Holy mother of God, it’s bad. Awful. It’s the coldest thing in the world, and it’s sitting inside my pussy, and he won’t let me take it out. But before I draw a breath to rail at him, he’s sliding between my legs and lowering his mouth.
The heat of his tongue against my nearly frozen clit is almost painful even through the fabric of my panties. But it feels so good, like the painful-pleasurable tingles of standing in a hot shower after coming in out of a freezing rain.
He tongues my clit, the soft, wet heat of his mouth pushing the scratchy fabric against me until I shudder and moan. He straightens with a satisfied rumble and reaches for the bedside table. I hear a rattle and he comes back with the long strand of pearls. I want to ask him if they’re real, but can’t seem to find my voice.
The iciness inside me contrasting with the heat outside has short circuited my brain, and I can’t seem to make my voice work. He hasn’t even fumbled with my breasts yet.
He puts the beads on my stomach and separates them, pulling two strands apart. One is short, no more than twelve inches and the other is probably closer to three feet long. He wraps the longer one around my wrists several times each before using it to drag my hands above my head.
I crane my neck and watch as he connects the ends together behind one of the decorative carvings in the headboard. He looks back down at me and kisses my nose.
“These won’t really restrain you,” he explains in a low voice. “If you pull hard enough they’ll break. If you twist your hands enough you’ll get out of them. It’s more for sensation than true restraint.”
I nod dumbly, glad he took a second to explain because I can’t take my mind off the ice that’s slowly making a pussy-sicle between my legs. He leans back to the table and jerks the silk scarf. I watch in silence as it floats in a gentle wave behind his hand.
“You can see through this, but it’ll be fuzzy,” he says in that same deep rumble. He wraps it around my head, covering my eyes. He doesn’t tie it, just pulls the ends to either side. I can get out of it too.
This is very refined and safe for kinky sex, and I almost giggle in relief. Wonder what he’s going to do with the short strand of pearls.
He kisses my nose again and whispers, “Now relax, moon goddess, and let me show you how wrong you were about me.”
I roll my eyes behind the gauzy blindfold. This is probably where the fun ends and the groping begins.
But before I can so much as snort, I feel gentle scratching against my nipples. He’s rubbing them through the lace of my bra, sending prickles of awareness from my breasts to the ice still melting between my legs.
He kisses the valley between my breasts tenderly and unhooks the front clasp of my bra to peel the cups away.
“Very nice,” he croons. I want to beam beneath the praise, even if I don’t quite believe it.
Did I put on clear deodorant? God, I hope I don’t have white clumps in my pits for him to see. How embarrassing would that be? I try to check discreetly, but his lips surround one nipple and the thought is gone.
Fuck that deodorant.
He’s sucking and flicking one while the other one gets gentle tugs with his warm fingers. He pulls away and there’s some clinking before he returns his lips to my nipple, cold this time.
I yelp and it turns into a high-pitched moan as he sucks around the ice. He doesn’t torture me long though, at least not that nipple. He switches, tugging on the other nipple with his cold mouth. Then he switches again, and again. Back and forth, cold mouth laving and warm fingers tugging, until the ice is melted.
When he straightens I take a deep breath and realize I’m sweating. Great…
He tugs my panties, sliding them down my legs as he speaks softly. “Let’s see if we can give ‘wet’ the proper respect now.” My panties go flying and he pushes my thighs apart to bury one hand between my legs.
Air whooshes out of my lungs. It’s the hottest hand on the face of the earth, burning against me as he pets and plunders.
“That’s better, sweetheart. So much better.”
Something hard and small presses against my clit and rubs. It’s followed immediately by something else and I’m confused for a moment.
The pearls. He’s rubbing the pearls against me, up and down, each one a smooth, delicious pressure on my clit followed by a heartbreaking absence and the pressure again. He moves them slowly, too slowly for me to chase an orgasm, and I swallow a cry of bitter disappointment. I should have known better. No matter how cocky or good-looking, any man I have sex with can’t possibly be as good as just taking care of it myself.
