“And you love it,” I said, as I whipped the first blast of air on her clit. She jumped back with surprise.
“It’s phenomenal.”
“Justin, we can’t have her moving around like this.”
“My cue to improvise, Luc?”
I chuckled. “Go for it, buddy.”
Justin dropped to his knees with her ass in his face. I fired up the compressor again on her clit, and she backed into him.
“Oh. My God.” said Ava. Her staccato words suggested surprise.
“What’s Justin doing, love?”
“He’s squeezing my ass and licking—”
“Something you like my dear? Is his hot, fat tongue wiggling down your crack and pressing right into your backdoor? I love watching him drive you crazy.”
The metal clanked as Ava tried to position herself. She writhed and gasped as Justin worked his magic tongue. The lust on her face confirmed my plans.
“Justin, let me know when you’ve had your fill of rimming my wife’s ass.” He stood, nodded at me, and repositioned himself.
“Oh, Justin. I love the tool belt grinding into my ass. You sandwiched your cock in my crack.”
“I did.” He reached in his tool belt and pulled out a tube. “Let’s see if this lube helps it ride your cheeks before it finds heaven.” He dripped the lube down her crack. I shot more air on her bundle of nerves and watched her dance back into him. It turned me on when she bucked her pelvis to feel his hard cock.
“Do a little dance for me, baby.” She was at my mercy with the whims of my hand blasting the air. She and Justin rocked and moaned. I shoved my fingers between her legs into her wet lips. Her moisture covered me in an instant. My woman was a sex machine. I blasted her clit while I finger-fucked her hard. Justin held her tight as the first orgasm flew through her.
“Tell me, Luc. How are we doing this?”
“Baby, we’ll fuck you until you see fireworks.”
“Together?”
Justin applied more lube.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I asked.
She nodded her head with sharp, quick bobs.
As Justin rocked his cock up her crack, it pushed her pelvis closer, teasing me. I unfastened my tool belt, letting it fall to the floor along with the compressor nozzle. I inhaled the most intoxicating arousal, like my favorite wine, aged to perfection, and I had to taste. Every time Justin pushed her body forward, my tongue dipped into her vulva. We’d created a pendulum effect.
“Is this how you envisioned it, Ava?”
Between her gasping, garbled words emerged: “No, it’s better.”
I latched my hands onto her thighs, fingering the rope, and let Justin’s movements drive her pussy into my face. I ate her out like I never had and her screams of pleasure soaring through the air made me scrabble.
“Justin, get the table, slide it here.” When it was set under the bar, I hopped on, and Justin adjusted Ava so she could sit on my erection. “Tilt the bar forward, so Ava’s body bends toward me for your access.”
Her thighs shook as Ava hovered over me. I grabbed her hips and centered her over my cock. “Ease on down, baby.”
“Forget easing, I want to gobble you up, Luc.” Her tight pussy sucked me in and clamped down. As her decorated breasts hung toward me with her hard nipples, flushed skin, and glazed-over eyes, I was a goner.
“You ready, Ava?” She nodded her head. “Justin, lube and go as you please.”
Ava mouthed, “I love you.”
I heard the camera clicks. Would there ever be better anniversary sex than this? My wife hung by her bound hands from my constructed platform, sexier than I have ever seen her, ready to be drilled in the ass by our guy, with my dick hard as steel inside her. As Justin’s hands crept over her shoulders, I pinched Ava’s nipples as she moved on me. I felt the pressure of Justin’s cock against mine as he fully seated in her ass, and then the three of us ground together.
Could I have envisioned this for us thirty years ago?
Nope.
But I’m glad we got here. Ava carried the lead baton for our sexual pleasure in the first thirty years, and now it was my turn. Her love-filled gaze, throaty moans, and pelvic thrusts suggested I was off to a good start.
“Ava, how is the sex in our new house?”
She gripped the rope loops in her hands. Her face morphed into confusion or near orgasm.
“Our house?” she panted.
“I’m building it for the three of us,” I grunted.
“Our place?” Ava’s eyes sparkled. “J, you committed to us?”
I sat up flush against Ava’s body and reached my arms around to Justin. He wrapped his arms around Ava and me. Ava beamed.
“It’s official,” said Justin.
“We thought you’d like a ceremony,” I said.
“This is better than my wildest dreams. Fireworks for all. Hold me tighter, guys.”
The orgasms crashed through all three of us and the camera shuttering signaled we’d have proof of all our creations.
As for me, I couldn’t wait to hear if I executed the fantasy to Ava’s liking.
PLUG IN THE MODEL
Céline
It was the last day.
It was the last day and Sofie couldn’t help but feel sad and dejected. It had lasted a week and a half, spent posing for hours at a time, sometimes in silence, observing Karo, and sometimes in conversation, during breaks between two sessions, talking about the world of art they both were a part of.
Three more hours and it would be over. After this, the painting would take on a life of its own, and she and Karo would go their separate ways. Because Karo was the artist, the genius, and Sofie was just a model. A good one, but that was it. She knew Karo didn’t see past her body, that was the reason she had been chosen for the series. Karo wanted to represent age and pain, and after more than fifteen years away from the painting studios, Sofie had decided she could pose once more, because for the first time since her surgery, she had felt somebody wanted to see her scars.
