They had an understanding. Tonight, she wouldn't resist him. He would drive to her apartment; he would come in through the unlocked door; he would find her in bed.
There, a few things were definitely expected. For one, he was going to force his ex-girlfriend to give him a blow job - he was going to mount her face, and treat her like a certain type of girl.
And suddenly it was tonight – very late - and they were both here... together. It was as if he had just appeared in her world on a normal night, and then found her asleep in her bedroom. She was covered beneath her sheets, and in her typical sleep-wear. But there were also a few differences.
The lights were off in the bedroom, but the hallway and living room lights were left on in anticipation of his arrival, and the soft glow made everything look picture-ready. He sat on the side of the bed, alerting her to his presence, and she apparently drifted into consciousness. She probably expected him to simply start using her as he wanted.
She was wearing a blindfold – it was tightly affixed around her head, and covered her eyes and a certain amount of her face. It seemed she had fallen asleep while wearing it. Normally, she would have said something, or at least let a few sounds slip out of her mouth. Even at a time like this, she would have wanted to converse. She would have said something funny, or ironic. It would have made him smile, too...
He remembered that much about her, even after all of the time that had passed: She was the classic extrovert. While he – too often – lurked in the shadows. As a romantically involved couple they couldn't last together, nor did they...
Now, with his careful hands, he found the shopping bag he had brought with him and set to the side, just on the fringes of her bed. Within that bag, were several items he had purchased earlier in the day: lengths of rope; a flimsy fabric top he intended her to wear; a camera; lipstick in a bright shade of red; and a few other odds and ends... He brought two of the items – a pair of high heeled shoes – out of the bag and to her attention. They were to be used just for this night, and perhaps for others that might follow.
With a clear voice, he directed her fingers across the outline and contours of one of the shoes. He asked: "Can you feel that?" She was blindfolded – Yes – but he still wanted her to know this part of it... It was the first time they had talked, in more than a year.
With her fingers intertwined in his, they traced the shape. "Can you feel the little individual bumps on the side and top?" He paused while she considered his description of the shoe and the way it coincided with the information hers fingers relayed back to her... He continued: "Those bumps are sequins attached to sides and top. They catch the light and shimmer and sparkle."
She smiled as she imagined the way the shoes looked.
And she also smiled when she imagined the reasons that he wanted her in that particular variety of high heel. Their fingers stayed intertwined for longer than either of them expected.
He knew this much: The lights were going to stay on in the other room, so the light cascaded in with that very revealing glow - and he was going to enjoy her.
The shiny little sequins on the high heels were going to reflect and shimmer. He knew that later - as he spread her long legs wide, and then he used her for her best purpose - the shoes were going to stay on and announce their position together, in all meanings of the word.
They had agreed earlier, via emails – this was about sex – and no other word said it as well... He was going to fuck her.
With a shiver, he reacted to the bluntness of the term, even though he was the one who wrote it.
The lights were going to stay on, too, because she wanted to have a memento...
With a little video camera, he was going to film as she sucked his cock. In truth, it was more than just that. He was going to fuck her mouth - just the way she wanted him to... With an iron-fist he was going to hold her hair, and overwhelm her sense of propriety - and she was going to resist him and between gasps tell him "No," because girls weren't supposed to want that sort of thing.
And of course she really DIDN'T want to be treated like that... but then soon the truth slipped out: Fuck my mouth, she wrote. 'I want you to make a video while you fuck my mouth. Don't give me a choice.'
She wasn't on birth control, she had reminded him, so that changed one or two things. This time, he was going to cum in her mouth, and later he was going to cum on her body, and probably on her tits – but not in her beautiful pussy. Oddly, that made it more about love, and less about sex.
His mind returned to the present moment, and he could see that she was imagining the shoes he had bought for her, and the way they looked. "What color is the rest of the shoe?"
"Black," he answered.
She ran her fingers, of her own accord, along the very pronounced and pointed heel, making a little flourish as she noted how tall and thin the heel truly was. "Those are stilettos," she said, as if incriminating him further. "I don't know if I can walk in those," she said. There was a hint of a challenge in her voice.
Years past, they often played the roles of opposites. He watched; he considered; and he stayed on the fringes. She, on the other hand, actually DID things. She laughed out loud, and always seemed to smile. She actually called friends on the phone – just because - and later went to dinner with them. She walked into a crowded room, and inevitably, every person who caught her eye wanted to be that friend. He reminded himself: It had been more than a year since they last talked, and now - here she was - wondering over her new sex-shoes.
And this time was also different, for other reasons... He was taking a page from her book. He was actually doing something, rather than just thinking about it. In fact, he DID something.