A sharp pinch to my nipple snaps me back to what he’s doing.
“Still with me?” he asks nonchalantly.
I nod and try to make out his expression through the scarf. “Still here.” It’s fuzzy, but I think he’s smiling.
“Keep that busy little mind here. Feel the pearls on your wrists, on your pussy, the scarf against your face, how hard your nipples are.” He resumes the slide of the pearls, and I realize I didn’t notice when he stopped. “Think about how much you want me to let you come, how good it would feel to come with my cock in you.”
He said “let” me come, not “make” me. The word usage doesn’t slip by me and I start to wonder if he’s toying with me, trying to build up the pressure so I…
“Stay with me,” he snaps and pinches my nipple again.
“S-sorry,” I stutter.
“Tell me what you feel,” he orders, still sliding the pearls slowly back and forth, up and down my clit.
“Um…” I struggle for words. “It feels good.”
“What does?” He whispers.
“The p-pearls,” I answer, jumping a little when he plucks a nipple again.
“The ones holding your arms up?”
I clear my throat and start to answer, then stop. Those do feel good, round and cool against my wrists. “Yes, those.”
“And these?” He murmurs, pressing a little harder without losing the slow rhythm. They slide—bump, bump, bump—to one side of my clit without touching the overly sensitive nub, then across the top and down the other side. Bump, bump, bump.
I arch my hips, trying to get closer. “Yes,” I whisper.
They’re suddenly gone, sliding across my stomach in a gentle wave of smooth bumpiness.
“Do they feel good here?”
“Yes, but…” I bite my lip. He knows where I want them, but wants me to say it. I don’t want to.
“Here?” He asks, sliding them across my breasts, circling my nipples.
“Mmm hmm, yes.” I arch again, craving a firmer pressure against my nipples but he moves the pearls again. Down my stomach, across the wonderfully sensitive skin between my legs and across my thighs.
“And here? Do you like them here?”
I arch my hips again. Yes, I like them there asshole, but I want them on my clit again. I want an orgasm that isn’t self-induced, and he’s already surpassed all my expectations. He could make me come any time he wants to. That realization comes to me with surprising clarity. No one, repeat no one, has ever been able to make me come without me helping them along and…
His lips suddenly surround my clit and he sucks hard enough that it’s a quick, sharp bite of pain.
“I’m going to get tired of telling you to stay with me,” he warns.
I swallow hard and mutter, “I-I’m sorry. Please…”
“Please, what?”
Oh God, he’s going to make me say it. I take a shaky breath, surprised at how turned on I am. “Please make me come,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “I can make you come sweetheart. What you need to ask is for me to let you come.”
Crap. He caught that. I nod and play along in case he’s as good as he thinks, as good at the end as he has been in the beginning. “Please let me come.” My voice comes out stronger than I expected.
“Was that so hard? Asking nicely?” I shake my head and he reaches across me again to the nightstand
. The box of condoms lands near my waist and there’s a crinkle as he opens one.
A critical thought flits through my mind but I discard it quickly, before he has a chance to nip me again. He pushes himself against me, the head of his penis stretching me wide. I arch a little, hoping to minimize my discomfort by giving him better access. It’s always been a little painful when a man first enters me.
Another pinch to my clit, and then he slides smoothly inside, farther and farther, stretching me until discomfort makes me squirm, until it feels like there’s not a millimeter of extra space inside me.
“Clench when I pull out.” I do, shuddering as he presses his thumb against my clit. He drags himself out of me with a rumbling moan.
“Relax now.” I release the tightened muscles, and he pushes himself back in, a little easier this time.
He begins a slow pace, his thumb rubbing against my clit when he pulls out and remaining still while he pushes in. It’s exquisite, unlike anything I’ve experienced during sex before, and I arch and push against him, trying to catch the orgasm that’s just out of reach.
“Not yet,” he mutters. I whine in protest, and he settles a hand between my breasts. “Soon, sweetheart. Soon.”
