“Well that’s too bad because that was only part one. I’ll teach you to cross me yet you naughty little bastard. Now lie on your back and believe me, part two will make you wish you had never found my red ruffles,” Samantha scorned. Pete did as ordered, but had difficulty lying there on his backside with his ass so terribly red and sore. Samantha rummaged through her bottom drawer once again only now she turned around holding what looked like a leather collar and a pair of leather handcuffs. “What the hell are these two into?” Pete wondered to himself.
“Scooch down a little so I can tie you up to the bedpost nice and tight,” Samantha ordered. She made sure Pete was well positioned and handcuffed his outstretched arms to her bedpost. After making sure the binding was tight and secure she collared her captive and tied his leash to the handcuffs without an inch of slack. Pete felt as though he were on some sort of medieval rack. He tried to block the thought from his mind by staring at a Georgia O’Keefe painting by Samantha’s bed when all of a sudden everything went dark.
Pete couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see or hear anything either. His struggle for air ended when Samantha lifted her crotch and streaks of sunlight from the bay window above her bed illuminated her damp pussy and butt crack. Trying to catch his breath, pussy permeated everything. The smell of it filled his nostrils.
The taste of it glazed his lips. He thought he heard his captor cackle when stultifying darkness fell again. Her juicy thighs constricted around his head blocking all sight, sound, and air. When Samantha lifted nearly a whole minute later Pete laboured a, “What the fuck are you doing to me?” To which Samantha simply replied, “I’m smothering you, you silly twit!”
Samantha loosed her breasts from the bustier’s cups. Tweaking her nipples, she began gyrating her hips, grinding her crotch onto Pete’s face. Looking down between her legs after she lifted herself she saw Pete gasping for air, his entire muzzle covered in pussy juice, and a sloppy smile forming on his face. “More!” he forced, sticking his tongue out. Samantha promptly lowered herself smothering her captive once again. She bent forwards just enough to grab the base of Pete’s throbbing erection and slap his cock around as her hips bobbled over his face. Her breathing quickened and her pulse raced as she felt his tongue squirm beneath.
“The apnea is a small price to pay! I can’t believe the silly twat thinks this is worse than the spanking. And what a wet twat it is! She’s leaking juice like fruit in a juice maker,” Pete thought to himself. With his face now as red as his butt, Pete kept trying to lift his head and mouth into Samantha’s smothering snatch. His efforts proved needless as she grabbed her captive’s collar with one hand and reached around to grab the back of his head with the other. She spread her thighs, dropping her weight over Pete’s face a little more, and pulled his head into her crotch as hard as she could.
Samantha could feel an orgasm building. Both the physical stimulation and the idea of dominating a young man played their parts in her swelling elation. She yelled out with her head tossed back, her voice almost gurgling as she rode Pete’s face at a frantic pace. When it became too much she lurched forward and bent over with her head by her captive’s stomach. Slowly, she looked back to see a reddened face looking back at her, drenched in her ejaculate, and a grin that read, “I win!”
“That was nothing,” Samantha muttered as she made her way back to the drawer. She turned around with another pair of leather cuffs held together with a much longer chain and what looked to Pete like a small bottle. Pete suddenly heard a hapless cat on the television exclaim, “Sufferin’ succotash!”
“Bring it on!” Pete taunted. He was sure Samantha was reserving whatever she had in mind for her grand finale. His act of bravado was meant to show not only defiance, but to make sure she would not hold back. He wanted it. The spanking, the smothering, the unknown punishment, the anticipation, the kink; Pete wanted to be dominated by Samantha. He had found a part of himself that enjoyed the friction of competing gender roles. He felt as though Samantha had brought him to the precipice of socially constructed tectonic plates – one female, one male. An earthquake of sexual tension threatened to tremor as he succumbed to her. As much as he enjoyed the privileges of a patriarchal status quo he found he also liked being used by the other sex. Used as a toy. Used by the sexiest women he had ever met.
Samantha slung the long chained leather cuffs around the two outermost bars of her bedpost. Pete forgot about worrying as her breasts swung above his head. He snapped out of his daze when he felt his leg being lifted and his ankle cuffed. He quickly found himself with both feet spread apart and bound high above his head and his red ass exposed to the ceiling.
“What? This old trick! I’ve done this a thousand times. You don’t scare mmmm….” Pete tried to provoke, but was once again muted by the panties.
“Shhh, I’m about to simultaneously take you to heaven and hell,” Samantha said with the cheshire grin blazing like fire in her clear blue eyes. She shoved pillows underneath her captive’s head until his chin tucked in touching his chest.
“This is called milking the prostate. A Greek sailor I met in Athens taught me this. You’ll cum like a God!” exclaimed Samantha, the devil dancing across her lips. With her left glove removed she dabbed lubricant on her index finger and gently coated Pete’s asshole with it. The lubricant glistened in the morning sun. Another dab and Pete felt his captor dip her finger down where he thought the sun was never supposed to shine. In any other circumstance Pete would have resolutely refused entry to his backdoor, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. After all, he had surrendered himself to Samantha, to the kink, to the…”Oh my God,” was all Pete could think anymore. Slowly, but surely he could feel Samantha coax his prostate. At the same time she had begun giving him a blow job. There was no doubt; the pressure was building and building and building.
Being bound and gagged lost all relevance. All Pete could feel was an unbelievable orgasm rumbling like thunder in his loins and about to crack. It was as if all his body’s energy was being drained into his cock and balls. Samantha added to the blissful agony by deliberately giving him a very slow blow job. Every lick, slurp, and moan seemed to take forever. With his balls in her mouth and a good hard tug he knew as well as she that the time had come. Pete groaned and strained his neck as far back as his position allowed. At that moment Samantha perched herself directly above him. “Mmm, cum a big load for mommy,” she purred. Pete snapped forward, startled by the remark, and saw what was coming. His captor had his cock pointing directly at his own face.
Rope after rope of his own hot cum sprayed Pete in the face. Samantha had delivered on her promise. He felt like he was in both heaven and hell. He shut his eyes and pursed his lips reeling and squirming from the inevitable. He felt a long string hit him directly between the eyes. Another splattered across his cheek and lips. A good sized gob landed in his hair. Every cum shot exploded with a feeling of ecstasy and humiliation until he was completely spent. Once again the television chimed in on his escaping consciousness. This time a dimwitted starfish and his square-pantsed friend were laughing hysterically. Pete couldn’t help imagine the duo were laughing at him. The shame brought him back to his senses. As he opened his eyes he saw Samantha raise her head slowly from between his legs and settle her cheek on his crotch.
“I think you’ve paid your debt to my underwear drawer. What do you think, Petey?” Samantha asked, eager to see her captive’s reaction.
Pete just lie there, motionless, with a look of utter dejection. Samantha leaned in and removed the panties from his mouth. With her hand just inches from his mouth Pete gnashed his teeth and feigned a bite. Samantha jerked back in playful shock, looking as nervous as she did excited. “Untie me,” mumbled Pete in a fatigued voice. With his neck and limbs unfastened Pete sat up, cum and pussy juice dripping from his face. Without saying a word, he made his way to the shower. A pouting Samantha appeared in the doorway with her head down and her eyes up. “Too much?” she asked. Before entering the shower he grabbed her by the side of the head and rubbed his messy face over hers. “Not enough!” was his only response. Now as messy as him, she gave the same look of playful shock and nervous excitement as before.