Fuzzy Flight Pt 04

My room was bright and spacious and in addition to my bed and a cupboard also contained a writing desk that I could use for my studies. I lived in great comfort compared to most of my fellow students. My mature landlady was very supportive and encouraged me to take my studies seriously. It was a bit strange to share a flat with mature woman who in many ways was the embodiment of former my teenage fantasies: ripe and mature with a full figure, outspoken and easy-going and also very imaginative and resourceful when it came to sex.

However, in spite of her easy-going manner, she also had a very private and secretive side. I was not allowed into her bed. We had sex all over the flat, kitchen and bathroom not excepted, but her bedroom remained a secret to me.

I was allowed to see her naked and in many kinds of sexy outfits, I was allowed to caress and worship her, she let me fondle her amble breasts and suck her nipples and she loved to have me lick her pussy and worship her ass. She liked it when I fingered her asshole during oral sex. But I was never allowed to penetrate her. Regular sex was out of the question. Not that she said so outright, but she indicated it clearly.

She milked my on a daily basis and seemed to take great pleasure in teasing me and controlling my mind and body. She liked to play coy and have me kneel before her and beg, and I was not allowed to come before I had pleasured her orally for a long time. In fact, I liked to drag the process out myself; to caress her and brush the soft wool of her sexy sweaters against my face; to fondle her breasts and search for her nipples through several layers of mohair; to kiss my way up her nylon-covered legs starting at her feet.

I was a true submissive at heart. This chastity on her part, if one could call it that, added to the suspense in our relationship, which in one way was very fulfilling, but on the other hand was never really fulfilled.

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There were of course many pretty female students at uni. But the daily milking and the free access to the ripe body of a mature, experienced and attractive and her loving caresses kept me from straying. Not that we had a regular love affair with promises of everlasting love, but she evidently loved to have a young man half her age to worship her and submit to her every command, and for me to eat out her ass was bliss and to be rewarded with a drawn out hand job that emptied my sack completely was pure heaven.

She liked to keep the temperature in the flat on the low side and usually wore a wide variety of cuddly sweaters, sweater-dresses or woollen bodysuits and fluffy leg warmers, playing with me and my obvious wool fetish.

She liked me to be totally naked when I sought her attention, and subservient and obedient. Often she used her long nails to scratch me in my face, down my neck, across my chest and all over my torso to sensitize my skin further for the soft sensation of fluffy, tickling wool against my naked body.

At times she also used a small riding crop to control and direct me – not really in order to outright punish me, for I always complied with her wishes, but to demonstrate clearly who as in control. She grew more dominant as time went by, and I subjected myself willingly to her whims. In fact, I loved every part of it.

I loved to crawl before her; to sprawl at her feet on the lush carpet; to lick my way up her thighs, because I knew that was a sure way to get my eager lips on her vulva and my tongue inside her pussy. And that pussy ruled me. I could not get enough of it, and it intrigued me that I was allowed to or rather ordered to lick it, kiss it and have it rubbed in my face for extended periods of time, to explore it with my fingers and tongue, but never allowed to use my cock; never allowed to fuck her outright.

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Sometimes she liked me to cuddle up to her and share her body-warmth through the soft wool. She let me bury my face in the soft folds of mohair covering her chest or caress her round buttocks outlined in the softest angora. At other times, for example if my grades at uni were slipping, she was less motherly and more forceful. Then she could order me to lie over her knees with my butt in the air so that she could slap me or paddle me. I loved being punished like that, even if (or perhaps just because) it resulted in a sore ass that made me relive the experience every time I tried to sit down hours afterwards.

However, the great difficulty was not to come prematurely. Just the thought of the humiliating procedure always gave me a hard-on, and I had to stick my stiff member between her thighs to lie properly across her knees.

If she wore a wide mohair skirt or long, fuzzy legwarmers that went way past her knees, my cock dipped into a valley of the softest wool, and each slap across my buttocks would make me jerk. She always took it slow, dragging the process out, and followed each slap with gentle caresses, but even so I was always on the brink of spilling my semen down her legs, and she made it clear that that was not acceptable.

