Whip Me

by Cathryn Cooper

  It’s lewdly delicious that you would leave your cunt exposed in an open bottom girdle while modestly enshrouding your breasts in a lace brassiere. I think about this as I trace the elegant lace leaves, curly stems, that little bud . . . Oh! my mistake. It was a female nipple, not a lingerie bud, and you’re clutching my elbow for support because the pleasure of being touched there has made you almost unable to stand on your fuck-me-till-I-can’t-stand-up heels. Before the night is over, we’ll climb down from this air conditioner and head for the futon, so you can properly fall on your ass with delight when I touch you certain places. There’s a feather duster somewhere around here, and I can already visualize the way you’ll grind your bottom into the futon if I chance to brush inside that open girdle with the hint of a feather. By then, I think we’ll have to remove the delicate bra, because your precious nipples will be hungering for my kisses while your wild behind squirms against the bed.

  As I undo your bra clasps and the lace garment falls far below, beyond the air conditioner, your naked breasts present themselves to me. ‘Present’ is an apt verb, because I feel like I’m being handed twin presents, i.e. nouns, gifts from your beauty to my appetite. All the physical softness that is woman is distilled into these beautiful, round attributes, so precious that you wrapped them up in fancy lace until I was ready to enjoy them. Your feet have enticed me, your legs have engaged me, your behind, as always, has lured me and your pussy has already, for the first but not last time tonight, enfolded me. But there’s one thing that your breasts offer which these other attributes do not – proximity to your face. It’s a special kind of bliss to make love to your breasts with my kisses and squeezes and see your face looking down on me, transfixed by the sensations I’m bestowing.

  Face

  I think the thing that impresses me the most about your face, when I’m sculpting your body with erotic touches, is its air of concentration. It’s as if you’re not only experiencing but also studying every sensation, memorising each tiny bubble of pleasure and every detail of the orgasms big and small, as if you were going to be tested on them later. I know that you live your life so as to get the most out of things – savouring each morsel of food, sensuously swirling every drop of wine around your mouth, giving the striking things you find in the natural and artistic world that extra moment of attention, so as to thoroughly milk their beauty into your soul. And this is also how you approach sex. You are completely aware of the height, breadth, depth, shape, texture, colour, density, specific gravity, molecular weight and favourite ice cream flavour of each sexual sensation, and your extraordinary gift for concentration allows you, paradoxically, to swallow each moment of ecstasy in one piece and yet taste every ingredient before it has vanished.

  It blows my mind that it’s my touches, my erotic contact, and my desire that you devote all this attention to. Nobody else has ever paid the level of attention to anything of mine that you give to every taste of my lips or stroke of my fingers. As you clutch my cock, I feel like you’re reading a novel’s worth of detail in every centimetre of my flesh. I can see it in your eyes, those focused, impossibly-deep eyes, which reflect all my lust, all my love, and a richness of sensation that dwarfs my own self-awareness.

  The expression in your face now comprises the frank provocativeness of your shoes, the sleek seductiveness of your stockings, the pussy-bare willingness of your girdle, and the demure ripeness of your bra. All of that, and so much more. An immediately-nearby mirror of my passion, and an infinitely-deep window into your own.

  We’ve finally cleared your ankles of the stockings and your feet of the stilettos, and I’m inside you now, with your legs wrapped around me. Your face is as close to mine as it could be without becoming invisible to me. Sensuality creeps outward from your mouth, across all your other features, as your lips form the beginnings of phrases such as ‘Oh my God’ and ‘Fuck me.’ You don’t have to actually say them for me to know what you’re feeling. I’m feeling it, too, after all. As you scream an orgasm into my face I lose myself in a stand-up explosion of froth from my tip into your core, a roomful of lingerie seems to spin around me. From atop a retired air conditioner, the whole world smells like your pleasure, and I appreciate more than ever why you chose every detail so carefully, to orchestrate this moment so flawlessly. In dressing yourself, you have in fact dressed an occasion, an event – and, in the timeless world of ecstasy, an eternity. Well done.

  ‘Do You Trust Me?’

  by Sommer Marsden

  ‘May I use that for a minute?’

