 |
|||
|
|
STRANGER THAN FICTION
by Velvetglove
Introduction to Part One
“The truth is rarely pure, and never simple”
(Oscar Wilde)
This is a true story. Truth can sometimes be, as they say, ‘stranger than fiction’. During 2009, I have received many emails and messages enquiring whether I have given up writing stories and why I stopped posting. I apologise now to all those to whom I never replied. What follows will hopefully make the reason obvious – in short, I have had better things to do than write !
Do not read this story expecting heavy scenes of flogging and gang rape. It is a genuine account of real people and actual events, albeit I’ve taken a bit of license recreating some dialogue. Please note that what follows is not intended to be a full day-to-day diary. That would be boring and it would take me too long to write anyway. It is mostly a random collection of my memories and thoughts. If readers enjoy Part One, then I will post three further parts, describing how things continued, developed and ended.
Copyright & Codes
This account is © Velvetglove and no commercial use whatsoever is authorised without prior permission.
Please note codes: M/mf, BDSM, real, consensual, slow, humiliation, reluctant, serious, slavery, toys, chastity belt, mild cbt, water sports, enema, mild scatology.
Stranger than Fiction
Part One
‘Pure and Simple’
December 2008
Our first meeting will stay with me forever.
I can picture them both now, many months later, smell her musky perfume again and measure his firm handshake. To this day, I miss them.
Of course, I had seen them numerous times over the web-cam but in the flesh everything is different; vivid, real, multidimensional.
We are sitting in the discreet cocktail bar of one of London’s West End hotels. It is hushed, dark, low-lit by candle-lamps on the tables and pin-spots from the ceiling.
Candace and I drink champagne. Jed orders a beer.
“Gee, I can’t believe we’re finally here.” They say in turn, verbally and via their body language.
Their accents are typically Midwestern to my ear: ‘rhotic’ – as in they pronounce the ‘r’ in words like beer and water, whereas most of us Brits tends to swallow the ‘r’ sound, unless we’re from the West Country.
But like us they rhyme ‘on’ with Don, not a Southern American drawl rhyming with ‘Dawn’. She’s from Illinois and he’s from Pennsylvania.
Everybody is a little nervous, embarrassed. Even me. It is many years since I went on a date.
It has taken us 8 weeks to reach this moment. From their initial email to this first meeting. Many evenings spent corresponding, chatting, phoning, negotiating, planning.
Candace looks as good close up as I hoped, better even, without the distortion and delays via optic fibre. I still cannot quite believe it, even though I’ve known for a long time that she was indeed real, and not some male fantasist pretending to be a woman, or a fraudster seeking my credit card details.
It would be nice to describe her as ‘actress-model beautiful’. I’m sure readers would prefer it if they could picture some truly gorgeous babe. But in truth that would be a slight exaggeration.
Nevertheless, I give her a 7 or 7.5 out of 10. I told her to her face that her lower half lets her down a bit. We’ll be working on her tone and shape. Overall, I guess the fairest epithet is ‘girl-next-door pretty’.
Curvy.
Innocent.
Lovely Face.
CILF.
A Cunt I’d Like to Fuck.
She’s 5’6” tall and 26 years old.
Her eyes are an unusual peanut butter shade of light brown. They glint in the candlelight as she glances at me over her champagne flute, fluttering her thick lashes, dropping her eyes when I hold her gaze. The gesture is more shy than flirtatious.
Her hair is shoulder length, ash-blonde, curled into her throat in a style I always think of as typical Americana. She has an elegant neck and a heart shaped face with a cute dimple in her chin.
She arrived wearing a winter coat and scarf but now sits in just her black woollen dress, formal but sexy, clinging to her curves. I have already seen her naked online, but I have to fight an urge to lean over and test her plump tits as they strain against the fabric.
As I said, her lower half is less good. She is pear-shaped; a little heavy on the hips, stout calves and ankles, although flattered by the black stockings and shiny high heels she wears tonight.
But, hey, I can’t complain. She’s cute, married and half my age.
The three of us make small talk; about their flight over, the extortionate cost of taxis from the airport, their hotel, the cold weather, English beer.
“No regrets yet ?”
“None so far.” They both reply, grinning bashfully.
Later - but only fifteen minutes later - we have moved to the hotel’s disabled person’s toilet.