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Weeks and months passed like that. Life was great, and I had nothing to complain about. She explored every fetish of mine, and I tried to fulfil every wish of hers. But I was also a nosy and curious young man. Her bedroom was off limits to me, and that was of course a challenge for an enquiring young mind.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. Well, one day, when she had left me alone in the flat and told me not to expect her back anytime soon, I ventured into her room, or rather rooms. Her bedroom was large and bright with large windows facing the roof terrace and covered by soft, white curtains preventing a view inside.

Her bedroom was much more personal and feminine than the rest of the flat. There were several doors at the far wall, one leading into a large bathroom, one solidly locked and one giving access to a substantial walk-in closet. This was a gold-mine for a fetishist like me. Here were drawers and shelves full of the most magnificent knit-wear, fancy shoes and boots and drawers full of sexy lingerie.

I had promised myself not to disturb anything, but I could not help myself when I saw a particularly chunky sweater knitted from a thick, coarse yarn and with a giant, ribbed turtleneck that could also be used as a hood. I liked the feel of such sweaters and envied the women who wore them. I would love to wear such a sweater myself during sex with the large turtleneck covering my face entirely, being cossetted and cuddled inside the soft and cosy or coarse and scratchy wool.

I rid myself of my clothes and pulled the chunky sweater over my head. It was very soft and warm, but at the same time particularly scratchy and itchy. Even when I folded the turtleneck several times over, it still covered my ears and continued to scratch my neck and chin. It gave me a lovely ticklish feeling all over. I excitedly stroked myself as I kept on exploring shelves and drawers.

There were, of course, ordinary clothes like jeans and blouses too, but she had an amazingly large collection of very sexy clothing and apparel. On display were also a wide array of shoes and boots with extra high heels and platform soles clearly of the "fuck me" variety that I had not seen before. I wondered when she used to wear those. All the knit-wear was of special interest to me, and there was really much to look at, but nosy me had to open all the cupboards and look in every drawer.

One large drawer contained a very varied selection of sex toys, some I had seen in porn magazines, and some not. A number of rubber items puzzled me as to their function, and others surprised me by their sheer size. Really kinky stuff, I thought.

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I had far from completed my search when I found a drawer full of erotic magazines; high-class magazines with superior print and picture quality. They were without publishing data, probably only meant for circulation among a select number of readers.

The theme was female domination, light BDSM, classic lingerie, dominatrixes chastizing submissive males, mature and full-figured women seducing and even facesitting young men and more in that vein. The pictures were fantastic, speaking directly to me. Some were obviously staged, primarily to show the sexiness and beauty of the mistresses. Others were apparently from real sex scenes judging by the red bottoms or lined backs of male slaves being subject to various types of punishment and torment in the hands of strict dominatrixes.

I started to leaf through one, then another, sensing my heart race as I did so. This was very exciting stuff. I read some of the ads towards back with particular interest, for these ads were surely real. Curvy and strikingly beautiful women with heavy makeup, shiny ponytails, corsets, gloves and whips offered exceptional, personal services. I envied the customers that could afford to pay for what these women had to offer.

One of the ads spouting the headline "At her beck and call" showed a picture of a striking blonde woman in high-heeled, thigh-high leather boots with tight lacing all the way up. She sat cross-legged in a high-backed chair that apparently could also function as a queening throne. The wall behind her displayed a number of BDSM implement such as leashes, whips, paddles, canes, handcuffs, hood and gags. According to the ad, her dungeon boasted of having a jail cell, St. Andrews cross, bondage table, queening throne, spanking bench, interrogation chair, leather cuffs and restraints, collars and plenty of pleasant torture toys to make every slave suffer admirably. My dick twitched. The striking mistress in the photo could be a younger version of my landlady, I thought briefly.

In the next magazine I hit pay dirt. It contained an article or rather a review, if you like, of a visit to a high-class dominatrix offering to chastise and discipline misbehaving gentlemen. The pictures were full-page size, sharp and crisp showing every enticing detail; her long legs clad in black, thigh-high boots; her long, curved, brightly coloured fingernails; her shaved pussy lips below a trimmed blonde bush and her long blonde hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail.

