At the Hands of a Beautiful Woman
A long-denied fantasy comes true.
Category: Fetish
Tags: surrender, naked, erection, CFNM, butt plug, fingering, spanking, male model, pre-cum, sensuous dome
Nervously checking the security of the mask covering his eyes yet again, Matt waited anxiously for Miss Victoria to come back into the room. The two mirrors hanging in the parlor where he stood reflected his nearly naked state.
Ever the inventor, Miss Victoria had fashioned a devilish alteration of something Matt had never heard of until she had him order several versions: a C-string. The undergarment — if that definition even applied to something not meant to cover but to expose — was a sort of plastic frame fashioned into a triangle, looking somewhat like the end of one of those contraptions used to dip fish from a home aquarium. The "handle," though, wasn't straight; it was curved into the shape of the letter "u," with the top of one side of the "u" being the end with the triangular mesh-like pouch.
C-strings were designed for the "handle" to snug between a man's asscheeks as the way for the fabric pouch on the end to encircle his genitals, framing them from the back of his scrotum up around his sac and flattening against his abdomen just above the base of his penis.
With the spring-like, cloth-encased plastic "handle" meant to thread across his asshole and up between his cheeks to the top of the cleft of his buttocks, C-strings were designed to give the illusion that the man wore nothing except the fabric pouch, somehow magically held against his genitals.
The first time he modeled one for Miss Victoria, turning slowly as her gaze traveled lasciviously up and down his nearly nude body, she was clearly dissatisfied. Directing him to stop turning and stand still for her facing away from her as she sat in a favorite chair in the parlor, Matt's "sexual provocateur" said, "I can see the top of that thong-like thing peeking out at the top of your asscrack, Mr. Holloway. It spoils the illusion."
Not knowing what to do, Matt waited.
"Bend over. Let me see how this thing is positioned."
Knowing better than to delay, Matt immediately leaned down.
"Spread your legs."
Would she like the job he had done removing the hair between his buttocks?
Miss Victoria approached and spent several minutes toying with the C-string and in the process finding exquisitely tortuous ways to brush against Matt's ass, to jiggle the garment in a way that pushed the fabric across his rapidly hardening penis.
"It seems this is poorly designed," she said, finally ceasing her ministrations to the C-string (and indirectly to Matt's cock, balls, and asshole). "I'm afraid this won't do when you model for me."
Miss Victoria walked out of the room. Over her shoulder she said, "Stand up and remove that unsatisfactory attire. We'll find something else. Masturbate while I'm gone. When I return, present your erection to me."
So it was going to be one of those nights. Tease, deny, tease, deny, tease . . . until he was crazy to come.
The last time it went on for over two hours.
Matt knew better than to get anywhere close to ejaculating. He didn't know what was more frustrating — starting to stroke his cock, or stopping himself from doing it as he edged closer to a satisfying release.
It would be so much easier simply not to touch himself at all.
But Miss Victoria wanted to see him completely nude with his cock stiff and upright.
The exciting thought that she would be sexually aroused by seeing him like that only added to the erection she had begun teasing while trying to adjust the C-string to her liking.
He quickly extricated the ridiculous garment, dropping it next to him, and began stroking his cock, thankful he was still blindfolded and not able to see himself in the parlor's mirrors.
The last session's two hours had included watching himself in one of the mirrors as Miss Victoria spanked him, barehanded, over her knee. After each swat she would fasten her gaze on his in the mirror and make some tortuously sexy comment:
"I love seeing that sexy flinch when I smack you, Matt. It's always a surprise, isn't it?"
"You must like this. Your cock is hard between my legs."
"It's okay — I like hearing the sounds you make when you're getting spanked. They turn me on"
"Mmmm, I like you in this position, over my knees, with your sexy, inviting, and naked ass so available to me. It excites me, Mr. Holloway. Do you like knowing that playing with you like this arouses me?"
"You know I'm going to soothe your cute little bottom with some lotion when your spanking is over, don't you, Matt? Maybe I'll rub some across your asshole and pet it for a few minutes. Would you like that?"
Matt almost spurted when she said that.
What seemed to Matt an eternity of denial might have been only — what? — five minutes of swats on his nude, upturned butt interspersed with dirty talk meant specifically to torture him with vivid descriptions of how she was toying with him, what she was going to do to him.
But finally Miss Victoria actually did it. She trailed one fingertip across his twitching asshole.
"So inviting, Mr. Holloway! Your lovely asshole is so pretty, so touchable, such a delicious, crinkled opening for me."
Replaying the scene in his head as he stood nude, blindfolded and masturbating, in the woman's parlor, was dangerous. In the days and nights since that initial session, he had stroked himself to orgasm multiple times thinking about the incredibly erotic scenario Miss Victoria had spun out that evening two weeks ago. Matt forced his hand away from his erection, which was pointed to the ceiling, stiff and throbbing.
Two times two is four, four times four is sixteen, sixteen times sixteen is . . . let's see sixteen times ten is one hundred sixty plus . . .
It was no use. Last session's erotic memories flooded his mind, short-circuiting the mental math he was doing in an attempt to back away from the edge of the abyss — Miss Victoria would be so disappointed if he came before she directed it. Still, that first experience was so sexually cathartic, so deeply seared into his memory . . . There was no way he could be here in this house again and not remember . . . not anticipate . . . not be erect at the mere whiff of her subtle perfume.
Cautiously, he wrapped his fist back around his cock, wanting to ensure maximum hardness when Miss Victoria came back into the parlor.
He hit "play" on the mental movie he had paused a few moments earlier, and resumed the fantasy-reality of his first time here, his first time naked in front of her:
Nude, his cheeks pink from her spanking, and his body ass-up across her lap, she had toyed with him for her own pleasure — he hoped — but just as importantly to help him abandon the sexual guilt and anxiety he had carried for years.
Another spank. Another dirty comment as she spread him open to her view: "Look at you, Mr. Holloway, exposed like this! You're showing me your asshole, shamelessly displaying it. I'm looking at your naked anus, and you're nude, ass-up over my lap, and there's not a millimeter of your nasty boy-hole that I cannot see. Do you show yourself like this to your girlfriends?"
Is that a question I'm supposed to answer?
he had thought nervously.
Or is it just rhetorical?
Looking into the mirror to try to get a clue from the woman's expression as her pretty face was reflected to his gaze, he could not interpret the look and the half-smile she was giving him.
But he did not have to ponder things even one more second.
Smack!