Chapter 119: The Art of the Tease
Tim stood in front of his luggage and debated. The kilt would provide significantly easier access. And while it was true that what they did in the shower means he’s not going to get a hard on anytime soon, he’s going to take her out and play with her all day, so at some point his dick will wake back up again, and the kilt is terrible for keeping that under wraps.
His jeans, on the other hand, keep everything fairly well concealed, but they’re a pain in the ass (pain in the pubes, really. Getting a few of them snagged in the zipper’ll kill a good blow job in a second.) to have sex in.
He decided to kick that down the road a bit, went to her luggage, and started sorting through. He noticed she hadn’t brought any pants and approved of that whole-heartedly. Yes, he liked her in jeans, but he adored her in skirts or dresses, especially the short ones that come just to mid-thigh.
And from the looks of it, that was all she packed.
The little black dress with the cherries on it was in there, and so was the scoop neck t-shirt and the black skirt with the white stripes down it… Choices… choices.
He went for the t-shirt and skirt, the collar looks better with them, and then began to sort through her undies. No panties, that was a given, but what about a bra?
The t’s pretty thin and tight, so… Ooh… black satin demi cups with the front closure. He loved that one. It was really pretty, easy for him to get her out of, and provided some awfully nice shaping.
Bare legs or socks or stockings… He found his phone and checked the weather. Highs in the mid-seventies… too cool for bare legs. Too cool for stockings. White above the knee socks with little vertical black stripes it is. Plus, with the socks he could to see that little four inch strip of naked skin between the socks and her skirt, and even though he wasn’t particularly into hentai, he really appreciated that look.
Boots or mary janes? Mary janes, he wanted to be able to see the curves of her legs.
He was lying the socks on the bed next to her when he noticed that she looked a little sad. That really wasn’t the direction he was hoping this was going to go, and he couldn’t think of anything in the last five minutes that would have set her off.
“Are you all right? We don’t have to do this if—“
She turned to look up at him, sorrow still in her eyes. “Yeah, I’m all right. Yes, I want to keep doing this. I was just thinking.”
“About?” he asked as he sat next to her.
“Kate thought maybe you were the guy who could drag my heart out of the lock box I had it hidden in.”
He smiled at that.
“I wish she could have been at our wedding.”
He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her shoulder. “I would have liked that, too.”
Then Abby started to tear up and snuggle into his arms, quietly crying. Part of him was feeling pretty alarmed by that, and wanted to say something like, “Hey, none of that, sex and fun, remember?” But he figured that would probably be worse than useless, so he held onto her and stroked her back, hoping this passes quickly.
And it did. After a few minutes, she pulled back, wiped her eyes, and smiled at him.
“You don’t have to apologize about missing your best friend.”
“Thanks. I really don’t like this think-about-something-kind-of-sad-for-ten-seconds-and-burst-into-tears thing.”
Tim nodded. “It’s a little scary.”
“Yeah.” She wiped her eyes again, and looked at the clothing he’d put next to her. “That looks promising.”
“Good. You ready to play?”
“Yeah.” She smiled.
“Go wash off your face, then do your makeup, out here, no lipstick.”
She nodded and went to the bathroom. Cool water splashed on her face helped with the puffy redness around her eyes. When she was looking normal again, she grabbed her cosmetics bag and headed back into the bedroom, then, standing in front of the mirror over the dresser got to work.
Tim watched her for a moment, wondering if she was really all right, but she seemed okay as she rubbed sunblock onto her face, neck, and shoulders. So he relaxed, focused on sex again, enjoying the sight of her fingers rubbing over her skin. Then he began to look through her cosmetics. He loved the way Abby looked with lipstick on. Her lips dark red just made his day.
Her lipstick on him, unless the part of him in question is his dick, was a different story. And he was pretty sure that her lipstick would be all over him by the end of today if she was wearing any.
But he also knew she had something on that was deep red and didn’t smear all over the place for their wedding, and he was wondering if she brought it. Though why he thought he could just look through her cosmetics and figure out what that was he didn’t know. So he put the bag down and asked, “Did you bring the red stuff you were wearing on your lips at our wedding?”
“Wear that, too.”
She smiled, pulled out something that looked like every other red tube in the bag, and put it on the dresser while she darkened her eyebrows. He picked it up and made a mental note; it was called lipstain, and looked like a red magic marker.
As she did her face, he came to the conclusion that he had pushed back figuring out what he was going to wear as far as he could, so, time to get dressed.
Part of being a good Dom is balancing the tasks you set for your sub with the rewards you give her. The idea is to make your sub want to please you, make her crave the attention and petting she gets for good performance.
And the only way to do that is to actually get to know your sub well enough to know what she wants. (Part of the reason Tim and Abby found 50 Shades of Gray so funny was that apparently in addition to being a billionaire, hyper-competent executive, Christian Gray was also a mind reader, because that’s the only way those two could have clicked so quickly.)
But by this point, Tim is a very good Dom, so he knows what Abby wants, knows what she likes, and knows just how to pet her.
