It has been over six months since I have seen you last, my work keeping me bouncing from state to state. As I drive from the airport straight to your apartment I am exhausted but yearn for your touch. As I pull into the parking garage you are already waiting at your guest stall, with this scheming look on your face.
The moment our eyes connect my heart flutters, breathing quickens, and mouth drops. After two attempts to park straight I cease the engine and you approach and open my door for me. I step out and you guide me by my hand a few feet from the car. After a long few seconds you slowly begin to circle, your heavy glare moving over every inch of my body, that smile still streaming across your face. You stop again to the rear of me, drawing your mouth to my ear.
“Your smell, Amber, is something that I have missed so dearly,” you firmly whisper. “...all of your smells, Amber.”
I lean back into your chest but before I can reach up and caress your face you open the passenger door. “Meet me inside,” you say, unloading my luggage. “Yes, Mike,” I confirm, as you head into the courtyard.
Upon entrance to your apartment you stop me from proceeding past the door way, grab the bags from my hands, place them alongside the wall, and proceed to stare at my nervous form (Hold me already--please!) Seeing my clenched jaw and wanting eyes you nudge my chin up with two fingers, step only slightly closer, and peer directly into my eyes. “Have you missed me, my dear, in these months that we have been apart?” My head nods slowly as my eyes drift to your lips. “How much, Amber,” you ask, tilting my head back to fix my eyes back on yours. “More than I have ever longed for anyone before. Mike, just as I have said in my e-mails. I need...,”
Before I finish you step away and interrupt. “Show me what you have on underneath that dress.” I smirk and lift the cloth over my head, dropping it next to me. “Oh, my you please me, Amber,” you confirm, the tone of your voice causing my nipples to feel like they very well may poke holes through by bra (Touch what is yours, Mike. It has been far too long). “Now, please have a seat at the table.”
Trying not to huff I make my way through the foyer into the kitchen where I see that you have prepared a few light dishes and have a bottle of my favorite chardonnay chilled and ready to cork. Blushing, I stop and look back, but your head motions me to continue on. “Mike, I adore when you cook for me.” Please, sit down, Amber,” you insist, bowing your head and pulling the chair out from the table, then tucking it back beneath my legs as I move down. Before joining you pour us a full glass of wine.
We converse as if we were best friends, never having skipped a moment without being in one another’s presence. After I take the last sip of wine you reach for one of the empty seats, retrieve a bag—fluffy, colorful ribbons dangling from the interior—and place it before me on the table. “I did think of you in your absence, sweetheart,” you sweetly affirm, motioning for me to open the package. As I reach in and feel leather, metal rings. “Oh, yes. New cuffs! Thank you, Mike. These are so nice and...sturdy,” I say, lifting all four onto the table (Oh, goody. I miss your bed frame). You sit beside me, asking for my wrists, then my ankles. The pungent smell of new hide arises as you secure the new adornments on. “What a great surprise, Mike..,” I begin, standing as if to collect our empty dishes but you motion for me to remain at the table and stack them to one side.
Rising from the seat I can feel the intensity building in you. Quickly one hand moves under my chin, grasping tightly under my jawbone. The other hand moves to my chest, pries the black lace away, and cups firmly. “How did it feel when I placed the cuffs on you, Amber?” Somewhat startled, I pause before releasing the first words from my lips. “...like I want to be a bad girl,” I chirp.
The force of your body moves me back onto the table. While one hand holds me down, your other races to my lacey briefs—fingers circling between the soft protrusions. “You are wet, Amber, very wet.” (Take me. Use me—hard. You know you miss this...) “That means that I am healthy, Mike.” The fingering becomes shallower, concentrated, stiffening that which cries out for your wandering, moist muscle. Backing off you stand before me, visually absorbing everything revealed before you. I wipe the puddles of moisture from my chin, feeling deliciously vulnerable. My legs draw together, twisting to one side of the table. With a near growl you move back over me, forcing my knees apart. One thumb slides under the clasp of my bra and rips upward, your other hand reaching for the side seam of my panties. My body jumps as I hear the first threads tear and your hands move to the other hip to remove the obstruction entirely, placing them just beside my head.
Anticipating something, anything, is coming I reach my hands above my head. My body squirms, back arches, and my hips thrust outward. “All of this is yours, Mike,” I slowly whisper. You wait a few long moments, watching my form writhe, before directing both hands onto my chest. “And these tits,” you question, firmly clutching. “Yours, silly,” I bellow, grinning. “You think that you are going to be bound. You like that, Don’t you Amber?” Tightening your hold slightly you release and situate your stare between my splayed legs and I tilt my head back and focus on the ceiling.
