He has restraint in mind for you.
It was when you invoked the name of the Almighty repeatedly that he realized how much you wanted that last vestige of control stripping away. It was when you confessed you’d had to change your panties – because the thought of him bringing four lengths of cotton rope with him to bind you to the bed by your wrists and ankles had left you sodden – that he understood you were waiting for someone to propel you out of your comfort zone.
That’s when he decided. That’s when he purchased the restraint.
It’s fashioned from cool, black leather. The collar is three inches high; sufficient to make you lift your chin imperiously when it’s locked in place about your slender neck. The strap that runs down the center of your back is thinner, its purpose merely to provide a suitable anchor for the two cuffs below. When fastened about your wrists, they’ll keep your forearms at right angles to the line of your body. Once all three of the small, brass padlocks have snapped shut, rest assured, you’ll be quite helpless.
That’s when he’ll begin in earnest.
Before you feel that first, shiver-inducing kiss of leather against your skin, though, he will have prepared you. He’ll have kissed you slowly, intensely; softly, fervently, until you’re both panting with animal desire. He won’t allow you to touch him, though. Not yet. That’s to be saved for later. Instead, standing behind you, he’ll have placed a folded silk scarf across your eyes and knotted it amongst your luxuriant tresses. Then, cloaked in your own private darkness, you’ll have been led toward the center of the hotel room, and you’ll have heard the first of two distinctive noises: the swish of the heavy curtains being drawn apart, unveiling the floor-to-ceiling windows.
That’s when he’ll begin to undress you.
He’ll take his time, removing each layer carefully, prissily. You’ll hear him folding each garment, draping it over the back of the room’s solitary chair. You’ll feel his fingers brush your body as he peels away your lacy lingerie, the warmth of his form radiating against you as he stands inches away, the ragged whisper of his breath against your skin. And throughout, you’ll understand that your disrobing might be seen by any number of licentious voyeurs – knowledge that will both torture and tantalize you. It might be difficult for you to discern where your foreboding ends and your fever begins. But it will be impossible for you to stop yourself quivering in anticipation.
And once you’re naked except for your gleaming stilettos, you’ll hear the second of those distinctive noises: the slow unzipping of the leather holdall he brought with him.
That’s when you’ll feel the leather.
Bound in hide, sealed in darkness, you’ll be guided to the king-size bed, bade to kneel down upon its firm-yet-yielding mattress. He’ll take you by the shoulders and press your upper body gently down, until your forehead rests against the welcoming counterpane.
Head bowed, buttocks raised, you’ll wait, knowing that the gazes of your lover and the night world that lies beyond the tall glass are likely transfixed by the sight of your helpless, naked form. You’ll listen to the sounds of him disrobing somewhere behind you … and then you’ll hear him approach, sense him close by, feel his strong hands settle upon your taut rear. You’ll feel the pads of his fingers drawing abstract patterns over your skin, feel his nails draw parallels of fire across your nerve endings. You’ll feel him crouch behind you, and as he does, he’ll ease your cheeks apart, opening your sex to his rapacious gaze.
That’s when you’ll feel his tongue.
Lapping at the backs of your thighs … painting glistening lines across the womanly curves of your behind … and all the time, circling closer and closer to the center of your fire as his strong hands mold your yielding flesh to his grasp. You’ll want to speak, to urge him onwards with a tremulous voice: Don’t tease me. Go faster, faster. Let me feel your tongue on my clit. Let me have you plunging it inside me, fucking me with it. Oh, let me tremble and come against your mouth. But don’t tease me. Don’t make me wait. Please. And yet … you’ll ache for him to make you wait; yearn for him to continue his patient exploration of your flesh, of your burning desire … the flames being coaxed higher, hotter, with every second.
And when he finally comes to extinguish them….
***
You test the strength of the leather restraining you. Your rational mind knows that it’s pointless, but you do it anyway, because it’s your nature not to surrender without a fight, even when you want to lose.
The straps don’t offer the merest hint of yielding to your strength.
Your lover pauses, moves away from you. Something cool and damp, slightly viscous in its consistency, is smeared against your anus. You shudder, knowing what is to come. He’s teased you with the promise of this illicit game, and now you’re about to play; helpless to stop him, too far gone – if you’re honest with yourself – to even consider saying no.
Les jeux sont faits.
The first of the beads – metal, given its chill weight and firmness – kisses the rosebud’s seal. Gradually, it’s pressed against your flesh, and then you feel yourself starting to yield before it. The sensation is alien, slightly disconcerting … and yet … there is some minor pleasure at the stimulus, but what affects you most is the excitement at being taken somewhere new, somewhere previously forbidden.
The bead passes through the twin rings of muscle. He strokes your buttocks, kisses the backs of your thighs. The second bead nuzzles at your rosebud. Again, there is that vague mixture of discomfort and pleasure, underscored by the thrill of the taboo, as it’s pressed inside you. The action is repeated three more times. After each bead, he spends a few seconds caressing your body, allowing you to become accustomed to the intrusion, to the experience.
Inside you, the beads feel neither good nor bad; but knowing they are there … that thrills you blackly.
