"So slave how was it? How was your little tease?"
"Unbearable. Absolute bloody hell, torture really: in the end the entire fabric of your being is consumed with coming, you think orgasm, you breath orgasm, the whole point of your existence is to be driven to come; climaxistentialism. Your balls are screaming with tension, you pray for your nipples to be left alone, tickling and licking them makes every other sensation feel that much more intense, and most of all you long for anything to speed up, just a tiny fraction, because that's all you need to push you over into joyous squirting. That's why that, you called it 'slow masturbation', is so very effective. The slow strokes build the tension alright, they're what makes everything throb with a desire so desperate, a need so pressing. The quick strokes, they offer a promise that is broken so quickly that it breaks your heart."
"And your orgasm, bottom a little sore, eh?"
"It was ecstasy, my brain and balls exploded with the intensity of it all; throbbing, aching penis screaming urgency, the intensity of these signals hugely amplified by your nipples, and... I cannot described the other: when you do explode that makes the difference between a tap and a water-cannon; a puddle and a lake. What did you do?"
"Christine?" queried Angela.
"I stuck a well-greased finger in your bum and stroked your prostate," she replied matter-of-factly.
I blushed, but she could do that again anytime: as a boost to orgasm the sensation was out of this world. Incidentally, so was the meat; there was not very much but there were three different sorts, each quite distinct and each grilled to juicy succulence. One of the advantages, in those bygone days, of living where game was plentiful and, as a bonus in the shooting season, it was also dirt-cheap. This was both the end of the first course and, to my relief, the end of my embarrassing questioning.
Second course was two dishes done in slow-cookers, the food and Christine herself. Christine apologised for the simplicity of the dish, but she did not know how long we would be and her casserole could not be spoilt. It was the rest of the game cooked up with veg., but no potatoes, rice or pasta: the pleasures of gluttony were not going to be permitted to interfere with the delights of vanquishing lusts. "Slave, the fickle finger of truth is pointing at Christine, ask her a deeply probing question, something to keep us entertained whilst we tuck-in."
I thought and I thought. Then inspiration, "Christine, you and Angela are pretty uninhibited, really close friends and both man-free zones for years, did you ever, well... well, have sex together?"
"Once," Christine confided. "It didn't work. Angela's divorce went, sour: rancid in fact. She came round in floods of tears, totally distraught; he had collected the kids from school and the three of them had simply vanished. I cuddled her, comforted her and eventually, slightly pissed, we ended up in bed together. I kissed Angela, chastely, it was supposed to be a consoling goodnight kiss. Next thing I know I'm pinned on my back by a lioness attempting to prise my jaws apart with its huge, slick, hot, wet tongue. As you said, I'm broad minded and Angela needed a lift, right then I knew she needed me really badly; so I did to her all the things that I would have liked a man to do to me: well all the things I was physically capable of. Angela loves women, perhaps more so than men, she was suddenly sky-rocketed from destitution to riches and she responded. Oh my, I had enjoyed sex in my time, but I had no idea that a woman could come that many times, that quickly, and keep coming back for more. Of course, Angela wanted to pay her debts and return my caresses: she'd unveiled bliss in the middle of despair. It turned out to be hopeless, I just could not get started, she tried everything and anything: it was totally useless. It was nice, all of it was really pleasant and delightfully soothing, but it didn't set my pulse racing and my juices flowing. I could give, whole-heartedly, without reservation, but favours returned just did nothing for me: pleasure but no passion. So we put it down to experience, didn't try again but stayed best of friends. We've shared a bed since, but never again one another."
"Such close friends that Christine even persuaded her newly discovered and much treasured man to screw me, as my birthday surprise" Angela was in tears. "She really is my very best friend." She dabbed her eyes, we appeared to have finished eating, no one was for seconds.
