Karen took her time to walk around the bed and examine her slut when she returned. Michael turned his head to watch her. Silent, he pleaded with his eyes for his release, anything to stop the torment of the hot oil in his ass.
"Oh, you're not going anywhere yet," she said knowingly.
Karen was dressed for dinner. A short black dress exposed her generous cleavage, hugged her curves and barely hid her shaved pussy when she stood up straight and pulled it down to its full length. Her hair was done up in a thick bun at the back of her head, with two black lacquered chopsticks stuck through the bun at right angles to hold it in place. Her lips were painted in a bright gloss red and her eyes were shadowed with smoky grey shades. On her legs were black fishnet stockings. The tight elastic tops of the stockings were secure enough that she could skip the garters, but they did leave a few inches of exposed though below the hem of her dress. Finally, on her feet, though unseen by Michael, were a pair of black patent leather pumps with 5 inches of stiletto heel.
"Now," she said finally, "I'm ready for my dessert, and you're it."
With that she kicked off her pumps, crawled onto the bottom of the bed and knelt a foot or so away from Michael's raised ass. With strong hands, Karen reached for his ass cheeks and, curling her fingertips in towards his flexing asshole, spread his cheeks and lowered her face to his waiting hole.
With a deep sigh of contentment, Karen licked across Michael's ass, tasting the mix of his fresh sweat and the oils she had spread there.
Michael's moan of lust was unmistakable as he felt her tongue slide across his asshole. It was enough to make him break his ordered silence.
"More," he begged.
"He can pay for that later," Karen thought, as she went to work with unmitigated hunger and lust of her own.
Licking, pressing inwards, adding fingertips to the fray as needed. It wasn't long before she was fucking Michael's ass with her strong tongue. Feeding off his most private flesh as his cock struggled and strained in its confining cage. He moaned each time her tongue thrust into his ass. He moaned each time he felt a thick droplet of precum squeeze through his caged shaft into the condom.
Karen added to Michael's torments by supplementing her thrusting tongue with one hand massaging his exposed balls. She smiled inwardly each time she felt his muscles contract as his cock fought the cage and his body kept trying to pump precum through its constricting curve. he other hand slid around his chest, her nails, slick with oil slipping across his hard nipples while she feasted on her bound slut.
Occasionally her own needs took over and one hand would slide down between her own spread thighs. Fingers would slide deep into her wet pussy, fucking herself hard until she enjoyed one minor orgasm after another, the physical sensation a small trigger after the intense arousal she felt from preparing and dominating the bound man she had at her mercy.
Karen slowed her licking and knelt up. She looked down at the visage of lust and need that enveloped Michael. His eyes wide with desire, his mouth open with his continual panting and moaning. She smiled as she watched him lick dry lips. And smiled again as she saw that her bright lipstick was smeared all around her slut's open asshole.
Slowly she backed away from him and slid off the bed. Moving more quickly once she was on her feet, Karen went to the side of the bed and, ducking under one rope holding Michael's feet in the air, moved on her knees between his raised legs.
Michael watched as she moved forward, her knees sliding outwards to the corners of his shoulders as the warmth and wetness of her pussy lowered itself over his own waiting mouth. He slid his tongue upwards, into her dripping wetness as he felt her lean forward and thrust her own tongue back into his ass. For another long session, Michael struggled to kiss and lick Karen as she drove him crazy with the lusty tonguing she gave his ass.
Again and again she came on his face, coating him with her copious fluids. Michael swallowed all that he caught in his mouth and felt the rest dripping down the sides of his face and down his chin to soak his neck. Karen was lost in her own lust as she ate his ass with vigor and experienced multiple orgasm from the thrusting tongue she rode.
Finally, her body need a break and Karen broke contact. Rising carefully, she straightened and also lifted her well-licked pussy from Michael's diligent tongue.
Collapsing backwards onto the top of the mattress she reached out to stroke Michael's nipples and to trace his wet lips with her fingertips.
