tagErotic CouplingsThe Bloom of the Rose

The Bloom of the Rose

byrockandroller©

After I woke up from my nap I was really horny. I giggled to myself as I thought that maybe I'd finally realized why I like to take so many naps - because I love how they make me feel.

I got into a steaming hot shower, indulging myself with a potent mixture of heat, slippery soap and the aroma of Wild Blossoms. Even without a nap my thoughts were never too far away from sex, and the shower was a place that I often let them have their reins.

My hands found their way between my legs and I mixed the soapy water with my own juices, massaging my pussy lips. They puffed out, crying little cum tears in the rain for more attention. I tugged on them a few times, I drew little circles around my clit with my finger. When I started to gasp for air I slowed down. The idea wasn't to get me to cum. The idea was to get me ready so that Andre would fuck me.

I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off, luxuriating in the scratchy-soft feel of the terrycloth. When I was dry I found my bottle of moisturizer and I rubbed the white goo slowly into every inch of my body from head to toe, paying extra attention to my newly-shaved slit.

I sat naked at my dressing table and dried my hair, combing it into a teasing style that I hoped said, 'wanton girl - come take me!' Eye shadow and liner, foundation and mascara, and just a hint of rouge applied sparingly - I wanted to look demure and not like a common trollop. Although the thought did occur to me that trollop might be a more appropriate look given how horny I was. I chose a sexy-sweet perfume and dabbed it in the usual places. After a hesitation of only a moment I gave in to the sexy self-indulgence of putting a little bit on the tops of the insides of my thighs, near my begging pussy.

I slipped on a pair of black high heels and primped myself in the mirror. I was tickled with how I looked - coiffed, perfumed and made up, languid and steamy from my shower, naked but for a pair of sexy shoes - the perfect picture of sin ready to be used. I started downstairs.

I knew that Andre would be sitting on the sofa, watching some dumb football game. Didn't he just watch one last week? Maybe it was the week before. Anyway I knew that he didn't like it when I interrupted his TV watching. But I was always hopeful that he'd choose me over the idiot box.

It wasn't as if he really ever ignored me. We had been lovers for a little while, and he was the absolutely best one that I'd ever had. He took his time with me, spending hours loving me before he'd allow himself the release of spurting cum inside me or onto my skin. He loved watching me play with myself, which was one of my favorite things. And I loved watching his eyes on my wet pussy as I tickled my clit and dipped my fingers inside. It made me feel wicked and wanted.

Andre somehow knew, even that first time, that I really liked dirty talk, and the things he whispered in my ears made me moan in pleasure. "God, I love your wet pussy." "Is it time to split your wet slit with my big cock?" "You have the most gorgeous ass that I've ever seen." Whenever I thought of him whispering dirty words it sent a divine shiver straight through me.

And Andre liked to cuddle, which always made me feel special. He didn't immediately fall asleep like the lovers I'd had before him. Instead he would hold me tenderly after we had made love, drawing little designs on my back or around my nipple with a light touch of his fingers. Then he would whisper soft endearments into my ear until I fell asleep in his arms. It was heaven.

Sometimes I thought that if we were given enough time we might even fall in love, but right then I was beginning to have my doubts. Our lovemaking was already beginning to become routine instead of ardent, and somehow we weren't connecting the way that we used to. I was afraid that the bloom was off the rose.

Our sex life had begun suddenly, a fondness for each other blossoming one unforgettable night into the most satisfying sex I'd ever had. But I was beginning to be afraid that our relationship didn't have the other things it would need to survive.

We had promised each other that we wouldn't become too serious, at least not at first. Andre thought he might still love his ex girlfriend. I wasn't near ready to fall in love with him, although I was open to the possibility if we could move past what I saw as a growing ennui.

The small signs were there and I was determined not to ignore them this time. I had learned the hard way about the heartbreak that ignoring little clues could lead to. I liked Andre a lot. He was really a very sweet man, gentle and demanding at the same time. I was very fond of him, and the sex was almost overwhelming. At least it used to be.

