Idyll: A Sex Scene

Despite my warning to stay still she raises her hands and clasps them together over her breasts as if cold. She's not cold. She's instinctively trying to hide from me. But she looks so sweet and vulnerable like that I don't say anything about her disobeying me. She's the slut discovered: the little girl who was caught dressing up in big girls' clothes and who now has to pay, and even her nervousness and uncertainty is delicious. Just looking at her makes me hot, makes me want to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her.

I walk behind her and strip off my sweater. I kick off my shoes and pull my socks off, then drop my pants and skin down my shorts. I make noise as I undress so she knows exactly what I'm doing, because I want her to know that I'm getting naked. I want her to think about being locked in this strange room with a naked wild man who wants her, all of her, just like in her fantasy.

I go up behind her and stand close. Closer. So close that just my hard cock makes contact with the tight skirt covering her ass, so she can feel that big hard spear all swollen for her. I run my fingers like gossamer down the naked smoothness of her back and watch the tide of goose bumps spread over her skin.

"Do you feel how hard I am for you, Ashley?" I ask. "That's what you do to me. You haven't touched me, haven't done a thing to me, and just looking at you and thinking about what I'm going to do has made me that hard."

My fingers go to her shoulders. I slide one bra strap down her arm, then the other. I'm so feverish for her now that even the bits of skin I expose seem terribly erotic to me, and I can't keep from kissing her there, where the straps have been. Her skin is soft and just slightly salty with excitement. She wants to twist away, but I've told her not to move. She looks lovely with her bra straps down: lovely and vulnerable.

My fingers go to the clasp on her bra. I unhook it and feel the garment sag under the weight of her heavy tits. I push her hands down to her sides. A slight touch and the bra slides from her body, falling like a whisper to the floor.

I take her hands now and clip her wrists back together behind her, emphasizing her nakedness. I don't know what excites me so much about tying her arms, the way it makes her seem so vulnerable, so trusting. I know how it is for her: it's hard for her to express herself sexually, and so she relies on me to express it for her, to bring all her hidden desires and shameful secrets out of her. She's so totally feminine, the way she waits to be taken and fucked, made to do the most horrible things. She doesn't show it, but that's what she wants. I know it.

Standing behind her I extend my arms in front of her. I bring my hands in slowly, until her nipples just touch my palms. They're stiff and eager, and tickle the palms of my hands as they rise to press against me with her breathing. Finally my touch is more than she can bear, and she caves her chest, bringing her shoulders up to protect herself.

I go to the dresser lamp and turn the lights off. I leave the bedside lamp on, and throw a red scarf over the shade. It's crude, I know, but it gives the dim light a lurid, red cast, making the room feel even warmer than it is. I come up before her, and I sink to my knees at her feet.

It's like a scene from some pagan religion, where the captor is now the captured. I reach behind her, pressing my cheek to her belly, and I find the zipper on the back of the skirt. I pull it down, and my fingers fumble at the clasp. I unhook it and I tug the tight skirt down over her hips.

She isn't wearing a slip. She's just wearing her stockings and the sapphire blue panties that are like the barest V of fabric over her groin, clinging to her, almost transparent. Above it is the smooth expanse of her belly, dotted with the inviting shadow of her naval. My face is on a level with her crotch, and I look up at her, my prisoner, over the fluid lines of her stomach, the arch of her rib cage, to the projection of her breasts. Her eyes are closed, her nostrils dilated. This is the moment of her triumph and shame, when she's revealed in her naked beauty, when my acceptance or rejection of her hangs in the balance.

The matter's already been decided, and there's no question that she owns my heart and soul at this moment. I push my face into her crotch as if I'm receiving a benediction, my fingers spread wide around the firm globes of her ass, squeezing hard, as if I could squeeze some feminine essence out of her and into my mouth; squeeze the sweetness out of her.

I inhale her, the smell of her perfume and her aroma of arousal. I push her back. She almost stumbles, but still I push her back, crawling after her on my knees, until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back upon it, unable to break her fall because her hands are bound behind her. My face is still in her crotch, and I'm like a demented dog, inhaling her smell, her humidity. I spread her thighs and I lick the crotch band of her panties, the wetness from my tongue meeting her own wetness from the other side, feeling the puffiness of her pussy, engorged with excitement. I try to move the tight crotch piece with my tongue but it's too tight. I'll have to take her panties off.

