You are busy vacuuming and don’t hear me opening the front door to the house. Nor do you hear it close behind. It may be the vacuum or it may be the music playing through your ear plugs, doesn't matter to me. I am going to have you right then and there. I am going to have my way and there was nothing you are going to do to stop me.
Standing in the foyer, I notice your outfit. You are dressed to clean, not so much to entice. Through your form fitting tank top it is obvious you are braless. Your gym shorts show no evidence of panties. Your cascading red hair is flowing over your neck and shoulders. It is the wiggle of your ass that quickly catches my attention as you step forward and back with the vacuum. Damn, you keep yourself fit. I want to believe it’s for me, but I am not going to fool myself.
Pausing until you are facing away from the mirror, I creep up and slip one of three bandannas from my rear pocket. Waiting until you step forward, I step up behind you, reach around with my left arm and grasp you tightly to my body. I quickly stifle your yelp by stuffing the bandanna in your open mouth. I immediately grasp your arms at the elbows and hold you motionless. Using my teeth, I remove the ear plug from your right ear.
“Shhh, little one,” I whisper in your ear. “Don’t fight and you’ll be the better for it.”
You begin trying to get away, but a quick growl in your ear stops you dead in your tracks. I sense you want to turn and face me, but you remain immobile. Not knowing who is there; not knowing what is going to happen; not knowing is disrupting your happy little day. You want to kick and run, but the grip on your arms reminds you of my strength. It is a form of sensory deprivation you are experiencing; it is almost as if you have no control. You do, you just do not realize it, yet.
“I’ve been watching you,” I breathe huskily, as I reach down and shut off the vacuum. “You’re all alone this afternoon, aren’t you?”
You falter ever so slightly. Should you answer or should you stay quiet. It’s a dilemma you have never been in before.
“It’s alright, my sweet. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Running my hands down your arms to your hands, I bring them behind you. Using a second bandanna from my pocket, I secure your wrists behind your back. Once done, I use a third bandanna to cover your eyes. You try hard to be brave, but I smell the fear in you.
Guiding you to the couch, I turn you so you can sit. Supporting you, I lower you down to the cushions and position you in the middle. I reach to your ears and remove the remaining plug from your left ear. Leaning close, I feel the trepidation in your breathing. I gather the ear plugs, wiring, and reach into your waistband to remove your iPod and lay them on the table.
Standing up, I look down on you. Such a beauty, your red hair is now spilling over your breasts, framing the cleavage established by the snug fitting tank top. Your breathing is rapid, surely due to the apprehension of your situation. I can see your nipples distending with each breath you take. It is a delicious mixture of fear and turmoil coursing all through your thoughts; enough that you might even be a little thrilled with the idea of not knowing what is going to transpire next.
Making a minor adjustment to the table in front of the couch, I kneel. Lovingly, I reach out and caress your face with my fingertips. Gently touching, tracing across the high cheekbones. Sliding down to your delicate neck and back up to your ear, I feel you shiver with anxious delight. I do the same on the other side of your divine face. I long to see your green eyes gazing down on me, but for now, it is best you do not.
Trickling my fingers down your neck, across your collar bone, and over the crown of your shoulder joints, I gradually slide the tank top from your shoulders. Pressing the straps down a bit, the cloth begins to lower against your breasts. Your breathing increases tempo, you are uncertain if you are beginning to enjoy this or fearing something much worse.
I lean in close to your ear, lightly kissing it with my lips. Tracing the lobe with my tongue, I feel you tremble ever so slightly. Tracking down your neck with my lips and tongue, I reach the juncture of your neck and body. Searching for the jugular, I open my mouth and suckle your throat. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to clarify my intentions toward you. As I release your throat, I lean across to the other side and begin anew.
Moving to your cheeks, I kiss across your face, all while rubbing your upper thighs with my hands. With each movement of my hands, your legs spread ever so perceptually. As I prolong my efforts on your face, neck and shoulders, my hands continue to caress your toned legs.
