Risqué Abstracts #42

OTKI don’t know why, and this is terrible, but I actually quite like the thought of infuriating you. Is that dreadful?

~No. Since if you infuriated me sufficiently, I would have to put you over my knee and properly rebuke you.

I think that’s probably why I’d like to do it.

~You mean you like the idea of being across my lap, with one of my hands holding your wrists behind your back, while the other hand pulled up the hem of your dress, and then slowly drew down your panties until they were around the middle of your thighs, baring your arse to my gaze … and my palm?

Oh, yes. I would love that. Completely love it. Do you think you’d like that too?

~My stiffening cock tells me that I would.

Mmmm, how lovely.

~Beginning with a light smack on each cheek, slowly alternating back and forth, the slaps becoming a little harder each time, just warming your skin, making it glow. Each smack making your arse jiggle fetchingly, the movement transmitting itself to the tops of your thighs, and the lips of your cunt.

Yes, exactly like that. And of course I’d wriggle a little, perhaps push my bottom up a little, arch my back, maybe open my legs a little too.

~So that I could slip my hand between your thighs and lightly stroke your sex with my fingertips?

Yes, in between spanks.

~How many strokes do you think it would take to make you wet?

I think that just laying across your lap, just the mere fact of being over your thighs, knowing what was to come, would make me ever so wet.

~Do you think I would be able to feel you trembling as you lay over my thighs?

I think so, yes. I think I would be incredibly aroused.

~And if I were to cup your cunt with my hand … would you feel hot against my palm?

Oh, yes, I would feel hot. And I would have to press myself to your hand. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.

~And what if I lightly smacked my fingers against your full lips?

Then I would gasp and moan.

~You’d take pleasure from feeling my hand smacking your cheeks first, and then your hot, moist cunt?

Yes, I would. I would feel so aroused, I think it would make me come quite quickly.

~Tell me how much pleasure thinking about it is giving you.

Right now? It’s making me squirm a little in my seat. I can tell my panties will already be a little damp because I have a lovely aching feeling in my cunt.

~I’d love to be able to smell the scent of your arousal right now, as it’s beginning to bloom. I’d love to be able to look at you as I explored you with my fingertips, opening you so that I can see just how wet you are, tracing your lust.

Oh, yes. I love the thought of you looking at me like that, telling me how wet I am.

~Wetting my finger inside you, and then tracing the edge of your mouth so you can see how wet you are for yourself, so that you can taste your own lust?

Yes. Sucking your finger, looking into your eyes as you touch me. Oh fuck!

~Easing two fingers deep inside you, curling them up so that I can caress your G-spot, my thumb against your clitoris.

You know I’d just push and grind against you.

~Yes. That’s what I want. For you to abandon yourself to the pleasure you’re feeling, to surrender yourself to me.

I’d love that … to let go completely….

 

Contrasts

He telephones her to give her precise instructions on what lingerie she is to wear when she comes to his hotel room the next day: brilliant white brassiere and suspender belt, sheer black nylon stockings, and no panties. Each item is to be purchased especially for the occasion. She won’t have to account for their purchase; he has already decided that he will be keeping each garment for himself.

He hears the breath catch in her throat as he describes the menu to her.

“Why white lingerie and black stockings?” she asks.

He could tell her that it’s the visual aesthetic of the two conflicting colours colliding which appeals to him. He could explain that he finds something wanton, even sluttish, in the combination. He could even reveal to her how – as a younger man – an older woman he used to work with seduced him whilst attired in the very same ensemble, which she employed to devastating effect. Whenever he permits himself to explore his memories of that night, he always ends up shivering from his recollections of the delights to which she opened his eyes and his senses.

In the end, he simply says, “Because that’s what I want. Questioning my decision has already earned you a rebuke. Would you like to find out what happens if you choose to disobey me?”

He smiles as he listens to her breathing at the other end of the line. He knows that the wilful streak within her is tempted to ask another question, is tempted to turn up tomorrow wearing something in scarlet or black or navy blue, just to vex him and earn his displeasure. In the end, though, she simply says, “No” in a voice just shy of simpering. Her tone alone is enough to stiffen his cock.

* * * * * * *

The knock at his hotel door comes at 6.15pm. He opens the door. She stands a foot outside the threshold, dressed in a white blouse and charcoal grey pencil skirt. She’s almost as tall as he is in her stiletto heels.

He moves the cuff of his shirt away from the face of his watch. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There’s a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. He wonders how long she waited in the lobby before she walked into the lift, just to be certain that she wouldn’t arrive on time.

He doesn’t call her on her lie, though. He steps back and extends his arm, inviting her inside, locking the door once she’s safely inside.

