After dinner, sitting on the couch watching TV, I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. My timing couldn’t have been better. We were watching a CSI rerun, one of the ones with the dominatrix character. With my eyes on the television, I said, “Ever thought about BDSM?”
“What?”
I got a little braver. “Kinky sex. Ever thought about it?”
“Thought about it how? You mean doing it?”
“Yeah.” I moved away from him, just a little.
“Not really, why? Do you want to…oh. Does this relate to the other day in bed? Is that what you were thinking about? Did you want to try some stuff? Hey, were you thinking about that in the kitchen earlier?”
I started to question the wisdom of bringing it up. “Well, I mean, maybe,” I offered, noncommittally.
“Well, I never really thought about it,” David said, “but sure, we could try it. Like bondage or something?”
“Yeah,” I said. My pussy got a little squishy. “We could try that.”
And so that night, David brought a few ties he didn’t wear anymore to bed with us.
Of course, he got it wrong. After we got undressed, he proceeded to tie my wrists together and then tie them to a middle slat of our headboard. I didn’t say anything, thinking maybe this would turn out to be as good as my fantasies of dominating him.
He spread my legs and tied my ankles to slats in the footboard. “Is that okay?” he asked. “It’s not too tight, or anything?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said.
He didn’t seem to have any idea what to do with me after tying me up. He stroked my body and played with my pussy, which was barely damp. Then he decided that the best use he could make of me would be a forced blow job. Climbing up to my head, be began to guide his cock to my mouth. “Is this okay?” he asked, none too sure of himself.
“Um, sure,” I said.
He fucked my mouth for a bit but didn’t get fully hard. I thought it was unusual because he really likes oral sex. I have to say, it did absolutely nothing for me. I’d hoped that, if that was what he wanted, I’d be able to translate my fantasy to fit his, but it seemed this wasn’t his fantasy either.
He reached down to my sex and found me mostly dry. “Honey, I don’t think this is working. What am I doing wrong? Can I untie you?”
He untied my ankles and then my wrists and we lay next to each other, staring at the ceiling. “Sorry, Aud, I guess I wasn’t doing it right. Neither of us seemed to get much out of it. Hell, you were wetter slicing mushrooms than having my cock in your mouth.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, I want to make you happy. Can you just tell me about your fantasy?”
“You do make me happy, sweetie.”
“I know,” he said, “but just tell me what you want.”
I silently counted to ten and then thought about it. I didn’t want to screw up what we had. But he obviously wanted to please me. After all, he’d tried what he thought I wanted without any discussion. I should just be brave about it.
“So, what you did,” I began, “that wasn’t what I was thinking about.”
We were on our backs, lying next to each other. He turned on his side and said, “What were you thinking about?”
“Well, I was thinking about doing it to you.”
“What do you mean?”
I figured I’d come this far; it was make or break now. We’d probably be fine, and if he wasn’t into it, I’d just never bring it up again. I started to tell him about my original fantasy: I told him about the whole hair thing: about binding his cock and balls in my hair and leading him around by a hair leash. I noticed his breathing had become a little erratic. I looked down at his cock, which had grown long and hard. I reached for it—wrapped my hand around it—and continued to tell him the rest of my fantasies about the handcuffs and binding his cock and balls in tight leather straps. I stroked him as I talked about black leather whips I’d seen online and how I’d thought about making him submit to me and service my pussy on his knees.
His cock had been dribbling precome freely for a while. I’d used it to lubricate the hand job I was giving him. The more I talked about my fantasies, the harder he got. The harder he got, the wetter I became. His eyes were open wide as he seemed to hang on every word. He didn’t interrupt, but he breathed more and more deeply.
Completely soaked, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, guiding him into me. Once positioned, I sat down hard, impaling myself on his cock. I could feel him pulsing inside me.