Christine had sounded wistful – I'm not particularly good at relationships, well not some parts of them; I cannot, for example, ever pass a compliment convincingly, even when I know I really ought to: I freeze up, my mind goes blank, my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth – yet even I caught the melancholy in Christine's tone: she desperately wanted to, and could not, share with Angela. "Christine my cheesecake will make us all smile again," the recipe I follow cheers, heartens, warms, increases obesity and hardens arteries with each and every single spoonful. Christine collected our plates and disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was gone I hissed, "Angela. No just drop all that slave stuff for five seconds, there's no time! Shall we tease Christine together, work as a team, fingers and tongues united in a common cause. I'll get her started, then once she is good and randy you can join in too? You might not be able to set her fire alight but I'm certain that you can assist with piling on the fuel and fanning the flames."
Men do nothing for me, nothing what-so-ever, not even one secret adolescent erection I'm too ashamed or embarrassed to admit to: simply nothing. And it's not lack of opportunity, at university I had a wide circle of gay friends as my, then current, girlfriend was bi-sexual. But during the long slow session of masturbation I had just endured I knew that if Angela had swapped her place with a man I would have begged and pleaded him just the same as her and promised anything to anyone if they would just stop and suck me off.
Angela nodded her consent, vigorously, "Now I can see what Christine found in you. You're the same as she is, you can give without asking what, if anything, you will get in return."
"Don't ever trust to that with money," I admonished.
Angela laughed, Christine returned, the tension evaporated and we re-entered our roles. "Big boy, my little lap-dog, my obedient slave, my subjugated chattel, why the hell is your head not buried between my thighs, your tongue sunk deep into my fanny and licking for dear life itself? I told you, you are to eat pussy for pudding: so get cracking." I dived under the table. A few minutes later Angela spoke, "You know Chrissy, cheesecake is delicious; but cheese-cake whilst you cream, that's exquisite. I'm enjoying mine right now, but there will be plenty left over when I am gorged, won't there 'big boy'? My mouth was too full to reply.
"Christine, as this seems to be your confessional, tell me do you really enjoy anal sex?" Angela quizzed. I'm not sure how much of the answer Angela took in, as she kept having another orgasm, but I got Christine's message.
"It's no big deal, if your man's gentle, and he's not too big; in fact it's really quite nice. If Adrian has been good we normally finish off doggy style, it's fun, he gets to watch – grandstand view in fact – but it doesn't make me come. If Adrian's performance has been exceptional, or I want him to agree to something, I suck him off at the end: for him that's a real treat but, truth to tell, I would prefer not to. How do you think I paid for your birthday present? Now anal sex: most men adore it, I find it more exhilarating than doggy, you can't get pregnant, it's good if your period's heavy and your man's also randy and it's an absolute life saver after you've had a baby. I thought I'd see how Adrian reacted, he's never seemed that keen but, once sampled oft' returned to." At this point I probed Angela's slurping slot with the tips of two fingers, she thrust forwards, impaling herself upon them and as a consequence lost all self-control: the following morning we had, literally, to scrape half chewed cheesecake from the wall opposite to where she was sitting.
Once Angela was thinking clearly once more, the rest was a doddle. Angela talked Christine upstairs for a drop of Irish whiskey and a comprehensive licking, 'Christine's Irish cream' she named it: she had even brought a bottle of Jameson's as bait – until then we had shared a large bottle of local dry perry, equal to
about half a bottle of wine, so we were all quite sober; sobriety is essential when you play games of bondage, no good the teaser nodding off, or worse, turning nasty. We secured Christine with no perceptible difficulty; once you are sitting in an arm chair with your legs splayed over the arms, you're pretty well immobilised anyway. Despite the earlier conversational switch-back, she was still incredibly randy, indeed raring to go, so it only took a matter of minutes to return her to a state of desperation and not much longer to extend this to a state of uncontrolled depravity. I did the full body lick and settled down to the basics, lick Christine's clit, finger her fanny, lick the sensitive strip between her two holes for a while longer.
