The first length of soft-cotton rope binds my wrists together, and secures them to the headboard of our new brass bed. The second, draws my right ankle to the far corner of the footboard. The last, draws my left ankle to the near corner. A neatly folded silk scarf robs me of my sight. I am on my back: naked, and open. Completely at Aaron's mercy . . .
How did I get into this delicious predicament? Well, let's just say, that when properly stroked, my ego can easily land me in some very interesting situations.
This one began in early December, when our local volunteer fire company announced plans to put-on a lingerie fashion show to raise the last five thousand dollars needed for the purchase of a new pumper truck. Their chief – one of Aaron's good buds – was chairman of the event, and convinced (took all of two minutes) my dear husband to help in the search for hard-bodies (as Aaron called us) to model the teddies, negligees, etc that Victoria's Secret was donating for the event. Now I admit that I have never been shy about wearing sexy (and often revealing) outfits in public, but the idea of walking down that runway alongside my fellow supermodels was a bit intimidating. Nonetheless, after a bit of cajoling, negotiating (and a promise to let me live-out a scene from a romance novel I'd been reading), I agreed to join the cast.
The show was scheduled for Saturday February the 8th. The idea was, that with Valentines Day being so close at hand, that the all-male audience would be more than willing to part with their hard earned money as they envisioned their wives and girlfriends all hot and bothered (and putting-out) in their sexy new outfits on that most romantic of days. It was genius. The turnout was unbelievable, and our new truck should be arriving sometime this summer.
As for the rush I got from modeling my first outfit ( bright red camisole; white sheer panties; white lace stockings and electric blue spike-heels), it was incredible!
A week and a day has gone by since that fantasy-come-true, and less than twelve hours since my venture into the world of Marianna Halston, the waitress-turned-supermodel, that is the heroine of the latest bit of mind candy I've been reading.
Marianna comes from humble beginnings. Her father is manager of the local hardware store, where he's worked since highschool. Her mother, is a secretary for an insurance agent who pays her minimum wage, since he is just starting out . She has three older sisters – all of whom are hugely successful – that consider their baby sis to be their inferior. Her whole life, she has had to make do. Although she is your quintessential girl-next-door, she is oblivious to her own beauty. She has long, dark hair that hangs loosely about her shoulders. Her deep green eyes sparkle with the excitement of youth. Her long, lean legs just won't quit; and her full, well-rounded breasts are the envy of every woman she meets. She has just turned twenty-one, and begun working as a server at a popular sports bar to pay her way through engineering school. One fateful day, she is discovered by this high-powered agent who whisks her off to London to work the most coveted photo shoot of the season. She cannot believe her luck! The show is a make-or-break for the designer. Can she pull-it-off? Of course! Marianna is a smash hit and helps land a multi-million dollar order. In the process, she falls hard for the designer, and willingly gives herself over to his wild sexual desires.
"Strip for me, and lie on the bed." he says, "I want to tie you there and fuck you like you've never been fucked before . . ."
Aaron's lips lightly brush mine. The kiss is far to brief.
"You're mine." he whispers.
His warm breath caresses my cheek. The tip of his tongue traces the contour of my ear.
"Your body is mine to do with as I please."
His fingertips glide across my breast. He squeezes; kneads my swelling boobs.
"You have no say. All you can do is lay there and enjoy. Take it."
His lips mold to my armpit. His tongue: tickling. Panic begins to wash over me. I struggle to escape his tortuous tongue. I'm trapped. I giggle uncontrollably. "Please. No!" I beg. The assault continues. My giggles turn to full-blown laughter. "Aaron!" I fight to catch my breath. "Pleaseeeee . . . Nooooo . . ." My heart is pounding. The tickling persists. I'm laughing so hard that my ribs ache. "Pleeeeease!" The tickling escalates. I'm gasping for air. "You bastard!" I laugh. Never has my love so cruelly exploited my weakness. "Please . . . Aaron . . . Stop!" His tongue flutters faster. "I . . . I . . . Please!" My pussy begins to tingle. My god. I'm cumming!
Finally; his tongue flattens against me: a rough lick ends the siege.
I battle to regain my composure. Hot kisses sear my quivering stomach. That damnable tongue probes my bellybutton. Invasive fingers seek-out my clit. Slowly my love begins to finger-fuck me. Another wave of orgasm washes over me. Aaron withdraws his cum-covered touch, and coats my lips with my own nectar. Out of reflex, I lick my lips clean. The taste is pleasant. A treat I have often indulged when the only pleasure available cums from my own hand.
The bed moves. I hear Aaron's footsteps crossing the room. Silence. I wait. It seems an eternity. My lover returns, and the bed moves once more. His weight falls across my stomach: pinning me. As before, his fingertips glide across my breast. His touch is warm. Comforting. I jump as the cold of an ice cube circles my right areola. Almost instantly my nipple begins to grow long, and hard. I await a hungry suckling. Instead, I feel increasing pressure as Aaron fits, then tightens-down our newest toy: a nipple-clamp.
I draw a breath as my love gives the chain a rough-tug. The chain puddles on my chest. I brace myself for a repeat performance on my left breast. I am not disappointed. The unwelcome cold of that ice cube circles around and around my left areola. Even quicker than my right, my left nipple grows long and hard, readying itself for the other clamp. As before; increasing pressure, biting-in. The fine, linking chain sways back and forth between my breasts. Aaron takes hold of the chain and pulls upward: stretching my nipples toward the ceiling. To the right. The left. To my chin. My belly. His movements are slow and gentle, yet seeking the edge, as he stretches me out to the point of no return . He tightens each clamp, stopping only when I squeal my discomfort.
He moves between my legs. A gentle lick separates my outer lips. Deftly, he takes hold of my small triangle of maiden curls and manipulates my mound. His tongue presses hard against that sensitive spot just below the opening to my pussy. It flattens against me then moves upward across my now-swollen pussy lips and brushes over my clit. Another lick separates my labia and catches the hood that tries valiantly to protect my little boatman.
Aaron's lips mold themselves to my pussy. His tongue curls around my clit and slowly slides its hood forward and back. The sensation is incredible. Borrowing my technique for a slow hand-job, my love uses his tongue to "jack me off". My mind is racing. Part of me wants him to hurry and push me blissfully over the edge once more. Another wants him to spend eternity bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
His technique changes. A long, loving, passionate kiss to my pussy's lips. Dozens more to my inner thighs. The tip of my lover's tongue spears my clit. Hungrily, he devours my aching clit with his fabulous tongue and lips. Suddenly, he begins thrusting his equally talented fingers in and out of my dripping pussy. Before long, I begin cumming and cumming.
Aaron frees my left ankle from the bed post. Gently, he positions my left ankle next to my right thigh – midway up – and ties it securely in place. ‘What now?' I wonder. He unties my right ankle from the bedpost and moves it to the opposite corner, and secures it in place. I hear my love's footsteps moving over to the dresser. A moment later he returns, and slips another section of soft-cotton rope, once, twice, three times around my upwardly bent left knee. Two sharp tugs imprison my knee. My lover crawls onto the bed. His touch urges my knee over: rolling me, onto my right side. He moves over and pulls on the rope controlling my knee and secures it to the far corner of the footboard.
"Comfortable?" he asks.
