BDSM/Fetish "Toolbox" Scenarios

[arielsgoddess]

I tried starting an Erotic Scenarios Toolbox Challenge under the Author's Challenges board, but couldn't get enough people active to make it interesting. So this isn't a vanity thread, lol, just something we can all identify with: the wanderings and yearnings of a mind, when left to play by itself .

Anybody that wants to post here, welcome. The only requirement to the "Toolbox" part is that it has to be BDSM themed in some way (aka atleast involving bondage/ropes, fetish, etc) . And anyone that wants to throw-down some good writing or ideas as a challenge to others to run as a back-and-forth or series for the rest of us to respond to, even better. I am always looking for new ideas and challenges, PM me if you're too shy to post, and I will PM you back if I write something in response to it.

I call these 'scenarios' rather than stories because they are all step-in characters and situations, without background, names or plot other than the build-up of the event itself.

One last thing, if anyone wants to come play on the more vanilla board, let me know, I am always game http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=682588

 

[arielsgoddess]

Storming

I am feeling lagged from the long trip to rendezvous with you. You are late, problems with a car being a sore subject between us, as it is not the lack of convenience I mind as the absence of sanity on your part. What I would ordinarily love about a walk, especially with you, is being ruined by your persistent foulness. Not surprisingly, we begin to quarrel about anything and everything. It is one of those times when if it were not so rare for us to see each other in person, we wouldn’t be walking together at all. The miles I have travelled for that ‘privilege’ begin grating on me the opposite way, however. That I have no clue as to the geography of where we are is no hindrance to my increasing drive to suddenly take off on my own, in a random direction. A trickle of that knowledge penetrates the shield of your mood, and you are shocked and concerned that I would be so heedless when angry. Wisely, you begin to steer me away from the city and towards the nearest fringe of park. This lulls me only slightly. I countersteer us to the farthest edge of cleared land, and step into the twigged moss path of the forest beyond. Naturally felled limbs and entire grayed trees slice and stack themselves randomly across the path. I have to let go of your hand to begin forcing my way through brush, in the direction that I know the woods must open up again, as I feel the coming wind stream more forcefully through these branches. Not happy with my surfacing wild side, you complain along behind me that every stick pokes you and every surface rejects your footing. In spite of you, and perhaps increasing partly to spite you, I crash forward more swiftly. Confident that I am heading away from civilization, I finally crush the last brambles beneath my boots and emerge in front of a lone poplar tree. It has a girth wide enough that you and I could just reach our fingertips to each other if we tried, and the tough, smooth skin over pithy flesh that feels reptilian from the cold winds whipping around it. We are on the crest of a steep rise not too far above some river or tributary, the tree like some lookout on the ridge, the forest forty feet away on three sides, the stony edge fifteen feet away on the other. As you lean against the tree, thin enough to be sheltered from the battering-ram air, I wander away from you towards the river/. There is a mother of a sudden storm coming. Here, in the warm humidity of a summer’s day, the cold sheer off the water was striking the first blows, roiling the storm clouds trapped above us. In moments, we would be at the heart of the fight.

I slide my heavy backpack off my shoulders and toss it towards the tree, rushing to embrace the violence as it crashes into the ridge. My toes skitter onto the scallop of rocks on the very edge, arms flung out and head tossed backward, my coat, skirt and hair catching the wind more fully. My eyes are closed and lips parted, somewhere between exhiliration and ecstacy, unable to breathe, blink or think because the force against me is so great. You, however, are horrified, tearing me away from where I am invisibly hanging, ‘over a freaking cliff’, you yell into my ear, and drag me stumblingly back to the tree, just as the lightning hits the river. Pointing spasmodically and spitting like a cat, you rage at me that I could have been hit! And then fallen! Not that I hear any of it, as the instantaneous thunder shatters both our eardrums. This amuses me perversely to no end, and I pull a Cheshire for a cat of my own, grinning at you until our hearing returns.

‘All my life, lightning always strikes right next to me, but never hits me’, I inform you. Incredulously, you sputter again only wordlessly, wondering if it is you I was trying to get popped like a piece of corn. I read your mind easily, and my laughter is echoed by the beginning of the rain. Drops spatter with increasing rhythm as the winds have retired. I roll my head against the treetrunk to turn towards you, and look deeply into your eyes, still smiling my wild smile. ‘I have always loved the color of your eyes because they are the same color as the Stormbringers’, I say, pointing up at the clouds. You realize that the giant above us is the same churning, dark, slate-blue, but begrudge saying so to me. While I am want to turn this dark mood of ours into one of darker pleasure, you are bent towards the darkness of destruction. Unhappily, I give up on you and resentfully we both hunker against the roots of the tree while we watch and wait the storm’s passing. Even the lightning holds no beauty for you this afternoon, and I know you are going to whine about getting wet even before the dense canopy of the generous branches above us begin to leak. As you open your mouth, I hastily whisk my long coat off and offer it to you for a tarp. That gets the expected East Coast litany of why you aren’t going to do that, followed by your stony silence. I cover the backpack, instead, and you crab at me for doing so. With a haughty stare, I tell you that I brought several things with me that would have cheered you up, but I’m not going to show them to you since you’re in such a wasteful mood. You withdraw into your miserable grumbling, and I lean out from under the tree to watch the weather until I am soaked.