But that's all right. I need the respite in which to regain control of myself anyhow. I'm letting my excitement run away with me, the excitement of having her like this with me, the way I've always fantasized.

I stand up and go to the dresser where the toys are laid out, and I take the nipple clamps. She watches me nervously, but she doesn't protest as I slip the little rings down the tweezer ends and open the silver clips.

"Sit up," I tell her.

"Rob, wait. Do you have to?"

"Sit up."

She does as I say and I kneel with one leg on the bed. Her hair is piled in back of her head and held with pins but I can still grab enough to tilt her face back for my kiss, and my kiss is searching, cautious, making sure she's still at that high level of excitement I want her at. She is. She's frightened, but her tongue is eager too, and tells me she's ready for this but I have to hurry, to catch her at this peak of surrender.

I place the legs of one clamp around her nipple and slide the little ring up, tightening the legs. Higher, and the higher it goes the tighter the clip grasps the excited little bud. She watches, frowning, but fascinated as the little arms close on her flesh, squeezing her, until she makes a little sound, a whimper of discomfort. I make it just a little tighter and there I stop.

I do the same with the other clamp, and when I'm finished her breasts are connected by a silver chain that glimmers in the dim light of the room. There's the symbolism of the chain against her naked skin, the sight of the token cruelty of the hard and unforgiving metal on the softness of her flesh, hard like the urgency of my desire. There's the weight of the dangling chain pulling gently at her breasts, like a constant reminder to her of her own femininity.

I sit behind her and pull the pins from her hair. I seek them out and pull them free one by one, until her hair falls down around her shoulders. I gather it up in my hands and use it to pull her back against me, pull her back and turn her face to me so I can kiss her, licking her lips, biting her gently. I can't keep my other hand from coming around and finding the chain. I pull it slightly, distending her nipples and making her gasp. I control her tits, just like I control the rest of her. She's my slave for the night.

"Lie back now," I say, and I arrange the pillows for her.

Then I'm off the bed. I lie her down, take the waistband of her panties in my hands and tug them down. She lifts her hips to help me, fearful that I'll rip them in my excitement. By the time they're down to her thighs they've rolled into no more than a thin band of fabric, and I tug them off and throw them on a chair.

There's no way she can hide now, and nothing she can do but lie there clad only in her stockings and shoes, the silver chain puddled between her breasts.

I kiss the dome of her shoulder, the soft hillocks of her breasts, my hand tracing down the valley of her stomach, the well of her navel. She's shaved for me. She's as bare and naked as a child, innocent, with no secrets. I feel the rawness of where she's shaved, like a baby's face with the beginning of a five-o'clock shadow. It couldn't have been easy for her, but she did it for me.

Then my lips are following my fingers down her body, my mouth open like the mouth of a starving man so I can feel her skin rub against my lips as I go. I don't stand on ceremony and I don't tease. I want her in my mouth. I want the softness of her sex, all that sensitivity and excitement. I want to drive her wild, and more than that, I want to satisfy this carnal craving for her I can feel like an ache in my mouth. My lips slide over her shaved mound and close wetly over her slit.

She jerks in the bed, her hips thrusting up at me in reflex as she arches off the bed with a sudden, unexpected gasp of need. I grab her ankles in my hands and push her legs up, knees to her chest, exposing her before she can think to deny me. I use my tongue on her, my lips capturing her slick labia, my tongue plowing through her unresisting flesh. It's so sweet the way a woman gets excited: how she gets softer and swollen, wet and pink with suffused blood. The sheer tactile pleasure of her beneath my lips and tongue inflames me and makes me groan out loud.

I sink into the pleasure of her body. All the tying and grabbing and forcing is done, all to bring us to this moment. I've had to bind her, not only for the sight of her helplessness, but to keep her from interfering with my own enjoyment of her body. If her hands were free she'd be caressing me in return, trying to reciprocate the pleasure, and I don't want that. She's here to witness what I feel for her, to see what she does to me. She's here to be used for my pleasure.

