The Fickle Rites of Courtship

Trish was sleeping, or pretending to be, when I got home.  We’d had a short, petty little spat that morning; yet as short and petty as it was, I had been irritated by it all day.  I plodded through work and then went out for a few (too many) drinks after work with two guys who had been inviting me out for drinks for months.  I was pretty sure they wanted more than drinks with me, and I flirted just enough to get them (and, truth be told, me) just a little excited.  When I decided to go, they were both disappointed, but I gave each of them a nice wet sloppy kiss and let them grope my breasts and ass just enough.  I left the bar a bit drunk and nicely aroused.

It was after eleven; she certainly seemed to be asleep, but still I moved quickly and quietly.  I carried into the bedroom  a length of black rope and looped it around the top bar of the headboard, leaving two long ends hanging down.  Then I gathered the handcuffs I had hidden in the bedside table. I grabbed her right wrist and secured it in one cuff. She awoke to my touch but didn’t react, so I concluded she had actually been asleep.  Then I grabbed her left wrist and, rolling her on her side, captured it in the second cuff so that her arms were secured behind her back.

Suddenly, Trish was wide awake and struggling, complaining and swearing.  It was hardly feigned outrage; she was clearly pissed off.  I was overjoyed!  I pulled a red ball gag out of its hiding place, and dangled it in front of her face. She shook her head from side to side, refusing to take it in her mouth. I hopped on the bed and straddled her. I pinched her nose, held her head still and stared into her eyes. When she opened her mouth to gasp for air I forced the ball into her mouth, and quickly wrapped the leather strap around her head fastened it in place.

“You guessed it sweetie.  I’m still upset about this morning!”  I hissed.

Then, still straddling her midsection, I massaged her firm breasts, working my fingers over her nipples until I could see them harden and swell.  I so wanted to torture her…but slowly.  I climbed off of the bed and left the room, leaving her to consider the situation on her own.

When I returned she had turned herself over on to her stomach and I watched her feeble attempts to undo the cuffs. I gave her a sharp slap on her lovely ass and forced her once again on her back. With her hands bound behind her back her breasts looked wonderful.  I bent over and bit one rather hard. She whimpered softly, and pressed her thighs tightly together.  I continued to lick and nibble her nipples. I did this for quite some time as Trish is very sensitive there.

Eventually, she started to relax, giving me the opportunity to remove her panties.  I slowly slid them down her legs and marveled at how damp and fragrant they were. Lovely!  She had stopped moaning and whimpering, and was becoming acquiescent.  It was time to get her on edge again.

I had been planning this for some time; a new experience for both of us.  I knew she would be reluctant to do this under normal circumstances, so I decided to wait until she provoked me.  Today, she had.

A few weeks earlier we had been enjoying a bit of girl/girl porn together, which often gets the two of us in the mood.  A poignant  clip which featured a shapely, attractive blond woman (like me!) nailing a shapely, attractive brunette (like Trish!) with a strap on.  Trish was nonplussed; she actually squealed.

“Look at that, Laura!  Why the Hell would any self-respecting woman let another woman use a fake dick on her like that?  It’s disgusting!”

The next morning I ordered my very own lovely, brilliant red adjustable strap on (with removable, sturdy and pliable slim seven inch “G” curved dong).  I also ordered an ample supply of suitable lube.  I knew it would only be a matter of time until I need it, and now the time had come.

I took one end of the black rope I had attached to the top bar of the headboard, lifted Trish’s left leg high into the air, and tied it tightly around her ankle.  I repeated the process with her right leg using the other end of the rope, spreading her legs wide apart.  She was flat on her back, hands and arms pinned, legs aloft and open, and fetchingly accessible.  Her eyes were locked on mine, her breathing loud and rapid, her nipples swollen and enormous.  I kissed, then licked, then bit the sole of her foot.

“Be right back,” I whispered.

I took my time getting ready.  I removed my clothes and treated myself to a very quick, refreshing shower, fluffed my hair, applied perfume, then stepped into the pre-adjusted harness, inserted the elegant (brilliant red) dong through the chrome plated iron ring, and secured the straps for a snug fit.  The base of the dong pressed comfortably against my mons.  I felt sexy, confident and well hung.

