She pulled her mouth off him with a wet sound, her lips shining, and crawled up his body until her face was level with his. Her hand wrapped around his cock—still slick from her throat, still throbbing—and she held it like something precious.
"Do you know what this is?" she whispered.
He shook his head. Couldn't speak.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Her thumb traced the ridge of the head, slow, reverent. "The way it feels in my mouth. The weight of it on my tongue. The sounds you make when I take you deep." She squeezed gently, and his hips bucked. "I worship this cock, Leo. Do you understand? I dream about it. I think about it when I'm at work, when I'm supposed to be reading contracts, when I'm lying in bed at night touching myself."
She leaned down and pressed her lips to the tip—a kiss, soft and lingering, nothing like the deep suction of before.
"I love the taste of you. The salt. The heat. The way you get harder in my mouth when I moan around you." Her tongue darted out, a single slow lick along the underside. "I love knowing that this—" she wrapped her hand around him again, "—is mine. No one else's. Just mine to suck, to stroke, to tease, to make come undone."
She released him and reached over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer. The click of metal. The whisper of fabric. She sat up, and in her hands she held a pair of leather cuffs connected by a short chain, and a black silk blindfold.
"You trusted me downstairs," she said, holding them up so he could see. "Trust me now."
He nodded without hesitation.
She fastened the cuffs around his wrists—tight enough to hold, loose enough not to bite—and the chain clinked between them. Then the blindfold: black silk settling over his eyes, tied behind his head, cutting off the world. His breathing changed immediately, faster, shallower, his whole body tuned to her voice.
"Good." Her fingers traced down his chest, over the oiled curves of his pectorals, across his stomach. "Now turn over. On your stomach. Ass up."
He rolled, clumsy with his bound wrists, and she guided him until he was on his knees with his chest pressed to the mattress, his ass in the air, his cock hanging heavy and slick between his thighs.
"There you are." Her voice came from behind him, low and approving. "God, you look good like this."
Her hands landed on his ass, spreading him, and he felt her breath—warm, deliberate—against his most exposed place. Then her tongue touched him, flat and wet, dragging from the tight ring of muscle up to the base of his spine, and he gasped into the mattress.
She ate him slowly, methodically, her tongue circling and pressing and dipping, her hands gripping his cheeks and spreading him wider. The sounds she made—muffled, hungry, appreciative—vibrated through his skin. Her thumb traced the underside of his cock from behind, stroking him in time with her tongue, and his whole body shook with the double sensation.
"You taste so good everywhere," she murmured against his skin, her breath hot, her lips brushing the place her tongue had just been. "I could stay here all day. Lick you open. Make you beg for it."
She pressed her tongue inside him—just the tip, just enough to make him cry out—and her hand tightened around his cock, stroking him in the same rhythm.
Then she pulled away. He heard her shift, felt the mattress dip as she moved, and then she was underneath him—her body sliding beneath his, her face level with his cock, her hands guiding his hips forward.
"Bring it to my mouth," she said, her voice thick. "I want to taste it while I—"
He didn't need to be told twice. He lowered himself, his arms straining in the cuffs, until the tip of his cock touched her lips. She opened for him immediately, taking him in deep, her throat opening around him, and at the same moment her finger—wet, slick with something—pressed against his ass from below.
"Oh god—"
She hummed around his cock as her finger pushed inside him, one knuckle, two, the sensation so foreign and full that his vision blurred behind the blindfold. Her tongue worked his shaft while her finger moved inside him, curling, pressing, finding a spot that made his whole body seize. She sucked him harder as he moaned, her finger sliding deeper, and he felt himself hurtling toward the edge.
She pulled her mouth off him with a gasp, her finger still inside him, and said, "Not yet. Turn back over."
He obeyed, trembling, his cock leaving her mouth with a wet pop. She guided him back onto his stomach, spread his cheeks again, and her mouth returned to his ass—hungrier now, less patient, her tongue pushing deeper, her fingers stroking his cock from behind.
Then she paused. Her mouth lifted. He felt her lips press to the small of his back—a kiss, soft and unexpected, right at the dip where his spine met the curve of his ass. She kissed him there again, slower, like she was thanking him, and a sound came out of him that wasn't a moan. Something rawer.
"You're doing so well," she whispered against his skin. "So beautiful. So trustful."
She shifted, and he felt her mouth return to his ass, her tongue circling him, working him open, and then she pulled away again. A new sound: the click of a bottle opening. A wet, slick sound. Something cold and lubricated pressed against his entrance.
"Breathe for me," she said. "This is going to feel strange at first. But I need you to trust me."
He nodded into the mattress, his hands gripping the sheets.
The first ball pressed against him. He felt the roundness, the pressure, the slow insistence of it pushing past the tight ring of muscle, and he groaned—deep, animal, his whole body clenching then surrendering. It slid inside him with a wet pop, and she paused, her hand stroking his back.
"That's it. You're doing so well."
The second ball pressed. Wider. Fuller. He felt himself stretch around it, felt the weight of it inside him, felt the surreal fullness of being opened and filled in a place no one had ever touched. He let out a shaky breath as it slid home.
"One more," she whispered. "Just one more for now."
The third ball pressed. He gasped at the stretch, his fingers twisting in the sheets, and then it was inside him too, the three beads nestled together, the rest of the string trailing out against his skin. She pressed her palm against his ass, holding them in place, and leaned down to kiss the back of his neck.
"Perfect," she breathed. "You took them so perfectly."
She reached beneath him and stroked his cock—still hard, still slick, leaking against the sheets—and he whimpered at the contact.
"Roll over," she said softly. "I want to look at you."
He turned onto his back, the beads shifting inside him, the sensation strange and arousing. She pulled the blindfold off, and the light hit his eyes like a flood. She was above him, the latex dress still clinging to her curves, her blonde hair falling forward, her winter-blue eyes soft.
She stroked his cock slowly, her thumb circling the tip, and she began to speak.
"You have been so good," she said, her voice low, reverent. "So perfect. Crawling for me. Taking my mouth. Letting me open you up. Trusting me with your body in ways most people never trust anyone."
"I've wanted you since the first day I saw you in that garage," she continued, her hand moving slow along his shaft. "Covered in grease, your suspenders hooked over those broad shoulders, your hands so strong and so gentle. I went home that night and touched myself thinking about those hands. About what they'd feel like on my skin. About what you'd sound like when I finally had you like this."
"And now I have you. And you're more than I imagined. Every sound you make. Every shudder. The way your cock feels in my mouth, the way you taste, the way you open for me." Her thumb pressed into the slit of his cock, spreading the slickness, and he gasped. "I don't want anyone else. I don't want any other cock inside me, in my mouth, in my hands. Just yours. Only yours. For as long as you'll let me have it."
She leaned down and kissed the tip, soft and slow, her lips lingering.
"I want to feel you come undone," she whispered against his skin. "I want to watch your face when you lose control. I want to hear you say my name like a prayer." Her lips trailed down his shaft, her tongue flicking lightly. "I want to taste every drop you have for me."
Her mouth closed around him, and her hand found the string of beads between his cheeks, and she pulled—one bead, slow, feeling him clench around it—and he gasped her name everytime.