Thursday, August 10, 2006


"Tie me down," he says. He's sitting in his office chair, shirtless, hair caked with the blue dye I'd just finished daubing on. I'd promised him something special to pass the time between applying and washing out, and I'd already spent an enjoyable few minutes kissing him and trying to avoid accidental contact with the colourful goop. His torso is freckled with blue.

I see the wisdom of his request and carry it out, winding our white nylon rope around the chair's arms and his. I tie it tight: too tight, maybe, but I ask him and he says it's fine. M finds it difficult to stay still. It's rare for him to come unless he's the active party, but we're going to conduct an experiment and see if forcing immobility has any effect.

"What should I do with my hands?" he asks, as I busy myself with removing his pants. Genuinely surprised and a bit confused, I look up into his blue eyes and say, "Nothing." His hands are tied. What other response could I give?

Naked now, he sits, legs sprawled, and fully clothed I straddle his knees and take my time, enjoying his lovely, lovely moans as I traverse his chest with my lips and push all the buttons I know. His cock rises like a drawbridge between us; it would be easier to ignore the Inco Superstack. I slide down and kneel between his legs, teasing him with little licks, tonguing his frenulum. I lap at his balls and am rewarded with deep moans. Stroking his shaft with one hand, I lick and suck his head and put my other hand on his thigh, feeling his body tense, his back arch towards me.

I continue, and he seems poised on the brink forever, his arms straining against their bonds. Finally, with an urgent cry, he comes, his cock pulsing in my mouth, his semen bypassing my tongue to shoot directly down my throat. I finish him off with a few last licks, and he proceeds to have the greatest post-orgasm reaction I have ever had the pleasure to witness: he laughs. At first it is just a chuckle, and then it is full-blown laughter, the kind that feeds on itself and makes you feel so damn good. The laughter itself is a kind of second release, almost as good as the first.

Feeling rather proud of myself, I untie him, and his hair having cooked enough, we wander to the bathroom to wash it out.

The experiment? An unequivocal success.


Blogger LocuTus of Borg said...

Damn I shouldn't have read this at work .. i need a cold shower now!! >:P very nice.

12:36 PM  

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