How I met Louise   Chapter 4    In the pub
Freemanthesecond@yahoo.co.uk



To stay draped across her back is total surrender, to get off is to reject
her, and to suffer the punishment. Love demands total surrender, and I am in
love. I love her strength, and I love her power, I worship every swelling
muscle, and I long to fuse with her, to be absorbed into her, to cum into her
for ever and ever. I am hers, I belong to her, I am her slave, I worship her.
So I remain draped across her back, arms across her shoulders, resting all my
weight on my dick on the little shelf on the top of her bum, her powerful arms
wrapped around mine so that she holds me prisoner, levering me up and down her
back at will, while the lights come on and the throng of humanity streams past
us away from the stage and towards the bar and the exit.

The man standing next to her - 30 a banker in a pullover I'd guess - says to
no one in particular:

"They're a great band, fantastic"

Louise does not reply, until the guy turns and looks directly at her.

"What time is the bar open 'till?" she says.

"Oh, you've got plenty of time yet, never in a rush to close here", he says.

Silence. Louise looks at him. She holds his gaze. She won't let him look at me
draped over her shoulder and down her back. If he looks away from her eyes
he's lost and he has to walk away: she holds him in her stare like a rabbit in
the headlights, just as imprisoned as I am across her back.

The silence seems to last forever. I'm looking down and in the silence I see
the bulge in his trousers begin to grow. Still there is silence. Louise takes
the glass of wine out of my hand and still holding him in the beacon of her
eyes, puts the glass to her lips and empties it.

Still silence. Finally she makes a gesture of impatience and starts to turn
away, the golden rays of warmth from her gaze move off her victim, and he
instantly feels the cold.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he says, a pleading tone in his voice. When he gets
home he'll reflect endlessly on that long silence and his slowness in asking
that question.

She looks at him again, this time with her cold hard stare. A second passes
while his knees begin to tremble in fear of what the answer might be. A second
passes. He is her slave now. All his independent will has disappeared, and he
merely waits for her instruction as to his fate. His shoulders begin to droop
with disappointment, but I notice that the bulge in his pants is still getting
larger, and he shuffles nervously, trying to hide it, wriggling under Louise's
gaze of contempt, and getting off on it.

"Please?" he adds plaintively.

"Red wine", she says dismissively, putting her empty glass in his hand, and
turning away from him.

When he has finally gone she levers me up her back by pulling my arms down
over her shoulders, and sticks the other wine glass in front of my nose, an
inch out of reach, so I wriggle and squirm to extend my head to reach the
glass, stick my tongue into it and lap up the wine as best as I can, the
wriggling of my body with all my weight pressed down on my cock against her
back, and the feeling of complete helplessness I have as she physically
controls me mean that the squirming soon becomes a wave of cumming and I start
braying as I lap up the wine out of the glass, as the people stream past and
the room empties around us leaving no hiding place, and making us an impromptu
floor show, and I don't care.

Louise lets me carry on like this for a second, and as I look back I can
imagine her face, looking at me with that indulgent good puppy dog look, while
with one forearm pressing down on my straight arms she holds me over her
shoulder, while with the other hand she carefully and attentively holds the
glass just out of comfortable reach, amused by my antics like a performing
animal.

Then she takes the wine glass away from my face, finishes the wine and then
'drops' the glass on the floor, where it smashes with a loud bang attracting
the attention of anyone who wasn't already looking at me trembling in waves of
cum on her back, and a split second later, when she is sure that everyone has
seen us, she straightens her body, raises both arms to her hair, where she
proceeds to execute some complex curling and stroking motion, the effect of
which is for her arm muscles to flex into beautiful round globes, her tanned
skin whitening as it stretches over the peaks of the swelling biceps, and her
red dress tortured by her shoulders as they ripple underneath it.

Straightening her body removes the little shelf on which I had been balanced,
and since she is no longer holding my arms I slide off her back
unceremoniously onto the floor, where my legs are, momentarily, because I have
cum and cum, and am still cumming, too weak to support me and I stumble into a
heap on the floor.

