Anticipation – Part 2 (Merry Christmas)

He waits as instructed. The room is very dim, the door unlocked. Wine is poured, and soft music is playing. He was to be face down on the bed, naked. He was to wait, quietly, for her to arrive. Mistress will be pleased that he is following instructions. He even shaved “down there”. He isn’t used to it, and it took far longer than he would have anticipated. And now he has a vague itch in the area that he dare not scratch.

Mistress has made it clear that he is not to move until told, and that he was to follow all directions exactly as given, or he would not ever see her again. He has cleaned his home thoroughly, afraid that she would find it lacking. Stocked up on all kinds of wine, food, condoms. He prayed that he wouldn’t forget anything.

He lay there, tried to think of not thinking. Let his mind go. Had a hard time because his cock was being smushed on the bed. Her imminent arrival kept him a constant low state of arousal. He would become fully erect at the memory of her pictures, then become flaccid as he worried about expectations. Will she hurt me for real? Do I get an orgasm? Will I be able to please her? Am I doing this right?

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. He heard a click as the front door opened and shut. Instantly, he was hard again. He thought of her promises of what was to come. Although he had been pegged before, the girl he was with at the time was not really into it. Mistress knew that pegging was a particular favorite of his. His mind again went quickly to all her instructions. Did he do this right?

He had no further time to worry as he felt his left arm rudely jerked to the side and up, handcuffs applied to his wrist and the metal headboard. A few moments later, his right arm followed. He quietly wondered how many sets of cuffs she owned.

She did not speak. She traced a finger down his body, to his ass. He had lubed up, as instructed. He prayed it was enough. He felt her hand dip into his crack, and finger prod into his tight hole. “Relax,” he told himself, over and over again, as she massaged his prostrate. He felt her weight as she got on the bed, knelt between his legs. She used her knees to pry his legs farther apart, as she got closer.

He tried to lift his hips higher, to give her better access to his ass, when he felt a sudden slap. With a quick intake of breath, Mistress hissed, “You were not told to move.” Three successive slaps followed. He could not believe the pain on his buttocks. It felt like a small fire. He wanted to cry.

But just as quickly, he felt a soft massage. “Now do as I say,” Mistress purred, “and open your pretty little ass to me.”

 

Anticipation – part 1

She lay in the dark, or what she assumed was the dark. The blindfold prevented her from knowing fully, but she sensed the darkness, the way a mother might sense her child is in need without any other indication. She could not move, her arms and legs bound with the sturdy ropes, but she could hear. Over there was a far off creak of a door moving, behind her sounded a low hum, an appliance or AC unit?

She only knew that she must wait, be calm, be patient, and she would be rewarded.

Quick footsteps sounded near, and her pulse intensified. She felt the blush of air across her skin, and pinpricks of hair as they stood on end. The coolness of the table she lay on felt even cooler as the movement of air surrounded her naked form, and she shuddered a bit. Gagged, she could not speak, but she could whimper, and so she did.

She started at the touch on her foot, and made to move back, only to be thwarted by the rope across her ankle. The hand slid up her inner leg, her thigh, and she could not move away, as she was spread open to the world. A finger poked into her, swirling a touch, just enough to spread wetness up and around her nub, her pearl of pleasure.

Sighing, she relaxed and let the touch excite her. She felt herself swell as the finger continued to move around her clit, and into her pussy. Suddenly, the finger withdrew. No more touch, no sounds, except her own harsh breathing. She waited, tried to calm herself, straining for any indication of what was to come.

She felt a hand grab her breast. It cupped it at the base, and she felt the tiny pinpricks of the wheel. Motionless now, the urge to cry and retreat, but she must not because that would increase the pain from the pinwheel exponentially. Her sensitive nipple firmed under the wheel’s touch, became hard, and her breath labored once again. The line between pleasure and pain is fine indeed.

Addicted to you – Part 3

I slide my finger over your balls and feel you shudder ever so slightly. You know that I am able to give you immense pleasure, as well as immense pain, and you wonder which it will be this time. As I grab the lube from the bedside table, I order you not to move. Applying a more than generous amount to your crack, I watch as it drips from your ass cheeks to your sac, then puddle on the sheet, glistening in the candlelight.