  I turned to hand over the corkscrew. Warm hazel eyes met my gaze. Dark hair, just a little too long. It fell boyishly over his forehead. I tracked the edge of his jaw with my eyes, took in the perfectly shaped mouth. Red lips. Not too red, just red enough to make me wonder what it would be like to kiss them.

  ‘May I?’ he asked again with a smile.

  I realised I was still holding the corkscrew out. Offering it up but not letting it go. I shrugged, tried to cover with a laugh. I released the tool into his broad palm and wondered for a split second if that palm was soft or calloused. What it would feel like sliding under my skirt and along my stockings. ‘Sure, sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have this glass after all.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I think you just became a little absorbed for a moment. It happens to the best of us.’ He flashed that smile again and I felt a warmth start low in my belly. I liked his smile very much.

  ‘I was. Just a little.’ I shrugged. No reason to lie, I had been obvious enough from the get-go.

  ‘Well, my ego would prefer it if you said a lot, but I will take a little and be happy with it.’ He began to uncork the bottle of Chablis he was holding. ‘Not for me,’ he explained. ‘I prefer red. I was told someone with muscles needed to open a fresh bottle. Not that I’m riddled with them, mind you. A respectable amount, though.’

  I took this as an invitation to scope out his muscles, so I did just that. He didn’t have the over-inflated look of a gym rat, but a respectable amount was not an understatement. Broad shoulders that hinted at strength. His arms, cut just enough that the contours showed through the cotton Henley he was wearing. It looked soft, too, that shirt. I repressed the urge to run my hands along the swells and dips cloaked in frequently washed cotton.

  ‘Still a little absorbed?’ he laughed as the cork broke free with a jubilant pop!

  ‘No.’ I took a sip of my wine and smiled. ‘A lot.’

  He let out a laugh and the hair on the back of my neck stirred with appreciation of the sound. He grabbed his chest and sighed. ‘It does an ego good to hear it. I’m Eric.’

  He took my hand before I could offer it. He didn’t shake. He just squeezed it gently. Another stirring of baby fine hair, this time up my arms.

  ‘Ashling. Ash to most.’ He hadn’t let my hand go and I didn’t try to remove it. I liked the feel of his warm skin surrounding mine.

  Eric leaned in close and whispered. ‘I like your dress. Very deceptive.’

  I glanced down as if I had never seen the dress. It was my favourite. Snug without being too tight. The front cut so that it fell just below my collar bones. Very modest. But the back. Well, there was no back. From behind my neck where the dress buttoned to the small of my back, I was bare. ‘Thank you. I like it, too.’

  Eric didn’t back up. He stayed close to my face, his breath on my cheek. His mouth nearly touching my ear. I suppressed a shiver. ‘Turn around for me so I can see. Up close.’

  I turned slowly. I didn’t even question why I was humouring him. He asked, I felt compelled to oblige. He still held my hand gently but firmly so I let my arm stretch out behind me as I turned. With my back to him, I waited. I held my breath. My skin felt as if it was on fire. When he touched me I heard a gasp tear out of me. A single fingertip. He traced the edges of the cut-out back, the gentlest touch I had ever felt and yet my head was swimming. He finally released my hand.

  I stayed, frozen, back to him. Not moving. Unsure o
f what to do but determined not to break the spell that had settled over us. I heard the wine bottle bang on the table as he sat it down. His hands slid around my waist. He pulled me back so my ass was flush with a prominent erection. Another sound escaped me, this time a sigh. My dress whispered as he spread his hands across my waist and anchored me. He bent in low again, another kiss of hot breath against my throat. ‘Would it scare you terribly if I asked you to come upstairs with me?’

  I shook my head. My voice could not be trusted. Words would not come to me. I just shook my head. No. It would not scare me. Not at all.

  I allowed myself to be led through the crowd. The smoke was thick, laughter loud, music blaring. No one noticed us. No one cared. Up the steps, I walked, hand back in his. My heart beating erratically and a pulse throughout my body. Captivated. Spell. I had no idea and I did not care. I wanted him. It was that simple.