The glass crashing was a clarion call across the room. Very many people had
left already, and the largest majority of drinkers were not interested in a
strong woman publicly humiliating a man, but as I unsteadily got to my feet, I
was aware of all those who were, hiding like shadows in the dim lighting,
wolves in the forest of disinterested couples, but now allowed by the breaking
of the glass to look openly at me stretched across Louise's shoulders, and
seeing me dumped on the floor being left in no doubt what the dangers of
seeking an audience with Louise might be, but also by my departure seeing that
for those brave enough to compete for her attention, the Arena was open for
business.

"Sit down" she said to me without turning round. She continued to stand in the
middle of the emptying room, playing with her hair and flexing her muscles,
her dress pulled up by her upraised arms also lifting up her delicious breasts
into great swellings pushing out of the top of her clinging dress the same way
that her shoulders were exploding out of the sleeves and her thighs were
stretching the hem, a pulsating show of power and charisma, a clear signal to
those foolhardy enough to risk annihilation,that the Goddess would receive
their embassies.

I struggled to my feet and onto a seat at a table revealed by the retreating
tide of humanity and watched while Louise stood up alone, strong, playing with
her hair, flexing. Two young men about 20 approached, one spoke.

"Mind that glass, you'll cut yourself, I'll get someone to clear it up", he
said to Louise, who was making not the slightest effort to even pretend to
pick up the glass. He waited for his reward, which was a beaming smile, and
off he went like a dog after rabbits. He was very camp, as was his friend,
obviously gay I would say, if I wanted to be accused of stereo- typing, and
his companion, at first intending to go with his friend, arm in arm, instead
raised the courage to say:

"Anything I can do, chuck?"

"That's a really lovely jacket you're wearing", said Louise, waiting just long
enough for him to say, "do think so? It was only cheap, not like your dress,
that's really cool", continued "do you know your way around in here? I need to
buy some grass"

"Oh, I don't really do much of that" he said

"That's OK, if you don't know the right people, you could go and help your
friend", she said, now beginning to once again to preen herself. She was
losing interest.

"Bitch!" he said very quietly, and she turned and smiled at him.

"I'll talk to you later", she said in a very gentle voice, " but I need to get
the glass cleared up now. Shake?" And she offered him her hand. As he took it
I saw the muscles on her arm flex and felt, rather than saw, the strength of
the grip. It was not enough to actually hurt him, but enough to squash his
limp offering and send a message about who was the man around here.

"If you can find some weed I would be really grateful", she said, and he
nodded and left.

Immediately he moved away an older man wearing expensive clothes approached
her. He crouched down in front of her and began to pick up the larger pieces
of broken glass. She allowed her leg muscles to run up and down her thighs,
whilst still flexing her biceps in her hair and looking down at him. Even
though he was working at picking up the glass it was an act of abasement and
domination, although you could perhaps read it as the chivalrous Knight
kneeling before his lady.

"Is your friend drunk?" he said, looking up at her, his eyes travelling up the
length of her pulsating thighs, across her taut waist, her dress stretched
across the in-turning curve and over her breasts, needing to lean back
slightly since he was directly underneath them, to see her downturned face.

"You better keep your eyes on the floor or you'll cut yourself", she said to
him, but at the same time her arms went down to the dress over her thighs and
she started to brush off imaginary crumbs, flexing her thigh muscles hard as
she did so. Her brushing had no effect on any crumbs, since there weren't any,
but it did have the effect of pulling her hemline up and down, revealing the
massive hardness of her thighs, and showing more and more of her leg until the
dress revealed the bulge of her cunt through her knickers - red panties to
match her dress. His head turned to the floor on her instruction could barely
keep looking down as he sensed rather than saw the movement above his head.
Just at the moment that her dress got high enough she said:

"What did you say?"

