How White My Jodhs Can Be

by Victor Von Doum and animegirlwithagun

 

Note: this story follows the events of Lyfftway to Heaven

Closing time

At 4:52pm on a late summer casual Friday with almost the whole staff having left early, the main hallway of the recording label Vibe Records fills with the sound of boot heels stomping determinedly down the old oak hardwood of its converted loft space. Iza strides briskly in her full equestrienne garb of polished black knee-high riding boots, swan-white form-fitting jodhpurs, a sky blue ribbed long-sleeved top under a camel hair-toned riding coat. In her right hand, a long black leather riding glove carries a letter in an envelope.

In her mid-20s, of mixed Asian descent, standing 1.65m (5’ 5”), athletically toned, with gorgeous amber eyes and long lustrous raven hair normally flowing to her mid-back (but currently tied in a high ponytail) Iza stops in front of the glass door of her former manager’s boss’ rather expansive office, the Vice President of Ops. The stenciled lettering reads, somewhat cheekily:

Victor Boucledor
Vibe President of Operations

Iza sees Vic off to the side, in the lounge portion of the office in front of a deep sofa clicking the flatscreen TV remote. She opens the door without knocking, and marches right in. Vic looks up and sees this gorgeous creature walk straight up to him and hand him the envelope.

“Oh, hi Iza. What seems the matter?” About to click off the TV, he explains what he’s watching. “Just checking out a documentary about old Hollywood’s glamorization of smoking with its sexy stars like Lauren Bacall, Marlene Dietrich, Jean Harlow…although personally I don’t see the glamor in getting clothes all stinky and tobacco stained. And I sure don’t see the appeal of kissing an ashtray.”

He apologies for digressing and adds, “You look more than a little ticked.”

Iza replies, in an annoyed-borderline angry tone, “Yes, Vic, I am. I’m submitting my letter of resignation, effective immediately. I left my old job thinking that I could fix all the IT issues around here—that my manager hired me to fix—but I can’t. She left a few months ago, and no one’s replaced her. I need an actual budget, but no one can tell me what it’s going to be. People who don’t know IT keep shooting me down in meetings. Basically, this job no longer gives me the slightest satisfaction. She told me that this role would drive my imagination. All I get is useless information—the “I” in IT—about why I lose hours of work when my system crashes. Tired of this losing streak, Vic. I’ve just got to go, that’s what I say.”

Left understandably unsaid: Iza’s other lack of satisfaction. Nearly a year since her surreal experience with another Victor, the archangel Raphael (initially) in disguise, she has yet to come close to the same experience with any mere mortal men. Raphael, “God heals” in Hebrew, sure healed her all right: whereas before his visit she found reaching orgasm very challenging, now she can’t get enough.

 

 

Angel eyes, that old devil sent

Raphael had rendered her erogenous zones—her lips, her neck, her nipples, and of course her love button—all hypersensitive, to the point that she finds herself Mr Buzzy self-satisfying almost daily. Her longtime boyfriend Gilbert, a lanky Asian-Canadian around her age, couldn’t keep up with her new libido. In desperation, she confessed to him her fascination with boots and bondage and showed him all her new playtoys, admitting how often she used them without him and offering to romp with them together. He couldn’t understand any of it and told her he had to leave and think about it. She reached out to him, but he ended up not returning her calls and texts, preferring his video games as solace. Iza made good on her earlier, now-prophetic words to her best friend Heather, “I’ve absolutely GOT to get the bf into this whole scene. If he turns me down, I am so out.” Iza simply had to let Gilbert go: a painful but necessary process. (Iza wasn’t just some girl to him; they had been dating for a long time.)

Many months passed.

While Iz decidedly does not dig the hook-up culture, several weeks ago when she and Heather (who does) went out to the bars, they both landed guys—this time, both mixed Asian beauties picked a couple slightly older (maybe early 30s) White guys—and all went back to Iza’s apartment. To Iza’s embarrassment, just semi-heavy making out on the couch almost made her cum. (The guy had barely started feeling her up when her juices down low began stirring, nearly culminating in a big O.) Embarrassed, she fumbled for an excuse to run to the bathroom before apologizing that she wasn’t feeling well: a big lie—quite the opposite in fact—but flustered in front a man she had just met, she had to think of something.