  My dress made secretive sounds against my stockings as I ascended. I did take a moment to thank the lingerie gods or whoever it was who put it in my head to wear the sexy unmentionables tonight. No standard pantyhose hiked up to my waist. No. My very best thong, the garter belt, the seamed hose, the whole nine yards. I smiled in the fading light. I was very thankful to whoever had guided my hand.

  The party noises faded as we made our way down the darkened hallway. My hand still nestled in his, I felt a slight moisture seep from me, staining the crotch of my panties with a wet warmth. I managed to draw a breath and fight off the light headed feeling.

  ‘Won’t Derek mind us being up here?’ I whispered. ‘I only know him from work. I’d hate-’

  ‘I’ve known him since I was nine. He won’t mind,’ he whispered right against my lips and kissed me.

  I sank into the kiss. Into him. Wantonly. Like I never had before. I pressed along the full length of him, feeling his body meld against mine. I opened my mouth, accepted his tongue and met it thrust for thrust. He tasted sweet. Like wine and candy. Like sinful things.

  ‘In here.’ He propelled me through a door, his mouth never leaving mine, the kiss never letting up.

  I shoved my hands into his dark hair, grabbed handfuls as if I could kiss him more deeply if I held on for dear life. My back slammed against the wall and I used the resistance to arch my pelvis against him. Positioned myself to feel the delicious slide of his hard cock along the seam of my sex. I hummed my appreciation and continued the kiss. Let myself get lost in the slick humid moisture that was his mouth.

  He broke away first and I found myself instinctively chasing after his mouth with my own, intent on reconnecting with him. He dropped to his knees and ran his hand up the inside of my calf and rested his forehead against my belly. ‘What’s on under this deceptive dress, Ash? It’s been driving me insane since I saw you come through the front door. Proper pantyhose? Thigh highs with elastic, which is cheating by the way. Thong? Bikinis? Nothing? I’ve been dying to find out.’

  His large hand moved up to my knee and just a touch beyond. I was panting in the dark. I could hear myself. There wasn’t enough air and only a tiny bit of light. An antique table lamp that gave off no more light than a nightlight. His hand stilled there, so warm and big that I thought my skin might ignite. ‘May I?’ he whispered, lips pressed flush against my abdomen. His words vibrated up my body sparking a blissful shiver.

  ‘You may.’

  I whispered it. I barely heard myself. He heard me, though. His hands started a slow northward ascent. The room so quiet I could hear the sensuous sound of his hands moving up my thighs. The sound so amplified by silence and the adrenaline in my body, it sounded unbelievably loud. His hands reached the tops of my thighs. The sweet spot where the stockings were secured by the snaps of my garter. I hitched in a breath as he murmured appreciatively and dipped a finger below the gauzy material.

  ‘This is what I was thinking,’ he sighed and kissed the vee of my thighs through my dress. One chaste kiss and I was soaked. I felt it rush from me and my nipples hardened. ‘I was hoping… praying, actually, that I would find something like this if I managed to get you alone. I saw the seams on the back of the stockings. I had to know,’ he laughed quietly and the sound was like being stroked, ‘if they were the real deal or a cheap imitation. I would have been very disappointed to find thigh highs with elastic. A woman like you should wear the classics.’

  A woman like me. A woman who, at the moment, couldn’t form a coherent sentence if her life depended on it.

  Eric lifted my dress almost demurely. A slight tug of the fabric, a nearly dainty motion, like drawing up a curtain. Without thinking, I took the hem and gathered it to my waist. Holding it out of his way and offering myself up for display.

  ‘And this thong… perfect,’ he breathed and this time his breath feathered across my belly. I felt the fine hair stir and lift in its wake. I pulled the fabric tighter against myself just to do something, to take my mind from the fact that I felt unstable. Consumed. Just by his gaze.

  First his eyes and then his fingers, warm and blunt, outlined the satin triangle of my thong. Heat blossomed in my cheeks and my chest, spreading like liquid fire down to my cunt. I made a small noise in my throat.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he murmured, kissing the soft skin that bordered my panties. My entire body weight pressed against the wall. I nodded, though I had no reason to trust him. Not a reason in the world. But I did. Instinctively, I trusted him.

