Playtime on Our Picnic: My Dream

M/F, control, picnic, outdoors, food, fellatio

On a lovely spring day, you are leading me on a picnic. The temp is perfect, no humidity at all, an azure blue sky with cottony wisps of cloud. We have left the car park some time ago. You are leading the way; we proceed single-file down a traveled dirt path into the woods.

You are carrying a traditional 2-flap picnic basket. We are surround by trees, leafy brush, long grasses. We walk down this path for ages, until we reach a small, intimate clearing. You announce that we have arrived, adding that we are a mile from any civilization. A curious statement at the time, but I disregarded it.

You pop open one flap and pull out the customary large picnic blanket. Together we carefully drape it on the ground. I immediately lay across it the long way, hands behind my head. It's the perfect day: A faultless spring day, my beautiful, awesome date, a great picnic meal ahead.

You open the other flap... and with dramatic flair, you slowly raise out gleaming steel handcuffs. Your one finger supports one cuff, the other sways below, joined as they are by a small chain. You smirk at me.

Now my hands are cuffed behind me and beneath me. You are clamping another set around my ankles. I feel the stir at my groin, the beginnings of arousal. My jeans are swelling accordingly.

You dip into the hamper again and come out with... a banana. It's the perfect Chiquita specimen, slight crescent shape, bright yellow in color with a touch of black bruising.

"Isn't it perfect?" you tease, your voice rising with the joke. You graze your fingers delicately along the top length of the banana, then gently back under it. You heft it in your hand. My penis is swelling in my pants, fighting to rise. You wrap index finger and thumb around the girth of your toy, lost as if completing some mental data sheet.

Then you hand is across the front of my pants. At your touch, I gasp. My dick is straining underneath layers of denim and undershorts. You squeeze the thickness, then turn to your prop and repeat the gesture.

"Oh, no!" Now you display the banana in front of your mouth, a comic frowny face. "This isn't good, not good at all."

"You have work to do, my friend." You bring it up alongside your face, drawing the waxy phallus across your cheek, down your graceful neck. Your pouty lip slowly lessens, your sad eyes close in a depiction of bliss. I struggle in my irons, wrists trapped behind me, unable to move my feet more than a fraction of an inch.

You form your lips into a very small "o", bringing your treat up for a taste. "So big," you ponder, widening that perfect mouth into a large "o". My cock feels like it will break, trapped in too many clothes.

And in an instant my pants and shorts are down, shoved past my knees. I'm very vulnerable in the open air, hands and feet fettered, my pants lowered. You had promised no one would be around for a mile or more, please let this be true. You are in complete control of me. My cock towers from my groin.

"Let's compare the curves," you decide, pressing your toy next to my throbbing flesh. Your fruit is slightly curved; my cock is ram rod straight. You draw it up the underside of my dick, and tease the head.

"It's thicker than you are," you decide, and slowly strip away the peel, exposing the banana flesh.

"There," you say, making a fresh side by side comparison. You snicker. "Maybe I should wrap you in the peel."

Then you have the tip of the banana at your lips, and slowly press it in. Your mouth gets wider, the violator tracing its way visibly against your cheek.

I'm straining for release, unable to touch you, unable to touch myself. I'm completely engorged, wetness seeping from the tip. I can't recall ever feeling so long, so completely erect, so conscious of my aching shaft.

You rise up on your knees and move over me, repeating your side by side efforts. "I knew it," you grin, "I knew I could get you there." From my perspective looking down, my cock is easily thicker and longer than your damned produce-section standard. The images: I'm surrounded by green foliage, staring at the yellow banana next to my red-purple engorged cock.

You lower yourself, brush back your long hair... and bring your mouth onto... the banana. I am unable to stifle a groan. You giggle; I feel warm air snorted gently on my pubis and groin. You raise up, then slowly take just the head of my cock into your syrupy mouth.

The feeling is hot, wet, with the delicious tension of pushing through tightly pursed lips.

I lay there idiotically trapped hand and foot, my pants around my lower legs as you take full advantage of me, lovingly sucking and stroking me in the warm spring air. You raise up, a thin line of spittle stretching from my thick head to your red puffy lip. You giggle: "Do you know something? You taste like banana!"

Warm hands on my balls, then you are grasping my shaft and expertly stroking it. I'm gasping and groaning, my eyes rolling in my head with each aggressive tug. You tell me you've wanted this for a long time. I'm ecstatic in my passion. You tell me to go ahead, shout, moan; no one will hear us.

Then your lips are close to my ear: "Unless you think I should gag you, too."

I can feel the tightening in my balls, I feel the surge coming. I try to form words, but you have intuited my meaning. Your mouth is on me again, driving up and down, your head bobbing at my groin, lips tight around my shaft. I feel my cock head disappearing and then retracting from the back of your throat. With a frustrated roar, I release.

Now I'm on my side, knees fetally drawn up, with you lying cupped up behind me. I shake my wrists impotently, but in my ear, you quietly shush me. "Enjoy," you say. "Take a minute," you urge me. "It's always nice to have dessert first."

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NEXT CHAPTER : Turn-about is fair play.