"Oh God, Rob! Stop!"

"What?" I snarl with impatience, pulling my face from her, yet still holding onto her ankles. I'm like an animal interrupted during its feeding, strands of her thick secretions wetting my moustache and lips. I look down at my victim; see her pussy twitching convulsively like a lover's lips, inviting me back.

"What do you mean stop? I don't want to stop! I want you to come. I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to fill me with your hot come and let it splash over my face, you little whore! I want everything from you, Ashley! I want to fuck your pussy and fuck your mouth. I want to shove my cock into your ass and come all over your tits. I want everything you've got!"

She's dripping wet now and there's no hiding the fact, wet with my saliva and her own lubrications, and she's moaning and whimpering at the spectacle I'm making of myself between her legs. My lust crashes against her like waves against some rocky shore and with each crash I seem to drive her back, drive her deeper into her own desires, where she doesn't want to go. I know it's lewd what I'm doing to her, almost degrading, but she knows that her salvation lies in this kind of degradation, and even as she tries to resist and deny what's happening to her, she can't keep her hips from lifting up blindly to my mouth. She is a whore and I've made her that way, and her fingers twist helplessly behind her back in abject helplessness, trying to gain a purchase in the rumpled bed cover, as if she could pull herself free of my desire for her.

She's close to orgasm and trembling, already hanging on the edge of complete surrender, afraid to let go, afraid to give up her last shred of pride and come like a slut in my brutal mouth. But I won't let her get away. Tonight she's going to let go. Tonight everything she has, everything she is, belongs to me. I let go of her legs and crawl on top of her, kissing her, licking her, feeling her move against me. She's trembling and she turns her face away, trying to hide her shame from me, searching for breath and trying to regain some composure, but I won't let her do that either.

I pull her face to me and kiss her savagely, showing her how much I need her, letting it all out. I stretch out on top of her and feel the soft warmth of her body heaving beneath me. She's trying to get into position, even as she tries to control her urges her pussy's reaching for me, trying to pull me inside. The hard clips on her nipples press into my chest as I work my knees between her slick, stockinged thighs, pushing her legs apart, opening her up. The head of my cock finds the soft wetness in the dripping swamp between her legs.

Her eyes are clenched in denial at her own shamelessness as her body reaches for me, arching off the bed, her legs apart, searching for me. Helpless, her hands tied, her body still seeks me out, and I know that no matter what I do to her now or how I treat her, she will still seek me out. She's at the point where she'll endure anything for me now. Everything feels good.

It inflames me. Her beauty and her surrender and her eagerness to give herself make me dizzy with lust and I groan loudly as I enter her and feel her hot flesh yield before me, feel her hips drive up to meet me in her own impatient hunger. We're desperate for each other now with a desire that feels like anguish, and her body is all the answer I need. In her softness and her eagerness I can feel her need to be crushed by my desire, to be possessed, to let me enfold her in my lust for her and carry her away.

But for all that she fucks beautifully, automatically, like an animal, shoving herself hard up around me, urging me to stretch her open and make a place for myself inside her. For all her mildness and placid beauty and the demureness of the stockings on her legs, she fucks like me like a wild woman, as if she's no longer herself; and that's just what I want. It's the excitement of the game, and the cuffs on her wrists, the feeling of being captured and compelled, as if I'm forcing her to act this way, are all part of it. The bindings on her arms hold her wrists in an implacable embrace and dare her to try her strength against them, and they set her free. They hold her prisoner like my lust holds her prisoner, and there's no way out except this way, by giving herself, by opening herself up to the plundering invader between her thighs.

Her head's thrown to the side, her hair stuck to her sweating face, The tendons in her neck stand out as she gasps for air to fuel the fire raging inside. My hands are on her breasts and I can feel them flex as she strains against the leather cuffs. My thumbs play with the metal clips that hold her nipples prisoner, sending shards of delicious pain through her body. She's everything I knew she would be, everything I brought her here for: a sexual animal, fighting me even as she gives herself; fighting as we both fight: to be the last one to go, to be the last one to be overcome by the tidal wave of orgasm that's building over us even now.