After her guy and Heather and hers all left, Iza took out her vibe. She’d bought it at the Love Store in downtown Toronto right before Raphael had picked her up in his Lyfft and had used it telekinetically on her—a many-ways bound and gagged Iza—to three massive Os, all of them while straining against the bonds around her wrists, her booted ankles, boot-tops, thighs, making her squeal into her various gags: first hogtied and stuffed cleave-gagged, then frogtied and ball gagged, and then in an Eiffel Tower lower spreadeagle tie, ball-gagged and microfoam wrap-gagged. When she awoke to Heather’s nudging that evening, Iza found the outfit she’d worn that day—and wearing during her B&G O-sessions with Raphael—in perfect condition hanging in her closet, an impossibility without some serious angelic time-travel powers. Even that night, Iza noticed her new sexual sensitivity and couldn’t believe her good fortune. Once finding it difficult to O, it’s almost—almost—become too easy. With her store-bought bandanas, ball gag, microfoam tape, ropes, and Hitachi, she frequently feels the deep need to try out different self-bondage positions and thoroughly enjoys the experiences that she gets using her vibe while bound and gagged.  

Of course, with these newfound great sexual powers must come great sexual responsibility. Iza is not finding this pressure easy to handle. The night she almost O’d and then feigned not feeling well, she was reaching her almost-daily O when her vibe slipped out of her right hand—she was using her left hand on her nipples—and onto her hardwood floor with a buzz-killing thud. It had broken, much to Iza’s dismay. With her job so crazy the past couple of weeks, she hasn’t had time to go back to the place where she bought it to return it as defective. She’s also gotten so used to her Hitachi that mere tactile self-pleasure simply doesn’t measure up anymore.

 

Won't dish the dirt with the rest of the girls

Vic accepts the envelope reluctantly and asks, “Where are you going, Iz? What can I do to make you stay? Otherwise, we’re going to miss you around here.”

“Thanks, Vic. I’m going a ride, to clear my head.” Iza rides horses regularly, but only on weekends. With the workplace outfit she had planned on wearing today not washed, she wore her equestrienne outfit instead, not actually—at least consciously—planning resigning from her job today until she had reached her final limit of frustration.

With her resignation, she thinks of how attracted she’s always felt toward Vic—a tall, chiseled thirty-year-old man of French-Vietnamese descent, sporting a close-cropped anchor-style moustache-beard-and-sideburns combo, a few flecks of salt starting in his otherwise mostly peppery facial hair. She remembers how she noticed him when she interviewed at Vibe, when still at her old job in downtown Toronto, and how his Eurasian looks made her pull a double take. Although the two of them don’t work closely together, she’s always found him engaging: his exotic biracial looks—Eurasian skin tone, piercing green eyes, dark brown hair with just a hint of blond highlights—easy smile, and sense of humor intrigue her. Plus, he’s a few years older, making him act almost mature (you know, for a guy). She remembers how she didn’t even know his name when she first started at Vibe, but how she chuckled when she found it the same as the earthly name of her Lyfft driver -slash- angel who magically bestowed upon her these vastly increased sensitivities. She also chuckles on the inside how she laughed when she found out the name of the company, Vibe, matched that of her favorite playtoy.

Iza thinks about the office gossip she’s recently heard about Vic. She also notices him noticing her polished black equestrienne boots.

Vic continues, “OK, Iz, I do understand. Working IT in a start-up recording company must make a pro like you stressed out. It’s a little nuts around here with our mixture of old and new equipment. While we’re sorry to see you go, I of course respect your wishes. Please wait there while I file the resignation with HR. They leave RIGHT at 5 o’clock. I’d also like to hold a short exit interview with you when I get back.”

Vic attempts to send an email to HR before 5:00pm but his laptop crashes. Frustrated, Vic remembers some forms in his upper desk drawer. He realizes it’s stuck and opens it up rather clumsily to grab a piece of paper and pushes it back hastily. The coffee cup on his desk spills some of its hours-old contents onto the desk.

Crap. I’ll wipe it up when I get back, Vic thinks.