  His lips never left my body but his voice got a little louder, ‘I need you to tell me. Out loud. Do you trust me?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  As soon as my answer fell from my lips, he began. He released my stocking from their clips. The now empty straps brushed against my bare thighs. Eric peeled the stockings slowly, rolling one down with exaggerated care and patience. When he lifted my foot free, he put the rolled stocking carefully aside. The other leg received the same care. By the time both stockings were laid neatly on the floor, I was barely breathing. Taking in just enough oxygen to stay alive. His fingers hooked in the side straps of my thong and he tugged gently then stopped. He kissed the stripe of naked flesh above the waistband and then slowly dragged the scrap of material from me.

  I could hear it whispering in the near dark. The fabric sounded almost as joyous and aroused as I felt. When the thong pooled around my ankles, he lifted first one foot then the other to set my legs free. Then he stood. Stockings in one hand, thong in the other.

  ‘Now, Ash, I want you to turn around for me. Face the wall.’

  The words startled me but the tone soothed. Demanding but gentle. Meant to be obeyed but also meant to set me at ease. He lowered his head, sucked my nipple into his mouth and sucked until a stripe of fire shot from my breast to my sex. ‘Go on, now. Turn around.’

  I did it without hesitation.

  Eric’s trailed his knuckles down the base of my spine, I could feel the satin and nylon he held rasping against my skin. I shivered when he leaned in, his breath hot on my neck. He bit me just hard enough to make me whimper and make my nipples pucker. The pleasure from the pain slid over my skin as I tried to figure out his plans. He bent down and I felt that hot breath on the base of my spine.

  ‘Spread your legs for me,’ he said calmly. I felt anything but calm. Scared, excited, bad. I felt all of those things but not calm. He pushed his palms against my bare calves, forcing my stance wider. I felt the slippery nylon loop around my ankle and then he moved to my left. The hosiery snickered in the near darkness as I watched him tie it to a dresser leg. ‘Now the other,’ he murmured as if he were talking to himself. My right ankle was encompassed and then he moved to tie it to the foot of the antique bed.

  Eric stood and slid his hands along my sides, dragging my dress up with him. He lifted it over my head as I held my arms up like a child. ‘The bra can stay,’ he whispered and kissed me for a few moments. His tongue warm and sweet with wine. The gentleness of the kiss helped the fear beating away in my chest calm a little.

  I stood with my legs bound w
ide, feeling like a prisoner ready for frisking. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt incredibly powerful. I could feel his eyes on me. Feel him studying me and soaking in the site of me splay legged and nearly naked just for him. ‘Arms above your head, Ash. Normally, I’d like to bind them behind your waist but you seem just a little nervous. It’s not as scary if they’re bound above your head.’

  I almost told him to go for it. Tie them behind my back. I didn’t. His judgment was probably better than mine in this situation. I was a virgin at being trussed up. He obviously, had done this before. I slid my hands up the plaster wall and clasped my hands together.

  ‘Do you have any idea how spectacular your back looks like that? A work of art. Those long lean muscles taut and tense. You are a vision.’ His voice snaked into my ear and my nipples grew harder, little pebbles pushing eagerly against the black lace of my bra.

  He looped my own thong around my wrists, tying it tighter than I had expected. His tongue dragged the length of my neck from nape to base and then another bite was administered. The insides of my thighs felt hot and slick. My body pulsed. All I wanted was for him to fuck me. My world had narrowed down to the stranger standing behind me. To the nylon that circled my ankles and the satin that bound my hands. And my vulnerability. I was helpless and the thought of being helpless for him brought a flicker in my cunt that was damn near close to an orgasm. A little burst of hot pleasure that demanded more pleasure in turn.

  I heard his zipper, the rustle of fabric. The almost inaudible sound of clothes being tossed to the floor. I waited.

  He smoothed his hands over my back, his words ringing in my mind as he slid his warm palms over each muscle in my back. I shivered. Then his hands gripped my hips and yanked me back. I nearly lost my balance but Eric kept me steady. I balanced as best I could, legs set wide, ass thrust backwards, hands above my head. Beyond doing my best I had to trust him.

  Two fingers dipped into me, sliding into my warm waiting body. I sighed.