She looks around the room. Apparently satisfied, she drops her handbag onto the low coffee table and turns to face him. When he doesn’t say anything or move towards her, she folds her arms across her chest, raising her breasts invitingly.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“Not yet. Take off your blouse and your skirt.”

Again, there’s a hint of defiance in her expression and her demeanour. She’s a woman used to exerting control, not yielding to it, and that aspect of her nature is refusing to concede without a struggle. But he can see the excitement in her face too, and he knows that some of her exhilaration is due to the yin and yang conflict going on inside her. The rest of it is her desire to surrender control, to be relieved of any responsibility for her pleasure.

She begins to unbutton her blouse, elegantly flicking each pearly disc open. Peeling the cotton from her shoulders, she drops it casually on top of her handbag and then reaches behind her waist. She releases the single button and draws down the zip on her skirt with an electric crackle. The skirt slides down her nylon-sheathed legs with a delicious hiss.

“Like?” she asks.

He does like. The white lingerie gleams wonderfully against her lightly tanned skin, and the part-lace cups of her brassiere cradle her full breasts wonderfully. Her taut nipples are hardening already. The narrow strip of dark curls on her naked mound naturally invites his gaze towards her stockinged thighs. The contrast between her lingerie, white and black, light and dark, is as visually rewarding as he had planned.

But he speaks nothing of his satisfaction or his pleasure. Instead, he points to the expanse of bed. He’s already stripped it back to the tight white sheet across the king-sized mattress.

“Lie down just there.”

She does as instructed, walking deliberately to the edge of the bed. She kneels down slowly, her curvaceous buttocks offered to his eyes as she shuffles into the centre. She stretches out languidly on her belly. He’s pleased that she’s kept the stilettos on her feet.

“Now what?”

He walks to the head of the bed and retrieves a single pillow. “Raise your arse up,” he tells her.

After a few seconds, she complies. He slips the pillow into the space beneath her loins. “Lie back down.”

Again, she complies. Now her arse is lifted invitingly.

“Better,” he says. “Much better.”

He brings the palm of his hand down against her buttocks with a crack.

“Ow!” She spins her head to look at him, her eyes burning in spite of the gathering moistness.

“That’s for asking me questions you’re not entitled to.” He cracks the flat of his hand down again against her arse once more, bringing another gasp of surprised pain. “And that’s for being late when I told you what time I wanted you here by.”

He looks down at her skin, where the hand-shaped patches of red are already flowering across her milky skin. More contrast. He smiles.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. In spite of his actions, his even tone hasn’t deviated one note. “Just do as you’re told. And know your place.”

She turns to look back towards the headboard. He sees a glistening droplet fall against the pillowcase, leaving a small circle of dampness that slowly spreads across the cotton.

“Yes,” she says.

He raises his hand again until it’s level with his shoulder. “Yes what?”

“Yes … Master.”

“That’s better.”

He lowers his hand slowly, until his palm is just touching the warm flesh of her behind. He strokes the redness tenderly. He slips his hand lower, his fingers easing their way between the tops of her thighs. The lips of her sex feel distended, and when he finds the cleft that lies between them, it’s already slick with viscous lust. She gasps at his touch. His cock twitches lustfully at the sound. He wonders how much she is already enjoying the contrasts of sensation, how much she will enjoy the contrasts that are yet to come.

“Yes, that’s much, much better.”

 

Restraint

He sits in darkness, listening to the steady thud of the pump within his chest. He’s completely naked, and the base of the leather seat is finally warming against his buttocks. He tests himself against the bonds lashing him to the chair, but the knots at his wrists and his ankles have been tied with great care and precision. There are a few millimetres of slack, but only enough to frustrate him. After a while, he surrenders to his captivity.

He hears footsteps approaching the bedroom door. It swings open, but the light on the landing has been switched off, so he sees nothing. He hears someone step inside the room, and the door clicks shut.

“Ready?” says a woman’s voice.

He knows that she’s not speaking to him. There’s a piece of duct tape sealing his mouth shut.

“Yes,” another female voice answers.

A table lamp clicks on, instantly illuminating the room in warm light. The two women stand before him; one of them is blonde, the other is auburn. They’re both attired in corsets that caress and enhance the sensuous curves of their bodies. The blonde’s corset is jet black, with pleated edging along the top and bottom of the bodice. The redhead’s corset is a rich burgundy, with heavy black lacing across her full bust and the tops of her thighs. Both are wearing suspenders and black nylon stockings, and stiletto-heeled shoes. Neither of them is wearing panties.

The women are also both wearing masks. The blonde’s is an ornate masquerade mask, held in place by a piece of ivory ribbon tied behind her head. The redhead’s is a simpler affair, a plain black domino mask, secured with black silk.

“Do you like what you see?” the blonde asks.

“Are you excited by what’s before you?” the redhead enquires.

