Message-ID: <44609asstr$1065384602@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Toran User-Agent: NewsPro/3.6.2 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 05 Oct 2003 16:05:46 GMT X-Spam-Level: Level X-Spamscanner: mailbox5.ucsd.edu (v1.2 May 26 2003 01:55:38, 0.9/5.0 2.60) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 874 h95G5lHK009789 mailbox5.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 05 Oct 2003 16:05:46 GMT Subject: {ASSM} The Ultimate O {Toran} (MF, bdsm, cons) Date: Sun, 5 Oct 2003 16:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman Comments are welcome and appreciated. Feel free to write directly to my email address in the header - the spammers will, of course, be using it. The Ultimate O by Toran He rolled her nipple, drinking in her reaction like the best bourbon money could buy. Her face was already flushed, her eyes already intense, looking but not seeing. He rolled the other nipple, only this time he added a sharp pinch, squeezing the little flesh nub as tight as he could and the squeal, muffled by the wad of silk in her mouth caused him to close his eyes and savor the moment as long as he could. All night, her reactions had been nothing short of a waterfall, each successive suggestion that he made causing a powerful emotion to ripple across her face and body. When the wine had done its trick of loosening them both up, he had whispered in her ear that he would make her have the best and most explosive orgasm of her life. Of course, she didn't believe him, but the hope that flickered across her eyes, almost imperceptible, told him that the door was open, if only just a crack. He stepped away and looked down at her taut body. That her arms and legs were stretched as far as possible by the silk cords that made her into a bed-angel, frozen in flight, was a given. His special touch was the cords that bound her breasts into orbs of purpling flesh. Just doing that ritual, wrapping the cords tighter and tighter, turning the holy grail of a woman's body into something to be toyed with and hurt - that alone had made her draw in breath through her nose, all the while, a little whine was humming deep in her throat. That was good. Actually, it was fucking excellent. He had trotted out the small bundle of silk scarves as they had a second bottle of wine in front of the fireplace. The scarves were only for show - they were less threatening than the soft but heavy cord that he would use on her once she was beyond objecting. Scarves were romantic, and from the gaze she gave them as they lay in a bundle on the edge of the leather couch he knew that she was thinking of captured princesses and harem slave girls. And that ultimate orgasm that he was promising her. Her body was perfectly still as she stared at them, the room silent save for the crackle of sizzling sap from the burning logs in the fireplace. And he let her do her thinking, her fantasizing, all the while recording her image in his mind for later pleasures, when she was gone. Her breathing was fast - he could see her chest taking small short breaths and that did her breasts proud. Her nipples were slightly erect and he found himself thinking of nipple rings pulled taught, or heavy serrated clamps biting tender flesh, and the screams behind her gag as they were pulled off, one after the other. How her body would strain against the cords then... Her pupils dilated and he noticed that her hips were moving, just a little, in tight grinding motions, pushing her ass deeper into the bed. He kept one hand on her nipple, alternately squeezing and rolling the bud, while his other hand slid down to her tummy, caressing the firm flesh of her belly but staying away from the nestle of curly brown hair that guarded her puss. That would be plundered later, at the right moment, for a man's mistake is to go for the touchdown too soon. There would be more touching, more caressing, a little biting and pinching, but he would be able to gauge the flush of her skin, the urgency of her hips, the tempo of her breath - and then was when he would ram into her, deeply, and send her into oblivion. She had blushed profusely while he wound the soft, delicate silk scarf about one wrist and he actually had to take the glass of wine from her other hand before he tied that one. She had been fully clothed, then, of course, but he saw that her nipples were straining at the blouse she had worn for this date and he had debated going for the score early - by tying her hands behind her, those nipples would be taut against the fabric and oh so sensitive. But he held off, instead tying her wrists together in front of her - her first feelings of captivity would be mildly edgy, but safe. What could he do if she still had her hands in front of her to ward off anything he might try? But that intense look that would come to dominate her face as the night wore on and his bindings became more severe - that look was born as she regarded her bound wrists, her delicate watch still on and ticking. An interesting situation, he thought she was thinking. Dinner, wine, fireplace, hands tied. What an interesting sensation. He had both his hands on her midsection now, caressing, drawing gooseflesh. With every swirl, his hands got closer to that patch of curly hair and she was beginning to time this with her hips. The hum in her throat was building, along with the twitching and straining of her legs. Her calves and thighs were taut and he had to take a moment to watch the muscles there tense, hold for long seconds, then relax. But only for an instant before they again tensed. He knew