The Chair

I'm going to bathe you and wash you for an hour in a huge bath, soaping your breasts and massaging your shoulders. I'll kiss your neck, your ears, biting and nibbling, listening to your responses, rewarding you and teasing you as I see fit. Then I will let you dress in the clothes I have bought for you. Black, classic lingerie; basque, seamed stockings.

When you are dressed I will come through. I am wearing a suit. I take you to a chair. You sit. I take some restraints, fasten you down, blindfold you. I hold a glass of rich red wine to your lips and you drink. Drips of wine travel slowly down your beautiful neck and onto your breasts where I bend my head and lick them away.

I take a long swig then I put the glass aside.

I take a pair of scissors. I have been keeping them in the fridge and as the cold steel touches you, you gasp, unsure. With precision, I begin to cut slowly away your dress. After an age it is free and I pull it from you. Pulling the restraints, I separate your legs, making your panties fully visible. I lean down and kiss you upon your pussy, just once, but I am sure to pull the tingling flesh through the silk before letting it go. I can smell you; the musky feminine scent makes me so erect it is almost painful within my clothes.

You pull against the grips, but I make just them tighter. Your legs are parted fully now, the sheer material so tight upon your lips that I can see them in relief, the pubic hair hinted at but not visible below the shimmering black.

Unable to wait, I unfasten my fly and take out my cock. I squeeze it hard to enjoy the size. I'm highly aroused and in my hands it feels incredibly hard. Flushed with blood, it is almost wine red. The veins that snake along its length pound to my heartbeat. I grab your head firmly by your hair and feed my cock to your lips. You kiss it, but you are hungry and you take it in immediately. But I pull back. Slowly now; I am using you; I will dictate the pace. You have had me as you wished, now it is my turn.

You offer your tongue and I lean forward. Immediately I am frustrated by my clothes and I pull back, causing you to snap your neck back in frustration. Wait. I pull my clothes off. Placing my feet onto the sides of the chair I climb up over you. My cock brushes against your cheek and you try to garb it with your mouth, but it is not time for that. Instead, I offer you my balls.

Lick me.

You begin to let your tongue wander crazily around my genitals, snaking around the base of my shaft, following the line on my scrotum back and forth towards my arse where it plays. I groan. The feeling is exquisite. It is only a minute, but it is building too much and my cock needs your mouth so badly. I pull back and grab your hair. Your willing lips part and I firmly slip my now throbbing penis into your mouth, deep. I nearly explode, but you are too canny for that and, even though I've done everything I can to ensure that you are not in control, you begin to milk me and I lose control. You are too good. You take me deep and my legs have to fight not to buckle. I have to see your eyes, so I tear the blindfold away and we lock eyes, you stopping briefly, playful defiance unmistakable in your widened eyes. And then you throw your head forward, sucking me so hard I am struggling to hold onto the chair. I am so loud I just know we can be heard in the street outside but I can't stop myself and as you lick my bell in a frenzy I come.

My orgasm seemed to go on longer than a man has a decent right to expect. I jerk endlessly into your willing mouth, arched animalisticaly over you, my statue nakedness all the more evident as my pale flesh contrasts with the darkness of your basque and stockings and the red curtains behind you.

As you drink me dry, I lose track of everything, caught in the moment with no aim but to empty myself into you with each involuntary jerk of my hips. I feel held there even after I stop. You may be bound, but you are totally in control of me and only when you pull back do I feel the gravity.

The nerve of you.

Faint, I step down and stagger backwards. You are smiling, of course. You know what you can do and do most certainly so well and, well, frankly, it irks me. I need to hit back, spin you on your axis the way you just did to me.

Well, you are still bound.

Composing myself, I pick up the blindfold. I must cut you off again from the visual; I need you to feel weak, as weak as you made me feel.

You go to talk, but I won't have it. Even as you tease me, I am grabbing a red scarf. I cut you off mid-sentence as I move behind you. And I tie it tight; I retaliate.

I move to the front and I look at you.

Your black panties are on full display. The legs are half splayed; but it is not enough, it is not enough at all. I start to undo your legs and you, thinking I am releasing you and submitting, begin to flex. But I am quick and in a slick movement I pull the cords tight in a new position, your knees and thighs suddenly high above you, your delicious pussy and ass forward, at the edge of the seat; ready; where I want them.

I pick up the scissors.

They are still cold, so I dangle them by their handles, letting the sharp blades trace across your wetness, bouncing across your folds with delicious bumps. Through the gag, you moan. It is oddly fearful.

I take it as a yes.

I kneel down close to your panties and sniff you. You are so pungent and natural; a unique heady smell that enters through my nostrils then goes mad in my endocrine system like a poltergeist. I'm now even hornier than I was before. Even now you seem to take control.

How do you do that?

I put the scissors to one side and begin to lick you through the material. It is slick with your arousal. I catch my breath; it's like a drug. Soon I am lapping at your pussy as if I was dying of thirst, my tongue so far out it aches, flicking over your clitoris. But I can't stop. Each time I lap at you, you moan defiantly back at me, satisfied, losing yourself in my rhythms. So I stop and you trail away angrily, desperate to home in on your impending climax. Well, we can't have that, can we?

I pull back from your panties and look at you.

You are pinned in place and the juice has flowed out from you, leaving both the seat and my face in a sheen. Your aroma is everywhere! It is driving me mad to mount you, but no, I'm holding back. I have other ideas.

I take the scissors and, aggressively, I cut the straps of your panties. Two hundred dollars of lingerie flop aside, leaving your lush pussy point blank in my eye line. I take the cold steel, pushing the cold handle along your crack until I feel it yield in your sopping hole. You take a deep breath, unsure of how the tool is orientated. You don't mistrust me for a second; you know I am playing with you. I push the cold circle of metal into you and the moist lips take it willing and then pour out more juice.

This is too much for me. I yank out the scissors and bury my head hard into you, the wetness slapping around me as I writhe at you with a purpose. I'm not even thinking now. I drink from you in wild movements, each flick of my tongue making you buck and tense against the restraints. I had wanted to tease you, but I'm past that. I listen to you building, the wonderful panic of your impending orgasm willing me on as I dig my tongue as far into you as I can before chasing the juices as they flow down to your ass. I drink your juice from your anus and your thighs, darting in and out of every crack and fissure of your intimate self as I can reach. It coats me like a varnish. The taste of you is everywhere as I push my fingers far into you. Building a rhythm, I begin pounding you with my hand.

I slip my thumb up and then into your ass. As it pushes past the muscles you squeal and shake.

I'm sucking hard at your clitoris now and you, well, you have forgotten our contest. Just as I have.

You come in a blur of jerks, one after the other, as if you were on an electric chair. After what seems an age, you subside. I am feeling a certain amount of satisfaction. I take my hands away.

I win

For now.