Looking a Gift Arse Pt. 01

Walking down the street, another five minutes until I get there, I reflect on how I've come to be here.

It was a phone call out of the blue from clients I'd had about three years ago; I'd spent three weeks landscaping their courtyard garden but hadn't heard from them since. It had been the husband, Richard, who'd initially engaged me but I'd hardly ever seen him after the first meeting, so I'd primarily dealt with his wife, Philippa, as she was still there when I arrived and invariably got back before I left. But my overriding memory of him was of a rather large man, large as in someone who'd spent too long sitting behind a desk without compensating for it.

There was also a son, Christopher, who had been seventeen at the time: but a single glimpse of a tall young man with curly blonde hair had been my only contact with him.

My memory of Philippa was more extensive. She had always been pleasant and friendly, open to ideas but also happy to press a point and ready to insist if it was something that she really wanted. It had never been anything more than a professional relationship.

Until the phone call.

Again, it was Richard who'd called me. He had seemed quite nervous at first and I hadn't understood why. He'd spent a few minutes saying how much they enjoyed the garden etc etc. Then it had gone strange, almost surreal. He'd kept saying how much they trusted me, how they knew me and how I knew them, he'd kept clearing his throat and repeating himself but then his voice had kind of tailed away and he'd stopped talking. After what had seemed an age I'd begun to wonder if he was still there when suddenly, as though he had taken a mental deep breath, he'd started talking again, but this time he had been very much to the point, almost business-like.

Basically, what it came down to, was that he wanted me to fuck Philippa. What he'd actually said was that Philippa wanted me to fuck Philippa. But I'd got the feeling that it was him wanting me to fuck Philippa, so I'd asked him if it was something that she wanted.

And he'd said yes.

Who was I to argue.

He'd then become very descriptive about how I should enter the house, close the door, go up the stairs, enter the bedroom, close the door, and......well, and fuck Philippa.

So, what it came down to, was that I was going to fuck Philippa.

It had only been at the end of the, actually very one sided, conversation that he had thought to ask me if I wanted to do it.

I, of course, took a long time to decide.

It had been quite a strange phone call.

But it hadn't prepared me for what I found when I got upstairs.

I ease the door open, step into the room and close the door behind me. It's a large, square room, sparsely furnished; with a big bed in the centre of the floor, a chest of drawers against one wall and an armchair in the corner by a window. The ceiling is hidden by a sheet of loose fabric that's suspended from each corner and a heavy curtain covering, what I presume, is another window on the opposite wall to Richard. That's it.

Except that Richard is sitting, fully clothed, in the chair. He hadn't mentioned that.

I didn't care. If he wanted to watch then that's fine by me.

Philippa is on the bed.

At least I assume it's Philippa, and she's not actually "on" the bed: she's tied, face down, over the bed-end. Richard hadn't mentioned that either.

It's a solid looking bed-end. It's a solid looking bed.

The bed-head and end are metal frames with heavy legs and thick horizontal rails across the top and bottom linked by several vertical bars. The bed-head is perhaps shoulder high and the bed-end mid-thigh. The bed is fully made up over a deep, heavy mattress.

The woman, hopefully Philippa, is in the centre of the bed-end, her ankles tied wide apart to the bottom horizontal rail with multiple loops of silver coloured rope. Her thighs, again with multiple loops, are tied to the top horizontal rail. She is bent over the rail with more loops of the rope running around her waist tying her directly to that rail then even more loops around her chest which seem to be tied back to a vertical bar between her legs. To finish it off, her wrists are tied together and a length of the rope runs from them up to the bed-head. It's all very neatly done, and, at a guess, not for the first time.

The more I look at the woman the more convinced I am that it is Philippa. She has the same mousy blonde hair cut in the same style that I remember from my time here three years ago. I can't see her face; it's covered by her hair, but my memory of her is that she's pretty and always seemed to have a smile for me. She isn't big like Richard but curvy, tending towards plump, and not tall, perhaps 5' 6". All this fits in with the bound woman before me, but I'm still not 100% sure, plus I'd only ever seen Philippa in her work clothes. This woman's wearing nothing more than black stockings and stilettos.

But I'd said that I wanted to do this, and nothing I've seen in the past ten minutes has changed that.

But the time for looking is long over.

I touch the bindings on her thigh.

The rope is perhaps a quarter inch thick, soft and smooth, yet has a strength to it; it feels as though it has no give, no stretch. The bindings don't seem to be too tight; they don't dig into her, but they aren't loose, she can't move, but they don't look to be uncomfortable.

The multiple turns of rope almost cover the wide band at the top of her stockings and I run my fingertips over them, trace a loop around her thigh to the bed frame, follow a different one back. I realise that I'm finding it erotic, sensuous, even sexual.

I stroke up across her bum and her skin puckers into tiny goosebumps as my fingers drift into the crack of her arse and follow it up to the base of her spine. I keep going, a soft touch across soft skin, over the ropes around her waist then those around her chest to brush through her hair at her neck.