At some point, the wind races up again and the sun inexplicably breaks completely through. Now it is hot! And significantly more humid than before. Especially here on the ridge. Such rapid changes make me woozy, and the heat forces my retreat. I flop against the tree, and that is the last thing I remember.

When I open my eyes, I see tree trunk and branches, I know I am in a weird position and I can’t move, and I think ‘This is what I get for falling asleep ahead of him and snoring!’. But when I call out into the quiet that you should have woke me up instead of using me as bait for the bear my snoring was likely to summon, it seems that you are not there. That is when my drowsiness pops like a bubble, and I scrutinize my situation more fully. I am lying with my head propped up on your rolled-up coat, my coat spread beneath me, more or less on my back. I say that because my legs do not fully rest on the ground. They are trussed up at both the thigh and calf, almost in a sling, off one of the branches somewhere above me. My hands are tied separately in a faux noose around the treetrunk, just above my head, so that I can wrap my hands around the bundle of rope, but neither tighten nor loosen it, nor work my way upward. My blouse is completely unbuttoned, splayed against my sides, but my damp bra is still on. From the elevated legs, my skirt is angled so that my panties are exposed to the tingling breeze. All of my clothes feel kind of wet still, so I could not have been asleep for long. Obviously you did this, with the hank of macramé rope I had brought with me for you, in my backpack. But where the hell were you?

As I tested your handiwork and began searching for any of the carefully cleared away natural tools I could have MacGuvered with, I hear your cadent steps on the path. You do, indeed, look smug. Gloating in the sunshine, in fact. ‘Have any interesting dreams?’, you ask me coyly. Huffily, I answer you that I thought I was until I opened my eyes and saw you. Then I knew it was a nightmare. ‘Oh, really?’, you ask me, nonplussed, as I notice the knife in your hand too late to stop from mouthing off to you before you flick the blade open. Before I can do more than gasp, you have carefully pointed the tip into my bindings. I had not noticed that my legs were actually bound separately from each other, in two slings, which anchored each at thigh and calf. The two legs were held together by only a small loop of string tying the two ropes together at each point. Snap, snap. ‘So now my legs aren’t tied together? What’s the big deal….’ I began to macho-ly rant in order to cover my wounded pride, but the wickedness of your sudden smile interrupted me, as you reached down, yanking my scanty panties up to my thighs. Then the knife spun showily in your fingers, cutting another little invisible string, where the two slings met several inches above my knees, appearing to becoming one rope. It was then that my eyes were able to see in the flashing sunlight that it was not just one branch that they were suspended from, and I screamed as you stabbed the knife into a perfect 90 degree chop from your shoulder, cutting the lee line that had been hidden from me by my trussed thighs. The two springy branches shot apart, flashing my legs likewise, so that my panties ripped off and flew into the distance.

Now my ass was suspended off the ground, and my lower back was lifted 45 degrees into the air. This knocked my long skirt backward, covering my chest. That would not do for you, as we both knew. My wide-splayed legs and airborne altar of sex was not enough for you, you had to have the tits as well. Leaning down ever so slowly, you bite the inside of my right thigh, as your left hand reaches to bunch up the skirt at the base of my ribs. I struggle futilely and try to mock you, but you pull a whittled green stick out of your back pocket and push it like a bit into my teeth. I arch one angry eyebrow at you as you chuckle deeply, and then bend over me, your zipper scratching my taut labia as you do so. With both hands you fold the knife back up and then dig both of my breasts out and over the top of the bra, where they jiggle haphazardly as I shift around. You step back to admire your handiwork for a moment.

There is a light, cool breeze now, making me shiver and quiver, literally from toes to head. Fascinated, you step closer again, watching the goosebumps spreading all over my naked flesh in the open air. You are standing between my legs with your biceps equal to my ankles, not yet touching me. From this vantage point, you can see straight into me like a pornographic kaleidoscope in the bright sunlight, and directly beyond that, the delightfully bobbing nipples. As my flesh becomes more painfully stippled, you reach your calloused fingertips out and scrape them featherlightly in a line down the goosebumps on my outer leg. As I hiss through the stick and roll my eyes, you think devilishly about what the flesh on my inner thigh would do now. Grinning, you turn back and rummage in the backpack. Popping the cap off a bottle of strawberry hotoil, you hold the rim against my inner knee, and start the tiniest trickle running downward. I shiver violently to that side, trying to say something at you around the bit. Excruciatingly slow, you make two or three trails from each of my knees to my lips. I am trembling, wondering what surprise you have next, and fearfully forgetting what else I might have stashed in the backpack. One at a time, you slowly and roughly lick the tracks from my thighs, hearing me moan as you go down and warm me, hiss as you move away and the cold air hits it again. But in the meantime, the sun continues to bore inside of me intimately, which you know is hot without touching it. Actually you would touch it, but you realize you have kept me so splayed that I am drying out and you don’t want to hurt me. You have the strawberry fluid to replenish me with, but that would be the precursor to wetting me with your tongue, which is what you would want, but suddenly you think that I look like I want it, too. Therefore, you reject the idea, much to the anguish of my dilating eyes. What would the fun of warming be to something that is already hot, anyway? Then the side of you mouth slides into an alarming snide, and you hurry out of view.