God it feels so fucking good, better than anything ever has before. He speeds up gradually until his thumb is relentlessly rubbing my clit and he’s thrusting into me with each breath. I’m so close, about to go over, and he lifts his thumb and stops, buried to the hilt inside me. With my hands above my head I can’t get myself off and he’s falling down on the job.
I want to scream at him, claw his eyes out, but the hand resting between my breasts keeps me down with a gentle pressure. After several long, nerve-wracking minutes during which I say a vast array of things that only serve to make the bastard laugh, the impending orgasm fades, and he takes a few shaky breaths and resumes.
He pulls that shit four times before I’m ready to cut him. I squirm and fight, yanking against the pearls holding my arms above my head. After a few really hard tugs they snap free and I lower my hands in relief. I’ll do it myself.
But he laughs and grabs the pearls between my still-wrapped wrists and yanks them over my head, finally lowering his body to mine. The crisp hair of his chest chafes my nipples and his thick cock presses tightly inside of me, the angle and pressure changing as he shifts. He grinds once, twice, then pulls out and slams into me several times before growling, “Come for me, moon goddess.”
He grinds again, buried so deeply I can feel the lips of my pussy stretch tightly around the root of his cock, and his heavy testicles press against my ass.
Then…fireworks. Fucking stars. Heavenly chorus. Chocolate covered chocolate filled with chocolate on a chocolate stick with a coating of whipped chocolate cream. I mean…god damn. I come harder than I’ve ever come with anyone else, including myself. My legs twitch involuntarily and instinctively try to close. But his hips and thighs keep me splayed open so I end up with my calves pressed against his ass while I surge against him for all I’m worth.
This man is either a god or this is the happiest fucking accident in the history of the world.
He thrusts a few more times, dragging uncontrollable grunts from me before tensing and burying his head in my neck with a deep groan.
I can actually feel his cock jerk inside of me, the fullness increasing and pressing tightly against my front wall with hard pulses in time with his thrusts. I’ve never felt anything like it. I don’t know if it’s his size or the sensitivity he’s called forth from me, but…it’s amazing to feel a man’s pleasure, specifically this man.
We lie there, sweaty and wrapped around each other for uncountable minutes. I don’t even fucking care how long. I never even consider telling him to get off of me. For the moment, he can do whatever he wants. When my breathing returns to normal, I remember and gleefully whisper in his ear, “I am so happy to admit that I was wrong.”
He laughs and leans up on his elbows to look down at me. “I am very happy to say I told you so.”
* * * *
Gabe feeds me, and if any woman has ever enjoyed cold roast beef slices and white, aged cheese more, it was probably from this very same bed. We don’t speak while we eat, but he pushes the delectable bites into my mouth so quickly I don’t have time to form a sentence.
I look him over as I chew slowly, appreciating the body of a man who takes care of himself. I don’t know when exactly he took his clothes off, but the lamplight highlights the bronze of his skin and shadows linger between the lines of muscle. He’s not soft, and I want to trail my fingers between the outlined planes of his chest and the smooth curves of his arms, run my fingers through the dark hair of his chest. But I resist, content to just watch him. When he’d climbed off the bed to go get our food, he tossed the used condom into a trash can and pulled his pants on commando. I’m a little distracted by that fact, and my eyes keep drifting to his groin.
He holds little morsels of cheese and meat out when I stop eating, telling me without words that he doesn’t want me to be done yet. I take a few bites from his hands, just to have his fingers against my lips. When I turn away from a bite, insisting I’ve had enough, he tosses the tray to the floor with a crash and pushes me back against the pillows. The condom box is under my back, poking into me. But it doesn’t matter because he crawls over me and nuzzles my neck.
“I made love to you like a gentleman. But now I want to fuck you like a savage,” he warns.
“That sounds perfect.” And I mean it. I’m completely okay with it. Even if I get nothing out of the rough sex, I’ll consider it his reward for restoring my faith in men.