The minutes pass, my kisses travel down your neck and over your collar bone. As I remove my hands from your thighs, I move between your open legs and prevent you from closing them. I softly lower the tank top straps further down your arms, exposing your breasts to view as the material clumps together around your waist. They stand proud; nipples hard and erect in the cool air.
There is no hesitation. My mouth searches for and finds your left nipple. Taking it between my lips, my tongue begins to play a drum beat across it. Flickering and flitting, touching and teasing, it caresses and tastes the delicate bud extending from the flesh. My left hand slides across and engulfs your right breast in my meaty palm. Locating the nipple with my fingernail, I lightly scratch it while tenderly raking my teeth across your left nipple.
Your moan gives you away. I can sense and feel you beginning to give in to your wanton desires. It’s not enough that you wish to know who is tormenting your flesh. It’s not enough that you want to grasp my head and hold it close against your breast while I feast on your nipple. You want to be demure, to be prim and proper. Yet, your body gives you away. Your need for sexual domination, to be controlled, to be taken to heights never experienced before is at your feet and you know it. Only, you are supposed to constrain these urges, tamp them down into the depths of your personal and secret depravity.
My right hand traces down your body until it arrives at the band of your shorts. You try to stop, but your body squirms, hoping it continues further south. Taking a cue from you, my fingers press under the band, wiggling closer to the gateway of your cravings. I feel the heat rising from within and I inch closer and closer to the prize. I continue teasing your breasts, though my teeth now taste the pleasures of your right nipple. Nipping, biting, twisting the nipple, I drive you insane in my amusement. As my finger splits your labia and locates the nubbin hidden within, I clamp down tightly on your nipple and draw it away from your body.
Rubbing in circles, my finger begins a dance of joy upon your clitoris. You can no longer hold back, your mouth opens and a low, keening reverberation emanates from your throat.
“You wish to speak, my love?” I ask.
Perception is the key and you nod ever so slightly. You dread caving into your cravings, voicing them to this unknown tormentor, but your willpower to resist disappeared as if a wisp. It is not enough to feel the thirst, the desire, and the demand in your loins, you now need to give in to the synapses firing in your brain and accept your predicament boldly and willingly.
You yearn to voice your longing.
I gently grasp and remove the bandanna from your mouth. Leaning close, breathing hotly in your ear, I whisper “Do you want more, my pretty one?”
“Oh God, please,” you say quietly.
Lightly touching your neck, I begin anew. Touching your skin as if butterfly wings, running my fingertips gently down your arms, caressing new areas with each movement, I focus on you. Your pleasure drives me forward. I want only to delight your senses, gratify your urges, and satisfy your hunger.
As my fingers traverse down your body, my lips lower to your breasts again. Taking your right nipple in my mouth, I tug delicately using my teeth. My right hand again lowers to your abdomen, creeping closer and closer to the waistband of your shorts. Finding the fabric, I allow my fingers to pursue the soft skin of your pelvis, slithering underneath until locating the treasure that lies within.
As my hand glides closer, I release your right nipple and lean over to tantalize the left. Flicking my tongue across the hard button that extends outward, my right hand locates the folds of your labia. Unfurling your lips, I quickly relocate the button of your clit and gently press my middle finger against it; at the same time, I clamp your nipple between my teeth.
“Ohhh,” you sigh quietly. “Oh my God, please.”
Suddenly, you hear the telltale snick of a blade opening. You start; sit upright, rapidly detaching your nipple from between my teeth. You try to close your legs, but with my body kneeling between them, I prevent you.
“Shhh, beautiful lady,” I gently say. “The knife will release you, not harm you.”
I take the fabric of your t-shirt and run the blade through it, separating it from your body. Gathering the remnants in a ball, I throw them to the side. I then collect your shorts into a bunch, running the blade up through the leg opening on the left side, then the right, then between the legs. I remove the fragment of fabric and toss it, with the knife, to the side. There you sit on the left over fabric that was your shorts.