I step to the side, quickly put on the gear, and the power. You lay still, always following my strictness.

Ever so gently, I begin again to knead your glutes. You sigh, and I know you have begun to surrender to me. You cannot turn back, even if you wanted to. I firmly press my knuckles down the middle, then flatten my hand on the way back up. I edge closer to the space, that luscious space, between the two. Quickly I dip a thumb down, not quite touching the o-ring, but inching.You tighten again. “Relax,” remind you. “I will take care of you. You can trust me.” You sigh again, and relax under the pressure of my fingertips. Implicit permission given, I boldly slip a hand between your cheeks, sliding them up and down, stopping at your nether hole, to quickly dip my index finger into your anus. Then moving on to relax more, sliding up and down, repeating until I sense you giving into me. I insert my whole finger into you, and feel your muscles grip and release, grip and release. Your balls tighten as you become aroused.

I finger your prostrate, and you cannot keep still. You thrust and move your hips to the timing of the plunges. It is time.

“Turn over!” I command, and you do so more quickly than I could have imagined. I laugh inwardly at both your obvious excitement and your eagerness. Lubing up once again, I grab your cock in one hand, and slide the lube in and out of your ass with the other. Finally I add grease to my lady-cock. “Pull up your legs,” and you do it. I position my lady-cock at the  entrance of your back end. I slowly enter you, then pull back out quickly. You gasp loudly, but never say the safe word. “No” is all it would take to stop all this. I would end immediately. But it’s clear that you intend to continue, to let me take you, take care of you.

I push my cream-colored dildo back into you, a little deeper, your cock twitches in response. I take it slowly, just for you. I watch and admire the gorgeous contrast, your ebony cheeks open to my beigeness. Grabbing your cock in my hand, I give you a few solid pumps, the lube helping me slide your manhood through my fingers. We begin a rhythm, and you grunt a bit at every thrust. “Oh, baby, you feel like heaven,” I murmur. I want to go further, to join you completely. I grab your knees, and hug them to my breasts as I pump into you. I watch your face, see the beauty as you finally totally succumb. “I love you,” you whisper. “I know,” I whisper back.

Separating your legs, I lean forward, and reach under and grab your cock. Your dick is trapped between my breasts, my hand, and your own belly. You are rock-hard. It will be soon. Increasing the speed, I, too, begin to grunt. My breasts are being tortured by the movement. My clit is huge, engorged. Each thrust has also heightened my arousal. I am ready to burst. I cannot hold back, and I press into you again and again, and I cum loudly. This gives you permission to cum as well, and you raise your head and shoulders up. Shouting, you shoot your load all over my breasts and your own stomach.

I reach up and remove your blindfold. This is the signal. We are now even again. You take my face in your hands, and kiss me gently. Place your head on my shoulder and sigh. We are still joined, and we take a moment to be still. I rub your shoulders, arms, neck. You hold onto me.

Finally, I scoot back, my lady-cock still erect, but no longer useful. I rise, and you lay back, spent. I remove the harness, then join you on the bed. The intimacy continues.

Addicted to you – part 2

I reach over to my bag, my own personal bag of tricks, you always joke. Pull out a blindfold. I don’t want you to see, only to feel, to experience. There’s a hesitancy in your eyes. “I told you, I own you,” I purr, as I slide the blindfold over your head, pushing firmly to make sure you cannot see. It is an old trick, but effective on you. You are beautiful, the blackness of the mask disappearing into your blackness.

Again to the bag of tricks, I choose a Wartenberg wheel. It is a particular favorite of mine. A way to tease, and assert. I slide my hand down your arm, then follow it with the wheel. “Don’t move!” I command. You twitch, and groan, then gasp as I move the wheel across your stomach. Tiny pinpricks, and you can feel each one. Your penis is no longer hard. Fear has taken care of that. But I don’t worry, you will soon find pleasure again. Maybe.

You lay as still as you can, afraid that the next move will be full of pain. I glide the wheel over and around your body, focusing on your larger muscles, arms, legs, chest. You whimper as I press a bit harder, seeking a reaction. Finally, I am finished with this.

