(Click to read Away Games Act I)
I looped the flimsy leather around her wrists once, then up and through the space between them. One more time around her wrists and, aside from the belt being upside down, it was a pretty fucking good job of not only securing her hands tightly together but also behind a solid steel bar. Carefully I brought buckle to belt hole, one by one, until it was very tight but not “Um, I can’t feel my fingers” tight. The end of the belt secured, I slid back to admire my handiwork.
My God she was a vision. Her arms were directly behind and above her head, the belt a coiled black leather serpent securing her wrists tightly in the faux cast iron headboard prison. Her skin was aglow in the soft light of the dollar store nightlight in the bathroom. And her eyes, fuck! her eyes were so deep, so distant. She was already falling into herself. All that stood between me and her treasures was a skimpy baby doll top, some red lace boy shorts and the night.
I drank from her offered helplessness as a newborn would a breast. She was radiant in her submission and totally helpless to my perverted whims and desires, laying there bound in the dark. The shadows being cast by her erect nipples betrayed any attempt at her bluffing severe arousal.
I knelt between her thighs and allowed my hands the pleasure of taking her taut skin’s virginity via a slow, sensuous tour of her curves, taking the scenic kinky route home. Using the flat tops of my fingernails like paintbrushes, I gently applied the first of many primer coats to her skin. Invisible paths I’ve traversed many times before seemed new, pristine in the moment. Starting with the deliciousness that is the dimpled structure of knees (a severely ignored erogenous zone) I let my nails dance up her thighs, now quivering in delight, the rhythm dictated by the sighs and squeals of night music. Reaching her hips I allowed my fingers a solo dance along the hem of the red lace found there, dipping just underneath and allowing them the honor of making her hips thrust involuntarily at their ministrations.
Around that time we were joined by a third party.
No, not another lover. Well, thats not exactly true. It was a lover, but not of flesh and blood but rather of perfume and wetness. Leigh’s arousal was such that even a deaf, dumb and blind man would be able to tell there was a woman in extreme heat in the room. Her musky scent was becoming a major player in this evening’s festivities. There was no escaping it. It was exquisite the way she perfumed the entirety of the large bedroom. I was taken aback a little at the pungency of it. She always smells so fucking sweet when she is aroused, but apparently her confession of a day of being in a constant state of horniness was a true one, for it seemed hours of pent up lust were now literally seeping out of her drop by precious drop.
Even in the dark I closed my eyes and breathed it in as deeply as I could, filling my lungs with that nectar. Intoxicating.
When my eyes opened I was no longer in charge. He was now awake inside me, and He smelled submission. He was lusting to feed off it…
“Fuck, baby….” was about the extent of my verbalizing what I was experiencing under the influence of the crystal meth that was her pussy’s aroused scent.
I slowly let a soft growl escape. Leigh knows this sound very well. I could see her eyes smolder at its reception. She knows what is going to happen very soon. The responsive deepening of her breathing confirmed as much, as did the mild whimpers which only fueled my passions higher…and harder.
My eyes, now focused and hard, made slaves of my hands. Sliding my thumbs underneath the hem of the baby doll top, I began to slide it up her torso inch by inch. I adore doing this. It never ceases to not only amaze me but also arouse me even more. To see her frame, that lovely alabaster flesh, so soft, warm, inviting, come into view gradually. While her mouth meagerly protested being exposed, it did not go unnoticed nor unappreciated that she arched her back to make this task easier and also more exciting. She knows that I’m a fool for taut, arched skin. When such delicacies as the feast that are her huge breasts are thrust skyward it makes me stupid. I become Gomez on Morticia when she spoke French. I cannot help myself.
So the dance up her frame continued. Her ribs delivered a playful squeal and shudder. She’ll tell you she is not ticklish. I’ll tell you she is a bad liar. But I also know that is a borderline hard limit for her, believe it or not since she isn’t ticklish, so I respect it as well as her other ones, such as her feet, toes and that cursed belly button. I would gladly forgo an evening of incredible oral sex and fucking for the opportunity to secure her and deep clean her belly button with my tongue. Maybe someday…
When she reads that last sentence she’ll squirm. Bet on it.
By the time my hands had her top up to the underside of her breasts I was starting to breathe more and more deeply myself. That moment when the soft underside of each one appears in view is magic. It never grows old. And with each inch more the top starts to tighten, my progress in stripping her slows as simple physics takes over. Same as when you crest a hill in a car. The engine works harder, your speed decreases, but right when you summit those amazing mounds the effort is worth it as Paradise appears in the form of the most erect nipples surrounded by wrinkled moats so pink.
The *snap* when the fabric frees them is always a thrill. So is continuing to lift that satin top higher and higher until it, totally rolled nicely in each of my hands, is directly above her pretty little mouth.
I leaned in inches from her face and, polite as fuck, simple said “Open wide…. slut”…