Not the most erotic phrase, I admit, but the implications of said pooch watching are staggering for a sexual deviant. You get to play away games. As in play in someone else’s house. In any room. On any piece of furniture. Under any piece of furniture. Next to any piece of furniture.
You get the idea…
And when the dog sitting actually involves spending the night? Well, fuck me. Or more specifically, fuck in the same place your dog owning friends do. In their bed.
Its a lot like hotel sex, but without the invoice and local taxes. And with the mother of all honor bars in the guise of the stocked refrigerator, pantry, bar. “Oh, just make yourselves right at home!” Lily said. If she only knew that in our home that means the kind of sex that is likely a minor felony offense in most of the Bible belt she would rethink that offer. Far be it from me to decline such a mouthwatering invitation, though. Welcome to the Hotel Fornication, such a lovely place…
I love hotel sex. Most men do. To be blunt its as close as you’ll ever get to fucking someone else. Do you really want to fuck someone else? If you answered “Fuck yeah!” I feel for you. Seriously. But then again I have the key to the Gates Of Heaven, otherwise known as Leigh’s pussy. If Helen of Troy’s beauty could launch 1000 ships full of seamen (see what I did there?) to start The Trojan Wars (this is practically writing itself) then the liquid silk that lives between Leigh’s thighs is the pussy equivalent of D-Day. I’ve never had porn star pussy, but it can’t possibly be any better than Leigh’s.
I am convinced that, regardless of Whoever or Whatever you choose or were raised to believe in as far as a divine entity, They/It give everyone crosses to bare (a hint into my upbringing) as well as gifts to share (Great, now I’m writing kinky Dr. Suess). In Leigh she received a vagina from the heavens. Everything about it is perfect. Its shape, the way it tastes so fucking sweet, its intoxicating aroma when she is aroused. The way it swells full of blood and grips my cock like the ubiquitous velvet vice of legend. I’m sure if I looked hard enough I could find Viking songs of heraldic praise for a hoo haw like she has.
It was the aroma that got us, or more specially her, into trouble in the Master Suite of the Hotel Fornication the other evening. Once Jet (the pooch) had been fed, watered, played with, allowed to do his business outside and was for all intents and purposes taken care of for the evening, Leigh disappeared into the bedroom while I read many of your blogs. A few minutes later she reappeared wearing a very snug baby doll silk top with spaghetti straps, a pair of bright red lace boy shorts…and a smile.
“When you come to bed,” she purred into my ear as she leaned over me, “feel free to wake me.” The sight of her amazing cleavage hanging in my face like forbidden fruit told me many of your blogs were going unread. Sorry…
Actually, I’m not sorry. Sue me.
I killed the lights and upon entering the bedroom disrobed and slipped into the king sized bed next to her. A glow from a adjacent bathroom’s night light illuminated her form beautifully as she lay under the tapestry style quilt of maroon and gold. Nice enough, but no where near the bed’s best feature – steel head and base boards that resembled 19th century wrought iron fence, their black, dimpled bars easily a foot apart.
Yes, I thought the exact same thing all of you just did…
As I nuzzled her, she started to squirm almost immediately, which is out of context for her. It usually takes a bit of simple foreplay to get her to that stage. Leigh is a lot like a diesel engine in that she takes a while to turn over, but once you get her started she can go hard and fast for a very long time. As she lay on her side I knew what she wanted – her favorite foreplay of having her neck nibbled and softly kissed, or the same attention to the tops of her shoulders. All the while my hands took a slow inventory of her arms and legs, ignoring all the fun parts if you will. Quick comment if you have a lady in your life – spend 15 or so minutes doing nothing but what I described. You’ll see. Trust me, torturing elbows, wrists, knees, hamstrings and calves with the touch of a butterfly made of nails will melt panties very nicely.
Her sighs and squirms increased, her torso betraying her growing arousal. An accidental brush of a nipple with the back of my hand told me she was extremely horny.
“Damn…have you been playing?” I whispered. “No. I’m just horny,” she cooed back.
I swear she heard me grin evilly.
I lamented that it would be such a shame to waste this headboard and that I’d wished I had brought some of her scarves from home. Being the horny lil’ trooper she is, without missing a beat she shot back, “Go get your belt.”
God I love this woman.
A quick visit to my pile of strewn clothes on a nearby chair and our toy for the evening was procured. A simple black leather belt, about 1″ thick, with a plain gold buckle. I playfully *cracked* it against the quilt. “Not that!” she laughed. “I know” I replied.
The belt had a higher purpose, as in much higher up on the bed. I instructed Leigh to place her arms above her head as I grasped one end of the belt in each hand. She carefully slid her completely extended arms through two adjacent openings in the headboard’s rails, her hands just touching, almost as if she were saying a prayer to the patron saint of bondage.
I placed the belt across her wrists and slowly began to tie them together…