Breafast in Bed

Author's Note: This is #7 in the Helena series, and I must always give tribute to my friend "Helena", a beautiful lady here on Lit who has become my muse and my friend in the last couple of years.

Helena 12: Breakfast in Bed

I wake before you, and slip out of bed to go to the restroom. Returning to you, I shake my head. How can a woman get more beautiful every time you see her? Sleeping so peacefully, a trace of a smile still on your lips.

Are you dreaming, sweetheart? Are you replaying last night, the heat of you saddling yourself on my lap, taking my hard cock in your ass, surprising me with the way you chose to ride me that way? Are you smiling at the look of happy surprise on my face? Are you remembering the heat of the friction, the delicious friction, as you rode me to orgasm?

I realize I am hungry, but then I also register that I am horny for you. To pleasure you, to repay you, sensation for sensation, for last night, for every moment of every time you've pleasured me. I'm hungry for your moans, your groans, for the sound of my name on your lips. Hungry for your pleas for more, for me not to stop, and then finally for me to please stop, lest you explode.

I'm ready for an all I can eat breakfast buffet...of Helena.

You know I'm a bit devious, right? You know I'm just a bit twisted, right? Well, if not...you will before lunch time!

I pad barefoot downstairs, withdrawing what I need from my closet, then I work my way back upstairs. You're still asleep; YES! Working slowly, I begin to set my plan to work, carefully and quietly, so as not to wake you up.

Almost ten minutes later, I step back to admire my own handiwork. "Damn, I'm pretty good!" I compliment myself. I'm modest like that, I guess...

Finally, you begin to stir just a bit. Oh, yes... Time for the fun to begin.

"Good morning, miss. I've gone to the trouble of fixing breakfast in bed today," I tell you in my best English butler accent. Which may actually be the same as an Australian prison inmate accent, for all I know.

You smile before you even open your eyes. "Oh, that sounds-what the...?" are your first words, as you go to stretch.

And can't.

Your eyes open, and the first thing you look at is your left wrist. It's such a lovely wrist, really. Sexy, feminine... And adorned with the end of one of my neckties, which, at the other end, secures you to a bedpost. You turn to look at the other hand, and find it is similarly fastened. It They aren't tight; not really.

Until I pull on them a bit. The knots are such that it's easy for me to adjust them, but impossible for you to pull loose. They're called Prussig knots; climbers use them.

Of course, your ankles are also prepared the same way, but you don't see that until I pull the covers off of the bed, leaving you spreadeagled and gorgeously naked on the bed. Nothing is so tight that you can't move, but you certainly aren't going anywhere.

Your gaze settles on me, and there's that adorable attempt to look mean that you do.

"I believe someone said I was getting breakfast in bed, not tied down in bed," you challenge me.

"No, you didn't listen carefully. What I said was that I've gone to the trouble of fixing breakfast in bed. Which I have done. Because I absolutely intend to devour you right here in this bed, to get my fill of you before I release you." And with that, I slide a pillow under your butt, lifting your sex like a dessert tray before me.

Before I begin, I trace lines all over your body, from the tickly soles of your feet, up your sexy calves, along the inner thighs...almost to your...but sliding off to slide along your pelvic bones, to your belly button, up, under your breasts, tracing their sexy curves, skiing a circuit up, up, up them...only to stop just shy of your nipples, which just began to thicken in anticipation. I slide along your ribs, up, under your arms, tickling you, loving the way you squirm and giggle. I trace lines up your arms, onto your hands, even your palms and finger prints, then back down again, to tickle your armpits again, then I skim along your collar bone. I slow as my finger comes up your vulnerable throat, and I draw an invisible line along your jaw, then trace the lines of your ear, before coming down to graze my thumb along your lips, which you part to kiss it. I tweak your nose very lightly, then kiss you. And kiss you again. And again.

