Home is where the heart is, they say. I never really understood that saying until things changed a few months ago. Ever since leaving for college, I’d never felt that my dorm room or the apartments I shared with roommates were anything even close to cozy, or comfortable. But now, as I halted at the top of the porch steps, the last rays of the warm September sun tickling my face, I couldn’t help but feel like I was coming home.
Although, in all honesty, I should probably have exchanged “heart” for “cock.” Or “cocks,” plural, because really, after living with the guys for almost three months now, I’d pretty much forgotten the definition of the term “dry spell.” Not that I felt like complaining; I mean, who in their right mind would?
The tendril of unease that rose inside of me at my definition of “home”—a very new feeling that surprised me, and wasn’t something I wanted to analyze now—was easily pushed away and ignored
Grinning at my own nonsense, I let myself in, mentally scanning my agenda for the rest of the day. Wednesday—that meant I’d have another twenty minutes maybe until Jack got home and I’d have to change into my running gear, because I promised him we’d hit the tracks at least once this week, and with the upcoming shift overload this weekend—any weekend, really—today was likely the only day I’d have time for a little exercise. Actual exercise. Not that I couldn’t come up with a different way of burning calories, but for whatever sadistic reason, Jack kept insisting to do it the hard way.
I was just kicking my shoes off when my eyes landed on a blue index card propped up against a bright blue butt plug on the shelf right next to the door.
Frowning, I picked it up. The card, that was. As my eyes skimmed over the single scrawled line—way more readable than my own handwriting, but that came with the territory, I figured—it suddenly occurred to me that, no, it probably was still Tuesday. That was the only explanation for why Simon would think to leave me instructions that read, “You have five minutes. Lube’s in the bathroom. Downstairs.”
Damn. And I’d really been looking forward to that run. Such a tragedy that I’d now have to spend my early evening getting screwed stupid. My sadness knew no bounds.
I briefly wondered if Simon had heard me enter and I was already wasting time, but so far he’d never really seemed to care how long exactly my prep work took, as long as I wrapped it up in a timely fashion. Then again, after our recent talk—before the disaster of all family reunions—I didn’t really feel like straining his patience. And as strange as ordering me around via index card was, it made me instantly wet as fuck.
Well, only one way to find out what he had in mind.
Grinning, I quickly traversed the open space of the shared kitchen and den, ducking into the back hallway that led to what had been Simon and Jack’s rooms, respectively, and the bathroom between them. Nowadays, they were more like our bedroom and the spare room where everything not direly needed right now was stashed, although Jack still worked from his computer there on the rare days when he wasn’t in the office. I only took a moment to throw my stuff in the general direction of the closet, quickly undressing. The tiles of the bathroom floor were cool under my bare feet but I didn’t mind; mid-September, it was still warm, and besides, I doubted that Simon would give me much occasion to actually freeze.
I felt the typical pre-scene jitters start as I took care of business, followed by grabbing the bottle of lube—because sachets or small tubes really didn’t cut it in this house—and squeezed out a dollop to liberally distribute it all over the blue plug, followed by another one to apply it to where it was needed. I forced myself to stop for a moment and relax before I started opening myself up, idly wondering what scathing remark of mine must have tipped Simon off that I found the fact that all our sex toys were black kind of ridiculous. A few came to mind, but far was it from me to complain.
Once I had two of my fingers inside, I reached for the plug and started inserting it instead. It felt rather heavy, the smooth silicone a little more rigid than I was used to from other toys, but as it penetrated deeper, I certainly didn’t mind that it not just conveyed that usual stretching feeling I so loved, but I could actually feel the plug in place if I didn’t move at all. Just the very idea of how it would feel in combination with a cock in my pussy made it impossible not to fidget, and the temptation to rub one out right then and there got increasingly harder to resist. But Simon wouldn’t appreciate that, and what he might do to retaliate while I was still hypersensitive from my orgasm was enough to get me to wash my hands and return to the living room in record time.
Simon was right where I’d seen him from the corner of my eye in my mad dash through the house—in front of his laptop. For once, he wasn’t typing away furiously but instead was scanning something on his screen—already in his leather pants, if still wearing an old, faded T-shirt. I wondered for a moment if he was even aware of my presence, but he didn’t have his headphones on, and I doubted that I had been stealthy in my attempt to get things in order as fast as possible.