You return, scrambling up over the edge of the turf, barely where I can watch your approach. My utility bottle is in your hand, and at first, I pissily squeal, thinking that you are about to squirt me. But no, you creep towards me, looking more evil than ever, as you unscrew the lid. The wind is really whipping into the river, although it is only breeze up here, and you found a shady little pool where the water was actually cold. As you unscrew the wide-mouth lid of the container, I seee that it is full of dark shapes. For one horrifyingly insane minute, I fear that you are about to stuff some sort of catfish or other squirming creature inside of me. But once again, I cannot guess your idea, and instead I am surprised as a smooth, icy pebble tumbles inside my scorched flesh. So I am now the squirming creature, writhing as you drop these marbles of torture inside me, one by one, until I am completely full and heavy with them. In between each marble, you lick and bite my inner thighs, and rub oily fingers over me, making the stones grind just slightly with every convulsion you cause me. Fire and Ice and so much more. When you begin to make me shake enough to push out a pebble, you stop, and walk around my suspended limb. Kneeling down, first you lick my lips all around the stick, and then squeeze your tongue inside. Unable to swallow our saliva, it drools down chin onto my throat, as you knot your fingers into my mossy hair. As you pull back finally, my hair clings where it all has mingled with the sweat on my throat, so that I also feel collared as well. Then you move so that you are straddling my head between your kneecaps, and carefully take the stick out of my mouth so that I can breathe through this next part, lest I choke to death on my own spit. Already I am having trouble breathing, anyway, as I pant rapidly in anticipation. Then you rub burning oil into my painfully hard nipples, rolling and pinching my areolas in your slicked-sandpaper calloused fingers. As you rise a little to grab the bottle of oil again, I grip your zipper suddenly in my teeth, and begin to wrok it down despite your straining erection’s resistance. Your hands wrap around the backs of my thighs for support for a minute, just enough angle for me to get my tongue inside your zipper, where I tease the side of your shaft hungrily. You moan and balance dangerously by your fingers on my thigh rope, as your other hand hastily frees your cock from its tent. I begin licking the line from the head to the base, as you try to refocus on what you were doing, bracing your palmson the wide Y of my thighs. With the strawberry bottle in one hand, you drizzle the oil all over my mound and opening, watching with glee as the liquid slips around the stones and my moans are renewed without you further touching me. But touch me you will, as you curl your forearms around my outer thighs, hands wrapping the backs, fingers clamping into the softness of my inner thighs. To my utter surprise, you pull my thighs abruptly towards your shoulders, straining the ropes and my limbs. Bending them just enough that, incredibly, I am stretched open even tighter. The bottle is now in your mouth, as you splash some oil all over your hands, and it runs down my inverted body. Your hands slide down, iron strong, digging into my ass and pulling my cheeks apart, so that I feel the oil burning into there, as well. Roughly you begin sucking at the exposed patches of my thighs, just outside my labia. Bestowing hickies and many deep licks in each, you drive me crazy. I am unable to concentrate on doing the same to you, as I have been teasing your shaft and nipping at your head all this time, as soon as your lips kiss my mound. Your tongue spreads over me, and I lose all freewill. As your fingers move down and in, your tongue begins to trace my edges, and the oil-covered pebbles shining like pomegranate seeds that you planted inside of me begin to grind almost musically. Suctioning your tongue intermittently against my clit, you begin to carve your tongue just inside my lips, slipping the intimate little spheres out, one by one. Each one you then roll down my flesh, to pile in my skirt and patter across the ground. I am quivering and whimpering to everything you do.

You have picked out enough of them that it is now hard to get to the rest, as you tongue cannot wrestle them before my convulsions them away from you. As you unwrap your arms, you dip two fingers inside me like tongs as your mouth continues to lick and suck at me, and you can feel even my hands shaking against you thighs, as you squat there. With the other hand you alternate between helping the first to squeeze my ass cheeks and to tether and pull my nipples in your fingers. Your cock is digging into my middle, unsatisfactory for both of us and as my head begins to toss from side to side, I bite at the fabric of your pants. Most of the stones are out now, and you are worried that I am straining hard enough that I will be injured by the ropes. So you clumsily tumble around to the other side of me, as I am nearly begging for the orgasm that I now need from you. Securely between the tops of my thighs now, you stroke your fingers in hard, flinging the last of the stones out. Licking hard on my clit which now slants away from you, and biting gently on my labia, you thrust your fingers in hard and fast, bringing me pleading and crashing me into the first hard orgasm. Then you run your tongue inside and out, milking it down until it begins to reverb, and then plunging both tongue and fingers, you bring me again, and then ride it in hard to prolong it, so that I am sobbing for you to please push inside me now. With a little maneuvering, you calculate the best way to thrust down into my slanted sheath, and as you gush wetly in, you feel a strange resistance. But then I am crying and trying to move against you, and intending to out me out of my suffering, you slam hard inside me all the way. Only then you discover that you had not removed all the stones afterall, and we are both bruised and shocked by this. It doesn’t make a difference now, though, as my guttural screams and convulsions around your penis still induce your hard, fast thrusts that send us abruptly into an overwhelming orgasm. You are barely able to cut the ropes to free me before your arms turn to rubber and collapse with us. Still inside of me, you are throbbing, and it brings us both seizing through another tide of orgasm, and then you move out of me, slippery and painfully. Curling tightly against you, I sob into your neck as you wrap my coat over us. And this time, you fall asleep first.

