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Message-ID: <44609asstr$1065384602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Toran <toran29@insightbb.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 05 Oct 2003 16:05:46 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} The Ultimate O {Toran} (MF, bdsm, cons)
Date: Sun,  5 Oct 2003 16:10:02 -0400
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Comments are welcome and appreciated.  Feel free to write directly to my email 
address in the header - the spammers will, of course, be using it.


The Ultimate O
by Toran

    He rolled her nipple, drinking in her reaction like the best bourbon money 
could buy.  Her face was already flushed, her eyes already intense, looking but 
not seeing.  He rolled the other nipple, only this time he added a sharp pinch, 
squeezing the little flesh nub as tight as he could and the squeal, muffled by 
the wad of silk in her mouth caused him to close his eyes and savor the moment 
as long as he could.
    
    All night, her reactions had been nothing short of a waterfall, each 
successive suggestion that he made causing a powerful emotion to ripple across 
her face and body.  When the wine had done its trick of loosening them both up, 
he had whispered in her ear that he would make her have the best and most 
explosive orgasm of her life.  Of course, she didn't believe him, but the hope 
that flickered across her eyes, almost imperceptible, told him that the door 
was open, if only just a crack.
    
    He stepped away and looked down at her taut body.  That her arms and legs 
were stretched as far as possible by the silk cords that made her into a 
bed-angel, frozen in flight, was a given.  His special touch was the cords that 
bound her breasts into orbs of purpling flesh.  Just doing that ritual, 
wrapping the cords tighter and tighter, turning the holy grail of a woman's 
body into something to be toyed with and hurt - that alone had made her draw in 
breath through her nose, all the while, a little whine was humming deep in her 
throat.  That was good.  Actually, it was fucking excellent.
    
    He had trotted out the small bundle of silk scarves as they had a second 
bottle of wine in front of the fireplace.  The scarves were only for show - 
they were less threatening than the soft but heavy cord that he would use on 
her once she was beyond objecting.  Scarves were romantic, and from the gaze 
she gave them as they lay in a bundle on the edge of the leather couch he knew 
that she was thinking of captured princesses and harem slave girls.  And that 
ultimate orgasm that he was promising her.  Her body was perfectly still as she 
stared at them, the room silent save for the crackle of sizzling sap from the 
burning logs in the fireplace.  And he let her do her thinking, her 
fantasizing, all the while recording her image in his mind for later pleasures, 
when she was gone.  Her breathing was fast - he could see her chest taking 
small short breaths and that did her breasts proud.  Her nipples were slightly 
erect and he found himself thinking of nipple rings pulled taught, or heavy 
serrated clamps biting tender flesh, and the screams behind her gag as they 
were pulled off, one after the other.  How her body would strain against the 
cords then...
    
    Her pupils dilated and he noticed that her hips were moving, just a little, 
in tight grinding motions, pushing her ass deeper into the bed.  He kept one 
hand on her nipple, alternately squeezing and rolling the bud, while his other 
hand slid down to her tummy, caressing the firm flesh of her belly but staying 
away from the nestle of curly brown hair that guarded her puss.  That would be 
plundered later, at the right moment, for a man's mistake is to go for the 
touchdown too soon.  There would be more touching, more caressing, a little 
biting and pinching, but he would be able to gauge the flush of her skin, the 
urgency of her hips, the tempo of her breath - and then was when he would ram 
into her, deeply, and send her into oblivion.
    
    She had blushed profusely while he wound the soft, delicate silk scarf 
about one wrist and he actually had to take the glass of wine from her other 
hand before he tied that one.  She had been fully clothed, then, of course, but 
he saw that her nipples were straining at the blouse she had worn for this date 
and he had debated going for the score early - by tying her hands behind her, 
those nipples would be taut against the fabric and oh so sensitive.  But he 
held off, instead tying her wrists together in front of her - her first 
feelings of captivity would be mildly edgy, but safe.  What could he do if she 
still had her hands in front of her to ward off anything he might try?  But 
that intense look that would come to dominate her face as the night wore on and 
his bindings became more severe - that look was born as she regarded her bound 
wrists, her delicate watch still on and ticking.  An interesting situation, he 
thought she was thinking.  Dinner, wine, fireplace, hands tied.  What an 
interesting sensation.
    
    He had both his hands on her midsection now, caressing, drawing gooseflesh. 
 With every swirl, his hands got closer to that patch of curly hair and she was 
beginning to time this with her hips.  The hum in her throat was building, 
along with the twitching and straining of her legs.  Her calves and thighs were 
taut and he had to take a moment to watch the muscles there tense, hold for 
long seconds, then relax.  But only for an instant before they again tensed.  
He knew that, were she not tied and helpless and totally vulnerable to whatever 
he wanted to do to her, those legs would be wrapped around his torso, heels 
digging into the small of his back, driving him at the speed that was best for 
her.  And that was what he saw in the straining of her legs and urgent bucking 
of her hips - she wasn't driving.  She was frustrated.  She was in his power 
now.  She was only a woman whose flesh was his for the playing.
    