That idea was underlined when he raised one hand, snapped his fingers, and pointed at the floor right next to his chair, all without moving his eyes from the screen. A flicker of unease came up inside of me, remembering the last time he’d resorted to giving commands like that only too fresh on my mind from last week, but it came without the resistance I’d expected. The memory still had me gnashing my teeth, but the resentments souring my mood were all directed inward. It was one thing to realize—and start to deal with—the fact that I was a bona fide attention whore when it came to the kinky side of our relationship, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t still grate. It made me feel childish and stupid, even more so as it was the kind of attitude that had no place when everything you did was about sharing.
But in those moments when I actually felt like prostrating myself on the floor at Simon’s feet like I was doing now, yearning for him to dominate me, he was all mine. And that knowledge swept away everything except for the lust building inside of me.
Although, some of that wasn’t exactly my doing, as I would just have knelt down as I usually did when I was waiting for him upstairs, in the attic, but a well-placed hand pushing down on my head made me move forward until my forehead was almost level with the floor. I couldn’t quite resist wriggling my ass a little, seeing how up in the air and exposed the position left it. I half expected him to spank me—and felt a little disappointed when he refrained—but my momentary ire disappeared instantly when something gave a buzz inside said ass, making me jump.
It took me a moment to realize that it was the plug that had started to vibrate, the sensation unfamiliar but pleasant. Very pleasant, indeed, when the frequency changed from slow and almost unobtrusive to much stronger, making it hard to keep my knees spread because, really, friction somewhere else was direly needed. And reaching between my legs and taking care of that manually was out of the question now.
Simon left me kneeling like that for about a minute, but contrary to other times when inactivity drove me insane, the buzzing of the plug was quite enticing, and for once he let me suffer in silence with my dignity intact. Although, if I had my wish, this wouldn’t even come close to the real kind of suffering I was yearning for.
And, wouldn’t you know it, I’d likely eat those words before the end of the hour, if Simon had his way.
As I waited for him to do something other than fiddle with the remote control of the plug, I felt my mind quiet down further, letting my body relax into an almost meditative state. Sure, parts of me were already strung taut, but it was easy to check out mentally. After days of stress, with lives literally depending on me, I needed this, not just wanted it.
Simon’s cell went off, startling me again, and bastard that he was, of course he picked up.
“Hey, Tony. No, time’s perfect. You emailed me about the new line that publisher was thinking about opening?” he jabbered away, idly running his—bare—foot up along the outside of my thigh, making me grin into the floor. At another snap of his fingers, I turned my head and looked up at him, noticing that he’d changed his usually rather upright sitting position into a slouch. Our eyes met for a second before he pointedly looked down at his crotch, never missing a beat in his conversation.
Well, that was rather obvious.
Following his silent command, I reached up and rubbed my hand over the beginning bulge in his pants, teasing him just a little. Immediately, Simon grabbed the back of my head and mashed my face into the supple, warm leather of his pants, making me chuckle under my breath. So he wasn’t in the mood for teasing? Too bad.
Obediently, I unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper as soon as he let go of me, finding that he was—as so often of late—going commando underneath. I thought about teasing him again, but the way his fingers now dug into my shoulder was a silent warning, if ever I’d gotten one. So instead of kissing or licking enticingly, I took his cock between my lips and sucked him deep into my mouth, going down until my nose hit his pubic bone. I felt him harden immediately while he relaxed otherwise, spreading his knees further to better accommodate my access—while at the same time continuing to chat with his publisher without missing a beat.
The position didn’t really favor anything beyond bobbing my head up and down on him, my palms on his thighs, but when he prodded my left hand, I dutifully let go, catching my other wrist at the small of my back instead. His fingers wove through my hair, gathering a good handful so he could guide me, and he continued to let me suck him off like that. Soon, Simon was hard enough that I had to relax the muscles of my throat to be able to take him in completely, and it was just a matter of time until he forced me to stop at the lowest point of motion, keeping his cock rammed firmly down my throat. My gag reflex wanted to engage immediately but I cut down on that impulse, waiting until he eased up again for me to draw another breath. The muscles of my vagina spasmed involuntarily, making me yearn even more to have his dick somewhere else than down my throat.
