I’ve imprisoned you well. Handcuffs – real steel ones, not the imitation kind – bind your wrists behind your back. Each ankle is bound to a chair leg with a stout length of chain secured by a small brass lock, the kind made for suitcases. You’re naked, and I can see that you’re trying to look nonchalant, as if this is any other game. But I know the telltale signs so well: the sweat breaking out on your brow; the way you can’t quite keep your voice steady; the growing swell of your penis.
“Come on,” you say, attempting to sound impatient and failing. “What’s the deal, Kirsty? This isn’t exactly comfortable, you know.”
I come over to you and graze your lips with mine. “It’s not supposed to be,” I murmur against your mouth, allowing my hand, as if by accident, to fleetingly graze your hardness. You can’t smother your involuntary gasp, and I laugh and pull away.
You watch me with a mixture of apprehension and lust as I take a chair and place it directly in front of yours. I stand behind the chair, still fully clothed, and do several plies, bending down, legs apart, my thigh muscles stretching. “Have to get warmed up,” I tell you, and smile again as I glance at your now rigid penis.
Slowly, I begin to disrobe, making every movement sensuous, caressing my own skin as I reveal it to your eager eyes. My blouse falls away; I run my fingers over my shoulders and arms, eyes closed as if lost in my own touch. I pull on each bra strap, using the flat of my hand to push away the cups and reveal my breasts; the nipples are hard and tight. I roll them between my fingers and gasp at the sharp sensation that runs through me. I can hear your breathing becoming labored.
“Jesus, Kirsty –” you say, and I break out of my reverie and look at you inquiringly from under my eyelashes: Something wrong, Lory? My look questions and your eyes move from my face to the hands that are now cupping and squeezing my breasts. I reach around behind my back and unhook the bra and it drops to the floor, forgotten.
My hands move from my breasts to my stomach and I caress its hardness, running my fingers along the indent of my waist and over the swell of the hips you love so much. Over and over my palms trace this curve, and your breath is coming harshly now. I look at you and you’re straining against your bonds, unwittingly telling me of your need, desperate to be free to do exactly what I’m doing. I give you a seductive smile as my finger and thumb grasp the button on my jeans. You groan as your hips push forward, your cock standing out stiffly, like an accusatory finger.
I unzip the jeans slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, and ease them down my hips with a swaying motion; each move to the side brings them down a few more inches, until they reach my knees and I step out of them and kick them aside.
I’m still wearing my filmy thong panties, and I come over to you and straddle your outspread legs, looking down at you. Your breathing intensifies, your face reddens, and your muscles strain against the chains that bind them. “Oh God babe,” you beg me, “I can’t take it Jesus I just can’t take it –”
I laugh and brush my wet pussy teasingly against the tip of your cock. “You’re going to have to, aren’t you?” I say. You moan again, your eyes closed and your head back. I return to my chair, albeit reluctantly; you don’t know how much I want to drop down onto that hardness, to just fuck you the way every instinct in my body is screaming at me to do.
“Look at me,” I command softly, and your gaze comes back to me reluctantly. I’ve slipped the panties off and I sit down in the chair, legs wide open, my wet pussy exposed. Your eyelids droop and I know that you can’t take much more, but I’m not about to let you off the hook now. I begin to touch myself, my fingertips grazing the outer lips, almost bare of hair. I part them, allowing you to see the pink, swollen bud of my clitoris, and when one finger reaches out and caresses it I gasp myself; I’m more turned on than I thought. I have to force myself to go slowly, sliding one finger and then another in and out of myself. When I reach up and caress my clit in between strokes, I know that I’m going to come, sitting right here in front of you, exposed to your desperate, devouring gaze.
Finally I can bear it no longer and the orgasm brings its back arching spasms. I close my eyes, lost in the sweet sensation of release. I hear a cry from you, and to my astonishment you’re coming, too, with no stimulation except the show I’ve put on for you. The semen rushes from the end of your cock, shooting out onto the floor. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. In an instant I’m above you, catching the last drops in my mouth, sucking you dry. You may be imprisoned, but I am just as bound by lust.
Published February 8, 2008