Submission With a Stranger (A Curvy Girl Erotic Adventure)

by Lucy St. Vincent

  Before going down on me again, he said, “Remember, no noise. And I don’t want you to come. Try with all your might not to come.”

  I groaned deeply and throatily. I couldn’t help myself.

  He withdrew. “Just for that,” he said, “ I am going to wait for a full thirty seconds before I touch you again.”

  I thought I would die. I began to bring my hands forward to finish the work myself. I needed to be touched like I had never needed anything in my life.

  “No you don’t,” he said. “Put them back.”

  Without warning, he pulled off the burgundy belt from my coat and lashed my wrists together in a knot and secured them to the door handle behind me. I was so turned on while he was doing this I couldn’t stop my writhing or mewing. He ignored my movements and sounds, roughly taking care of the business at hand.

  “You’ve just lost yourself another thirty seconds, Angela, and I shall just have to gaze on your helpless, luscious body and not touch it. It’s not like it’s easy for me either, you know.”

  During that forever-moment, his eyes did not waver from my body. After a time, I just had to close my eyes and wait. There was no other way to keep from orgasming at that moment.

  “Now be patient,” he said after waiting what felt like an eternity, “Lovemaking should take a good while. Revel in the moment, my dear.”

  Then he sighed. “You are absolutely exquisite. I can’t help myself.”

  I opened my eyes. He looked at me longingly for another few seconds and then he reached behind me grabbing my buttocks with his strong hands. He pinched and grasped and separated, running his fingers down the crack in my buttocks and circling my anus as though it were a pretty flower.

  I almost screamed in a frenzy of passion, but bit my lip hard just in time. Michael withdrew one of his hands and unclipped my left stocking from its garter. He slowly drew it down my right leg, each tug a sexual gift. The no-ads jazz station intoned softly.

  When he had finished taking off my stocking, he took my leg, bent it at the knee and brought my toes to his mouth. With his tongue, he separated and started to suck each toe. It was an amazing turn-on; no lover had ever explored my feet before. It felt as though they were hardwired straight to my pussy.

  My back was arched and the tips of my bound hands were pressed against the car window, my arms completely tensed. Every part of my body was tight and ready to spring. When he had finished with my toes, he took his long tongue and licked the arch of my foot hard. At the same time I felt one of his hands inching up my leg toward where I wanted him most.

  And then he was there. He began casually flicking my clit with his deft fingers while massaging my foot with his other hand. As quickly as he started playing with my pussy, he removed his hand.

  “Don’t stop. Please!” I begged him.

  “Remember what I told you?” he asked me, and he stopped again. “No moving. No sound.” I lay there pressing my buttocks together, concentrating on not moving, not coming, not uttering a sound. He watched me, smiling, teasing. It was killing me, but what a death it was.

  When the time had elapsed, he went for my other leg, this time removing the stocking with his teeth, slowly wriggling it down my leg, making love bites every few inches. When he got to my knee, he came up laughing.

  “I’m afraid that’s not as erotic as I thought it would be, Angela. Those stockings are sexier on your legs than they are in my mouth,” he said, pulling some black shreds out of his mouth. “I do believe I owe you another pair.”

  He kissed me fleetingly on the lips, his tongue tracing the inner length, and then he was back to sensuously massaging my breasts, then suddenly pinching my nipples then massaging again.

  “Get back to my clit, get back to my clit,” I kept thinking to myself. “Touch me there. Touch me there.” My warmth was straining toward him with every breath, but he ignored it. He slid the rest of my shredded stocking off, removing my shoe. Then he commenced taking his sweet time on the arches of my feet, very lightly moving his hands up and down their lengths, as though they were my pussies and his fingers were tongues. He moved on to massaging my soles with such slow rumination; it was as though I were the Queen of Sheba.

  Though the tickling sensation was excruciating, I knew he was bringing both of us down a notch. We were both dangerously close to having our circuits overloaded and I knew that Michael was testing his limits. I could tell he had enormous self-control and this was not the first time he had taken a woman along for a ride like this. It must have taken years of exquisite practice to gain this measure of skill and restraint, I thought.