That went on for a good five minutes—the entirety of the call—and by the time Simon hung up, I was hard-pressed to keep the moans I desperately wanted to let out to myself. One last time he forced my head to still, and I was surprised to feel him come down my throat a moment later. Normally, he had quite a lot more will to hold back, but I had to admit, the emotional impact of him just using me like this at the start of a scene without taking care of any of my needs was quite powerful.
He grinned down lazily at me when he finally let go, and I spent another few seconds making sure that I’d licked him clean before I eased back onto my haunches, waiting for what would come next. Simon put his now semi-hard dick away and stretched before he shifted so he wouldn’t slide right off his chair as he leaned forward, one arm pushed across his thigh. With the other hand, he reached between my legs, one finger sliding into my dripping wet pussy, but clearly just to tease. I’d barely had time to squeeze before it was gone again, and the brief flick my clit got was almost worse than if he hadn’t touched me at all. The same hand ghosted up my side now to find my breast, tweaking my nipple hard before he let go.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, a rather amused look on his face as he caught my gaze. “I think we should switch things up a little.”
Part of me—a small part that still hadn’t sunk completely into the proper headspace of us playing—was itching to gripe a sarcastic, “Oh, really?” back at him, but I kept my lips closed, waiting for him to go on. If he wanted my input, he’d let me know. Simon’s smile widened, making it obvious that I’d just passed the test. Well, it usually took me longer than a day or two to forget when I threw around statements like needing him to step up his game.
“You know that, so far, I’ve always kept things heavily on the physical side. Now I’m not a hundred percent sure how to up the ante on the psychological scale, but I have a few ideas. I just have one question that I need answered from you first. Goes without saying that if I feel like you’re just trying to manipulate me rather than telling me the truth, I will change directions, and you won’t like the result of that much. So, answer me this, honest and truthfully. For the greatest possible impact today, would you rather beg for a release that won’t come for a long, long time, or be forced to come until you’re begging me to stop? And, no, the begging part in either option is non-negotiable.”
I couldn’t help but shudder at the very idea of both options, but forced my lust-addled brain to jump-start so I could give him that answer. It was a dilemma because he’d put me through both scenarios in the past and I’d loved it each and every time, but upon some closer examination, I realized that my mood was swinging one way rather than the other today.
“I’d love to beg for a release that won’t come until the very end, Sir.”
Way to doom myself, but if I let logic and knee-jerk reactions into a scene, it would just blow up in my face. Simon’s lips curled up into a smile that should not have fit so perfectly there, but that was one more reason why I loved him.
“Very well,” he acknowledged, getting up in one fluid motion. “Follow me.” In passing, he reached up and wrenched the T-shirt over his head, leaving his torso naked. His order gave me pause for a moment, but I decided that he was deliberately vague because he was leaving the decision up to me. So I followed him, crawling on hands and knees up the steps into the attic, feeling just a little silly with the plug still buzzing away in my ass.
Upstairs, it was rather warm, making me wonder why Simon hadn’t turned on the AC beforehand. Immediately, my gaze was drawn to the padded mat that was resting under the suspension pulley system, rather than its usual place against the back wall. Still smiling faintly—likely because of how my ass was swinging to and fro with every motion—Simon pointed at the mat without uttering a word. While a little annoying, this silent thing was surprisingly efficient. So while he went over to the supply cabinet, I moved onto the mat, easing my body onto my spread knees as I straightened, hands behind my back.
I was surprised when the first thing he did was push a ball-gag between my teeth, buckling the straps at the nape of my neck. Then he followed that up with a thick, padded blindfold that cast my entire world into darkness.
“Don’t even think for a second that this excuses you from begging for release,” he drawled into my ear, so close that I could feel the heat of his body against my shoulder. “Not that begging will do you any good. But I so love to hear you beg.” His lips pressed against my cheek, right next to the strap of the gag.
“And moan.” Another kiss, this one on my chin.
