Bound to Please

Behind closed eyes I see us in a secluded cottage on a frigid November night, under a canopy of meteors. We have fled there for a weekend alone. The place is remote, the night frosty. We have come here with plans to explore each other's sexuality, to satisfy curiosity stoked by our lovemaking.

We have been married only a short time, not yet two years, and we continue to kick in sexual doors. Tonight--that night-- the mission is to surrender to you, for you to take command and to control me. Yes, there we are, cloistered in that house on that moonless night under a meteor shower. My mind takes me back there. My fingers take me back there.

There we are again. We hold each other, talking about libidos and desires and the curiosity we have come here to slake. Now I feel you take one ankle and pull it to a corner of the bed. A scarf appears and in a moment my leg is bound to the bed. Then the other, then my wrists. I am naked, bound and exposed. I have no choice but to submit to you. My cock is swollen, springing toward the ceiling.

You kiss my lips and then move to my glans. Now I swirl the head of the same penis that you held between your lips that night. The difference is that now I control my own pleasure. That night you were in control. Your tongue swirls the head of my dick and then you take my full length, your blonde head bobbing, owning me.

All too soon you deny me your mouth. You stand, kiss me, and disappear into the adjoining room. I am helpless and exposed. All I can do is strain to see you. In a moment you return. You are wrapped in a silk dressing gown. You carry nylons and a garter belt and a matching brassiere. You sink into in a wing chair, its back to me. I see only glimpses of you preparing yourself. Your robe drops to the floor. You retrieve your bra, then the garters. Finally, I see your legs stretch luxuriously, toes pointing into stockings, pulling them over your legs.

Trussed and helpless, I can only moan with desire. Tonight though, the picture of you teasing me helps me control my own pleasure. I see you as you were that night but I also feel those legs wrapped around me. My fingers please my cock as I dream and call your name. That night all I could do was squirm. I squirm now and that familiar first gasp escapes my lips. My hand grasps the full length of my shaft as I fall deeper into memories of that long-ago night.

You stand to retrieve your gown. The chair back is high and all I can see from my bound perch are your shoulders and the straps of your bra. I squirm. In the now I stroke more urgently. There we are again.

You return to your overnight bag in the next room. I hear it unzip. Then you are framed in the door, smiling wickedly, carrying a phallus shaped vibrator. You sit again, hidden in the chair. I am helpless. I can only listen to you across the room as you begin to please yourself. I please myself now as I imagine a vivid picture of what I could not see then.

You are quiet at first, and then I hear you breathing harder. I know your pattern so well that I can see you kneading your nipple through the gauze of your bra. Tonight, I see you plainly, pressing your breasts into your fingers. I stroke harder now and snap back to the tantalizing view of what I could not see then.

You take a long time before I hear the low buzz of the vibrator. Your legs stretch out. From my bindings I see only your calves and toes. You spread your legs, gasp slightly and the hum of the vibrator is suddenly muffled. In a moment I hear the muffled buzz grow louder, then muffled again. Then louder, then muffled. You settle into a rhythm: BUZZZZZZ buzzzz, BUZZZ, buzz, BUZZZ, buzz. You grunt pleasantly. My dick is straight up now, pointing toward the ceiling. I long to touch it but struggle helplessly against my restraints.

From the vantage of years though, I see these things again but this time I can help myself. My fingers form the perfect circle that has become my solace in our months away from each other. I stroke with more urgency, imagining you as you were then: The sight of you pleasing yourself and torturing me.

It seems to go on forever. You are wanton at the end of that phallus as a low groan rises from your side of the chair. I am sure that your moments of self-indulgence usually are short and sharp. I have heard them through the closed door of our bedroom even during the short time we have been married. I am a distance runner. So far as I know, are a sprinter, but you don't sprint that night. You stretch out your pleasure, prolonging my torture. Here in the present, my marathon continues. I am rock hard and the head of my cock seems to grow bigger in my fingers.

Now I hear you gurgling toward your orgasm. I see myself as from overhead; my head swiveled to the right, straining to see what is on the other side of the chair. You are moaning now and I am about to come involuntarily listening to it.

No. No. No. Not here in the now. I slow down, prolonging my own pleasure as you denied me pleasure that night.

You groan. The buzzing stops. I see your legs relax. You tremble slightly as the waves of your climax recede. I call to you for the first time. "Please," I whimper. "Please."

In a moment you are on your feet, clutching your gown, tying it shut and stepping out from behind the chair. You are beautiful but still unavailable. The sight of you thrills me now and I attack my cock with new urgency.

Now you cross to the bed and kiss me softly. "Please," I repeat.

You oblige, if only momentarily and stroke my cock tentatively with your right hand.

In the moment now, my left-hand strokes furiously recalling the scene. You move to the foot of the bed and shrug off your gown. I see you through my bound legs but only above your thighs. Your breasts strain at the flimsy fabric of your bra. It is gauzy and I see your areola and nipples. Your stockings tug at the garter belt but all I can see is the arch of the garters, your pussy just out of sight. "Please!" I almost scream.

"Yes!" I gasp in the moment stroking my penis. "Please! Yes!"

I am transported again to our hideaway. You climb onto the bed and I see your pubic hair famed in the cathedral arch of the garter belt. You kneel over my cock, taking me in your mouth again. You sense that I am close to coming and withdraw your mouth. Now you are straddling me, lowering your pussy over my cock. I scream as you have me enter you.

I am rushing toward my own orgasm now, as I was then. You balance on your knees. I see you hovering over me, driving your own pleasure, just as you did on the dildo. I am helpless except to arch my back, trying to thrust into you.

I arch my back now, lifting it off of the leather sofa, reaching for you but finding only my hand. I call out to you as you reach behind your back and unhook your bra. It falls away and your breasts bounce as you grind onto my cock, your arms bracing on my chest. We are both screaming now as I boil up into you.

Now we are exploding. Semen spurts through my fingers. You are screaming. I call your name helplessly as the wet sticky warmth flows down my shaft onto tonight's towel that I have placed under my hips.

You collapse on top of me. In a few moments you free my hands so that I can hold you. Then my legs. Then you free yourself from the garters and hose and are in bed with me underneath the covers. We cling to each other, kissing passionately.

Here I am again in the present. Spent. The moment of euphoria washes over me.

Then I am alone again, your name on my desperate lips. I ache for you. I love you.