I sacrificed watching Flight of the Conchords to tie up, take advantage of and use Mister. I think it was a better choice of events the other evening. Definitely worth it. Yes. I’d been meaning to get to grips with him lately – he has been missing out on being on the receiving end of some kinky goings on.
Some days present themselves to me and I wander along in a slight daze. Not due to tiredness or anything, but because my head is filled with him in my mind. Things we had done the night before, a few days ago, or ghosting memories that linger, distracting me from what I should be focusing on. And when I return – I return to see those thoughts made flesh and blood and bone in his beautiful form before me. So I can’t keep my hands off him. If he picks me up from work, I will brush my fingers against the underside of his palm as it rests on the gearstick whilst we wait at the traffic lights. I will run a finger along his thigh, making him jump a little; making me smile more.
I passed a day like this on Tuesday (seems to be a running weekly event – kinky fun on Tuesdays – see previous post if bothered) and once home my hands continued to wander. One of my favourite things to do as we eat dinner is to casually stroke along his hip-line, along the hem of his jeans as he sits next to me. His skin feels so soft, inviting, smooth and lightly cool from exposure as his shirt lifts up. Small things like this mean the world to me.
In the kitchen, too, I find him irresistable. Walking up behind him as he washes the crockery, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as best my small frame can manage. Tactile is my nature. I want to touch him always.
And so my thoughts ran to when the moment would come when I could grab him and have him. I had even laid hints, but he doesn’t always pick up on them. Time to initiate, I thought. Almost mechanical – that thought?
I drew him to the bedroom, leading him by the hand. At once an image of innocence and debauchery. I like ambiguity. I was still in my work clothes and my skirt began to ride up as I pinned him to the bed and staddled him. I hitched up the material further so I could move more freely. I think it was at this point I told him to take off his shirt. I adore that look of a topless man. My own personal weakness. I will often lose myself in staring at his creamy skin, poring over his chest and back. When he walks in from a shower, he will dress himself in his jeans before strolling back to the bedroom to find a new shirt and that just-washed-man look with the wet hair and the odd stray drip of water down his neck will cause me to place a great deal of self-restrain on myself. Especially if I’m still in bed. Wanting to dirty him up some once more.
Back to this evening, though, and it was my turn to become a little more déshabillé, shall we say? I was wearing my skirt with a black sash ribbon around the waist – and a spark ignited. I want to tie you up tonight. His eyes at the same time sparkled and faltered at those words. I had started the light clawing already, and I wished to make things more clearer in the fact I wanted to play with him tonight. I don’t think I have bound him as quick as that before. The bow behind me was loosened and removed from the loops at rapid pace. A simple hook around the metal bedhead left the two ends free for me to bind his wrists at either side of his head. I grinned. Then removed his trousers. Things were looking up – for me and for him, it seemed…
Coming back to sit over him, I took off my top and eased off my skirt completely now to remain only in my underwear. There was a strange glint in his eye and I bent forward to rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes playfully.
He looked at me oddly as I stared at him. What are you thinking? I asked. He refused to answer. I asked him again, punctuating slowly with a tone of light threat. Again, he didn’t respond. Well. That’s not playing the game. So I stormed off and fetched the ice.
He heard me clatter furiously in the kitchen as I got the cubes. Returning with the bowl of freezing ice, I asked him again, What are you thinking? Nothing was said back. He just continued to look up at me, silently challenging me.
Now the game began once more. Level Two.
I took up one of the cubes and placed it between my fingers. I let the ice melt as I hovered my hand over his beautiful and hard cock. Still no response on his thoughts. The first few drops didn’t seem to phase him, but as he saw I wasn’t going to relent and the drips came in rapid succession, I saw him wince and wriggle. His expression changed - still the challenge, but now with more uncertainty creeping in.
Remnants of the cube now in my mouth, I trailed chilled kisses over his chest up to his jaw. Kissing him with chilled lips and a cool tongue; light, small and wet kisses from the ice water, he was tender and deliciously meek in his own lips’ movements. I shot him a direct look into his eyes this time, unblinking and millimetres away from his face. Voice low and quiet, alomst a growl. What are you thinking?
That you’re bad.
But you like me like this…