Fifth Date

It was our fifth date. We'd had sex on the traditional third, and the sex was traditional, too. Not that it was bad, of course. She'd made it clear that she was adventurous, demonstrating the most amazing oral skills I'd ever experienced before riding me to an amazing orgasm. On the fourth date, she'd brought out the cuffs and asked me to tie her up. I'd never done it before, but I think we both managed to have fun. On the fifth, when we got to my place, she pulled the cuffs out of her bag again, but asked to tie me up instead.

I resisted at first, but she worked at me. She'd let me tie her up, and while I pointed out that she'd asked me to, she still told me that she should have a turn, too. And I couldn't deny that I was intrigued.

In the end, she convinced me when she straddled me while I sat on the couch and gave me a long, deep, kiss. As she did, she took my hands, slowly moving them away from her body and over my head. We ended with her holding my wrists together while she ground her crotch against mine and our tongues danced.

"Now just imagine," she whispered in my ear, still holding my wrists and pushing against me, "all the things I could do if my hands were free."

I was lying face down on the bed, my hands in lined leather cuffs attached to the headboard, my eyes covered by the blindfold ("don't worry, this will just make it more interesting," she breathed in my ear, as I attempted to protest), my mouth filled by her panties and tied into place with her hose (she didn't bother reassuring me now that protest was out of the question, just nibbled on the back of my neck), my feet tied to the footboard with something else (her belt? spare rope?). I was hers, however she wanted to use me.

For the last hour she'd been teasing me, nibbling me, touching me, leaving for minutes at a time, leaving me to wonder when, or if, she'd be back. She'd stroked me any number of times, but only enough to keep be excited.

She'd sat on me, her naked buttocks on mine, and used a vibrator on herself, the sounds of her pleasure and the pressure on my penis keeping me excited. I can only imagine that she'd brought it in her purse; I sure as hell didn't own one. Every once in a while she'd flick the vibrator over my anus, exciting me even more.

Later, when I'd thought she was out of the room, she surprised me by sticking a lubed finger in my asshole, and I nearly came at the pleasure it caused. I wanted to tell her that it was the first time anyone had ever done that, but I couldn't. She certainly had to figure out how happy it made me.

She removed the panties from my mouth and had me lift my head. Before I could even think to ask what she wanted, I felt her against me. Even as I started to lick, I realized that I was licking her asshole. She might have sensed my hesitation, as she pushed herself against the headboard, giving my head -- and my tongue -- no place to go but forward. She shuddered, but instead of then having me eat her out the traditional way, she stuffed the panties back in my mouth and tied them again.

Later, I felt her putting something wet on my lower back. It felt as if she was painting on me. When she was done, she blew gently on it, and it felt wonderful. She kissed me once on each buttock, hard, and then flicked her finger against the exposed underside of my scrotum. She then stepped back, and I heard the sound of a camera clicking, then she was kissing me on the cheek.

"You can come when I leave, sweetie. And I expect another date tomorrow night. And you'll wash those panties, of course." With that, she undid one of the cuffs, and was out the door immediately.

By the time I'd undone the other cuff and removed the blindfold, I'd heard her car pull away. I untied my feet, and saw the Polaroid snapshot sitting at the foot of the bed. It showed me tied down on the bed, and I could clearly make out what she'd written on me with either nailpolish or lip gloss: "Mine," in big letters, with an arrow pointing to my anus.

I was so turned on, I masturbated twice.

I couldn't wait until the sixth date.