“And sigh.” Using one finger, he tilted my head up so he could reach my neck, sucking greedily on the soft skin there until I was sure that he’d leave a mark.
“And scream.” I immediately tensed, bracing for the pain that I knew was about to come, but he just flicked my left nipple teasingly before moving away.
Something thudded lightly onto the mat next to me—a coil of rope if I wasn’t mistaken. And, true enough, a couple seconds later I felt Simon fold the soft yet sturdy hemp rope around my lower stomach, pulling the ends through a noose at the center of my abdomen. More rope—from fresh coils—followed along each upper thigh, the light restriction already doing its own to get me going even without all the guessing how he’d connect the bits and pieces of the bondage. A nudge at my arm had me raise them, lacing my fingers behind my head as he wound rope across my upper torso, below and above my breasts, but leaving my shoulders free this time. Four more ropes went around my wrists and ankles, still leaving me in the dark about where this was going.
A stronger push at my upper back had me lean forward, into the perfect position for Simon to grab my breasts and squeeze them hard, massaging until he drew a low moan from me. Then yet more rope followed in tight-as-hell loops around each of my tits, building up constant pressure quickly. Once he had those rope ends fastened to the ties across my torso, he nudged my shoulder for me to straighten, then lie back onto the floor, facing up. I felt him grab the ropes from my lower abdomen and thighs, the light yanking making me shift until my weight was mostly on my shoulders and feet—which not quite incidentally made the ropes on my tits bite even more. Now I just needed him to do something about my nipples, and I’d be in heaven.
“Can you lift yourself into a bridge pose? You know, the yoga one?” he asked. “Your shoulders stay down while you lift your pelvis up, feet firmly planted into the floor. Don’t worry, I won’t make you remain like that unsupported for long.” His hands were already running down my body, pushing and prodding the parts he was talking about. That didn’t sound too hard. I’d never really gotten into yoga—likely because I had about Jack’s ability to keep a straight face while anyone, myself included, contorted their bodies—which was to say, none at all—but I was vaguely aware that Simon slinked off to the studio about twice a week.
Like the meek little sub that I tried to be, I followed along, shimmying around until I managed to arch up the lower half of my body, feet sinking firmly into the soft mat. The moment my ass left the mat, I felt him pull on the ropes he’d selected before, without a doubt to connect them to the suspension rig. I did my best to lock my muscles into place and keep the position as steadily as possible, but still barely managed to stay like this until he let me know that I could ease up. The ropes held my weight easily, but put quite the pressure on the points of my body that now carried my weight. That changed quickly as he added more ties in between them, creating what felt almost like a climbing harness around my hips.
When he was done with that, he moved on to fix the ankle restraints to the floor, my knees ending up just slightly wider than hip width. I expected him to pull my arms back now, but instead he brought my wrists together underneath the arch of my body, first tying them together and then leading the rope to an attachment point somewhere between my ankles, forcing my upper back to arch even more. Without the mat under my head and shoulders that position might have become really uncomfortable fast, and even so it wasn’t exactly something I could relax into. I was sure that if he left me like that, it would turn torturous soon enough—but knowing Simon, that wasn’t his intention. Just watching me suffer while he was a passive observer? So not his thing.
“I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight,” he observed quite casually as he must have crouched down beside me, his hand appearing on my upper thigh—right next to the ropes—stroking to my knee and back. “And there’s not a single thing you can do to stop me.”
Quite literally there wasn’t, I realized, when I tried to slide one of my feet a little, and couldn’t move from the weight that was on it and the way he’d tied off the restraints. With the gag, I couldn’t even speak properly—not that this would actually keep me from using my safeword if need be, but there was that mental impression that I couldn’t—and unless he was talking or touching me, I had no idea where he even was.
His hand left my thigh to move up to my torso, then further still to reach for my breast. Bent as I was, the ropes around my torso might put less of a strain on my rib cage than otherwise, but those directly on my breasts were digging in good, restricting to the point of becoming lightly painful. I loved the sensation, and it increased as he stroked what little flesh was left exposed before his lips latched onto my nipple and he greedily sucked it into his mouth. That he followed that up with a sharp bite was just the icing on the cake.