They had met, a contract had been signed, information had been exchanged, and Sofie had found her way to Karo’s private studio, directly under the roof, full of easels, canvas, paint, and winter light. Sofie had undressed, let Karo tie her hands together with a white cotton rope and help her climb on a pile of wooden boards stacked together. Sofie then had to slide the rope onto a hook and the session would begin. Depending on the tension Karo wanted to see in her body, they would take away one or several boards from the pile, stretching Sofie’s body as much as they deemed it necessary.
Today, Sofie climbed on the pile, felt the cold of the iron hook against her skin and let the shiver waft over her skin, enjoying it even, because it was the last time she would feel it. She knew the pose by heart now, she could find it herself, and didn’t need Karo’s guidance anymore. Nevertheless, they stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell. Today, she understood the knot was extra tight; her hands didn’t have as much space between them.
Karo moved toward her, stopping in front of her stomach and raised their beautiful black eyes toward her face.
“Do you need an extra board?” they asked, their voice running across her belly, making her tremble. She tightened her grip on the rope and ground her teeth before answering.
“I’m fine.”
It was by that time that Karo would usually step away, walk to the easel, mix paints, and start working. But not today.
Today, for some reason, they stayed in front of her, looking at her with hooded eyes.
“I need to look at your tattoo,” they explained after a while, during which their gaze didn’t leave her.
“Of course,” Sofie replied in a whisper, already fascinated by the face that kept coming closer and closer to her tensed stomach, elongated by the position.
She loved her tattoo, an artistic embroidery of flowers and insects along her chest, hiding the scars of her surgery. It had taken weeks to get ready; she had wanted the
insects to look like jewels on her white skin, and the work on the colors by the tattoo artist had proven more difficult than initially thought. But after five years, the details still looked as vivid as during the first weeks.
“May I touch?” Karo asked, already rubbing their hands together to warm them up.
“Yes,” Sofie whispered, closing her eyes.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, then the touch came, and Sofie exhaled. The finger was still cold, raised goose bumps in its trail, along her arms, back, and legs. Despite the tension in her position, she moved her thighs, closing the gap to contain the throbbing in her lower belly. When she looked down, Karo seemed as undisturbed as ever.
“Do you mind?” they asked without looking up, reaching to their back pocket and drawing out a thin brush.
“What do you want to do?” she wondered.
“This.”
They raised the brush and started tracing the lines of her tattoo. It was lighter than the finger, startling her. Sofie moved back, her arched feet leaving the pile of boards, and she suddenly found herself hanging from the ceiling. Without so much as a bat of an eye, Karo grabbed her waist and helped her find her footing again. This time, Sofie couldn’t hold back the whimper in her throat.
“Will I have to hold you so that you don’t move?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What a model you make.”
The sarcasm was palpable but Sofie was too flushed to get offended, she could feel her chest rising faster and faster as Karo traced the infinite loop of plants and flowers, again and again. Drops of sweat were gliding down her spine; she could follow the trail to her ass, and the sensation just added to the one Karo created.
“Okay, I think I’m done,” they suddenly said, stepping back. “Do you need a break or can we start?”
“I’m fine,” Sofie answered.
She didn’t want to step down the pile, she didn’t want to move around, because movement would dissipate all the sensations, and she just wanted to enjoy them, bask in them. It had been such a long time since someone, anyone, had touched her there, so long that she had thought that, after the surgery, she would lose all sensations. But not today.
Karo went behind the easel, looked at their paint and started mixing, quick and professional. Sofie suddenly felt inadequate. Here she was, flustered and uncomfortable, whereas Karo was set on their goal, never wavering, master of their emotions. In that moment, Sofie realized, again, that she wasn’t anything else besides a model. Not a full being, and certainly not a creature with desire. She was a means to an end, and she should have felt grateful for having been chosen by Karo Paz, a genius artist whose pieces she had admired for years, whose philosophy and thoughts on art echoed her own. At this minute, however, Sofie felt unseen and rejected, the wave of the sarcasm finally hitting her full force.
A grunt snapped her out of her spiral of self-pity. Karo was moving the easel closer. They squinted at her chest for a few seconds before repeating the maneuver, then settled down four feet away.
“There’s so many colors, I want to get them right,” they explained.
“Okay.”
“You don’t talk much today,” they noted, finally starting painting.
Sofie could hear the whisper of the brush on the canvas, and it made her shiver. She wished it was running on her skin again instead of the painting.
“What would you like to talk about?” she finally asked, her whole body tingling.
“Why are you so nervous?”
“It’s the last day. I want to enjoy it,” she tried to say.
Behind the easel, Karo looked at her with an arched eyebrow.
“You’re so tense, you could snap like a bowstring,” they countered. “What’s going on? Usually, you’re fluid, like a reed.”
Sofie closed her eyes and bit her lips, gulping down the answer that came up in her throat. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry. I think I’m just sad.”