“Oh, god, Audrey,” he said, “I don’t think I can hold out.” I didn’t think I could hold out either, at that point, so I started to fuck him slowly, but soon sped up. Panting like a sprinter, I came quickly, squeezing him in the vise grip of my cunt. He followed right after. “That was so fucking hot. I had no idea,” he said, cuddled up beside me.
David stood by the bed, wearing nothing but his new collar. It was a shiny, heavy-link, stainless-steel chain with an ingenious locking system. It looked like a regular necklace, but could only be opened by a special key I kept in my bedside table. It hadn’t come off since I’d put it on a month ago, on his birthday.
I used a tiny Allen wrench to open and then fasten a heavy stainless-steel ball stretcher, with metal rings on either side, above his testicles. It didn’t take any time to coax him to erection, after which I buckled a leather harness tightly around his cock. “Hands and knees, on the bed now, David,” I said. I was getting wetter and wetter. “Lean on your forearms and push your butt up for me. That’s right. Spread your legs a bit more.” I ran my hand over his bottom and reached under him to fondle his tightly bound balls. He groaned, but didn’t say anything. I clipped weights onto the rings on his ball stretcher, pulling his sac down, away from his body. Shiny red skin stretched tightly over his imprisoned balls. I teased them lightly with my fingertips and he very audibly sucked in a breath. “Mmm,” I responded.
I stepped into my new harness with its flesh-colored cock jutting from my pelvis. Though anatomically correct, it was a bit smaller than David’s cock. After all, we’d just started opening up his ass for fucking. It would be a while before I would deem him ready for a cock the size of his own member. After all, I wasn’t a sadist—well, not really.
I climbed onto the bed, behind him, and lubed him up before sensuously running my fingers back and forth over his open anus. With each pass over his open hole, he moaned, and with each moan, more and more moisture dripped from my pussy. I gently pushed a finger inside him and felt him contract around it. “That’s right, David, breathe,” I said, as I slowly fucked him with first one finger, then, when he was ready, with a second. I added more and more lube until it began to drip from his open hole, onto his stretched balls.
Up to this point, I’d only used smaller, smooth dildos in my harness. This time would be his first “real” fuck. I pulled my fingers from him. “Ready for me, baby?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
I brought the tip of my cock up to his opening and rubbed it in the lube before slowly pushing it inside. I pushed in just past the head and stopped until his breathing slowed before pushing in a little farther. It took a little while, but finally I was balls deep inside my panting husband. “How’s that, honey?”
“Fuck me, please,” he said, between gritted teeth.
Hands on the sides of his hips, I slowly withdrew and then even more slowly pushed back in to the music of his moans. Once he became acclimated, I slowly began to speed up my thrusts until he actively pushed back against me, spurring me to fuck him harder. The harder I fucked him, the more the weights on his ball stretcher bounced, causing his balls to swing forward and back with each thrust of my body. The sight made me gush.
Ass in the air, his entire chest was now on the bed, arms over his head, hands gripping the slats in the headboard to keep his body from sliding forward as I fucked him harder and harder. “Oh, my god,” I said, “t
hat’s it; I can’t wait any longer.” And I pulled out of him completely.
“No. Oh, no. Please, please don’t stop,” he moaned. “Oh god, please don’t stop.”
“On your back, legs spread,” I ordered. “Now!” He whimpered but got into position while I quickly shed my harness. “Can you smell how hot you made me?” I turned my back to him and straddled him, pushing my pussy into his nose and mouth, painting him with my arousal. “Clean that up. Clean that up and make me come.” I groaned as his tongue began to lap at my folds and quaked when it entered me. He clutched at my hips, driving his face deeper and deeper into me. He licked and sucked, growled and bit, as I actively fucked his face. It didn’t take much to make me come at that point, but he didn’t stop. He buried his tongue in me and ravaged me like an animal, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips as I came again and then a third time. I knew I’d have finger-shaped bruises.