Abby had already done a very good job of pleasing him today, and she preferred the kilt to jeans, so on the kilt went. And if everyone in Charleston ended up seeing he wanted to fuck his wife, oh well. If he didn’t want other people to see, they could stay at the hotel.
He dressed quickly: kilt, t-shirt, and socks. Boots and jacket’ll go on later. Then he headed back into the bathroom to grab his cuff and her collar.
She was smoothing the lipstain on as he came back out. He thought that was the last step of getting her makeup on, so he waited. And when she finished, he handed her his wrist cuff. “Put it on me.”
She was holding it, reaching for his wrist, when he stopped her. “The lipstain, does it have to dry or get blotted or anything?”
“Yes. It takes a little while to set up, and before it does it can smear or leave lip prints.”
He smiled. “Kiss my wrist.”
She smiled back, and then left a perfect, red lip print on his wrist. Abby blew lightly on it. “Don’t want it to smear.”
“Thank you.” He waited a moment, then ran his thumb over it, and it stayed put. He nodded, and she closed the cuff around his wrist. “Maybe I’ll get that tattooed on.”
She raised an eyebrow at him and looked very pleased at that idea.
“Maybe I’ll put a few more on you, too.” He lifted her now damp hair off her shoulders, and kissed just below and behind her ear. “My lips right here. And,” he took her hand in his, lifting her right arm up and out, and kissed the crease of her elbow, “right there. Here.” His lips settled on her mound, just above where her labia came together. “Definitely here.” He kissed her one more time there, soft and wet. Then he pulled back, licked her, and said, “Maybe not there. Tattoo artist would have to see you there to do it. So…” He slid his lips down her leg, gently nibbling, and kissed the back of her left knee. “Right here. And one more…” he kissed the top of her foot, just above her toes. “You covered in my kisses, head to toe. I like that.”
He stood back up and circled behind her, holding her collar in his right hand. With his left, he lightly scraped his fingernails down the back of her neck, along her spine to the small of her back. Then he followed that path with his lips and teeth, soft, wet kisses and sharp, light bites. She shivered as he did it, moaning softly.
He straightened up, reversing the line of kisses up her back, lingering on the nape of her neck, just below her hairline, enjoying the feel of her skin breaking out in goosebumps under his touch. He kept his lips just above her skin and whispered, “Bow your head,” his breath caressing her wet flesh.
She did, and he fastened the collar around her throat.
“Turn and look at me.” She did, standing before him, naked, face done, hair damp, and because it hasn’t been brushed through, wavy, draping over her shoulder, covering her left breast. He feathered his fingers over her face, throat, and shoulders, down her arms to her hands, his eyes following the path of his hands, tracing further down her body, and back again to her face. “You are so beautiful.”
He kissed her lips, soft and slow, his hand on the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, and she kissed back, lips warm and welcoming. He didn’t pull back as he murmured against her lips, “And you’ll be even more beautiful flushed head to toe, nipples hard, moaning my name as you ride my cock, coming so hard you see stars.”
He stepped back and got the butterfly.
One thing a lot of guys don’t know about vibrators is that if they keep running, eventually the person under them goes numb. In fact, they were originally designed for anesthetic purposes, but eventually a doctor figured out they were a lot faster at treating, “feminine hysteria,” than the hands on method, and shortly thereafter no one used them for anesthetic purposes.
Tim can’t remember what got Ducky on that tangent, but he does remember blushing pretty hard about it, while Tony slapped him on the shoulder and made a lame joke. Still that did turn out to be useful information, because it made him realize that women might not use vibrators the same way men would, so he did some research, and well, much to the delight of the three women he’s done this with, he’s awfully good with one.
So, as he was slipping the butterfly up Abby’s legs, petting and kissing his way up, using his fingers and tongue to make sure he’s got it set exactly right, he was not planning on just letting it run. That’d be counter-productive. (In fact, he had never gotten a girl off with a vibrator. If he’s going to get a girl off, it’s going to be his fingers, cock, or tongue doing it.)
The point of the butterfly is the anticipation of never knowing when then next little jolt comes. The idea is to keep Abby focused on sex, keep her arousal level high, remind her that today he’s in charge of her body, in charge of her arousal. He’s the one who gets to choose when she comes.
It’s got five speeds, and he’s never used any higher than three, which is, according to Abby, a nice, steady hum, the sort that feels good, but can’t get her off.
Once he got it set, he said, “Lay down.”
So she did, on the bed. “Legs wide.”
And she did that, too. He started at her ankle, sucking, open-mouthed kisses, purposely wetting the skin, blowing on it gently to add to the sensation, all the way up her leg, listening to her purr as he did it. When he got to her pussy, he placed her foot on his shoulder, and began to lick, tongue flat and broad, over her lips, while he pulsed the vibrator on the lowest setting. No more than a few seconds of buzz at a time while she writhed against him.
He got his fingers into the game, slipping in and pressing up, pulsing along with the vibrator, feeling her body start to tense around him, starting the build toward orgasm, which stopped him. He pulled back and away, biting gently on the soft curve where her leg and buttock met.