He nods.

“Then we’ll begin,” they say in perfect unison.

The blonde steps forward. She draws her perfectly manicured nails across his skin – down his back and his arms, across the tops of his shoulders and over his chest. She drags them along his belly and the tops of his thighs, never pressing too hard, never causing pain. He can barely see where she’s been, but he can feel. By the time she stops, his skin is afire with the sensation.

His cock is very hard now, the glans vivid in its fierce redness. He wants the women to marvel at his length, his girth. He wants them to become wet at the sight of him, to yearn to feel its weight in their hands, to feel its thickness filling them.

The blonde, however, pays his manhood no attention. Her nails deliberately avoided it, and now she turns away from him to where her companion stands watching and kisses her slowly, thoroughly.

The sight of their mouths waxing and waning together only makes him harder, needier.

The blonde returns, leading the redhead by the hand. With his ankles secured to the chair legs, his thighs are already spread wide. They kneel between his open legs, their gazes alternating between his face and his loins.

“He has a beautiful cock,” the blonde says. “I’ll give him that.”

“I’ve always enjoyed it,” the redhead responds.

The blonde draws a single fingernail along the underside of his shaft. His cock twitches, and he shudders uncontrollably.

“He likes that,” the redhead sighs.

“He’ll like our mouths even more.” The blonde leans forward and runs her tongue along the very same path her fingernail charted. He shudders again at the sensation of wet velvet against his shaft. The redhead leans into him as well, her tongue caressing the skin between his balls as the blonde’s tongue swirls across his glans.

Oh fuck, he thinks. He tries saying it as well, but the tape sealing his mouth shut prevents him from doing anything beyond muttering incomprehensibly.

Now they lick his shaft in unison, the blonde on one side, the redhead on the other, alternating their strokes, one going up as the other comes down. Occasionally, they break off to kiss one another in the same languid fashion as their tongues collide upon him. Then they begin the pleasuring again, painting his hard flesh with their warm saliva.

He can scarcely believe what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling.

The blonde withdraws and stands up. The redhead remains where she is, sucking gently upon his balls in turn, as her dainty hand works up and down his length. The blonde stands next to his right thigh, facing away from him. She looks down at the redhead.

“Do you mind?” she asks.

“Not at all.”

The blonde straddles his thighs, still facing away from him. She squats slightly, lowering herself until her sex is just above the head of his cock. The redhead smiles lasciviously. Still holding him by the shaft, she uses him to tease the blonde, working his cockhead back and forth along the blonde’s cleft. She feels very, very wet to him. He can feel her flesh parting, opening, as he’s drawn towards the portal to her cunt. The desire to thrust forward, to embed himself within her, is immense, but he can’t move at all. Those knots were tied carefully for a good reason.

The redhead begins to use his cockhead against the blonde’s clitoris; she moves it lightly, quickly, across the sensitive nub. He can barely feel the contact, but he knows that it exists. He can tell from the way the blonde is writhing over him, little sighs of pleasure escaping from between her pursed lips.

“I can’t stand this anymore,” she whimpers.

“Then don’t,” the redhead says.

He feels his cockhead being positioned before the entrance to the blonde’s sex once more. This time, she doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease. She lowers herself slowly, taking him inside her. She doesn’t stop until her thighs rest against his, and his cock is fully immersed in the heat and the wetness of her silken flesh.

“Oh, yes,” she cries out softly. “Oh, yes.”

She begins to rise and fall over his length, slowly at first, her pace quickening more swiftly than he had expected. The teasing has evidently affected her as much as it has him. She grips one of his thighs with one hand, whilst she presses the other against her clit. He can feel the tips of her fingers against the underside of his shaft as she frantically pleasures herself.

“Fuck, I’m coming already,” she cries out, and her body convulses as her orgasm passes through her.

She climbs off him, stepping to one side on legs that look distinctly unsteady. She looks down at the redhead, who has done nothing but watch since the blonde mounted him.

“I know why you’ve always enjoyed his cock,” the blonde says in a voice that is close to trembling.

The redhead smiles, but says nothing. Instead, she leans forward again, and his cock is suddenly engulfed by her mouth. She greedily laps and sucks at his hard flesh, and he knows that she is relishing the taste of the other woman’s lust.

His head falls back on his shoulders as he surrenders himself to the pleasures of her insistent mouth. Then he hears the noise of a drawer sliding open, and he looks to see the blonde withdrawing something from the bedside cabinet. She steps into the harness and eases it up her legs. The harness is fashioned from leather; at the centre of the pad that sits over her loins is a long, smooth phallus. Both the harness and the phallus are as jet black as her corset.

She secures the harness in place, then walks back towards him. The phallus bobs hypnotically as she walks. She stops next to him and takes hold of the tape across his mouth. She yanks suddenly, tearing it away from his skin, setting fire to the nerve endings in his face.

