st. andrew.

Every time we play, I see it there.  His St. Andrew's Cross.

It's usually hidden behind a floor to ceiling abstract painting, for when platonic, non-sexual house guests come over. The large canvas is on a track, which can be rolled aside to reveal the cross behind it. The St. Andrew's Cross.  

Let me explain.  It's more of an "X", really.  A massive, eight foot high frame, with two restraining points at the top for the wrists, two at the bottom for each ankle, and sometimes one at the center, for the waist.  The lucky person being chained to it is held in a majestic, standing, spread eagle position.  If you're facing the wall, you're most likely getting flogged, spanked, or whipped.  Being restrained outwards is reserved to sexual teasing and sensory play.  At least, that's what I understand in theory.

Yes, he rolls the painting aside to reveal the x-shaped cross, every time I come over.  But, no, I've never had the pleasure of being tied to it.  It occupies my mind.  Sometimes, during other sex acts, in the same room.  Hard fucking, deep throating, pussy worship... I look over, longingly, at it's polished, dark wood, thinking how everything we do could be just a little better if I was tied to that thing while we were doing it. He seems to read my mind in every other way, except this one.  It feels deliberate; the way he presents The St. Andrew's cross, but doesn't let me indulge.  Does he think me too fragile? Does he mean to tease me?  Does he want me to beg for it?  He usually owns me right from the moment I step in the door, so I scarcely get a chance to speak up during play.  Not that he doesn't encourage me to communicate my wants and needs outside of scenes.  He most certainly does.  But, this particular desire just seems to get lost.

I think I'm scared.  I don't know if I'm ready.  Am I really kinky enough to be restrained to a St. Andrew's Cross?  It's seems so hardcore.  Do I really like pain all that much?  I think it's more the psychological power dynamic that I'm into.  The fantasy is definitely titillating, but some things are better left as vivid mental pictures you furiously jerk off to.  But, you never know until you try.   

"You will knock at 8pm.  You're mine as soon as you step in."  I stand in the hall of his condo, reading his text.  I check the time.  A couple minutes early.  Always better than a couple minutes late.  I take a deep breath.  Usually I get so immersed in the submissive experience that I have a hard time looking him in the eye, let alone speaking when I'm not being directly spoken to.  Just do it right away, I pep talk myself.  Say it before you get to that delightfully surrendered place.  Immediately.  Right when you step beyond the threshold.  Let it be the first thing that happens. Yes. Be a good communicator.  Hold space for yourself.  

The timer for 8 o'clock goes off on my phone, startling me.  My heart accelerates in my chest, and I shove my phone in my purse.  I do some last minute adjustments on my presentation, like it matters.  My clothes will be ripped off before the door even has a chance to catch behind me, and not long after that, his hands will be in my hair, my lipstick smeared all over his dick. I nervously tug at my skirt, and realize how desperately wet I am.  A smile crosses my face.

I raise my fist towards the door, and knock.  One, two, three. 

happy ho ho ho to you.

"Do you want to go first?" I ask, from my spot, kneeling on the carpet.  

Jonathan joins me.  The fresh smell of Evergreen dances in the air, to the smooth tones of Harry Connick Jr's Christmas album.  I squirm excitedly in my seat.  So far, the holidays have been perfect.  Two full days off together, with no family commitments up until later on this evening.  Never have we indulged in each other's company so completely.  And, of course, our generous holiday moods have found us in the bedroom on more than one occasion.  He even tied me up like a pretty little present.  So, needless to say, We're currently savouring the last of our alone time together before a big dinner with his family tonight.
"You go," Jonathan smiles, handing me my gift.  
"Ok," I concede, taking the square shaped, light weighted present in my hands.  "Hmm," I wonder, aloud, turning the box this way and that, even shaking it slightly; but nothing betrays its mystery.  I hope it's something sexy, I think to myself.  Perhaps some lingerie, a blindfold, some handcuffs, anything to further the role play we've been experimenting with this holiday season.  I bite my lip saucily and suddenly rip off a strip of shimmery paper.  He smiles handsomely in anticipation; even winks, flirting with me.  I turn my gaze towards the gift, squinting to find and read some of the fanciful text. "Personal massager," I read aloud.  My eyes go wide for a moment.  "A vibrator?"  I tear the rest of the gift open.  The picture displays a discreet bullet vibrator with an attractively smooth finish.  My mouth hangs open, unable to form words.  I've always wanted one.  I don't even know what vibration feels like down there.  I'm beside myself with excitement.
"Yes. However, there's a catch..." Jonathan begins, as I anxiously root through the packaging.  But, I immediately notice the seal is broken.  I quickly compare the picture on the box with the product inside.  
"Wait a minute. It looks like there's a part missing. The remote.  Aww, that's too bad," I pout.  "We'll have to take it back." When my eyes once again reach his, he smiles devilishly, producing the remote from his pocket.  My eyes narrow.  
"Listening now?" He asks, playfully.  "This part, will stay in my possession.  To use whenever and wherever I see fit.  That part," he states, gesturing to the vibrator, "will stay in your panties."  I lick my lips, the muscles in between my legs sympathetically flexing.  Not only does his authoritative tone make me wet, but the thought of carrying out his sexy task.  
"Ok..." I seductively smile, waiting for more instructions.  "And where and when exactly will I wear this?"
"Glad you asked," he smiles, matter of factly.  "Tonight, at Christmas dinner."
"With your parents? And sister?" I gasp.  No.  Could I? I picture myself at the table, discreetly carrying the dormant vibrator in my pants, waiting anxiously for it to erupt with movement.  A smile creeping across my face, half expecting it to turn on at any minute, making eyes at Jonathan from across the Christmas spread, at our little secret.  Perhaps I forget about its existence for a moment, answering a question about my job to his mother, and suddenly feel the vibrator come to life between my legs.  I stop mid-sentence, trying to compose myself, coughing to cover my reaction, pressing my napkin into my lap, apologizing.  My breathing becomes laboured as I pretend to be listening to the rest of the conversation, as I retreat further and further into my world of erotic pleasure.  I imagine myself catching Jonathan's eye, who is finding pleasure in watching me squirm.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline, and my face flushes in embarrassment, to be vulnerable in this way in front of his family.  Yet, I feel the flutter of an orgasm approaching.  I deny it, but the vibrator pulses relentlessly.  I deny it again and again, each time my will is weaker than the last.  I feel the climax building within me, and I close my eyes, bite my lip, trying to hide.  At which point... I imagine him turning it off.  A wicked grin emanating from his seat across the table. 