I carry on across her ear then reverse direction and trace back down her spine, back to her bum.

Swirling fingertips and dragging nails dance across the tops of her thighs and her buttocks. Up and down, touching everything but stopping nowhere.

I begin to centre on the crack of her arse, swirling around, dipping down, flicking between her thighs, edging ever closer to her pussy until I'm brushing tight circles around the triangle at the top of her thighs, the faintest of touches across her lips, closer and closer, tighter and tighter until it's all I'm touching, swirling, flicking fingers up and down her pussy.

Up and down, time and again, still just the lightest of touches, the heat and moisture building, a stickiness on my fingers.

I slow my fingers and push one into her: just the tip, the depth of the nail, in and out, then to the first knuckle, in and out, then to the second knuckle, in and out, her pussy slick, her juices lubricating, finger all the way, in and out. Then two fingers, all the way in, all the way out. Slowly finger fucking her, sliding all the way in and out, twisting and rubbing until her bum tightens and the walls of her pussy squeeze.

Slow down and rub my thumb along her perineum, push it between her buttocks and press against her sphincter until it slips in, just to the first knuckle.

Push in further and squeeze my hand before pulling my thumb out and rubbing back down to her pussy.

I slip my fingers out and slide them down across her clit as my thumb takes their place. I give her a gentle squeeze and begin to rub across her clit.

Start a rhythm going; my thumb fucking her, my fingers rubbing her, a gentle squeeze between each one.

Keep rubbing with my fingers and fucking with my thumb. Pushing into her sticky tunnel as far as I can reach.

Steadily getting faster.

Faster and faster until she's twitching against the bindings, her breath hissing through clenched teeth.

And I keep going until I feel the beginnings of a loss of control.

Then I back off, slow right down, ease the pressure.

But I don't stop.

And once she's had a minute of calm I begin to speed up again.

Then, just at that point, just when I think she's about to trip over.

I back off again.

And again. And again.

Until I think she's had enough.

Then I keep going.

My fingers, a wet, sloppy blur as they plough into her.

A long, soft muted cry as a shiver flickers up the backs of her thighs and her knees and bum stiffen.

Feel her breath catch as the stiffness in her legs becomes another long shiver that ripples from her ankles to her bum then across her back until she lets out the breath in a long groan that rumbles through her body.

I keep slowly pumping my thumb into her sodden pussy as the intensity of her orgasm diminishes and a last ripple dies away.

And she's barely moved, hasn't been able to. And I wonder what it must be like; for your body not to be able to respond: to be held so tight that, even in the throws of passion, you can't move with it, can't push in or pull away: does it lessen the pleasure or does it heighten it?

I slowly pull my fingers out of her sucking depths, her sticky juices coating them, then lick the sweet tasting residue off them.

Looking down at her arse I know I've got to have a piece of it, just a snack so to speak, maybe something more if I get invited back.

I get down on my knees, my face inches from her arse. It's gorgeous. The smooth globes of her buttocks, the delicious crack of her arse above the upside-down V that frames the glistening lips of her slightly gaping, smoothly shaven, pussy.

It's soooo inviting, but the snack I want right now is still hidden in that delicious crack.

I prise it apart and press my face to her bum, my nose between her buttocks. Touch her with my lips, lick her sticky, salty heat, tease my tongue into her.

I feel her buttocks tense, in pleasure or rejection I've no real idea but, to be honest, now that I'm here, it doesn't matter, she's tied to the bed, what can she do except accept the inevitable.

The inevitability of my tongue in her arse.

Prising her bum further apart I thrust my tongue into her, burrow in and suck her into my mouth: she groans at the sudden invasion and I feel a faint tremor ripple through her.

I pull back and take a look at her. It's a smooth dark circle, much darker than the surrounding skin, with a total absence of the radiating ridges that I often encounter. It's a really deliciously lickable arse.

If you like that sort of thing. I do.

So I stab back in, a hard push that almost gets me through. But not quite.

So I pull out and tease around the circle, the tip of my tongue flicking across and around, dipping in and tapping.

Then start licking. Long swipes that drag from her perineum up across her anus and out the other side. I press as hard as I can each time, trying to maximise that drag.

She groans again and tries to squirm.

I pull back and stick my tongue out. Jab against her. Hold her buttocks as far apart as they will go and push my face against her, my stiffened tongue pushing into the tight ring.

Stop, start licking her again.

Keep going, moving faster. Long, hard licks: the full length of my tongue trawling across her increasingly raw arse.

And she's still trying to squirm against me as faint tremors continue to ripple through her fettered thighs and up across her bum.

But my cock is really beginning to ache; still trapped as it is in my trousers, my position on my knees making it increasingly uncomfortable. I need to release it, need to give it some attention.

I take one last swipe then one last stab before letting go of her and quickly scrambling to my feet. Then, pulling my zipper down I, almost with a sigh of relief, flick my cock out.

