I turn suddenly shy when asking for a fantasy, but when I confess what it is I desire, he never disappoints. The last time, I just blurted that I wanted to be tied and blindfolded, and practically jumped and down in my request.
This time, I was exhausted from moving by myself. I was sad, I was lonely, I was horny.
He came home hours later than expected. At seeing each other, we both perked up from our day, and cuddled and kissed.
“I want wax and the misery stick,” simply I told him of what I had been fantasizing about for the better of the day. “If you aren’t too tired,” I amended, not wanting to overburden him on a day that was challenging for him as well.
“Okay,” he said with a smile, and went into our chest. He pulled out the rope. Gently he cuffed my wrists, and then moved the rope around the back of my head. His sex was so close to my face, I could smell it, and my mouth watered. And then my mouth was crossed over with some of the rope. He had never done this before, and I looked up at surprised. “Okay?” he asked, still smiling. I tentatively nodded, the rope a strange invader against my tongue. He continued with the rope, criss crossing it around my breasts and waist, eventually looping my wrists together at mid chest. When done, he grabbed a globe and began sucking on my nipple. My nipples had been hard all day, partially from playing with them from time when I began to fantasize; and the reality of his hot mouth on them was amazingly sensitive. His hand held firmly, his mouth roughly claimed.
He moved up and breathed against my lips. My nails reached against his skin and tried to claw him closer. My tongue instinctively went to kiss him, but the rope barrier prevented me from my desire. He chuckled, then positioned himself between my legs.
I moaned, muffled, against the rope as his mouth skillfully ravaged my sex. My legs were still free, and my hips arched, pressing myself against his face. He began lapping from clit to cunt, my hips rocking intuitively in rhythm to his tongue.
Grabbing the opposite breast this time, he sucked hard as his fingers delved into the wet aching place his mouth had just been. He bent his fingers and pressed, rubbed against my gspot, and I screamed against the rope, bucking my hips, orgasming so hard my juices flowed down his hand. It happened so quickly, I was surprised.
He kneeled over my chest and positioned his sex to rub against my lips, the soft, smooth texture teasing my watering mouth. I looked up at him and tried to beg, but only muffled misery was heard.
“Do you want me?” he taunted, and then pulled down the rope.
“Yes, please,” I sighed as my mouth wrapped around his shaft.
His hand grabbed my hair. “Come and get it,” he said, as he pulled my head back, the head so close that the tip of my tongue could flick it. I whined, trying to pull against his hand, feeling the tug of hair, not caring. Abruptly, he changed directions and my mouth was filled with him, his hand guiding me back and forth along his ridges, my mouth welcoming. I tried to be conscious of accommodating his movements, focusing on my breathing to not gag at points.
And felt his fingers searching for my swollen sex, leaning back slightly. He began fingering me in tune to guiding my head, and breathing suddenly became contested with screaming and moaning. He stopped unexpectedly, withdrawing his fingers at the same time as pulling my greedy mouth away. “No,” I protested.
“No?” he questioned, softly. “Did you just tell me no?” he moved the rope around my mouth again, twisted a part of it so it tightened and became even more obtrusive than before, and stayed that way. “Since when do you tell me no?” he breathed against my lips, laying his body on top of mine, licking so soft and slow around my lips, his sex arranging itself against mine.
I wanted him so badly. He drew my bottom lip into his mouth as much as the rope would allow, his shaft sliding and pressing and teasing around my entrance. I had no idea what I wanted more: him inside of me or the ability to passionately kiss him.
Before he granted me the pleasure of himself inside of me, the candle and the misery stick did make an appearance, and forced me even more mindless of everything but my body’s reaction to him.
To see the picture of this: His Rope