Snapped back from the daydream, Harry Connick croons, "Happy ho ho ho to you."  
My eyebrow raises with a thought.  "Alright.  Now, you open your present.  

But, there's a catch."

monkey man.

"When are we leaving?" My husband asks from the next room.

"I told you, I'm not going tonight," I remind him, as I hurriedly chop the veggies for the crudité platter we promised to bring.
"Party pooper."
"I'm sorry.  I didn't have time to find a costume."  He doesn't respond. "It's your thing, anyway," I continue. "And you can visit better with your friends.  You won't have to babysit me."  Silent, expect more chopping.  I stop. "Chris?  Are you listening?"
"Gahhh!!"  He screams, leaping out from the hallway, wearing a latex monkey mask.  
"Jesus," I gasp. "You're terrible.  The mask is kind of an improvement, though," I joke.  He rips it off, immediately.  
"Oh really?  You like Monkey Man?"  He flirts, approaching me.
"Careful, I'm brandishing a weapon."
"Then, I better stay on your good side," he winks, moving behind me.  His hands grasp my hips, pulling me towards his pelvis.  I feel his bulge against my backside, and I place the knife down to free up my hands. Grasping the edge of the counter, I lean into him, arching my back, a smile crossing my lips.  His strong hands move up my body to my breasts, which he kneads through my sweater, encouraging me to straighten.  I relax into him, my neck slackening, releasing a soft moan.  This is what I want.  Not some Halloween party.  My hair falls to the side, and I'm almost his, as he wetly kisses my neck and ear.  
"You know, we could both just stay in tonight," he breathes, and I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  But my conscience thinks it knows better.  
"No, you should go," I say, separating from him. I retrieve the knife to finish the last of the vegetables. "Can you tell Jen I wasn't feeling well?" 
"Ooo oo ah ah!"  I look up.  He has once again donned the latex mask.  
"Here are your vegetables, Monkey Man," I say with sarcasm, handing him the Tupperware.
"I won't be late," he says, muffled by the mask.  He grabs his wallet and keys, and lifts the mask to give me a peck on the cheek.  I place the knife and cutting board in the sink as he disappears down the hallway.  More echoed monkey sounds, followed by the slam of the front door.  I smile and shake my head as I turn on the warm water.  I let it run over my hands, soaping up the sponge.  Perhaps I'll take a bath tonight.  I close my eyes, picturing it, but a noise startles me, and I cut my ring finger on the knife in the sink.  "Ah," I gasp.  The front door.  "Did you forget something?"
I grab a paper towel and wrap my finger.  When I look up, Monkey Man is standing in the archway of the kitchen.  "I gave you the dip, right?"  I open the fridge.  No, I did.  I turn around.  He hasn't moved a muscle.  Weirdo.
"Do I have to call you Monkey Man before you'll answer?"  He nods.  I smile.  We're no strangers to role play. "Have you decided to stay after all?"  I flirt, approaching him.  "Or at least, another couple minutes?"  The mask nods again.  
Paper towel clutched in one hand, I fumble with his belt.   I examine the small slits in the mask, but there is only darkness behind them.  The anonymity gives me confidence, as I unbutton his jeans, and reach down his the front of his pants.  He feels warm in my hand, as I begin to stroke him to life.  Bent forward, my hair falls to one side, first tickling, then exposing my neck.  It feels naked, and I close my eyes, longing for him to kiss me there like he did before.  I hear his breathing become laboured beneath the mask.  My injured hand unzips his fly, giving him room to grow.  Feeling him harden in my grip, I sexily bite my lip, desiring to taste him.  I look up once more to the mask, as I kneel on the cool tile.  He appears to look down at me, and I imagine an expression of desire beneath the latex.  I take his cock completely out of his pants, eyes still locked with the small slits of the mask.  I lick my lips, ready to take him in my mouth, when my eyes wander down to a completely... unfamiliar cock.  I freeze.  This is not my husband.  I look up at the mask, only to see the intruder swing.  A sharp pain in my head, and I collapse onto the cool tile.  I struggle for consciousness, still gripping the bloodied paper towel in my hand.  The last thing I see is the stranger retrieving the knife from the sink.  

Then, lights out.  

yes, sir.

