It all meant that by the time we got back to the car I just couldn't help but show how much I wanted You ...
As we drove, holding hands just wasn't enough...
I'm just thankful for straight roads and cruise control...
Velvet <3
Showing posts with label cockwhore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cockwhore. Show all posts
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Mid-week Mischief ... Cruise control
The wine, the meal, the chat, the inuendo, the laughter, the eroticism of a certain remote control device ...
It all meant that by the time we got back to the car I just couldn't help but show how much I wanted You ...
As we drove, holding hands just wasn't enough...
I'm just thankful for straight roads and cruise control...
Velvet <3
It all meant that by the time we got back to the car I just couldn't help but show how much I wanted You ...
As we drove, holding hands just wasn't enough...
I'm just thankful for straight roads and cruise control...
Velvet <3
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Drinking Wine
The shivers run down my spine as I read the text. Just the briefest of details: no clothing, just the flimsiest of silky robes: no underwear, just stockings: no heels. Collar and all cuffs to be in place. Mouth and cunt wet, inviting and ready for use.
I love to get His texts, they never fail to arouse and excite me. There is something so erotic in being told exactly how He wants me to present myself. I am always left with some element of choice: some decision to make, but He owns the vision of how I will be.
Carefully I make my choice of stockings and robe. Although He hasn't mentioned them, I clip the silver nipple shields into place; they are a given: a long standing order: I wear them whenever I am with Him. I turn my attention to my hair. It has grown quite long now and if He is going to use my mouth I will need to tie it back. I briefly contemplate pig-tails, a look which He adores, but too cheeky and impish for tonight I think, and so I opt for a simple ponytail.
I examine myself critically in the mirror: and swap the robe for another. It is longer, but pure silk and I like the way it follows the soft contours of my body; exaggerating the peaks of my nipples as they stand proudly presented for my Dom. For a final touch I cut a short length from the purple ribbon that is in my drawer and tie it around the ponytail-band. I am ready.
I hear His car pull into the driveway and am at the door before He has time to press the bell. I love the way His face lights up when He sees me. I love the feel of the heat of His hands through the flimsy silk, stroking my silhouette as He drinks in the sight of me with all His senses.
He steers me through the open doorway, into the room that I have made ready with glasses and wine; and then I am on my knees before Him.
He has trained my mouth well: now like a conductor, he orchestrates my mouth, lips and tongue with gestures, movements and only the minimum of words. Before we met my mouth had been used little and I tired easily. Although I do not yet know it, tonight he will make use of my mouth for a full 90 minutes and still I will have more to give.
He is drinking the wine as He stands before me; occasionally I am allowed a sample: He dips His engorged cock into the glass and I lap and suck the liquid off His member, catching the dribbling liquid with my tongue. Too soon He is too erect to perform this manoeuvre again and instead He tips the cool wine into my mouth before following it with His manhood.
I must use all the tools I have at my disposal to please Him. On rare occasions I may use my hands but it is not such an occasion tonight. Tongue, lips, mouth and throat: He owns them: He owns me; and like any good owner, He knows that when He pushes me, when He stretches and challenges me, I will try harder. At the moment I feel I have to stop, have to breathe, His hand holds my position, and as always, He is right and I give a little more.
He changes position and I find that sweet spot below His balls. I lick and suck and feeling the involuntary thrust of His hips, smile secretly, knowing that I have pleased my Master well. Despite His pleasure He remains, as always, in control: of me and of Himself. There is no ultimate gift in my mouth tonight.
The wine is almost empty. My robe lies discarded where it fell. He crooks a finger through a ring on my collar and pulls me to my feet. Slowly, softly, He leads me up the stairs to bed.
Velvet <3
I love to get His texts, they never fail to arouse and excite me. There is something so erotic in being told exactly how He wants me to present myself. I am always left with some element of choice: some decision to make, but He owns the vision of how I will be.
Carefully I make my choice of stockings and robe. Although He hasn't mentioned them, I clip the silver nipple shields into place; they are a given: a long standing order: I wear them whenever I am with Him. I turn my attention to my hair. It has grown quite long now and if He is going to use my mouth I will need to tie it back. I briefly contemplate pig-tails, a look which He adores, but too cheeky and impish for tonight I think, and so I opt for a simple ponytail.
I examine myself critically in the mirror: and swap the robe for another. It is longer, but pure silk and I like the way it follows the soft contours of my body; exaggerating the peaks of my nipples as they stand proudly presented for my Dom. For a final touch I cut a short length from the purple ribbon that is in my drawer and tie it around the ponytail-band. I am ready.
I hear His car pull into the driveway and am at the door before He has time to press the bell. I love the way His face lights up when He sees me. I love the feel of the heat of His hands through the flimsy silk, stroking my silhouette as He drinks in the sight of me with all His senses.