But more and more his attention seemed to wander when we were together. He didn't always bother to look at me when we talked, as if I wasn't interesting enough to hold his attention. When we first started dating he couldn't get enough of me, touching me, looking at me, listening to my voice for hours at a time on the telephone. But now his calls were becoming more infrequent, and sometimes his disinterest was almost palpable. I was sad that in such a short while he had moved from smitten to complacent.

Sometimes he was more interested in the TV than in being with me, paying more attention to Fear Factor or some football game than his new lover. It was enough to make me doubt my looks, my desirability, myself. Didn't I have what it took to hold a man's attention?

Let's get one thing straight. I had never had a lover as good as Andre.

But little things were missing, and their absence was beginning to cool my affection for him. His urgency to fuck me was waning. Just last week when I had practically thrown myself at him he'd refused to take me, claiming that he was too tired. I had hidden my disappointment. Maybe he really was tired.

The things that worried me the most were more fundamental than him not wanting me constantly. After all, one had to expect that our initial ardor would cool just a little. It's the way of things.

I was more concerned about the sameness that had insinuated itself into our lovemaking. My hunger to try new things and experiment a little bit was not being assuaged by my new lover. At first I was sure that he was going to find and fulfill my unnamed longings. Paddles? Public sex? Leather? I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted, I just knew it was something I wasn't getting. When Andre and I first started sleeping together I thought he wanted the same things. That someday we'd move on to search for new desires and new ways to satisfy them.

But as we grew comfortable together it became apparent to me that he was so contented with our lovemaking that it was very likely he would become disenchanted if he found out that I wasn't happy, that I wanted more.

And so I kept secrets from him. After a good fucking when I was curled in his arms in that drowsy world before sleep my inner voice would try to assert itself and tell Andre that I thought there was more, that all of my needs weren't being met. But I would keep still and quiet, lest my needs scare him away.

But I still loved having sex with him, even if I was afraid that we might not last because my desires would eventually outstrip his.

And so I got myself ready, all steamy lissome willing girl ready for a little mutually orgasmic fucking. Andre was slouched in his usual spot on his new leather sofa, which he had ceremoniously placed in the middle of the living room facing his big screen TV. Wearing nothing but my black high heels, I sauntered over to him, giving my hips a little extra sexy sway.

"Hi, honey," I said.

His reaction was what I had learned to expect lately - interested but not bewitched. He chuckled at me, obviously a little exasperated that I was throwing myself at him yet again, and he went back to watching TV. Needless to say I was disappointed, and I tried not to pout. How many guys could resist a pretty and willing girl wearing nothing but high heels and a smile?

I walked over to him and put my bare knee up on the arm of the sofa, keeping my legs spread apart to give him a clear view of my shaved pussy, if only he was interested enough to look.

I ruffled his hair and said, "Whatcha watching?" I tried hard to make it sound as if I cared. Really I did. But my mind was on my needy slit and visions of Andre's big cock sliding into me.

"Football, baby," he said, sliding his palm absent-mindedly up and down my calf. He didn't even take his eyes off the TV to look at me. Bastard. How could I care so much about him and hate him at the same time? The old alarm in my head went off once again - I was teetering on the knife edge of my horniness issues, and I could fall hard and fast from this precipice and lose Andre if I wasn't careful.

His hand slid near the top of my thigh and I shuddered, wishing that he'd move it higher and touch my slit. But he didn't. Andre seemed perfectly content to watch football with his hand stroking my bare leg, but otherwise ignoring me. Disappointed because I wished it was Andre's fingers and not mine, I reached down between my legs and gently massaged my nubbin, which was all soft and smooth from the shower and the lotion. In a few seconds it was as needy as it had been in the shower, trickling warm girl syrup onto my fingers.

A commercial came on and Andre turned his head to watch my busy fingers. I resented that he had waited for a commercial, but at least he was looking. I closed my eyes and tickled my clit, enjoying the impropriety of my lover's gaze so close to my puffed pussy and my wet fingers.

With a displeased sigh Andre picked up the remote and turned off the TV. Yaaaay, me! I smiled and tried not to look triumphant. I knew that the football game wasn't over, and I was thrilled because my plan had worked and I'd won this time - I was going to get fucked. He threw the remote down on the sofa, stood up and roughly took me in his arms.