I ring the doorbell.  The house looks so normal from the outside; seemingly not the house of a Sir, at all.  I wonder where your wife is tonight, where that little man of yours is, that you always seem to be putting down before chatting to me online.  
You answer the door, and instantly I feel the cumulative arousal of all our previous interactions.  The tasks you've given me over text messages, the videos and pictures we exchange via email, but most recently, our trip to the sex club, Oasis.  My bare pussy, which I've freshly shorn for tonight, grows suddenly slick.  
"Hello, Slut," you greet warmly, though with your signature confident power.  One of your large hands rests near my shoulder, then wanders towards my neck, caressing it.  Just the weight of it arouses me, knowing that you could engulf it completely in just one of your mighty fists.  Already, you put me in a submissive mind set, just by the way you assert yourself, naturally towering over me, and petting me like a dog.  "Come in."
The interior of the house seems unassuming as well, certainly not the house of avid swingers, of a polyamorous couple who play separately, and with both men and women, at that.  I step over a children's toy, on my way up the stairs to the bedroom.  
"Strip, Slut.  I want you completely naked.  Except the heels," you add.
"Yes, Sir."  Another power play.  You stay fully dressed for this part, while I remove any physical shred of protection I brought along with me.  Usually people react positively when they see my figure, but you almost completely ignore it.  My porcelain skin, shapely hips, and small round breasts are all but lost on you, while you set up the bed harness.  My face burns in shame.  I can't help but thinking that this is the bed that you are your loving wife share, and I search for a framed photograph to sharpen the mental image.  Before I find one, you turn back to me, square jaw tight, and brow furrowed with intensity.   She probably wouldn't want to see what we're going to do, anyway.  
"Hands behind your back, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."  You reach around me to fasten them together, rather than having me face away from you, which I take as a secret act of affection.  Your button down shirt grazes my bare breasts as your thick arms envelop me, in what very nearly is an embrace.  I look up to your delicious neck, and discreetly breathe in your aftershave.  My eyes close in an ecstatic daydream, in which I am worthy of your true adoration, and I get to touch and kiss the skin I now admire from afar.  A testing tug on the restraints snaps me out of it.  This is what I deserve, and I want you to administer it to me.  
You retreat to a chest of drawers, housing many toys, unlike the one I stepped over in the hallway moments ago.  Tools accumulated from years of dominating women and men, but more recently, a couple that I particularly inspired you to purchase.  As a task, you asked me to send you a list of three toys that I do not own, but would desperately like to try.  Knowing your inclination for domination, I chose accordingly.  One, you already had in your possession.  You remove the second one from the list, now, and walk it back over to me.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline.  
"Look familiar, Slut?"  You ask sternly, smirking.  You display them in front of me in one of your large palms.
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you going to be a good girl for me today?" 
"Yes, Sir," I answer, pussy contracting at the phrase.  I feel myself flood a little bit.  
"Keep still."  I do, in fact, I stand straighter than I've ever stood, so that you have unhindered access to my breasts.  I long for you to compliment them, caress them, devour them, but you stay focussed at the task at hand.  You go to work, fastening the two suction cups to my nipples.  
I feel each one grab as you squeeze the bulbs between your thick fingers, activating the suction.  The tug at each nipple is almost as erotic as wearing the ridiculous devices is humiliating.          I long to adjust them, but my restrained wrists leave the control squarely in your hands.
"Shake your tits for me, Slut."
I do, shimmying my shoulders slightly, and the heavy bulbs sway slightly, tugging tightly at my nipples.  I feel my bare pussy stream, and my chest redden in embarrassment.  Your eyes finally take me in, and you do so as you unbutton your shirt.  I avert my gaze, but feel the intensity of your stare on my skin.  You take your time, ogling your good little Slut, licking your lips while methodically removing your clothing.  I suppress the urge to smile, imaging your warm, wet mouth on my breasts.  But, I don't deserve it.  Instead, I get this.  
Naked now, with your erection bobbing in front of you, you relieve my hands from their binding, and instruct me to climb into place on the bed.  From the harness projecting from each corner, I assume that you want me on my back, spread eagle, but you quickly correct me.  I feel a sting across my right breast, as you flick one of the suction cups.  I gasp.
"Ass in the air, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."
"Don't move unless I tell you to, Slut.  Understand?"  Another flick, this time on my left nipple.  
"Yes, Sir," I redden further.  
"I thought you said you were going to be good for me, today."  
"Sorry, Sir."  
"You better be, Slut," you bark, finishing with one sweeping motion that hits both devices.  I clench my teeth.  I hate to be corrected.  I hate it, and at the same time, intensely desire it.  "Onto your stomach."
You expertly fasten my wrists and ankles to the bed.  Now, I feel truly vulnerable to you.  With my arms and legs bound, you now have full, unrestricted access to my body.  My glistening pussy strains, leaking uselessly. The nipple devices press uncomfortably into the mattress, but, at least I can press my mound into it, as well.  Unfortunately, you catch me, and smack me clean across my backside.  I groan.
"Don't you dare pleasure yourself, Slut.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."  Another smack.  My breath catches.
"You haven't demonstrated yourself to be worthy of it, yet tonight.  I'm looking for you to change my mind on that," you continue.  You hit me a third time, harder.  I moan into the mattress.  I long for you to rub the spot, no doubt growing red by now. 
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, are you going to be a good girl for me, or not?"  I prepare for another beating, but it doesn't come.  Instead you retire once more to the toy cabinet.  This time removing another object I immediately recognize, and almost as immediately regret mentioning as the third item on the list.  An anal plug with a pump attached.  The fantasy is intoxicating, but can I handle it for real?
"You've shown me some of your anal prowess online.  Isn't that right, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, you're going to show me what you can do, in person.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, this is your big chance to please me.  To redeem everything you've done.  If you do this for me, I'll be very, very impressed with you.  Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I answer, growing nervous yet excited at the thought of being stretched open, and pleasing my Sir so completely.  My pussy has created a little pool beneath me, and I crave the ability to press it into the mattress.  You squeeze the lube over my bare ass, and it clenches with each drip.  
"Now just relax, and be a good Slut," you coo, probing my opening with the plug.  Now, I've had regular anal plugs enter me before, and it goes in easily, resting just beyond my asshole comfortably.  But the hardest part is yet to come.  "Are you ready, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You'd better be."  One squeeze of the pump, and I feel it inflate inside me.  A little fuller, sure, but nothing I can't handle.  But, I have no idea how big this thing can get.  I'm laying all my trust squarely in my Sir.  
I see you press the pump in your large fist, and again the plug inflates, testing the walls of my ass.  It's getting bigger now, and I yearn now more than ever, to pleasure my clit against the bedding.  Usually when I take this much in my ass, I'm orgasming pretty soon after, and then the girth is removed.  I can't say I've ever taken it further, and I have no idea what lies ahead.  My pussy drips freely down my legs, as I anxiously wait for the next gauge.  The sheet underneath my face is also growing damp with drool and sweat.  
Another pump, and I really feel the stretch.  I want to see; I want to see how big it is.  It feels bigger than anything I've ever had in there, and I don't know how much more I can take.  I groan wildly into the sheets.  
"Good girl," I hear you say, and I feel encouraged to continue.  I want nothing more than to please you.  It satisfies the deepest, darkest part of myself to do this for you.  
Another pump.  I moan, feeling as I might explode.  I reach for your hand, for anything, and the restraints jostle in response.  Then, I feel a hand.  On my ass cheek.  
"It's okay.  Just relax.  You're doing great.  I'm very, very impressed.  You're making Sir very proud."  My pussy creams so completely onto the mattress.  I'm a total sloppy, gorgeous mess.  Everything is so overly sensitive and tense, all you have to do is brush your hand across my ass softly, and suddenly I feel myself buck, muscles contracting, and I come loudly and desperately onto the bed. 
You free my wrists and ankles, and I am grateful.  And, I am equally as grateful for the sperm you shoot all over my face.  