He steers me through the open doorway, into the room that I have made ready with glasses and wine; and then I am on my knees before Him.
He has trained my mouth well: now like a conductor, he orchestrates my mouth, lips and tongue with gestures, movements and only the minimum of words. Before we met my mouth had been used little and I tired easily. Although I do not yet know it, tonight he will make use of my mouth for a full 90 minutes and still I will have more to give.
He is drinking the wine as He stands before me; occasionally I am allowed a sample: He dips His engorged cock into the glass and I lap and suck the liquid off His member, catching the dribbling liquid with my tongue. Too soon He is too erect to perform this manoeuvre again and instead He tips the cool wine into my mouth before following it with His manhood.
I must use all the tools I have at my disposal to please Him. On rare occasions I may use my hands but it is not such an occasion tonight. Tongue, lips, mouth and throat: He owns them: He owns me; and like any good owner, He knows that when He pushes me, when He stretches and challenges me, I will try harder. At the moment I feel I have to stop, have to breathe, His hand holds my position, and as always, He is right and I give a little more.
He changes position and I find that sweet spot below His balls. I lick and suck and feeling the involuntary thrust of His hips, smile secretly, knowing that I have pleased my Master well. Despite His pleasure He remains, as always, in control: of me and of Himself. There is no ultimate gift in my mouth tonight.
The wine is almost empty. My robe lies discarded where it fell. He crooks a finger through a ring on my collar and pulls me to my feet. Slowly, softly, He leads me up the stairs to bed.
Velvet <3
Saturday, 19 March 2011
Sensational minutes
We do not have long. Just a few minutes snatched from our busy lives. A last minute change of venue has given us a location that will allow the privacy we crave. The moment I open the door we fall upon one another. Devouring each other's lips and mouths like ravenous animals. I love the way He kisses me. He holds nothing back: takes ownership of my mouth and I melt into His arms, His body, His mind. From that moment my senses take over. All I see, hear, touch, smell and taste is Him.
I'm dressed in work clothes, carefully chosen as I knew these minutes had been arranged. I am ready for Him in every way. His texts have ensured that these few minutes have been fully prepared for and not a single one will be wasted. My outward appearance belies the wantonness that lies within. Unseen, beneath this professional facade, His gifts adorn my body. He will see them, feel them, use them, soon. Oh please soon!
He sends me up the stairs ahead of Him. Midway His hand adjusts my skirt, hitching it higher so He can best take advantage of the spectacle of my ascent. The black lace of my stocking tops ring my thighs, the creamy flesh above flashes as I climb steadily. He hitches the skirt higher still until by bare behind is revealed for His personal titillation. No words are spoken: no permission asked. My presence here states my acquiescence. My silence shouts my submission to His will.
I lead Him to a room with a low sofa. He kisses me again: owning my mouth once more. I respond with ardour, feeling the sensations sparking through my body, giving everything of myself to Him. He checks my swell of passion, draws away and sends me to my knees before settling Himself comfortably on the sofa. From my lowly position I look up at Him with adoring eyes. I sense these minutes are to be purely His. My heart swells, I am replete, my desire is only to make Him happy.
With a minimum of words His wishes are conveyed and I assist in freeing His proud member from the restraints of His jeans. He lies back as I begin my task. I kneel before Him, my hands steadying my lowly position. My mouth, my lips, my tongue: the only tools I am allowed to use to pleasure Him. I use my tools as best I can. Stroking and caressing, engulfing and probing, long sweeping strokes and gentle lapping licks. There is nothing else in the room Only Master's cock and His cockwhore's mouth.
He likes it deep and I obey as best I can, but He is always greedy for more, expects more, insists I give more. As I kneel impaled upon His horn, my face buried deep in His groin, inhaling His manhood, His unyielding hands hold my position, ensuring there is no escape until He chooses. I begin to fight for breath, His hands are resolute. 'A little more.' I hear His voice. It is a statement. There is no negotiation. I still my struggling and give Him a little more, just as He knew I could. Then finally I am released. I hurriedly suck the air in, refreshing my lungs; and quickly I resume my task. Our minutes are ticking by, and my hunger for Him is in no way satiated.
I am aware that clothing has been removed. Did I assist? My senses are consumed by Him, my mind has no room for anything else. His hand runs down my back, tracing the contours of my body, pulling me closer in to Him than I thought possible. He raises my backside so that I am on all fours, I do not break from my task. I feel the brush of leather across my rear. A slow sensual stroking of the supple belt that was so recently around His waist. I sense the folding of the leather into His hand, I hear the swish of the strap as it arcs through the air, I feel the bite of its tongue as it laps my tender flesh. My cries are most perfectly stifled, not a sound escapes: Master's cock provides the most perfect of gags.