"You are one sexy slut," she said softly, "and I spent all day dreaming about eating that sexy ass of yours. But I bet you still want that slutty ass of yours fucked, don't you?"
"Yes ma'am," Michael begged softly, "please."
She slid off the bed and activated the motor to lower his legs back to the mattress. Leaving his hands secured, Karen unclipped the spreader bar and, leaving Michael to gingerly flex and relax his legs, slipped from the room.
It took about 15 minutes for Michael to get his breathing under control and to the point where his legs were relaxed fully. That was also about the time Karen walked back into the room, changed and ready for action.
She wore a tight leather vest that wrapped her breasts deliciously, her deep cleavage fully exposed through the taut leather lacing the held the vest closed. On her lower body she wore a tight pair of blue jeans over which was her harness. It was the harness and it's attachment that immediately held Michael's attention.
Black silicone. Long. Thick. Michael moaned as he watched her lift the bulky dildo and stroke it slowly. With a finger to her lips she demanded quiet.
"Ten inches," she said, as if she was describing the characteristics of a new blender, "an inch and three-quarters in diameter, it's not quite anatomically correct, but I think you'll like the feel of this head as it slips inside. And I want you to take every bit of it slut. If you do I might let you cum. If not, I may make you walk home wearing nothing but that cage."
With that warning, Karen slid onto the bed between Michael's spread legs. Lifting his knees, she stroked the head of her hard cock, polishing it with lubricant.
Then she positioned it under his balls and with one hand, guided the head to Michael's relaxed ass. With a single solid thrust, and a gasp from Michael, she sank half of its length deep in his ass.
"Ask for it bitch," she growled.
"Please ma'am," he begged again, "please fuck me with your big cock,"
"You are such a slut," she smiled, and slowly started to drive the dildo deeper and deeper.
Within a few minutes it was in. Ten solid inches of Karen's cock filled Michael's ass, and he still begged for more in his lustful unawareness of their success.
"Shhhh," Karen whispered, "that's all of it my slut, your hungry ass ate every inch. Maybe ll have to find a bigger one for the next time you want to be this needy."
Smiling, she reached into her back pocket and withdrew a small brass key.
With glazed eyes, Michael watched as she unlocked and dismantled the chastity cage to free his straining cock. Immediately, his erection grew to hardness under her fingertips. With the condom still capturing each drop of precum she stroked him gently.
"Does Mikey want to cum now?"
"Yes please ma'am," he croaked hoarsely.
Rocking her hips, Karen starting fucking his ass with a slow solid three to four inch stroke of the thick dildo. Once she had a satisfying rhythm going, she started stroking Michael's straining cock with a matching pace. Michael started trying to rock his hips to hurry the pace of her stroking, which served to add to the fucking he was receiving too.
"Do you want it faster slut," she asked.
"Yes," he begged, "please make me cum."
Smiling, Karen increased the pace of both her hips and her fingers. With a solid grasp of Michael's cock she very quickly had him spurting, his hot cum joining the result of hours of dripping precum in the tip of the condom.
With his orgasm subsiding Michael collapsed in place. Karen slid the dildo most of the way out, then released the h
arness while the rounded head of her cock remained inside Michael's ass. He watched with lidded eyes as she moved up to sit beside him on the mattress. Then her hands reached out and she very carefully slid the condom from his softening cock, making sure to catch every bit of his cum that she could squeeze from his cock.
"Now," she said, "what does an obedient slut do when he makes a mess?"
"He cleans it up ma'am."
"That's right, now open wide slut, and clean up this mess you've made."
She upended the condom and squeezed every drop of precum and cum into Michael waiting and obedient mouth. He swallowed as she watched and then she lowered her repainted lips to his to share the finals taste of his cum.
Michael fought sleep with the continuing stimulation of Karen's lips and her fingertips again playing with is nipples. Karen though about the possibility of starting all over again after letting her slut nap and recharge his batteries .... actually, his balls, she corrected herself with a smile.
The End.