sex club.

Though I'm blinded temporarily by the headlights, I think I see your thick silhouette behind the wheel, approaching the curb of my apartment building.  I shift in my heels, and adjust my short skirt.

Already, I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  I'm beyond excited to meet you for the first time, and apparently, in more ways than one.  I don't know exactly what the night is going to hold, but I have a pretty good idea.  The car stops promptly in front of me, and a tinted window rolls down just enough for you to deliver the command, "Get in, Slut."
Before long, we pull up to Oasis Aqualounge.  I knew it.  I knew it, and yet, I still wonder if I'm really ready.  You lead the way with authority, as if you've been here many times before, as I follow sheepishly, though curiously, behind.  We walk through several poorly attended rooms, in which people are just having drinks and chatting, as I start to gain some confidence, thinking that this place isn't all it's cracked up to be.  
"This way, Slut."  You lead me upstairs, as I realize where the real party is.  Everywhere I look, there's various bodies in various states of undress, engaged in various types of sex, and my hungry eyes quickly lap it up as we keep pace towards our destination.  An attractive, slim girl is receiving oral beneath a latex skirt, as she bends deeply over the back of a couch.  Two older woman kiss passionately while groping each others' lace covered, falling breasts.  A hunky, tanned man grinds against an equally tanned woman with fake tits, which barely move as they fuck.  Several men hold themselves in their own hands, pants spayed open at the hips, stroking off while they watch.  We pass by them all too quickly for my mind to process the shock of what I'm seeing.  
"Keep up, Slut," I hear, a little far away.  I realize I'm falling behind, but I mange to spot your intimidating figure one room ahead.  And, the room is completely red. 
Red vinyl couches, red walls, and in the room's epicentre, an oversized red bed, complete with red plastic sheets.  You sit, fully clothed, amongst several writhing bodies.  As I realize that this is our final destination, my face begins to burn in renewed nervousness, matching the scarlet decor perfectly.  
"Come here, Slut.  Show me what you've got."  My pussy starts to clench, throbbing with my accelerating pulse, as I walk towards you, the clicking of my heels barely audible over the moans of pleasure and squeaking latex.  You spread your knees so that I can slot myself in between them, and you place your large hands on my hips.  They drift down slightly to my naked thighs, then back up to my skirt to feel up my naked ass.  You clench it in your powerful grip, and I feel the pull of pleasure in my pussy.  I glance around the room, relieved and encouraged that no one seems to be paying attention.  Most people are invested in their own interactions, I think, confidently, wondering what the big deal is anyhow.  You lift my skirt, putting my ass on display, and I feel a rush.  You continue to knead it in your fists, and my pussy aches to be touched next.  Luckily, you let me have it.  
You encourage me to get on top, so that I straddle you, standing over you with a heel digging into the couch on either side of your lap.  With my skirt lifted up over my hips, you pull my pussy towards your face, as I relax onto it.  I feel your warm, wet tongue probes my folds, and I feel myself drip onto your cleanly shaven face.  I see you unzip your fly beneath me, and begin to openly stroke yourself as you suck me.  You smack my ass suddenly, loudly.  If they weren't looking before, they most certainly are now.  
You continue to drive your face into my pussy, and in act of total abandon, I remove my shirt.  You reach up to grab my naked breasts, making me join the chorus, sending an ecstatic moan up into the room.  I feel the urge to bear down, as you mercilessly flick your tongue against my clit.  You want me to come.  You want me to come in front of all these people, and it strikes me both as incredibly hot, and painfully cruel.  
Knowing my weakness, one of your large fingers starts to probe my asshole, using the combination of lube and spit to coat them before going in.  I feel my face flush scarlet again, at the thought of someone, multiple people, watching me come.  I clench my eyes shut, feeling the flutter, but completely unable to stop it.  I groan wildly through gritted teeth, trying to stifle the sound of me coming all over your face.  In a public place.

"You've been a good girl tonight, Slut," you say out the car window, after you drop me off at my apartment.  
"Thank you, Sir," I respond obediently.  I want to ask when we can do it again, which club we'll try next... So many ideas flood my mind.  But, I know a good sub shouldn't ask questions, so I just bite my lip, and wave goodbye.  I see your car turn the corner, and suddenly, it's gone.  

good boy.

Let me describe a scenario for you.

I have you undress and sit in the chair beside my bed, while I lovingly clasp your wrists together, behind the back of the chair, with the black silk ropes I reserve for special occasions.  While I fasten your hands, I lean in to your ear so that you can feel my warm breath tickle your earlobe.  I tell you that I want you to come inside me like a good boy, but that you have to wait until I've gotten myself off first. You tilt your head so that you expose your neck to me, hoping that my lips grace the soft skin there, but I remain diligent in my knot tying, wanting assurance that you couldn't reach for your own cock even if you tried.

