The hottest solo show I’ve ever had was of the tie and tease variety. She was very clear about the rules from the off: she wasn't going to initiate anything; but if I told her what to do to herself she would do what she was told. She could touch me, if she wanted; but I wouldn’t be able to move or touch her. So first off, I got tied to a leather office chair we used (yep, even a trip to B & Q can be eroticised – they do a very nice line in soft red rope); and next, I got to choose what she wore: very short, stretchy, sequined skirt, halter top, no bra, no knickers (don’t start me on outfits; let’s stick to this one…), lipstick, sequined mules. (I’d got a tee-shirt and pants on – fully dressed would have been a good effect, but uncomfortable).
We’ve got music playing, soft lighting.
She stands in front of me.
She asks me the question:
“Hmmmmmmmm?”
I’ve got used to this catch-all, entirely female interrogative. It means, ‘Are you going to tell me I’m lovely/how much you want me?’ Or sometimes, ‘Is this all right/was that good for you?’
On this occasion, it means all of these things.
“That’s perfect,” I assure her. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand it, though.”
“You’ll just have to,” she comes back, in character already.
So that’s how it’s going to be:
“You’d better show me what I’ll be missing, then,” I prompt.
She shows me.
She runs her hands over her breasts and down her torso, one hand slipping under the skirt’s waistband. She’s already got her eyes closed, concentrating on the pleasing feelings she’s giving herself. I can see her nipples harden, where the flimsy material of the top touches her breasts.
“Get them out,” I urge her.
My mouth is very dry.
It’s a hot scenario: I can control what happens next - but she’s in control of how it happens - and she can make me wait.
She cups them, teases them, caresses them, before she finally loosens the cord at the back of her neck and releases them both to my view.
“Hmmmmmmmmm?” she asks.
“Oh Goh-hod!” I sigh.
She leans forward, towards me, and then the bitch starts playing with her nipples, inches from my outstretched tongue. My erection hurts.
She’s only got half her kit off and I’ve already started to beg: I’m trying to get her to put her tits in my face and I’m pleading with her to release my cock from my pants for me.
Her only response is to lick her fingers and wet her nipples, so that her fingers run over them more easily.
“Now I want to see you play with your clit,” I insist.
She takes the hem of the skirt in each hand and raises it to the bottom of her naked slit.
“You want to see this?” she asks.
The noises I’m making are barely human, but she seems to interpret them correctly. One hand returns to her left breast, the other lifts her skirt higher, so that she can slip her fingers in.
I make a pleading request. It isn’t good English – barely more than the words “fingers” and “mouth”, together with some panting and gasping – but astonishingly, she seems to understand. She offers me the fingers of her right hand, slick with her juices, and I lick them eagerly. I’m no petrol-head, but the effect on me is the equivalent of what they call ‘kick-down’ in a powerful automatic: you think you’re doing top speed, then your right foot hits the floor and you’ve suddenly dropped two gears and gained a thousand revs. My own right hand is struggling with the rope binding it to the chair arm. I could free it if I really wanted. I’m on the edge; it wouldn’t take much, and we’d have spunkarama. But she’s not there yet – and even if she was, I can tell she’s having far too much fun getting there to rush it - so I don’t want to be the one to jump the gun. I struggle with the urge and watch her using both hands now: one working behind her, caressing her arse; the other rubbing her clit in an accelerating rhythm. In response to this sight, I just make a lot of inarticulate noises - but again she understands - and pushes her sticky fingers right into my mouth this time, where I suck at them greedily, tasting her, ecstatically.
We’ve got music playing, soft lighting.
She stands in front of me.
She asks me the question:
“Hmmmmmmmm?”
I’ve got used to this catch-all, entirely female interrogative. It means, ‘Are you going to tell me I’m lovely/how much you want me?’ Or sometimes, ‘Is this all right/was that good for you?’
On this occasion, it means all of these things.
“That’s perfect,” I assure her. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand it, though.”
“You’ll just have to,” she comes back, in character already.
So that’s how it’s going to be:
“You’d better show me what I’ll be missing, then,” I prompt.
She shows me.
She runs her hands over her breasts and down her torso, one hand slipping under the skirt’s waistband. She’s already got her eyes closed, concentrating on the pleasing feelings she’s giving herself. I can see her nipples harden, where the flimsy material of the top touches her breasts.
“Get them out,” I urge her.
My mouth is very dry.
It’s a hot scenario: I can control what happens next - but she’s in control of how it happens - and she can make me wait.
She cups them, teases them, caresses them, before she finally loosens the cord at the back of her neck and releases them both to my view.
