irst Anniversary, by Catherine N.X. (HolokittyNX@ziplip.com).
(ASSM)FF, bd, cons, rom, oral, lac, toys (Catherine N.X.)
First person - lesbian, light bondage, romance. Synopsis: Two adult
women enjoy a romantic night out on the town and some very loving light
bondage.
I like to think of myself as urbane, and I like to think of Chicago as
the ultimate urbane city. It really is just the way it looks in movies.
Slick. Clean. Great architecture. Lots of live music if you know where
to look. But I also like to daydream too much. I was at my favorite
Japanese steakhouse, thinking about how good the city looked at night.
Fortunately my girlfriend didn't notice. She just sat there on the right
side of the secluded booth...nibbling at nigiri sushi.
The last time we were here was a year ago, after we first met. And just
like the first time, our booth was very out of the way. A little darker
and cozier than the rest, the low cushions lining the side and back walls
just a bit more plush. I sat in the center, my attention less focused on
my own food than how she enjoyed hers...the chopsticks sliding over her
lips, the demure way she dabbed them dry. I never understood why she was
so dainty about food or anything else, as Michelle is nearly eight inches
taller than me and quite the soft butch. Well, tall or not, she's cute
when she's eating.
My food was lukewarm (as opposed to being properly chilly), and I had
lost interest in it some time before. I just watched her eating, savoring
the rice and sake. And her lips...they've always been very full, and red,
even without makeup.
Instead of letting her use the napkin, I leaned in for a kiss, licking
the sweet liquor from her lips. She paused, setting down her cup;
accepting my lips, and then my tongue, and then returning my interest with
her own. Her right hand caressed my face, but her left...there were
fingers. Soft ones. And they were up my skirt. Michelle keeps her
fingernails manicured and painted silver, but short. For me.
I couldn't even feel her nails inside me, only firm, insistent flesh.
And her thumb pressing my clitoris. My panties she had pulled aside, and
now she got to the point. She pulled my panties down to just above the hem
of my skirt...her right hand still on my face, she stopped kissing me. She
looked me straight in the eyes, as a predator might taunt its next meal,
and was no longer simply touching. Her fingers began sliding in and out as
she unashamedly, unabashedly began to masturbate me.
I stared into her eyes in disbelief. We were in public. And she was so
matter-of-fact...she didn't care where we were. Part of me wondered who
would walk past the booth, but there had been no traffic in 15 minutes. I
let go, kicking my heels off and sinking my head onto her shoulder. For a
few moments she kissed my face...and surprised me again. She took her
right hand from my face and went back to eating her food and drinking her
wine. Her left hand didn't miss a beat. Consistently, laboriously, she
began to press against my G-spot.
She kept her thumb on my clitoris, stroking it up and down, massaging my
clit with my own sheath. I turned my head, still on her shoulder, to face
her. To look at her expression, you'd think she was just enjoying a
regular meal. Her face was...not just blank. Smug. Sinister. This
diabolical bitch was going to make me spill all over her hand without
breaking a sweat. God, yes. I wasn't ashamed. Not at being masturbated
in public, not for lubricating all over these fine cushions. If I was a
slut, I was her slut. I held onto her shoulder with my right hand, my left
around her waist.
I buried my face in her shoulder, finally free and able to simply enjoy
her ministrations to my sex. Her smooth, round fingertips sensed me
tightening, and pressed upward, the pressure on my G-spot so insistent I
thought I might be lifted off my seat. For her part, she remained deadpan,
almost clinical. Simultaneously, she intensified her stimulation of my
clitoris, and took another sip of wine. I was sobbing, ready to scream,
and this was just child's play to her. She looked in my eyes (which had
widened to the size of saucers), smiled, and went back to her sushi just as
my body started heating up. My pussy was on fire, I was afraid that when I
came I would crush her hand.