A Fling in Florence
My name is Laura. I am a sophomore in college and I have never had sex. Yes, I know it might be surprising, but it's the true. I had the same boyfriend during all four years of high school. He was the head receiver for the football team, popular, and had decent grades. We started dating at the beginning of freshman year because we both had English together.
It was not a great relationship but I did not realize how bad it was until I was not with him anymore. I changed my personality for him, cutting myself off from friends and family. He pressured me into sex often, but even to this day, I am proud of myself for standing up to him when it came to his demands. We did everything else in the sexual acts department, but we did not have sexual intercourse. That should have been the first sign; my gut telling me not to fuck him. But I stuck with him until the summer before college, when I found out he cheated on me. Guess he found someone else to give him what I was not willing to give up.
I am now in my second year of college. I am about 5'6" with brown hair that falls in loose curls around my breasts, which are a good C cup. My eyes are a bright blue, a shade that people have always found a bit peculiar. I have curves and a firm ass, but I am strong and muscular from working out regularly all my life.
I have decided to study abroad for a semester in Florence, Italy. I felt I had been so closed off all my life that this was something I needed to do in order to find myself. High school had been horrible and this was my time to do some soul searching. I know very little Italian, but it has always been something I wanted to study.
I am living with a very nice Italian woman who cooks and cleans for me. Her name is Gioia, which means joy in Italian She is very patient and she helps me with my Italian, which is very limited. I also help her with her English. I attend the University here, studying art and Italian contemporary history. Most days, I walk along the Arn River and either draw the beauty of the city before me or read.
On this particular day, I decide to the go the Piazza di Michelangelo, or Michelangelo's Square. It is on the top of a hill overlooking a breathtaking view of the city. It is a warm day for March and I let the sun's rays bronze the pale skin on my face and arms. I climb what seems like one thousand stairs to the peak and I gasp at the sight before me. I can see for what seems like miles: the red brick roof tops, the Cathedral in the center, the train station, and my University. Awe-struck, I sit down on the natural stairs carved into the side of the hill and immediately take out my sketch pad.
I work the pencil until my hand cramps, admiring the scene that has come alive on the page. When I look up, I realize there is a man staring at me a few feet away from me. He is not looking at me in a creepy way, but more of an intrigued way. When he catches my eye he smiles and gives me a slight nod.
Now I must tell you, a lot of the men here are aggressive. They come up to me and try to grab my hand or sweet talk their way into my pants. Therefore, I pay no attention to this stranger. I just look back down at my sketch pad and add some shading along the water. When I look up a few minutes later, the man is gone. I let out a sigh of relief. I relax only too soon because a finger taps my shoulder and I see the man is standing behind me with a single rose.
I am shocked but he must not have seen the mixed expression of surprise and fear cross my face because he sits down next to me and extends the blossoming rose toward me. "No thank you." I respond, a little bit too loudly, in Italian.
He just smiles at me and says something in Italian, only thirty percent of which I understand. I sit here smiling, the words swirling around in my brain.
"I...I... don't speak Italian very well." I let the words escape my lips, feeling ashamed that I cannot speak his native language.
"Don't worry," he says with a compassionate look, and surprisingly, in English. He places the flower down next to me and gets up to leave. I am confused as to why he is leaving, only to realize I was not exactly thrilled about his presence. He pushes off the step and begins to descend the stairs. It is then that I realize how handsome and young he is.
He stands six feet tall with thick dark brown hair curling around his sharp chin. His shoulders are broad and the defined muscles of his back strain against his long sleeved black shirt. He is wearing red jeans with black work boots and a scarf around his neck, which might seem strange but this is typical for an Italian male. He turns, giving me a warm smile with his perfect white teeth. His deep green eyes shine with the sunlight. I give a little smirk as I become flushed and I turn my face down to my landscape drawing. I grab my bag quickly and leave as butterflies flit around in the pit of my stomach.
The next day, I find myself smiling. "Why are you so happy, Laura?" Gioia asks as she prepares breakfast.