“Hmmmmmmmmm?” she asks.
“Oh Goh-hod!” I sigh.
She leans forward, towards me, and then the bitch starts playing with her nipples, inches from my outstretched tongue. My erection hurts.
She’s only got half her kit off and I’ve already started to beg: I’m trying to get her to put her tits in my face and I’m pleading with her to release my cock from my pants for me.
Her only response is to lick her fingers and wet her nipples, so that her fingers run over them more easily.
“Now I want to see you play with your clit,” I insist.
She takes the hem of the skirt in each hand and raises it to the bottom of her naked slit.
“You want to see this?” she asks.
The noises I’m making are barely human, but she seems to interpret them correctly. One hand returns to her left breast, the other lifts her skirt higher, so that she can slip her fingers in.
I make a pleading request. It isn’t good English – barely more than the words “fingers” and “mouth”, together with some panting and gasping – but astonishingly, she seems to understand. She offers me the fingers of her right hand, slick with her juices, and I lick them eagerly. I’m no petrol-head, but the effect on me is the equivalent of what they call ‘kick-down’ in a powerful automatic: you think you’re doing top speed, then your right foot hits the floor and you’ve suddenly dropped two gears and gained a thousand revs. My own right hand is struggling with the rope binding it to the chair arm. I could free it if I really wanted. I’m on the edge; it wouldn’t take much, and we’d have spunkarama. But she’s not there yet – and even if she was, I can tell she’s having far too much fun getting there to rush it - so I don’t want to be the one to jump the gun. I struggle with the urge and watch her using both hands now: one working behind her, caressing her arse; the other rubbing her clit in an accelerating rhythm. In response to this sight, I just make a lot of inarticulate noises - but again she understands - and pushes her sticky fingers right into my mouth this time, where I suck at them greedily, tasting her, ecstatically.
I finally manage to get her to release my cock, which juts towards her rudely. The bitch tongues my ear while she's getting it out. Touching it excites her, and her hand returns to her cunt, hips grinding to press herself against her fingers.
Her eyes close.
“Mmmmmmmmmmm.”
Her sighs have turned to moans.
“Don’t come just yet!” I hiss.
“MmmmmMMM,” she goes; even more enthusiastically. “Mmmm. I might – and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
She steps closer, so her cunt is in front of my face. I’ve got my tongue stuck out – I must look like a fucking gargoyle, but I can’t help myself.
And I need to see more:
“Take the skirt off,” I say. “No, wait! Turn round first,” I tell her, inspired.
She does as she’s told.
“Now I want you to do that thing….with your arse – make it go round and round….”
"What, this thing…?” she asks innocently, over her shoulder.
I make a noise, but I do not know how to represent it with letters – call it a strangled groan.
She’s making her butt sway from side to side, right in front of me. She bends forward at the waist, and rests both hands on the bed. Then she starts to grind her hips, so her arse is moving in slow circles, like the dirtiest invitation you could ever receive.
“You hot bitch!” I encourage her. “Now pull the skirt up.”
She straightens to release her hands and reaches behind to lift the skirt, but she’s too eager.
“Slower!” I caution.
She starts again. She pushes her arse back towards me, and as it sways slowly from side to side in front of my eyes, she takes the hem at either side in each hand and very very slowly starts to drag it upwards.
I can just about manage to speak:
“A bit closer… Oh fuck, ye-es! Now finger yourself.”
She takes a few steps back, and with the skirt now around her waist, she leans forward again. Now I can watch the hand which habitually snakes behind to caress her arse, as well as glimpsing the fingers working her clit. I’m quivering with excitement - there’s no doubt this is one of the hottest moments in my life. I’m probably going to remember it at eighty and still manage to lift the duvet. Since I’ve covered it here, it won’t be in my ten most erotic moments; but it’s definitely up there. It’s an endless moment of pure desire, indefinitely withheld. She bends at the knees until she's almost sitting on my cock. I've got the hottest, sweetest little tush in the world gyrating inches from my straining hard-on - I’m just a thrust away from a pussy which is warm, wet and increasingly eager for pleasure – and yet I can’t quite reach it…..…
I’m completely beside myself.
When I can’t take this peculiar kind of torture any longer, I tell her to get onto the bed. She kicks of the mules and peels off the skirt, and with her kit off entirely, I ask her to frig herself on all fours. She’s fairly hot and bothered by this time, flushed and panting – she doesn’t need much encouragement to get down to it. Resting her weight on her left forearm, she reaches back between her legs with her right hand and goes to work. The noises she’s making are muffled by the sheet.
“Fuck your fingers,” I tell her.
Soon she’s lying on her front, having sex with her own hand.
