite an
achievement to locate her and to force my way through the crowd to stand next
to her.

I passed Louise one of the glasses, but after she took the drink she turned to
stand directly in front of me and the weight of the crowd pressed me hard
against her back, so I put an arm around her waist and she leaned her head
back against my shoulder with her face next to mine, and I felt a tremendous
surge of confidence and calm flow through me, and I rested my head on her
shoulder, relaxed and listened to the pumping jazz.

"Hold my drink." She held it out in front of her so that I had to take my arm
away from her waist and reach across her shoulder, and since she was at least
as tall as me, that meant standing on tip toes and leaning hard against her
back. Just as I took the glass, she crouched down very slightly, flicked out
her backside so it pressed into my crotch, and lifted me up so I found myself
riding on her bum, feet off the floor, a bit like a piggy back but with my
feet down, pressed tight against her by the weight of the crowd.

After the initial surprise I relaxed completely, like a sheet of wallpaper
pasted to her back, head resting against hers, one arm holding her glass over
her shoulder, my other arm holding my drink around her waist, legs dangling
down. To a casual observer I suppose we would just look like two people
standing close together, but I was actually being supported on her backside,
and all my weight was on my cock on her bum. Cocks are almost as strong as
Louise, I thought as I felt it swell under all that pressure.

And then she started to dance.

As I've already said, dancing in Albricht's was a relative thing. The place
was so packed that pretty much all you could do was sway. Human ingenuity is
amazing, however, and despite the crush some people were dancing in
recognizable couples, some were managing to wave their arms about, and despite
the press of people, individuals were coming and going with, or to find,
partners.

I was coming. All my weight on my cock on Louise's arse, and now she starts
swaying as if I'm not there. I press myself hard against her for safety - I
don't want to fall off - but I feel like a rag doll being dangled across her
shoulder and down her back, the only active part of me my pulsating prick
already glued to my underpants

"Drink" she says, her mouth right next to my ear on my lolling head, and I
move, with great effort my arm over her shoulder in a vague movement and she
reaches up and takes the glass, takes a drink and puts the glass back in my
hand. I sag once more, a dead weight, like a sack of coal that she is carrying
across her back, while all the time she sways to the music, shifting her
weight from one foot to the next, all the time keeping her arse stuck out
behind to make a little shelf for my cock - and my whole body - to rest on.

"You drink", she says.

It takes a second. My drink is in my hand round her waist, under her arm. I
have to concentrate. I have to move my hand out from under her arm, around in
front of her and drink over her shoulder. I pull myself together and
straighten up. I try to withdraw my arm from around her waist, between her arm
and her side but my elbow won't go far enough back and I'm stuck. Helpless. So
now I'm ramrod straight though still not standing on my feet, all attention
and confusion, unable to use one hand to help the other because both have
glasses, so I try to lift the wine glass under her arm pit to my mouth, but I
can't reach, and all the time she is just swaying with me on her back. She
takes the wine glass from me and holds it in front of my face, my head drops
across her shoulder so that her shoulder presses into my throat and my empty
hand instinctively clings to her breast. I press as hard as I can against her
chest to try and pull myself forward across her shoulder, but her breathing
keeps expanding and contracting her chest and weakening my leverage. I flail
around with my feet, trying to clamber up her back, feeling increasingly puny
against this hard solidity of her back and shoulders, her unyielding ribs
which I crush with my hand, but which expand effortlessly with her breathing
and reduce my strength to nothing.

"Drink!" she commands, and so I stretch my head forward as far as it will go
trying to scramble up her back, but as she raises the glass to my face once
more I feel the muscles of her shoulder grow into my throat and the unyielding
massiveness of her back prevents me reaching the glass. With her shoulder in
my throat I involuntarily stretch out my tongue and at last she brings the
glass right up to my lips and tips it slightly, so I have to push my tongue
into the glass and lap up the wine.

"Well done", she says softly, and gives me a little smile which I feel rather
than see, and she stands there swaying slightly while I kick and wriggle on
her back in paroxysms of effort to keep my face and tongue in the glass and
lap out the wine, squeezing her breast with one hand whilst the other lies
uselessly across her shoulder, almost gone to sleep, but never, not even in my
wildest frenzy, forgetting to hold her glass straight.