Good trade.
“Do you trust me enough to let me use something besides pearls for your arms?” I hesitate, and he shakes his head quickly. “Never mind. It’s fine.”
He rolls onto his back, pulling me with him and stares up at me. I can feel him hardening beneath the soft material of his pants and I rub shamelessly against him, dragging the increasing hardness through my still drenched folds.
“Suck it,” he commands in that deep, dark voice, sin and salvation resonating in the rumbling tones of his vocal cords.
I hate sucking dick, always have. But I’m practically giddy with anticipation at the thought of giving Gabe pleasure. Maybe this is the key…good sex makes me excited about sex. Gee, Mr. Obvious, I never made the connection.
I giggle and slither down his body, his covered erection sliding up my stomach and between my breasts as I get ready to give him the blowjob of his life. Or try to, anyway.
I reach for the snap of his slacks, and he stops me to unfasten and unzip them himself. “No hands. Put your hands on my thighs for balance and leave them there.”
A little thrill crawls down my spine as I rest my palms on his thighs. His erection strains upward in the vee of his pants and I instinctively reach up to pull it completely out.
“No hands!” he barks, making me jump. I return my hands to his thighs and hesitantly bite the material of the pants to pull them away. “Just suck it,” he orders, sliding his big hands into my hair.
I shrug. It’s his dick, this is his congratulatory blowjob, so I’ll do it however he wants. I lean up and take him in my mouth, sucking lightly until I have about half his length. He tastes of sweat and faintly of latex. There’s an underlying muskiness that I’m fairly certain is what his semen will taste like if I take him that far. It’s icky, and for ten years the only time I ever let Corey come in my mouth was just to get him to shut up. But the thought of Gabe spurting onto my tongue while he growls in that dark, wicked voice is hot. So freaking hot. I bob my head a couple of times, wondering how he likes it. I don’t have to wonder long.
“Don’t dive right in. Lick from base to tip and swirl your tongue around the top.” He reaches down and pushes his pants down until I have to move my hands. When the pants are mid-thigh he stops, and I return my hands to their position, the hair on his thighs tickling my palms. “Lick my balls, suck them.
Then relax your throat, take a deep breath, and see how much of me you can take and hold it there until I tell you to let up.”
Definitely hot. I start at his testicles, licking the heavy globes gently, feeling the shift beneath the skin as I move from one to the other. His thighs stiffen beneath my fingers and I smile.
He chuckles breathlessly and orders in a tight voice, “Suck them.”
Sort of gross, but the high from the amazing pearl-sex is still there, and I’m all too willing to comply. I take one into my mouth and suck gently, rolling my tongue around it at the same time. I repeat the process with the other and he groans in the back of his throat.
Taking that as encouragement to move on, I drag my tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock and circle the crest before sucking lightly, flicking my tongue over the bead of moisture seeping from the slit. He lets out a sharp breath. Per his instructions, I take a deep breath, try to relax, and take him to the back of my throat.
“Yeah,” he whispers hotly, arching his hips and putting pressure against the back of my head. I gag a little and he grinds out, “Get it under control, baby. Relax. Breathe through your nose.”
My eyes water and I try. It’s not comfortable, and it’s certainly not fun, but it is bearable. He starts thrusting slowly into my mouth, and I relax as much as I can, trying to give him at least a semblance of the pleasure he gave me. I want to do this for him and tears prick my eyes as I continue to struggle, gagging against him at least half the time. My lips stretch wide to accommodate his girth and his hand in my hair guides me, pushing and pulling as he thrusts up, taking what he wants.
“Enough,” he rasps, pulling my head away and jerking himself from my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I wish I could do whatever he wants, just for tonight. But it’s useless. I’m no good at anything except being a boring housewife and mother. No wonder sex has always been boring, if this is the standard I’ve been setting.
He was amazing, gave me the most incredible pleasure in my sexual experience. And I can’t even manage a worthwhile blowjob.
Luna Exposed Page 6