He wrote her a note. He sent it to her via facebook, so it landed with a thud amongst the usual harmless conversations about funny cat videos, and her favorite bands with upcoming concert dates... Perhaps his message found her at the right moment. He said that he wanted to meet her for sex... 'Just sex' - he wrote. Their relationship was long over. She – certainly – had moved on. Even if there was little to move on from...
Still, he went to the store and bought her those shoes – actually two pair of shoes: one pair for one thing, and another pair for a different thing. Both pair looked equally suggestive, even without the insinuations he was going to give them.
Also at the store, in the female 'Beachware' section, he happened across a variety of fishnet top, which was white, stretchy, and clearly meant to be innocently worn over something else. It was hanging on a rack, amongst ordinary sunhats and swimming suits. He bought the fishnet top a size too small for her. He knew this: When she eventually wore that little top, it would show at least as much as it hid.
Yes - It would all look wonderful. SHE would BE wonderful. Especially when her body was also adorned by those shoes, in that half-light and waiting for him. And importantly - while her eyes were covered with a blindfold, so she couldn't see him in the conventional way...
He just sat there, on the corner of the bed, and reacquainted himself with her form. He didn't want her to grasp the way he looked at her. She had changed her hair; her skin was a shade darker from what he remembered, possibly because she had been outside in the summer sun. Maybe she was seeing someone new, and perhaps the two of them sometimes went on walks and bike rides together...
The blindfold was too large; he wanted to view the subtle little lines by her eyes – the delicate creases on her forehead – but they were covered with fabric.
He put the shoes on her feet – and they fit perfectly. She smiled; she wanted to see the way they looked for herself. Maybe she imagined wearing them with one of her many outfits, and perhaps out on a date with some other man.
He said there was yet another pair of heels waiting for her as well... They would try those on later in the night... She smiled again in anticipation. He couldn't see her eyes – but he could see her mouth.
He found the bag alongside the bed once more, and inside he located the red lipstick. It was a color he always associated with her, although she actually wore it only once, on Halloween - she dressed as a 1920's flapper girl, and she looked gorgeous. Now, he asked her to purse her lips like she was going to be kissed.
She smiled at first, let out a laugh and a questioning expression, and then pushed-out her lips in an exaggerated pucker. It was awkward – he had never applied lipstick to a girl's lips – and it was unexpectedly goofy, as he tried to trace the outline of her lips and smooshed it around, and then he had to rub-off the excess. He was surprisingly uncoordinated; it was deeply silly, and yet warm and familiar, which made it the smallest bit heartbreaking.
Apropos of this night, with his free hand, he vulgarly squeezed her breasts. He did it through her night-shirt, out of a sudden need to have her... She reflexively lifted her hips from the bed; she arched her back in a welcoming invitation.
Still, it wasn't time yet...
He pulled her upright on the bed, with his hands around her wrists. She sat up, bent at the waist, and play-acted like a rag doll that was just waiting for use. He laughed as she slumped, and then as she giggled and let her arms fall to her side, and then as she offered no help as he removed her night-shirt. Her breasts were now completely exposed, although not fully to his perspective. He found the little fishnet top he had bought for her in the shopping bag, and brought it into the half-light. He fumbled with it, uncertain as to the front or back, and she playfully smirked as she questioned this new piece of seemingly odd clothing.
Finally, she elegantly raised her arms over her head, and then he tried again fitting the top from the start – barely resisting her breasts that wobbled, and were suddenly completely in his view – and then he fit the fishnet top over her torso effortlessly.
She continued to sit upright, and waited for whatever was next. She was again covered, although only in an X-rated sense of the word – her curves pushed temptingly against the stretchy material. Her nipples were obvious. Despite the blindfold, it seemed she read him and his designs perfectly.
Her newly applied lipstick was bright and deeply red; he took one of his fingers and gently removed a stray smudge that was just to the side of her mouth. He regarded her and then swept her up in his mind. She was unnervingly attractive, but that was no surprise...
He reminded himself – just sex.
He lay her back down on the bed. With more focus, he removed her boyish-sleep-shorts with an assured motion, although her heels caught the flimsy material, and he had to finagle the shorts off the last few inches. He stretched the fishnet top down to cover what he could of her lower half – her pubic hair, hips, and her upper thighs. The flimsy top would crawl back up at every opportunity and reveal her pussy. It was perfect for her, in other words.
She didn't talk, but she smiled. The blindfold meant less and less. He tried not to think about how she looked, and how she was presented for him.