I pause for a moment, take a breath and look down at her. What an erotic sight. I've used bindings before; straps and occasionally a rope, but never with this intricacy and attention to detail; each wrap of the rope laid perfectly next to the last with exactly the same number of turns each time. And I can't see a single knot, and there must be at least one. Even her shoes had been polished and her stocking seams set perfectly straight with not a single ruck or pull in the fabric.

Beautifully done. And so sensuous.

But enough sightseeing.

Taking hold of my cock I tap it against her bum then rub it down her now closed crack until I'm touching the still hot sticky outer lips of her pussy.

They're still gaping, still glistening.

I feel her tension, her anticipation. I push against her: just a little, touch her inner lips. A little further and the very tip of me seems to sink into her skin.

She groans as I push forward another inch and my cock-head disappears into her body.

It feels deliciously warm and squidgy.

I pull myself out then push back in: just the sensitive head fucking her. Close my eyes and, my arse clenching and releasing, I pump in and out.

I lean into her and, taking hold of the bed either side of her bum, in one sudden charge, I push all the way in.

And she nearly goes into spasm, there's a loud gasp and she strains against her restraints.

I push up against her bum, pressing my cock as far into her as I can. She groans again and her pussy twitches around me.

It has a lovely soft enveloping warmth to it. She's not tight, nor is she loose, it's just a gorgeous cocoon of gentle heat.

I keep pressed up against her for a few more seconds then start to move. Just very short bumps against her cervix, hardly moving at all but enough that we can both feel it: I certainly can.

I slowly start to lengthen my strokes; still reaching all the way in but pulling back further and further until, eventually, between each thrust, just my cock-head is all that's left inside her.

And it's still a wonderfully erotic sight: her body, bound to the bed, totally at the mercy of anything I want to do.

I watch her arse as it compresses each time my long strokes bury my cock inside her.

And it's a lovely feeling, in fact it's such a lovely feeling that I almost go on for too long, until suddenly my arse begins to tingle in the telltale of an impending orgasm.

I realise what's happening and almost panic, I squeeze against it, stop moving, push up against her, hold myself deep inside her and resist the urge to cum.

And it works, but only just.

But I know that I'm not going to last long, I've let it go too far.

So I go back to grinding, those little movements that don't do too much damage, that, hopefully, delay the inevitable for me but, hopefully, don't delay it for her.

But it's hard to tell, she's bound so tightly that she can't move, she is making her little noises and there's the repeated twitching and spasms up her thighs, but she's been doing that all along, so I really don't know if she's cum or not, I hope so but I'm not sure.

So all I can do is do what I'm doing and hope that she's enjoying it as much as I am.

I shift my grip, let go of the bed and push my fingers under the ropes at her waist.

Start to switch between grinding up against her and short strokes, just pushing my cock-head in and out of her inner lips.

Now that has to be one of the best feelings: I like to do it both quickly and slowly, but it can be a little dangerous; on the cumming front, so, especially now, I don't dare do it for long, but I just can't resist, if only for a little while.

Then I go back to grinding.

But I can feel it building again; the inevitable.

So I decide to accept it: I start to pick up the pace.

I pull against her ropes and really smack my hips up against her arse, my cock piling into her depths with real meaning. And each time I smack up against her, long ripples roll across her bum.

I love the look of it and give her arse a slap just to watch it happen.

It's coming. I squeeze against it but the tingling begins to burn as I pound her bum.

Until, accompanied by my own long groan, I let it go.

I sink into her, press my hips against her hot round arse and, in a burning rush, unload jet after hot jet of thick cum.

Oh that feels so good.

So I stand and savour it, still pressed up against her, my cock buried to its root in her cum filled tunnel.

Until I feel myself begin to soften.

Then, after a long shiver up my back, I step away from her and my slackening cock slips out.

I stand and recover my breath, then, with nothing more to do, I tuck my sticky flesh back into my jeans and turn to go.

Glancing briefly at Richard, he's still sitting, still fully clothed, I leave the room, descend the stairs and let myself out.

I keep walking past my car and carry on the few minutes into town; a coffee has my name on it somewhere.

I've only been sitting for a short while, waiting for my coffee to cool and just staring out of the window, not really seeing anything, just thinking about what just happened and wondering what else I should have done, when my phone rang.

Rather surprisingly it's Philippa. 'Hello David, are you OK?' Definitely her voice.

Strange question to ask, considering. 'I'm feeling really good thank you Philippa.' Less strange is me asking the same question. 'Are you?'

I could hear the laugh in her voice. 'I'm feeling fantastic thank you. Thank you so much for today, it was wonderful, I was so excited at you coming over.'

It was actually a relief to hear her say that, it had still been at the back of my mind that she either hadn't been a fully willing participant, or that it hadn't even been her, in what had just occurred.

And then she said, 'I'd really like it if you would come back sometime.'