In Flight: A New Sex Toy

A New Sex Toy

I met ST today. He looked much younger than in his photos. I did not want to meet him initially, but I have a certain code not to mess people about, so I went. We met in a private club where he was a member.

It was a terribly dark place and a bit pretentious, and frankly I would have preferred less of this private BS and a better cocktail than they could muster.

The darkness worked well though, since it hid furniture stains. I focused my attention on the stains before I became genuinely interested in him, then I ignored them because, it transpired, kissing and being touched up is much more fun.

He had beautiful arms. I would not choose ‘toned’ or ‘muscly’ to describe them, but truly beautiful (something white-skinned people like me can never achieve with their musculature). His slightly tinted skin separated each muscle group, and they moved beautifully in perfect harmony for my eyes to feast on and enjoy when he was picking up his glass or putting it down, gesturing when telling me something I was not capable of listening to, something about routine.

I was mesmerised by the physicality of the part of his body that his slightly rolled up sleeves allowed me to see. I am pretty sure those muscles would work even better when his tongue slid into my mouth, his hand ran through my hair, incapacitating me completely by holding my hair tight, bringing me close and letting me go only when he wanted to let me go.

My body became his there and then. My mind belongs to me and only me, at all times, but I let my body enjoy what it has been created to enjoy.

Half an hour later my hedonistic self was tied up to a table, belly down, legs spread with ankles secured to the table legs, my arms wide with wrists secured to the other two legs of the table.

He lifted my dress up, slowly, very, very slowly, brushing his palms on my calves and thighs as he did so, making me squirm with pleasure.

When the dress was rolled up to my waist, he stood behind me, brushing his fingers on my pussy, making it swell. His hands travelled up my ribs and caressed the sides of my breasts. I could feel my nipples hardening as my blood pressure rose as high as my sex drive.

He immersed both his palms into my messy hair and lifted my head up as much as the restraints would allow. At the same time, he pressed himself into my pussy. He was hard; I could feel him pulsating through his jeans.

Then he let my hair go and got some bondage rope. It was short and soon I could see what the purpose of it was – he wrapped it around my neck and left it dangling on my back, just above my waist.

He grabbed a pair of scissors and touched my pussy with the cold blade, stroking it, sliding it up and down my thighs. I trembled. He started cutting off my knickers, again very slowly, meticulously. I felt my skin being exposed with every cut. When he finished, his warm palm covered my pussy. I panted like an athlete after a 200m sprint.

His fingers collected my liquid and spread it all over my swollen lips. Then his two fingers made their way inside me, creeping in slowly, feeling me. At that point I begged to be fucked. He ignored me.

He took his fingers out, positioned himself in front of me and stuck them into my mouth. My juice was slippery and sweet and I enjoyed it as much as I enjoy a cock.

He unzipped his jeans and took out his velvety, large cock. He brushed the tip of it on my lips with me trying to catch it and suck on it. Blissfully restrained, I could not do it until he let me. He held my head in place by my hair and slid deeper and deeper, making me gag. My eyes watered but he kept going.

He never said a word, he did not call me names, he just breathed quicker and quicker and one of his hands was stroking my back and my breasts with more and more vigour.

He pulled himself out and squatted down in front to French kiss me. Our tongues intertwined together for what seemed like a very long time. Our sweet saliva mixed together and connected our lips even when he distanced himself from me.

I licked my lips, collecting every sweet bit of our mutual pleasure. He stood behind me, touched my pussy with his cock and my starfish, and then my back with something metal and cold. What I felt was a long metal hook with a ball on the end – an anal hook. He rubbed it on me, warming it up. Then I felt lube on my starfish and the now warm ball circling it carefully, finding its way inside. Slowly he pushed the ball in, secured the hook onto the rope on my back and arched me into a comfortable position. I was so turned on that I felt that if I did not get fucked in 60 seconds, I was going to pass out.

I did not pass out, as he slid into me, stretching me wide and making me gasp. Even a man in total control of what he is doing gives into his instinct and once they start thrusting, there is no stopping them.

The table was echoing his movements, my body sliding up and down on top of it. The ball inside me was moving together with him and there is nothing more wonderful than having your g-spot and starfish massaged at the same time.

Then he moved his fingers to my clit and manoeuvred them so skilfully that I whimpered like a puppy until the orgasmic electricity took over and finished me off.

He came, deep, pushing the hook further inside me. We slept on the floor. I like that tired connection after good sex.

We never met again – he was married. Unhappily. I cannot be bothered listening to men moan.

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