Lila #2
For a brief moment I wonder how I must look, naked and blindfolded on this bed like a mannequin in a box waiting for its next assignment.
Generally I’d be trying to find my just-right sexy position to lay in, trying to make wicked eye contact, all flirtatious body language in my role.
But not here. I’m just lying here, totally at Simon’s mercy.
He pulls one hand up and over my head, and I feel the scratchy fabric of some sort on my wrist, then a tight wrap around it.
I reach up and can feel the same fabric on my knuckles, and I realize it’s some sort of industrial strap.
I wrap my hand around it and pull, wondering where it’s attached as there weren’t any poles or rails on the headboard.
He wraps up my other wrist, then I feel his hands on my ankles, all callused and warm.
With a jerk, he yanks my ankles apart, spreading me out like a starfish and I feel a flood of warmth between my legs.
I realize I must be soaked, completely soaked already.
I feel the same wraps around each of my ankles, now completely confused as to how he’s doing this, but loving every single minute of this chance to let go and just let him take the lead.
It’s exhilarating.
“You remember your safe word?” Simon asks, and I nod, bracing myself for what might be coming next. A slap? A tickle of leather whip tassels on my belly? Or will he just slide up on me, enter me and fuck me just like this? I have absolutely no idea.
I hear him rustle around and the anticipation is killing me. I can’t wait to feel whatever he has in store for me next. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m never again going to enjoy sex as much as I’m about to.
He turns on some music, a soft instrumental of some sort. Then I feel his hands on my shins, sliding up to my thighs, and I moan in appreciation of the contact.
He climbs onto the bed and slides up next to me and by the feel of skin, I think he’s naked now. I feel his fingers on my jaw as he turns my head toward him.
“Open your mouth, Lila. You’re going to suck my cock,” and my toes instantly curl because I am giddy with excitement to feel him in my mouth. He’s British, which means he’s likely not circumcised, a first for me. I do as he says and feel the massive cylinder of skin in my mouth—
And metal.
I instinctively grasp onto the straps by my hands, alarmed at the newness of the feeling in my mouth and on my tongue.
It’s not just the size that has my head spinning, it’s the small, hard dots, four in total, two on either side.
I run my tongue in between and feel the skin, raised in ridges at the two bars that run beneath the surface.
A Jacob’s ladder? Two piercings is what I’m feeling, one right on top of the other and just below the head of his penis.
Yes, that’s exactly what this is. I’ve seen pictures, never the real thing, but in the photos those were spaced out like actual rungs of a ladder.
These aren’t quite that, but the concept is there.
Simon’s patient with me as I let my tongue and mouth do all the exploring for me.
It’s wild to learn of this little hidden gem of his cock in this way, with only my mouth, no visuals to aid me.
Wild, and yet so tender at the same time.
It’s the way it is with Simon. My icy hot—sturdy and nerdy one minute, wild fire the next.
Here’s this man with his cock in my mouth, two piercings that threw me for such a loop, and he’s all calm patience as he lets me get comfortable with the newness of it all.
Naturally, it doesn’t last. He slowly starts rocking deeper into my mouth.
With me strapped down and blind like this, there’s not much I can do except take him in as deeply as possible, sucking and moaning as I go.
I think briefly how I’d even be able to say “October” right now.
I mumble it out without even thinking, the word basically a bumpy road of a gurgle, completely indiscernible I’m sure, but immediately Simon stops and pulls his cock out of my mouth.
I miss it. I feel horribly empty and vacant. “I didn’t mean it,” I say, opening my mouth like a hungry and helpless creature desperate for food. “I was just testing it, I didn’t mean it. How did you even understand?” I ask to the darkness.
“I told you to name your safe word. You did, so I stopped. That’s how this works, Lila.”
I wriggle my limbs in their traps, my body so fucking eager for more action, more play, more anything.
But he moves away from my head.
And down. In one swift move, I feel his mouth on me between my legs, hot and frantic and immediate, and within thirty seconds of his greedy pursuit I’m coming apart in red hot waves.
Just like that, so instantaneous. This orgasm has been building for what feels like hours, though really it’s probably only been about fifteen minutes.
Since he first put the blindfold on me and ignited all my other senses.
But it’s ripping through my body now in exquisite torment.
“Fuck, stop, I can’t. Fuck!” I scream out, squeezing my thighs together the tiniest bit that I can with the minimal slack of the straps around my ankles, willing him to stop because it’s too much.
I’m blind with the intensity of this orgasm, but he doesn’t stop.
If anything, he further pushes his mouth into me with relentless force between each and every on fire spot of that oh so sensitive spot between my legs, and I’m fucking dying at the intensity of this feeling.
“Stop!” I shout out again, trying to squeeze my thighs on his head, the sensation too much to handle.
I feel it deep in my belly, and I grip the straps by my hands, my body writhing.
October. That’s what I’m supposed to say, it occurs to me. Say October and he’ll stop. October, that stupid word I blurted out, laughing at the ridiculousness of it, that’s my ticket out of this fucking unbearable sensation of his mouth riding between my legs, gorgeously torturing me.
But I don’t. Instead I writhe my body and attempt to withstand this dagger hot sensation, accept the challenge of this cresting tsunami of a wave.
I writhe in attempt to expel the energy bursting within, my body exploding with pleasure so intense it’s torture.
I cry out a thousand obscenities over and over and over again, before finally screaming out “Simon” in a moan so loud, any other time I’d be embarrassed.
But there’s no room for it here, it’s the only thing I can do, my only tool to handle this orgasm that’s beyond any climax I’ve formerly thought I’ve experienced.
It might as well be named something completely different.
I take it, screaming out uncontrollably, powerless to stop it as screaming is the only way to withstand. Just like he wanted me to, like he knew I could if just given the little reminder to go one step beyond a basic “stop” command. I take it and ride this impossible thing the absolute best I can.
Until I finally shout out, “Simon! Fucking October!” gasping for air like I just finished a marathon.
He stops.
But I’m already shattering into a million beautiful glittering pieces, never to be the same again.