“Let’s get you dressed,” he said, grinning at her, holding her gaze as he carefully licked his fingers clean.
Tim loves watching Abby dress, especially when she’s feeling playful and makes a show of it. And today she was feeling playful, smoothing her socks gently up her leg, stroking her fingers over her skin as she did it, lifting her foot higher than necessary, 1950s pin up style, flashing him.
He sat in the chair in the corner, watching. His dick was still asleep, but he certainly appreciated the show. Her in thigh high socks, the butterfly, and collar, bending over to pick up her bra and slide that on was beyond beautiful. He spread his legs, hiked the kilt up and stroked himself, and no, he wasn’t hard, and no, it wasn’t going to make him hard, it had been less than twenty minutes since the last time he got off, but it still felt nice.
And he knew she liked to watch, liked knowing that he was just as affected by this as she was.
He got his pleasure at her across in his look, keeping his eyes hot and on her the whole time she was dressing.
When she finished, she came to stand in front of him. He stood up, and held her close, her forehead against his lips. He kissed her softly.
“I love you, Abby. You make me happier than I ever had any right to expect to be happy. You are my joy.” He lowered his lips to hers for a long hot kiss, tongue stroking hers, his hands cupping her rear, pulling her close to him.
He didn’t step back, though he did break the kiss to look at her and say, “And you are the sexiest woman alive. Let’s go out and play.”
In addition to being a good food city, and music city, and just an achingly beautiful place to be, (Seriously, how does the sky get so blue here? Tim’s never seen blue like that.) Charleston is also a great art city. There are full streets filled with small galleries of all sorts.
And art galleries are a remarkably good choice of places to go when you’re so turned on you can’t see straight. No one really expects you to make conversation. The other patrons are looking at the art, not you, and there’s often enough background noise that if something is making a slight buzzing sound, it’s hard to hear.
For the most part Tim and Abby just wandered from gallery to gallery, looking at pretty things, lots of landscapes/cityscapes and occasionally he’d give her a quick buzz/kiss/say something insanely dirty to her.
Then they found the gallery with the nudes. And, no he hadn’t planned it. Didn’t know it was there. Hadn’t seen it when he was wandering about looking for the way back to the hotel. But the opportunity presented by a wall covered with absolutely gorgeous black and white nudes, mostly women, was too good to pass up.
One was a shot of the curve of a woman’s shoulder, back, and buttocks. And for the moment no one else seemed to be in the place, so as they looked, he traced his hand over the same curve on Abby, quickly slipping his hand under her skirt, grazing his fingernails over her butt and the top of her leg, and then shifting over two steps to stand directly behind her and kiss the curve where shoulder became neck.
He turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. “Have I told you that’s one of my favorite views?” Granted, Tim had a new favorite view roughly every third day, but yesterday afternoon was inspiring this current one.
“When you’re on your hands and knees, and I’m balls deep inside of you, your back arches,” he lightly ran his hand along her spine, “and your head drops, and I can enjoy the perfect curve of your body. Your shoulders and spine flex a little as you rock back onto me. Your hips and the small of your back are just perfect for grabbing.” His hands came to rest on her hips, and he pulled her to stand against him. “And your bottom’s high,” he added a little grind of his hips against her, and nudged her foot over a few inches with his own, “so I can see everything, see myself sink into you,” he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, “see your gorgeous pink pussy go tight around me as I slide in,” he slipped a finger into her, “and cling to me when I slip out.” And pulled it back out. He stroked her neck with that finger, and then licked the wetness off her throat. “Love that.”
Abby’s eyes slid shut, and she inhaled quickly. He rested his chin on her shoulder and wrapped one arm around her waist, fingers quickly slipping under the waistband of her skirt, lightly stroking her tummy. “Open your eyes. Look at that one.”
The next shot over was the curve of a woman’s leg from hip to foot. She was laying down, knee bent, foot flat on the floor.
He kept his voice very low, partly because his mouth was less than an inch from her ear, partly because should someone come in, he doesn’t want anyone to overhear this, mostly because he knew that voice made her quiver. “When we get back to the hotel, I’m going to put your leg just like that, and then kiss my way up it.” He dropped his hand to her side, fingers coming to rest just below the edge of her skirt, then he lightly stroked just the tips of his fingers over her bare skin. “Lick every inch. Then I’ll hook it over my shoulder, spread you wide, and eat you out. I’m going to feast on your pussy, licking every single bit of it, over and over, savoring your smell and taste. I’ll nibble on the lips, just a little light scrape of tooth, just enough to pull a little bit, tug slightly. I’ll suck on your clit until you’re flushed, shaking, screaming my name, and begging to come.” He turned the speed up a notch on the vibrator, seeing the flush creeping up her cheeks and down her throat. “Then I’ll point my tongue and rub your clit in long, slow circles,” his tongue flicked out and caressed her earlobe, “just sort of rolling over it, nice and slow and gentle, while my fingers slip in and out of you.” He clicked the vibrator off, and she whimpered, inhaling long and shaky trying to keep control of herself. “Taking you down a bit, spinning you out, making sure you’re good and ready to come before I get you off.”
