by Violet Blue
The blindfold covers my eyes, and he guides me down onto the bed. The closet opens, then closes, and the rope arrives at my wrists. I half protest, not really wanting him to stop. It’s part of the game. “Something different tonight, my dear,” he intones in a faux-French waiter accent, his smile coming through in his words. “What’s that?” I say, taking the bait. I’m still damp from the shower and the breeze from the ceiling fan cools my skin, making my nipples harden and my hair stand on end. “Detailed descriptions of every thing I’m going to do to you,” he says deliciously. Usually, he’s very quiet, but I love hearing him when we fuck. There’s something outrageously intimate about hearing a man make noise during sex. I’m intrigued—I nod quietly and lie back.
“I’m taking my shirt off.” He states this matter-of-factly, and I wonder if this will have the desired erotic appeal. It’s so blunt. As he enumerates each article of clothing, my mind starts to wander, and the image in my head is filled with detail and interest. “My pants are on the floor” brings with it an image of an erect cock, ready for me, straining to release itself from the everyday underwear that I know he’s wearing. The combination of the erotic and the mundane is enough to make me think that maybe he’s on to something.
He comes over to the bed and kisses me softly, his tongue exploring my mouth for a moment, his hard cock brushing against me. “I need to go get some things from the dresser.” I hear his footsteps cross the room, a drawer opening, and then the trip back to the bedside. I’m waiting, slightly wet and expectant, curled in on myself to retain a little heat. “I went shopping today, and I got some things that I think you’ll like. I’m going to suck your nipples, then pinch them until they’re nice and hard, and then put these clamps on them.” I’m not given a chance to comment before his mouth latches on to my right tit, sucking insistently and not at all gently. I squeal in half pain, half pleasure and feel my cunt start to swell. As promised, his fingers follow, taking the nipple deliberately between thumb and forefinger and pinching hard enough to make me cry out. “Mmm…perfect—just hard enough.” I hear him rummaging around—removing something from a package?—then returning in earnest to his task. I feel cold metal on my nipple, but no real pressure. He releases the clamp, and it falls coldly against my breast. He picks it up, adjusts the screw, and reapplies it. This time, the pinch is intense—cold and hard and unrelenting. I cry out and squirm, but he holds me down. “Hey, I told you what I was doing! If I don’t clamp them tight, they won’t be tender when I take the clips off.” I concede and, knowing that whatever he has planned for later is probably a sensualist’s dream, I elect to wait it out as he gives the other nipple the same treatment. As the clamp bites down, I jump, but save the squeal for later.
When both tits are clamped, I hear him rummaging again. A few minutes go by with no contact and no words, and I start to wonder what he could be doing. Just then, he speaks up. “I’m putting a large, clear dildo into your hole. I want to watch your wet pussy swallow it up.” My legs are pushed apart and the head of the implement rubbed insistently between my lips. “I’m going to push apart your lips with my fingers so that I can see everything.” I hear him smiling again. “Wow, you’re really, really wet.” He separates my lips with his fingers, and my clit rises to meet him. He toys with the swelling bud, and then rams the rod into me several times. No niceties, no frills, just unrepentant fucking. My hips buck up, rising to meet him. “No, I’m not fucking you yet. This is just a placeholder. Your pussy is going to be starving for me when I get there.” I feel him place a harness over the dildo and around my legs to keep me from expelling it, and resign myself to the sensation of my muscles working around the fake cock that I am stuck with.
“I’m going to pull the clamps off your tits now.” Before I get a chance to protest, he pulls the clamps unceremoniously and they snap off with a satisfying sound. I hear them hit the ground as he pinches my left nipple, then the right. “I know this hurts, and I know you like it. I think you want me to play rough.” I moan in response, dizzy with the sensations. “I’m going to hold your nipple steady while I play with it. I want to lick it, pinch it, bite it…and you’re not going to move while I do it. If you do, I’ll tie your legs and waist down, too.” I can just see the leering grin on his face while I try desperately not to move. “Stick your tits out—I don’t want you cowering away from me as if you don’t like this. I know you do. I see the juice dripping from your cunt, out around the dildo.” I jut my chest forward and feel his fingers gently pinching the soft flesh of my areola to make the rock-hard nipple stand out.