My hands begin to work their way back down again, but this time, they are chased by my mouth. I kiss one collar bone, then lightly run my tongue over the other. My fingers play in one armpit, while my lips kiss along the ribs on the other side. My right hand slides up to cup your left breast, holding it, my big thumb caressing the nipple, which quickly rises, even as my tongue teases the nipple on your right, my lips pulling it in, sealing on it, sucking gently as my tongue flits back and forth over it. It too rises to the stimulation.

As my hands stroke over your hips, I kiss my way down to your navel, then downward. My hands begin to move in on your sweet pussy from the sides, even as I kiss my way down through your nest. My thumbs open you, and I look upward into your eyes as I begin to lick, slooowwwwllllyyyy, up and own, up and down, savoring every inch, and the increasingly wet texture of your lips against my tongue.

A good breakfast should be savored, not hastily devoured, and this is no different. I take my time, and judging from your moans, I think you are savoring it, too. I spend plenty of time, lovingly tracing your folds, circling your clit, and caressing your. My tongue searches, savors your flavors. Oh, I'm right to call you my honeypot, and for you to call me your bear, because at my first taste, I have a hunger grow within me, that with each lap of my long, thick tongue, I just want more.

My big hands, bear paws without claws, slide under your undulating bottom, pulling you up, that I might taste from the depths this sweet nectar. Your cries, moans and pleas, echoing in my ears as you climb a crescendo of pleasure; no sweeter song's ever been penned.

I consider stopping; easing you up and down that hill a few times, teasing you with closer and closer glimpses of that magic crest, driving you mad with pleasure until you beg me to push you over, to finally experience that free fall to ecstasy. But that would be devious. Ungentlemanly. Knavish.

So I do it.

Just as I feel you begin to tremble a bit, as your hips strain to buck up against my tireless tongue...I withdraw.

Your frustration is quickly voiced. "No! Why did you stop? Please! Finish!" The look on your face as you peer down at me between waving breasts, your abdominal muscles straining futilely to push your sweet garden against my smiling face, almost melts my resolve, even as it begins to harden my cock.

Down, boy! We have mischief to make first!

Instead of relenting to your pleas, my hands stroke the inside of your thighs, across your abs; anywhere I can touch you and NOT trigger your orgasm. Finally, you settle some.

So I carry on.

Twice more I bring you up that mountain, only to stop short, just short...so close. And twice more you express your frustrations, the pleas and curses getting more spirited each time.

Would you really give me ANYTHING if I'd let you cum this time? Are you really going to bite my balls if I don't? Oh, and some of those words! I didn't think proper English ladies even KNEW those words! And bringing my mother into all this... Shameful! :)

The fourth time, though, I realize it is probably time I give you some relief, because that remark about biting...that scares a man. Of course, by now, you don't trust me, so you fight succumbing to the pleasure. That British "stiff upper lip" thing, it serves you well.

For a little while.

But soon, your hips are wriggling. Just a little bit. Then you stop. Until they involuntarily buck up at me after a long, deep lick, ending with a swirl over your swollen clit. Another stroke like that, and, with a whimper, your resolve quakes and crumbles.

I've already decided that this is it, this is the time for you to get your reward, and me the full measure of my breakfast. So my licks are faster, firmer, and spend more time circling your sweet bud. As you approach the crest,I slide one finger, then two into your wet, clutching tunnel, and they begin to pump with wet slick sounds as I draw your clit into my mouth, sucking even as my tongue flits back and forth over it.

Your explosion is profound. My face, already slick from tormenting you, is now awash in your honey. Finally, I break the seal of my lips, so that I can drink of your honey.

For a good 20 minutes, aftershocks rock you, and your legs shake. Finally, I look up at you, smiling, my face glistening...with you. I slide up your body, stopping to give kisses and sucks to your nipples, then sliding up to kiss you, sharing your essence with you.

"Are you going to untie-, oh, no, I guess you're not..." you start to ask, but you're interrupted by my hard cock, which, unguided, has easily found the slick path of your pussy, and helped himself right on in.

No, I'm not untying you yet, my dear...