One leg at a time, I eased out of the pantyhose and dropped them
on the bed. He picked them up, stretched them a few times, and
said "I'll bet these would make pretty decent ropes."
There was a strange note in his voice that I'd never heard
before. I continued to undress, dropping my bra to the floor, and
answered carefully, "Probably. After all, don't stranglers use
them?"
He stretched one nylon leg over his hand and stood behind me. He
didn't say anything, just nibbled on my neck and ran the silky
yet rough nylon across my nipples. They shriveled into erect
knobs almost instantly. I reached my arms back, knotted my
fingers in his hair.
"Why do you ask?"
"Ask what," he said, trying to sound innocent.
"About ropes."
"Oh, just thinking." He sounded distracted, probably because his
teeth were idly scraping the underside of my chin and his
nylon-sheathed hands were lightly stroking my thighs. "I was kind
of wondering if maybe you might enjoy not having as much control
as usual.... "
The sexual tiger that lurks just below the surface of my
conservative personality growled. The idea was... intriguing
"You know," he went on, "not being able to pull away because you
aren't ready to come yet, not being able to grab my hips and
drive me into you..."
His voice was a low murmur, accompanied by more gentle caresses
along my inner thighs, always carefully avoiding my pubic mound,
more light nips along my neck. I couldn't tell whether my arousal
came from his touch or his suggestion, but I didn't care. I felt
his erection rising through my panties and his jeans, and backed
him against the wall, pressing myself against him.
"So, what did you have in mind?" The soft purr of my voice
matched his quiet tones. He explained, briefly, then cut the legs
out of the pantyhose with scissors. At his request, no, at his
command--my agreement deprived me of the right to refuse him--I
knelt, knees spread and feet touching behind me. Improvising due
to the lack of headboard on a futon, he tied my feet securely
together with one leg, then instructed me to lean back and grab
my ankles with my hands. The second leg lashed my hands in place.
I tugged at the bonds experimentally. I could move, but not much.
There was no way I could avoid his touch, short of rolling onto
my stomach. With my knees open wide and my back arched, my body
was completely accessible to him.
One hand massaged my clitoris through the soaking wet cotton
panties. The other circled my nipples, gently pinching and
pulling them. I groaned and tried to thrust my clitoris up to
meet his hand, but he only pulled away. I twisted and writhed
toward him anyway. He glared at me sternly and pushed me away.
He laid the cold scissors against my thigh and slid the blade up,
under the panties. Snip. Again on the other side. He pulled the
cloth across my clitoris and away. I was completely naked,
completely helpless, and quivering from arousal.
Continuing to stroke and squeeze my breasts, he used the other
hand to unzip his jeans and free his erection from the black
briefs. His tongue and teeth replaced his hand as he stepped out
of his clothing. In one motion he bit one nipple, pinched the
other, and shoved two fingers into my vagina. I gasped and jerked
against the restraints.
"Just testing the knots," he grinned. Withdrawing the two
fingers, he coated his penis with fluid and then shoved the
fingers between my half-parted lips. While I licked my taste off
of him, he rubbed his penis between my legs. Not penetrating, or
even offering to penetrate, just stroking my clitoris and labia
with his hot, moist hardness. I squirmed, trying to pull him
inside of me. He pulled away, a little, but continued his slow,
agonizing strokes. His hands moved down to my breasts again,
stroking, twisting, pinching. I gasped, and groaned and squirmed
but the patient strokes continued. I begged him to enter me, and
he snapped at me to be silent.
He dragged his penis, dripping with my juices, across my belly
and between my breasts. I took him eagerly into my mouth, but he
twisted his fingers into my hair and pulled my head away. "Not
yet. Kiss it. Worship it." I complied, running my tongue over the
glans, down the shaft, over his testicles. I heard his sharp
intake of breath. One hand played with my vagina while I licked
and sucked and wished I could use my hands to pleasure him.
After a while, he lifted himself away from my face and lowered
his head between my legs. I cried out at the touch of his tongue.
He snarled, "I'm done with your mouth, and you can't keep it
shut, so..."
The remains of my panties became a gag. As an afterthought, the
bedside towel became a blindfold. Unable to see what he was
doing, I focused my attention on his touch, on his flicking
tongue torturing my clitoris and labia. Relentless, he drove me
to the brink of orgasm, and pulled away. His tongue and hands
caressed my thighs, my breasts, everywhere except where I needed
to feel him. My every muscle quivered, not knowing where his
touch would fall next.
Finally, I felt his penis again. He inserted just the head into
me, slowly stroking in and out. Each stroke went a little deeper,
a little faster, until he was pounding himself deep into me,
groaning with each stroke. Deprived of vocal release, unable to
wrap my arms or my legs around him, I could only thrust myself up
to meet him, grind my pelvis into his. Unable to see, I could
only lose myself in the throbbing rhythm of his lust.
He pulled the gag out of my mouth. "Let me hear you," he gasped.
The strokes slowed, though controlling himself must have been
nearly impossible. "Tell me why I shouldn't stop. Tell me what
you'll do for me if I finish."
I would have sold my soul for release. I pleaded with him, I
shamelessly begged him to fuck me. He pulled himself out of me
and teased my pulsating cunt with his head. I told him I'd do
whatever he wanted, be his whore, be his slave. He pinched my
nipples, hard. "Details, bitch!" I gave him details. I promised
him every fantasy I could imagine, every fantasy he'd ever
mentioned, the words spilling out in a desperate stream.
In the middle of the flow of words, he drove himself into me. A
few hard, deep strokes, and I stopped babbling and began to moan.
Each stroke brought a corresponding spasm from my body and a
corresponding gasping groan from my lips. When the orgasm finally
came, it came in waves, and I screamed and writhed and pleaded
for more.
He rolled onto his back, taking me with him, and cut my hands and
legs free. Still overwhelmed by waves of pleasure, I wrapped arms
and legs around him and held on for dear life as he pounded to
his own climax. As he finished, I came again, spasming muscles
milking him for the last drop of sperm.
It was a long time before either of us moved.
--
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