that, were she not tied and helpless and totally vulnerable to whatever he wanted to do to her, those legs would be wrapped around his torso, heels digging into the small of his back, driving him at the speed that was best for her. And that was what he saw in the straining of her legs and urgent bucking of her hips - she wasn't driving. She was frustrated. She was in his power now. She was only a woman whose flesh was his for the playing. He had knelt before her, and she had spread her legs, giggling a little. Her bound hands found his hair and nervously played with the black tousles that were the product of his cowlick. His hands had started at her hips, feeling the delicate panties beneath the cotton slip and they had both laughed when he gave the seam a little snap. Her fingers had grabbed his hair, almost as a warning, a mock roadblock sign that said there may be a detour ahead if the right speed wasn't maintained, and he chuckled. Not so much from the moment, but from the sure knowledge that before long, all the fucking detour signs would be gone and the road was his to plunder at will. His fingers danced up to caress the flesh just under the cords that bound her breasts and she jerked a little - ticklish. So vulnerable she was. A few touches under her arms and she was screaming into the silk wad. Another reaction that she hadn't planned on giving him. But tickling wasn't his thing. His fingers went back to the flesh below her belly button, this time running from her bound ankles up, slowly, along her calves and inner thigh, getting close, oh so close to the warm and sweet spot that they both wanted to explore, but then back down. She moaned as his fingers made the pilgrimage, each time getting close to the holy spot, before turning back. The hum in her throat was now a loud moan, and he knew that she may just be getting to where he'd have to pace himself more slowly. The best roller-coasters have more than just the first hill and he wanted to build up enough speed for the many that he knew she had in her. His lips had done the trick, kissing the soft inner thigh flesh, and she had made the mistake of using her bound hands on the back of his neck to control the pace and location of his kisses. He could smell her and that fueled the fire inside, and if she hadn't been so commanding, he probably could have kept the play on the couch going for another ten or fifteen minutes. As it was, he was forced to pull away, sitting for a moment on his knees, gazing at her. She had looked at him through half-lidded eyes, her hands wanting to go to her puss to keep things moving. But she held back - out of modesty he didn't know. But they lay in her lap, moving nervously, and he had known that it was time to adjourn to the bedroom and get her more helpless. She obviously was ready to have matters taken completely out of her hands. He climbed up and positioned himself between her legs, his arms lying over her thighs, hands finding the cooling breast flesh, bound as it was. Her body quivered before his eyes, and a when he blew warm breath across her engorged pussy lips, she arched her back and sucked in breath. He knew that she could feel the heat of his head so close to the little button that had been virtually ignored, and his breath, caressing her flesh when his fingers wouldn't, wasn't enough, not nearly enough. He thought of how lovely his view was, visions of clamps and rings and piercings in his head - how would she react to pain where only pleasure should be? Would she be able to turn that pain into pleasure, or would he have to make her practice? He blew again, watching her body react, smelling her smell, feeling her heat, all the while his hands squeezed and groped her bound breasts. He had flung her over his shoulder, cave-man style and her firm butt had gotten its share of slaps as he carried her into the bedroom. She was laughing all the way, her hands playfully pounding his back. When he tossed her on the bed and followed up immediately by covering her with kisses, she moaned and even helped him take her clothes off, as much as her hands could help, anyways. She made small talk, nervous banter, as he gently removed the silk from around her wrists and spread her out across the bed. He knew that she was thinking the binding was over with, that now he would begin to work her flesh and with her help, he would deliver on his promise. The `with her help' part being the key. Her face registered surprise when he climbed atop her torso, his knees keeping most of his weight off her, and tied her wrists to the silk cord hanging from the corners of the bedposts. But he had gone to work on kissing her fingertips, the palm of her hands, the sensitive flesh of her forearms, her shoulders, her neck. A few nibbles on her ear lobes and she was tossing her head to kiss him on the lips. It was then that he had broken away and went about the business of tying her legs. Her suggestive protests were lost when he stuffed the silk scarves deep into her mouth and bound the ends about her head. There was the chill of uncertainty in her face then but he had quieted her unnerved eyes with kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, even her nose, and it was the swoon that he was waiting for before he had gone to work on her breasts. His tongue flicked out and caught the side of one of her pussy lips and her inner thighs strained to capture his head and push his tongue deeper, touch the flesh that needed to be touched. But he tied her well and her legs were only getting limited movement. His hands worked her nipples, his body stretched