My other breast sadly didn’t get the same treatment, but far was it from me to protest when I felt the familiar bite of a wooden clothespin snap onto that nipple. I much preferred the stronger pinch of the clover clamps, but Simon seldom used any of his equipment without getting the most of it. Like the plug that was still vibrating in my ass, my current position forcing all the muscles around it to squeeze, increasing the sensation wonderfully.
The next clothespin went on my other nipple, and a few more followed around, making me guess that he was circling my areolas with them. The mat squeaked slightly as he got up, and I spread my knees—as much as I could—obediently as he nudged my inner thighs next. Excitement zoomed through me at the prospect of him maybe—please!—finally getting to the good parts now, but instead of rubbing my clit or finger-fucking me, he pinched my outer labia before putting more clothespins—four on each side—on them, the light pinch and constant pressure just adding to the need for stimulation.
“So what am I going to do to you now?” he mused, his finger skimming back to my knee.
One thing was rather obvious that he wasn’t going to do, which was fuck me. My ass was way too close to the floor to make this comfortable, and although I couldn’t see the ropes going up from around my waist, hips, and thighs, I was sure that they probably barred the way to turn that maneuver impossible. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that; I certainly wouldn’t have minded a hard cock in my pussy now.
“I just love it when you’re quiet like this,” Simon went on, his fingers running back toward my hip. “Of course, I love it even more when you can’t keep quiet anymore.” With a last squeeze, his hand disappeared, only to touch down on the clothespins that he’d snapped onto my labia. I felt him tug and pull on them, and it took me a moment to realize that he was working them underneath the thigh restraints, forcing my labia to extend, increasing both the tension and accessibility. I definitely approved.
Even more so when the next thing I felt were his lips, closing around my exposed clit as he sucked on it, then set to licking with fervor. Moaning softly around the gag, I opened my knees further to give him better access, incidentally increasing the light pull on my labia.
Rather uncommon for him, Simon didn’t just tease me for a few seconds, but got really into it, if keeping his fingers—sadly—on my knees. I still enjoyed the enthusiastic strokes of his tongue and the increasingly harder sucking on my clit, the plug in my ass doing its own to increase the pleasurable sensations. And increase them, and increase them—until he stopped, moving away seconds before the intensity could reach to where I was about to have to start begging for permission. I was a little surprised that he didn’t go that far that soon already, but far be it from me to protest.
With blood rushing in my ears, it was hard to follow his almost silent motions as he stepped away from me, but when he appeared right next to my head a few seconds later, things got a little easier. Both his hands touched down on my lower abdomen and stroked up toward my breasts, giving my tits a good, lingering squeeze. I moaned softly when his fingers pinched the clothespins for a moment, turning pressure into enticing pain, but he let go before it could get to be too much.
And then nothing else followed, making anticipation skyrocket inside of me. What was he up to? Was he still crouching there, right next to me? Looking down at my bent, half-suspended body? Seeing the shiver of need run through me as I just couldn’t keep still? It was moments like that where I really started to hate the blindfold.
Suddenly, white-hot pain spread across my lower stomach, arching to my sides, making me scream into the gag. The sensation dissipated almost immediately to a pulsing, warm glow that itself receded quickly, but it still took me several gasping moments to realize where it had come from—candle wax. Simon left me just long enough to relax again before more wax splashed down on me—this time a little higher, making me jerk in my bonds just the same although I’d anticipated it. A third volley followed, this one across my ribs, spreading right to the ropes around my upper torso. By then, I managed not to cry out, but the sensation was still startling enough to cause involuntary jerking on my ropes. Not that this helped in any way.
Panting loudly, I sagged back into my bonds and the mat, feeling like my entire midsection was one surprisingly cozy, warm center of attention.
“I don’t think you’ll need this any longer,” I heard him say just as he pushed the blindfold from my eyes to my forehead, leaving it tangled in my hair. Blinking against the light—low as it was—I only really saw the ceiling and my distended tits, all that rope making them stand up from my torso quite obscenely. Leaning over me, Simon grinned down at me, clearly quite amused by my reaction to the wax. He was gone a moment later, but reappeared holding a white pillar candle. A very tall, very thick candle that would yield a lot of molten wax, my mind supplied helpfully. And tied as I was, I had absolutely no chance of checking how many more there were.