    He had knelt before her, and she had spread her legs, giggling a little.  
Her bound hands found his hair and nervously played with the black tousles that 
were the product of his cowlick.    His hands had started at her hips, feeling 
the delicate panties beneath the cotton slip and they had both laughed when he 
gave the seam a little snap.  Her fingers had grabbed his hair, almost as a 
warning, a mock roadblock sign that said there may be a detour ahead if the 
right speed wasn't maintained, and he chuckled.  Not so much from the moment, 
but from the sure knowledge that before long, all the fucking detour signs 
would be gone and the road was his to plunder at will.
    
    His fingers danced up to caress the flesh just under the cords that bound 
her breasts and she jerked a little - ticklish.  So vulnerable she was.  A few 
touches under her arms and she was screaming into the silk wad.  Another 
reaction that she hadn't planned on giving him.  But tickling wasn't his thing. 
 His fingers went back to the flesh below her belly button, this time running 
from her bound ankles up, slowly, along her calves and inner thigh, getting 
close, oh so close to the warm and sweet spot that they both wanted to explore, 
but then back down.  She moaned as his fingers made the pilgrimage, each time 
getting close to the holy spot, before turning back.  The hum in her throat was 
now a loud moan, and he knew that she may just be getting to where he'd have to 
pace himself more slowly.  The best roller-coasters have more than just the 
first hill and he wanted to build up enough speed for the many that he knew she 
had in her.
    
    His lips had done the trick, kissing the soft inner thigh flesh, and she 
had made the mistake of using her bound hands on the back of his neck to 
control the pace and location of his kisses.  He could smell her and that 
fueled the fire inside, and if she hadn't been so commanding, he probably could 
have kept the play on the couch going for another ten or fifteen minutes.  As 
it was, he was forced to pull away, sitting for a moment on his knees, gazing 
at her.  She had looked at him through half-lidded eyes, her hands wanting to 
go to her puss to keep things moving.  But she held back - out of modesty he 
didn't know.  But they lay in her lap, moving nervously, and he had known that 
it was time to adjourn to the bedroom and get her more helpless.  She obviously 
was ready to have matters taken completely out of her hands.
    
    He climbed up and positioned himself between her legs, his arms lying over 
her thighs, hands finding the cooling breast flesh, bound as it was.  Her body 
quivered before his eyes, and a when he blew warm breath across her engorged 
pussy lips, she arched her back and sucked in breath.  He knew that she could 
feel the heat of his head so close to the little button that had been virtually 
ignored, and his breath, caressing her flesh when his fingers wouldn't, wasn't 
enough, not nearly enough.  He thought of how lovely his view was, visions of 
clamps and rings and piercings in his head - how would she react to pain where 
only pleasure should be?  Would she be able to turn that pain into pleasure, or 
would he have to make her practice?  He blew again, watching her body react, 
smelling her smell, feeling her heat, all the while his hands squeezed and 
groped her bound breasts.
    
    He had flung her over his shoulder, cave-man style and her firm butt had 
gotten its share of slaps as he carried her into the bedroom.  She was laughing 
all the way, her hands playfully pounding his back.  When he tossed her on the 
bed and followed up immediately by covering her with kisses, she moaned and 
even helped him take her clothes off, as much as her hands could help, anyways. 
 She made small talk, nervous banter, as he gently removed the silk from around 
her wrists and spread her out across the bed.  He knew that she was thinking 
the binding was over with, that now he would begin to work her flesh and with 
her help, he would deliver on his promise.  The `with her help' part being the 
key.  Her face registered surprise when he climbed atop her torso, his knees 
keeping most of his weight off her, and tied her wrists to the silk cord 
hanging from the corners of the bedposts.  But he had gone to work on kissing 
her fingertips, the palm of her hands, the sensitive flesh of her forearms, her 
shoulders, her neck.  A few nibbles on her ear lobes and she was tossing her 
head to kiss him on the lips.  It was then that he had broken away and went 
about the business of tying her legs.  Her suggestive protests were lost when 
he stuffed the silk scarves deep into her mouth and bound the ends about her 
head.  There was the chill of uncertainty in her face then but he had quieted 
her unnerved eyes with kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, even her nose, and 
it was the swoon that he was waiting for before he had gone to work on her 
breasts.
    