As he whispered that to her, his dick finally noticed something interesting was going on. Something really good, something it really wanted to get involved in. He rubbed against her again, letting her know that his body was back in the game as well. Abby grinned and rubbed back.
And though there were other shots, and he was sure he could come up with some good commentary to go with them, he was also not interested in talking both of them off in an art gallery. Time to ease back, and find something else to do.
As they were walking out, he noticed the pockets in the kilt weren’t anchored. So, if he had something of a inconveniently conspicuous hard-on, and he wasn’t feeling like wandering around with that visible to anyone who cared to look, he could just put his hand in his pocket, reach over a little, and hold it down.
And it just looked like he was walking with his hand in his pocket.
Added benefit to that, since his hand was already in his pocket, Abby never knew when he was going to turn the vibrator on.
It was about ten thirty at that point, so as they’re walking out, he said to Abby, “I think it’s time for a snack. Is there anything you’d like?”
He probably should have expected the answer. He did ask the question less than a minute after turning the vibrator off, and was holding down the hard-on he’d been rubbing against her. Still, it took him a bit by surprise when she said, “Cock.”
A flush of hot pleasure coursed through him, and he may have squeezed himself a little harder, because, yeah, that sounded really good.
And there is a practical benefit to letting her do it. It is significantly easier to be a good Dom if you aren’t so turned on you can’t think. A huge part of the game is balancing your desires with your sub’s desires, and, like with anything else, it’s much easier to be aware of, and attentive to, the needs of someone else if your own needs have been met.
The goal, then, of a good game, is to get everyone’s needs met. The sub by meeting her Dom’s expectations, and the Dom by providing expectations the sub wants to meet.
In a really good game, it’s a perfect circle of gaining pleasure by giving pleasure. And that’s why, though the Dom runs the game, the sub sets the rules. Almost anyone can enjoy the Dom part of the game, but the pleasure through service aspect of the sub is harder, so she gets to set the rules, create the atmosphere most conducive to wanting to please, to getting off on the Dom’s pleasure.
But for a good Dom, the pleasure comes from pushing the sub beyond what she thought she could endure, taking her farther and higher than she’s ever been, providing a safe space to fully relax and fall apart, and then holding the sub as she comes back together again. The challenge is finding that line of just far enough without breaking the comfort that comes from being taken care of.
And for a good Dom, watching that/doing it is a massive turn on. But doing it takes control. Which can be hard to keep a hold of if you’re too turned on.
So, Tim seriously thought about it. His desire was distracting to him, and he didn’t want to miss a cue as to what is going on with her. But at the same time, his arousal was a big part of what was feeding Abby’s desire. And he didn’t want to cut into that.
Then the fact that they have really different subbing styles also occurred to him. When he subs, he’ll do exactly what she tells him to, never pushing the bounds, because he gets off on the not being in control. She, on the other hand, likes to challenge him a little, see how he’ll respond. She pushes him a little, so he’ll push her a little. For her it’s about testing the boundaries, seeing how far they really can go. In the end, both styles work, very well.
So, he smiled indulgently, and said, “It’s mostly protein, won’t keep your blood sugar up. But, if you’re good, and eat nicely, then you might get a taste. And if you’re very good, and eat beautifully, you’ll get a mouthful. Now, what would you like for a snack?”
She smiled at him. “Vanilla soft serve ice cream.”
“Very good choice.”
He’d noticed one the first time he was wandering around, but it hadn’t meant anything to him. Family rest room. He knew for a fact that the men’s room had a line of stalls, and he had a suspicion that was what the ladies’ room has, as well. But he’d never been in a family rest room before, sooo…
He opened the door and pulled Abby in quickly. Nice. He locked the door behind them.
It looked more like a powder room in a house than a public restroom. Granted the ones in homes tend not to have changing tables bolted to the wall, let alone toddler-sized potties to go with the adult one, but the lack of stalls lent it a more personal feel.
But more importantly it was private, had a door that locked, and looked clean enough for surgery.
“You did very well with your snack, Abby.”
And she had. If that ice cream cone could have come, it would have, hard. And if it was possible to get Tim off by eating an ice cream cone in front of him, he would have come, hard.
“You definitely get your mouthful.” He nodded at the ground, and she sank to her knees as he lifted the kilt.
Normally, she’d lick him first, but the whole mouthful thing instead of a taste meant she took him in hand, opened wide, and sucked him down in one fast move.
“Oh shit!” Tim gasped, jerking away from the searing, wet, cold of her mouth. It was like dipping his dick, his very hard, very hot, excruciatingly sensitive dick into a slightly melted snow drift.
She looked up at him, worried. Him jumping back and rubbing himself was not the response she was hoping for.
He saw the worry in her eyes, and was still holding his dick as he said, “It’s okay. I didn’t realize your mouth would be that cold. That was a hell of a shock.”
He watched her bite her lip, smile tugging at the corners, and look down, shoulders shaking.