I undress in front of you, the restraints already tightening against your wrists, as you long to touch every inch of creamy white skin that I expose to you.  I retrieve my vibrator from the bedside table; a dick sized, purple latex phallus, which I tease you with as I slowly approach the chair, letting it graze my small, perky tits, making my nipples stand at attention.  I run one of my hands through your hair, stopping at the nape of your neck, while my other raises the dildo towards your lips.  You obediently lick your lips and open your mouth, the taste of silicone fresh on your tongue.  I look down at you, being such a good boy, and I feel my pussy twitch sympathetically, as if it was my dick you were taking into your mouth.  Yours starts to rise.  

Satisfied with the moisture accumulated on my vibrator, I withdraw the latex dick from your lips, and you immediately feel its absence, knowing that this is the last time you will be in physical contact with me.  Now, you must only watch, and longingly wait.  

I kneel on the bed in front you, just like in the picture I sent you, exposing my soft round ass, and puffy pussy lips, already glistening with desire.  As I place the pre-moistened vibrator between my legs, you observe my muscles immediately contract, hips tilting, thrusting towards it.  The buzzing sound of the toy is soon followed by moans of delight.  I bend deeper, letting my face rest on the sheets, giving you an even more immaculate view of my pussy and and asshole.  You see the opening of my ass clench and release, and I rock forward against the vibrator.  Then, you become extremely jealous, as the fake phallus probes my dripping pussy lips, ready to sink itself deep within me.

The dildo easily finds its way in, and I bob it into my pussy, only about halfway for now, coating its purple tip with my moisture.  You notice a bead of sweat break your hairline, and long to wipe it.  Your muscles flex, and erection begs to be soothed.

I push the toy deeper inside myself, as I release a groan up into the air.  My ass is working overtime now, muscles contracting and releasing, trying to sync up with the vibrations delivered by the dildo.  Your wrists strain against the ropes, ready to rip them to spreads to get to me.  Suddenly, I buckle forward, gasping, tense one moment and relaxed the next.  I remove the vibe from my pussy, still twitching, and exhale.  

Your mouth forms a saucy smile, ready now, to be released.  Your cock anxiously awaits my touch, and the warm wetness of my engorged pussy.  The past ten minutes has felt like a lifetime. "That's one," I exclaim, exasperated.  

"Usually I give myself three or four, when I'm alone."  

a cougar christmas (re-write).

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caught with my pants off.

I text my boyfriend, "Coming home soon?"  After waiting the necessary ten minutes, I unplug my laptop, and carry it into our bedroom.

Not that I don't want Daniel to come home; in fact, it's just the opposite.  I just don't want to masturbate if I can get off with him later tonight.  I would much rather share my orgasm with him, but it's a little selfish, too, I admit.  My orgasms are much better when he assists me.  And, by assist, I mean, I'm still going to use my vibrator, whether he's here or not.  It's just an issue of whether I'm getting other things stimulated, while I'm doing it.  And I don't necessarily mean sexually; that is, the smell of his skin comforting me, his deep voice arousing my mind, and our general intimacy relaxing me.  He also touches my breasts, pussy, and butt.  Everything forementioned attributing to overall better orgasms.  And, it just so happens that our sexual position of choice, is usually assisted masturbation.

I plug the laptop back in next to the bed, and settle into the soft sheets.  Remove most of my clothing, leaving only a tank top and white ankle socks.  I'd usually remove everything if I was making love, but doing the activity solo allows me to be most comfortable, and I come easier when I'm on the warm side.  I take up a position on my end of the bed, laying with the laptop balancing delicately on my stomach, and I take out my vibrator from the side table, poised to turn it on.  First, I search for my favourite porn site.  Not that I watch too much porn anymore, now that Daniel and I have moved in together.  My masturbation time has been significantly cut down by the fact that I rarely have time alone at home anymore; and if I'm horny, I'll find Daniel over sneaking off to the bedroom by myself.  And since I'm watching alone, I don't have to be self conscious about what I choose.  This is my opportunity to watch exactly what I want to watch, and I savour it.  I feel a smile creep across my face as I saucily click the category, Anal Sex.

I fast forward, past the interview with the cameraman at the beginning, past the blowjob, even past the vaginal sex.  I stop right before the anal penetration. The part I'm looking for, is the warm up.  Something I very much enjoy myself, I look forward to watching the brief part where he plays with her ass with his fingers, or with toys; effectively warming her up before he puts his dick in it.  Not that the sixty seconds of anal foreplay they show is going to be enough for the average, non-pornography starring girl looking to engage in full on anal sex, because, to tell you the truth, it's barely enough for me to come while masturbating to it.  Sometimes I rewind, and watch it multiple times.  

The man on the video makes her spit on his fingers, instead of using lubricant.  I get mine from a bottle, squirting a healthy dollop onto the vibrator, and placing it on myself.  He bends her in half, lifting her legs, and pushing her knees up towards her shoulders.  He asks her if she's flexible, and she nods, settling into this pretzel-like position.  The man brushes the opening of her asshole with the spit, as I feel myself start to relax and bear down.  Her ass easily takes his fingers, as they disappear inside her.  She must have warmed up off camera.  I watch the delicate skin of her asshole pucker and stretch as he moves them in and out.  He asks if she can take one more.  I feel my clit harden and it feels so good, I almost shy away from the intensity of the vibrations.  

Just then, I hear the front door slam.  "Jen?"  I freeze, not knowing whether to answer.  Not that Daniel would mind if I'm masturbating; in fact, he likes to hear that I'm still doing it.  But, walking in on me, is something altogether different.  I pause the video, take the laptop from my chest, but I don't close it completely.  I'm still planning on getting off. 