The small room is cramped but large enough for Candace and me, while Jed stands sentry outside the locked door.
It smells of that heady cocktail of air spray, disinfectant and floor polish, typical of hotel facilities. I sit on the plastic toilet seat.
“Show me.”
She blushes and hesitantly turns.
“Please, could you …”
I drag the zipper at the back of her dress down.
She turns round, raises her arms, and pulls the dress over her head. Her skin is pale, almost white, but flawless. At my age, you forget what young skin is really like close up. Taut not tired. Her tits tightly pack her lacy, 34D bra.
She blushes and hangs her dress on the hinged bracket-arm provided for wheelchair users.
“Lose the bra.”
She bites her lower lip, reaches behind her back and unclips, then pulls the spaghetti hoops down her arms. The cups fall away.
I stare. Her nipples are erect, raspberry-pink against her milk-white boobs. Under the bright toilet light, I notice tiny hairs that I never spotted on camera.
Ever so slowly, I reach up, cup them, weigh them, thumb her nips.
“Kneel.”
She glances down at the cold tiled floor and lowers herself onto her knees.
“You know what to do.”
I take my weight on the toilet seat so she can undo my belt, tug down my pants. I’m a year older than her dad. I train, am still reasonably fit but, hey, you can’t completely defy time or gravity. I’ve got a thickening waist and a couple of hairy ripples from my navel to my groin.
“Look at me.”
Her nut-brown eyes blink upwards. My erection bobs in her face. A network of blue veins fans out through the shaft up to my uncircumsized crown. My foreskin is stretched half back and my piss-slit is lined up with her nose.
Candace has had three boys in her life so far; two boyfriends and her husband. I have already interrogated her with many impertinent questions online.
I gesture via a tilt of my chin.
She opens her mouth. Her tongue flicks out like a snake’s and she slowly takes my hardness between her soft lips. Our eyes remain locked.
I settle back against the toilet cistern, push my knees open wide. My pants are puddled at my feet. Her hands gently rest on my thighs.
“Take your time. I’m in no rush.”
I’ve known all kinds of blowjob artists in my life; the good, the bad and the plain useless. As a rule, I think that chicks try harder in their teens and twenties, and then kind of lose interest as they get older.
Certainly my own wife did.
“You can finger my balls. But no touching my dick. Mouth only.”
Candace had initially claimed to like giving oral but, when I delved deeper, I established she’ll need a lot of work. I’m not sure her standards and mine are on the same wavelength.
Like too many girls, she regards oral primarily as foreplay, a reciprocal activity. In a written questionnaire I gave him, Jed admitted he was grateful for a bit of sucking before fucking, or even a 69. Candace apparently only tried swallowing once and that was eight years ago with her first boyfriend.
Weirdly, Jed has never got her to blow him to completion, even when they tried roleplaying D/s together. Tellingly, she has never had a ‘one-night-BJ-stand’ in her life, even when she was a teenager.
Needless to say, her presence in London means she accepts that will change.
Her lips are sliding up and down on me manically now, much too fast and hard, a slurping sound oozing out the sides of her mouth. Trying hard to impress, too hard, no finesse, barely a fucking clue.
“Lick my balls.”
She frowns uncertainly as she eases her mouth away, disappointed by my tone. I take my dick in my own hands. I don’t smile encouragement. I want her to feel inadequate, taste my disappointment. We met in the flesh barely an hour ago but I see no reason to soothe her feelings. After all, that’s not what she has travelled 4,000 miles for.
“Your face.”
My fingers smack rhythmically against her forehead. I enjoy imagining her blurred view of my pumping fist and my bare stomach. I force my eyes to stay open as I unload. A thick rope uncoils into her coiffed hair. At my age you have to prepare right and I’ve suffered 72 hours without cumming, regularly teased my balls into production mode.
It’s not a porno-movie gusher but it’s a nice, impressive load.
Her eyes widen in shock then snap shut in self-protection as a white puddle forms in her eye socket.
Impressive jets garnish her forehead, cheeks, eye and one nostril.
At last, I’m done. I sag back in the seat and sigh with satisfaction.
Our deal is sealed.
The agreement was that this would be the point of no return.
She had known what was coming.
In more ways than one.
I leave her to dress. Jed looks apprehensively at me when I emerge. We both know. His 26 years old wife of 4 years. Candace. She is mine.
“Still no regrets ?”
