I admit it. I'm selfish about my pleasure. There's nothing
chauvinistic or Cro-Magnon about it. It's just that no amount of good intentions
can make me go slow for long when I climb on top of Julie and she starts to
squirm in that special way she has. Men aren't made to hold back. I don't care
how many stories you've heard about ninety-minute erections -- if any are true,
then those guys just aren't enjoying themselves. Evolution didn't wire us that
way. But that doesn't mean the fun can't go on longer under the right
circumstances. For me, that means giving up control. There are a lot of ways to
do that, all the way from rolling over and letting Julie ride the may pole to
being trussed up with a hundred feet of new white clothesline. The more control
I give up, the longer the session can last. The longer the session, the more
pleasure along the way, and the more intense the sensations at the end. So can
you blame me if I encouraged Julie to take the upper hand more often? I did what
I could to make it easy. I picked up a pair of steel "love cuffs" at a novelty
store and stocked our bedside "goodie drawer" with convenient lengths of black
braided sash cord. When Julie set her sights on a four-poster bed frame that
cost $300 more than I thought we could afford, I went along -- with ulterior
motives. I wanted to be bound spread-eagled to it and lavished with ravishment.
You see, in case you haven't pegged to it yet, the `slave' is really the center
of attention. It's the slave's appetites that are to be whetted and frustrated.
It's the slave who's to be kept on the edge of ecstasy. It's the slave that's
teased and tormented past what he or she thought they were capable of feeling.
This is sensual slavery, not sadistic, and I'm not ashamed to say I like it. I
already told you how I feel about pleasure. But damn my luck if taking charge
didn't turn out to go against Julie's grain. Early in our relationship, in that
try-everything-you've-ever-heard-of stage, we had three bondage sessions that I
still remember in wistful detail. I didn't want a weekly diet of female
domination, but I could have done with a taste every month or so. It didn't take
me long to realize that Julie didn't feel the same way. I got frustrated and
pushed. She got resentful and pushed back. The rest of our relationship, in and
out of bed, was solid. She was and continues to be the perfect woman for me, as
pretty and sharp-witted now as the day we married and more tolerant of my quirks
than I deserve. So I cleaned out the goodie drawer and backed off. When I
brought a few books with bondage themes into the house, she seemed to get
excited reading them with me in bed. But all she ever wanted afterward was to be
pinned to the mattress with me deep inside her. Only one other time did she
consent to play the sensual slavery game. I had her in an "I owe you a favor"
situation, and that's what I asked for. It was a mistake. Her heart wasn't in
it, and it ended up no fun for either of us. Afterwards I tried to explain why I
liked it. She told me it made her insecure about whether I liked "regular" sex
with her. I'm selfish, but I'm not a boor. I gave up my wishful thinking, held
her close, and told her I'd never ask her to try it again. So I couldn't have
been more surprised when, on my next birthday, I opened my briefcase at work and
found in it a small package I hadn't put there. I tore off the brown paper to
find the love cuffs and a note. Shoving the cuffs into the pocket in the lid
before anyone could see them, I read the note in a state of aroused amazement:
When you come home tonight, go to the bedroom and strip to the waist. Stand with
your back against a bedpost and use these to bind your hands behind you. Wait
there and wonder. Happy birthday, love. Just reading the note gave me a powerful
erection. Needless to say, I spent a very long day trying to avoid building up
my expectations and mostly failing. I consoled myself that Julie had to know the
effect her note would have and would be equal to my imaginings. Of course I got
stuck in traffic on the way home that night, arriving fifteen minutes later than
usual. Even so, Julie's car wasn't in the drive yet, and I hurried inside to
comply with her instructions. My cock was straining against the fabric of my
shorts and slacks as I waited. Several minutes passed, and then I heard the
click of heels on wood flooring somewhere in the house. Presently Julie stepped
shyly through the bedroom doorway and into view, her head lowered. She held a