A deep sigh of release parts from my lips as I feel two fingers slowly make their way down my slippery tunnel—back out, and in again. My jaw rests, shoulders drop, as I begin melting into the table. “Keep your hands up and your legs open wide, sweetheart,” you sharply assert, maintaining the rhythm with your hand. All that can be heard are my low, sweet moans and gentle crackles every time you pull out. “You’re dripping now. That pleases me,” you say, lifting your two glistening fingers to my lips. “Taste....” I roll my tongue over their tips, close my eyes and part my mouth to invite them in further. As I fully engulf them, to their base, then feel a sudden pause.
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“SMACK”—the sound seems to come after I can already feel the sweet, tingling sting blanket wanting mound. “M--m-mike,” I jump, “you hit like a girl!” The second is much harder. “Getting better,” I yelp, in a near demanding tone. “I like it when you play games, Amber,” you whisper, reaching for the pair of torn undies near my ear. “Open up.” I giggle defiantly and shake my head. “Oh, you want to be a brat about it,” you chuckle, proceeding to tickle my torso until my mouth gapes long enough for the entire lace thong to be stuffed inside. “Take it like a big girl, now,” You continue, after taking a few moments to study the image of my tousled hair, red face, and flaring nostrils. I knew what was coming. You never ease into devouring me. Your ardent sucking, nibbling, and flicking are perfectly mixed with rhythmic prodding of both of my moistened chambers, but you cease just prior to my pinnacle of pleasure. Growls surface from below the saturated lace.
Your hand moves to your belt, unbuttons your pants, and reveals your engorged, beautiful member. My mind moves past the yearning felt between my legs to anticipation, mouth moistens as you slightly stroke. “Are you ready for me, tasty one.” you inquire, rubbing the gleaming toadstool on my soft flesh, and entering my depths so briefly. As you pull out I can see my lips holding on until the last parting moment. I pant, wanting so badly to reach down and pull you inside me. You continue the shallow in-and-out rubbing movements. Abruptly stopping, you tuck yourself back into your briefs, and fasten the top button of your jeans (YOU MEAN MAN! GIVE THAT TO ME!!). “That ass, Amber, I want to see it,” you say, tugging your belt away from your pants. “Get up and bend over the table.” I begin trembling, frenziedly staring into your eyes and biting on the cloth. “Maybe I will reward you with what you want.”
Obliging, I sit up as quickly as I can through my light-headedness, manage to make it onto my feet, turn and place my hands on the table. “Put your face down,” you instruct, nudging my check to the wood. A few long, agonizing moments pass before I feel your hand move onto my shoulders, slowly traverse down the curvature of my spine, then settle to warm one cheek in long, circular strokes. Arching my back further into the motions, I am jolted by an unexpected “SMACK” and the associated burn from the blow. Beads of sweat trickle from my hairline as your other hand rises to my lips and pulls out the frothy fabric.
“Mike, I can take more than that,” I promptly gasp. As your stroke switches I close my eyes and brace for another crack against my bare skin but I instead feel your tongue creeping downward from my tailbone, then circling my puckered passage. My hips thrust outward in attempts to expose every inch of darkened skin then a heavy “SMACK” cuts off my attempt to breathe in. My head feverishly flips, wanton cries surface from my lips. “Sink inside of me, please, Mike.”
You continue to alternate sensations until my knees tremble, then motion for me to stand and turn around. Supporting and embracing me inward from the small of my back, you guide my lips to yours. In my state of rapture I follow, my faint coos intermittently pause the mingling of our mouths. My eyes widen as you guide my hand to the throbbing, engorged mass beneath your pants, which I swiftly unbutton then drop to me knees. “The finale could come very quickly, Amber. I almost did a few times already.” “I want to bathe in it, Mike,” I purr, looking up into your eyes and gripping your vein-laden member. Smiling, you cup the nape of my neck.
Down my mouth moves....You quickly fill my mouth, reaching for the back of my throat, and hold. “Oh I missed that, sweetheart.” I quicken my tempo. Within only a few moments the muscles beneath my lips begin constricting and I swing my head back to direct the feverish flow to come. Cascading forth, your warm fountain blankets my chin and neck. Pleased by its mass, I eagerly spread your blessing onto my chest and navel, and then nuzzle your spent nozzle against my chin. We linger in a long embrace—the only sounds being our tapering breaths and your refrigerator—before I make my way to freshen up.
When I come out of the bathroom you are already clothed and back in your reading seat, reclining. “I want to be close to you, Amber” you sweetly divulge, placing a pillow on your lap and motioning me to lie down. I dive onto the couch, cradle into the softness, and turn onto my back. “I did miss you,” you whisper, gazing down at me, stroking my head. Your knees lift me closer to your face. One hand grabs my chin, the other slides to the nape of my neck, bringing me to your lips. Our tongues dance, reuniting, my occasional nibble on your bottom lip increasing the rhythm.
“I forgot to restrain and pound you, didn’t I, Amber?” Immediately, my body is reawakened.
“When is it that you are scheduled to leave again?”
“In about three weeks
“Good, that means that we have plenty of time.”
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