 

[arielsgoddess]

Bringing A Cock To A Catfight

You are waking up, in my room, to the sound of water running. Groggily you are recalling last night, with a few details remaining hazy. The last thing you remember is stumbling out of the bathroom to fall back asleep with your arms wrapped around me. Vaguely you were almost awoken by me moving you around a little earlier, but you assumed I was just untangling from your arms so that I could get up. Suddenly you snap completely awake as you realize you're tied to the bed by all fours, spread-eagle in the middle, with only a sheet swaddled lightly across your groin. Obsessively you tug at your restraints, wanting desperately to make it to that shower. Every limb has been lashed too securely, just short of painful as you strain against them. Feminine humming from the bathroom can be heard warbling through the spray. You chuckle darkly, saying that I have thought of the perfect torture for a man with your fetish. The moments of your suffering continue, seeming agonizingly long.

Finally, the bathroom door is creaking open, and the comforter from the bed can be seen emerging through the steam as a makeshift toga. A towel is being shaken where the head should be, and as it fluffs off to the side, you see jette black, swirling waves. Startled, you stare at the gypsy-like appearance of the woman coming toward you, elf-faced, younger, with slender toast-colored limbs. She moves towards the far side of the bed, smiles at you beguilingly, and you stammer, trying to formulate the obvious but incoherent questions in your brain. Just as she leans towards you, the outside door bangs open, and I hustle in carrying breakfast. Roughly I slam down the food onto a round table, kicking the door shut and throwing my coat off in one motion, approaching the bed wild-eyed. You are caught in a moment of horror, wanting to say something to clear yourself of the apparent, but frantically unable to come up with any words. I lunge across you, tackling the woman with a snarl, as she gives a girly squeal of terror. Her hips slam onto your abdomen, as I grab her by the back of the hair, your face unable to keep from straining inches from ours. Sputtering like Sylvester, you anxiously try to distract my ferocity from this woman, simultaneously fearing the physical battle about to take place on the field of your body. A helpless squeak of dismay escapes your lips as my other hand roughly yanks her by the front of her toga, pulling her tightly against me--and kiss. French. Her long, thin tongue snaking out of her mouth as I pull away, turning to your face with an evil gleam in my eyes, I continue to hold the back of her hair, arching her long neck backward as I pull her higher up, so that her breasts hover about 6 inches above the base of your ribcage. Reaching over you, I rip the comforter halfway down her back, so that her still-dripping hair continues to rain droplets onto her shoulders and breasts. Her nipples look like the dark, lake cherries that I have often talked about. My tongue juts forward, pinning one juicy nipple to the top of my teeth, as I roll it towards you just perceptibly. Soft growls come from your throat, as my breasts brush back and forth on the hollow of your stretched abdomen and groin, the signature black lace of my top scraping goosebumps to full attention on your flesh. My own hair is still slightly damp but soft, falling across your nipple on my side, as her hand brushes absently across your ribcage and other nipple. As I suck back off her nipples as if they were real cherries on a tree, you groan at the painfully fast erection that is forming. You can smell my perfume and shampoo, but also the florals on her skin, mingling with your own musk. The sounds of me sucking her flesh and her gasping and hissing through her teeth, a language not quite recognizable, you are going wild. The brunette struggles out of my hairhold, her black eyes glittering with lust at mine. Spiderlike fingers tearing my breasts free, thudding over the lace onto your flesh, as her nails rake my nipples as hard as they will go, and she begins to lightly dig her knuckles into your abdomen, just so she can twist and pull on me. You know how wet I am by how I am closing my eyes, and the way we are now grappling each other, pinning you in the summit between us like, unable to breathe. Already you were dizzy, despite lying down, by the dramatic events on an empty stomach (literally), and the violent tide of blood to your penis. Now you nearly black-out with the sight of us making-out like cats fighting.