  I wanted him to bring me to climax like I had never wanted anything in my life. The sensation and the needing were stronger than anything I have ever felt. It was as if time had ceased to exist and each second was all of life. Without warning, the taxi driver said, “We’re here. This is Horseshoe Bay.”

  He turned around and smiled at us.

  “Well, turn around and bring us back, then, mate,” replied Michael. “It’s your lucky night.”

  “You’re telling me,” he replied and made a wide loop in the nearly empty ferry parking lot. All I knew was that my night was luckier than his.

  “It’s at least a twenty minute drive back to the hotel, my dear,” Michael said, gently caressing me behind my knees as he spoke. “It wouldn’t be much fun if you came right now, would it? That would leave us twenty minutes with nothing to do. I want you to hold off as long as you possibly can. Do you understand?”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Angela. Let this little snatch of heaven last just a little bit longer. You don’t know when something like this is going to happen again.”

  I gave him a frown, but nodded my agreement. I was scared to speak lest he count that as time off.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “We’re in agreement.”

  He untied me from my burgundy handcuffs and I felt the circulation rushing back into my arms. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been bound and how my strained my muscles had become.

  “First, let me help you loosen up a bit,” he said. “You’re all tense.”

  I willingly submitted my shoulders and back and arms to his strong arms as he massaged and pressed in all the right places. It felt divine, but I knew this was still part of helping me come down from my near-orgasm, so he could build me up all over again.

  “All right, Angela, that’s enough down time. Time to get back to business.”

  I hesitated. What was he going to do?

  “Now, I want you to turn over on your tummy so I can look at those divine buttocks of yours,” he said quietly and I could see his blue eyes glistening in the darkness of the cab, a contrast to his grey hair.

  “Do it now,” he said, this time in his commanding voice.

  I rolled over, not knowing what to expect this time.

  I felt his mouth on my buttocks, biting and probing between the crack with his hands and then biting some more. In the midst of his nipping, he slid his hands underneath me and began circling my nipples with his fingers and then flicking them. Intense flicks. Powerful flicks. His hard body was pressed against my soft one and I could feel all of him bucking and straining; he was both the horse and its master as he strove to rein his stallion in.

  Then his fingers were suddenly in my mouth, exploring every part of it. Their pressure alternated between rough and gentle: I responded in kind, sucking and biting. The entire time I was squeezing my buttocks back and forth and moving in rhythmic motion, with him pressed against me. It was a slow dance. It was a moving stream. The “no moving” command seemed to have been abandoned.

  While his fingers were exquisitely probing my mouth, his body was still grinding against my back and buttocks. With his undone shirt and his open pants, I could feel the cotton softness of his undershirt and the hammer hardness of his member pressing on my body.

  And then he removed his hands from my mouth and grabbed, lifted and then separated my buttocks, bringing hi
s hand underneath me until the tips of his fingers were just barely reaching my clitoris. With slow, light, barely touching movements he flitted my clitoris with one hand and circled my labial lips with his other.

  I knew I would have to orgasm any second. There was no holding back. The time had finally arrived for launch off. Sensing the inevitability of it, he said, “Turn over, Angela. I want to see your face for a moment.”

  I turned around, grabbing his body and trying to bring it down on me. I wanted him inside of me.

  “No, my dear. You shall have to wait just another moment or so, I’m afraid,” he said firmly and he removed his hands. I could tell this was requiring intense concentration and restraint on his part, too. He was flushed and his body resembled a rearing horse.

  He took a few deep breaths and collected himself. “I am doing this, because I want this final crescendo to be just right. I want you to come down from that peak just one more time. Just a little. That way you will have just a little further to climb. It will last just a little bit longer and be just a little bit more delicious.”

  I wanted to kill him.

  “Now just listen. Sit up a little and take your hands and hold onto that strap above the window. I want you to see the view of this city while you come. Let’s make this as memorable as possible.” We were driving along the Upper Levels Highway, looking down on the city in its entirety.

