When he entered the room she did not even need to open her eyes to know it. He made no sound, she just knew. When he touched the sole of her foot it did not surprise her. He loved every part of her, but the soles of her feet were special. He loved the arches and his fingertips slid up and down, caressing the tender curvature of her heel all the way to her toes. It tickled, just a bit, but years of practice had given her the strength to endure it.
His hand grasped her ankle, again softly, but with eager anticipation. With a gentle pull, he drew her leg outward to the corner of the bed. She heard the quiet whisper of the satin cord and felt it loop around her limb, just above the foot. He didn't tighten it and instead she knew he had moved to the other corner. Sure enough, his fingers again tickled her, though she didn't laugh or even flinch. She merely shivered as the light touch sliding against the bottom of her sole sent sparks of sensation swirling up through her spine. It was as if he were priming a pump, using her own weaknesses against her, so that when the true torments began she would be helpless against them.
Another length of cordage was wrapped around her ankle and she did not resist as he opened her. She knew, even without opening her eyes, that he would be staring hungrily at the light pink slit, freshly shaved, partly open, already glistening with arousal. His eyes would caress her smooth thighs, right down to the delicate spots behind each knee. And then he would move upward, just as his hands were doing, sliding across one hip, up her side, and then allow his fingertips to lightly graze her nipple, five little ridges that caused her stomach and sex to tighten even as she swallowed in expectation.
His fingers took her hand and held it for just a moment, two lovers, married in every way. She was his friend, his wife, his lover, and when she could, his submissive. Had their lives allowed it she would have spent her days kneeling before him, excepting every caress and torment as if nothing else in the world mattered. The ring around her finger bound her as surely as the rope did and he wrapped it firmly around her wrist, drawing her arm upward, binding it to the headboard.
He moved around to the other side of the bed and repeated the process, again sending a riot of stimulation through her body with just his fingertips. She tested her bonds when he was finished and was surprised that he hadn't tightened the ankle ropes. She could still bend her knees and usually he preferred her close to immobile. Sometimes that scared her, but never in a bad way. She knew that he loved her and would take care of her.
His weight moving onto the bed was enough to make her open her eyes and she was surprised to see him laying between her legs, his face and hands mere inches from her open sex. A small bottle of his favorite oil was in his hand and he uncapped it, pouring the glistening lubricant over her clitoral hood. He closed the bottle and then set it aside. Gently, with both hands and propped up on his elbows, he placed his fingers on her labia, and began to rub.
Instantly she stiffened. The caress was gentle, almost non-existent, a light fluttering that she knew would drive her mad. It felt so good, so ephemeral, as if butterflies had swarmed against her, their wings the instruments of her torment. His fingers slid upward and downward, caressing and touching, rubbing the petals of her flower with almost carefree delight, not even responding to the obvious arousal and instead testing her, torturing her with need. She felt the light touch on her clitoris and arched her back, thrusting her pelvis forward. The moment she did so she felt his hand move lower, spreading the oil over her perineum and around the sensitive opening of her bottom.
Twisting back down with a gasp, she tried to control her breathing. Her chest began to heave as his touch became more incessant. Not heavier per se, but more intense, as if he were testing the texture of her flesh. He pulled her labia open and then caressed the inner parts of her sex, sending ripples of exquisite pleasure through her. Again he touched her clit and she couldn't help but arch. Her pelvis tilted upward even as her knees bent and he slid one finger into her well.
The penetration itself was a torment. She wanted it, needed it, but a single finger itself was not enough. It was merely torture, more tinder thrown upon coals, threatening to burst into flame. His other fingers continued to flutter across and over her petals and clit and it was her own movements that did the most to sensitize her. Each thrust and arch caused her to impale herself on his extended finger. It drove her mad.
And then he extended his pinkie. It danced around her bottom and she gasped. Now she began to clench her buttocks as well and when the tiny fingertip penetrated, due to no motion of his, but of her own twitching hips, she gasped at the intense pleasure. She was not a fan of anything anal, but this - this was too much. It was too soft, too light, and with one thumb pressing and rotating over her clit while the fingers slid up and down her labia, and then to add the single finger penetrations, was more than she could bear. Her movements became urgent, and her loins danced. Again he did not move to penetrate her, allowing her the freedom to control depth and speed and she gladly impaled her rump in order to drive his forefinger as deep as possible.
When he added the second finger to her sex she thought she was in heaven. Beads of perspiration formed upon her brow as she worked herself into a froth. The very fact that he wasn't even moving his fingers in and out of her was lost in the desperation of her desire, her mind and body working toward a single goal. It was an elusive one though, as if he knew just how much to give her. Her chest heaved with the exertion of seeking release and just as she thought it was within her grasp, he stopped the fluttering caresses against her clit and labia, and instead pushed, driving all three digits buried in her depths up to the knuckles.