Yet instead of splashing more wax onto me, he reached between my spread legs, one finger idly rubbing across my entrance, gathering up moisture. Removing his hand, he studied his finger, then put it to his lips and sucked on it, still grinning.
“Of course that could be from before, but I’d say that wax didn’t exactly pull you away from that high you were chasing,” he observed, looking from my face to the candle. “Shall we put that theory to the test?”
Before I got a chance to answer—not that he’d left me with the means to—he slowly dipped the candle until a few drops dripped over the side, landing on my left breast. Instinctively screwing my eyes shut, I mewled into the gag, but while I was way more sensitive there than across my stomach, the amount of wax that he poured was a lot smaller. A few more drops landed on my other breast before he stopped again. Forcing my eyes to open, I looked up at him, but he was studying my body rather than my face.
The candle disappeared from my view again, and moments later, thin, hot streaks appeared across my right inner thigh, making my legs tremble and drawing a few more heavy pants from me. And just when he stopped teasing me and let what remained of the molten wax slosh all over the inside of my left thigh, I realized what other part of my anatomy was left glaringly exposed.
The very thought of him dribbling wax over my bare pussy—coupled with the burning sensation slowly dissipating across my thighs—was enough to almost make me come.
And when he looked at my face again, my eyes wide as I tried to blink away sweat, I could tell that he saw that knowledge had dawned on me.
“My, my, you’re slow jumping to conclusions today,” he surmised—and disappeared again.
I expected more wax to follow, but instead he returned to me, carrying one of the light leather floggers idly in one hand. Without further ado, he brought it down on the by now cooled-off, cracking wax on my stomach, making me jerk a little, but the sensation wasn’t really strong enough to qualify as unpleasant. Wax chips flew away, making me screw my eyes shut again to keep them out. I definitely felt when most of the wax was gone because now the flogger hit my stomach evenly, but he didn’t really try to get a rise out of me. This was clearly cleanup, and I certainly didn’t mind when he switched to my legs—even spread my thighs further, part of me hoping that his aim would stray.
It did, I was surprised to notice, but instead of lightly flogging my pussy, he just let the strands dance between my spread labia, teasing more than anything else. That certainly got my imagination going again, and I couldn’t help but try to jerk my hips forward, silently urging him to create more friction.
The flogger disappeared, but instead he brought his hand down between my legs, a light slap that stung just enough to get my full attention. I moaned, more for show and to express my enthusiasm than anything else, and got rewarded with a quick flick of my clit before Simon straightened and withdrew his hand.
This was usually the time in any scene where he started to verbally tease me as well as physically—but it only took about ten seconds for me to realize that today, he was doing neither. Putting the flogger away, he got the candle again—or one similar to it—and continued to dribble wax over my thighs, ranging closer and closer to the ropes that kept the clothespins secured, but not quite getting there. Switching to my stomach next, he did the same there—went lower and lower, but never low enough. The last of the wax he let drop into the crease of my left hip, before it was the flogger again for another cleanup round.
And then more wax that he whipped off again as soon as it had cooled. And yet more. And a fifth round, by the end of which he had my entire body singing with the need for—I couldn’t even say what. More. More of everything. More pain, more pleasure, more intensity—you name it. And there was absolutely nothing that I could do about that. That knowledge was maddening, but only furthered that need somehow. I was sure that if he’d brush a finger over my clit now, I’d come, however much I’d try not to. But of course he didn’t, but instead got the candle again.
Arching my back further—also because the strain on my muscles was the one thing that was getting increasingly more painful, really—I tried to lose myself in the sensations, but they were simply too diverse for me to zone out. Or the back-breaking arch the bondage forced me into was too distracting. Groaning with frustration, I splayed my fingers out rather than keep them in loose fists underneath my body—not that that helped anything. And Simon just kept going and going—
Until he stopped.
