Page 19 of Contract for Love

“Fuck.” I can’t help but think she's so very beautiful when she's this slutty for me. More. I want more.

She tilts her head back further, so her crown rests on the floor. Her throat stretched out. And she keeps licking me as though she is starving and the taste of me is the only thing that will sate her hunger.

My fingers pinch her folds together, rubbing them against each other; I’m teasing her and I like it.

Before pulling away from her, my finger gives the quickest of swipes against her clit ...but hard. So, she feels it.

She moans loudly.

I stand and walk around her positioning myself between her legs.

“Jesus,” she moans as I watch her body. “Fuck, I need more,” she pleads and I can’t resist her.

My fingers return to her body, along with my mouth. I pull her open again and begin to lick her with long and slow strokes from her anus, up to her clitoris, pausing occasionally to push my tongue inside her as far as is possible to go.

“I can't take it. I need you. I need to feel you in me. Fuck me. Please fuck me,” she begs with a wanton desperation in her voice.

"So, it’s my fingers you want? Inside you? Is that what you want? What do you deserve?" I respond as I tap my fingers against her opening as I tease her. "Like this?" And I push my long fingers against her, as though I’m going to enter her, and then I stop and she cries out at the interruption.

“No.” I step back for a second. I take my time admiring her. I really admire every single inch of her. From her roped wrists and ankles, to heaving flushed breasts and sweat glistening skin—she is delicious. My fingers close around a toy, a glass dildo. It is cold and the curve is smooth. I know the first touch will be a shock until the glass warms to her body heat.

“Fuck… Yes.” Her hands bunch into fists and she moans so fucking loud as I thrust the cold, hard glass into her. She is so wet and it is so smooth, it slides in easily and her body arches and she moans as she accepts it.

I reach up a hand and use my thumb to press against the knot of rope that is tight against her ankle bone. Every thrust and the rope rubs her skin there. She can feel the bind around her wrists that are tied to her ankles as well, and if she reached out with her painted nails, she could just barely rub her fingers against my thumb if she wanted. All this as I fuck her with long strokes. Pounding her, claiming her as mine to toy with. Mine to devour. Mine to fuck.

I don't think she has much but what little control she does have is lost. She cries out, screaming with pure need and pleasure every time I thrust the hard glass toy into her. Her ankles and wrists burn with every writhe of her body. Of course she tries to reach for me. She is desperate for any touch. But she’s helpless.

I can see her body beginning to tense, her orgasm is coming. It's there; I can see it written all over her body, and then I hear her voice, no more than a whisper, “Can I come? Please, please can I come?”

I lean forward and touch my thumb to her clitoris while I continue to thrust with the dildo. “Come for me. Come for me like a good girl,” I command. And just as her orgasm crashes over her, I pull the dildo from her and press my tongue against her clitoris. I want to taste her. Her climax erupts everywhere and I lose myself in the taste of her and the sweet sweet sound of her pleasure.

I need my own orgasm and I reach to my own clitoris with the fingers of my right hand. I’m soaking wet and my clitoris is more responsive than I have ever known it.

My orgasm comes quick and hard and I moan into it as it shudders through me. I’m lost in the sensation, feeling it ripple through me until I hear her, begging, “Let me taste. Please.” I make her stretch her tongue out and beg before I give her my fingers to suck on.

I lean down so I can suck and mark her neck, something primal within me desperately wants to mark her flesh as mine. “My good girl,” I say before my teeth bite her flesh.

I move to her mouth. It takes seconds, or minutes, maybe hours, to stop kissing her. Once I finally come back to my senses, I untie her slowly. Adoringly. Massaging her hands and feet lightly with my thumbs as I slip the rope knots undone and free her from her binds.

“Are you ok?”I ask her gently and she nods.

She looks fragile, but content. “So much more than ok.” she murmurs and looks at me with warmth in her gaze.

She moves her hands slowly, testing them out, feeling the blood flow again. I know she must ache and be sore. The marks are there on her body, but they are minimal. Nothing I have done was intended to cause pain or damage to her in any way, merely to add to the feeling of restraint and control.

She looks up at me with those wide green thick lashed Dahlia eyes and I melt. My heart explodes and I scoop her up into my arms. I pull her tight against my chest so she can feel her skin against mine as I carry her into the bathroom.

I hold her as the tub fills, the water hot and steaming, shimmering vapes of coconut heaven filling the room. At first, we don’t speak, not with words anyway. Just touches and looks, having spent so long tied, her fingers are now in overtime. They touch me everywhere. Lightly, softly, as though I will vanish from her at any moment.

But I won’t. I am not going anywhere.

I overfill the bath but I don’t care; I want every inch of her covered and soothed. I lower her in gently. I watch her soft skin sink below the bubbles. She tenses a little. I feel the heat of the water on my arms, and I know it is hot, but not too hot, it will take a minute for her to adjust.

And then her smile spreads and her eyes close as she relaxes in her soapy bliss. I move around a little, opening the cabinet under the sink until I find a new flannel. I add some expensive looking liquid soap and make my way to the bottom of the bath.

I adoringly wash every single inch of her beautiful body. I take tender loving care of her wrists and her ankles to make sure that I don’t irritate her skin, I need to soothe it. My hands work their way up and down her legs with the soft flannel, each time she raises them up, steam curls from her freshly pinked skin. I could eat her.

But my touches are not sexual. Even as the flannel glides between her legs and up and over her breasts, the movements are slow and with care. I want her, of course, I want her, but I need her to feel my attention for something more than just sex. I need to caress her with my love for her. This is the part of BDSM that so many don’t understand. This time of aftercare only strengthens our bond and our connection, cementing the trust between us so we have a solid foundation to build off each time. I need her trust; I need her to have total faith that I will take care of her even when she is at her most vulnerable.

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