In the shopping bag, he found several pieces of long rope that he laid out next to her.
He had her lay back on the bed. He busied himself with the task at hand and ignored the rest of it. Their time was getting close.
Each piece of rope was many feet in length and wonderfully soft to the touch, as if it were designed with this use in mind. He tied one piece around one ankle; he tied the other piece around her other ankle. His purpose in doing so must have been at least somewhat clear. She smiled, but it was a different kind of smile. Perhaps she was slightly weary, or even unsure, suddenly...
They hadn't talked about this. They hadn't talked about a lot of things.
Without preamble or an announcement, he pulled – with the rope - one of her legs back, halfway to her head, and tied it to the bed post. He did the same with the other leg, so that she was displayed and unquestionably available for use. She didn't talk; the always amusing voice was silent. Only minutes earlier, she had been sleeping, as if it were a normal night.
Now her legs were spread - held back - and her pussy was unabashedly front and center. The almost-not-there fishnet top did little to cover the upper-most of her body, yet below that point it was all sex. Her legs were gorgeously long and - decorated with high heels - encouraged even larger thoughts about her. Even at that moment, when she tested the limits of the ropes and restraint, and realized she was indeed essentially powerless to stop his use of her, she stayed quiet. She wore the high heels like a girl on a date, which had gone horribly wrong.
He found a third piece of rope, and brought it to one of her wrists. She let him tie it around her wrist, although there was a certain amount of force required. She was starting to fight back, the slightest bit.
He brought her arms together over her head, where he joined both of them together, strongly.
She didn't resist him - much. Although, he thought, later she might...
Did she know that her pussy, among other things, was made for licking? He didn't ask, and even if she responded "No,"- meaning "No, don't do it!" – he still would have dived into her little folds and sweet lips.
She tasted wet, hot and ready. It was momentous. It was suddenly everything. It was now, their time.
She couldn't close her legs and ward him off. She couldn't push his head away from her crotch. She HAD to lay there and let him lick her pussy. The truth of it was clear: he needed to taste her.
It was simply Right There, and he took her like a man starving for her cunt. He was inside her with his tongue; he was around her edges and nibbling on her thigh; he was straight to her clit with a long indulgent slurp... She made sounds that he hadn't heard for years. He moaned as well, and he felt his cock stiffen that last inch. He wanted to show her: This is what you do to me.
His fingers were inside her, making her produce different sounds now... He pumped her gently, and then forcefully, suggesting what his cock would feel like when it did the same...
What did she know?
Did she know that he could do most anything with her - but what he wanted most was to taste her cunt? Did she know that with each lunge into her with his tongue, his cock wanted to burst?
He viewed her as blow job provider. She was a girl whom he could force to her knees and – with all the force necessary – steer her mouth to his needful cock. But she was also a girl to fuck. A girl to tie up and use all night. A girl to be tied to the bed in the most vulnerable position, and then mounted for pleasure. But until then, he wanted to lick her most special place.
As he pushed his fingers into her, it was possible she understood such things. The juicing sounds her pussy made, said that much.
They were meeting for sex. Late night – can't tell anyone about it – sex. The kind that your friends don't know you want, but you think about, constantly. Hands squeezing tits and using them as erotic focal points; deep kisses and breathless presses into your body.
His car was parked out front. And – Yes - inside her apartment, he was fucking her. That word had come to fruition. In the silence in between their sex-sounds he was whispering in her ear. Her legs were spread not by his hands or her effort, but by the ropes.
He was telling her why there were two pairs of shoes for her to wear.
"The pair with the sparkles – the sequins – those are for this." He pushed his cock into her pussy. It was deep. He filled her completely. He was demonstrating something to her. "Those, you wear when you want to just have sex – when you want to be tied up – when you want to feel spent. When you want to feel this way."
He showed her with a long indulgent push into her.
"What are the other pair for?" She huffed.
She was on the edge. He spent his whole length on her, and then went back in and out...
He said: "Those other shoes... Those are for being my adored-whore."
She gasped. That was the sound.
He pulled her fishnet top up, so her tits were available for his mouth, and he sucked on them – one and then the other – as he pushed into her over and over. Her pussy gushed.
He brought the other pair of heels to her hands. Her hands were tied and bound together, but she could still run her fingers across the surface and feel the shape.
"Put them on me..."
She said it like she had been waiting all night to say it. Her mind had moved ahead, it seemed... It didn't matter what the shoes looked like, or if instead of sequins they had little bows, or perhaps an entirely different appearance. In fact, the red color and ostentatious design made them look like shoes a girl might wear at a beauty pageant, a prom, a special night out on the town... They didn't necessarily look like THAT kind of shoe, but now they were. She could wear them out on a date, and only she would know what they secretly meant.
