Sunday Games: part 2

Fireworks. Head on train crashes. Building demolition. All the movie clichés were true.

“I’m cumming!” Chris screamed. He grabbed Sandra by two fistfuls of hair and drove her head down on his shaft as he exploded. His overworked cock forgot how sore he was and how tender every nerve ending was. He was coming! And cumming in her mouth. What wouldn’t fit, for he rammed himself in all the way to the hilt, could only go down her throat. And it did.

Only once the wave of nirvana passed did he remember himself and slowly released his two fisted grip on her hair. He allowed her to pull out, which she did, slowly. For Sandra was savoring the moment, too.

She knelt up. Opened her mouth for him showing the white goey goo glistening her tongue. She swallowed for him, then allowed herself a self-satisfied smile. Again she opened her mouth wide and showed him her tongue: clean and pink. Every drop had gone down her throat.

Sandra then climbed up to him, straddling his chest along the way. She kissed him and they kissed each other, mouths and tongues intertwined.

“Go on and shower,” he commanded. “I’ll go down and put on the coffee and breakfast.”

In the bathroom, Sandra checked herself in the mirror. No goo in her hair. Nothing on her chin. Why did he send her to shower. Was she smelly? Couldn’t be. She showered last night. And she’s not a smelly kind of person. She sniffed her underarms. Nope.

Nonetheless, she hopped in for a warm relaxing shower.

When Sandra lumbered into the kitchen, lumbered for she was still sore from yesterday, she saw the table that Chris had spread. Coffee, juice, five kinds of cream cheese spread, a funnel, chocolate mousse, salmon mousse, raspberry mousse. Then there were the obligatory strawberries and strawberry jam.

The round breakfast nook table was pulled out front-n-center with a crisp, white (but plastic) tablecloth. The breakfast fare was on the counter, not the table. The table had a set of wrist and ankle restraints.

“Oh,” she said.

Chris tapped the table. “Hop on board.”

She did. “I’m still sore.”

“Good,” he told her as he positioned her on her back. Legs dangling off the round table onto a pair of chairs. “Then your suffering today will be all the more diabolical.”

She wanted to say something, but what? A witty comeback? A protest in all seriousness? To stop the game and go home? Instead she watched in lurid fascination as he bound her wrists and ankles with the restraints and tied the other end off to a table leg.
“Coffee?” he asked.

She shot him an evil glance. What? Was he going to untie her now that he just tied her up?

Then Sandra thought, oh, shit! Chris already had the plastic funnel between his fingers.

“No way!” she cried then closed her lips shut.

“Say ahhh,” he told her. Tickling her lips with the funnel’s spout.

Sandra shook her head.

Chris grabbed a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He pulled, twisted, and pulled some more.

“Ahrgh,” Sandra cried, and the funnel slipped in between her lips and teeth. She should have known better than to fight him.

He fed her her coffee one tablespoonful at a time down the funnel.

She wanted to ask if he wasn’t carrying this oral fixation a bit too far. The funnel in her mouth only let her make indistinct muffles.

Down to somewhere around the last third of the cup he poured the cup down the funnel. “Don’t gag,” he warned her, or perhaps he commanded her.

Sandra did suppress her gagging reflex, just like when giving deep throat, and let the coffee flow down. “You prick,” she said when he removed that funnel.

Cream cheese on her taut belly. Chocolate mousse on her left breast. Raspberry mousse on her right. Strawberry jam on her shaved mons, and a strawberry or two between her lower lips.

He ran the edge of a cracker down her body, from under her arms to her belly, scooping up that flavored cheese. He fed it to her. He licked off a line himself. Then another for her. He fed her off his tongue this time.

The breasts and the mousse were the most insidious as his tongue tickled her and aroused her as he licked it off, again feeding her off his tongue. When he got down to her nipples he refused to stop teasing and sucking on them even after they had been licked clean. He kept adding fresh dabs of mousse.

But the most infuriating part was the jam on her hill. He sucked that off, kissing her along the way, missing her sweet spot. Teasing those strawberries just enough to keep her hot and bothered.

Sandra rose her hips off the table. Offering herself to him. Take me, take me, she pleaded in her mind. She gyrated her hips for him.

Yes, Chris did move down to her begging pussy. Teasing those strawberries nestled so nicely, always trying to slide out, and he’d always have to push them back in. But now he used them to play with her. Up and down her swollen slit. She came quickly. She came often. Again, she came more than she thought she would. Oh, the beautiful pleasure-pain. She hoped it would never stop.

He fed her a strawberry, then the other. Then returning to between her legs he sucked on her clit until she came again. His tongue deep into her and she rose to climax as he bobbed in and out. He made her come again. Then again. And once more.

He cleaned her off with a bath sponge, making a game of that, too. He gently wiped away the breakfast leftovers with hot water. He undid the restraints and had a warm towel waiting for her as she stood.

She collapsed in his arms and started to cry.

Look for more Erotica, Science Fiction, and Fantasy at @joe.nobel
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