… and so, we continue…
“I tell you to kiss my feet once the shoes are off, I am lovely to you. I feel your lips against my skin and tongue lapping at my toes…”
I sit back and close my eyes, occasionally shifting my foot this way or that to offer a certain part to your mouth, pushing up towards your face when you get it just right.
I lean down and pet the top of your head, stroking back to your neck, feeling the tendons in your neck shift as your lips caress my toes, and your tongue swipes slowly across my skin. I apply some pressure, forcing your mouth harder against my foot, and feel you trying to resist so that you can continue to lick me. I push a little harder and feel your lips being squashed against my skin.
“Why have you stopped licking, boy?!”
You try to form words, your mouth forced against my skin. A muffled reply comes out. I press a little harder and feel you try to shift out of the discomfort.
“Do you want to worship my feet or not?!
I feel you try to nod, another mumbled reply filters up to me, it sounds like “Yes Ma’am” uttered underwater.
I sigh. “I guess not then…”
I let you go and your lips stay on my feet as you tell me, ask me, please, yes, you do want to, really, you do. I feel your breath on my skin, your lips moving against me as you talk and kiss my feet, both.
You make a small sound of regret and get quickly up to your knees, look at me, and wait.
I smile at you, and you make a tentative smile back. I pet your cheek and you lean into the touch, close your eyes for a moment, and I take your mouth, forcing it open and shoving into it, biting on your tongue as it enters my mouth, holding your face up to me hard, relentlessly growling into your mouth, the aggression making everything in me fire up, you melt under the onslaught, running into it, leaning up for more. I finally pull away, taking deep breaths, everything humming with tension. I slip the blindfold over your head, adjusting it over your eyes.
“Take your shoes and socks off.”
You awkwardly do as you’re told and then kneel back in position, your hands behind your head. I push your knees apart with my feet, grab the front of your shirt and pull you closer to the couch until your knees are touching it.
I slide down to sit on your thighs, lean back against the couch and undo the buttons of your shirt, touching the skin exposed there. I slip a hand underneath and touch your stomach, up over your ribs, to your chest, raising the shirt with it, fingertips fluttering over your nipples before I pull the shirt over your head. Your arms automatically go up so that I can get it off, a gesture that nearly breaks my heart every time and I am never sure why.
I readjust the blindfold, touching your face, bringing my palm to your lips so that you can kiss it. Applying a little pressure to see how it feels, covering your nostrils, taking your breath for just long enough to feel you tense.
Leaning forward then, shuffling closer in your lap, letting my weight sink into you, rubbing against your hardness through your jeans, wondering if your knees, shins, ankles are starting to feel strained yet. Grabbing at your skin, just to touch it, petting, pinching, clawing, getting in my own way, a hand at your throat to hold your head right there so I can kiss you, soft still, or maybe past that now, starting to bump into you, raising up from your lap to get over you and bear down with my mouth and teeth on yours, wincing at the clash, holding your head still, your blindness making you seem invisible, you are trying to keep your hands locked behind your head while you are being push-pulled this way and that.
I reach between us and fumble at your jeans, a button, a zip, hard to reach them properly from this position, you try to shift to help, leaning back a little. I shove at you and you resist to try and prevent yourself toppling over backwards, but I continue to push, my mouth locked with yours, seeking purchase, my body pushing against you, steamrolling over you, I can feel your abs tensing to try and stop us falling, and still I push at you.
“Ma’am…stop!” You manage to get your hands out behind you to save us both from the fall.
I growl at you, “Fucking hands!”
You let yourself drop back to the floor, controlled, your legs still under you, your hands go back behind your head. I lift up from your thighs and give you room to get your legs out. You sigh in relief at being able to stretch them out.
My hands at your pants, undoing them properly now, the touch making you raise your hips towards me, I take my time, running fingers along the waist of them, the open zip. I grab them as if to pull them down, you lift your arse off the ground to help me. It makes me smile, so I let them go to watch you drop back to the floor. Once or twice, maybe three times. I try not to laugh because then you will know that I am just fucking with you, though you know that anyway.
Jeans slipped off then, I sit back between your legs, spreading them to make room for me. I touch your cock lightly, barely. Different touches, just to see how you react, you can’t see them coming, I watch your skin twitch at each touch. I might ask you if you like that, do you like that? Maybe smacking your cock, pinching the skin, flicking it just under the head to see you flinch. Touches against your inner thighs, your balls, down to your arse, feeling the different textures of your skin.
Leaning forward to make you lick my palm over and again and following it with one hard, wet stroke of your cock from the base, slipping tight and quick up to the head, and maybe again, the start but not the finish of it. Or not. Do you want more of that? Do you?
Shoving your legs up into the air and leaning into you: if I had a cock, I might fuck you this way, shifting hips against you, almost subtle pressure, pushing my knees under your arse to lift it up to me. All of it awkward, you trying to do what you think I want with few cues, and I pinch or smack the parts of you that aren’t going where and how I want them.
Wanting your mouth, but not being able to reach it from here is frustrating. Shoving fingers into it instead, and fucking your mouth with them, hips tight against you, rocking against your arse, pushing into the wetness of your mouth, feeling your tongue trying to lick, pulling out and pushing back in, your gag reflex forces a choking sound from you, your whole body tenses at it, and again into the back of your throat. I tell you how you wish this was my cock, I know you do, don’t you?
I pull fingers out long enough for you to tell me yes, to tell me how you wish my cock was gagging you, the words tumble out quickly before my fingers are back in your mouth again, shutting you up, making you gag again. I wonder if there are tears under the blindfold from the gagging. It makes me mad that I can’t see if there are and I slap you quickly with wet fingers before I spread your spit all over your cock with quick hard rough strokes.
… to be continued…