30s M 21+ Absolutely No Minors
Be Kind to Others. Seek Magic, Beauty, and Passion. #mine for my writing.
A Place to Share My Thoughts, Passions, Writing, and Beauty
After a long day, you get to come home finally. You’ve been squirmy all night, ready to be touched. You want touched, kissed, and to be fucked and tasted. Truth is…I’ve been waiting for you, too. It’s dark in the house. Candles are lit and their scent reaches your nose. The scent and the dim, flickering light relaxes you.
You take a few steps forward, wondering where I might be. You take a deep breath, wondering.
“I’ve been waiting for you, beautiful,” you hear from behind you. My arms slip around you, hugging you from behind. I kiss you on the cheek. Then down back to where your neck reaches to your ears.
I place kisses there as well, then dot them along your jaw. With one hand I turn your face toward me and capture your lips with mine. Soft at first, gentle. My tongue reaches out to yours and soon I can feel that fire within you growing.
My other hand roams about, gently touching you outside your clothes. I mold my body against yours, and you feel me close behind you. My arms pull you tight as the kiss becomes stronger, more passionate. I can feel the need in you.
One hand skirts across your chest and down. You push back, your butt wiggling against me. You must feel how hard I am against you. You whimper in need.
“Mmmm. I’ve missed you. Your little giggles. Your scent,” I say, breathing in deeply against your neck where it meets your shoulder. Then exhaling. The feel of it makes you sigh.“Your taste,” I say, kissing along your collarbone. With a moan, I punctuate, “your sounds.”
I watch your shadow dance along the wall, wavering in the candlelight. I know you’ve been stressed today, so my hands move up to your shoulders, kneading lightly, then softly massaging, dancing across your back. Up and down. I listen to your breathing. After a few moments, I lift your shirt up. The expanse of your back is exposed to me. Soon, you anticipate, all of you will be. I move your hair to the side. I kiss the back of your neck.I lift the shirt up and off your shoulders.
My hands roam across your sides, skirting up front. Wandering close to your breast. To tease, I run one hand across it, the thumb trailing ever so slow across your nipple. Then they resume their dance. My hands skirt the hem of your pants, and you move, trying to encourage them to stray lower.
Meanwhile, my lips capture your ears. Licking gently across your lobe before kissing hard against your neck. I can feel the effect it has on you.
I pull you close against me by your hips and buck forward, eager to feel your skin against mine.
My hands are in your hair. I love the feel of it in my hands. Fingers snaking through it, massaging your scalp. Calming you. You know you’re safe in my hands. Well…safe from danger. I may torture you a bit. Teasing, tantalizing torture…
A finger traces your jawline, then up to your lips. Courting the contours of those luscious, kissing curves. Your lips part, inviting me in. The finger lingers, touching your tongue gently. You nurse it, suckling lightly. You can hear my moan as you feel it against your shoulder. My mouth there, sighing, then licking.
I trail that finger down, leaving your mouth pouting and wanting more. The slick fingertip finds your breast, circling, then closing in on your nipple. It stiffens almost immediately. Your back arches and at the same time, my teeth trail lightly across your neck.
Another deep breath from both of us. “Your shadow looks so good there, writhing on the walls. The floors. Almost as good as you would.” With a light pinch, I can almost feel the sensation running through your body.
Curious, I reach low, caressing across your chest, down across your stomach, and descend beneath the hem of the only barrier between us. My hand moves slow. I can feel you press forward, eager to feel me touch you.
I do.
My fingers crawl to you. Feeling the heat as they barely touch your mound. Then lower, as they skirt across your lips, touching the silky smooth center.
“Mmm,” I moan. “You’re so wet.” Your moans signal your surprise. You didn’t think I’d touch you. Not so soon.
But your torture…has just begun….
My finger reaches in. Upward, deeply inside you. Inside, you’re on fire. You begin to move against me. Searching for that rhythm. My fingers crook against that spot inside of you, making you squirm. Just as you begin to get lost in the sensation, it’s gone. The fingers leaving you empty. Instead, they’re at my lips. I take a long, sensual lick, where I know you can see me. Then I offer you the slick digits, coated in your own nectar. I slip them into your mouth and moan at the sight of you tasting yourself.
“You taste so good,” I say with a smirk. Do you have any idea how badly I want you now? I bet not. How I want to rip the fabric from your legs and dive inside of you? My mouth hungrily lapping at your sex? How I want to thrust inside you, ravenous with hunger? To join with you? To feel myself embedded inside you? Can you see that when I smirk and stare into those eyes?
The hunger is building. The fire rising in both of us. I turn your head, eager to share your taste on our lips. After a moment, fearing I’ll get lost in that kiss, I pull away.
Kneeling, I look up at you. I kiss across one hip. Then across your belly to the other. My tongue makes its way across your hipbones then along the edge of your pants.
I kiss down the center. My mouth hovers just above your sex. Fabric and air keep me from devouring you. Nevertheless, I can smell you. The scent of your arousal is intoxicating.
I push closer, my mouth pressing against your mound, veiled by the thin fabric. I can feel how you’ve soaked through it. I wonder if you can feel the heat of my breath.
I kiss you hard through the fabric, the pressure focused against your clit.
After a minute, my hands reach up and start to peel the fabric down. Your hips are revealed, then your thighs. Your legs clear the pants and I toss them away. Finally I can see the junction between your thighs. That altar I want to worship at.
I know you feel exposed. Torn between wanting to cover up and hide from my gaze and craving my tongue against your skin.