    His tongue flicked out and caught the side of one of her pussy lips and her 
inner thighs strained to capture his head and push his tongue deeper, touch the 
flesh that needed to be touched.  But he tied her well and her legs were only 
getting limited movement.  His hands worked her nipples, his body stretched 
almost as far as it could go.  But he was entering the promised land and a 
little soreness in the morning was a fair price.  Her smell filled his world, 
deep and mysterious and animal.  Even in the darkness he could see that her 
curly brown hair was moist.  She was ready, she wanted it, her body was 
prepared and screaming for him to take her, drive her up that first hill of the 
roller-coaster and throw her down, hard, down the rails that would do nothing 
but harness her fury.  And that was why he was careful not to touch the button 
that had swelled from the top folds of her engorged flesh, straining to be 
touched.  That was why he continued to work his tongue in and around her fleshy 
opening, careful to make sure her thrusting hips didn't brush the button that 
would start the fireworks prematurely.  This was, after all, the best orgasm 
she was ever going to have, he told himself.  Why hurry?
    
    He'd left her on the bed, tied, vulnerable, helpless.  It was necessary.  
She needed to realize some things before he continued.  The first was that she 
had to test the cord that bound her.  She had to know that he was in control 
now, not later.  The second was that she had to accept her helplessness - it 
wouldn't do any good if being restrained were only a by-product of getting 
screwed.  It had to be the reason she was getting screwed.  She was about to be 
plundered, used, treated to whatever fun he wanted to do to her.  She had to 
know this before he started.  Otherwise she would be fighting it.  When he 
walked back in, the cords that would bind her breasts in his hand, she would 
have to be certain in her mind that he had her, she was his, and that there was 
nothing she could do about it.  Captured princess, harem slave, whatever.  This 
was real now, there was no turning back.
    
    His fingers once again found her somewhat flattened nipples and circled the 
taut flesh.  Bound breasts were overly sensitive and that was good.  Her body 
was pretty much out of her control now, her hips grinding into the bed with 
abandon, arching toward his mouth whenever she felt him near.  The silk wad did 
little to contain her frustrated moans and every now and then he heard her try 
to say words around the packing.  He buried his nose into the patch of curly 
hair and breathed hot air on her clit.  She was so close, but now he held her 
back.  He knew she had to have just that little push to send her over the crest 
of the first hill, and he dangled that push just out of her reach.  His hands 
left her breasts and now he quickly drummed at the flesh around her pussy, the 
soft mat of hair hiding the reddening flesh.  He was careful not to even graze 
her button or pussy flesh, concentrating the tapping to her inner thighs and 
mons sans puss.  She was almost crying out, and he saw tears glistening around 
her eyes, but her head was strained and she shouted through the gag at him, her 
hair thrashing with every movement.  And at that moment, he felt himself the 
maestro, conducting the final crescendo that would shake the pillars of the 
hall and leave a deafening echo in its wake.
    
    His tapping got closer and closer and now he alternated hot breath on her 
pussy flesh with quick and furtive licks.  And yes, every now and then his 
tongue touched her button, but only fleetingly and never enough to do the 
trick.  She was ready to unleash the beast inside, but lacked the key to the 
cage and even though the animal howled and screamed to be set free, he was the 
keeper of the key, he was the conductor of the roller-coaster, he was the 
quarterback with the ball on the one.  She was close, so close and her body 
strained at the cords and he absently wondered if silk cords could be broken, 
and she shrieked through the silk wad gagging her mouth, and her bound breasts, 
now a light shade of blue, wobbled furiously as the body beneath the coiled 
cord bucked with abandon.
    
    It was beautiful to watch.  Too beautiful, in fact, to be seen only once.
    
    He got up off the bed and watched her closely.  First, she didn't even 
realize that his weight was no longer there, that his breath no longer caressed 
her flesh, or his touch no longer graced her skin.  She just thrashed a little 
more and then came the inevitable squeal.  That was what he wanted to hear and 
her rendition brought a big smile to his face.  Her eyes found him standing 
next to the bed and glared up at him furiously.  How could he have taken her 
body and made her helpless and then not finish what he had started?  But that 
was exactly what he was going to do.  She screamed through the gag and not a 
few of the noises sounded suspiciously like sailor talk.  Her arms strained and 
her legs strained and that she was bound and unable to do anything was causing 
the most delicious reaction possible.  He was in heaven.
    
    Only one glass would be needed to drink the next bottle of wine, and as he 
pulled up the chair next to the bed, eyes never leaving her body as it thrashed 
and screamed and shot him infinitely dirty looks, he wondered how long it would 
take for her to quiet down so that he could go to work on her again.  He knew 
that the ultimate orgasm would take some time to achieve.  After all, he was 
only a mere mortal attempting supreme greatness.  There was a lot of work 
ahead.  He only hoped that she would appreciate his efforts, his hard work, his 
dedication to perfection.  In the meantime, she would have to just settle down 
a little, but not too much, get used to being tied, and wait for him to finish 
his glass of wine.
    
    The night was young, after all.  She wasn't going anywhere.  And he hadn't 
even gotten out the bag of toys.
 
....end...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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