Once I’d collapsed on him, I unbuckled the harness encasing his penis and watched it spring up. With one hand on his straining balls, I wrapped the other at the base of him and licked and sucked the head of his cock. Once I had sufficient saliva, I went down on him as far as I could, teasing his balls while forming a tight suction on his cock, worrying the head with my tongue.
With my cunt still stopping his mouth, I felt his cock twitch and jump. I withdrew my mouth and pumped him hard with my hand. “Come for me, David. Come now,” I said. A couple more pumps and he bellowed like a beast and shot into the air again and again until his cock finally lay limp against his leg. I opened the ball stretcher and told him he could remove it as soon as he was able and then I collapsed next to him, in bed.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Our sex life is amazing and it all started with that crazy hair fantasy. Of course, I couldn’t ever enact that fantasy. Not being Rapunzel, if I’d wrapped him in my hair, I would have ended up tethered too close to him to do anything. But now, when he’s bound and helpless, I do tease him with my hair. And he invariably makes those sounds—the ones I heard in my fantasy. And those little whimpers and moans are music to my ears.
THE SLEEPER’S BEAUTY
Jade A. Waters
Carrie had never understood anal.
She wished it weren’t so, and that she, like her girlfriends, could share the fascination with it that they all seemed to have. Inevitably, one of them would end up talking about it whenever they got together—how someone’s man bent her over and took her in the ass so expertly she wailed and cried and blah blah blah—but for the life of her, Carrie couldn’t fathom what the big hubbub was all about.
Even with Andrew wanting it over the years, she couldn’t quite muster up the enthusiasm. He’d been so patient the few times they’d tried it, talking her through with the kindest, most encouraging words of love. And oh, what a good sport she’d been—her hands curled into tiny fists as he slicked the oil over her cheeks and down her crack, then massaged her until she was completely aroused and he could ease himself into her tight bud. She’d buried her face into the comforter as he thumbed her clit and gently took her ass, but as she contended with the pleasure of his fingers against the annoyance of his roaming cock, she knew he could still hear her whimpering and fussing. After, neither of them had been screaming for an encore.
Despite all of this, the idea kept sneaking into Carrie’s mind. She’d find herself watching old reruns of “Friends” while Andrew tapped away on his laptop beside her, her breath held as she pondered what it would feel like for him to really thrust into her backside with that firm, sexy cock of his. She suspected it was a matter of getting the circumstances right—it had taken her thirty years to love Brussels sprouts, after all, so maybe the delights of anal were a refined taste she had yet to develop.
She’d been reading all sorts of magazines and books on the act, too, bookmarking pages and leaving the literature open on the table, much to Andrew’s amusement. She’d even taken to asking her girlfriends for tips on the best lubricants, environments and techniques to make it work.
When Carrie announced her budding interest at dinner two weeks ago, Andrew had chewed the bite of pork chop in his mouth until it was practically liquefied. He’d stared at her for a long minute after he swallowed, then shook his head.
“Sweetheart, I love you the way you are. Stop worrying about this. You’re getting all obsessive again, and you don’t need to.”
He’d gone back to his book and Carrie—not quite ready to launch the adventure just yet—had continued to eat in frustrated silence.
Then last weekend, when she and Andrew fell into bed drunk and frisky after their neighbors’ party, she begged him to try again. They fumbled around in the dark for a bit, Andrew nestling the head of his cock right up against her before she started urging him on in hungry shouts of “Do it! I’m ready, baby, go! Stick it in!” They were the same kinds of demands she’d made when they’d first had sex in their early twenties—only this time her calls were over anal, and Andrew laughed and rolled away from her.
“You hate it, Carrie. I’m not going to make you,” he said. Then he’d passed out.
So tonight, Carrie decided, things were going to be different. She was determined to make it happen. She couldn’t take one more “Friends” episode thinking about the hard slide of his dick all the way up inside her until she cried like the girls said she would, and she’d be damned if fear of a little ass play was going to keep her from knowing all the pleasures she could have.
