Skip to main content

Restraint


The idea was, they were supposed to check in, put the luggage in the room, and see some sights.

He looked tired, and she wondered if he'd be too tired for that agenda. She was worried he'd feel like sleeping.

He'd given her the room key, so he could carry the bags with one in each hand.

As the door clicked, he was pressing, lightly on her back, urging her into the room.

She heard the door click behind her, then his voice, calm, direct, and not at all tired.

“You don't actually care about the tourist stuff, do you?”, he said, not really asking.

“No”, she said, “I don’t”.

She looked in his eyes. He was smiling, but also looked quite determined.

In a moment, he'd pulled a few objects from his bag.

“Get on the bed”, he said.

She took a moment to think, unsure what his smile meant.

She figured there was only one way to determine that.

The first, and only thing she saw was a blindfold. It was in the style of a sleep mask, and he put it over her eyes.

She couldn't see what he was doing, but she could hear some activity.

“Hands over your head”, he said.

She began to lift them, and he had her wrists in hand before they were even done moving. She felt cuffs. Restraint.

She had to wait a minute. He seemed to be moving in the room, but not near enough to know what he was doing.

Then his face was next to her ear.

“My little fucktoy”, he said. “Tonight you are my playground.”

She could feel his breath. “My little fucktoy”, he said again. “I’ll take my pleasure.”

His hands were stroking her face, but they soon began to unbutton her shirt. Just enough to unhook the bra.

Wet strokes on her nipples. She thought his tongue, at first, but it was his fingers, wet, stroking, then pinching her nipples.

She was at once quite aware of his cock, hovering near her face. He teased her with it. She pulled at the cuffs, trying to reach it.

He would stroke her lips, her cheek with it, then it would be far from her reach. She could feel his balls, and smell them, but could not quite touch them.

He unbuttoned further.

His cock was over her face. She knew it. She could hear him, stroking it.

“Lick it”, he said. She could feel the cock near her lips. She licked the full length of it, and again. More stroking.

“Lick”, he said, and she did. Stroking, lick, and then cum gushing onto her face.
He rubbed the tip on her cheeks.

She pulled at the cuffs, trying to take it in her mouth, but he had already begun to rub his hands inside her skirt, over her pussy, over her panties.

The vibrator must have been a recent purchase. It was little, and a peculiar shape, but very powerful. Over the top of the panties. Over the pussy.

She pulled at her cuffs.

Panties slid off, and he was teasing her clit with the vibrator. Pleasure, then air. She struggled. He would glide it lightly, then into the air again.

Waiting, then the toy pushing lightly at her ass. What toy was this. It felt hard. It was cold, felt like metal. Oh, it was THAT toy!

Inside her ass. It was bigger than she thought.

Vibrator suddenly working on her furiously. Fingers in her pussy. Toy in her ass.

The orgasm was unrestrained.

She became aware of the room again, as he undid the cuffs.

He took off the blindfold, and held her for a while.

“I always like to show some restraint”, he whispered.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fresh Every Day

Before the great Bryce Lloyd fire of '15 (not an actual fire), on the ancient version of this blog, I wrote an essay. I wrote many actually, and many were lost in the (not literal) fire.

Two of these were such that keenly feel their loss, and I remember them with fondness, and also sadness.

What follows is an effort to recapture one of these again here, because I feel as if it had an enduring value, at least to me. We shall see about that.

When I was first married, I was drawn to symbols of permanence: gold rings, diamonds (which are not really forever) and things, in general, that seemed an unchanging touchstone that could represent the eternal.

These symbols, perhaps, were manifestations of my insecurity, but they also embodied an ideal: they were physical representations of a lasting love that could, and would, survive the years. I think that it is an image and an idea that society presents and we consume, unthinkingly, but it also did resonate with my own image and understanding…

Ceremony

It is difficult to explain how they got here.
Long ago, it felt like long ago but really it was not, she had asked him whether he had a collar that she could wear during what had become very their very kinky sex and romance. It seemed of a piece with the cuffs and straps and leather implements, creating a mood and providing one more means of restraint.
"Collars are not toys", he had said, "at least not to me. There are some who treat them that way, as a plaything or as fashion. But I am among the people who give them significance."
At the time, she had remembered hearing about collaring as something that people did, and that it symbolized submission or slavery, or, well, she wasn't certain. What she knew for certain was that this was a topic that she had, a moment ago, had less than no interest in, and he had said a few words and she was suddenly eager to hear more.
That kind of thing seemed to keep happening with him.
So she had asked what that significance w…

The Position

The skin of your back. The muscles in your shoulders. The ridge of your spine. The curve of your waist. The soles of your feet.

The arch of your torso. The rhythm of your breath. The glistening of your sweat. The grace of your neck. The color of your hair.
The shiver in your movements. The sighs from your chest. The force of your heart. The relaxation of your body. The ecstasy of your surrender.