Panting sharply we pull apart, casting our looks completely on you. Concerned in mine, and pityingly in hers, we both lean towards your face tenderly, and you manage a lopsided smile. At that, I grin at you, and kiss you slow and long, before turning to her to do the same. As we each run a hand down your arm on our sides, we find that your limbs have gone cold from the lack of circulation. Shushing over you, she looks at me with mock worry, shaking her curls gently from side to side. "Should we untie him?", she asks me, heavily accented and tsk-tsking in her voice. With an exaggerated sigh that makes me breasts swell against your side, I agree. She skates her spidery fingernails up your forearm, and begins tugging away at the knots on your wrist, as her surreal nipples are bouncing on your chest and bicep. There is spice in her floral perfume that you inhale deeply. Meanwhile, I have moved to the foot of the bed and as my strong hands grip your ankle, and begin to unbind it, I lean forward, my breasts stroking your shins, and lock my mouth onto your inner left thigh, giving you a lovebite worthy of me. Then she leans across to your other wrist, her bare hip bumping lengthwise against yours, and her right breast dangling millimeters over your face. Still clueless about the rules of the game, your curiosity overrides your anxiety and you bite into her nipple and suck it, just to see if it really does taste like a cherry. Even though it is from her shower gel, you realize with pleasure that it does, as she gazes down on you with one eyebrow arched over her dark eyes. You smile sheepishly, just as I suck one of your balls into my mouth, whiting-out the world for a few blinding moments, until I withdraw, my nails slipping down your leg, as I finish the last binding, and lick down the inside to your ankle, giving you a brief suck and lick in the hollow right there. As you curl onto my side of the bed (to be safe) to get your veins flowing again, I move onto the other side of the bed, as she backs off it. Side by side with you, as you turn towards me, I kiss you, and your hand wraps to the side of my face. My fingernails scroll around into your shoulder, until she pulls my arm from around you, already tying my wrists down to take the place of yours. My eyes hold your attention, though, and you return to kissing me, and slide your thigh over mine, pressing your cock into my hip, making me moan.

The brunette has moved farther away from the bed to grab cherry scented oil, as she pulls my skirt off of me, and you feel the now-familiar texture of my garters and thigh against yours. So intense has been our kissing, that you have not stopped it while watching her movements. She pours an ample amount across my groin, where it begins running like strudel on a Danish, covering mounds and falling into crevasses. I shiver, and you feel her hands trailing wetly and massaging up your lower back to your shoulders, where she is then pulling you back from me. I look at you almost pleadingly, and you are a little conflicted, as she pushes you back onto your haunches, and climbs nakedly onto the head of the bed. Your own sheet has fallen away, and I am the only one wearing anything, which is the middle covered by my lace top, but breasts swelling and jiggling with the movements of you two, nipples taut, and the garters stretching next to my bare, and now glistening, groin and genitals. Your knee pushes mine apart as you slowly move up the bed, the brunette staring silently over my head at you, on all fours, like a protective but inviting cat. Your hand moves up the silk of my outer thigh, your thumb swiveling over the top as it rides higher, fingers sliding over the patch of so-soft bare thigh above the lace constriction, and you watch my face as your fingers push deeper between my thighs. Your barest touch of fingertips to my lips makes me shudder hard, and you know how tight I am inside before you will get there. She is smiling down at me, pleased at my reaction, and leans towards you, so that you can smell her violet-scented hair, as you watch her nipples brush my lips, and she sucks sudden and hard on my nipple herself. I cry out and buck my hips towards your face, the smell of hot cherries grabbing away your attention.

Your other knee slides quickly up inside mine, forcing my hips wider open. You can see my entrance now, pulsing for your touch, nearly painful to me for your withholding. You are paid back equally by the painful tightness of your cock, stabbing thickly into your stomach as you lean it down towards me, knowing you would surely tear me if you entered now. The brunette checks her eyes to yours, probably thinking the same thing, and backs up to where she is haunched with her knees between my wrists. Mischievously she shows you that she was leaning on the bindings, to keep them tighter without me knowing this, but you understand from her gestures that she tied them with alot of slack this time, so that you can now scoot me towards the bottom of the bed. She has judged the length expertly, my hips resting just at the edge. I am string at you trustingly but nervous, my face flushed with need. You lean fully forward to kiss me deep but quickly, and then pull back with a nod at the brunette. She locks her hands firmly over my upstretched elbows, lining her inner forearms on top of mine, and then leans down, to begin kissing me slow and deep. My legs curl trustingly--but also seeking--to the sides of your ribcage, as you now kneel on the pillows piled on the floor. You kiss my stomach softly, repeatedly, as one hand runs up to my breasts, needing and massaging my nipples. This makes me whimper, and squeeze you with my thighs, as your other hand slips through the warm oil and soft whisper of fur on y mound, and then your knuckles brace the most intimate point of my thighs, for the probe of your middle finger. I am hot and cool at the same time, and already convulsing around your finger. It takes firm but gentle work to get a second one inside, as you’re pulling on my nipples and her tongue-kissing and raking nails gently down my forearms, gush slickness into your hand. Barely able to get a third fingertip into the entrance, you work me harder, nipping at my soft abdomen, pulling hard enough on my nipples that I cry out, and she quickly covers your fingertips and my nipple into her sucking mouth, massaging the pain away with her tongue, so that you are not interrupted, and I pull tight around your fingers and hold you. Now you know that I am ready, and pull your fingers out to slick your head with me instead, and guide its ridge past mine, pushing my walls apart to the tight upper corridor inside. You lean down and give me a hickey on the edge of my ribcage, as you curl both hands under my generous hips, digging your played fingers into softness pillowed over wide bone. Fully wrapped around me, my legs curled around your sides, you thrust hard, pulling me against you. I am almost crying, needing you so badly, as you begin to pump and slam faster into me. She keeps trying to restrain my mouth with hers, but finally, she just holds my forearms, and at last my hands, as I am straining to move against you even more, babbling your name and begging. Your eyes cannot stay open, as you are nearing your explosion, and the only flash you see is an image of the brunette's face in triumph, as you and I scream each other's names. A few more echoes of that physically and verbally later, you shakily start to climb onto the bed, as she pulls me back up and moves away, for you to more or less lay on top of me, your thigh becoming slick in the puddle forming between mine. Barely able to breathe, either of us, we kiss pantingly, as she covers us with the comforter, and I curl my face into your neck, under the side of yours, whispering into your ear, “Happy Anniversary, Babe”