He looked directly up at her cunt and her face at the same time, and blushed
beetroot red, but she smiled a big smile at him, and then turned her face
away, while still, momentarily, holding her dress up over her bulge. It was
clear permission for him to stare at her cunt straining through her pants on
top of her tightly flexed thighs, and for me let alone him, this vision of raw
sexual power held its observer spellbound for an eternity, even though the
vision probably lasted less than a second.

"I just wondered if your friend was alright", he said

She brushed her dress down and said:

"Why do you ask?" and he, still looking up at her, all pretence of clearing up
the glass now gone, said:

"Er, You seemed to be holding him up, that's all" he stammered bright red and
with blood now dripping from the cut on his hand that she had promised him if
he looked up at her, but which he didn't notice.

"I'm just a girl", she said once again adjusting her hair so that as he looked
up the length of her body, she seemed to stand over him like the victor over a
vanquished foe, her biceps peaking and his kneeling posture becoming
imperceptibly one of adoration and worship of her physical strength and her
total psychological domination of him. "Do you think I'd be strong enough to
pick someone up?"

As she looked down on him she made a tiny step forward with one leg to bring
her thigh directly in front of his face. Her knee pushed into his chest and
pushed him slightly off balance. He reached out and gripped her leg just above
the knee whilst he was forced to bend even further back to see her face over
her breasts. As he gripped her thigh tightly to avoid falling backwards, her
already hard muscle grew and expanded under his hand, forcing his fingers
apart, compelling him to bring his other arm round to the back of the leg to
keep his balance, so he was now only being held up off the floor by his grip
on her leg. Her foot was between his knees, her knee in his chest forcing him
back while he hugged her knee with both arms to avoid being pushed over, his
head lolling back so he could still see her face. The act of submission to her
was complete, and it only remained for her to push her knee further into his
body to send him crashing to the floor at her feet, but instead she let him
remain kneeling at her feet, clinging to her leg. She put her hands on her
hips and looked directly into his eyes, seeming to bore down into them. Whilst
I have no doubt that she was fully aware of the all the eyes in the room
staring at her, her gaze swallowed him up and he had no choice but to look
into her eyes, all consciousness of anything but her banished. He was hers.

"A girl wouldn't be strong enough, would she?" she repeated, just pushing her
knee slightly further into his chest, so that he was pushed back off his knees
and completely unbalanced. He gripped her leg with his knees, and moved one of
his hugging arms so that he could get a higher grip with that hand on her
thigh, which he felt her obligingly harden, all in the same movement. He was
now wrapped round her leg like a spaniel on heat. She folded her arms across
her chest, each hand gripping the flexing bicep of the other arm.

"Would she?" she repeated.

"Girls are very strong", he blurted out, but that wasn't the right answer, he
could immediately tell from her face.

"Not all girls are, but you are."

"How do you know that?" she said as she applied just the most imperceptible
pressure to his chest with her knee, forcing him to cling on to her more
tightly still, and feeling her thigh muscle ripple under his hand.

"I can feel that you're really strong, you could pick me up with one hand, you
could carry me round on your leg and you wouldn't even notice, you could pick
up five men in each hand, your muscles are huge, really fucking huge, you're
way stronger than me, oh your so fucking strong I can't say it ... ... ." and
as he carried on worshipping her in this way his body began to tremble and the
orgasm began to build up in his loins, 'til he was hanging backwards off her
leg rubbing his cock against her shin. He must have been at the very point of
orgasm when she said, quietly, but with that air of threat in her voice that I
mentioned before:

"Stop"

He stopped doing what he was doing immediately, but his whole body became
rigid, stiff as a board, it took every muscle to control himself, and he was
locked onto her leg forever if she did not release him. She looked down at him
strapped to her leg, eyes glued to hers, spaniel face straining with the
effort of control, ran her eye up and down him and said:

"There's no such thing as a free lunch, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes", he whimpered, his eyes pleading with her, and she held his gaze, her
eyes hard and emotionless; his soft, pleading, watery and tearful.

"Cum now" she said, and he did.