The woman in the photos was the woman from the ad I had seen, and it was also without doubt my present landlady! The adjoining text explained that she offered break down naughty boys of any age, and the reviewer could attest that she did it very well, making the process a pleasantly drawn-out one, utterly humiliating and blissfully painful, almost unbearable and certainly very memorable.

Neither the ad nor the review spoke of regular intercourse, but the reviewer hinted that a sufficiently compliant, subservient and generous gentleman might gracefully be allowed to worship the lady's pussy towards the end.

Bits and pieces fell into place. It was intriguing to learn that she had been employed in such a business; it did not demean her in my mind, but made knowing her intimately even more thrilling. I looked at the photos. She was perhaps 10-15 years younger in the pictures, but it was hard to say, as she was heavily made up. She was slimmer and her skin more smooth. She was very elegant and quite intimidating.

Comparing the woman in the photos with the somewhat fuller, more curvy and more mature woman I knew, I found her to be just as sexy and just as attractive today, perhaps even more so; the ripeness adding yet another layer of sexuality. I wondered whether I would one day be able to discuss her past occupation with her...

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I had not noticed that I had been observed for some time, but as she came approached me, a shadow fell over the magazine I was reading. I flinched, terrified. She looked angry and sad at the same time, and I felt really bad that I had thus betrayed her trust. Her angry silence was worse than anything.

She snatched the magazines from me, thrust them into the drawer and slammed it shut. Then she grabbed my arm angrily like a mother would a disobedient child and dragged me towards the locked door at the far end of her bedroom, unlocked it and thrust me inside.

The room was windowless and almost pitch-dark with only a little light spilling through the half-open door. I heard some metallic clanging as I sprawled on the hard floor. She guided me towards the sound with slaps and kicks. I crawled forward, and a metal gate fell in place behind me.

She lit a single lamp on the wall, and I could make out a dark room with red satiny walls and several black wooden objects. It was the room from the ad in the magazine – a true mistress' dungeon! – and I was locked inside a metal cage too small for me to stand up in. She left me there to think things over.

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As my eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, I could make out more details of the room and all the implements of mild torture and sexual punishment, some frightening and some thrilling. I feared the chastisement that lay ahead of me, but somehow also looked forward to it with some excitement.

When she entered hours later, she had put on a black figure-hugging dress knitted from the softest angora and the high lace-up boots I remembered from her ad. The dress barely covered her bottom, and from my low vantage-point I could see that she was naked underneath. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly back in a long pony-tail, and she had applied a very elaborate, colourful makeup that made her look quite stern and sinister.

With a riding crop in her hand, she offered to open the cage if I agreed to receive the just punishment for my transgressions. I did. I looked up at her through the iron bars and admired how her ponytail fell softly over her shoulder. The fuzzy outline of her angora dress gave her body further softness and a glowing silhouette. I would endure anything to regain her trust so that we could continue our marvellous relationship.

She ordered me to stand in the middle of the room. My cock was gradually growing and twitching, reacting to the scratching feeling of the large, chunky sweater I had on and the fascinating look of my mistress.

She put leather handcuffs on my wrist and tied my hands behind my back. She also put a leather cuffs on my ankles and mounted a spreader bar between my feet. I felt quite helpless and vulnerable.

I could feel her breath on my neck as she stood behind me and caressed me, stroking my sweater in a way that increased its itchiness. She put her hands under the sweater and scratched my thighs and my hips with her sharp, lacquered fingernails, slowly centring upon my crotch and my cock. She made me squirm when she dragged the sharp tips of her nails along my stiffening shaft and tickled my balls.

Slowly she brought her hands up along my midriff, her angora-clad arms felt ever so soft against my naked skin. Then in a change of mood her fingers found my nipples and began tearing into them – hard – with their sharp talons twisting, pulling and scraping. Ouch, that hurt.