 

[arielsgoddess]

Garden Party

I was out back hanging up laundry on a line I had strung up. It was such a hot summer day that to run the dryer would have generated an unspeakable humidity in the house, so it made more sense to hang it in the clear air outside. I am so busy in my automated task that I do not notice you. In front of me I have set a giant laundry basket, overflowing with wet clothes, on one of the iron-back garden benches I have in the back yard. With absolute stealth, you sneak up behind me and grab my shoulders, pushing forward to bend me over, perfectly cushioned by the laundry with my ass in the air. Without hesitation, you push-up the back of my cotton skirt, as I am gasping, bare-legged and bare-footed. Swiftly you slide down my panties, which tumble under the bench. With one hand tangling in my hair and massaging the back of my neck, the other gropes my ass, digging fingers into my flesh as you scoop your trouser-rough hardon underneath my rear curves, nearly touching my nether lips. With one foot you gently but firmly spread my legs farther apart. Almost pinching my neck in your grip with the one hand now, with the other you brush your fingertips lightly up and down my slit, from one end to the other. I moan and push back into you, grinding slightly and opening myself up to you. You keep your grip on my neck, but flip your hard cock out of your pants with the other hand, using your thumb and fingertip to spread my labia while you cradle the tip of your cock, pushing to slide it back and forth, just inside my lips and barely inside my entrance, several times. I am getting wet now, making the trip slicker each time. You let go of my neck and lean over me, your cockhead sliding squishily into the soft nest of the top of my thighs, as your tongue and teeth work the sides and back of my neck. Now I am really spreading for you, arms latching harder over the benchtop, going onto to tip-toe to encourage you to penetrate me deeper..... But instead your fingertips are skating around the soft flesh of my sides, exploring through the crush of damp clothing to find my breasts. Being that it is laundry day, you already know that I am not wearing a bra. Cupping and delving fingertips into my flesh, you stroke-out my nipples and push your cock laterally, all the way under my clit. You pull my body up, so that your chest is against my back as you pull my shirt up, scouring your hands all over the front of me. You bite and suck at my neck from behind so good that I am helping you to pinch and roll my nipples to keep them hard, in your sights, as you slip your hand into the front of my skirt now. Your beard’s week-old bristles carve into the hollow of my jaw, and I am getting too tight to bear, and squeeze your hand to let you know it. You continue to try to rub the pad of clitoral flesh from the front, and I become so frustrated that I grab at the clothesline, which snaps. You know my pissed growl when you hear it, and almost abandon your plans for a minute. But when you see me reaching up to retie the line at the top of the fence, you rush over and take the rope from my hands. Kissing me in the way you know will melt my anger into passion, you begin to thread the rope around my wrists carefully. Then, you gently turn me around again, pulling my shirt up to my wrists, and tying the rope back up on the linehook, but with me on it. You know I love to feel your chest against my back, your strong arms around my nakedness. You pull off your shirt, and wrap around me, and I sound my pleasure, relaxing into you. Lavishing my nipples with attention, you kiss me from behind and play your tongue all over my neck and throat, warming me back up again. As your fingers begin to reach up under my skirt again, and scratch gently up and down my outer thighs, I step up onto some large, flat stones in the garden, putting us back at the perfect height for you to take me fully this way. Straining deliciously against the wrist-ropes, I hang my ass back towards you, and again you bare me under my skirt. This time you use both hands to spread my lips and stretch me, tracing and rubbing every tiny bit of me. But my nipples are also lonely, and as you watch me sway in my unusual waterskiing position, you notice the various clothespins still attached to the rest of the laundry line. Grabbing two of them, you use them as makeshift nipple clamps, excited by how the gumdrops manage to poke out the other side of the thick wooden clothespins. They bob absurdly on the front of me, but do the trick, as I eagerly grind on your undistracted hands, climaxing back-to-back and gushing over your fingers, demanding that you fuck me fucking hard with that massive iron cock of yours. As you grab my hips and slam into me, I moan so loudly that atleast one of the neighbors will be trying to see what is going on inside of the high fence before too long. So you speed it up, and I am flowing so wetly over you that it is no trouble for you to pound me harder and faster, even thought the boards are trying to rip loose from where you have me tied to the fence. I am burning up and can’t get enough of you, and beginning to shriek. That is when you pull some superhuman move that blurs s us both into a screaming orgasm, as you lock on, clinging to my hips as your seed continues to pulse into me, and I convulse around your throbbing cock. My legs are shaky as you move quickly to untie me, so that we can get out of sight, but as you take the clamps off my swollen nipples, and then reach up to untie the rope, your nipples brush mine. They are oversensitized enough to be sore, but the contact still recharges my horniness. Instead of running inside, I tackle you down into the flowerbed, climbing on top of you and riding, with my nipples being well sucked in your mouth, and my back arched. As I crush countless flowers beneath you and my sliding, pumping knees, I am building into an orgasm that has me tearing clumps out of earth by your head, and scratching wet fingernails down your chest. I grind deeply one last time, and then explode all over you again. This time I am rocking with you inside of me for several minutes, before slowly lowering my chest to yours. Then you are reeling and lovedrunk, as you stagger into the house with me. As I pull my shirt down and you pull your pants up, you wave politely to the neighbor trying to shut-up his barking dogs. You remind yourself to grab some extra flowers for his wife when you go to the nursery to replace mine. The laundry we will have to negotiate over, but you would be willing to pick it all up out of the yard for a reconciliation, something like those fun spincycles during the rewashing…..