I quickly forgot that concern. Her hand's every motion startled me with
both its gentleness and its strength. Her hand, only a few fingers of it
really, had tamed my sex, mastered it. While the other nonchalantly
stuffed her face. The heat in my pelvis began to toast the rest of my
body, and seemingly the whole room...I managed to relax my muscles, knowing
that release was imminent...
And it was. My toes curled and my hand spasmed around her arm as the
first shuddering waves of tight hot sweetness came. She inserted more of
her fingers' length, more warm flesh for my pussy to hold onto as it lost
control. I was soaking wet, spilling more than enough juice onto her
fingers to let her slide against my G-spot. She combined this with
alternately rubbing the shaft of my clitoris and the exposed tip. I
squeezed her forearm between my thighs, gasping, trying not to make a sound
as my body betrayed me...
As the orgasm finally began to subside, she finally turned from the
meal. She looked at me with the amused expression of a cat owner seeing her
pussy chase its tail.
"You see what I can do to you? Imagine if I'd had both hands free. Now
I think you've been finished with your meal for some time, and I've
finished mine. So...I think you should put yourself back together, wipe
your juice from your thighs, and I'll take you home so you can see what
happens when I'm really imaginative."
I hadn't been to her place in some time, probably a few weeks. She had
been telling me off and on about some remodeling she'd done to her
apartment. Nothing major, just new furniture and things. Not that her
apartment really needed improvements. The Lake Point Towers in downtown
Chicago were already pristine. For eight grand a month, hers certainly had
better be. But I was still interested in the changes. These thoughts were
not absent from my mind as I collected myself.
I had no idea silk napkins were so absorbent. Or at least they felt
like silk as they cleaned my inner thighs off. She had stepped out of the
booth to pay our bill at the maitre'd's desk, while I cleaned my vulva and
pulled up my panties. Finally she parted the curtains and stuck her head
back in.
"Ready to go?"
I replied in the affirmative, slowly finding the composure to stand and
smooth my skirt. As I stepped out of the booth, I felt as if my forehead
had "slut" written across it. I held onto Michelle and she held onto me as
I half-stumbled to the car. I guess it doesn't take alcohol to get me
drunk. Fortunately there were no excessively odd stares from the patrons,
although God knows what the waiter found when he got back to our booth.
Finally we got to her sedan, and she set me in the passenger seat. I
watched her as she walked around the front to the driver's side. She moved
like a predator, like a tigress protecting her cubs, even in something so
mundane as taking me home for more desperate fucking. All of the fifteen
minutes it took to drive to her place, I was squirming in my seat. Half
from the residual heat in my pelvis, and half from what I suspected would
be done to me when we arrived at her place. Which after what seemed like
ages, we did. I stood close to her in the elevator, nuzzling her arm like
I'd never been out in the world before.
I hadn't. Not with my pussy threatening to drip onto my shoes, at
least. We got to her floor, and she led me to her apartment. At first, I
couldn't point to any specific changes. The living room looked the same.
Maybe the kitchen? No, that was the same, olive oil bottles and
everything.
I asked about the remodeling, and she innocently replied..."Oh, all of
the remodeling was in the bedroom, sweetie." I've got rather pale skin, but
I'm sure I turned even whiter when she said this. I didn't even ask, I
just let her lead me into the bedroom...and was presented with a sight that
made my heart leap into my throat. This was no longer a bedroom. This
was, however soft and plush, nothing less than a sex dungeon. The king
size bed was still present, still centered to take full advantage of the
breathtaking view of downtown Chicago. But the sheets were now black
satin, and the pillows dark red chenille, apparently inspired by my
suggestions a few weeks earlier.
To the head and foot boards were tied two sets of fur-lined leather
cuffs...for wrists and ankles. On the wall next to the bed hung various
and sundry toys. And set in the middle of the bed was some sort of...seat.
It was elevated slightly, and affixed to the sides of the bed by thick
metal rods. Michelle tossed me over one shoulder and carried me to the
bed, setting me down.