“Time to turn over,” I sing. You have said not a word. I know what you want, and I know what I want. There is no need for additional conversation. You have told me all, just as you know my desires as well.

I stroke your back, wanting you to relax. This time is always peaceful, although I can tell by the way your hold your muscles that you cannot fully release your tension. Still, I try. Caress your strong shoulders that hold so much burden, pain, stress. I knead and whisper loving affirmations, a verbal caress. “You are loved. You do not need to hold onto the pain. You are safe.” I glide my fingers under your shoulder blades, applying the pressure you need. Push up along your spine, releasing, tensing, releasing again.

My hands flow towards your mahogany butt cheeks. So many attachments there, so much sensitivity. I slither along the outside, and you grip your cheeks together. I use two hands to massage one side, then the other, releasing the burdens. I continue on to your leg muscles. Has anyone ever touched your here? You groan quietly as I work on the kinks. Firm hand, deep strokes.

My fingers trail up your leg, and back to your manhood.

Addicted to you – part 1

The phone lights, that tone plays and I am wet. I know what you desire, want, NEED.
I peek, and see that I am right. You have summoned me to you, to do your bidding. You proclaim your love of us, of our coupling. And I have no choice but to answer. You tease me with pictures, texts, comments. Have me wanting you until I drip, and I swell.
I fly to you, and you take me in. You are dark and lovely, a chocolate to my vanilla. Kiss my neck, and where your lips touch, I burn. I give back to you, desperately grabbing at you, your clothes, your hair. I cannot get enough of your mouth, lips, arms. I want to devour you whole, take you into my soul where we can reside as one. All we need is right here, right now. Nothing else, no-one else. We have invented passion.
I lead you to your bedroom, although you know the way. But this is part of our ritual. You know that I desire this, want you, NEED you as well. Taking you there allows you to fool yourself that I seduced you, that you have no choice.
I push you on the bed, straddle you, feel you harden against your jeans. Lean over, kiss your lips hard, thrust my tongue into your mouth, and move to bite your bottom lip. I want to mark you, to show the world you are mine. But I control myself. No marks allowed. I barely contain myself, lick instead. Slow down.
As I sit back, I run my hand over your torso, past your nipples, down your stomach. I watch as your muscles jump, your hips rising barely. I know I am teasing you, but we are dancing. You have to be seduced, to want it as much as I do. “You are mine,” I tell you. “I will have you.” More seduction. I take your hands and place them on my ass, as I lean forward again. You know what to do, and grab them with both hands, pushing and and pulling them apart, massaging me but I feel it in my nether lips. You make circles, then push them down onto your dick. Trying to up your stimulation through your clothes. You growl low, as your frustration grows a bit. But I am becoming ever more aroused, can feel my pussy straining against my panties. I rock on your jeans, giving myself pleasure, my clit beginning to become more prominent.
I slide to one side, and lean over you, unbuttoning, unzipping, you lift you hips to slide off the hated pants. I brush my fingers over your cock, make sure you know that I know you are ready for whatever I give. I slide my hands down your legs, up them, past your waiting member, again to your stomach. This time, I can see your cock twitch as I touch you. I love teasing you like this, owning your reactions, making you pant, wait, hold yourself still in anticipation of another touch. We are not at that point yet. There is still so much to do first.

Dinner and drinks

She invites me over, this time along with some girlfriends. We bond, as mothers do, but we are of different generations. She and I are near the end of our parenting tenure; the other two are young and fairly new to this adventure. We have girl time, talking and sharing stories, not just about husbands or kids or recipes, but about things that matter in our hearts, our minds, our personal perceptions. We drink and smoke, have fun with just ourselves. We take a poll about who enjoys giving blow jobs. She and I both do; we love the power. The others do not.

We talk about how we have changed, and the young ones are still naive. We share our bodily differences, and She shows her nipples to the one without boobs, Ms Flatness. Ms Flatness shows hers, and complains about her nipple dropping into her areola. Be happy with yourself, they tell her. NO! I say, if you want a boob job, get one. In the end, you have to be happy, and if you are miserable being flat, then do something. It’s okay to want to change, to grow, to be different than you are, I tell them all. Probably the pot speaking. I am open. I want to be different.We could spend hours talking, and we almost do. Laughing, grouping and regrouping, it is nice to be just us women.