"Uh... In here!"  I turn off the vibrator momentarily, close my legs, the lube squishing slightly between them.  He appears in the doorway.

"Hey, I was trying to call you... Um, are you getting off, baby?"  He chuckles, eyes alight.

"Uh... Yeah."

"Mmm.  What are you watching?" He says, interested, taking off his shirt, and joining me.  He lifts the laptop, revealing a still of a the girl's loosening asshole.  

"How embarrassing..." I say, only half joking.  

"Mmm," he says, closing the laptop and placing it on the table beside him.  "Are you embarrassed to be caught masturbating, baby?"

"Hmm," I smile, reddening.  "A little bit."

"Are you embarrassed that I saw what you were looking at?"

"Mmm.  Yeah."

"That you were looking at a girl's ass?  Hmm?"  He says, faux sternly.  

"Yes, baby," I smile, turning the vibrator back on.  He kisses me deeply on the mouth, moving down my neck, to my clothed breasts.  He removes my shirt, bending to lick my hardening nipples.  I press the vibrator against my clit, allowing myself to moan in pleasure.  He takes out his dick, and starts stroking it.  

"You're a bad girl, getting caught, aren't you?"  I feel moisture drip down between my legs, towards my ass, a blend of my own juices and the lube.  With one hand, he feels my wet, puffy pussy.  His fingers glide over my glistening folds, as I feel myself push, almost reaching out to him.  His elbow grazes my side as he jerks his cock, his voice wet in my ear.  "You need to be taught a lesson, don't you?"

"Mmm.  Yeah, baby." I feel his slick hand move down my sensitive perineum, towards my ass.  Immediately, I feel the urge to bear down.  

"So you don't do it again."  

"Mmm.  Yes."  I feel the pad of his finger trace the opening of my ass, in a circular motion, teasing it.  I feel my asshole pulsate, wanting his fingers.  He changes the angle of one of them, and it dips in slightly.  I moan, my ass relaxing to accommodate it.  

"That's a good girl.  You know what I need you to do."

"Yeah, baby," I groan, feeling him enter me.  The role play is perfect.  I love when he pretends to make me do something that I so badly want to do already.  In reality, Daniel touching my ass is rather mundane, it being a weekly occurrence at least, but the dirty talk makes it seem taboo, like when he first started to touch me in this way.

"I need to touch you here, don't I?  To teach you a lesson."

"Mmm.  Yes, baby."

"Are you going to be a good girl?"  He says, plunging the finger all the way inside my ass.  I gasp, the muscles in my ass both pushing and relaxing to allow him to enter.  He vigorously jerks his cock, elbowing me in the side with each stroke.  I press the vibe harder against myself, knowing that I could come at any time, now.  He begins to wiggle his finger.  "Are you going to let me punish you?"

"Yes, baby," I say, voice quivering.

"You're not going to make this any harder, are you?"

"No!"  The liberation of saying this word, whilst completely immersed in the consent play, does it for me.  I open my ass, bearing down in the unique way that combines both pressing and opening, allowing him to stimulate that spot deep within me.  Everything contracts at once, and I cry out a guttural sound.  Daniel continues to jerk off a few strokes before letting go himself.  His glistening semen lands across my torso, expertly avoiding the sheets.

"That was unexpected," he says, breathless.

"You're telling me."
"I tried to phone you, but I guess you were busy," he winks.  I flush crimson.
"Yes, I was..." I laugh.  "Yes, I was."

mouth fetish (re-post)

An online profile catches my eye, as I peruse potential mates late into the night. "Looking for a sweet girl to spend some time with.  Must have lots of energy, be positive, and have a pretty mouth." 

It drove me wild when my last boyfriend, Derek, used to touch my mouth during sex.  I loved it when he used to kiss my neck, while toying his finger around the rim of my lips.  He always had such a warm, wet, welcoming mouth himself, that would get me similarly wet just thinking about it.  I could almost come from him kissing me deeply, and it goes without saying that I absolutely loved having his cock in my mouth, as well.  I always came hardest when my mouth was full.  

So, it's obvious why the words, "pretty mouth" appealed to me.  That phrase in particular makes me a little wet, because the one saying it is usually thinking about fucking it.  And that to me, is the sexiest.  It's either a bold request by this guy on his online profile, basically admitting that he wants a good cocksucker; or, the guy is so oblivious, naive, or foreign, that it's to be taken at face value.  Or he has a mouth fetish, like me.  I feel that satisfying tingle again between my legs, just thinking about it.

No.  I shouldn't.  I'm supposed to be looking for a potential partner, not another one night stand.  Ever since breaking up with Derek, I've had an unsavoury string of men parade through my bedroom, trying to fill the need, both emotionally and sexually.  Touching my own mouth just isn't the same, and I've been desperate.  Too many nights lately, I've been lying in bed with a vibrator on my clit, and a latex tasting dildo in my mouth.  

But, these fly by night encounters don't exactly quench my appetite.  I need someone constant I can depend on, like Derek, who has similar interests in bed as I do.  And, I need someone that I can trust and feel comfortable with; someone with whom I can feel free enough to divulge my sweetest fantasies, without fear of being judged.  So far, the men I've slept with casually have barely licked the icing of the cake, metaphorically speaking.  What I need requires not only a commitment, but an in depth understanding of my mouth fetish.  It's probably the reason that I held onto Derek for so long, even after I knew in my heart that it was over.  He knew me better than I knew myself; he was always one step ahead of me.  He did things to me that I didn't know I wanted yet, and now I salivate for them.  It takes a lot of will power to give up something that worked so well for so long.  But, it doesn't change how horny I am right now.