He turns to Iza with a “See, a crashed laptop and a sticky desk drawer. I can see how the IT here must have frustrated you,” he chuckles. “Got to get to HR before they leave. BRB, Iz, cool?”

“Sure. See you back in a few,” silently dreading the exit interview. She does not like feeling like a quitter.

With Vic gone, Iz looks at Vic’s desk and sees a mostly empty coffee cup and some spillage, looking in and around his desk for some paper towels to wipe it up. She starts to open a drawer when she notices the drawer that hadn’t closed all the way. In front of the hanging folders, Iza sees a plastic bag with coils of cotton rope, several bandannas, a red ball gag, some microfoam tape, and a Hitachi.

“Whaaaa….?” Iz queries out loud upon viewing these items. Instantly her mind travels to possibilities.

She quickly heads to the interior windows and door and draws all the blinds. She walks back over to the corner of the desk and its semi-open drawer full of toys and peering in, she wants to confirm what she just saw. She moves up against to the desk, picks up the Hitachi to make sure it’s the real deal. As she grabs it, the spilled coffee on the desk flows slightly onto the lower crotch area of her jodhpurs.

“Shit!” Iza exclaims.

Vibe still in hand, she looks around more for those elusive paper towels: no luck. With her free hand, she takes out a purple bandana from the stash, ready to blot the coffee stain from her crotch. She finds the red ball gag right below it and picks it up too.

At that moment, Vic returns and sees Iz by his drawer full of toys, holding the vibe in one hand and the bandana and ball gag in the other, exclaiming “shit” at what he sees she’s just found. Iza turns toward Vic, with the hand holding the bandana and ball gag to cover up the small brown stain on her white crotch area, the other clumsily attempting to hide the vibe behind her back.

“Oh, hey, Iza,” Vic casually notes as he sees her holding the items.

“Uh…hey yourself, Vic,” she replies, nervously and perhaps a little coyly.

“Whatcha got there?” Vic asks.

“Um, oh, nothing,” Iza stammers, knowing full well he knows. “OK, fine, I was looking for some paper towels and I stumbled across a few things.”

Vic raises an eyebrow as if to ask, “And…?”

“Yeah, so, uh…” she continues her stammer before setting the picking up the whole bag of toys, setting it on the desk and putting the vibe and the purple bandana and ball gag on top of its contents. Vic watches as Iza walks over to the inner office door and locks it.

Not even thinking, walks back to her findings on the desk and delivers, “Vic, you know something? You’re kinda cute.”

Vic raises both his eyebrows this time. He’s obviously always found the gorgeous, slightly younger—and also Asian—Iza very attractive too, but she started at Vibe with his marriage still intact, so he never acted on it.

“I’m ready for my interview now,” as she takes her right arm and moves it down toward to her right boot.

Vic’s wearing jeans over a pair of black cowboy boots, black belt with a pewter buckle, and light forest green polo shirt tucked in. Iz notices his growing excitement in front of his jeans, at the sight of her gloved hand running across the leather of her knee-high equestrienne footwear.

“So, I see you’ve found the toy drawer,” he dryly notes.

“Indeed, I have. And if the rumors are true, then we should not run into any issue with them, should we?”

“Rumors…?”

“That you and your wife are divorcing. That you’ve both already filed.”

“Yes, it’s true,” Vic replies. Motioning toward the bag o’ tricks, he continues, “It’s also true that I’ve always held a fascination for these items, so I bought ‘em to spice things up a bit, thinking maybe my soon-to-be-ex would humor me with them. Buuuuttttt, no: wouldn’t ever test them out with me. It snowballed and became a major issue, one of many leading to our split. I grabbed them all when I moved out. Never even got to use them.”

 

Sense of duty to offer

“Well then, I am sorry to hear it. I’m also NOT sorry,” Iza admits, continuing, “In this interview, I am going to make a few points: one, how my work here lately has given me zero satisfaction; two, my official resignation means no harassment issues possible; and three, with you now single again…you may find the following offer acceptable.”

“Offer…?”

“You mentioned kissing earlier.”

“I did—”

“Well, let’s skip that stage.”

End of Part One