Was it enough? She clenched her teeth and let out a moan. No! She shook her head, trying desperately to work her hips enough to climax. But he held her there, holding her mere inches away from the finish line. Slowly the pressure began to ebb, the tide to turn. She let out a choked sob, some part of her aware that he had only started. She squirmed as he wiggled the fingers inside her, the sensation of his pinkie in her ass marvelous. She never would have thought she would willing take anything in her bottom, but she was more than willing to try it now. Her mind reeled at the possibilities and she admitted to herself that if he wanted, he could roll her over and work his thick manhood into her rear if he'd just let her cum first.
But she didn't give voice to that desire. She knew that it was merely a bargain, and he didn't like her bargaining.
"A good submissive doesn't bargain with her master," he had told her. "She accepts what he gives her willingly, out of love. If I want you to cum. You'll cum. If I want you to stew in your own juices, you'll stew. And if I want to haggle like a used car salesman, I'll go buy a car."
She had laughed at that, but the concept was clear. He gave. She accepted. Her arousal was a gift from him. All this went through her mind and then she groaned. The emptiness was almost a pain as he pulled his hand out of her depths. Her bottom clenched first and that shocked her. But then she felt him shift and her eyes widened in absolute ecstasy as his tongue began lapping against her clitoris.
He must have used the flavored oil. The idea went through her brain like the endorphin and adrenaline had. Then, as her clitoris swelled and he suckled and licked at it, his hands slid up her body to her breasts. Every part of her tightened as his fingers, still slick with her juices and oil, began rubbing at her nipples. The tiny points hardened instantly, swelling to the same size as her clit. She blinked as her brain began shutting down, unable to process any thought not directly related to his stimulation. She began shuddering, pulling at the ropes, her thighs trembling. But he kept lapping, his tongue sliding and dancing along her sex. He would stab at her clit, only to lick down one side of her sex and up the other. He would suckle her clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue across it, only to let it go and the move lower, sucking in the folds of her flower.
"Please! Michael! Please! OH TAKE ME!"
He rose up like a tidal wave, gloriously naked and he moved atop her, his thick manhood straining. The tip glanced against her clit just as his tongue had and then slid downward. He impaled her with one smooth thrust, a sword in its scabbard, ramming home. She cried out as his hardness, his length, his very essence entered her and his mouth came down on a nipple, suckling hard. He pinched at the other breast, not to create pain, but to create sensation and what might have hurt if delivered on its own, was merely an added spice, the pepper to the soup.
He moved quickly, thrusting himself into her loins, his pubic hair rubbing at her clit. She shook and wished with all her might that her hands and legs were free so that she might curl up around him, locking his hips to hers, driving him deeper. Her fingers tightened into fists and her toes curled, the arches of her feet rippling. She threw her head back as the tsunami he had created crested on the shoreline, exploding with white froth and washing away every last footstep on the beach. Exquisite and unadulterated pleasure blasted through her, opening her veins with heat and she mewled in that sensation that wasn't quite agony, and wasn't quite pleasure, but the biological mixture of them, where sexual heat blossomed.
And then he matched her, even as her tides began to recede. He groaned, his face grimacing with the same mixed pleasure. She felt him stiffen inside her and throb. She knew that the white ribbons of his release were exploding out of his shaft into her depths, swirling and fusing. He thrust again, and then once more, before his energy ebbed. He collapsed atop her, still inside as was his habit, his mouth nuzzling her breast, as they caught their breath.
When his cock had softened he pulled out, rolling over, one leg draped over hers. She took a deep breath, still lost in the sexual euphoria, the afterglow of release. She had a sleepy smile on her face, her eyes blank and slightly dazed. After a few minutes lying together, she wished he would untie her so that she could wrap herself around him, to cuddle him and hold him tight against her. She wanted to press her breasts to his chest and feel the roughness of his skin. She lifted her head and looked at him, hoping he could see that desire, that need in her eyes.
"You want to hold me, don't you?" he asked her softly, planting a kiss that tasted of sex on her lips.
She nodded plaintively. "Please?"
He smiled warmly, his eyes filled with love. "Of course my darling. But you'll have to do one thing for me first," he said softly.
"Anything," she promised with a smile. He moved, sliding down her body, crossing over until he was once again lying between her legs. Her eyes widened as he moved his fingers against her sex, staying away from the sensitized clit for the moment. She felt the fluttering, the caress and she let out a whimper. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his pinkie against her bottom, and his forefinger slide into her depths.
"Cum for me again, Jenni"