 

[arielsgoddess]

The Apartment, Pt 1

I call you and ask you to pick me up after you get off work. All you knew I was going to go see some people and do a little looking around the city, but you didn’t know exactly what I was up to. Anyway, you agree to come get me, and I give you an address in a part of town that you’re not familiar with. Then some things happen, and you are late getting out. When you go out to the parking lot, the first odd thing that happens is that there is a set of keys sitting on the driver’s seat of your car. That’s odd for two reasons: one, you thought you locked the car up, and two, you have never seen these keys before. There are several on the plain keyring, one which is an old brass key, one freshly made brass key, a shiny steel one, and several which are smaller. You look around, to see if anyone is about, but there is no one. Although you have never seen them before, and wonder if someone found them in the lot and thought they were yours by mistake, you decide to slip them in your pocket for now.

Straining to see the numbers on the buildings on the street I have named, you almost pass the one I gave you. Parking across the street, you do not see me, so run across the street to find me. Since you are late, and I don't know my way around yet, you hope I'm not andering the neighborhood. The address is a brownstone fourplex, with two doors at the top of the front steps, and two apartments on the ground floor, two above. As you approach, there is a couple leaning on the opposite handrails from each other, talking, while the man smokes a cigarette. You ask them if they know where I am. The man looks at you a bit mysteriously, and says that I am not over there, and the woman eyeing you strangely says she lives in the apartment above him, and they not know who I am. They are sorry, but they cannot help you. So you go to the door on the right, which you can see leads to a dim little foyer, with two doors, one directly in front of that, one on the right wall. As you enter the foyer, you see a pile of old newspapers in front of the groundfloor apartment’s door. But there is a “Room for Rent” sign on the other door, so you choose the first one. You knock repeatedly and there is no answer. Just as you are about to leave, you notice a black scarf tied around the handle of the other door, and it looks to you like one of mine.

Curious, you test the handle, and it is unlocked, leading immediately to a steep and even dimmer stairwell. You are about to close the door and go back outside, when you think that you smell traces of my perfume in the air. Hesitantly, you call my name, and there is nothing but dust and silence. You can’t see what is at the top, because the space is only lit by a small, interior window between the foyer and inside. With trepidation you start up the steps, thinking that this is foolish. But now you are sure that it is my perfume you smell, and it gets stronger as you stealth up the wooden stairs. There is no sound except for the creaking of the stairs as you climb. At the top is a tiny landing, occupied only by a door in the right wall. The door is scarred but shows no proof of being recently used. You are tingling all over, straining to hear any sound as you knock and call my name. Nothing. Again, you try the handle, but the knob is not turning on this door. Suddenly, you remember the keys in your pocket. The new brass key does not open it, but the old one clicks into place, unlocking it. Slowly you go to open the door, but it abruptly catches, and snaps back. There is a dogchain barring the door, only letting the door give about eight inches. The vacant apartment beyond seems at first completely empty, no furnishings at all. But then your eyes adjust to the lighting, which you realize is flickering, and to your horror, you see what appears to be me curled in the middle of the floor beyond, unmoving. You begin to yell, panicking as to why I am not responding, and what is going on.

Frantically, you try to shoulder the heavy door open, but you realize the dogchain is doubled over the doorway and anchored on both sides around something. This reinforces the door to where you cannot force it. Feverishly you pull now at the chain, grinding it clockwise just slightly, and finding that it’s two ends are held together by a padlock. Roughly you pull the keyring out of the door again, wondering if some crazed stalker has done this to me, as the shiny brass key slides home in the padlock. Your hands cannot untangle the chain fast enough for you to kick the door wide open, as you burst inside….

 

[arielsgoddess]

Part 2: The Livingroom

Racing inside, you stumble across the room, to where I am crumpled in the middle of the floor. Loosely covered with my own coat, only the back of my head and hair is visible. There is a haphazard assortment of candles on a low wall dividing the kitchen from the main room, and random groupings around the edges of the room’s floor. This reinforces your fears that I have been the victim of some sicko’s plot. Whispering my name hoarsely, you pull on my shoulder, to try to turn me towards you. To your dismay, my shoulder does not move easily, but the coat whisks off me, into your hand. Kneeling down on the carpet at my back, you stare dumbfounded at what you see. With a second grab, you roll me onto my back.