I feel his teeth on my sore nubs. The clamps have sensitized things a good deal, and I squeal and squirm. He nips, sucks, and every so often, bites. He is groaning his pleasure, and I feel his dick brushing my inner thigh. I gasp and try to stay still. After giving very thorough attention to the left side, he moves to the right. I feel his hands on both breasts and enjoy the feeling. Then he pinches both nipples at once, hard, rolling them between his fingers and finishing with a pointed treatment with fingernails from both hands. I scream and pull back, and my pussy swells and drips.
“Okay, I’m going to get more rope.” He walks away and I know I’m in for a thorough fucking. This kind of thing gets us both off. He comes back and binds me, giving me the blow by blow report. “I’m tying your legs to the bedposts so that you can’t wiggle out of my reach. Now, I’m adding some restraint around your waist so that you can’t move those delicious tits out of my hands. I’m pulling the cock from your box so that you’ll be hungry for me.” I feel the dildo leave, and the walls of my pussy flare up, a torrent of fluid following the latex head out of the tunnel.
“Now, I’m going to surprise you. You obviously wanted more since you moved after I told you not to.” I feel his mouth, his hands on me again. His fingers surround my areola, pointing the nipple skyward. There’s a pinching feeling, then again and again, and then a lightning bolt from the nipple down to my clit. My right nipple burns, the pinch almost unbearable. I feel him guide the left nipple up, licking it and biting it until it stands straight. Then the pinching again, but less time until the lightning bolt this time. His cock meets my lips. “Suck my dick,” he says, without ceremony, grabbing a handful of hair and guiding my open mouth to his rod. I lick, suck, taste and savor, all the while feeling my nipples sending insistent messages downward.
He pulls from my mouth, quickly and without warning. The rope binding my waist and ankles is swiftly cut and removed, and I feel his swollen head glide into my throbbing pussy. He pounds me, over and over again, my feet on his shoulders and my ass bouncing off the bed. He pulls the blindfold off my eyes. “I want to look at you while we fuck.” I blink at the light, and look him straight in the eye as every wave of pleasure ripples through my body. He pulls what turn out to be clothespins off my nipples, takes one in his mouth and the other in his fingers, and comes. I scream my approval and shudder at the sensation of him shooting off into me.
He loosens the remaining restraints, freeing my wrists. As if suddenly recalling his promise to articulate his actions, he grins at me. “I want you to rub my cum over your clit until you come,” he says, sitting up but staying firmly lodged in me. I reach down and slide my fingers around, feeling the dripping cum and pulling it upward toward the swollen bud. I rub and caress, pinching and pulling at my clit until the waves of pleasure force his member back out into the cold world.
He falls on top of me and I welcome his familiar weight with satisfaction. Wrapping my arms around him and rolling over, I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, feeling content and very well pleasured. The room smells deliciously of sex and sweat, and I drift into sleep wrapped warmly in him.
LOVE TRIANGLE
B. J. Franklin
Would you like to live forever?”
I blinked. “Would I like to what?”
“Live forever. A scientist quoted in the paper said that, in twenty-five years’ time, he’ll be able to prevent aging. If he gets the fundi
ng.”
“Sounds like a scam to con billionaires into giving him their money.” Lindsay was a great friend, but when she got hold of an idea, she didn’t want to let go.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to see what changes over the next thousand years? Who knows, by then you might have found the courage to ask Simon out.”
I rolled my eyes. “Very funny.”
“Come on, Jeanie, admit it. You fancy him like crazy.”
“Of course, he’s gorgeous. But there are hundreds of girls running after him. Let’s change the subject.”