almost as far as it could go. But he was entering the promised land and a little soreness in the morning was a fair price. Her smell filled his world, deep and mysterious and animal. Even in the darkness he could see that her curly brown hair was moist. She was ready, she wanted it, her body was prepared and screaming for him to take her, drive her up that first hill of the roller-coaster and throw her down, hard, down the rails that would do nothing but harness her fury. And that was why he was careful not to touch the button that had swelled from the top folds of her engorged flesh, straining to be touched. That was why he continued to work his tongue in and around her fleshy opening, careful to make sure her thrusting hips didn't brush the button that would start the fireworks prematurely. This was, after all, the best orgasm she was ever going to have, he told himself. Why hurry? He'd left her on the bed, tied, vulnerable, helpless. It was necessary. She needed to realize some things before he continued. The first was that she had to test the cord that bound her. She had to know that he was in control now, not later. The second was that she had to accept her helplessness - it wouldn't do any good if being restrained were only a by-product of getting screwed. It had to be the reason she was getting screwed. She was about to be plundered, used, treated to whatever fun he wanted to do to her. She had to know this before he started. Otherwise she would be fighting it. When he walked back in, the cords that would bind her breasts in his hand, she would have to be certain in her mind that he had her, she was his, and that there was nothing she could do about it. Captured princess, harem slave, whatever. This was real now, there was no turning back. His fingers once again found her somewhat flattened nipples and circled the taut flesh. Bound breasts were overly sensitive and that was good. Her body was pretty much out of her control now, her hips grinding into the bed with abandon, arching toward his mouth whenever she felt him near. The silk wad did little to contain her frustrated moans and every now and then he heard her try to say words around the packing. He buried his nose into the patch of curly hair and breathed hot air on her clit. She was so close, but now he held her back. He knew she had to have just that little push to send her over the crest of the first hill, and he dangled that push just out of her reach. His hands left her breasts and now he quickly drummed at the flesh around her pussy, the soft mat of hair hiding the reddening flesh. He was careful not to even graze her button or pussy flesh, concentrating the tapping to her inner thighs and mons sans puss. She was almost crying out, and he saw tears glistening around her eyes, but her head was strained and she shouted through the gag at him, her hair thrashing with every movement. And at that moment, he felt himself the maestro, conducting the final crescendo that would shake the pillars of the hall and leave a deafening echo in its wake. His tapping got closer and closer and now he alternated hot breath on her pussy flesh with quick and furtive licks. And yes, every now and then his tongue touched her button, but only fleetingly and never enough to do the trick. She was ready to unleash the beast inside, but lacked the key to the cage and even though the animal howled and screamed to be set free, he was the keeper of the key, he was the conductor of the roller-coaster, he was the quarterback with the ball on the one. She was close, so close and her body strained at the cords and he absently wondered if silk cords could be broken, and she shrieked through the silk wad gagging her mouth, and her bound breasts, now a light shade of blue, wobbled furiously as the body beneath the coiled cord bucked with abandon. It was beautiful to watch. Too beautiful, in fact, to be seen only once. He got up off the bed and watched her closely. First, she didn't even realize that his weight was no longer there, that his breath no longer caressed her flesh, or his touch no longer graced her skin. She just thrashed a little more and then came the inevitable squeal. That was what he wanted to hear and her rendition brought a big smile to his face. Her eyes found him standing next to the bed and glared up at him furiously. How could he have taken her body and made her helpless and then not finish what he had started? But that was exactly what he was going to do. She screamed through the gag and not a few of the noises sounded suspiciously like sailor talk. Her arms strained and her legs strained and that she was bound and unable to do anything was causing the most delicious reaction possible. He was in heaven. Only one glass would be needed to drink the next bottle of wine, and as he pulled up the chair next to the bed, eyes never leaving her body as it thrashed and screamed and shot him infinitely dirty looks, he wondered how long it would take for her to quiet down so that he could go to work on her again. He knew that the ultimate orgasm would take some time to achieve. After all, he was only a mere mortal attempting supreme greatness. There was a lot of work ahead. He only hoped that she would appreciate his efforts, his hard work, his dedication to perfection. In the meantime, she would have to just settle down a little, but not too much, get used to being tied, and wait for him to finish his glass of wine. The night was young, after all. She wasn't going anywhere. And he hadn't even gotten out the bag of toys. ....end... -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+