Knowing Andrew would catch on to her eager glances and deter her yet again, Carrie made him his favorite meal—a pot roast slow-cooked in his preferred beer with a side of mashed potatoes, and two glasses of wine. He’d devoured the dish with that twinkle in his eye that managed to say You’re wonderful and I love you all at once. After dinner, she walked him to the bed and stripped off her clothes, running her hands all over herself in the most provocative ways she could think of until he chuckled and pulled her down on top of him.
“What is with you, lately?” he said. He wrapped his hands around to cup her ass, then tugged her against the bulge in his boxer-briefs. “I mean, seriously. You’re talking anal and attempting stripteases. Settle down, Carrie.”
She sighed, helping his motion with a long grind that made him groan. “I’m trying something new here. I’m adding spice! Is it really that bad?”
“God, no. But you don’t have to do these things you don’t want to do.” Andrew took her hands between his and lifted them to his lips so he could kiss her fingertips. Then he shifted his hips up and rubbed against her. “I love having sex with you as is. And I’m tired, hon. Let’s just do it normal.”
Carrie snatched back her hands. “I want to try something new! What kind of man complains about getting what he’s been asking for? Suck it up and enjoy it already!”
With that she scooted low on his legs, running her kisses like she usually did all over his belly and chest. Andrew clicked his tongue, the belittling sound urging her on, and Carrie grumbled before yanking off his underwear. She admired his cock at full alert, then wrapped her mouth around his crown.
“Oh, babe,” he uttered. “That’s perfect. Just perfect.”
Carrie worked his shaft, running her tongue along the base as she knew he liked, then teasing his balls with both of her hands. This was only a precursor in her mind, because she’d already grown wet at the thought of what was to come.
And dammit, she was ready.
Carrie licked and sucked her husband, running her mouth along his length while sneaking one hand back to touch herself. He was too preoccupied to notice, and when she slid her finger inside her slick opening, images of him filling her special, secret hole crept through her head. She moaned against him and dragged her hand over her clit in small circles that stoked the heat way up inside her.
Andrew, meanwhile, grew quiet. Carrie swallowed him fully, making sure to bang him against the back of her throat in the way that always made him squirm, but he di
dn’t respond. When she looked up, his eyes were closed and his lips were parted as though he was about to snore. She pulled away.
“Andrew! Has it really come to this?”
He jerked awake and reached for her. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just a little sleepy. You made pot roast, honey. It’s heavy.”
She growled, the excitement raging inside her as sleepiness threatened to damper her plans.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Hell, no,” he mumbled. “Climb on me, I love it. Fuck me to sleep.”
Carrie flicked her clit once, then again, leaning back far enough to take in the view of her husband half-asleep with his dick straight up in the air. Then she glanced over at the nightstand where she’d left a giant bottle of lube.
Quickly, she snatched up the bottle. She poured the liquid into her hand and rubbed it over Andrew’s penis, while he curled his fingers around her hip.
“Get on me, Carrie. I can’t wait.”
She poured more lube onto her other hand and clapped it against her sex. Her tension was already peaking as she fingered herself a few times. She dragged the wetness down her slit and to the back, probing the tight muscles with her fingertips. Something about the way Andrew’s shaft stood high as could be while his eyes were half-closed made her quiver, and she used that to fuel herself as she eased one finger inside her bud. With all the lube she had on her fingertip, it was easy to moisten the entrance. Carrie took a deep breath, pushing her finger higher while she gripped Andrew’s throbbing rod, and when he started nodding and moaning, she ran her finger in and out, in and out, the rhythm making her tremble.
“Now, baby,” Andrew said. His words were sharp yet subdued mumbles that warned her she didn’t have much time before he fell asleep, so she climbed over him. She debated making it easy and sinking him into her pussy instead, but as she shoved her second knuckle past the rim of her back hole, the idea of finally getting this ass thing down really gnawed at her.
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