The sting of each stroke renews my focus. I am His and here only to serve Him. The sensations consume my mind. The beating is not intense, it sets my nerves tingling and my juices flowing. He knows the effect it will have on me only too well. I gorge myself on His member waiting to see if He will punish or reward His girl for her outrageous horniness.
He re-positions the belt around my torso, strapping my breasts to my chest, he pulls hard, securing me tightly and providing a handle for Himself. He moves now, pushing me forwards so my face falls into the warm hollow where he so recently sat. He binds my hands: a Velcro tie immobilising me still further. His breath by my ear informs me that I did not quite reach the hour mark upon my task. My time has not been in vain though, the effects of my labours are clear to me. He drives deep into me, using me completely, holding nothing back. He is bestial in His actions and His deep guttural utterances.
His peak comes, exploding deep within me. Time stops. There are no minutes, hours or days. There is only US. Deeply and sensually connected: We transcend time.
But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli
Velvet <3
I'm dressed in work clothes, carefully chosen as I knew these minutes had been arranged. I am ready for Him in every way. His texts have ensured that these few minutes have been fully prepared for and not a single one will be wasted. My outward appearance belies the wantonness that lies within. Unseen, beneath this professional facade, His gifts adorn my body. He will see them, feel them, use them, soon. Oh please soon!
He sends me up the stairs ahead of Him. Midway His hand adjusts my skirt, hitching it higher so He can best take advantage of the spectacle of my ascent. The black lace of my stocking tops ring my thighs, the creamy flesh above flashes as I climb steadily. He hitches the skirt higher still until by bare behind is revealed for His personal titillation. No words are spoken: no permission asked. My presence here states my acquiescence. My silence shouts my submission to His will.
I lead Him to a room with a low sofa. He kisses me again: owning my mouth once more. I respond with ardour, feeling the sensations sparking through my body, giving everything of myself to Him. He checks my swell of passion, draws away and sends me to my knees before settling Himself comfortably on the sofa. From my lowly position I look up at Him with adoring eyes. I sense these minutes are to be purely His. My heart swells, I am replete, my desire is only to make Him happy.
With a minimum of words His wishes are conveyed and I assist in freeing His proud member from the restraints of His jeans. He lies back as I begin my task. I kneel before Him, my hands steadying my lowly position. My mouth, my lips, my tongue: the only tools I am allowed to use to pleasure Him. I use my tools as best I can. Stroking and caressing, engulfing and probing, long sweeping strokes and gentle lapping licks. There is nothing else in the room Only Master's cock and His cockwhore's mouth.
He likes it deep and I obey as best I can, but He is always greedy for more, expects more, insists I give more. As I kneel impaled upon His horn, my face buried deep in His groin, inhaling His manhood, His unyielding hands hold my position, ensuring there is no escape until He chooses. I begin to fight for breath, His hands are resolute. 'A little more.' I hear His voice. It is a statement. There is no negotiation. I still my struggling and give Him a little more, just as He knew I could. Then finally I am released. I hurriedly suck the air in, refreshing my lungs; and quickly I resume my task. Our minutes are ticking by, and my hunger for Him is in no way satiated.
I am aware that clothing has been removed. Did I assist? My senses are consumed by Him, my mind has no room for anything else. His hand runs down my back, tracing the contours of my body, pulling me closer in to Him than I thought possible. He raises my backside so that I am on all fours, I do not break from my task. I feel the brush of leather across my rear. A slow sensual stroking of the supple belt that was so recently around His waist. I sense the folding of the leather into His hand, I hear the swish of the strap as it arcs through the air, I feel the bite of its tongue as it laps my tender flesh. My cries are most perfectly stifled, not a sound escapes: Master's cock provides the most perfect of gags.
The sting of each stroke renews my focus. I am His and here only to serve Him. The sensations consume my mind. The beating is not intense, it sets my nerves tingling and my juices flowing. He knows the effect it will have on me only too well. I gorge myself on His member waiting to see if He will punish or reward His girl for her outrageous horniness.
He re-positions the belt around my torso, strapping my breasts to my chest, he pulls hard, securing me tightly and providing a handle for Himself. He moves now, pushing me forwards so my face falls into the warm hollow where he so recently sat. He binds my hands: a Velcro tie immobilising me still further. His breath by my ear informs me that I did not quite reach the hour mark upon my task. My time has not been in vain though, the effects of my labours are clear to me. He drives deep into me, using me completely, holding nothing back. He is bestial in His actions and His deep guttural utterances.
His peak comes, exploding deep within me. Time stops. There are no minutes, hours or days. There is only US. Deeply and sensually connected: We transcend time.
But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli
Velvet <3
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