Madame B - Seduction

"I'm going to untie you now," he said, "but only if you promise to keep the blindfold on." I nodded my assent; I was so desperate for an orgasm I'd have agreed to keep the blindfold on for the rest of my life if he would only allow me to come in the next few minutes. Jamie tugged at the stockings that bound me to the sofa more urgently than when he'd tied me up, obviously as eager as I was to resume fucking, to chase that climax. The blood pumped back into my newly freed hands and feet, sending a tingling numbness along my limbs. Jamie placed his hands around my waist-why had I never noticed before how large his hands were, how dry and papery and soft they felt against my skin? He flipped my yearning body over so that I was on all fours.

With his hairy knee between my smooth thighs again, he parted my legs, used his fingers to find my hole, and pulled apart my quivering cunt before poking it with the tip of his dick. He was inside me then, fucking me eagerly from behind, with one hand on my hips to steady me and his smooth long dick probing the entire length of my dripping pussy. With his free hand, he placed the vibrator directly on my clitoris, and I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. The limbs that had been numb now flooded with feeling as the tension crept up and then erupted as I came. My pussy contracted and released in four or five hot, intense waves, my cunt clutching at Jamie's dick. I remained blindfolded and crouched on all fours as tiny spasms gripped my pelvis, the aftershock of my climax. Jamie whipped his dick out and came into the air, his warm, white liquid raining down on my ass.

He used strong, flat hands to massage his juice into the small of my back. Then, with his thumb, Jamie followed a tiny dribble that ran down the crack between my butt cheeks, making tiny circles and rubbing his spunk into my asshole, creating a sensation that left me breathless.

As I lay there in the darkness, it occurred to me that I'd been so turned on by the way Jamie tasted, smelled, sounded, and felt, that I hadn't thought about what he looked like the whole time we'd been fucking. I felt a new respect for my beautiful lover, who had proved with his passion and imagination that he was more, so much more, than a pretty face. I felt tender, deft fingers untying the blindfold that I had been wearing. I realized it had grown dark outside while we were fucking. I blinked for a few seconds, my eyes adapting to the soft light that came from the dying embers of the fire. When I rolled over to face Jamie, I could only vaguely make out the contours of his body, silhouetted by the glow. The details of his physique that drove me crazy-the line of hair between his navel and his dick, the color of his nipples, the veins on his arms, the dimple on his left cheek-none of these were visible. I didn't mind a bit.

"Want me to put the light on, baby?" he asked as he ran a finger from my breast to my thigh. I could barely see him, but to me he had never looked more beautiful.

One of the most persistent sex myths is that a hot fuck needs to be with someone you love or, at the very least, someone you like. Sometimes, a little tension and antagonism between two people can fan the flames of a fire that burns hotter than any romance. Hell, I've had some of the best sex of my life with people I couldn't stand. The woman who told me this tale took an instant dislike to the man who was to become her most passionate lover. I love this story; it proves the point that uncontrollable desire manifests itself in the most unlikely places and is often inspired by the strangest people. I looked around the walls of my mud hut on a nature reserve in the middle of the Indian jungle and thought to myself: How did I end up here? When my friend Sarah suggested a different kind of vacation, I jumped at the chance to do something other than the usual swimming pool and tropical tiki-bar shtick. In the brochure, this health-kick holiday in the wild had seemed like a great idea: yoga every morning, herbal tea, vegetarian food, and long-distance hikes through lush countryside. I had visions of emerging as a thin, spiritual creature, unburdened by Western values and ideas of beauty. I had looked forward to traditional Indian beauty treatments to leave my skin glowing and to returning home tanned, blissed out, and serene. And of course I had hopes of making an amazing sexual connection with some bronzed, toned, dreadlocked gap-year student who would make soft, tender love to me on the shores of the Arabian Sea. Well, what's the point of being a single girl on vacation if you don't enjoy every facet of your freedom?

All those visions were cruelly shattered when Sarah canceled on me at the last minute because of a work assignment she simply couldn't get out of. I toyed with the idea of staying at home, but I'd paid for this trip, so I traveled alone, still buoyed by a sense of adventure and anticipation. The reality of it was that I was sleeping under a smelly mosquito net in a crude mud hut, surrounded by aging hippies who routinely tried to outdo each other with extreme travel stories.

"Of course, this is just a mild weekend," said a bare-footed guy with a scraggly gray beard and sagging pot-belly. "The real hard-core ones are the kind where you go to an ashram and live off only juice. You get a really clear head after the first few days. It's very spiritual."

The only person my age was David, and frankly he was even worse than the old hippies. An outward-bound instructor from the West Country, he was convinced he knew everything about anything, and his arrogance pissed me off from day one. He also thought he had a great body, which he insisted on displaying at every possible opportunity-we couldn't pass a waterfall without David suggesting an impromptu group shower. I suppose that he was good-looking, if tall, ripped, mus cled guys with strong, smooth, brown bodies without an inch of fat are your thing. And if you go for strong jaws, melting hazel eyes, and soft waves of light brown hair, well, David might be your type. However, even had he looked like Brad Pitt, his awful, know-it-all, patronizing personality still would have turned my stomach.

Of course, as I was the only single woman under forty there, David made a beeline for me. He didn't understand my reluctance to sit around the campfire every night listening to him carry on about mountains he'd climbed and rapids he'd ridden. I started off by giving him the polite cold shoulder, but after day two I was openly snapping at him. Mild irritation gradually turned into an unsettling feeling that I couldn't shake. Every night as I got ready for bed, I cursed Sarah for leaving me alone with these people in the middle of nowhere. I found David so intensely annoying that he was the last thing I thought about before I slept. And when he crept into my dreams, explicit erotic dreams that made me wake bathed in sweat, throbbing between the legs and clutching the bedclothes, well, I just took it as a sign that he was such an irritating asshole that he could even creep into my sleep uninvited.

Toward the end of the week, I was having fun despite myself. I loved the daily yoga sessions-all five hours of them. And I also enjoyed what was happening to my body. Cellulite was turning to firm, toned flesh, and inches were melting off me. I had to admit that I was regaining my teenage figure, and with it a renewed appetite for sex and love. I suppose the daily sixteen hours of blazing sunshine and steamy atmosphere made it a bit of a sexy place, too. It was just a crying shame there was no one to get horizontal with apart from David, and he obviously didn't count.

Halfway through the retreat I was starting to get used to the advanced yoga sessions. I had become something of an expert in recent days. Call me shallow, but while all the hippies were om-ing and breathing through alternate nostrils, I was thinking things like "Now that I can do the splits, there's loads of sex positions I can try out that I wouldn't have dared try before."