“Look, if he doesn’t feel the same, he’s an idiot, and we’ll get drunk together. But you really need to move on.”
I sighed. “I will never have the courage to ask him out.”
“Then invite him to dinner and play footsie under the table. Tickle him until he promises to give you multiple orgasms all night. And if that doesn’t work, you can always give him my phone number.”
“Lindsay,” I groaned. “He’d probably love your phone number. You’re small and blonde with a perfect figure. I’m overweight with mouse brown hair and glasses. He’d laugh in my face.”
I thought Lindsay was going to explode. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!” A hush fell as other people in the café turned to stare. “Who’s been telling you such nonsense? If it was that ass George, I’ll beat him up.”
The thought of Lindsay, five feet nothing, beating up the six-feet-four mass of muscle that was my ex-boyfriend should have made me laugh, but her expression was so fierce I could see that George would’ve had no chance.
“It wasn’t him,” I lied. “Anyway, there are plenty of overweight men in the world, and one of them will suit me fine. I was just pointing out why I have zero chance with Simon.”
“You were just nothing. If you’re doing anything this Saturday, cancel it. We have a date.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“To visit a little shop I know, so you can see how gorgeous you really are.”
I opened my mouth to object, but she was already putting on her jacket. “You can pay for coffee, as Saturday is my treat. It can be your birthday present. I’ve been wondering what to get. I’ll pick you up at ten.”
“My birthday’s in November and it’s only August,” I protested, but she’d already gone. What on earth was I going to do?
I begged, pleaded and promised, but to no avail. Saturday found us both inside a smart lingerie shop in the center of town. Lindsay dragged me past the open-mouthed assistant, past all the pretty matching sets and elegant teddies, straight to a small section at the back. I stared at the rack of vinyl and leather in front of me. “You have got to be kidding.”
Lindsay, of course, wasn’t listening. “These should do nicely,” she said, thrusting a small pile into my arms and steering me into a changing room. “Don’t put anything aside before you’ve shown me what it looks like on,” she ordered as she yanked the curtain across.
I looked down at the pile.
There was a bright red contraption on the top, with straps and hooks everywhere. I put it aside for when I was feeling braver. Next came a bright blue corset-style top, with four suspender straps hanging from the bottom and hooks all the way down the back. After forcing the two sides together, I did up the first few hooks, which promptly terminated my ability to breathe.
“Lindsay…”
“Just put it on. It’ll fit fine, I promise, once they’re all done up.”
Did she have X-ray vision or something? I hoped not, as with more straining and weird noises, I eventually succeeded. God only knows what the rest of the shop thought I was doing. There was a full-length gilt mirror down one wall, but I couldn’t face it yet. I adjusted the straps so they weren’t cutting into my shoulders and positioned the cups properly. It was then I realized that breathing was possible—in a tight but not unpleasant way. It had to be a good sign. I opened my eyes.
My squeal stunned the shop into silence. “I have a waist!”
The curtain was yanked back and Lindsay was there, running a professional eye over me. “See, told you.”
I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. The corset style held me in and made me look, not thin, but…shapely. My curves looked sleeker, smoother, tighter. I felt sexy.
I smiled.
“It’s good, but not quite right. The color’s wrong.” Lindsay was unmoveable. Well, she was paying. A quick peek at the tag made me shudder. For that price, the damn hooks should have been platinum.
None of the other outfits were what she wanted, either. We were almost at the bottom of the pile and I was becoming an expert with the fiddly little clasps. “Last one,” I called, as I pulled it off the hanger. It was a black top, but longer than the others. And it didn’t have straps. I liked that. The extra inch or so of material meant it might almost cover my…Jesus. It wasn’t a top at all. It was a dress.
In for a penny. It slipped over my head like silk. Most of it was solid material, except for an oval-shaped window at the back. After my usual Birdy-Song-cum-salsa-dance, I got the dress fastened and the material smoothed down. It fit like a glove—one that was a size too small. I turned to the mirror, and saw my face crease into a huge grin. This was the one.