Gazing upon your body, your beauty, I am taken aback. How can one woman be so beautiful? So stunningly divine? Your skin is flawless, not a single blemish to be seen. Your breasts are firm, standing proud. The nipples and areola are just the slightest touch of pink, with the nipples erect in the cool room air. The muscles in your arms are toned; your abdominals are tight and your legs go on forever. I stare in awe and desire, the fires within burning hotly.
You are trembling and your breathing is labored. You worry about the blade, but you are also concerned about being so exposed, so unguarded, so vulnerable. You cannot see your tormentor, you cannot defend yourself. Though bound, you are on display and covertly relish in being so free and unfettered.
Bending close, I trail a path of hot breaths from your right ear lobe, down your neck, across your chest and back up to your left ear lobe. You writhe with excitement, moaning in hedonistic pleasure. Extending my tongue, I taste your skin with a renewed energy. Dragging it slowly down the soft curves of your neck, it trails further down until it reaches the apex of the valley between your breasts.
My hands are now resting on your thighs, thumbs running circles on the inside muscles. Using tender pressure, I press against your flesh. Though my body is between your knees, you involuntarily spread them wider, granting unfettered access to a garden of delights. As I nibble on the tender flesh of your breasts, my hands begin a slow and steady passage toward the ultimate goal.
Alternating between gentle massages and squeezes, I find the glory of your essence. The intensity of passion is evident, the dampness pooling between your legs, running down to the tattered scraps of your shorts and pooling on the cushions of the couch. You are an oozing tarn of trickle, generating more and more with each passing second.
Taking your nipple between my teeth and gently tugging outward, I run my forefinger and ring finger down your outer lips, pressing them together. As they reach the perineum, I reverse my undertaking and travel back up, opening the petals of your orchard. Swapping nipples between my teeth, my middle finger gathers the fluids, using them to ease your tender lips apart.
Then, I am there yet again, at the apex of your core. Finding the hooded switch to your depravity, I allow my finger to linger on the tip. With just the lightest touch, I begin to caress. Dancing my finger across the sprouting nexus, I begin to nurture your urge. Mixing gentle fondling with varying amount of pressure, I set in motion a tango of physical sensations. Pleasure and pain, anxiety and desire, anticipation and gratification all come together over the next few minutes as my hand between your legs combine with my mouth at your breasts to propel you closer and closer to release.
Nipping and biting on your delicate breasts with my teeth sends you reeling, but it is the pressure building from the frolicking finger that coerces you on toward orgasm. One last tantalizing swipe of my finger across that nub and you shudder. Sensing your nearness, I take my mouth from your nipple and run my finger down and up your mons until just at the crowning of your opening. I look into your face, waiting for your reaction.
“Please,” you whisper softly, “Please touch me – oh God, please.”
“Did you say something, my dear?”
“Please … please …” you whimper desperately. “Please touch me.”
Easing my finger back down, I brush against the crest of your lips and apply the slightest pressure. I can sense more than feel the button below, but just the contact was all it takes for you to explode in sybaritic indulgence. Flowing like a broken dam, your essence cascades out and down your thighs, coating my hand and fingers in their rush to escape.
“Ooohhh,” you keen. “Ooohhh God!”
Your head falls back against the cushions of the couch and you begin to convulse uncontrollably. Never have you been taken like this, never have you been so free to revel in the adoration, never have you had a series of shattering orgasms such as the one you are living through now. Exploding into overdrive, your body breaks out in sweat, your legs wrap around my torso drawing me close.
The digit of my hand continues its drumming against your clit relentlessly. It is all you can do to keep from screaming out as the waves of carnality wash over you. One after another, orgasm after orgasm wracks your body, surging higher and harder with each successive pulsation.
“I … am … cumming!” you exclaim, releasing the inner passion for all to hear.
I slow the ministrations and allow you to gradually come down from the plateau. Your breathing slows from panting to exhaustion to a relaxed and gentle rhythm. I remove my hands from between your legs and rise from the floor. Gripping your shoulders, I softly turn you in order to release the bonds from your hands. Once free, I lay you down lengthwise on the couch, drape the blanket over your beautiful body, and bend down to kiss your angelic face.
“Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll be home for dinner at 6.”