canvas shopping bag behind her back. I was surprised -- no, be honest,
disappointed -- by her clothes: a pretty but not terribly sexy sweater and skirt
outfit. Then a second woman stepped through the doorway, and my knees about
buckled. She was a dream-nightmare come to life: full round breasts spilling
over the top of a black satin corset, long legs encased in sheer black nylon,
black leather wristlets and collar. I was stunned. "Show him," she said, and
Julie turned around. Her hands that held the bag were tightly bound at the
wrists. "Put it on the bed," said the stranger. "Then sit in the chair." Julie
complied, sitting down awkwardly in the big armchair by the window. She had
still not raised her eyes to look at me. The other woman came and stood close
enough to me that I could drink in her wicked perfume -- whether natural or
chemical I couldn't say and didn't much care. I stared at her breasts and licked
my lips unconsciously. "You like this game, don't you?" she asked, reaching out
and stroking the bulge in my pants. There's no arguing with a hard-on. I told
her yes. "My name is Sasha. To you, I'm `Yes, Mistress.' If you feel silly
saying it, I'll be happy to whip you into a more cooperative mood. Or will you
be good?" "Yes, Mistress," I said. It didn't sound silly. For me, it was a
phrase charged with sexual electricity. She rummaged in her bag and returned
with a sharp hook-shaped knife, like a miniature scythe. Pushing the point
through the fabric of one pants leg, she jerked the knife upward. The cold,
metal edge brushed my skin as it sliced through the fabric to the waistband. I
gasped. A few more cuts and my clothes were just a pile of scraps to kick under
the bed. I felt naked in a deeper sense than just physically. Something more had
been taken from me than would have been if I had undressed myself. She caressed
the curve of my cock with the dull edge of the knife in a movement that should
have shriveled me. It didn't. I wanted her, badly. Putting the knife away, Sasha
tied one of my hands to the post, twisting it up painfully behind me till the
wrist was at shoulder blade height, then freed the other. "Jerk off," she said,
settling on the edge of the chair where Julie sat. "What?" "The name is `Yes,
Mistress.' Make yourself come. I'm timing you. The longer it takes you the worse
you'll be punished." "I wouldn't want to waste it," I said, trying to flirt with
her. She ignored my effort. "Oh--one little thing before you start," she said,
wrapping an elastic strap tightly around the root of my cock, between my scrotum
and my body. Almost immediately, my cock stiffened and swelled still more.
"Now," said Sasha. "Do it. I'm already counting." She had freed my left hand,
and I was a right-hander. It does make a difference. But the strap made a bigger
difference. I wrapped my hand around my cock and pumped furiously, but anything
I started, the strap choked off. While I labored, Sasha pulled up Julie's
sweater, unhooked her bra, and began fondling her pert breasts. Julie had never
expressed anything but distaste at the mention of lesbianism, but all she did
now was to close her eyes and recline passively in the chair. My arm ached and
my cock was becoming chafed. But I looked at the strange woman fondling Julie
and couldn't think of stopping. All I could think of was coming, spraying my
load in a fountain across the floor. Sasha pulled up Julie's skirt to reveal her
furry pussy, licked a long finger, then reached down and parted Julie's cunt
lips with it. Julie's mouth worked noiselessly as Sasha stroked her. Still I
could not come, and Sasha grew impatient and angry. "Stupid cock," she hissed.
"You can't obey the simplest instruction." Retying my free hand, she went to her
bag and pulled out a red ball gag with a leather harness. "We don't want the
neighbors complaining," she said, pressing the ball to my lips. When I didn't
open my mouth, she grabbed my balls with the other hand and twisted them. When I
opened my mouth to cry out, she pushed the ball deep into it and pulled the
straps tight. I could make only muffled moaning sounds around it. Returning to
the head of the bed, she laid out the contents of the bag: a studded paddle,
two-inch long alligator clamps, coarse yellow rope, a black double-headed dildo
with waist harness. She fitted one end of the dildo into her own wet pussy, her
eyes half-lidded as she did. Then she buckled the straps on her hips and pulled
them tight. The other end of the dildo curved upward from her crotch obscenely.