"It is a nice day today," I remark, looking out the window. Gioia chuckles and places an espresso with half of a grapefruit and a croissant in front of me. I eat quickly and head out the door, ten minutes behind schedule. I stride briskly down the street, passing the open market selling everything from pets to wigs. I am so preoccupied with getting to class, that I turn a corner too sharply and find myself flat on the ground with a man standing over me. His face is blurred but when I come to, I realize who is hovering above me.
His green eyes are a piercing jade color in the morning sunlight and his mane looks soft as silk. I am mesmerized by the sight of my secret admirer, and then immediately the pangs of embarrassment flood my body. He reaches out to me and helps me up from the ground. I shiver from his touch on my wrist. He begins bombarding me with questions, but I have no idea what he is saying. "I'm...I'm...umm no, sorry. I don't...uh... understand." I am shaking and my face is beet red. He seems to realize I am confused and he takes a deep breath and a step back. When he speaks, fire burns in my belly.
"I am sorry. Are you okay?" His voice is warm and deep and the English words melt from his mouth like smooth caramel.
"Yes, I am fine, grazie." I lower my head and try to leave but he calls to me.
"Wait! Please, can I buy you a coffee?" I turn to look at him. He has a weak smile and pleading eyes. I agree before I realize what I have said.
We enter the coffee shop and I order a cafe' latte, or coffee with steamed milk. He pays the waiter and we sit down at a small table to wait for our coffees. When we have settled in, the man speaks first.
"I am sorry, I have not introduced myself. My name is Marcello. I believe we met yesterday at the Piazza Michelangelo?"
"Um...yes, we did. Grazie...for the flower."
"You're welcome."
"Oh! My name is Laura."
"Nice to meet you, Laura." Marcello extends his hand to me and we shake awkwardly. Luckily, the waiter brings our coffee over and we drink in silence for a minute. I can see Marcello watching me out of the corner of my eye, but he seems to just be enjoying my company. "Laura, why are you so...nervosa?"
The way he says my name is like a flowing river: La-Ow-Ura. I realize my hands are still shaking and I probably do seem nervous to him. I tr
y to smile and place my cup back down on the saucer. When I try to speak, it is a jumble of English and Italian word vomit. But Marcello gives me a comforting look and says, "Non ti preoccupare, Laura."
"What does that mean?" I ask shyly, feeling stupid for not knowing what seems like a simple phrase.
"It means 'Don't worry'." I blush at this and I think he notices, but he says nothing. I pick up my coffee and sip it slowly. He sweeps a hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. I should be more wary of this seductive man, but I feel comfortable and safe around him. We begin to talk to each other and stay at the coffee shop for hours. I learn he is twenty five, originally from Sicily, and is in Florence to study art history. We converse in both English and Italian, helping each other with mistakes and vocabulary. I completely forget about school and we end up eating lunch together at a sandwich shop down the street.
Hours later, Marcello brings me back to Gioia's apartment on his Vespa and we say good bye in the typical Italian fashion: a kiss on either cheek. As he speeds away, I feel empty. His phone number burns through my hand as I reflect on what just happened to me.
* * *
Marcello and I have been seeing each other for almost a month now. He has taken me to dinners at small restaurants, to theatre productions in the city, and for long walks to explore Florence. We have watched the sun rise and set in Piazza di Michelangelo together, each day a new and exciting moment for us both. My Italian is improving greatly, although I am still nowhere near fluent.
Tonight is a warm night in early April and we are walking through the Ponte Vecchio. The Ponte Vecchio is a bridge crossing the Arn River. It was built in the 13th century and contains whimsical jewelry shops and views of the river. We walk down along the water and stop to sit on a bench and admire the lights of the city. I tuck myself next to Marcello and he wraps his arm around me. I breathe in his scent, a mixture of red wine, cologne, and mint. Marcello plays with my hair, brushing my cheek with his warm finger tips. His touch never fails to give me goose bumps.
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