Later, the men and children arrive. The tone changes, even though they do not interfere. But suddenly we are mothers again. Some of them are wives. Their roles are clear. Right now, they cannot change, to redefine, because they cannot lose what they have.

In the kitchen, She wants to tempt me. Close your eyes, she directs, and bring the smell into you. I lean forward into her open legs, as she is sitting on the counter. I place my hands on either leg, holding them, as I obey her, willing my body to stay still. I caress her knee where her jeans are oh-so-artfully torn. She passes the cooked meat below my nose, and I breathe deep. I hear her guttural laugh, know that She knows that I know that She has all the power. Take in the essence, She commands. I laugh nervously and open my eyes to look at her. Ms Flatness is my witness. I turn to see, but She says to close my eyes again. I turn back, and do as I am told. Again she passes the meat under my nose, and I breathe. I can smell her beyond the meat. I take in the essence as well. Open your mouth and take it in, taste it, She orders, and of course I do. She shoves it in aggressively. There! She is victorious. Once again, She has made me do what she wants.

A beautiful day

She invited me to swim. It was her idea, so I said yes. She has no idea what I have in mind.

I arrive, frozen low-fat, organic pizza in hand. She is already in her bikini, on her second glass of wine. While the oven heats, we share a few hits off a pipe. A nice glow, that. We catch up, who is seeing who, why her last relationship failed, where mine is going.

The pot is pretty strong, and I’m beginning to feel it. Giddy, happy, funny, laughing, she is too. We talk some more, I tell her about the job, and she explains what her kids are doing. Ordinary chit-chat, but it’s on a Wednesday. She asks me to play hooky next week, so I can come over and spend more time with her. She misses me, and other women don’t tend to like her. I certainly do, more than she knows, or understands yet. She is sex on a stick, delivered to my door. Big tits, luscious curves. Hetero.

Pizza is ready, but she doesn’t have any. Wheat bothers her, she says. I get it. I always do.

Wine is poured and we eat. I change into my suit so that we can swim. I have a bikini for you, if you want it. Yes, I want it. I change in front of her. Fellow women, we have no shame. I put on the top, and she reaches inside to fix my boobs. She pulls my nipples up to a higher part of the suit, giving me prominent cleavage. I feel her grab my nipples, I feel the light pinch. I tingle.

I hope you go in the pool, she says. Of course I do. The cool water gently laps my skin as she swims back and forth, and the dog follows her strokes. I duck under, and hold my breath, trying hard to become one with the water.

I can’t, the water beats me as I must have air.

When I come back up, there she is, next to me, and she reaches out to help me stand.  I take her hand and stand, getting closer to her. Close enough to count every freckle on her shoulder, every eyebrow hair that glistens with the pool water. I run my hand down her arm, from those gorgeous freckles, to her hand. Her eyes widen, her lips part. I can tell she is thinking, the gears are trying to play catch-up to the sensory. So I slide my fingers up her arm, feather-light touches, I know she barely feels them, but feels them too much. I have touched him in this way, but never a her.

I am unsure, but I am determined. I am brave, but I am trembling. I move her hair off her shoulder, and look into her eyes. Her brain in doing double duty, switching into a sexual mode that she has never explored. Neither have I. We are bi-virgins.

She smiles, as if she is wondering if this is a joke, hoping it is, hoping it isn’t. I slide both fingers up her arms to her shoulders, and then lightly down the front. I hear her gasp but do not see her lips move. Our eyes are locked on one another. She gives me permission through the widening of her pupils. I slide one finger over her nipple, sheathed in that bikini, then the other hand over her perfect hard nipple. I can feel the wetness as my pussy starts the swell. It is immediate. As I move my hands on her breasts, she starts to explore my body. She touches my arms, and then moves her hands into my hair. She doesn’t know what to do, but neither do I. We shall figure it out together.