The Butterfly Chains Act III

(To read The Butterfly Chains Act I or Act II)

The erotic irony…

Leigh was the one whose nude, chain bound, spread eagle form was helplessly pinned to the bed, whereas I was the clothed one hovering defiantly over her and that completely vulnerable, wide open cunt. Guess who was the real prisoner?

Guilty as charged.

I was completely prepared for what I had planned for the evening. The same cannot be said for how the sight of her bound, candlelit body cast a spell over my intentions.

I had to have her. And now.

My flesh was awash in the light of her radiant submission, with certain parts of it more aglow than others. She was oozing appeal more than other more obvious fluids, the aroma making her all the more intoxicating with each drip from not just her cunt but also the candles on either side of the bed. Time ceased to have much meaning.

I lowered my face to hers, our noses touching playfully in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. She smiled at the gesture, but the fire burning in her eyes shamed the same candles that made them so beautiful to drown in. She wanted it as bad as I did.

Keeping my face mere inches from hers, I braced my planked position atop her enough to allow my left hand to gently traverse the length of her side on its way to the gold buckle of the black leather belt I had on. A few motions and the belt was no longer a concern. My eyes never left hers as the sound of a very distressed zipper being opened permeated the night, the rush of cool air a welcome reprieve to the humidity contained within.

Exhaling slowly and shifting my body weight just as fast allowed for the opportunity to snake my thumb inside the open waist band of the faded denims I wore. I smiled as the irony of my own fingers teasing the sensitive flesh of my lower abdomen in my subtle attempts to shift the jeans over my hips one-handed.

Perhaps someday I’ll be a smooth enough operator to be able to do that one-handed while her lips remain within kissing distance of my own. But not yet. With a huge smile I leaned back onto my knees and, now that both hands were free, slid my faded jeans and black boxer briefs down to my thighs.

My cock literally lept out of its denim prison. Thick, hot, with traces of pre-semeinal fluid already anointing its head. It pulsed with fervor to get inside Leigh’s velvet folds. I took a few seconds to slowly stroke its length with my right hand while doing the same to Leigh’s labia with my left. She purred and moaned in appreciation, her slickness coating my fingers with their own version of Magic Oil™.

The night air was as thick as my erection. Between the humidity, candles, body radiance and the heat of the moment the bedroom was almost liquid with intensity and emotion. Leaning forward I placed my arms astride her torso, bringing the head of my cock directly in line with her open cunt.

It was a perfect first stroke. Perfect. The pillows beneath her hips, aside from keeping her back free from the chain connecting her wrists, also raised her hips to the same height as mine. There would be no need to work the length of her, as fun as that sounded and may have been. With the most subtle motion forward I felt her labia open and accept their fate willingly, inch by inch.

It was if a hot, hungry mouth was there instead of her cunt. Every vein, each ridge, the splay of my cock’s head, the sensitive frenum, inch by fucking inch her cunt absorbed me, engulfing my erection in wet heat and silken friction so beautiful it made my eyes ache.

For you ladies you know the sensation of having yourself spread extremely wide, how the pressure on the sides feels different, how what usually rubs just enters. The way your cervix is brought into proximity with a lover’s cockhead. How effortlessly it slides in and out due to the stream of fluid seeping out of you. All of this producing the most delicate sensations to, on and around the most sensitive aspects of your sexual anatomy. Not to mention the mental masturbation of being so widely splayed for fucking.

Now add in the fact you are helplessly bound wide enough to embarrass a gynecologist. The leather of the bondage cuffs on each ankle gently digging a furrow into the tender flesh of your ankle and lower leg. You try to move your legs, but to no avail. Your arms are pinned beneath you, the only recourse you have being the ability to open your hands and move your fingers.

A man feels the same things you do but in reverse. The identical sensations to yours are his but opposite. It’s just as insane to us to fill as it must be to be filled.

My eyes never broke her gaze the whole time I entered her. The way her pupils dilated wider and wider as she was stretched the same was incredible. How her nostrils flared, hungry for air to accommodate her rapidly increasing pulse. And her mouth? Fuck! A silent scream was never as ear shatteringly absent of noise as the way Leigh’s mouth pursed open wide in pornographic astonishment as she was filled completely while completely open.

By the time our hips met I swear I had grown longer and thicker in the thirty or so seconds that first stroke took. And there is no sensation to rival the way a woman’s taut ass cheeks kiss your hip bones when you are completely inside her.

I lay atop her, my arms like steel girders aside her arched torso supporting the whole of my being, aside from one rock hard aspect of it. The only things touching Leigh were the tensed muscles of my inner forearms, the entirety of my painful erection and my hips. Holding that position I just pulsed my cock in her depths, much to her arousal and approval based on the way she was gasping and struggling for air.

Sometimes the best plans are the ones derived spur of the moment. This is what I wanted. Her total acceptance of me, and I mean all of me.

Now it was time to pin the butterfly’s wings.

12 responses to “The Butterfly Chains Act III

      • I am incredibly loath to give any writing advice in that I still have no real idea what I’m doing, but I do try to kill any “was word(ing)” I find plus avoid using “I” as much as I can.

      • I’d say you know what you’re doing. The passive verbs aren’t my friend (or maybe they’re too friendly). My natural editing ability is nil and that’s okay. I’ll just enjoy your writing. 🙂

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