Trish stared at me as I entered the room; she looked apprehensive at first, then, when she saw how I was “equipped” she seemed quite terrified.  I stood very close to her, the head of the dong just inches from her face.  I smiled.

“The safe word, tonight,” I said, “is Rumpelstiltskin.  Can you say that, Trish?”

“Mmmmph!” She replied.

“No, sweetie.  Rumpelstiltskin!”

I commenced to slather copious amounts of lube on the head of the dong, then gingerly slid my wet hand along its length.  Then I kneeled on the bed, grasping her ankles and situated my knees so that the bulbous tip of the dong rested gently on her labia.  I lingered there, tapping lightly, savoring the moment, slowly and silently counting to myself up to twenty five.  Then grasping the dong with my hand, I held it firm and thrust it deep inside.

Trish stiffened, then slowly relaxed as I lingered inside her.  She seemed to find it at least somewhat acceptable.  I suppose I could have asked her if it was, but I wanted to move things along;  I was finding this much more enjoyable than I thought I would, all the more so as I slipped in and out as deeply as I could manage, the base of the dong pressing and caressing and tantalizing my clit.

Trish was drooling and gasping and making a considerable racket for a gagged girl, so I slowed the pace and reached down to release the clasp on the gag and pulled it away from her mouth.  I expected her to swear at me; I wasn’t disappointed.

“Fuck, Laura! Fuck, fuck, fuck!  Harder….deeper…fuck me!”  She moaned.

Then she actually spit at me, “Fuck me, Laura.  Make me cum, you miserable bitch!”

I continued to thrust violently, her spittle rolling down my cheek.  I rubbed it off on her calf, then I bit her.  I could feel my pussy throbbing; I savored that familiar feeling that seems so wonderfully new, each time I approach an orgasm.

With nimble fingers I released the knot that held her left leg aloft. When it fell to the bed, I lifted my leg over it and got into a nice, comfortable (at least for me) tribbing position.  I wrapped my arms around her right leg, which was still securely tied and elevated.  I kissed and nibbled her foot as I continued to grind my pussy against hers.  It was absolutely exquisite…for both of us, apparently.  Trish, never reticent at times like this, howled,

“Right there!  I’m cumming, Laura !  I’m…I’m…fuck!”

Well, I was pretty much “fuck” too.  Such a lovely climax, although I didn’t feel compelled to share it with the neighbors.  I simply hung there, holding her leg, struggling to catch my breath.  Minutes or moments, I’m not sure which, passed.

Trish whined, “My arms hurt, Laura.”

“Shut up,” I hissed, as I studied then released her right leg (had I really bit her that many times!).

“Roll over.  On your stomach!”

So there she was, face down, hands secured behind her back, that fantastic ass;  I needed another bite.  So I took it. That nice meaty left cheek, just below that artistic (and, let’s face it, slightly clichéd) butterfly tattoo.

I gently spread her legs apart and positioned myself between them, my knees planted on the bed, preventing her from drawing her thighs together.  I had taken the precaution of keeping the key to the cuffs on a chain around my neck; I didn’t want to leave my lovely little charge unattended once I got started.

I unlocked the cuff on her left hand, then snapped that cuff onto one of the rails on the head board.  Thus, Trish was sort of free, but couldn’t actually leave.  We weren’t finished.

“Why were you mad at me, Laura? It was just a little disagreement between friends this morning.  And why the fuck am I still cuffed?”

I studied that magnificent ass.  Ran my hands over the smooth, taut flesh of her cheeks, then parted them.  I eased the elegant (brilliant red) dong gently into her crease, leaving no question as to its next destination.

“I don’t remember what I was mad about,”  I whispered.  “You’re still cuffed because we are not finished.  You remember the the second thing the pretty blonde girl did to that slutty brunette in that movie we watched, don’t you?”

 I leaned close to her ear, and softly hummed the tune, then whispered, “peg o my heart…”

“Laura…we’ve never,”  she whined.

“Come on, Trish! You know what’s gonna happen next.  If you don’t want it to happen you can say the safe word!”

She turned her head, her eyes met mine, and she gave me that smile that says so much and that I so adore.  And then she whispered, “Goldilocks.”

 

 

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