A hard yank on the rope harness around my hips and thighs made me give a yip, fear of crashing to the ground momentarily injecting adrenaline into my veins. Logically, I knew that the pulley system had not just one but two failsafes that almost reduced the possibility—not just risk—of failure to zero, but that didn’t mean that my mind couldn’t jump to the worst conclusions. I still tried to calm myself down with limited success as I felt my ass being raised further into the air, my body slowly getting rearranged and moving along until both my shoulders and heels, followed by my head—left the floor, until I was completely suspended. The previous pressure in my arms from being pulled lightly increased to the point of discomfort, but I managed to counteract that by arching my back further, until my head and shoulders were pretty much vertical.
I’d thought I’d felt helpless before, but that was nothing compared to now. I couldn’t even breathe deeply because my own muscles kept my lungs from being able to fully extend. Maybe that thought should have scared me, but my mind felt a little beyond that point. And I trusted Simon to know exactly what he was doing to me and how much farther he could push.
Once he’d secured the ropes in their new position, Simon returned to me and unbuckled the straps of the gag, gently pulling the ball from between my teeth. That helped a little with breathing, but really, it was the entire position, not the upper part of my respiratory system, that was the issue.
I was still trying to work the kinks out of my jaw as I watched him pull off his pants and kneel down in front of my head, legs spread. He gave me just long enough to register that his cock was fully hard again before he steadied my head with one hand, took hold of his dick with the other, and guided it into my mouth.
Well, that was different, and not just because I got a nose full of balls.
For a moment, I was ready to panic, his fingers on my neck making it impossible for me to even try to wrest my head away. I couldn’t breathe around his cock, and instant panic made me stupid enough not to try my nose—the obvious choice. I felt him grab my tit, just before his fingers pinched down hard on the clothespin on my nipple, making me scream—and, just like that, air rushed back into my lungs, chasing away the momentary fear. Simon let go of the clamp on my nipple but otherwise remained motionless, giving me time to work out the logistics. Yes, I could still breathe with barely more than the head of his cock in my mouth. His hand on my neck was supporting my head rather than limiting me, and the way his thumb was slowly running up and down my throat was helping me reestablish my normal breathing rhythm. Everything A-okay, sudden crisis averted. I allowed myself to relax again, sagging as much into the bonds as they would allow.
Then I felt him roll his hips forward, pushing deeper into my mouth, and remaining calm and relaxed became a bit of a struggle. Yet before I could panic again, he withdrew a little before pushing forward anew. He was maybe going an inch either way, slowly fucking my mouth, and on the third pass I was calm enough to actually get into it.
It helped a lot when his free hand stroked up my wax-speckled torso to my hips and then dipped between my still-spread legs, finding my clit and rubbing it in turn to his motions. Need came roaring back as if the entire fright thing hadn’t happened, letting me sink further into the position. He must have felt that, because his cock pushed further into me now, almost to the point where he would have cut off my airflow, but staying just shy of it.
And shit, that entire sensation was just surreal.
Time stopped flowing. There was just his cock in my mouth, my mouth hungrily sucking on his cock, his hand on my neck keeping my head steady as he fucked me, my body forced into an arch that was almost too uncomfortable yet at the same time divinely intense, and his finger circling and circling my clit. It felt as if my entire body was alive with heat, but it wasn’t ebbing and swelling, yet rather a constant. It just was. I felt like that could have gone on forever—and it did.
I could tell when Simon’s stamina started to wane—not because his motions became any less smooth, but because his cock hardened just that little more that turned things awkward. I tried my best to relax the muscles of my throat more, but when he bumped against the back of my mouth, there simply was no give. A notion of disappointment zipped through me, and only increased when the hand on my neck disappeared—but only to now press down across the front of my throat, tightening… until he completely cut off my airways.
I probably should have panicked, but my mind remained calm. He thrust in harder and faster, just as his fingers on my clit became a blur, shoving my body toward ecstasy—
A single word, a simple command, and my body and mind followed like a well-oiled machine. There was no rational thought that made me obey—I was too far gone for that—but nature took its course once he shoved open the floodgates. And with my body in this impossible position, I couldn’t jerk away, or even move at all, which somehow potentiated the intensity of my orgasm, internalizing it.
I thought I blacked out for a moment, not from lack of air but simply because it was all too much. A vague part of me registered him coming in my mouth and pulling out as he let go, sweet, sweet air flowing into my lungs, but I couldn’t have claimed to actively draw breath. Or even think about breathing. I just was—existing, weightlessly, endlessly—until, ever so slowly, my conscious mind restarted again.
