Trust

"You gotta let me orgasm," you plead. "Please touch me or something."

"Or something?"

"Yeah . . . You could get that toy . . ."

"I could."

I cup your vulva in my hand and slip my thumb into your wet slit. I caress your sex, teasing your clitoris.

"Faster . . ." you whimper.

I slow down instead.

"I need to orgasm! I'll never get off like this . . ."

"Is it keeping you aroused?"

"So close . . ."

"That's what I want."

You release a long loud moan, straining and stretching against the ropes. The tease of my hand and the rain drops pelting your naked skin as you lay tied and vulnerable seems tortuous, but your arousal is building.

I decide it's time. I slide down and lower my face to your desperate swollen sex. The sweet tangy aroma of your extended arousal and my semen wafts into my nose. Cum is still trickling from your vagina.

I place my fingers on your engorged lips and pull them apart, exposing your inner sanctum to my gaze and see pools of milky fluid inside you. I lower my head, mouth open wide, tongue extended and lick your juicy flesh from the bottom of your semen soaked slit, into your vagina and over your dark swollen clit.

I gather a mouthful of your lube and my cum, swallowing the savory concoction. I drink more and more, the distinction between yours and mine diminishing with each slurp.

As I clean out your sex, I concentrate more on feeding your desire. I lick and kiss and suck on your clitoris. Already on the brink, you can't hold back. You don't try.

With a loud penetrating shriek, the muscles around your vulva seize. I feel you trembling with my tongue and I can tell your release is monstrous, volatile, violent. The intensity of your screams and the quaking power of your release eclipses the roiling cyclone outside as you convulse in spasms and gasps and shrieks.

You jerk in the grasp of the final seizures of your glorious release. My mouth remains sealed over your glorious sex as your orgasm subsides.

When you are still, I withdraw my mouth. I turn around and lift the loops of rope from the foot posts, freeing you from the bonds that hold your legs apart. I gently stroke your thighs as I savor the remnants of your orgasm. I slide up beside you and remove one wrist from the lovely grip of the rope, lifting the loop from the headboard. You are liberated to wrap me in a warm tight embrace, urgently kissing me.

I return your grateful kiss, easily as pleased with your lovemaking as you are with mine. It doesn't matter that rope still loosely clasps your wrist and ankles. We embrace and the long loose cords entangle us both as we lay together in each other's arms. It doesn't matter that we are both drenched from the warm rain and that the bed is soaked. We are still warm and it feels nice.

There are no words. Nothing can be said that captures the intimacy of the tryst we've just shared. We are bound with ropes stronger that the paltry rope with which we bind each other to the bed. None of it would be possible without our trust.

But one thing had to be said, far more important than the trite sound of it.

"Thank you."

Whispered under the soft pattering of the subsiding rain on the tin roof, it is enough.