I plunge my cock into her, stabbing hard and deep again and again, driving her ass down into the mattress, fucking her with all the strength in my body. I hold her buttocks in my wide-spread fingers, find her rectum with my little finger and enter her there too. She cries out and drives her pussy up onto me, trying to escape the lewd invasion, but I keep after her, sinking in to the first knuckle, then the second, twisting around until I can feel my hard cock on the other side of her fleshy barrier, feel the way my prick fills her and then recedes, again and again, like a piston working in a pump.

She wraps her legs around me and tries to hold me still, tries to quell the raging fire of pleasure in her loins, but her strength is no match for my desire, and my ass continues to rise and fall, knocking the breath from her body and making the clips tremble on her tits. I duck my head and grab the chain between my teeth, raise my head like a horse with a bridle between its teeth, pulling on her sensitive nipples. Ashley cries out again and arches her back trying to ease the delicious pain, but she soon gives up. She's overwhelmed by sensation. All she can do is lie there and take it, all the punishment and love I'm forcing on her.

I'm close; I have to stop, slow down. I rear up on my knees, looming over her as if in triumph, though she's the one who's brought me to this state of being barely able to hold onto my ejaculation. From here I can look down at the landscape of her body, her curves, the rolling sinuosities of her womanly form. My eyes are drawn to her pussy, where my cock is poised half in, half out, a cruel invader, wet with her juice. Her clit is so engorged that it sticks out like a little tongue and licks along the top of my prick as I slide slowly in and out of her, idling, waiting for her to catch up with me. I want her with me when I go. I want us to be in the same place at the same time.

I reach down and touch her cunt, spread her apart and slide my fingers against the greasy wetness of her clit. I swear I can feel it pulse with eagerness against my fingers, and the sensation of being touched there is too much for her. She jerks as if punched in the stomach. She ties to say something, tries to give voice to her emotions, but she has no breath. She doesn't have to say anything. I can already see that she's starting to come: an avalanche of pleasure is sliding down upon her, and she's powerless to resist. I can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath me, the way she starts to shudder. I can see the sudden surprise in her face and the look in her eyes is almost fearful. She doesn't want to go there, not alone, but I'm there too, and I tell her.

"Do it, Ashley! Get it! Come for me, baby. I'm gonna come, I'm going to make it too! Here it is baby, here it is..."

Her climax is my signal to let go. Let go of everything. I fall forward on top of her, close my eyes, and give myself over to my sexual instincts. My hips slam at her cruelly, painfully, and if she weren't so far gone into her own pleasure I'd be hurting her, filling her senses with me, driving everything else from her mind except me, my cock inside her, my explosion.

I grab the cheeks of her ass in my hands, pull her tight against me, drive as deep as I can. I can and feel her squeezing me with a force beyond her conscious control, her very body telling me: now, now, come in me now, and this evidence of her final surrender is the last thing I need to send me over the edge.

My come boils up, comes hurtling up from some place deep within but always right below the surface with her, always there, always ready for her. I burst inside her in an explosion of ecstasy, splattering her insides with my hot come, jetting my release in thick, hot streams into the secret depths of her body. The tension pours out of me in waves of shuddering pleasure, and in my mind's eye I can see my cock inside her, spurting into her darkness, coating her very insides with all my hot male essence. It's pure ecstasy to empty myself into her, turning all my anguished desire into hot, blinding pleasure; all the savagery and rage to own her pouring out of me in shuddering release, a blinding joy, a spiritual fusion.

Beneath me Ashley quivers like a bowstring. I hear her cry out with each hot blast of my semen into her ravaged depths; hear her give up all pretense of resistance at last. Her orgasm overwhelms her, sends her over the edge falling into her slutty animal pleasure: the sobs and moans of a well-fucked human female taking her selfish reward.

So much come. So much that I feel it seep around the tight plug of my cock, feel it trickling down to where my finger is still pushed into her defenseless anus, coating my finger with the thick, viscous heat, and still my cock jumps inside her, spitting out the last of my load, the shuddering last final drops.