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
She looked back up, trying to keep it together and not doing a great job of it. “Yes.”
Abby giggled hysterically, snorting a little.
He started to laugh, too. “Well, that took care of my erection. Not the way I was hoping for.” But being sucked into an ice cold mouth had indeed wilted him. He sighed and let the kilt drop. “You need to use the restroom?”
“Okay.” So he headed back out, and noticed a few people staring in his direction. Apparently, the ‘Oh shit!’ was fairly loud. He just smiled at them, tried to look harmless, and waited for her to get done.
There’s a point where a body is going to get off. You back off, no more stimulation, to try and get away from the edge, and then start up again too soon, and no matter how light the touch, how whisper thin the stimulation is, your body decides it’s had enough and boom, orgasm.
He’s accidentally done that to himself a few times, and honestly, those aren’t great orgasms. Not bad. No such thing as a bad orgasm. But still, if you accidentally trip into one, you end up with your body just sort of surrendering, limping over the line, twitching a few times, and giving up.
And with this much build up, the absolute last thing he wants is to screw this up by just going a little too far, just a little too soon.
The main downside of doing this out and about was that Tim has a much harder time figuring out how close to that line Abby is. If he was lying between her legs, tongue on her clit, fingers inside her, he’d have a really good handle on what’s going on and could play her like Chopin with a nocturne.
But she was not naked. He was not that close to her. And he didn’t want to accidentally push her over the edge. Which, judging from the way she’s flushed and breathing, might be a real possibility.
So after ninety minutes of… Hell, he doesn’t know. They walked around and had long-distance eye sex while he said more hot/sexy/dirty things to her, buzzing her now and again, hugging, petting, and kissing when appropriate. There were touristy things in the background; he didn’t pay any attention to them. One nice stranger gave them a tube of sunblock and suggested they get inside because they both appeared to have gotten too much sun. (Good thing about doing this outside, sex flush is easily mistaken for sunburn.) And he certainly enjoyed the excuse to very carefully, very thoroughly apply more sunblock to Abby, and have her do the same to him.
But he’d gotten to the point where he knew if he didn’t stop this soon, just holding onto his dick to keep it from poking out was going to get him off, and since he’s not the one getting played with all that much, she has to be even closer to the edge than he is.
So he found the place that did the duck sandwiches, and they had lunch, and for an entire hour he said and did nothing even remotely sexy.
And yes, the first ten minutes or so involved a fairly decent amount of squirming from Abby, but she eventually got the idea that nothing was going to happen, so she relaxed as well, and her flush went down, and they had a nice lunch, oohing and ahhing over the meal.
After lunch he was feeling pretty well back in control again. Erection had wilted, he could focus on sex without feeling like he was on the edge of climaxing, and while it’s true he didn’t say or do anything sexy while they ate, it didn’t mean he wasn’t planning the next phase of the game.
He kept them to neutral topics as they headed back to the hotel: dinner options, the walled gardens, flowers, and houses around them. Pretty much a steady stream of white noise. The restaurant was only a mile away from the hotel, so that was a fairly comfortable twenty-minute walk.
Two more minutes got them to their room.
Once there, he said, “I want you to take off everything but the socks, bra, and collar. Shoes first, then shirt, then skirt, and finally the butterfly.”
He turned the vibrator on as he said that, and sat in the chair to watch her undress.
She sat on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, and unbuckled the first shoe, slipping it off her foot, following it with the other one.
It always amazed him how girls take off shirts. Abby did that thing where she crosses her arms, holds the bottom of the shirt, and slowly eases it over her torso, stroking her ring and pinky fingers over her tummy and breasts as she did it. He’d seen her do it hundreds of times, and he still couldn’t figure out how it worked, he even tried it once and came to the conclusion he’d rip the shirt before he managed to get it off like that.
The skirt came next, and he moaned a little as she eased it over her hips. He upped the speed on the butterfly and she moaned as well, kicking the skirt aside.
He sat there, gently, slowly stroking himself as she began to loosen the straps on the butterfly, and gave himself a firm squeeze as she shimmied out of it. Almost naked, she stood in front of him, waiting for the next command.
He let his eye run over her body, taking in every inch, savoring the sight of her. He noticed the shine on both of her thighs from how wet she was.
“Look at how wet you are. That can’t be comfortable. Come here.” She did, standing in front of him. “Foot on the arm of the chair.”
She did that as well, which put her pussy just inches in front of his mouth.
He rested his lips on her thigh, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good.” He licked a long wide stripe from her thigh to her pussy, sucking one of her lips, squeezing himself, hard. “God, you taste even better!”
His hands came to rest on her ass, pulling her closer, as he made good on the promise he gave her in the art gallery.
When she was grinding against him, hands clenched painfully in his hair, almost sobbing his name along with a long steady stream of “Please, God, Tim, please, baby, please!” he pulled his tongue back, pried her hands out of his hair, and put her foot back on the floor.