“No.” he mumbles. “Sir.”
Theirs was clearly a mutual decision but the initial spark was his. A casualty of the commodity trading industry, his generous redundancy pay-off and unemployment created the opportunity. He first emailed me eight weeks ago about my story ‘Priceless’. It was the spark that set their imaginations alight.
I’m no expert judge but he seems a goodlooking kid. Clean cut, college educated, middle-American, like his girl. He’s an inch shorter than me but appears taller, as he holds himself ramrod straight. This is no pussy wimp. His submissiveness is purely mental and sexual. Not physical.
“She was okay.” I pronounce.
He nods, adding “thank you,” in a whisper, as an afterthought.
His trader’s eyes are gunmetal grey, not easy to read.
It is an awkward but epic moment. To have any young woman blow you in a public toilet any time is pleasurable. For that young woman to be another man’s lady is very special. Talking about it, planning it, is exciting.
However, the moment it actually happens for the first time is the icing on the cake, so to speak.
An unspoken treaty has been signed between us; ilia iacta est.
But it is privately special for another reason. It is the first time in more than two decades that I’ve been with a new woman in any way.
The door opens and Candace appears, looking first at me, then at Jed. He’s holding her coat and scarf ready for a quick getaway.
Her face and hair are still streaked. I said she could wipe her eyes but leave the remainder for him to do. Her mascara is smudged.
The corridor is clear. But the doors to the separate male and female washrooms could open at any time. I slowly pull a handkerchief out of my pocket.
“Here.” I say. “Mop her up.”
October 2008
October 2nd: We loved Priceless so much. My wife and I would relish a bit of the ‘Velvetglove treatment’, either online, or maybe even real-time. If you were ever interested, please contact us. J + C.
October 3rd: Thanks for your email. It’s always nice to know when people have enjoyed a story. Sure, I’d be interested in corresponding, but only if you can prove you’re a genuine couple and not some wannabe guy ! V
October 3rd: Please find photos of us both attached. J + C
October 4th: Resend similar photos, this time with you holding up today’s Tribune and C standing topless in just a black thong. V
October 8th: It was great to speak with you at last. We accept the one-way webcam proposal. We don’t need to see you to make up our minds !! J + C
October 17th: I’ll be honest, I never expected things to get this far ! No regrets yet ?! Okay, a bit complicated but I’ll give serious consideration to you visiting me in UK. V. PS. – glad you enjoyed Damaged Goods.
October 28th: Here is my own list of likes, dislikes and limits, Sir. I haven’t shown it to Jed. BTW, I handed in my notice today. C.
October 28th: Here is my (brief) list as requested, Sir. I agree to all your proposed terms. I am looking into flights just after Thanksgiving. J.
November 5th: Congrats to Barack ! Still no regrets ? V.
November 15th: All booked. Families told. Everybody excited about our “European vacation”. J
December 2008
No limits.
Six months.
That’s the deal.
Except that it’s a sensible ‘no limits’, whereby they have put their trust in me. They want the excitement, the buzz, the slavery, the complete loss of control, but they don’t want to end up damaged, disfigured or dead.
Fortunately, damage, disfigurement and death do nothing for me either.
I am forced to confront reality. I already care about this pair I’ve barely met. I will have to relearn my behaviour from the 1980s. They must know I care but not see I care. I must invoke Candace’s lust without us falling in love. I must demolish Jed’s pride without destroying his spirit. We must all three walk a tightrope without any of us falling - a delicate balance.
They have six months tourist Visas to remain in UK. As far as their families and friends are concerned, they’re travelling in Europe. We will use occasional emails and phone calls home to keep everybody happy. Next year, we’ll even take a few trips abroad to stage a few photos !
They move into my apartment on their second day. They hand over their passports, money, suitcases for my ‘safe keeping’.
Already packages have arrived from various online retailers.
My London apartment overlooks the River Thames. It has a large, open-plan kitchen-living room with a big window and fine view. There is a corridor with three bedrooms leading off it; first, my master bedroom and en suite bathroom, then a guest double, and finally a smaller third bedroom that is fitted out as my home office. At the far end of the corridor are the family bathroom and a glass door to the spiral staircase up to my roof deck above.
The décor is cluttered contemporary; modern furnishings mixed with antiques, loads of photos, art and books, wooden floors and Persian rugs.