He eases your thighs apart and his tongue suddenly rakes your sodden cleft. You cry out into the bed, smearing your lips against the softness. You wish that his hard cock was before you now, ready to slip inside your mouth. You can almost taste the warm musk of his flesh, the salty-sweetness of his precum. His tongue travels the valley of your cunt again, more slowly this time, so you have the chance to measure every millimeter of his exploration. It’s difficult given your position, but you try to force yourself back against his mouth. His fingers sink gently into the plumpness of your labia, and you feel him drawing you open, feel his warm breath against the pink tenderness of your sex. For a time, the tip of his tongue traces the very edges of your quim, and then it slips inside you, pressing deep, firmly, into the silken flesh. He grips your waist and pulls you back toward him so that you can’t escape, and the bristles of his beard – which you plan to lick and suck clean of every trace of your lust – make your vulva tingle wickedly.
You cry out into the bed.
Then – somehow – his face is underneath you, and he’s pulling your loins down to meet his clever, greedy mouth. His tongue flickers against the growing pearl of your clitoris, and you bite down hard on the counterpane to still cries of pleasure you fear will be audible in the adjacent rooms. As he licks you, he slips two fingers deep into your wetness, fucking you in accompaniment to the dancing of his tongue.
Your body is awash with pleasure. The memory of all the days and weeks and months of waiting and fantasizing … it’s just a shadow, now: ephemeral; powerless. Your ache for fulfillment was consuming, at times almost too much to bear … and yet now … now, the hunger is gone. Obliterated. Finally.
The realization of your wantonness means that little time passes before his flickering tongue and thrusting fingers have you quivering on the brink of your first climax. As you start to come, he reaches upwards, over the curve of your hip. At once, there’s a new tension inside you, the sensation of something hard and smooth pulling insistently against the inside of your sphincter. As the bead is drawn through both rings of muscle, you shiver deliciously, and the waves of your orgasm increase their height. You can’t stop yourself from turning your face to one side and letting the room – and your neighbors, perhaps – hear your delight.
One by one, the beads are drawn from you; each time one slips from your flesh, its passage triggers a minor explosion of ecstasy that prolongs the intensity of your climax. When the last of the beads has been freed, you are panting, sobbing against the bed.
He moves again, slipping from beneath your loins, moving to stand behind you. One hand cups the left side of your waist, his fingers curling around to clutch at the softness of your abdomen. The unmistakable sensation of his glans being drawn down through your cleft rips your breath away again as you’ve barely begun to reclaim it.
“Yes,” you gasp, as he draws the tip of his cock up and down the sodden chink in your loins.
Deprived of sight, you focus in on the sound of his flesh moving wetly within yours. “Yes. Oh yes.” When he eases his full length inside you in one, flowing impulse, it’s as though someone has fired off a flash within the blackness of your blindfold.
The after-image lingers before your eyes as he begins to fuck you. His warm, strong hands seize you about your waist, forcing you back to meet each thrust, just like he did when he fucked you with his tongue. It feels exquisite when his thick shaft is embedded to the hilt within you, so much so that there’s a bitter moment of regret when he withdraws, when he eases himself back until only the very tip of his cockhead still touches your sex.
But when he thrusts back into you….
In the darkness that he’s fashioned for you, it’s easy to lose yourself in the reciprocal rhythms of your lust. Your cunt measures the advance and retreat of his cock like some shameless scientist, gripping at his prick, reluctant to accede to its recoil, avaricious in its welcoming of his return. The oiled friction of his thrusts soothes and satisfies and startles all at once. The unmistakable aroma of fucking fills your nostrils and you welcome its piquancy like an old friend.
You don’t know how long he fucks you before his control of pace starts to fray, before his strokes begin to lose their sinuous smoothness. By then, he’s fucked you to another orgasm, the fingers of one hand strumming your clitoris as he plunges his cock into your depths. His free hand cups one of your swinging breasts, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip when he pulls upon the stiff nipple, when he rolls its thickness between his fingers and thumb.
You sense his body tautening behind you; you can feel it in his hands, in his loins, most of all in his cock. His length twitches inside your velvet sheath, and he draws back with a gasp that would sound like intensity to the unaccustomed. A man at the point of no return. For a moment, you fear that he intends to part his flesh from yours, to spurt his seed across the cheeks of your rear, along the shallow curve of your spine. But then he drives back into you, hard enough to force a shameless cry of triumph from between your lips, and as his shaft throbs and pulses inside you, as you feel the flood of warm semen within your most sacred flesh, the final part of your triumvirate of ecstasy erupts.
Spent, you collapse forward upon the crumpled bed. He comes with you, his cock still embedded within your flesh. Tenderly, he kisses your ear, then your neck above the edge of the leather collar. His fingers busy themselves with the trio of padlocks, and soon he’s peeling the leather harness away from your body, freeing you, returning your control.
You barely hear him when he whispers, “Enjoy?”
* * *
That’s what he had in mind for you when he thought of ‘restraint’, when he made the purchase. That’s what he thought of when the package arrived, when he unwrapped it, ran his eyes and then his fingers over the contents. That’s what he thought of when he tested the softness and the strength of the leather.
That’s what he’s thinking of now.
Is that what you’re thinking of too?