She removed her clothes for me, letting me drink in the sight of her as
my thighs involuntarily held my forearms to my glowing vulva. Her breasts,
larger than mine. Her hips, wider. Her pubic hair thick and luxurious,
trimmed only near the center to allow easy access. Once she was nude she
stood me up and began to undress me. My shirt, my slightly damp bra. Her
height placed her breasts almost at eye level for me. She knew I loved her
breasts, and moved closer, just close enough that they were almost touching
my face. She slid down as she slid my panties down with her. She lifted
each foot out of them, tossed them aside, and as she stood back up, she
licked me.
Her tongue started at my clitoris, slowly trailing upward. My tummy, my
breastbone, until she arrived at my lips. She paused there, kissing me
with the taste of my own need on her lips. She took my bottom in her
hands, and lifted me onto the bed. We began to make out, her hands gently
caressing my breasts as she kneeled on the floor in front of me, my own
small hands on her shoulders.
After drinking in each other's lips for several minutes, she took me in
her arms, moving me farther up onto the bed. Finally I arrived with my
bottom on the strange cushion fixed in the center of the bed. It was
molded to support my bottom and lower back. And there were restraints I
hadn't noticed before. They were wide strips of soft fabric, designed to
fold over my legs as I sat in the cushion. A third such strap was under my
waist. It was wider, and slightly tapered like a corset.
She looked me in the eyes. "What's our safe word?"
"California."
"Okay."
First she affixed my waist with the corset. This centered my bottom on
the cushion. It was snug, but soft, and supported my back comfortably.
The straps at my thighs, when she secured them, held my thighs open at
about a 45 degree angle. Just enough to fully expose my genitals. My
pelvis was completely immobile, elevated, and I couldn't close my thighs.
Fortunately she had placed a huge towel under the seat, knowing how leaky
my body would get. Of course, I could reach down and fumble the straps and
corset open if necessary. She fixed this rather quickly, as I felt the
fur-lined cuffs being secured around my wrists and ankles. Only when I was
comfortably restrained spread-eagle on the bed did I notice the mirror on
the ceiling.
I watched myself strain against the bonds to no avail. I couldn't move
my thighs a single degree closer together to cover my private parts, and I
couldn't move my pelvis an inch. Mercifully, she didn't start with my
exposed genitals. She left me lying there, the warm air brushing my skin,
and went to get something. Restrained as I was, I couldn't turn very far
to see her.
She came back to the satin bed with a set of two small plastic cups
connected to flexible tubes. She generously licked my left nipple and
areola, coating them in her mouth's wetness, and set the cup upside down on
my small breast. Looking into my eyes as she moved to the other breast,
she repeated the process with my right nipple. The tubes leading from them
she then connected to something under the nightstand I couldn't see. I
heard a low humming sound, and the soft rubber edges of the cups pressed
into my breasts as the cups began sucking my nipples. The device under the
nightstand must have been a breast pump. We had been experimenting with
making me lactate, by various hormones and massage techniques.
Some months before it had started to pay off, as I began to lactate
whenever I was sufficiently aroused. I could feel my milk leaking through
my erect nipples as the pump did its work. Michelle helped the process by
gently rubbing warm cherry-scented oil into my breasts around the edges of
the nipple cups. As she did this she gently kissed my lips. "Are you
okay?" I nodded, trying to arch my back as my breasts began to throb with
pleasure...
The pleasure from my breasts radiated to my genitals, but I could not
rub my thighs together to stimulate myself. I tried to look down, and
Michelle realized I needed something done to my pussy. She moved her right
hand from my breast down to my swollen vulva, not focusing on any one part,
but cupping my sex. She firmly pressed the palm of her hand into my
genitals, giving me a surface to press back against as I closed my eyes and
let go. Keeping her hand there, she stretched to turn off the breast pump.