There's something extra sexy about being stark naked in the arms of your man while he's still fully dressed. It makes you feel all feminine and wanted - wicked in a way that doesn't occur even when you're bare in bed and doing the most lewd things. I loved it. I could feel his cock growing stiff through his jeans, and I lifted my lips to his so that I could lose myself in his warm sweet kisses.

Andre didn't let me down. I grew light-headed as he mashed his lips against mine, our tongues dancing and sliding gently into each other. I could feel his cock grow hard as he ground it against my belly. He lightly caressed my bare back, working his hands lower and lower until they grabbed my bottom hard. He pulled me open, spreading my ass wide and exposing my holes as he gathered me to him.

"So my baby just can't wait to get fucked again," he whispered in my ear. The dirty words enthralled me, making me breathe faster and sending tiny electric shocks between my legs.

Suddenly he let go of me. I stood there giddy from his kisses and naughty words, my eyes closed as I waited for him to grab my hand and pull me to the bedroom and have his way with me. But he didn't.

"Wait here," he said in a voice that sounded rough and out of breath. And then he was gone.

It felt kind of silly to be left standing naked and alone in the living room, but it was titillating to try and imagine what Andre wanted. I resisted the urge to rub myself all over the sofa like a cat in heat, smearing my scent all over it and squirming against the cool leather. I didn't want to risk losing Andre's interest in making love to me by giddily flaunting my libido in his face. I counseled myself to be patient and see what it was the he wanted. I ran my hand along the back of the sofa, enjoying the feel of the cool soft leather as well as the hazy anticipation. We'd always done it in bed, and the thought that he wanted me naked in another room was exciting and made me a little afraid at the same time. What did he want?

While I was trying to still the hopeful emotions running through my head, Andre snuck up behind me, wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. I sank gratefully against him, letting his nibbling send its usual shivers down my spine.

"I was saving this for Valentine's Day," he whispered into my neck. "But I've changed my mind."

I realized that he wasn't holding just me and I looked down to see that he was also holding a pretty pink box. I squealed and reached for it, but Andre said, "No, you don't get to look." He let go of me and put the box on the table behind us, out of my sight.

"Close your eyes, you little slut."

That was me - Andre's little slut. It felt so decadent to have him know me so well, to fathom that little corner of my mind. OK, it was really a big corner of my mind. Hell, maybe the whole room. I was a slut at heart. If only he knew just how bad I really wanted to be. If only I could tell him.

I closed my eyes, a little surprised at him but very willing. For all the attention that Andre paid me (when he was paying attention), he had never been one to play games, and the thought that he was trying something new was exotic and delicious. I heard him open the box, and then he put his arms around me from behind again. But this time he was holding a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, and he quickly snapped them around my wrists.

I shivered in his arms and started to gasp for air. God. The weight of the metal cuffs sent a tingle through me. It traveled up my arms and past my bare shoulders into my nipples, which suddenly poked out as if they'd been dipped in ice water.

Although I hadn't known it before, this was the kind of thing that I had been longing for for so long. The spice of the constraints made all of the lovemaking that I'd experienced before turn pale by comparison. Somehow my dear sweet Andre had figured out what I was missing and made it come true.

Wrapped in his arms with my hands cuffed in front of me I was so excited that I actually worked myself into a tiny little orgasm, and neither Andre or I were even touching my slit. I gasped and squirmed my ass against him as my pussy squirted little rivulets of girl cream onto my thighs. My legs went weak. It felt as if I'd wet myself, which made my little orgasm come back for a second round.

Andre, not noticing or just not caring about my dripping pussy or my unending orgasm, pushed me over to the sofa.

He grabbed my hair fiercely and yanked my head into place so that he could growl softly in my ear. "Kneel on it, bitch," he said before shoving me into place facing the sofa. His voice was unruffled, almost disinterested. It was as if he was trying to contain his excitement for my sake, as if a veneer of boredom would somehow make it better for me.

I trembled as I put my knees on the sofa, the cool of the leather at odds with the heat between my legs. The extremes of temperature left my mind stranded between them, wishing for the fire but craving the chill. The leather was satiny smooth and I regretted not rubbing myself all over it, fondling the soft cowhide with every inch of my skin. I suddenly realized that the sofa was skin, too, and I wondered if it would be as slippery as my pussy lips if I smeared my juices on it.

