Madame B - Ecstasy

I came back in to find him still sitting there, eyes fixed on me. I sat down on the sofa next to him.

"I thought about you all night," he said again.

"Yeah…" I admitted. "I kind of wondered what had happened to you." And then I thought I might as well come out with it: "I was under the impression that you'd be coming into the bathroom with me to finish what you'd started."

"Last night was just the beginning," he said. "A kind of test, if you like." I couldn't think of anything to say, so I let him keep talking.

"You must know I've been crazy about you for years," he continued. I stared at him. How could I know that, when he'd never said more than six words to me since college? "But I need someone who can be a partner with me in my sexual world. And that was a test to see if you were strong enough."

My mind was reeling. My first reaction was: This guy's kinky. He's too intense. You could be getting in over your head. End it now before you do something you regret. My second reaction was physical, not mental. My lips parted, and I caught my breath as I thought of what it was Greg wanted to do with me and how bad it would be-and how good that would feel. I leaned forward on the sofa, tilting my face up to his, closing my eyes and waiting for his kiss. But instead of pressing his lips to mine, he pushed the Coke into my hand.

"Why don't you have a drink first?" he said. Then I knew that sleeping with Greg would be very different from going to bed with any other lover I'd ever had. I could either refuse to drink up and ask him to have straight sex, nothing kinky, or I could play his game and be drawn into his depraved little world. Again, my body made the choice for me. I had wrapped my lips around the straw and started sucking greedily before my mind made a conscious decision otherwise. In thirty seconds, I downed maybe a quart of liquid, some of which dribbled down my chin and along my neck. Greg's tongue was there immediately, licking me clean, sketching wet spirals on my neck and breasts. After I'd gulped the second tall drink, I was gasping for breath. Greg didn't give me a chance to come up for air. His lips locked on mine, he lay on top of me, lavishing slow, luxurious kisses on me, turning me on more subtly than any clit massage ever could.

After a few minutes, we pulled apart. Greg placed the palm of his hand on my lower abdomen, pressed hard, and raised one eyebrow. I shook my head, answering his unspoken question: I didn't need to go yet. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher of water.

"I don't think you're full enough yet," he whispered, "and I want you full before I fuck you."

Hearing Greg speak the word fuck made me gasp with excitement. And with that he smoothed my hair back and forced the lip of the pitcher to my lips, holding my nose so that I had to open my mouth. I had no choice but to gulp it back, again spilling as much as I drank. The cold water made my skimpy white tank stick to my skin, giving me goose bumps and waking up my nipples despite the humidity. Greg ran one hand along the sodden clinging cotton. It was obvious I wore no underwear. I saw Greg's eyes trace the contours of my breasts and belly through the now translucent fabric. His naked desire fueled my own and I felt the heat rush to my restless pussy. I moaned with pleasure.

He peeled off my damp tank, exposing tits that sat up and begged for his attention. True to his principle of deferred gratification, he didn't satisfy them with a caress or a kiss. Instead he rolled down my hot pants and pulled them over my ankles. A little damp patch was evidence of how turned on I was. He closed his eyes and held the hot pants to his nose, inhaling deeply. I lay there, naked, and watched him take in my scent. Through his open shirt I could see a rock-hard stomach and a line of light brown hair, tapering into an arrow that pointed toward his dick. God, he was beautiful. And he wanted me.

Greg let the hot pants fall to the floor and opened his eyes. Watching me, he unfastened the single button on his white shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders, revealing a torso even more sculpted and bronzed than I'd imagined. Then it was time for him to remove his shorts. His tight, muscled hips flanked a dick every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. His light brown pubic hair was cropped into a neat rectangle, all the better to show off smooth, even balls and a thick, sturdy erection. A powerful throb convulsed my pussy, and I felt a drop of juice emerge. I spread my legs, showing Greg I was ready to have him inside me.

But instead of climbing on top of me, he knelt between my legs and slid a pink, silky tongue between my lips.

"So pink," he said. "So wet. So beautiful." As his tongue traced the contours of my cunt and I felt the pressure mount, another feeling crept up on me.

"Greg," I whispered, "I'm getting full. I need to go."

"Not yet you don't," he said and turned his attention to my clitoris. His tongue swept around it, coming tantalizingly close but never quite providing the direct stimulation I needed. His hands reached for my nipples and twisted them, pulling my tits out to the side, then down, a sweet agony that made me cry out in pleasure or pain, I couldn't tell which anymore. He continued his torment by pressing his forehead on my lower abdomen, making my need to go to the bathroom more urgent. He looked up from his cruel tease.

"What do you want most? To come or to pee?" he said, his beautiful face hovering over mine, his smooth brown cock erect between his thighs.

"I want to do both… I need both… please let me…" I said, tossing my head from side to side in frustration.

"Well, you're lucky. You do get to do both, but not until I say so."

And with that, he picked me up from where I lay on the armchair and carried me to the bathroom. Grateful for a break from the pressure in my pelvis, I wrapped my legs around him, my pussy pressed against his navel. I could feel the hair on his belly tickle my clit, and the tip of his dick jabbed at the sensitive inch of skin between my pussy and asshole. It was the first time I'd been in contact with his dick, and I had to fight the urge to lower myself onto it, to force him inside me. But he'd said not yet. Not yet. So I kissed him, working my way around his teeth with my tongue. He kissed me back, urgently, his tongue making tiny thrusts toward the back of my throat. When he lay me down on the mosaic floor of the bathroom, I could see the silver trail my pussy juice had made on the skin of his taut stomach.

He ran the tap. "Oldest trick in the book," he said, smiling. "It'll make you need to go so bad, you won't be able to hold it in." The smile vanished. "You're not allowed to go yet, of course, but I am. Spread your legs. You're soaking," he said, "but I think you could get a little wetter."

I was shocked into silence as he relieved himself between my parted legs. But the feel-good factor quickly outstripped any hang-ups I had about breaking this, the ultimate taboo. Oh, who am I kidding? The taboo was half the turn-on. The drip-drip-drip of his golden liquid, the color of champagne, teased my clit in a way no fingers, tongues, or toy ever had. I wanted more. "Faster! Harder!" I screamed. He let go then, unleashing a torrent on me. Because of his erection, he had to use his hand to direct the flow, like a fireman controlling a hose. When he'd finished, his hard-on looked thicker and harder than before.

"It's nearly your turn," he murmured, kneeling over me on the floor. Then, with a sudden violence, he pressed hard on my lower abdomen. A tiny droplet of urine leaked out. I couldn't help it.

"Control yourself!" shouted Greg, his voice so stern that I froze, clenching my whole pelvis, and tried to stem the flow. "Not until I say so," he said, straddling my body. A single droplet of piss glistened on the end of his hard-on. "Do you understand?" I nodded, and suddenly he was inside me. My cunt closed around his dick as hard as a clamshell, but I didn't dare relax, even as that beautiful body moved up and down, backward and forward above mine.