The Daily Chores - Sex Stories

The Daily Chores

... “The knife will release you, not harm you.” I take the fabric of your t-shirt and run the blade through it, separating it from your body. Gathering the remnants in a ball, I throw them to the side. I then collect your shorts into a bunch, running the blade up through the leg opening on the left side, then the right, then between the legs. I remove the fragment of fabric and toss it, with the knife, to the side. There you sit on the left over fabric that was your shorts. Gazing upon your body, your beauty, I am taken aback. How can one woman be so beautiful? So stunningly divine? Your skin is flawless, not a single blemish to be seen. Your breasts are firm, standing proud. The nipples and areola are just the slightest touch of pink, with the nipples erect in the cool room air. The muscles in your arms are toned; your abdominals are tight and your legs go on forever. I stare in awe and desire, the fires within burning hotly. You are trembling and your breathing is labored. You worry about the blade, but you are also concerned about being so exposed, so unguarded, so vulnerable. You cannot see your tormentor, you cannot defend yourself. Though bound, you are on display and covertly relish in being so free and unfettered. Bending close, I trail a path of hot breaths from your right ear lobe, down your neck, across your chest and back up to your left ear lobe. You writhe with excitement, moaning in hedonistic pleasure. Extending my tongue, I taste your skin with a renewed energy. ...

... Dragging it slowly down the soft curves of your neck, it trails further down until it reaches the apex of the valley between your breasts. My hands are now resting on your thighs, thumbs running circles on the inside muscles. Using tender pressure, I press against your flesh. Though my body is between your knees, you involuntarily spread them wider, granting unfettered access to a garden of delights. As I nibble on the tender flesh of your breasts, my hands begin a slow and steady passage toward the ultimate goal. Alternating between gentle massages and squeezes, I find the glory of your essence. The intensity of passion is evident, the dampness pooling between your legs, running down to the tattered scraps of your shorts and pooling on the cushions of the couch. You are an oozing tarn of trickle, generating more and more with each passing second. Taking your nipple between my teeth and gently tugging outward, I run my forefinger and ring finger down your outer lips, pressing them together. As they reach the perineum, I reverse my undertaking and travel back up, opening the petals of your orchard. Swapping nipples between my teeth, my middle finger gathers the fluids, using them to ease your tender lips apart. Then, I am there yet again, at the apex of your core. Finding the hooded switch to your depravity, I allow my finger to linger on the tip. With just the lightest touch, I begin to caress. Dancing my finger across the sprouting nexus, I begin to nurture your urge. Mixing ...