He held her hips, and gently kissed her belly, stopping as much for his sake as for hers. He knows that he can get off from going down on a woman, granted he hasn’t done it since grad school (and he was lying on his stomach when it happened) but he’s turned on enough it’s a possibility, and he’d prefer not to repeat that performance. After two minutes, when his cock stopped throbbing, he slipped his lips up to her breasts as he stood, unhooking her bra, easing it off, and took a moment to slowly kiss and suck each nipple.
Then he let go of her, said, “Back in a sec,” headed to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and a towel. He wet the washcloth, making sure it was nicely warm.
A moment later, he stood in front of her. “Legs apart.” He carefully wiped her pussy and thighs with the wet cloth, and then just as carefully blotted her dry.
“I bet that feels better, doesn’t it?”
She growled at him, and he smiled.
“Nap time. I want you to undress me. Kilt’s not very comfortable anymore.” And honestly it wasn’t. It wasn’t constricting which was nice, but the head of his dick was so sensitive the cotton fabric felt like sandpaper.
He could see some challenge in her eyes as she awaited his next instruction. “Boots first.” They’re basic black leather work boots, and she did a competent and not particularly erotic job of taking them off. Of course, since he isn’t Jimmy, he’s not sure there was any way she could take them off that he’d find erotic. And peeling off his socks wasn’t much of a show either.
“Shirt next.” He thought that was when she got the idea that if she could get him so turned on he couldn’t see straight that maybe he’d finally get her off, because he was fairly certain that having her breasts rubbed all over his chest/face wasn’t really required for getting his shirt off. Which was not to say he didn’t appreciate it.
Oh yes, soft warms breasts rubbed against any part of him is a treat, and the little moaning sounds she was making as she did it just ramped that up a few more notches.
The kilt is actually one long piece of fabric that wraps around and clips together. Getting out of it is awfully easy, just undo the two clasps at the waistband and it falls to the floor. If she could have undone those clasps with her teeth, she would have. But they just don’t work that way, so she stood a half step in front of him, slipped her hand down the front of kilt, cupping protectively over his dick (Which he also appreciated, loudly and sincerely, and not just from a it felt fucking fabulous perspective, but as was previously noted, with as sensitive as he was right that second, having the kilt slide down his dick would actually hurt.) and used her thumbnail to pry open each clasp.
A second after that, Tim was naked save for his wrist cuff.
“Thank you.” She stood there, smiling up at him, her hand starting to move a little. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop that. Nap time. Lay down, get comfy. We are going to get a rest. Then fucking, lots and lots of fucking.” He pressed up against her, dick against her stomach, and had to bite his lip at how good that felt, and said, “And once you get your nap, I will fuck you until you come harder than you ever have before. I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll forget you’ve ever gotten off before.”
Abby lay down on the bed with the enthusiasm of particularly recalcitrant two-year-old being sent off to naptime, but got into her normal sleeping position.
Tim lay down behind her, snuggling up carefully, making sure his dick was pressed up against the small of her back, because he knew that if it was between her buttocks he was going to lose his control and just start to thrust.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, kissed her shoulder, and said, “Go to sleep.”
The plan was lay down, snuggle up, and well… not go to sleep. The plan was he’d lay there quietly for five or so minutes, and then make his move.
But she beat him to it.
He’s laying snuggled up behind her, comfortable, very turned on, counting to three hundred, (he got to 109) when he noticed her rocking, gently, against the pillow between her legs.
She usually sleeps on her side with a pillow between her knees, and she sort of hugs it, too. Normal enough. But he could feel the way her hips were moving, and that wasn’t normal.
She was rubbing off on the pillow.
“Abby, you’re being a very bad girl. I said, go to sleep.”
“Too turned on.”
His eyes narrowed for a second. Either he’s pushed her so far, kept her turned on for so long, she’s forgotten her safeword, and has hit the point where she can’t take it anymore. Or she’s playing with him, seeing how committed to this he is.
She felt him pause, think, and looked over her shoulder, flashing him a quick smile. She was just messing with him.
“On your hands and knees.”
She scrambled into position, grinning.
“And do you know what happens to bad girls?” Tim asked, kneeling behind her, pushing Abby onto her knees and elbows, ass high in the air, legs wide, tracing her labia with his dick.
“No.” Her voice was quivering with anticipation.
“They.” He pushed in just the barest hint of an inch, hissing at the hot and wet of her body, forcing himself to stay in control and edge in just enough for a tiny bit of stretch. “Don’t.” He slipped his dick over her clit (so hot, so slick, so smooth). “Get.” It trailed over her pussy (more hot, slick, smooth, and God he wanted to plunge into her hard and fast and over and over and fuck until he came so hard he passes out). “Fucked.” And then he stepped back.
“Tim!” Abby’s voice was halfway between a whimper and a moan.
“Lie down, on your back.” He found the ropes they brought and tied her hands to the headboard, loosely enough so that she could move them into any position that was comfortable, above her waist. But try as she might, she couldn’t get them lower than her belly button. Then he tied each ankle to one of the bed posts, leaving her spread wide open, so she couldn’t get off squeezing her legs together.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be back in one hour.”
Longest damn hour of his life.