I log off the dating website, having worked up quite the hungry need.  It's not that I'm still in love with Derek, let me make that clear.  But, I'm definitely in love with the sex we had.  Just thinking about how he used to devour my lips when we kissed, makes me want to grab my vibrator.  But, looking at the late hour on the clock, I power down the computer, and head to bed.  Like usual, I toss and turn, trying to keep the tasty thoughts out of my head.  A finger tracing the outline of my mouth.  Someone squeezing my cheeks.  Telling me to open up.  But, something's different this time.  It's not the thought of Derek doing this to me, that's keeping me awake.  It's the thought of this new guy; the one from the dating website.  Thomas. 

The next morning, I can't get to my computer fast enough.  I log back in, and scan the rest of his profile.  He looks pretty normal; nothing jumps out at me.  Enjoys trying new foods, he's a professional sommelier at an upscale restaurant, and he's played the French horn since childhood.  All things that require engagement of the lips, I mentally note.  Not to mention that he's fairly attractive, as well.  A clean shaven, angular face with blonde cropped hair.  The body shots show off a toned physique in fairly fashionable clothing.  My eyes drift to his crotch, trying to make out an outline of some kind.  I reread his mission statement: "Looking for a sweet girl to spend some time with.  Must have lots of energy, be positive, and have a pretty mouth." 

Able to have some perspective on it now, I decide to message him back, admitting to myself that I am up for getting laid again, just as much as finding a new partner, and I can't blame the guy for potentially being in the same position.  I start with the cheery, vague greeting, "Hi Thomas!  I'm Liz.  Nice profile.  Interested in learning more about you."  That tingling in between my legs again, at the excitement of potential of communicating with a fellow mouth fetishist.  Or at least, someone with similar interests.  The computer dings.  A response!

"Hello Liz.  Nice to meet you.  I like your picture.  Would you like to grab a drink?"  His forwardness surprises me; usually they chitchat a bit.  But, he likes my picture.  I guess that tells me what he thought of my mouth.  I close my eyes and begin to picture him touching my lips, but the computer dings again, jarring me out of the fantasy.  "I hope you don't think I'm too forward.  I just would rather meet face to face to determine if we have a connection."  Face to face; or mouth to mouth?  He seems a little odd, but I do agree with him, regardless.  It's a waste of time to email back and forth for weeks, when you'll know the moment you see each other if you're really interested.  I'm not looking for a person just to e-correspond with, after all.  

"Sure.  But, I'll choose the place."

We meet downtown, at a cafe.  Actually, the cafe I bring all my online dates to.  It's well lit, populated, and I'm comfortable here.  Plus, it has a decent wine menu and great food, which Thomas mentioned enjoying.  I've only given him an hour; a precaution I now take from past internet mismatches.  It gives you an out, if there isn't an immediate connection.  I see him as soon as I enter, feeling a little shocked that he got there before me.  In any case, he's wearing the light blue shirt he said he would be, and looks delicious.  Clean cut, a little older than the picture on his profile, but with a sharp, attractive jawline.  I stop to put on a little lip gloss.  When I approach, I see how the shirt brings out the soft blue in his eyes, balancing his harder features nicely.  "Thomas?"  

"Liz.  Hi."  He rises, gives me a formal handshake, and gestures for me to sit down.  Throughout initial the chitchat, he seems serious, doesn't really make eye contact, and is rather quiet.  I nervously overtalk.  

"So, you mentioned that you're a sommelier?  You must have a very educated palate."  Everything I say sounds sexual.  "I can't tell the difference between a hundred dollar bottle, or a cheap one.  At least I'm an easy date!  You could feed me just about anything, and I'd be happy!"  He smiles slightly, still averting his eyes.  I go on, embarrassingly.  "And, you play a wind instrument?  I tried the flute when I was young, but I couldn't get the lip position correct.  I would've loved to play, though.  It just amazes me how such pleasurable things come out of someone doing something so odd as pretending to spit or trilling their lips."  I demonstrate, then laugh, feeling myself blush crimson, realizing how I must look.  But, even then, I can't help myself.  "You mentioned being a foodie, too... You should try the pastries here.  The pies are like orgasms on plates!  Not that you would eat an orgasm.  Well, I mean... you do, but..."  

I'm about to conclude that he isn't that into me, when I realize that while he isn't looking into my eyes, he is however, focussed very intently on my mouth.  And, it looks like he likes what he sees.  Now and then, I see the corner of his lips curl up in satisfaction, as he watches.  I babble on, barely coming up for air.

"The other day, I had the key lime pie with whipped topping, and it just melted in my mouth!  I looked in the mirror later, and realized that I had cream all over my chin for most of the afternoon..."

As I become aware that my mouth is being observed so carefully, I make an effort to move my lips and tongue as sensually as possible.  The whole thing is really turning me on, and I cross my legs under the table, pressing them together, satisfyingly.  I also slow down, realizing that he is barely listening to what I'm saying, so I begin to improvise.

"I can't help myself from licking the silky smooth cream cheese off a carrot cupcake.  Can you?  The way it tickles the tastebuds at the tip of your tongue..."

I keep hearing the words pretty mouth in my head, and picturing him getting hard thinking about what he wants to do to mine.  I put on another coat of lip gloss right there in front of him, and I swear I see him straining, virtually vibrating, as if he's trying to hold himself back.  As the hour draws to a close, I tell him that I have another hour or so to spare, if he doesn't have anywhere he has to be.

Back at his place, Thomas fixes me a drink, and we sit on his sofa.  His apartment is impeccably clean, almost unnervingly so, if I weren't so particular about tidiness myself.  Makes me hopeful that he does have a sexual neurosis of some sort.  He serves me a milky looking liquor on ice, and it seems to bring him pleasure to watch me drink it.  It feels like cool, creamy heaven in my mouth.  Again I find him staring, and now in the privacy of his room, I tease, "So, do I have a pretty mouth?”  His eyes dart up to mine, maybe for the first time yet.  

“Yes,” he exhales.  

"For a minute, I didn't think you liked me.  You're not exactly a conversationalist."