Judging that my nipples were sufficiently sore and tender, she brought a cold metallic chain under the sweater and up to my chest. Without mercy she fastened one end to my right nipple by means of a sharp clip that bit into my sore flesh, followed by the other end with another clip to the left nipple. She tugged several times at the chain as if to make sure that it was properly attached or, more likely, to increase the pain.

Satisfied with her handiwork, she sat herself down in the queening chair. Slowly she spread her legs and displayed her naked cunt to me. Thinking that she wanted me to worship her pussy, I gingerly went down on my knees and staggered forward.

"Stop!" she ordered. "Pussy worship would not be a punishment for you. No, you will have to stay there and watch and see that I can manage very well without you."

A small table next to the queening held a display of vibrators and dildos of various colours, shapes and sizes, and from this she took a red, but otherwise realistic-looking, jelly dildo and began licking it and sucking on it. She looked at me as she did so, and I have to admit that I wanted it to be my prick that sucked on, not an inanimate jelly copy. After having made it wet, she used it to tease and caress her pussy lips. She spread her lips with her fingers and began to push the dildo inside, slowly at first and then with longer strokes and more vigour.

I was quite close and studied how her cunt lips seemed to kiss the tip upon entry and clung to the flexible jelly dildo as it slipped inside. The squishing noises were music to my ears. I hobbled a few steps inches closer until she stopped me with a pointed heel digging into my shoulder. She was panting, her face was flushed and the dildo was wet and sticky when she brought it out. She offered it to me to sniff at and lick on.

Then she found another dildo, black rubber this time, a bit thicker and several inches longer, maybe 12 inches in all. It looked large and menacing, and it fascinated me to see up close how her pussy adapted itself to it size and girth. She used both hands to push it inside, but once inside it slid in and out easily. She took it slowly at first, seeming just to enjoy the sensation of the increased size penetrating her, then increased her pace and pushed it gradually further inside. Her hips bucked with each stroke.

She had swung one leg over the armrest to make it easier to grip the big black thing with both hands, and that also made it easier for me to see what was going on. I was fascinated to observe that the large dildo also made her asshole stretch and twitch with each stroke.

It did not take her so long to reach orgasm, and it made me very excited to be able to see the whole thing from only a few feet away. I wanted so to lunge forward and take part, but she prevented it be pushing me steadily away with sharp heel of her fancy boot.

At last, she took the biggest dildo on the table – a large skin-coloured one that must have been 18 inches long with a diameter to match and a large bulbous head. She looked me directly in the eye when she kissed, caressed and licked on it. It was huge and animalistic. I wondered what she would try to do with it – she could not possibly get that inside her.

She slid further down in her seat, swung both legs over the armrests and started to press it against her pussy, but she could not manage to get it in. She then picked up a jar of lubricant and lovingly applied it to the tip of the monster dildo. With the assistance of the lubricant and some grunting on her part, she managed to push the head inside. It was mesmerizing to observe how her pussy lips gradually adapted themselves to the dildo and slid over the thickest part. Her cunt now gripped the dildo around the somewhat smaller circumference behind the head.

She had had to lift her legs in the air to push the big monster further inside, and this time she did not stop me when I leant forward and kissed her ass cheeks admiringly. I applied my tongue to her puckered asshole and stuck it as far up her ass as I could when she began to ram the giant rubber dick inside her flexible cunt. The movements inside her pussy transplanted themselves to her asshole and could be felt by my tongue.

She was very noisy when she came this time – panting, puffing and crying out loud. Juices ran down from her pussy, and I slurped them up with my eager mouth. When she finally pulled the monster dildo out, it came out with a plop, and I could stare into the dark cavity it left behind. Gradually her pussy relaxed and closed up, and I licked and kissed it gingerly, performing true pussy worship. I was in awe of her.

We stayed in that position for quite some time – she relaxing and I resting my head in her lap. I had not obtained satisfaction, but there was a small puddle of pre-cum on the floor under my dick. It had been cruel to watch the wild dildo-fucks from close quarters without being able to take any direct part myself. That was a kind of torment in itself.