She’s always a very active girl, know what I mean? I once – and only once – had a girl as squirmy and wriggly as her, when I was about twenty, at university, and I still remember it to this day. So I like to see her giving herself a good time, lying on her front; because of the wonderful way her arse moves up and down so exuberantly; or sometimes, lying on her side, because then her whole body undulates, hips thrusting against her fingers, as if impaled on some invisible cock.
"Ah....ah...ah...umm...umm...ummm..."
I make a noise, but I do not know how to represent it with letters – call it a strangled groan.
She’s making her butt sway from side to side, right in front of me. She bends forward at the waist, and rests both hands on the bed. Then she starts to grind her hips, so her arse is moving in slow circles, like the dirtiest invitation you could ever receive.
“You hot bitch!” I encourage her. “Now pull the skirt up.”
She straightens to release her hands and reaches behind to lift the skirt, but she’s too eager.
“Slower!” I caution.
She starts again. She pushes her arse back towards me, and as it sways slowly from side to side in front of my eyes, she takes the hem at either side in each hand and very very slowly starts to drag it upwards.
I can just about manage to speak:
“A bit closer… Oh fuck, ye-es! Now finger yourself.”
She takes a few steps back, and with the skirt now around her waist, she leans forward again. Now I can watch the hand which habitually snakes behind to caress her arse, as well as glimpsing the fingers working her clit. I’m quivering with excitement - there’s no doubt this is one of the hottest moments in my life. I’m probably going to remember it at eighty and still manage to lift the duvet. Since I’ve covered it here, it won’t be in my ten most erotic moments; but it’s definitely up there. It’s an endless moment of pure desire, indefinitely withheld. She bends at the knees until she's almost sitting on my cock. I've got the hottest, sweetest little tush in the world gyrating inches from my straining hard-on - I’m just a thrust away from a pussy which is warm, wet and increasingly eager for pleasure – and yet I can’t quite reach it…..…
I’m completely beside myself.
When I can’t take this peculiar kind of torture any longer, I tell her to get onto the bed. She kicks of the mules and peels off the skirt, and with her kit off entirely, I ask her to frig herself on all fours. She’s fairly hot and bothered by this time, flushed and panting – she doesn’t need much encouragement to get down to it. Resting her weight on her left forearm, she reaches back between her legs with her right hand and goes to work. The noises she’s making are muffled by the sheet.
“Fuck your fingers,” I tell her.
Soon she’s lying on her front, having sex with her own hand.
She’s always a very active girl, know what I mean? I once – and only once – had a girl as squirmy and wriggly as her, when I was about twenty, at university, and I still remember it to this day. So I like to see her giving herself a good time, lying on her front; because of the wonderful way her arse moves up and down so exuberantly; or sometimes, lying on her side, because then her whole body undulates, hips thrusting against her fingers, as if impaled on some invisible cock.
"Ah....ah...ah...umm...umm...ummm..."
Woh lordy, she’s coming!
“Oh God, Baby……,” I’m crooning, while she shudders and moans; “Oh God, you fucking…hot...fucking...gorgeous...fucking...hot fucking bitch….”
I finally slip my bonds, scramble onto the bed and slide the hardest cock in the world right up her from behind.
Why not round off with some top tips for girls who want to go it alone?…..
· Some girls worry about making a lot of noise – perhaps concerned they’ll exhibit more pleasure than they do with their partner – or worry about how they’ll look, how they’re moving. Don’t think about it: the more noise you make, the more you move, the more you pant and perspire, the better. If he doesn’t like you having fun, he’s no fun.
“Oh God, Baby……,” I’m crooning, while she shudders and moans; “Oh God, you fucking…hot...fucking...gorgeous...fucking...hot fucking bitch….”
I finally slip my bonds, scramble onto the bed and slide the hardest cock in the world right up her from behind.
Why not round off with some top tips for girls who want to go it alone?…..
· Some girls worry about making a lot of noise – perhaps concerned they’ll exhibit more pleasure than they do with their partner – or worry about how they’ll look, how they’re moving. Don’t think about it: the more noise you make, the more you move, the more you pant and perspire, the better. If he doesn’t like you having fun, he’s no fun.
· Shyness doesn’t work on Planet Sex – it’s not attractive, it’s not pleasurable for either party, and it’s not sexy. Get over it. You don’t have to become a depraved slut up for anything if you don’t feel that way, or talk dirty if it doesn’t come naturally; but you do have to move with the confidence of your own needs. There are belly-dancing classes and even pole-dancing classes nowadays, and practice – which you can do in front of a mirror – makes perfect.