"I've got a new experience for you, little Kevin. It's called dildo rape. It's
one of my favorite games." She curled her fingers around the dildo and stroked
it suggestively. "Of course, since you don't have a cunt, I'll have to find
somewhere else to fuck you." I shivered. It was one of the things I had asked
Julie to do the night of our bondage fiasco. "You think I'm going to grease this
up for you? No way. You want some lubrication, I'll bring a man in here and have
him fuck your ass. You want any lubrication, you squirm nice and make him come
in your ass. Then I'll fuck you, with his cum running out your asshole and down
your thighs." That was when I really flashed to the fact that I wasn't in
control, and my eyes must have shown it. "Is Kevin scared?" she taunted. "Kevin
should be. Unless little Kevin knows another way I can get this wet for you?"
Out of an instant impulse, I nodded frantically at Julie. Sasha smiled. "You're
naughty," she said to me, and pushed Julie down on the floor. "Pull up that
skirt. Your husband wants me to fuck you. I'll bet I can do it better than he
can." Laying back on the carpet, Julie wriggled until her skirt was up around
her waist. Sasha tied Julie's ankles to her thighs, then pushed her with a
booted foot until I had a clear view between her raised knees. Sasha came over
to me. "Look how wet she is already," she said, and she was right. "Does she
scream for you? I'm going to make her scream. But I don't want you to enjoy the
show too much." She reached out and snapped the jaws of an alligator clip on
each of my nipples, making me writhe in pain. But at the same time a new surge
of blood rushed to my already engorged cock, and it jerked slightly with each
heartbeat. Kneeling between Julie's legs, Sasha thrust the dildo deep inside her
with one quick movement of her hips. She leaned on her hands, dangling her
breasts over Julie's face and brushing her lips with a nipple. To the
accompaniment of obscenely wet sounds, she began to piston the dildo in and out
with a steady rocking motion. Before long Julie was moaning and raising her hips
to meet each thrust. When she came she cried out, arching her back and whipping
her head from side to side until she went limp. Then it was my turn. With
Julie's help and my own acquiescence, Sasha bent me over the footboard of the
bed, ankles tied to the posts, arms tied forearm to forearm behind me, ass high
and exposed. Sasha ordered Julie to lay at the head of the bed, legs straddling
my face. Then she slapped my buttock sharply. ""Eat her, stupid. Lick that pussy
good. Don't stop." I felt the tip of the dildo press against my puckered
sphincter. "Suck those juices out of her. You don't come until she does," she
said, and leaned forward into me. The fat head of the dildo pushed past the
fleshy barrier, and my body jerked of its own volition. "I knew you'd like
that," she whispered loudly. "A big black cock up your ass. You're just a closet
queer, aren't you? No wonder you can't take care of your woman proper. All the
time you're fucking her, you're thinking about being held down while a big black
stud reams you." She drove the dildo in to the hilt and began to buck it in and
out of me. My cock throbbed like never before, and I felt the wetness dribbling
from the tip. I lapped furiously at Julie's slit, my face drenched with her
juices and my nostrils full of her scent. Sasha dragged her nails along my back
and grabbed my buttocks as though with animal claws. Finally Julie arched her
back and locked her legs around my head. At that instant, Sasha buried the dildo
deep in my rectum and reached beneath me to release the strap around my cock. My
orgasm was explosive, showering my own belly with a spray of come as Sasha
milked me. The sensation of my muscles contracting around the dildo was
exquisite. As the spasms ended, I collapsed, limp and drained. I don't remember
being untied or crawling up onto the bed beside Julie. I do remember the tender
closeness I felt cuddling with her there. I was vaguely aware of the splash of
water in the bath as Sasha changed. When I looked up, she was standing in the
doorway wearing a peasant blouse and jeans, looking for all the world like a
well-scrubbed girl-next-door. "Everything all right?" "Oh, yes," said Julie
warmly. "Thank you." "Then I'll be going," she said, and left. Julie turned back
toward me and propped her head on one elbow. "She cost two hundred dollars," she
said shyly. "Was it worth it?" For an answer, I kissed her forehead. "And for
you?" She smiled wickedly. "Very. You understand now?" "I do. You wanted the
same thing I did." "We could take turns." I kissed her again. "Now that we
know." "And we could have her back again sometime?" "I'd like that." She
wriggled closer. "And now I'd like something else, if you'll let me have it."
She reached for my cock, which stirred to her touch. I let her. After all, I'm
not a selfish guy.
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