She grips his chin and lifts his face towards hers. Her eyes are fiercely slitted.

“She’s sucking you,” she says. “Now you suck me.”

She presses the phallus towards his mouth. He tries to turn his face away, but the grip on his chin is strong.

“Do it,” she says. “Or the pleasure ends right now.”

He flirts with the idea of telling her to keep her pleasure, but when he glances down at the redhead, she is watching him intently, waiting for his reaction. As their eyes meet, she nods, almost imperceptibly.

The blonde presses the phallus to his lips. It’s cold against his mouth, the taste and the aroma both unappetizingly synthetic. He lets her penetrate him, the smooth silicone slipping over his tongue. He feels compromised, sordid, but he can see how much it excites the blonde to see him sucking her cock whilst the redhead is sucking his.

After a while, she withdraws and walks around behind the redhead. She kneels down, her hands running over the redhead’s full buttocks. The blonde watches his face as she slips her hands between the redhead’s thighs, and the redhead’s mouth stiffens around his shaft as the blonde penetrates her with her fingers. The blonde makes a show of lifting her glistening fingers to her own mouth and savouring the redhead’s juices.

“Delicious,” she says, and the man’s mouth waters at the memory of the exquisite taste.

The blonde shuffles closer behind the redhead, holding the gleaming black phallus in one hand, easing it forward. Again, the redhead’s mouth stiffens around his shaft as the blonde penetrates her. The blonde grips the redhead about the waist, pulling her back onto her long strokes.

The redhead moans softly against his flesh, over and over and over as the blonde fucks her sensually, savagely. Eventually, her mouth has to relinquish its hold upon him. She continues to hold his shaft in one hand, her free hand snaking between her thighs so that she can plunder her clitoris; the blonde smiles triumphantly as the redhead presses herself back to meet each powerful thrust.

The redhead rests the side of her damp face against one of his thighs. “Fuck yes!” she cries. “Yes, yes, yes!” Her hand works his flesh absently, sporadically, as she loses herself in her own gratification, as her consciousness is consumed by the fires of her flesh.

Gradually, the blonde stops, withdraws, gets back to her feet. She rubs her hand along the length of her glistening shaft, parodying every man she’s ever witnessed performing the same act. He thinks it looks bizarre, and yet it’s still strangely erotic.

“It’s good,” she says in a low voice. “But it’s a poor substitute for the sensation of real, hard flesh.”

And as though she’s been commanded, the redhead gets unsteadily to her feet and straddles his thighs without a word. Unlike the blonde, she chooses to face him, and as she slowly lowers herself onto him, she kisses him lingeringly, passionately, her tongue teasing and provoking his own. She tastes faintly of cock.

He opens his eyes and looks past her shoulder. The blonde has stripped off her harness and is lying on the bed, her fingers caressing the rich lips of her smoothly waxed sex as she watches the redhead rising and falling over his flesh. He looks deep into her liquid eyes, trying to divine what other sensual adventures she is already feverishly fermenting.

Ajar

Ajar“Come in,” she calls within seconds of his knock.

He pushes open the door and freezes, stunned; she’s waiting just inside, naked but for black panties and an angel’s face.

“Like?” she asks coquettishly.

“Utterly.”

She leads him to the couch, binds his wrists with his tie and then straddles his lap. She rips open his shirt, her keen teeth making his nipples rise, making his flesh sting. She presses herself against his hardness.

“We shouldn’t,” he gasps. “I’m your boss.”

She unzips him fluently, grasps his cock wantonly. “That’s why you’re here, Sir. That’s why I’m so fucking wet.”

Captivated

CaptivatedThe blindfold’s darkness is total. The handcuffs’ chain scrapes against the bed’s iron frame, the bracelets cold against her slender wrists.

The bed creaks as he kneels down between her trembling thighs. His steady palms glide up her legs, past her stocking tops. The touch of his flesh against hers electrifies her.

She smells his maleness, hears his excitement, senses his ravenous eyes devouring her near-nakedness.

His powerful hand settles over the front of her meagre panties. He grips the waistband and pulls, the fabric tearing like tissue paper.

“You’re mine now,” he says roughly.

It’s true.

She shivers deliciously.

Bound

“Take me home, tie me up,” she asks. I wait until there’s begging in her voice before I finish my drink.

She stands beneath the hook in the bedroom ceiling. I strip her slowly, never touching her flesh, only her clothes. I slip the rope around the hook, then set to passing it around her.

She trembles as I work.

I step back. The contrast of black cord against her skin is breathtaking.

She lifts her gaze. “Fuck me. Take me while I’m helpless to stop you.”

I wait until there’s begging in her voice before I start to undress.