There are family touches everywhere. But I live here alone now. Sadly, my wife and I are having what’s termed a trial separation. Candace and Jed know the score.
I have relocated my office to a desk in the main living room. I assign Candace to the guest double and put Jed on a foldout in the third room.
Drudgery.
Many years ago, I knew a submissive woman who was turned on by domestic drudgery. She said that sex and bondage were all very well, but the true test of a lifestyle slave is 24/7 toil. No Master or Mistress is interested in permanent sex. He or she wants sex available on tap but the rest of the time needs a slave who quietly gets on with everything else.
It is what we have agreed. For six months. No breaks. No respite. In Part Two, I will give further insight into what that all means.
In short, the most monotonous, unexciting and boring jobs, all day, every day.
For now, Candace is dressed as a maid in black and white. Jed wears a shiny pink PVC ballet tutu I selected from an adult baby website.
She looks hot, he looks ridiculous.
It is Day 4 and already, my apartment has never been so spic and span. I have to create mess just to keep them occupied. The bedrooms and bathrooms sparkle like a show home.
“She’s getting better.” I comment to Jed.
Candace is sucking my dick.
After two decades of great marriage and good sex, my own dear missus recently agreed ‘to turn a blind eye’. Four years ago, she had a hysterectomy and her sex drive has been on the wane ever since. We’re still in love and want to work things out, so we’re taking some time apart, though we still speak on the phone most days.
Would I have pushed for a trial separation if Jed had never sent me that email ? That’s a question I would rather not dwell on. Ironically, I started writing sex stories as a way of keeping myself out of mischief. Yet, lo and behold, it’s one of those stories that has got me where I am today.
I’m sat in an armchair, talking to Jed. He’s leaning in close, his face inches from his wife’s. Candace is already giving me an improved service. Her tongue flutters, her lips slither with just the right amount of pressure.
“Good girl.”
I pat them on the heads like poodles. First her, then him.
Personally I’m a BJ guy. Always have been. I mean I love most everything else too but oral is my dish of choice. Somehow it feels less unfaithful to my wife too. I guess I agree with Bill Clinton on that score !
“Closer.”
I clip the back of Jed’s head until he touches cheeks with Candace.
Faces flushed, pressed together, they both look up at me.
I idly wonder what is going on behind those grey eyes of his.
What are her flecked brown eyes saying ?
It’s easy for me to say but I think that, deep down, my wife is relieved to be handing over her conjugal duties to a younger, more compliant model. After many years of marriage, even if we don’t admit it, we all know that making love to the same person isn’t really about sex any more. Not in its hot, raw sense.
It’s about love, familiarity, comfort, shared emotions and memories.
And pleasure too, of course.
But it is tame, not raw.
It is warm, not hot.
I still love to fuck my wife. I just wished she needed it as much as me.
It’s been over a quarter of a century since I had a sub that I could train to do it exactly as I like. Dedicated. Respectful. Analingus. Ball worship. Jaw ache. I prefer a blowjob to take a long time. Not so as it becomes frustrating for me, but no rush either.
What is that old joke ?
What’s better than roses on a piano ?
Tulips on an organ.
I’m near, now. Thrusting against her bobbing, tiring mouth. My shirt is open. Both their faces are shining with sheens of sweat.
Jed is his wife’s age; clean-shaven, fit, handsome, her husband.
While I’m over 50; with a stubbly chin, a bit paunchy, a stranger.
Yet by some quirk of sexuality and fate, it is my dick, not his, that Candace’s tulips are now sucking, two, three, even four times a day.
“Mmm … yessssssss.”
Her pupils dilate but she manages to hold my gaze as I seed her mouth. Jed studies her closely. After thirty seconds, she carefully extracts my dick from her lips, keeping them closed. She kneels back and tilts her head slightly as I’ve taught her.
Then she gargles. The sound of music. A gulping swallow is not enough for me. I want my jism appreciated like the fine porridge that it is. She trills it round her mouth. Tongue. Gums. Tonsils. Tasting. Chewing. Not swallowing.
“Share it.”
Jed’s neck twists and Candace leans over to drop the semen-saliva snowball into his open mouth. Then he gargles too. More music.
“Again.”
They repeat the dying swan embrace. Jed spits my gloop back to his wife.
“Okay. You can swallow it now.”
