Belting MeSubmitted by Josh
When I first brought it up, I didn't know how devious you'd be. After all, it was something we both thought was sexy and exciting, but it was expensive.
You did the research yourself, took the necessary measurements while I was sleeping, saved up a little extra money. After all, as you'd said, if you got the kind of use you expected out of it, it'd be a worthwhile investment.
In preparation, you made some minor schedule adjustments, leaving us without an opportunity for sex for a couple of days before the scheduled date of receipt.
The belt arrived, sleek and shiny chrome with a black liner, packed carefully in a silver-colored box. You removed the keys and the other accessories you'd ordered and put them in a safe place, and then slid the box under your bed.
You dressed in a sheer, low-cut blouse and took me out to dinner. Your eyes sparkled all evening long. At the restaurant, you slid your shoe off and stroked your stockinged toes up and down my calf under the table. You leaned forward often, giving me a glimpse of your cleavage and the silky black bra beneath your shirt.
I, for my part, was almost beside myself with desire for you--the calculated wait had had its intended effect. I couldn't take my eyes off you all night. The conversation, although it stayed on innocent topics, thrilled with an undercurrent of raw sexual tension.
* * *
We are barely in the door of your house when you are on me, kissing me hard on the mouth; your teeth on my neck, on my shoulder; your hands pulling mine onto you. You push me up against the wall with the force of your assault. Your hands are all over me, straying up and down my body, pinching my nipples through my shirt, then all but tearing my pants open. You pull out my cock, already hard, and squeeze it as you stroke once, twice, three times with one hand. Your other hand strays to my mouth, shoving two fingers in for me to suck, muffling my gasps.
And then you're stepping away, holding my eyes with your gaze, grinning as you brush the back of your hand across your lips. You make a small gesture, pointing to your eyes with two fingers of your right hand, saying Don't look away.
I stand, back still against the wall, shirt buttons half undone. My mouth is open, my chest heaving with each breath. My cock is hard and exposed, purple in the half-light, and it bounces with my heartbeat.
I nod, not taking my eyes off yours, as you take another step backward and begin unbuttoning your blouse.
Underneath your clothes, you wear a matched black silk bra and panty set. I can see your wetness from where I stand. Your nipples stand out hard against the thin fabric.
"Strip," you say. "And don't take your eyes off me."
Hypnotized, I finish unbuttoning my shirt, pulling it back off my shoulders as you slide a hand from your mouth down your body, over your breasts. My shoes come off as the hand dips into your panties, arches underneath you. I see your eyebrows draw minutely together; your lips part and the muscles in your stomach flutter as your fingers find your clit.
And then I am naked and following you into the bedroom.
You push me down onto the bed, on my back. One hand cups my balls, squeezes gently as you kneel, straddling my stomach, facing the headboard.
I reach for you, but you intercept my wrists, pinning my arms above me, grinning ferally. And then my first inkling that you've got something even more special planned for tonight: there is cold metal against my wrists, a ratcheting sound, and before I can react, my hands are cuffed to the bedposts.
We've talked about bondage a little bit, but never really played with it at all. A quick glance behind you at my cock tells you that, though this is a surprise, it is certainly not an unwelcome one.
"Wow," I breathe. "What's got into you?"
"You'll see," you say, straddling my face and pressing your damp, pantied mound over my mouth. "Lick me."
I hasten to comply, the slick silk sliding over your lips. I can taste you through the thin fabric; your scent is strong in my nose.
You reach back with one hand, squeezing my cock firmly and rhythmically; I try to concentrate on bringing you off without you removing your panties. The extra barrier makes the orgasm build more slowly, which just makes the shudders of ecstasy that much more intense when they arrive.
You extricate yourself, slowly, from the tangle of your legs and my arms and lie down next to me, pressing yourself along my side. You throw a leg over mine and kiss my face, streaked with your juices.
"This is going to be so much fun," you whisper into my ear, idly tickling the underside of my cock with one finger. "I got you a present, and you're going to try it on tonight."
My eyes widen, because I'm pretty sure this can only mean one thing. "You..."
You put a finger (still fragrant with your particular scent) to my lips. "You'll see."
And then you are sliding down my body, taking my cock into your mouth, the velvety, plum-like firmness of the head sliding between your lips. Your tongue plays along the sensitive underside. It is not long before my hips are bucking involuntarily, trying to push more of me into your mouth as my own orgasm approaches like a freight train barrelling up a tunnel.
But before I've reached the point of no return, you pull back, letting go of me completely. A glistening strand of saliva connects my cock to your mouth, but that is all.
I whimper; it's all I can do. Pleading.
You wait a few moments, slowly removing your lingerie, and then, when the immediate danger of my orgasm has passed, you start on me again with hand and mouth.
I can't keep track of time, or of how many times you bring me to the edge only to leave me there, just short of completion, all the while smiling that sphinx smile that says you have me just where you want me.
With languorous slowness, you start your final tease. The build seems to go on forever; the orgasm seems inexorable as you alternate, hand and mouth, gentle pressure with each, working on my slippery cock.
Just as I think you're about to let me come--finally--you release me once again, and then firmly squeeze the head of my cock between thumb and forefinger. "Time for your surprise."
You take the box out from under the bed. I have trouble focusing my eyes by now, but I can see what you've bought easily enough. The metal glints in the moonlight filtering through your skylight.
