Entries from March 2008 ↓

To the head and foot boards were tied two sets of fur-lined leather cuffs…for wrists and ankles. On the wall next to the bed hung various and sundry toys. And set in the middle of the bed was some sort of…seat. It was elevated slightly, and affixed to the sides of the bed by thick metal rods. Michelle tossed me over one shoulder and carried me to the bed, setting me down.

She removed her clothes for me, letting me drink in the sight of her as my thighs involuntarily held my forearms to my glowing vulva. Her breasts, larger than mine. Her hips, wider. Her pubic hair thick and luxurious, trimmed only near the center to allow easy access. Once she was nude she stood me up and began to undress me. My shirt, my slightly damp bra. Her height placed her breasts almost at eye level for me. She knew I loved her breasts, and moved closer, just close enough that they were almost touching my face. She slid down as she slid my panties down with her. She lifted each foot out of them, tossed them aside, and as she stood back up, she licked me.

I hadn’t. Not with my pussy threatening to drip onto my shoes, at least. We got to her floor, and she led me to her apartment. At first, I couldn’t point to any specific changes. The living room looked the same. Maybe the kitchen? No, that was the same, olive oil bottles and everything.

I asked about the remodeling, and she innocently replied…”Oh, all of the remodeling was in the bedroom, sweetie.” I’ve got rather pale skin, but I’m sure I turned even whiter when she said this. I didn’t even ask, I just let her lead me into the bedroom…and was presented with a sight that made my heart leap into my throat. This was no longer a bedroom. This was, however soft and plush, nothing less than a sex dungeon. The king size bed was still present, still centered to take full advantage of the breathtaking view of downtown Chicago. But the sheets were now black satin, and the pillows dark red chenille, apparently inspired by my suggestions a few weeks earlier.

Finally we got to her sedan, and she set me in the passenger seat. I watched her as she walked around the front to the driver’s side. She moved like a predator, like a tigress protecting her cubs, even in something so mundane as taking me home for more desperate fucking.

All of the fifteen minutes it took to drive to her place, I was squirming in my seat. Half from the residual heat in my pelvis, and half from what I suspected would be done to me when we arrived at her place. Which after what seemed like ages, we did. I stood close to her in the elevator, nuzzling her arm like I’d never been out in the world before.

I had no idea silk napkins were so absorbent. Or at least they felt like silk as they cleaned my inner thighs off. She had stepped out of the booth to pay our bill at the maitre’d’s desk, while I cleaned my vulva and pulled up my panties. Finally she parted the curtains and stuck her head back in.

“Ready to go?”

I replied in the affirmative, slowly finding the composure to stand and smooth my skirt. As I stepped out of the booth, I felt as if my forehead had “slut” written across it. I held onto Michelle and she held onto me as I half-stumbled to the car. I guess it doesn’t take alcohol to get me drunk. Fortunately there were no excessively odd stares from the patrons, although God knows what the waiter found when he got back to our booth.

“You see what I can do to you? Imagine if I’d had both hands free. Now I think you’ve been finished with your meal for some time, and I’ve finished mine. So…I think you should put yourself back together, wipe your juice from your thighs, and I’ll take you home so you can see what happens when I’m really imaginative.”

I hadn’t been to her place in some time, probably a few weeks. She had been telling me off and on about some remodeling she’d done to her apartment. Nothing major, just new furniture and things. Not that her apartment really needed improvements. The Lake Point Towers in downtown Chicago were already pristine. For eight grand a month, hers certainly had better be. But I was still interested in the changes. These thoughts were not absent from my mind as I collected myself.

And it was. My toes curled and my hand spasmed around her arm as the first shuddering waves of tight hot sweetness came. She inserted more of her fingers’ length, more warm flesh for my pussy to hold onto as it lost control. I was soaking wet, spilling more than enough juice onto her fingers to let her slide against my G-spot. She combined this with alternately rubbing the shaft of my clitoris and the exposed tip. I squeezed her forearm between my thighs, gasping, trying not to make a sound as my body betrayed me… As the orgasm finally began to subside, she finally turned from the meal. She looked at me with the amused expression of a cat owner seeing her pussy chase its tail.

I buried my face in her shoulder, finally free and able to simply enjoy her ministrations to my sex. Her smooth, round fingertips sensed me tightening, and pressed upward, the pressure on my G-spot so insistent I thought I might be lifted off my seat. For her part, she remained deadpan, almost clinical. Simultaneously, she intensified her stimulation of my clitoris, and took another sip of wine. I was sobbing, ready to scream, and this was just child’s play to her. She looked in my eyes (which had widened to the size of saucers), smiled, and went back to her sushi just as my body started heating up. My pussy was on fire, I was afraid that when I came I would crush her hand. I quickly forgot that concern. Her hand’s every motion startled me with both its gentleness and its strength. Her hand, only a few fingers of it really, had tamed my sex, mastered it. While the other nonchalantly stuffed her face. The heat in my pelvis began to toast the rest of my body, and seemingly the whole room…I managed to relax my muscles, knowing that release was imminent…

She kept her thumb on my clitoris, stroking it up and down, massaging my clit with my own sheath. I turned my head, still on her shoulder, to face her. To look at her expression, you’d think she was just enjoying a regular meal. Her face was…not just blank. Smug. Sinister. This diabolical bitch was going to make me spill all over her hand without breaking a sweat. God, yes. I wasn’t ashamed. Not at being masturbated in public, not for lubricating all over these fine cushions. If I was a slut, I was her slut. I held onto her shoulder with my right hand, my left around her waist.

I stared into her eyes in disbelief. We were in public. And she was so matter-of-fact…she didn’t care where we were. Part of me wondered who would walk past the booth, but there had been no traffic in 15 minutes. I let go, kicking my heels off and sinking my head onto her shoulder. For a few moments she kissed my face…and surprised me again. She took her right hand from my face and went back to eating her food and drinking her wine. Her left hand didn’t miss a beat. Consistently, laboriously, she began to press against my G-spot.

I couldn’t even feel her nails inside me, only firm, insistent flesh. And her thumb pressing my clitoris. My panties she had pulled aside, and now she got to the point. She pulled my panties down to just above the hem of my skirt…her right hand still on my face, she stopped kissing me. She looked me straight in the eyes, as a predator might taunt its next meal, and was no longer simply touching. Her fingers began sliding in and out as she unashamedly, unabashedly began to masturbate me.