I was still hanging there, panting slowly, feeling…
I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Discomfort—mainly from the bondage—was seeping into my thoughts, but I couldn’t really be bothered to care about that. It was as if part of me was still drifting weightlessly, without a care in the world. This was just unreal.
Until the molten wax of the candle that had had a lot of time to build up in the meantime, spilled down my pubic mound and in between my held-apart labia, hitting my clit and every hypersensitive inch right down to the base of the butt plug—and I came right away again.
That second orgasm was just as intense as the first, but so completely different from it at the same time that it should have gotten a completely separate label. It was violent, it was external, it was painful to the point of being too much yet not enough at the same time, and not just because the wax burned like hell for five heartbeats that my genitals seemed to pulse with. But the real difference was that I was completely aware of every nuance of it, of every single cell in my entire body, down to my hair that was dragging across the floor, which was, of course, completely impossible. And it left me crying like a baby because it completely overwhelmed me—too much and not enough of everything.
As long as it had taken Simon to tie me up, he was insanely quick in getting me out of the restraints so he could gather me up in his arms and hold me. Rope ends snapped around as he pulled the wrist and ankle ropes free, disconnecting my hands from each other before he lowered my body onto the mat. I literally couldn’t move a muscle except for those controlling my eyelids as he was suddenly back, pulling me into his arms as he lay down beside me. There was exactly the warmth and comfort that I needed as he held me while my frayed nerves continued to run haywire, but my body slowly calmed down.
It was only after I stopped sobbing and just snuggled into the crease of his neck to lightly scrape my teeth over his skin that he eased his grip on me and set to removing all that rope that was still wrapped around my body. And the clothespins. And the wax. Oh my fucking God, the wax. Not that it hurt any longer, but just feeling him pick the thick, dry coat from my pussy made me shudder all over again.
I ended up on my back—still on the mat—refusing to move a single muscle although my body felt moderately under my control again. I just didn’t want to. Keeping my legs spread obscenely, I was kind of afraid to even try to close them now. Simon leaned back but then rolled over on his side so that he could grin down at me, reaching up to stroke a lock of my hair off my forehead that sweat had plastered there.
Scrunching up my nose, I glared at him, but couldn’t find it in me to complain. Oh, it wasn’t like I was calm about how he’d ended the scene. On the contrary. My mind was alight with feelings ranging from outrage to something that was almost apprehension but didn’t quite skip into that territory. But what kept my mouth shut was the overwhelming feeling of wonder, bordering on awe. We’d done a few things that had made me question my sanity, at least a little, but this, today? Miles out of this world.
Simon’s smile grew as he continued to study me, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What, no gripe about me not making you beg? No hurling insults at me?”
Part of me considered doing both, but I was seriously too mellow to put up with it.
“Nope, I’m good,” I replied, a little surprised that my voice wasn’t all hoarse and unsteady.
I could see in his eyes that he knew exactly how I was feeling right now, and somehow that increased the mental satisfaction inside of me even more. That, and the knowledge that he was clearly proud of me. Proud that I toughed it out; that I wasn’t beating myself over the head now for getting a massive kick out of it; that I was happy to join him in this.
Sighing contentedly, I closed my eyes, ready to drift off. I more felt than heard him chuckle as he moved over me, one hand insistently rolling me onto my side so he could reach the plug—now turned off—and pull it out of my ass. I winced briefly at the loud, smacking sound that went along with that, but it was nice to be able to relax one more set of muscles.
“Ready to face the world again?” Simon whispered into my ear before his lips trailed across my cheek, finding mine. He kissed me, slow yet deep but gentle, making a tiny part deep inside of me melt—before reality came crashing in.
And, just like that, the spell was broken, and I felt vaguely like myself again. Opening my eyes, I blinked at him, somehow mustering a tired smile.
“Sure, let’s go.”
He heaved me onto my still unsteady feet, not letting go until he’d made sure that I wasn’t cramping and could support my entire weight on my own. We left the attic together, emotionally just a little closer than before.