But the most important dynamic for me is Jed’s chastity. I am the Keyholder from Hell ! I have no idea why strict orgasm control is such a fetish of mine. It just is.
Fucking Jed’s wife isn’t enough for me. Frankly, I even have almost-zip interest in sharing a guy’s wife with him. Relegating a sub male to just masturbation isn’t enough either.
No, I want him chaste. Not just denied orgasms but strictly chaste. He must learn to give but not receive. To witness but not to want. Sex goes on around him but he is never more than a mere accessory to it.
I am not a sadist. Outside bits of fiction, I have no wish to deny ordinary males. Fortunately there are some like Jed who genuinely want to put their genitals at my mercy, who get the same buzz in reverse. As I get pleasure from control, he gets … well, the erotic thrill of denial. It’s always struck me as ironic how many guys seem to be out there jerking off visiting chastity websites. But the reality of abstinence is completely different from the fantasy. Like a chocoholic on a strict diet, you have to be prepared to suffer tremendous pangs.
We discussed it online. Jed then sent off for two tailored chastity tubes from a company called Steelworks Extreme, delivered to me here in UK. Truth is, there are a lot of rubbish toys out there. Fortunately I heard about SE through Scott, an online friend. The company produces individually fitted tubes in surgical grade polished steel that are 100% secure yet can safely be worn for considerable periods of denial.
“An early Christmas present, Jed.”
He’s as excited about it as me. Poor fool. We’ve discussed the rules many times but it does no harm to repeat them once more.
“This isn’t a game for me, Jed. Not this part of it. It’s serious. From today, as long as you’re here, you must learn total self control.”
He nods like an automaton, blinking, his gaze is excited, yet queasy too.
“If you’re lucky I’ll let you cum once every month or two. Just for health reasons. Four weeks if you’re good, but eight if you’re naughty. Understood ?”
“Y … yeah.”
“It’s your steel curtain !”
Jed is a devoted fan of the Pittsburgh Steelers. By chance he’d mentioned to me the nickname of the old defensive line of his team in the 1970s: the ‘steel curtain’. It now seems like a suitable moniker for his Steelworks tube.
“I’m sure it will be excruciatingly difficult. At least, I hope it is, otherwise it would be no fun !”
His groin has been depilated bald, his scrotum is freshly plucked. I tied him spreadeagled and made Candace pluck out each pubic hair from his sac individually with tweezers. He is smooth as a baby from his navel to his thighs, and from his asshole to the small of his back.
I push my finger and tap the custom chastity cage now locked round his dick. The steel curtain is shiny and perfect. The cylinder swings like a tiny pendulum.
“You just forget about your dick. It’s a wee-hole, nothing more. Your balls are just biological organs working in the background like your liver or lungs. Learn to ignore them.”
There is a steel base ring with an extended hinge and a steel tube. His shiny balls hang through the hinged gap. Jed is averagely endowed. Not big when erect, but certainly not small either. However, aside from cold showers, his 6 inches will now be permanently confined inside a tube roughly half that length. The full extent of the tube from his abdomen measures 3 ¼ inches. The inner diameter for his girth is only 1 ¼ inches.
“Try not to think about sex, Jed. Like a monk. If it tries to erect, it’ll be painful.”
I console him on the shoulder like an old friend.
“I’ll look after Candace. And myself. You just do your best to ignore us both.”
There is a second, more evil cage, but that can wait a month or so.
I work full time from home, on the phone and email, based in London for occasional meetings. So life allows me to be productive but also to dedicate plenty of time to Jed and Candace’s training. Their individual desires and motives are subtly different but they share a basic submissive agenda; control, punishment, drudgery and humiliation, lots of it. The only things from Priceless they both definitely don’t want in reality are for their families to find out or for Candace to become pregnant.
“Lick her ready for me.”
It is the sixth morning, before breakfast. I’ve had a mug of coffee in bed.
Jed gulps like a gaffed fish. His face is sweating, hyperventilating.
It is time. One reason I have only used Candace’s mouth and tits so far is that early on we all committed to take STD checks together. The tests have all come through clean.
But I have been in no rush either. I have been deprived a proper tit-fuck for almost a quarter of a century, since I last had a girlfriend with suitable melons. Sitting astride Candace’s ribs while she pushes her slippery cleavage together into a soft vessel and then hosing her neck and face has not been a hardship at all.