Karo made a low growl, a noise Sofie had learned meant “suit yourself,” and kept on painting. The next half hour was silent, until Sofie asked for a break. Karo went out to get some coffee and Sofie made a few yoga movements on the carpet to try and unravel the knots in her stomach and shoulders. Karo came back and offered her the cup, saying it was black tea instead of coffee.
“I don’t need you more stressed than you already are.”
“I’m sorry,” Sofie said, taking the beverage.
It was chai tea, honeyed and creamy, and it made her feel better. Because it meant that Karo was seeing a little more than she thought. Chai tea was what she was drinking the first time she came to the studio; she had explained she found it reassuring when nervous. The fact that Karo remembered filled her with joy.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile, and Karo smiled back, a rare feat.
“Here you are. Ready to go back up?”
Sofie nodded and soon, she was on the hook again, her hands grabbing the rope to keep her balance. But when Karo didn’t move away, instead staying close and looking at her tattoo again, the knots came back, the tension rising in her muscles as all the beneficial effects of the tea disappeared.
“What’s wrong?” Karo asked again when they saw her stomach tense up.
“It’s just . . . you’re so close . . .” Sofie said before thinking better of it.
“Does it disturb you?”
“Yes . . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Karo looked up and Sofie looked down. They stared at each other for a moment, then Karo climbed on the pile of boards and Sofie found herself flushed against their body, her breath caught in her chest. Karo’s face was so close, she could have counted the wrinkles around their eyes, but all she could do was to stare at their mouth, red and wet, as tempting as a glass of wine. Their hand moved on her neck, their fingers threading through her hair.
“May I?” Karo asked against her lips.
“Please.”
The kiss wasn’t what she had expected. It was not soft and coaxing, it was powerful and intrusive, a demand rather than a question. Sofie surrendered as desire came. Her nether lips were taking more and more space between her legs, her lower belly aroused by the heat that seemed to pour from Karo’s body into hers.
When Karo moved away, they had a satisfied smile, unlike anything Sofie had seen before, not even in official pictures and portraits.
“So that’s what’s going on? Why didn’t you say so?”
They jumped down and looked at her.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” Sofie whispered, having trouble finding her wits after the rush.
“My models are always people I find beautiful. I thought that was obvious.”
“It’s not the same.”
“You’ve been naked in front of me for the past week, you think it does nothing?”
“I don’t know . . . you always look so absorbed, so focused.”
“You don’t know what I do each time you leave.”
Sofie stretched her neck to better look at them. Their satisfied smile was still in place. They took a step closer and when they spoke, their breath ran on her skin.
“I take my toys and I pleasure myself, thinking of you, imagining you in different positions until I come, screaming your name. What do you say to that?”
“Help me come down,” Sofie begged.
“What for?”
“So that I can kiss you back.”
“I don’t think so.”
Sofie opened her eyes wide, fear running down her spine. Karo climbed up again and took her face in their hands, suddenly softer that what she could have anticipated.
“If you want to climb down, I’ll let you, but this is how I want you. What do you say?” they repeated.
“What will we do?”
“We’ll play, of course. Instead of my model, you’ll be my canvas and I’ll get rid of that tension you can’t let go. Now, doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Yes,”
Sofie said, licking her lips.
“So what do you say?”
“Yes,” she repeated with more power in her voice.
“Good girl,” Karo said before kissing her again. This time, the tongues were involved, dancing with each other until Sofie was breathless. It was clear from this point forward that Karo was in charge, and she was along for the ride.
“Now, let me see,” Karo exclaimed while jumping down. They put one hand on her waist, the other moving on her stomach and belly. No foreplay, it seemed, since the fingers were heading down to her lips, already parting them, exploring the region with fierce enthusiasm. Sofie moaned and arched her back. Karo chuckled against her skin.
“No problem there, it seems. What about your ass?”
The finger that was probing her vagina suddenly left and went further, poking around the entrance to her hole, and Sofie answered the call, pulled on the rope to come down further to meet it, to let it enter. But the finger retreated and Karo stepped back, crouched down and withdrew one board from the pile, stretching her entire body. She let out a breathless cry, her toes shifting along the wood, and Karo’s smile broadened.
“Let me taste you,” they demanded.
They placed their hands on each side of her waist and pulled Sofie toward them. She barely had time to register the tongue slithering out of their mouth before contact and then she forgot everything, because it was so invasive and taunting, barely there and then sucking with full force, as if to draw out the color from a marble. Sofie was utterly defenseless. Stretched and barely able to find her footing, she could feel the orgasm rising, but the tension in her legs to try and keep upright prevented it from going past the point of no return. Pleasure became torture, especially when she tried to raise her legs to knot them around Karo’s shoulders, but they pushed her away, talking into her fold with a laugh.
“Not yet. I say when.”
“Please, please,” begged Sofie, the excitation coming closer and closer to the line that would turn into pure frustration.
“I say when,” they repeated.
One last lick, long and hard between her lips, one last sucking action on her clit. Sofie thought she would scream but Karo moved away, finally, wiping their mouth with the back of their paint-stroke hand.
Best Bondage Erotica of the Year, Volume 2 Page 21