She controls me with ease and without any pretence to the contrary. How strong
she is. When she feels I have drunk enough wine this way she slips her arm
under mine, using her bent elbow to prise my arm away from her breast, and her
hard nipple. She drops her arm down by her side so that I begin to slide off
her to one side, but she wraps her arm around mine and hoists it over her
shoulder. I feel her biceps flex involuntarily as my arm is carried over her
shoulder between her forearm and muscle, trapped in the crook of her elbow.
Now both of my arms are over her shoulder, and she brings her other arm up to
rest her hand on top of mine, near her glass. This arm too is now imprisoned
in the crook of her elbow, and I can feel this bicep grow as she bends her arm
around mine.

"Drink?" she says again, although it was more of a command than a question. So
I strain and kick to get leverage to reach the glass, throat stretched across
her neck where her head is leaning sideways, lips pursed like a donkey in
heat, tongue out stretching forward so much that I almost cut off the air
supply. She bends her arm with the glass in it towards my mouth, and as she
does so she drops her elbow and so forces down my arm across her shoulder so
pulling me up her back and over her shoulder, pushing my face into the glass
and smiling that Madonna (that's Da Vinci, not da American) smile as I lap it
up braying with effort. All my sensations are alive even as my body is dead,
the blood supply to my arms cut off, the rest of my body a dead weight across
her back which she levers up and down as the whim takes her. Every time she
levers me up I feel the the muscles in her arm grow around my trapped arm, and
every time she lowers me down across that hard back I slide onto the little
ledge of her arse where I wriggle and struggle just so I can feel how securely
she holds me while she dances on, playing her little game with me when she
remembers. And I wriggle and kick my legs and eject pounds of cum into my
pants, and I feel how impotent I am, and how strong she is and how much in
love I am and how safe I feel.

I am just a sack of rice with a donkey's head, lapping wine out of a glass,
while Louise wraps me around her standing like a colossus, all the time
swaying to the music, sometimes running her free hand through her hair so that
her muscles flex and swell for the whole crowd to see, stopping her movement
only to lever me up her back and force my nose into the glass, smiling at my
paroxysms on her back and all that cum, cum, cum, and I am completely
helpless, legs dead, arms dead, mouth reduced to sucking and grunting and
Louise making me do all this, controlling, controlling.

Then the band stops.

They've already played two encores while Louise has been training me to lap up
wine, and I am not the only one worked up into a frenzy, as the band complete
their finale. But now as the clapping dies away and Louise stops dancing and
levers me up her back again to force my nose into the glass once more, I
notice that people are beginning to leave. The house lights come on, a little
anyway. The bar's still open so they're not too bright, but I suddenly feel
exposed. All my thrashing about draped over Louise's back were actually quite
small movements: but still, you can't have an orgasm draped across a girls
back without a few people being curious. Although my body is completely
drained as I lie across her like a wet towel moulded to the shape of her back
and shoulders, I decide that I better stand on my own two feet. I stretch out
to reach the ground which I can do on tip-toe and I slide off Louise's bum
onto the floor. My legs want to buckle, but I force them to take my weight and
I stand up, almost straight.

Louise still has hold of my arms, and now they are really stretched across her
shoulders, so that I am forced to remain on my toes, and I feel like I'm being
stretched on a rack. My face is still next to hers and she says quietly to me

"Do you want to hold your own drink?" It is not a question, it is a
punishment.

I realise that I have betrayed her, yet the cold hard tone of her voice also
gives me another erection as I realise the strength of her control.

"No", I groan, and it is a groan more like "Narrrrrgh". I know what I have to
do. Without any help from Louise I climb back onto her bum, which involves
stretching up as high as possible, leaning against her and wriggling up her
back onto her seat, until my cock rests once more on that little ledge, and I
am once more draped like a football supporters flag across her back.

And that is what I am, a flag draped across her back; an advert for her
strength and power to everyone else in the room. What started off in the
privacy of darkness is now to be exhibited in the light. I can get off her
back, a betrayal of our intimacy for which I will be punished by her
departure, or I can lie across her back, in her control, while I am paraded to
the rest of the room, in Louise's particular version of the possessive cuddle.
After all, if I liked being on her back I shouldn't be ashamed to be seen
there, right? Yeah, right!

If I valued my dignity I should get off and move away - betray her.

If I loved her I would stay on her back and ignore the sneers - surrender

Really, there wasn't any choice.