However, above all, I have purposefully waited an extra couple of days to stretch out the tension. Mouth and tits are fine, but it’s her cunt that will designate my property, like a dog pissing on a bush.
It is time for me to bring it into play.
I am wearing my towelling robe. They are both buck naked, save for the shiny steel cylinder between Jed’s legs.
Candace tentatively spreads herself out on the empty half of my double bed, next to me. She glances up at me, apparently waiting for guidance.
“Clutch behind your knees and pull them to your shoulders.”
I turn on my side to watch, reach out and plump up her tit. Jed stares down at his young wife beached like a crab on its shell. I’ve left her with just a tuft of light brown pubic hair barely bigger than a toothbrush. Her coral-pink cunt and crinkled asshole are served up in front of Jed’s intense gaze.
“Go on.”
He hunkers down between her spread thighs, lowers his perspiring face to her open labia.
She inhales staccato gasps as his lips brush her. I smile encouragement.
“One of the advantages for you, my darling, is that Jed is going to learn as much about oral as you do.” I wink. “Maybe even more.”
Her mouth is open. As far as I know she hasn’t cum since they arrived. Not that I’ve ever felt as strict about female orgasms as male chastity. She gapes up at me. In seconds her nipples visibly harden.
Jed is on his knees, in an extended ‘n’ shape; his butt in the air, face buried, licking rhythmically.
I lean over, slap his muscled buttocks.
“Wider.”
He shuffles his knees apart.
The design of the Steelworks Extreme cage has the advantage that his physical frustration can be clearly viewed. The base ring and tube allow the bottom of his shaft and his circumcised helmet at the top to be studied like a prisoner in a straightjacket.
His swollen scrotum bulges. His genitals glow with a layer of Vaseline that he applies every morning to prevent chafing. Only this morning the Vaseline has been laced with a menthol and eucalyptus based muscle cream that is cooking his cock and balls. At first tears came, but 20 minutes later his reaction is just blood and sweat.
“Get your tongue right up inside her.”
It is all about contrasts. On the same morning I am going to experience his wife’s cunt for the first time, Jed is experiencing the savage delight of Deep Heat. His impotent, smarting cock rages hopelessly against the unyielding steel. Flesh and blood fight a losing battle against the tight 3 ¼ x 1 ¼ prison.
“Good lad.” I chuckle.
I am hard myself now. Rock hard. Thankfully I don’t actually need any erectile help yet but I popped a 20 mg Cialis last night to give myself an extra edge this morning.
I adjust my pillow, sit up in bed, and pull Candace’s hand over to my robe.
“I want to hear you say it.”
She blinks. Her fingers untie the knot, opening my gown.
“Please … f … fuck me.”
She’ll say most 4-letter words but still struggles with fuck.
“Louder.”
“Fuck me … Sir.”
“Hear that ?”
“Uhuhm.” Jed groans.
“Move out the way. There.”
He stands by the bed, his chin glistening, hands hanging limply by his sides.
I take his place, grin at him.
“Thanks for getting her nice and wet.”
She is juicy but snug. After years with the same woman, the mother of your children, you forget how tight young, childless cunt can be. I sink down into her heat until I can go no further.
“Ahm …” she gasps, eyes wide.
I’m about ¾ inch longer than Jed when erect, a fraction thicker too. I can see it’s just enough of a difference for her to appreciate.
“Cross your heels behind my back.” I grunt, taking my weight on my arms. “Kiss her.”
Jed looks at me in surprise, then leans down and puts his lips to hers.
I am fucking Candace while he kisses her.
She’s fucking me while she kisses her husband.
“Come for me.”
She utters a little shriek and starts humping back. I feel her thighs open wider, so she can thrust back more vigorously. She shifts angle so her clit bangs against my pubic bone. Her heels pull me in tight.
“Ah … oh … ah … sssssss …”
She orgasms like a banshee, hissing into her husband’s mouth, bucking against me.
This is what I want for this first time. Us all to share it. Jed the poor relation. Preparing his wife like a sacrifice. Still demonstrating his love for her even as she climaxes on another man’s dick. It is what the past nine weeks have all been for, what they and I wanted, and it is at last happening to the three of us for real.
Candace is coming down from the clouds. Smoke in her eyes.
Confusion. Intensity. Lust. Fluid.
CILF.
Cunt I Love Filling.
“Squat over his face.”