Angela had blindfolded Christine early on and, under my tender ministrations, she was soon trying to struggle violently and making a proper rumpus. "Well, 'big boy', she was happy to extend your torment to fifty minutes; we'll give her, what? Say a round hour?" The rumpus metamorphosed into hysteria. "We'll start off with five minutes and then offer her the opportunity to exchange time for perversion." Angela gagged her. As I now knew, as one who had been on the receiving end of a comprehensive teasing, at this stage being gagged and blindfolded is truly terrible, any hope of influencing what happens is gone: but, worse still, you really do not trust those bastards not to run over time and as, for you, subjective time is almost stationary, your anxieties are fuelled with a nervous tension that verges upon the paranoid.
"Five minutes up. If I you agree to me assisting Adrian we will knock fifteen minutes off your time, nod if you wish this." A very firm and emphatic yes. For the next five minutes I worked on Christine's fanny whilst Angela concentrated upon her nipples. The way Christine was slurping out lubricant told us both that Angela's contribution was not turning her off in the slightest. "Let's change ends," I don't know what Angela was doing but Christine was beginning to struggle with frenetic energy. Then I had an inspiration. I swapped my attentions from her nipples to her ear lobes. Christine's manic struggling increase ten-fold, until one ear suddenly and unexpectedly dribbled wax onto my tongue. Let me tell you, ear wax tastes vile, it is disgusting, it is an abomination. I went to find out what Angela was up to.
Angela was concentrating on Christine's clit, or more precisely the area around it. If Christine relaxed, she went in closer with the occasional direct swipe of her tongue over that sensitive little button, when Christine tensed up Angela licked further out, deploying both an increase in firmness and an increase in tempo. Moreover, she had a single finger inserted in Christine's fanny almost up to the knuckle. As best as I could tell she was rotating this really gently. "let's swap, 'big boy'."
We swapped and swapped about, approximately every three minutes, until Christine had endured precisely twenty nine minutes of our ministrations. "Now listen carefully," Angela commanded. "It's your turn to decide. We can stop now and Adrian will shaft you stupid, as only he knows how to, but at the same time you will have to kiss me with serious passion. This will continue until Adrian and I cannot wring another climax out of your over-sensitised flesh. Then I get to sit in the chair, you kneel on all fours before me, you lick my slit and Adrian takes his pleasure in your bum. Nod if you agree.
Christine nodded her assent, frantically. As I pierced her hot damp sex, repetitively, Christine orgasmed regularly until I became really worried about my ability to hold myself back continuing. I had to shaft her pathetically slowly which, of course, made her ability to climax last all the longer. When Christine's responses finally began to diminish Angela broke off that long passionate kiss and attacked her nipples instead, allowing us to wring a last couple of orgasms out of her before she slumped, languid as a rag doll. We untied her and even before we could massage her arms and legs she shoved Angela into the chair, grabbed the stool – thatched with pink fluffy stuff –from in front of her dressing table, placed it before Angela and bent over it, rump stuck up high in the air. She commenced sucking Angela's slick slit with a gusto that appeared unbridled, almost manic. I took up my allotted position behind her, smeared her anus with Vaseline, which lived on the dressing table, and eased into her very slowly; Christine did not even seem to notice me invading her. Her 'spit-roast' was extraordinarily short lived; she was right, her rear was significantly more constricted than her pussy; the sensation was far more intense, I was desperately randy anyway and I came almost immediately. Anal sex is curious; unless you really want to hurt your partner you have to go gently so your climax is, instantaneously, less intense but then it lasts so much longer and you've to be very careful not to thrust hard, reflexly. An interesting variant but, despite Christine's opinions, I'd rather have done her doggy any day: a compromise would have to be negotiated. Satisfying Angela took rather longer, so I went to assist.
The End.
Lethe
Ah, the Friday afternoons. The stress of the entire week was still a little, squirmy pressure inside me. It was slowly calming down; thoughts about the coming hour and the evening were greater and more intense. Fantasy's clouded my mind and made me forget about reality, just leaving place for dreams about satisfaction. My mind was busy making plans, plans for great pleasure. Everything was in place now. My roommate was away; house for myself. New candles; beautiful lightning and enjoyable fragrance. Whine; perfect for a pink shade over the lustful mist.
