Bound - Sex Stories

Bound

Dark purple satin ribbons contrasted on pale skin. Artwork. Living, breathing artwork. Hair flowing and tumbling in waves down her arched back. Hands tethered at the wrists with that striking purple against cream. The curve of her spine flows smoothly as if drawn with a single brushstroke from the shape of her shoulders to the round of her backside and the inviting cleft in between. Sarah, my Venus. Kneeling like a humble supplicant beseeching her god for mercy and pleasure, she looks divine. A delicate morsel of humanity set aside solely for me to appreciate and enjoy. And enjoy I shall. Pleasure I will bestow. I swipe my hand down, bringing with it the kiss of a strap. She bucks, but only slightly, as I paint her back with a hint of red. She thanks me and requests I deliver another. Who am I to deny a loyal subject such a modest request? I swipe my hand again, another pink stripe. And in this way we carry on into the night. Pulses race. Sweat drips. When the stripes and the clock reach the number Eleven I drop to my knees. Knowing, she rests her head against the floor, presenting her backside like a beautiful offering. Her painted stripes now like a path to follow into that painted cleft, which I do with my fingers, skin raw from wielding my own paintbrush. Sarah reacts silently, her ...

... back tensing only just, as I follow the freshly marked trail lower . . . lower . . . lower, until my fingers find that lovely cleft hidden in the shadow. In her darkness I feel, seeking out that heated place. Sarah groans as I slip my fingers against her wetness. Her body pulses with energy, her hips rock and rock. The sculpture now animated as I seek out her heat. And when I slip my fingertips deep between her plump lips, she gasps. That's it, I tell her, my beautiful Sarah. I fill her, striking deeper with smaller strokes of a different brush; one designed for fine detail and delicate work. One brush becomes two, and then two become four. Merciful am I, I draw away before the peak comes. She needs more, her body begs for it. Shaking, whimpering softly. Who am I to deny? Still wet with her heat, I slide my fingers up, along her sculpted cleft. When I find the soft, small pucker of her backside I dip a single finger in. She mews softly, her body melts to the floor. I know what my Sarah needs, what she's come to me for. We speak with thoughts and not words - sensual semantics. One becomes two, two becomes four. Her hands, wrapped with purple, clutch the air. She drags in a deep breath, releasing it with a shuddering cry. Bound and filled and stroked and worshiped, my Venus, my Sarah, comes.