The black vinyl, like the first one I’d tried, held me in and made my curves look mouthwatering. It clung to me, leaving nothing to the imagination, but still looked elegant. There were three small purple bows on it, two on the hem and one on the shoulder, and there were three narrow, vertical strips of purple stitching spaced around the front. The vertical bands made my legs look longer and my hips slimmer. I loved it. If I had to look like a hooker, at least it was a high-class one.
“Perfect,” Lindsay sighed from the doorway. “Take it off, and I’ll get them to pack it up for you.”
She refused to let me pay anything toward it, and got in a huff when I tried to buy a pair of lace hold-ups to match. “You have gorgeous skin,” she insisted. “Show it off.”
I did get a shock when I realized she didn’t intend for me to wear any underwear at all. “The dress is way too short. He’ll be able to see…well, everything!”
Lindsay remained calm. “Exactly. Start as you mean to go on.”
I could always come back another time.
As we walked to the bus stop, I was convinced that everyone could see inside the bag, but we reached it before my paranoia got out of control. As Lindsay was giving me some parting words of advice, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hi, Jeanie. Been shopping?”
It was him. Simon. His wavy dark hair fell invitingly over his forehead, and his deep blue eyes shone with innocent interest. A beetroot blush spread over my face, and I made a vague murmur of agreement, clutching the bag even tighter. If I dropped it and the dress spilled out, I would never survive the shame. A pack of girls across the street were gazing at him in admiration, but he was oblivious to their attention.
We chatted for a few minutes, but I have absolutely no memory of what we said. He smiled at me before he left, and my knees grew weak. Lindsay was right. I couldn’t go on like this. It was getting ridiculous.
At half-past five that afternoon, I stood outside Simon’s door, biting the fingernails on one hand and clenching his spare key tightly in the other. I was wearing the minidress, black high-heeled boots and an overcoat. No underwear.
It wasn’t too late to change my mind. Once I was inside, it was do or die, but if I left now, no one would know. Except Lindsay, and she’d never shut up about it—but if I was going to go through with this, it would be for me. That way, if it all went pear-shaped, there’d be nobody to blame but myself. For a moment, I considered the humiliation I’d suffer if he really didn’t fancy me. Still, I looked good, I felt good, and I would always regret it if I left now with my tail between my legs.
The decision was made. Lindsay would be proud.
I opened the door and replaced the spare key under the holly bush. The bedroom was the
obvious place to wait. I’d been to his flat before, but had never seen inside that inner sanctuary.
The bed was massive. It dominated the room, and the thought of all the women Simon had probably had on top of it made me pause. But I wasn’t backing down now.
I stretched out on the dark blue bedding and waited. And waited. Every second felt like an hour as anticipation began to build, sending shivers down my spine.
At quarter-to-seven, I heard a key turn in the lock. Finally. But there were two voices in the hall outside. If Simon had brought a girl back, I was going to dissolve into a puddle of embarrassment right there on the cream carpet. I strained my ears to catch what they were saying, but only indistinct murmurs filtered through.
Suddenly, there was silence except for creaking floorboards. I was concentrating so hard, it took me a few seconds to realize the creaking was getting nearer. They were coming toward the bedroom. Shit!
I made a dive for the en suite bathroom, only just reaching it in time. The bedroom door was flung open and passionate kissing noises were clearly audible. Forget the whole “no one to blame but myself” pep talk, I was going to kill Lindsay. This was all her fault.
I couldn’t resist a quick peep. Did Simon prefer blondes or brunettes? I peered round the still partly open door and got the shock of my life. Simon was wrapped around a tall, blond… man. He was gay? Terrific. My humiliation was complete. All I could do was pray to every deity I knew that somehow I could escape unseen, and return to my uneventful, suddenly idyllic-seeming life with Simon none the wiser. I’d just sit on the edge of the bath and wait. In a minute or two.