7:12 p.m. :: 2002-05-04
Of Girly Bondage
His soft voice washed over her, his breath warm, wet, and ragged against her neck. In the back of her mind, what he said registered: he wants me to put her arms behind the chair. She complied, and slowly took her thin forearms from his shoulders. Putting her wrists together at the back of the chair, he leaned forward, crushing the girl's breasts between them. Groaning softly, he suckled at the taste of her neck and pressed his jean-clad hips against her underwear: white, at his request.
He pulled out a long, black scarf from his back pocket. As he reached around the girl's form and the chair's arms, she felt deliciously dwarfed. Small and delicate, ready to break. Just the way he wants, for tonight's fantasy at least. He took his time tying the knot, alternating between soft, fleeting touches of his fingertips to forearms and forcefully tugging at the cloth holding her hands together.
When he tugged a little too hard, she whimpered; tonight, she's supposed to whimper. He slid down, parting her knees as he did. He lifted up the plaid skirt: green, blue, and pleated; at his request, exposing the white panties. Torturously, he ran his forefinger up her thigh, up, up, up, until it met elastic. Despite earlier arguments and unwillingness at this roleplay, his finger met the crotch of her panties wet and warm. He smiled; his soft voice husky with desire, he told the girl to lift her hips up. She complied, and he roughly felt for the panties' waistband. He tugged them down quickly, cursing softly as it caught at the bend in her knees.
Kneeling between her legs again, his beautiful hand crept under her skirt. His finger curled against the protruding clit. Her soft, choppy breathing made him look up. Her head is thrown back against the chair, and with her arms tied back, her nipples pressed against her shirt conspicuously.
He bent his head down and tasted her. The skirt fell over him, muffling her moaning.
"So close.." she said. "So close..." repeating it like a litany. She screamed as his tongue flicked at her swiftly, forgetting that she's only supposed to whimper. She felt him stop, felt cold air licking at her instead. One of his hands went immediately between her legs again. As her eyes closed, she heard his zipper opening and the soft rustle of clothes as he pushed his jeans down.
He stood and lifted her off the chair, careful to not have her arms come over the back. The air is thick with the smell of sex, and as he sat down he placed her on his lap. He straddling the chair, and she straddling him. She whimpered softly, pressing as much of herself as she can against him. Her voice took on a begging tone, hungry for the orgasm his mouth promised. Please, hurry.
He slid inside her, his breath leaving his lungs as her tightness pushed out all thoughts not warm and wet. She ground herself against him as she kept her toes on the ground for balance. His hands went under her shirt: button down white with a rounded collar, at his request; grabbing her breasts firmly as he tilted his hips forward.
Her hips made quick, short circles on his lap, desperate now for release. He urged her on, keeping with her rhythm. Fuck me, he whispered raggedly as he tugged at her nipple ring: hidden under the shirt to preserve the picture of an innocent school girl, at his request.
He came shortly after she did, holding her hips to him as he froze in mid-arch.
Instead of post-coital cuddling, they took turns massaging the feeling back into her arms.
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