She removed first one nipple cup, then the other, tossing the plastic cups
off to the side of the bed. I continued leaking milk, the thin smooth
white nectar streaming down the sides of my breasts, as much as was
possible on my back. As she drank from my breasts, she began gently to
massage my labia. For a moment, she brought her hand back up, soaking it
in my milk before returning it to my pussy. Her masturbation of me
continued...slow, gentle, pleasurable but mild. She wasn't going to make
me orgasm too soon. I moaned in gratitude as she relaxed my body and mind,
licking the milk from my chest and whispering her love.
Once I was lubricating freely, unable to contain my moaning, she moved
from the bed...I heard her getting something, but I didn't see what. When
she came back, in her hand was a thick silver vibrator. She turned it on
by twisting the bottom end, but I could not quite make out any sound coming
from it. But when she brought the smooth, warmed, tapered end to my
leaking nipple, I knew it was working. Slowly she dragged the milk-dipped
vibrator down my body. Its vibrations pleasured first my small
breast...then my tummy...finally she began teasing my clitoris.
My body was screaming for more, but I couldn't move at all. I needed
desperately to press my clitoris against the vibrator, or at least to feel
it inside me. But my clitoris' only steady comfort was the warm air,
punctuated by intermittent kisses from the vibrator. I began sobbing, and
finally she relented and gave me what I needed. I was slowly, gently
filled by the vibrator, and she slid back up to kiss my lips before moving
back down.
Once there she began to massage my labia with her fingers as she sucked
my clitoris. My genitals felt raw, hypersensitive. Every touch was
extremely intense, but she knew how to stimulate me just enough to avoid
causing me pain. As she sensed I was close to orgasm, she took her tongue
from my clitoris and left me with only the vibrator and her fingers on my
labia. She changed techniques on my labia, using them to stretch the skin
leading to my hood. My clitoris couldn't feel anything directly, only the
pressure and stretching near it. I would not be able to orgasm without her
tending to my clit.
My body was ready, my vagina lubricating openly, but she would not take
care of my clitoris. She angled the vibrator upwards, pressing against my
G-spot...and I could just feel the vibrations in my clit. This would not
let me come, but I was getting closer. Just as my insides began to heat
up, she began sliding the vibrator in and out. A plateau was coming, but
not an orgasm...I began to actively grip the vibrator. I began crying out
amid the intensifying pleasure...and she delivered the coup de grace. She
gently pulled back my hood, squeezed the shaft of my clitoris...and slowly
dragged the length of her wet soft warm tongue directly across the exposed
tip.
My pelvis exploded. My pussy went from simply being warm and twitchy to
convulsing uncontrollably. I began screaming, and she quickly undid the
ankle cuffs and straps on my thighs so that I could press them together.
As my legs wrapped around my spasming genitals, she undid the wrist
cuffs...and finally I was able to hold my pussy and ride out the
convulsions. She opened the corset, letting me sit up, and sat behind
me...she took my hands away from my private parts, replacing them with her
own and expertly stroking me to prolong the orgasm. Her fingers, longer
and more skilled than my own, made my softest flesh throb in ways I never
could on my own, pulsing and quivering, the pleasure intensifying in ways I
couldn't fathom despite having experienced her love before. It was almost
frightening, beyond my understanding, but a perfect vindication of the
trust I placed in Michelle every time I exposed myself for her and
confessed my need. She owned me. I needed her to own me, needed to be her
plaything, her pet. Her domination of me meant bliss, meant safety, meant
satisfaction.
Finally I collapsed in her arms, smiling, coughing, my body spent,
unable to lactate or lubricate any more. She leaned over to disconnect the
cushion, and swung it off the bed. It was followed by the milk and lube
soaked towel. She had another towel ready, and used it to wipe the sweat
from my forehead and the juice from my pussy. As I snuggled up to her,
pressing my back against her breasts, she pulled the heavy comforter from
its folded position at the foot of the bed and wrapped us in it. And we
lay there, her hand cupping my swollen vulva with the soft towel, until I
fell asleep in her arms.her arms.