Your desire overcomes. I move closer, until I know you must feel my breath on your skin. I wait for a moment. You move, I meet you. You smell divine. My tongue stretches out, giving a long, flat lick across your center. One. Two. Three. Your sounds feed my desire. But I pull away, pausing. Your hands reach for me, ready to pull me back where you crave me.
Instead, my hands dart out, grasping your wrists. I stand, moving forward. I kiss your lips softly after rising. With your hands in mine, I lead you to a different part of the room.
I marvel at the way you look amid the flames. The candlelight drawing beautiful patterns of shadow across your skin. Your skin flushed with desire. With craving.
I reach behind you and produce a soft black object. A blindfold.
You seem a bit hesitant at first, but after feeling my hands in yours and a gentle reassurance from me, you’re ready. You know I will not harm you. You trust me. You know I will keep you safe.
I put it into place. It is soft against your skin. But the darkness is jarring at first. I ground you with my touch. With my voice. I hold you tightly in my arms. I kiss you.
I kiss you all over. My lips, teeth, and tongue travel in tandem. Peppering kisses and nibbles along your neck. You cannot see, but you can hear. You can feel. You can smell. Your hands reach out, try to direct me. Again I snatch them. Reaching upward, I take your arms along with me. I hold them both together over your head with one hand. I kiss at each of your wrists. Then down along your arms. Your shoulders. Your neck and lips.
As I do, you feel a sensation. Somewhat soft, yet supple. It trails across your skin as I kiss you. My free hand must carry this material as the other holds your wrists. I trail it across your body. Your legs, your hips. Up across your stomach, lingering.
Finally my focus is upon your wrists once more. You feel the rope looping around your wrists, binding them together and up above your head. Not too tight, but tight enough. You whimper in frustration and arousal. You are at my mercy now. And you know we're just getting started....
Your hands bound above you, blindfolded, you are at my mercy. It’s a strange sensation.
With your eyes covered, you focus on the sensations. The scent of the nearby rope restraining you. Of our arousal. Of the candles burning around us. The sound of our breathing, punctuated with moans and peppered with the periodic crackle of flames.
The sensation of touch. My fingers dancing across you, exploring every part of you on display. My lips kissing you softly. My tongue gliding across your flesh. The hard playful nip of my teeth on occasion. It all stands out without the power of sight.
It’s so acute, feeling me kiss and lick, spiraling around your breasts until finally all focus is on your nipple. My tongue kneading it. My lips suckling, my breath hot against your skin as I move away.
I can feel you as you strain against your bindings.
I move lower. You can feel, only feel, my breath above your sex. I place a deep kiss there, my tongue delving inside. My hunger ready to escape its bounds.
You can hear my breathing, much more ragged now. As I fight the fire within it. Stoking it slowly instead of letting it loose. I start, kissing your sex with abandon. Passionately. Your legs part, eager for me to devour you. And I do. You’ve unleashed a ravenous hunger inside of me. You relish in the sensation. Unable to see me. My lips capturing your labia. Your clit in small spurts. Building you slowly. Your hips buck toward me, eager to press against my mouth.
Suddenly you feel me pull away. My hands cradle behind you, arms wrapping underneath your legs and suddenly you’re not standing any more. Suspended by your restraints from above and my arms from beneath. Holding you up as suddenly my mouth returns, hungrily consuming you. At first you tense, flailing a bit out of the uncertainty of being suspended and no longer at the mercy of gravity fully. But you give in, diving into the sensations overwhelming you from below. Feeling my mouth on you. Hearing me. You’re close. Ever so close. I can hear your breath catching. Feel you shivering. Quaking. So close. And then suddenly I cease. Your legs slowly lowered to the floor. Standing once more, my arms still cradling you as your legs regain composure, still wobbly from the pleasure. I stand up and you can feel my breath against your neck as I kiss against your clavicle, up your neck, jaw, and finally your lips. My tongue finds yours and you can taste yourself on my tongue. After a minute, I pull away once more. You whimper with desire.
“Please,” you say.
“Please?” I echo.
“Please, sir. I was so close.”
“In time, my little beauty.” You hear me step away for a moment. Then you feel the supple rope against you. Wrapping around your chest, your back, again and again. You hear me tying. Feel the rope tight against you in a harness. My hands interjecting here and there with light, feathery touches. I reach up, remove the restraints and wrap my arms around you. You reciprocate. After a tender minute holding you close. I cradle you in my arms again, lift you, and lay you down. Once more I bind your wrists. My hands reach downward to trail your skin just along the pattern of the rope. I take my time, touching lightly along your chest. Your belly. Your hips. Finally spreading your legs and trailing along your thighs. I can see you trying to control yourself, wanting to move so I’m touching you right where you crave it. Each time you push toward me, I pull back.
“Patience, Princess,” I remind you. You know this game. But you crave it so badly…
A rookie mistake is getting out of things by claiming a grandparent died. You can do that a maximum of four times per person, and that's assuming maximum social atomization, where nobody you know is likely to talk to each other and compare notes and realize that five of your grandmothers have died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the last three months. The winning play? Dead Uncles. You can have any number of dead uncles, because who knows how many siblings your parents have? You don't even need to keep the stories straight because if you slip up you can claim it was two separate uncle deaths. You can repeat names, even, one on each side of your family. Uncles often die in memorable ways so you can get flamboyant with the specifics. Motorcycle accidents, firework explosions, prostate cancer, rottweiler training mishap. It won't be that weird that you aren't particularly torn up about it. Maybe you didn't like your Uncle