  I obeyed. Of, course. I was his slave. I was looking out the window now with my breasts pressed against it. We were on the highway, cars were speeding past us; it was dark and raining. Even so, as we came closer to the Lion’s Gate Bridge we had to slow down, and cars were neck and neck with us. And there were the increasingly frequent traffic lights. Though the taxi was steamed up, I am sure my vivid silhouette was visible to anyone who had the luck to glance our way.

  “That’s right, baby. Now bend your knees, Angela, and open your legs as far as they will go.”

  I did so again. The taxi driver could see me fully exposed in his rearview mirror, I am sure. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

  “Now, I am just going to look at you for a moment or so because you are so ineffably beautiful. You are so queen-like. My God, I am completely drowned in you.”

  I hung onto the strap for dear life, imagining him behind me; knowing that I was a lush mountain of beauty: knowing that he meant what he said: knowing that there was not one person in this magnificent city having a better night than I was.

  After an intense moment of gazing, Michael lay down on the seat and slid his head forward so he was level with my pussy. He separated me with his hands and brought his tongue in contact with every part of me. While his mouth was circulating and flickering, his fingers were also inside of me probing the inner wet walls.

  And I start screaming. There was no stopping. I was coming again and again and again. It was phenomenal.

  And he didn’t stop. Even when I was completely shattered, hanging onto the passenger strap for dear life, thinking I might indeed die of a heart attack, he continued perambulating my pussy, giving me no mercy. And I just kept coming and coming and coming. By this time we were already driving through Stanley Park and cars were surrounding us on all sides. I loved the thought that people had watched me perform, not for them, just for Michael and myself. But they had seen my ecstasy. They had witnessed my beauty from afar.

  “There’s so little time, Angela, and I can’t wait any longer,” Michael said. “Quickly: lie down. I know this night is all about you, but I want to give you something to remember me by. And, by God, I’m ready to blow.”

  I slid down the seat, sensing what would come next, making myself ready. As Michael pulled his tight white underwear down, his penis plunged ahead of him heading straight for my breasts. I quickly took my breasts, burying his penis in their splendor. As I roughly fingered my beautiful mounds, sliding his wet member up and down their valleys, I still managed to be aroused and amazed. It was less than a minute, heaving and bucking, that Michael took to come, leaving his sticky sweetness all over my mounds, like Baileys on ice cream. His mouth found mine and our bodies and mouths succumbed to one another in sweet surrender. His hands were in my hair and on my face and he kept murmuring between kisses, “Oh, Angela. Oh, Angela.”

  And then our time was up. We had arrived back at the Hotel Vancouver. We quickly slipped on our clothes and coats, and after Michael paid the driver, we stumbled back into the hotel. I was looking like a hot mess, emphasis on the word hot.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of booking you a hotel room,” Michael said to me, guiding my elbow through the revolving door. “I thought you might be a little too spent to go home.”

  Where did this man come from? There was nothing I wanted to do more than plop into some ridiculously luxurious bed with soft pillows and clean sheets.

  “What time is your flight?”

  “Sooner than you might think. I’m afraid I might have gotten a bit carried away. Here is your key,” he said, slipping his hand out of his pocket. “I have to leave now. Right now. I’ve got the taxi driver waiting.”

  He took one last opportunity to leave a final crescendo to the evening. “Angela, I do believe you are the sexiest, most divine woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I don’t think I will ever be able to top this evening. Thank you for that.”

  He gazed on me one last time in raw appreciation.

  “No, Michael, thank you.”

  It was unbelievable and perfect. I knew nothing about this man, Michael, who whisked into my life, dazzled me and whisked out again. Where was he from? Who knew? What did he do? I didn’t care. All I know is that my brief encounter with that man has made me into a sexual powerhouse and there is no turning back.

  I get up everyday feeling attractive and sensual. I dress and act like I am a goddess. Men believe that I am. I have never met anyone quite like Michael again, but I am a good teacher, and I am a woman who gets what she wants.

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.lucystvincent.com

  or on Twitter at @lucystvincent.

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  Submission With a Stranger (A Curvy Girl Erotic Adventure)