She straddles his head. He lies on the tiled bathroom floor.
“Not sit on it ! I said squat above it.”
It may be a ritual, but it’s an important one. A valuable cliché.
I perch on the toilet seat and watch Candace balance awkwardly a couple of inches above Jed’s nose. Her naked flesh is red and sweaty. It’s cold outside but warm in my apartment.
She’s already lost 3 lbs in 6 days. She will leave me a more attractive woman than the one that arrived. Her pose exaggerates her pear-like silhouette. She has a slender back and trim waist but her hips are too wide, her calves chunky. Her basic shape won’t ever change but a combination of weight loss and focused exercises should give her a more athletic, toned lower half.
She wobbles, almost falls.
“Hold that position.” I snap.
Her labia hang down like slices of ripe fruit. A slug of pearly liquid slowly oozes from her gaping hole.
“Mouth open. Tongue out. Go for it.”
Jed’s jaws open wide, his tongue curls upward.
I hope Candace won’t lose any weight from her tits. They are large without being oversized. They hang high on her chest without any droop yet. Her nipples remain sticking out. It’s evident that she’s still turned on. By her own humiliation, and probably by Jed’s too.
Slowly, gravity elongates the slug. It dangles like a tampon string. His tongue snakes out and licks at it, his cheeks scrunching in a silent grimace. He has tasted saliva-sweetened snowballs, but this is his first 100% proof cream pie.
“No hands.” I warn Candace, as she struggles again not to fall, strain evident in her face and legs.
She looks at me. Eyes ahead, concentrating. My cum is semitransparent, runny like egg white, not as yolk-thick as it used to be when I was younger. Heck, three, four orgasms a day is hard work !
It is important I made her cum. She told me that she rarely climaxes from fucking. Jed normally used his fingers on her, before or after he’d cum himself. But now she’s cum with me, on my cock, first time. It would be nice to think it was my dick, my sexual prowess, but the truth is that Candace would probably have cum with a sexual maggot this morning, so hot was she to trot.
My jizz continues running down her thighs and drools into his mouth. I like watching it, witnessing this symbolic moment. Jed is face up on the floor, legs towards me, his steel tube limply resting to one side like a little kid’s. I don’t feel arrogant towards him. That bullshit is just for cuckold stories. You actually feel grateful to a guy, not superior. This is just a game.
A wonderful, sexual game.
“Okay, you can sit on his face now.” I instruct her. “Mash down on it.”
She arches her eyebrows to their fullest extent and her lips curl.
I watch Jed’s face disappear under the soaking triangle of her thighs.
“No hands. Put them behind your head.”
She frowns in frustration, lifts her arms, laces her fingers behind her neck. She strains to support herself, her calves and thighs tensed, and plonks her sodden weight with an audible squelch onto Jed’s nose.
“Get your tongue in there.”
She adjusts her feet and knees, tilting her hips back, and I can see his glistening chin, his Adam’s apple working. The bathroom stinks of sex now. Sex and menthol. Stripes of watery winter sunlight filter in through the shutters.
There is silence. Just breathing and the occasional muffled slurp.
“Would you like to cum again ?”
She forces her nut-flecked eyes open. Uses her laced fingers to guide her head, nodding it at me. Her libido is like a seed. It just needs plenty of watering to burst into flower.
I smile magnanimously.
“Okay. You can put your arms down now. Ride him.”
She stretches her hands out behind her. Her knees open wider and her heels
rise off the floor. She has to keep her body upright to press her cunt against his protruding tongue. I watch her peer down between her thighs.
I suddenly get this strange feeling that I’m intruding on a private moment. It is a reaction I will feel increasingly often in the coming months. That I’m actually a voyeur on a young couple discovering themselves. A tiny part of me resents it.
Hey, after all, I’m the Master, the Alpha Male, the King Dick, the Extra Leg without which the stool falls over. The Iron Fist inside a Velvet Glove.
And yet, for the most part, I am secretly pleased. After this is over, I want only good things for these two. They need to go back to their lives and use this as either a launch pad or a memory bank. Whichever. It’s up to them. But I want Candace and Jed to stay happily together. I’m invested in them now.
This time her climax is more controlled, almost sheepish. As much relief as release. She blushes scarlet when I wink indulgently at her.
Everything is going according to plan.
END OF PART ONE
velvetfeedback@googlemail.com
|
|
|