Andre put his hand on my back and bent me forward at the waist so that I was forced to lean over. Oh, god. This was so different from making love in bed, or even in the car. Somehow those places were conducive to romance. But this wasn't. Andre's new sofa was where we watched movies, where my girlfriends ate chips when we played Jenga, where his friends sat when they came over to play Halo on the X-Box. Now it had suddenly become an erotic nexus. The scent of leather and the cool feel of it under my skin combined with my wet pussy to send me to a place I'd never been. I felt reckless and cheap and degraded to be kneeling there with my bare ass poking out into the room. And I loved it.

Andre put his hands between my thighs and forcefully pushed my legs apart. I knelt impatiently waiting for a doggyfuck from my boyfriend. Visions of his big cock sliding into my dripping slit threatened to consume me, and I knew that the instant it touched me I'd cum all over the place.

But it didn't happen.

Wondering why I wasn't getting fucked yet, I looked over my shoulder at Andre. He was rummaging in the pink gift box, and as he stood up I could see that he was holding a soft white rope. My pussy got even gushier. I wanted to know what he was planning. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him what he was doing. But I was afraid that he might stop. I was afraid he wouldn't stop. I was afraid of what he might do to me. All of my fears mixed into a delicious sensation that helped me keep my mouth hushed.

Andre looked around the living room. A bolt of fear went through me when he picked up the fireplace poker. Was he going to spank me? Put it in me? Ohmigod. What had I been thinking? I had thought I wanted something different, but suddenly I wasn't so sure any more. My breathing got even faster, and I waited impatiently to see what he was going to do to me.

Andre knelt on the floor behind me. I was so afraid that he was going to shove that thing into me that I almost gasped in relief when he laid the poker across the backs of my legs, just behind my spread-apart knees. The metal was cold, a stark contrast to the way that my body felt. When I tried to move to make my knee more comfortable, Andre slapped my ass and said, "Don't move, you little tart."

Trembling, I tried to stay still while Andre used the soft ropes to tie my legs to the ends of the poker. I literally shook while he did it. I tried to speak, to somehow tell him that I wasn't so sure how I felt about this. But my weak objection wasn't even fully formed on my lips before Andre said, "Shut up, slut." He wound the rope around my thigh in even rows just above my knee and then tied it off to the business end of the poker. Then he did the same to my other leg, tying it off to the handle. In a couple of minutes he had bound my knees to the steely poker, my legs spread wide and my slit more exposed and vulnerable than it had ever been.

Andre stood between my legs, and I was sure that he was going to take out his cock and ram it into me. I was so ready, I could have taken him if he'd been a telephone pole. I was dripping and trembling and I wanted his cock so badly I was almost in tears. I needed him to shove himself into me so that I could surrender to the monster orgasm that had been pursuing me since my nap.

Andre tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled so hard that it brought tears to my eyes. I felt like I'd been split in two. One half of me was my deprived pussy, begging to be filled and allowed its final release. The other end of me was pain and cold metal adding the excitement that had been missing from our fucking. I swallowed hard as my dreams were realized and my body's cravings were washed away in a tidal wave of lust.

He cupped his hands on my dripping need and rested his fingers on my clit. He started massaging me, going in gentle little circles which caused growing spasms of delight to radiate from my pussy. I started panting, unable to contain my excitement. Unwilling to try. Andre started going harder and faster, rubbing me wildly and splashing cum droplets onto my thighs.

"You like that, don't you? You're such a little bitch. Don't you ever get enough?" Andre's voice was calm and in control as he pulled on my hair and rubbed me to ecstasy. As if from a distance I heard myself begin to make little involuntary yips like a frantic Chihuahua warning that the postman was at the door. Gasping for air between the little barks I wiggled urgently against his fingers, trying to make the onrushing orgasm train hurry to the station. I could feel the locomotive drawing closer, pounding as it relentlessly drew its cargo of bliss to me. I panted in time to the engine. It was coming, it was closing so fast. Suddenly Andre yanked really hard on my hair and thrust his thumb into my wet pussy at the same time. I came.

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