He didn't ask anything. He didn't ask if she was sure she wanted them on. He didn't ask if she was ready.
He took the little black heels off, and unceremoniously put the new red shoes on... they fit perfectly.
Her legs were still very much in the air, and in a few motions, he was back on top of her. He was now fucking her, if before there had been any doubt concerning his use of her and the accuracy of that term. The position she was in meant that he could fuck her at his leisure, or at his need. It didn't matter. If she was a prude, a slut, a woman in lust, or anything in between - the same thing was going to happen to her. His cock was going to pump her pussy and she was going to have to allow it.
He was close, and then perhaps she felt him differently - he seemed to lose himself, and all at once he disengaged from her and brought his cock over her face. He moaned and it hit her cheek and her chin. She couldn't see it, but of course she knew he had cum on her face.
It was mere minutes that he kept her like that – just below him – still vulnerable and still without an opportunity to move away. There was the sound of deep breathing and recovery. He looked at her and gathered himself up, and then, without warning, he moved from over her to her side, and undid her legs from the bed posts. They were free, suddenly, and the rope from each of her ankles was undone.
Perhaps she kept on waiting for him to undo the rope around her wrists, but it stayed on. She kept on waiting for him to offer a Kleenex or towel to clean his cum from her cheek, but it stayed there. She perhaps felt a different type of hold on her now.
He rummaged one final time in the shopping bag. She couldn't see, but she could hear. It was doubtful her old conversational tropes would return tonight – he missed the frequent ironic or sardonic comment from her – but in its place was something else. He found the camera and held it tightly in his hand. With the other, he pulled her from the bed, using her still bound wrists as a lever to force her to stand.
She was wobbly. Her barely-there top showed her hourglass shape, he noticed, in a pornographic silhouette. The shoes added many inches of height, and she was right to his level. He knew that without the blindfold that covered her deep brown eyes, they would have been intimately together.
Without pause, however, he literally dragged her into the living room. She stumbled a bit in the shoes; perhaps she wanted to protest; she wanted to say "Hold on... give me a moment..."
But he wanted her a certain way.
Maybe she was starting to realize that even if she had declined his invitation to meet – just for sex – he still would be here doing this.
At the moment, he didn't require her permission. He guided – he ordered – her into the full-light and onto the couch. He could see more now: the red lipstick, the tossed hair; the very significant shoes. He targeted the camera and began to record. She sat there uncomprehending, apparently, until he grabbed her hair and changed the position of her head to accept his cock in her mouth. Her hands rested on her lap, bound at the wrists. It was to be just her lips, tongue, and mouth at his mercy.
He was now straddling her body – legs on either side of her torso – and his hips thrusting toward her face. He could see the semen drying on her cheek. He looked at the screen on the camera and saw it. The fact that he was fucking her mouth in anticipation of a second orgasm, added another urge to his motions and turned her into a different kind of girl.
Everything about her said that they had already spent themselves in the bedroom. The way her lipstick was used and blurred, and the way her hair was mused and matted, and the way she moved – with a hazy acceptance. And yet, she was different, even more different than he had expected. He noted that they were not far from a window, and the blinds had a small crack in them.
It was possible that someone who might have been walking past late at night, and who might have looked over, might have seen through the window. If so, they would have seen two forms – a man and a woman – engaged in a particular type of sex. It would have looked nonconsensual. It would have looked deeply possessive. It would have looked disquietingly honest. He held her head strongly with one hand, he held the camera with the other, and he pushed in and out of her. His cock filling her mouth – retreating – and then plunging back in. Yes, it was fucking.
It was true he thought of her in many different ways. It was also true he thought of her in THAT way.
You could tell – she could tell – afterwards when she watched the video. She made sounds, sort of exhortations, that didn't form words or mean anything in the conventional sense. It seemed the audio portion was almost as revealing as the visual. He called her sweet things and pet names, but that didn't stop him from using her as a little blow job queen.
Her voice was on the verge of a "No..." and then he grabbed her hair, and steered her. He lost himself in it, and she could tell, perhaps... It made her feel overwhelmed.
The video clip ended just after he came in her mouth. It was just sex at that point. His cock impossibly hard, and every part of her, bent to one aim: His cum inside her.
Later, he asked, as he removed the blindfold from her face, and she opened her eyes to look at him for the first time, which pair of shoes she preferred.
"Tomorrow night," she said, "When you come back over, I'll give you an answer."
Feb 11, 2018 in romance