I am fully alert and stare into your eyes silently. A small, silver chain crosses my face, passing between my lips. My shoulders are bare except for the black straps of some kind of top. What I am wearing is difficult to ascertain, as my knees are drawn to my chest, and a two-inch wide black strap is wound around me several times. The two ends of this strap are silver rings, which are held together by a small padlock at my side. You unlock this with one of the medium keys from the keyring, which you have to recover from the chain by the door. Carefully you unwind it, so as not to chafe me with the edges. You can see I have been bound tightly for a while now, as you do so. You ask me questions, but I do not answer them, not making any noise at all.

Now you can see that my forearms are crisscrossed with two narrow straps, tapering them together at the wrists. At each wrist is a small silver ring, which you see are doubly held together. First, by a dainty pet leash which is clipped at one end to a wide collar around my throat, then lashed around and thru the wrist rings, and the remaining length drawn down through my thighs, which are bound tightly clasping the chain, trailing at last to the leash handle on the floor. The second thing securing the wrist rings is another small padlock, this one also locked through two rings at the tops of my above-the-knee highheeled black leather boots. There is another strap whose ring is hooked over the spike of one heel, then spiral-wrapping my legs from my ankles to my waist, where the strap is drawn through itself. There is another padlock on that ring at my waist, which links it to a ring of a short strap which threads down and hooks onto the heel of my other boot, keeping my heels close to my ass. But you can’t see the padlock immediately, as it is hidden by my position, and the black lace framing my hips. My legs are trussed so that one thigh overlaps the other, ankles stacked. From what you can see, I am wearing a formidably laced blood-red satin corset dress with black skirt and trim. The lace skirt ends in black garter belts, and lace-topped stockings, just above the rims of the boots.

You hesitate now, pondering whether to undo more of the straps and bindings, and which ones to. I look at you with wide-eyed alarm, my chest puffing and falling with anxiety. It worries me that you seem to deciding whether to leave me this way, in the middle of an empty apartment. Humming out loud, you test the strap hooked from my boot directly to my waist. You decide to unlock it, and slip it off the heel. Pushing my legs up, you are able to stretch them, and I sigh with relief, even though my wrists are still at my knees, and my knees halfway to my chest, limbs bound to each other. Grabbing the leash handle off the floor, you are able to hold my legs suspended upward by pulling on the trapped leash. This gives you a good view of narrow lace panties peeking in the vee over my bottom. Chuckling devilishly, you wetly tear the crotch seam so that I am exposed to you. One hand continuing to pull my legs up, with the other you push one finger inside me, rolling my eyes closed at your touch. I am so tight, and the position makes me even tighter. There is no way you could fit inside me like this, but that doesn’t mean you would waste this opportunity to torture me like this, atleast a little. Cramming tightly, you work your finger in and out, making my slickness build, and I begin pulling against my restraints. With zeal, you wiggle me into a small orgasm, and the wetness dripping down your knuckles, curled between my naked lips and your crotch, makes your cock strain painfully against your pants. As you flip yourself free, my juices slide from your fingers to your shaft, making you hiss through your teeth. When your swollen head instinctively slaps itself on my engorged entrance, I buck my legs towards myself, and almost choke on the chain between my teeth. A loud grunt escapes you, and you realize maddeningly that you will have to partly unbound me further to get inside. You go to reach for the keys, but can’t find them. Desperately you dig around in the fabric of my coat, the lace of my skirt—to no avail! As you let go of the leash to search with both hands, I rock my hips towards you, and your head becomes stuck just inside of me. Unable to separate us, you grunt and whimper spasmodically as you finally find the keys trapped between your own knees, and delicately lever your legs up to get to them. Now the race is on, as you frantically spin through keys and grapple all around to get the remaining locks off of my leg straps. Cursing and sweating, you tear off your shirt as you do so. At the last second, you decide to leave my wrists locked to my knees, tethered a short distance from my throat by the leash. Legs completely unwrapped now; you pull my ankles apart and lean your chest into my knees, my leather-clad shins locking over your ears. Wrapping both of your hands around to the inside of my thighs, you pull the bones apart from each other. I feel like I am about to be ripped in half, but the rings on the tops of my boots hold my knees close together. Now you can push in all the way. Bending me over the top of myself with your upper body, you grip the strap still around my waist, and begin pulling, pounding your pelvis into my ass, as you violently throb, trapped inside me. Feeling like I am going to split from the size of you, I quickly begin spasming in response. It is not long, in the crazy vibrational method you must employ, before I am half screaming, half whimpering, my mouth still clamped tightly over the chain, and you shouting and panting on top of me. Unable to relax in this position as we both shudder with pleasure, you collapse to the side of my legs, flopping onto the carpet facing me. There are tears in my eyes and drool running down my neck, but we curl towards each other, happily exhausted. When your breathing has returned to normal, you unlock the rings at wrists/knees, gently rubbing feeling back into my limbs. Leaving the leash still clipped, you lean over me, elbows on both sides of my head. Carefully you untangle the tiny lock that is lost in my hair, and dipping your tongue into my mouth, you swirl it and pull the chain out, dropping it wetly onto my throat. My voice gravelly from disuse, I huskily whisper, “Which next? The bathroom or bedroom?”