The downside of being the Dom is that if your sub starts getting sassy, you need to make her behave, and while the thought has crossed Tim’s mind that his tattoo-covered wife might not be adverse to getting spanked, first off he doesn’t want to do it, (He’s never hit a woman, and isn’t about to start with Abby.) but even if he did, even if that was part of their usual play routine, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do with her pregnant.
So he’s got to get more creative on the make-your-sub-behave side of the spectrum because he won’t just let fly with pain.
Well, physical pain. (Abby less than twenty feet away, wearing only thigh high socks and her collar, tied to the bed, while he’s this turned on is god-awful mental pain.)
At least on her part. (Once again, on the physical pain side, he certainly hoped this was just as much mental torture for her as it is for him.)
He hoped. He’d never heard of anything along the lines of blue balls happening to women.
He was a whole different story. His dick and balls ached, and not in a I’m-so-turned-on-you’re-driving-me-crazy-and-it’ll be-all-sorts-of-worth-it-soon sort of way. (Though he kept remind himself that was true. And it will be. Oh God, it will be!) This was more the low, dull, got-kicked-in-the-balls-two-days-ago-and-they’re-still-sore sort of ache.
If he thought he could trust himself not to jerk off, he’d grab something cold out of the mini-bar and ice himself down. That had been amazingly effective before. But he was fairly sure that if he touched his dick with anything right now, he wouldn’t stop. On top of that, he’s so sensitive right now, if he were to get something cold onto his balls, he’d probably scream, and not in a good way.
So, he was sitting on the sofa, making himself watch something completely non-sexy on his kindle, not thinking about her tied spread eagle in the next room (too much) because if he goes in there on a hair trigger, and let his own pleasure overtake hers, this won’t be worth the build-up.
59:59 he opened the door. And, while he was absolutely certain she did not, in fact, nap, her eyes were closed as he headed in.
She opened her eyes slowly, and he smiled at her.
He tilted his head and shot her a serves you right look. “Behave and we won’t have to do this again. I was only going to make you wait five minutes.”
“Ohhh… I like that.” He circled around the bed, looking at her. “I’ll have to admit I do like this, too. You spread out and tied up like this is so beautiful.” He scraped the sole of her foot with his index finger, “So many possibilities…” and then stepped back to the dresser, picking up his phone.
“Got to get some pictures of this.” And he did, muttering to himself about composition and lighting as he snapped shots of her full body, and his favorite bits. He took one extremely graphic close up of her pussy, and then put the phone back down. “Want to be able to see you like this, whenever I like.”
Tim sat on the bed next to her, gently hovering his fingers over her belly, and kept them just a hair’s breadth over her skin, ghosting down between her legs to touch the sheet under her. “You’ve left a little puddle on the sheet.” Then he spread her wetness over the crest of her hip, and slowly sucked it off.
Her body jerked as his lips came in contact with her skin.
“Have you been thinking about this? Getting yourself hot and wet while I was in the other room?” he asked while licking over her belly.
“And what were you thinking?” he gazed into her eyes while he asked.
“’Bad.’ And you slammed into me, dick hot and hard spreading me wide. ‘Girls.’ Pulling back out, slipping it along my lips. ‘Get.’ Adding more lube. ‘Fucked.’ Slowly sliding it into my ass, all the way, while you finger my pussy and clit. My hands tied, above my head, kneeling, you riding my ass, hard and fast, while the butterfly buzzes my clit on high.”
He bit his lip, inhaled so sharply he whistled, and felt a drop of pre cum ooze out of his dick as she said that.
“Next time. Don’t have the control for that today.” His hand caressed over her pussy, making sure he got his fingers very slick, and then he gently stroked around her anus, working just the tip of his finger in, feeling another drop of pre cum ooze out of him at the feel of her around his finger. “I’d lose it long before I got all the way in that beautifully tight ass of yours.” He pulled away and kissed from her hip, over her ribs, skirting around her breasts, up her chest, over her collar bone, slipping his lips over her throat to lick along her jaw, and then settled in next to her for a long, wet kiss, his lips on hers, tongues dancing.
It was good, really good, her body soft against his, her lips slick and wet, sliding over his, but the position was a little off, her arm was in the way, and he either has to keep himself up off it, or lay on it, and that can’t be comfortable to her. So he broke the kiss and shifted so his knees were between her legs, his body propped on his elbows, keeping himself up high enough so that only his lips and chest hairs were touching her.
He wasn’t sure who the sensation is more intense for, him, the slight movement of the hair sending soft, sharp whispers of pleasure through him, or her, arcing up, trying to get more friction on her nipples, as those silk fine hairs brushed against her breasts.
Either way, they were both moaning, loud.
If he was a little less turned on, his dick would be rubbing against her stomach, but the more turned on he gets the higher it rises, and right now it’s bumping against his own stomach, gravity be damned. Which was probably a good thing, because he wasn’t sure if he could take it rubbing against her.
“If I untie you, will you behave?”
Her eyes were glazed, face flushed, and voice needy as she said, “God, yes, please, anything you say, I will do.”
