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the unquiet poetry of the clitoris...

1:02 pm Tuesday, 12th November, 2013

We had not seen each other in 20 years and so there an element of surprise that we were able to recognise each other with so little difficulty. The years had altered us of course - stripped us of our youth without making us too much wiser. But then, youth and wisdom, have always been overrated in my opinion.

J.B. had been a pleasantly plump girl - taut and smooth skinned, and this was a flattering quality of flesh that she retained into her forties. There was a fullness to her that struck me instantly as... sensual. But it was her full smile i recognised first. Blue eyed and pink lipped she signaled her pleasure to see me again.

'After all these years,' she said, and just that.

We had rented a cottage on the moors - remote but comfortable. J.B. had been anxious to fuck as soon as we arrived but i convinced her that we should take our time and not rush to recreate past glories. It was at that point that i almost lost control of the situation. Dominance is about confidence and, at that stage in my life, i had not played the Master in almost fifteen years. (That particular dynamic had not been a feature of my marriage.)

Faced with J.B.'s sudden and almost violent, petulance i came very close to capitulating and reverting to a more passive role. I could so easily have allowed her to indulge herself - to suck on my cock and allow her to drive me into such a rage of arousal that i took her there and then, and roughly, fucking her like a beast and filling with cum until we were both... spent. But, despite the almost overwhelming urge to fuck her like a whore, i did not.

Instead, hardly raising my voice at all, took her by the hair and forced her into the corner. I flattened her hands against the walls, pulling back on her hips so that they were thrust out into the room. I kicked at her heels so that her legs were spread. It was an uncomfortable and unbalanced position and, at first, J.B. complained almost bitterly. But each time she cursed me i brought my hand firmly down on her quivering rump until she ceased to complain. After a while the tone of even her breath was contrite.

Determined that there would be no repetition of her rebellion i forced her to her knees and, with her hair in my fist, i brought her face around and i rubbed it against my groin - wiping her mouth on bulge in my trousers. I wanted her to know how hard i was, and to smell my arousal, and to know by my gesture how long i would make her wait before i would let her taste my cock.

'You only think you're hungry now,' i informed her.

I brought her then into the centre of the room, tore open her blouse, roughly uncupped her big heavy breasts, and then forced her down onto all fours. Next i hitched her skirt, tore away her lace panties (they looked expensive) and told to maintain that position and not to move or even think of moving until i returned.

It was some twenty minutes before i did return. Though it had only taken me moments to find what i was looking for (a wooden handled skipping rope - of my own design and construction) i felt that additional minutes were necessary.

J.B. had not moved. On all fours, her breasts so heavy they they almost brushed the bare wood floor, she remained. Her limbs shook a little now, her haunches quivered, her breath had shortened, but she was still.. and exactly as i had left her. Only her cunt had altered. It was now engorged and wet, little spasms passed between her outer and inner labia. Closer observation revealed moments when her cunt would actually open as though gasping for air. The time had allowed her arousal to discover a rhythm.. or so it seemed.

Her breath shortened further as i showed the adapted skipping rope. I had hand turned the handles myself - creating two highly polished dildos. The smaller of the two was shaped for anal play - the larger more obviously mimicking the size and features of a cock. (the head of it was fat and smooth, the shaft ribbed.)

J.B., struggling to maintain her position, gasped and began to whimper. It was the response that i had hoped for.

It took some time to relax the knot her arse - and not a little of her own creamy juices - so that i could slip the handle into her and all the way to the hilt. But i was in to rush then and J.B., i sensed, had contented herself to be patient and allow me to take full control of her flesh. With only the hilt now visible i applied the rope to her buttocks, striping them pink, and, occasionally allowing the rope to strike the hilt itself which appeared to particularly delight J.B.

Fearing that she would cum (and much too soon, i thought) i paused for a while. I pulled her to her feet, forced her towards the bed, and onto it. When she was on all fours again i spread her cunt carefully and took full account of the effect her 'treatment' had had on her pretty clitoris. It was very swollen, i noted. So much so that it had, by its volume, pushed back the little hood so that the smooth inner bud looked very raw - almost as though it might actually burst at any moment. I lowered my mouth towards it and brushed it with my breath. By altering my lips i then blew a little chill along the shaft of that clit, J.B. moaned then and would have thrust her cunt onto my mouth... if i had let her. I did not.

Later, and not much later, i would fuck her in the mouth as i plunged that exquisitely designed dildo into her (the other still lodged in her anus of course). Later i would drive her whore mouth onto me, the tip of my cock down her throat until she gagged as she came and i filled her slut mouth with hot cum.

But that was for later.

Before all that... as i had promised there would be... there was the simple, unquiet poetry of the clitoris to be savoured.

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Comments
2:16 pm Tuesday, 12th November, 2013

Must say that really turned me on :) i want one of those skipping ropes

 4 people like this

2:36 pm Tuesday, 12th November, 2013

me too what happens next

 3 people like this

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