"I like you," he interrupts.  Perhaps the most words he's strung together yet.  

"Well, tell me about yourself.  So, I can like you, too."  I think it's his shyness that's making me so bold.  But, I hope that maybe in the comfort of his own home, he'll open up a bit.  “Seriously.  What are you looking for?”

“Just someone to spend some time with."

"Uh, huh.  Someone sweet."  I add, referring to his online profile.

"Right," he blushes.  

"And, do you think that's me?"  He smiles.

"I don't know yet.  It's hard to tell so soon."

"So... Spend some time doing what?  Listening to you play French horn?"

"No, no," he chuckles.  "But, finding someone with similar interests is important."  Did he just say what I think he said?  Similar interests.  He's looking at my lips again, and I swear I can see him salivating.  

"So, Thomas.  Do you consider the mouth an erogenous zone?"  I inquire, suddenly.

"Sorry? I..."  

"I do.  Well, mine is, at least."

"Really?"

"Mm hm.  I love to have it stimulated.  Constantly.  It’s like an obsession.  Chewing gum, playing with my tongue or lips, eating, drinking.  And, other things..."  I giggle flirtatiously, trying to gauge his reaction.  “There’s nothing I like better than having my mouth full.  Whether it be bubblegum, delectable desserts, or a creamy cocktail...”  I raise my glass, and down the rest.  “What do you think?”

“I think... that you’re right.”

“You do?”  

“Yes.  Stimulation of the mouth, or lips... can be very satisfying.”  

“Satisfying.”  Interesting choice of words.  “Please continue.”

“Well, some people like their mouths touched by other people.  Or, they like to... touch other people’s.”

“I see.”  I’m watching his gaze the whole time.  It’s barely left my lips, the whole conversation.  I lick them, slowly and sensually.  “You can touch mine,” I casually reply.  “If you want."  I enunciate every sound.  A tentative smile spreads across his face, almost with a look of relief, or thanks.  I feel myself smile as well, blushing an attractive shade of pink.  My pussy tingles suddenly, and I feel my nipples harden through my blouse.  Still unsure if he is a true fetishist, I wait for him to make a move.  With extreme anticipation.  It seems like minutes tick by as I lick my lips and feel a bead of sweat break my hairline. 

Then, he moves.  He reaches forward, first cradling my face in his hand, then letting his thumb wander toward my lips.  I watch his face, and my breath quickens, seeing how much he enjoys touching me there.  Eyes alight, lips slightly apart himself, he moves his thumb just close enough inside my mouth to gather a bit of moisture, which he spreads over my lower lip.  I relax them, pouting my lips for him, making them as full and soft as I can.  I watch his eyes follow his thumb, which is now hit by my warm, quickening breath.  His other fingers join in, gently moving the flesh of my lips as they pass over them.  Such a small gesture, but one that seems to leave us both craving the full meal.  I readjust on the couch, and realize how wet I am.  I can't take it anymore.  I quickly remove my blouse.  

"Keep going,"  I tell him.  I kneel on the carpet, still wearing my bra and skirt, and he stands over me, the bulge of his cock now near my face.  So close, that I can see it twitch through his pants, straining against the material.  I grasp my hands behind me, in a sign of submission.  

"Can you open your mouth?" he says.  God, yes.  I do so, with my tongue still in my mouth, my lips open in an "o" shape, making sure to look up at him while I do it.  He again uses his thumb to trace the circle of my open mouth, and then, suddenly, completely plunges it inside.  I seal my lips around it, and I let him slowly thrust it in and out of my mouth.  My pussy floods with moisture, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head, it's so pleasurable.  Every part of me is engorged and erect.  He extracts his finger, leaving me gasping.  I'm pleased to see that he too, is breathless. 

"Show me your tongue," Thomas says, with a little more confidence.  I obey immediately, sticking it out as far as I can, while having it still look relaxed and soft.  He gives me the tip of his finger, which I enthusiastically encircle with my tongue.  He pulls at my cheeks; gently tugging, one by one, to see how far I can open.  I love being inspected like this, as if he's seeing whether my mouth is up to the task.  I find myself very eager to please; staying still, holding myself this way and that, and doing exactly as he asks of me.  Satisfied, he slowly unbuttons his pants, revealing a massive hard on.  I smile at the thought of taking a cock in my mouth, but feel nervous at the sight of it, because I've never had something that big in my mouth.  I see now, why he wanted to see its capabilities first.  I move to grasp it with my hand, but he tells me not to.  

"Leave your hands behind you."  I do so, leaning forward, and parting my lips to take the head into mouth.  I was right.  This is the biggest cock I've ever had.  I widen my jaw, and take as much as I can.  With his thick cock filling my mouth, almost touching the back of my throat, I feel so perfect and full.  I reach down beneath my skirt, to play with myself, and immediately feel the urge to come.  I start to move my mouth over him, but he puts his hand in my hair to still me.  Instead, he starts to slowly thrust.  

"Look up at me."  In the ecstasy of it, I had closed my eyes.  The pleasure of my eyes meeting his, with my mouth open so wide and so full with his cock, makes him pick up speed.  "Hold it open."  He thrusts longer, so that each time his cock leaves me completely, then comes right back, in a precise, fluid movement, into the waiting, open hole of my mouth.  

"Keep it open. Don't move."  I'm going to come.  Furiously rubbing my clit, I feel myself spasm and release, crying out, while at almost the same time, feel his cock explode hot liquid while at the deepest part of my throat.  I swallow, having my meal at last, collapsing on my elbow beside me, gasping for breath.  He sits down hard, almost falling into the couch. 

I look at Thomas from my place on the floor, and he smiles.  Not a shy or unintentional one like before, that disappears quickly, along with an averted gaze.  But, a full, open expression that I can connect with and read clearly.  I ask with a smirk, "What are you doing next week?"