“Good.” He settled back on his knees and then scooted back a little, tracing his fingers down her chest, down her belly, across her mound, and down her slit, caressing each lip, pulling them wide. “Don’t come.” He bent his head and flicked his tongue over her clit, fast, focused, firm strokes because he wants her almost out of her mind by the time he lets her up.
She’s writhing on the bed, hands clenched in the ropes, toes curled, legs quivering, body tight, but not getting off.
“Very good. Very, very good.” He sat back up and untied her legs. Then he crawled up, straddling her chest, and leaned over to get her wrist. He untied the right and felt her breath on his dick.
“Suck my dick while I untie your left hand.”
She did, and he closed his eyes, head dropping back. “Fuck.” It was so good, hot and wet and tight. Her mouth wrapped just around the tip of him, tongue lapping at the pre cum, sucking another drop out of him. He fumbled with the rope, fighting with it, before it occurred to him that he couldn’t get the damn thing untied unless he opened his eyes and looked at it.
A few seconds after that he had her untied, and as soon as the rope fell away she let go.
“Excellent,” he managed to choke out.
He sat back against the headboard. “I want you to straddle my hips, facing away from me.” She did, starting to sink onto his dick. He took her hips in his hands. “Stay up, you get to sink down when I tell you.” He let go of her hip and began circling her clit with his left hand, small, firm, focused, and fast circles. The kind that had her throwing her head back, moaning, past the ability to make anything that sounded like a word. With his right hand he stroked his dick over her whole pussy, arching up just a little every few seconds to add some stretch but mostly just providing a hot slick slide to go with small focused circles.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this turned on before, even her back is flushed. Of course, he’s never drug it out this far before either.
When her whole body was shaking, her thighs and shoulders tight, the sex flush down to the small of her back, he wrapped his right hand in her hair, tugged lightly, and said, “Down!”
The fingers on her clit sped over her as her fire hot skin slipped over his. “FUCK!” he shouted at the feel of her on him, so hot, so wet, so tight, and so fucking amazing it took every last functional brain cell he had working to choke out, “You can come, baby.”
And she did, whole body convulsing on him, as she screamed his name.
If one could win an Olympic Gold Medal in not getting off, Tim would have had it, by a wide, wide margin. She almost got him off. Her body, wet and hot and shaking on his as she screamed and moaned for what seemed like forever had him so turned on he felt like he was going to explode. Literally. Like each and every single cell of his body was on the edge of the most epic climax ever.
And the only reason he can think of that might have kept him from tumbling over with her is that maybe, like subspace, there’s Domspace. Maybe there’s a mindset that gets you through whatever situation you put yourself in, so you can be the Dom you promised to be.
And he promised to get her off twice, and maybe a third time.
So somehow he rode it out, didn’t clutch her tight and come with her. Somehow, he was still hard, still holding it together when she stopped twitching and collapsed, utterly boneless against him.
He doesn’t know if she actually passed out. But her eyes were closed, she wasn’t moving beyond ragged breathing and gentle orgasmic aftershocks, and her body was dead weight on his.
So he shifted them around a bit, got them spooned on their sides, and held her close, one arm under her neck, his lips on her shoulder, her body still wrapped around him, and he waited, very gently stroking her nipple.
Eventually her breathing slowed, and her heart rate with it. Eventually she laced her fingers with his.
“Mmmmm…” Her eyes didn’t open, but she did smile a little.
“Fuck baby, if good was a grain of sand, that was the Sahara Dessert.”
That made him grin. He kissed her shoulder, touched her nipple a little more intensely.
“Mmmmm.” She shifted and stretched a little, rolling her hips. “Feels like you aren’t done.”
“Not nearly. That was round one. Still got two and three.”
She lifted his hand to her lips, sucking lightly on his index finger. “Timothy, I can take two, don’t think I can handle three.”
He kissed her shoulder and throat, understanding the use of her safeword, and how this was a hard boundary, not just part of the game. “Got ya. Once more, soft and gentle, just light, little touches to finish us both off.”
“Sounds really good.”
He shifted her leg over his hip, and twisted his pelvis a little, slipping his leg over hers, to get a deeper angle than they can usually do spooning. He thrust, reveling in the friction, the smooth, tight, silky slide of her body on his. “Fuck baby you feel so good.” He thrust again. “So good.” Another thrust. “Been waiting all day to feel you like this, all tight on hot on me.”
They were on their sides, her body curled into his, rocking gently, and by that time only two things were going through his mind, the desire to feel her get off, and the overwhelming urge to follow her over the edge.
When her body tightened and rippled, he let himself go, let the razor-sharp pleasure crest through him, sear into every nerve, drop the color out of his vision, then steal his sight, and leave him shaking and gasping, drowning in ecstatic joy.
Then they got their real nap. Neither of them even shifted until well past dinner time, when Tim moved just enough to roll over and order room service. Twenty minutes later he somehow mustered enough energy to throw a towel around his hips and answer the door.
They finished the night curled together in bed, Tim hand-feeding Abby breakfast in bed for dinner.