More ideas came over me while I was seated in the crowded bus driving me home. I was staring out of the window. I did not see the landscape, the houses were escaping my focus, beautiful boys and girls got equal attention. Only when crossing the bridge, looking out over the mass of water that was my city's lake, I noticed a little of the beauty surrounding me. The sparkles reflecting the sunlight distracted me of my impure deliberations.
I stared, the few moments the bus traversed the bridge into the blueness. For those moments a strong sensation of floating overcame me. Warm water surrounding me, and numbing most of the exterior impressions it was amplifying my sinful thoughts. The pressure inside me that had been bugging me was overcompensated by the pressure of the water and the waves rocking me back and-
My line of sight with the water was abruptly gone.
I gasped, for the feeling that overpowered me felt so... real. My eyes scanned the environment but only found the grayness of the city. Panic welled up, I had to see the luster in the water again.
"Maybe a shower would be nice."
The voice struck me, like someone next to me said it. Luckily no one seemed to care a single fuck about my persona.
Yeah, a shower would be perfect. Yearning to relive that feeling I moved my thighs tight together. I was shocked by the wetness I felt. A pleasant shock it was; teasing myself made my hunger grow. Hunger for relief, that what would made the climax the more satisfying.
I walked numb from the bus stop to the front door, mainly focusing on the moist crawling down my legs, little, sweet drops. In front of my door I stopped to take a breath. The reflection of me was a blushing girl, panting and very pretty.
I like my body, it is very soft and slender, nice, perky c-cup, full round bottom. I could look at myself for ages, boys could too. But they did not get my attention.
While I was opening the door, I was thinking it might be a good idea to finger myself, rubbing against a mirror. I can be very narcissistic at times.
"And your fingers crawling inside your slit, the shower head between your soft legs, blasting a powerful beam on your clit?"
I was flooded by that voice, Its sound came from within me, made my body tremble and sensitive. With every of the words a small gush of wetness came from under my skirt and made my head dizzy.
The sweet and lustful words, even though shrill and loud, became more calming and a serene whisper went from my mind to my lower abdomen.
"I want you naked."
"Play for me."
"I want you, beautiful."
After the words receded, instead of questioning it or being suspicious about the source, I obeyed it and moved my shaking body to the bed. I was pant
ing heavily and my throbbing pussy felt sensitive in the open air. As my panties slipped down my legs I saw the trail of freshly secreted juice in a sensual pattern between my legs. The pattern started with the source, where the moist had been gushing out and made thick strokes over my inner thighs. Further from the source it spread like a river delta, but instead of flowing in a sea of my wetness, it was hovering just above my knees.
Like hands caressing my thighs.
The lips were swollen with blood, slightly throbbing and continuously secreting my honey. I slit a finger inside me, knowing I couldn't hold my lust for the shower. The walls tightened around my finger as I pleasured them.
I moved them quickly, wanting to get off soon, I was aching for a week to cum really good.
Something didn't want me to, though.
Those visions...
Images of my body floating in the water, being pleasured by the water. The hot beam massaging my body and the mirror hazed, except for the parts where my body was rubbed against. The transparent fingers of someone nearby, the wet kisses of that person. That woman.
I gasped air as she moved me through the water, slowly up and down, her two fingers pressed against the spongy part of my pussy, pushing waves of pleasure through my lower body. My panting was smothered in her face, a beautiful face made of water.
It did not seem weird at all, but her head was dripping her hair, I could see everything through her.
She kind of surprised me by finally pushing her tongue inside my mouth, it felt warm and soft, like a normal one. I closed my eyes and let the mysterious entity do the work. She still fingered my pussy with one hand, with the other one she supported my head from the ridge of the showers tub. Her leading my body through these wonderful experience of warmth and sex made me not notice that I did not walk myself to the bathroom.
Mega Huge Collection of Rougher Daddies Page 140