"Oh... god," I manage. "I can't believe you..."
And then you are wrapping the belt around my waist, the crotch piece between my thighs. You lock the belt in place first; it rides low over my hips, but won't fit down past them. I won't be getting out of it until you let me.
The crotch piece is going to be more difficult, you realize; my cock is still quite hard, and the belt isn't designed to accommodate erections.
You step out for a moment, leaving me to stare at the device you've put onto my body and wonder what it will be like to live out this fantasy. I hear water running in the bathroom, and you come back with a damp washcloth.
The cold makes my erection shrink, swiftly, and it's only now that I realize you plan to lock me in without an orgasm tonight.
"Ohh, Jen... please let me..."
You shush me again. "Soon."
And then, suddenly, it's all locked in place, and I am wholly at your mercy. Again locking your eyes on mine, you lean forward and slowly, deliberately, lick the belt from bottom to top.
I, of course, feel nothing.
"And now you can thank me for your surprise," you say, straddling my face again. As your pussy lowers over my mouth, I can feel my cock trying to get hard--the first of many erections the belt will prevent.
* * *
It's now Friday, and it's been six days since you locked me in.
I am in a constant fever of desire, which you do everything you can to enhance. You select outfits that reveal expanses of your beautiful skin. You give me lingering, tongue-filled kisses out of the blue. You play with my nipples through my shirt. (The first time you did this, I pushed your hands away, unable, so I thought, to take the torture. "Congratulations," you whisper sweetly in my ear. "You've just added another day in the belt." I haven't tried to stop you since.)
Each night before bed, you blindfold me and I go down on you until you come. You control the pace, slowing me with a word when you want to draw things out.
Despite your more provocative outfits, I haven't been allowed to see you naked since the night you locked me in. Everything else you do, though, reminds me forcefully of the metal holding me protectively between my legs.
I have hopes, though, that tonight will be different.
This morning you gave me a kiss as I brought your breakfast in bed, and said "If you're good, tonight I'll let you fuck me."
While I was at work, you sent me photos of yourself, taken that day at your office, showing glimpses of your lacy bra. The focus of the photos, though, is the key dangling on a fine silver chain between your breasts.
I have never been so horny. My hands are actually shaking when I unlock the door. You arrive home half an hour later to find me preparing a simple dinner--potatoes in the oven, asparagus on the stove, and steaks on the Foreman grill. You don't change out of your work clothes.
We eat quietly and quickly. I get up to clean the dishes, but you tell me to leave them. "You can get them later, after I let you fuck me."
This is the first direct mention of it since this morning, the first confirmation that I will, in fact, get some relief.
You lead me upstairs, strip me down to the belt, and sit me on the bed. Your kiss is both tender and hungry, and your eyes shine with mischievous light. "First I'm going to give you a little show. Same rules as the strip club, though--I can touch you, but you don't get to touch me."
You put on some appropriate music and stand in the center of the room in your grey work suit with its conservative, mid-calf skirt. Your hips sway back and forth and your eyes close as the music finds you. You release your hair, and it falls down around your shoulders; then, eyes still closed, you begin to unbutton your blouse. You move with the music, lithe, sweet, now turning your back as you shrug out of the suitjacket.
The blouse is unbuttoned; back still turned, you hold it open and then, turning back, pull it closed again, giving me only the briefest sidelong glimpse of your breasts, cupped in white lace. You come close to me, hiking up your skirt so that you can straddle me on the bed. Your arms go around my neck, your forehead presses against mine, and I turn my head fractionally, push forward as if to kiss you.
You pull back, a finger touching my lips. "That's a no-no," you say. "Better be careful." You stand again, and then unzip the skirt and let it fall to the floor.
Underneath, you are wearing white stockings, held in place by a matching garter belt.
You are not wearing panties.
Wetness glistens on your pussy lips. You let the blouse fall open, undulate your shoulders so that it slides back off them. I can see the darker skin of your nipples through the lace of the bra. One hand reaches back to unfasten the clasp, and then you cup your breasts with both hands, leaning forward and shaking with the music until the straps fall from your shoulders. You stand, and the bra falls away, your breasts proud and firm, the nipples hard.
You move close to me again, planting your feet outside mine, and pull my head toward your body, letting me drink my fill of your nakedness with my eyes, both of us breathing the intoxicating scent of your arousal.
You lower your breasts to my mouth, first one, then the other.
My hands and feet are tingling; my cock is pressing firmly against its confines. My heart is beating rapidly, and I can feel each pulse in my chrome-bound loins.
"Are you ready?" you ask.
"Ohgodyes," I say. "Yes."
"Ready for what? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
"I want to fuck you. I'm ready to fuck you."
"Can I fuck you? Please?"
"Oh, god, Jen... please... please let me fuck you. My god. Please."
"Are you sure you're ready? I don't quite think you are..."
"I'm so ready, please..."
"All right, then."
You lean forward, taking the key between your fingers, but instead of moving it toward the belt, you reach under the bed. You withdraw a wooden box fastened with a silver lock.
You insert the key into this lock, not the one on my chastity belt, and the box springs open.
Inside is a long, thick dildo, flesh-covered and heavily veined. You take it out, lick the head playfully, and then fasten it to the front of the belt.
All of this takes perhaps five seconds, and it takes at least another five for my lust-addled brain to put the pieces together.
By then, though, you are pushing me back onto the bed, lowering yourself onto the fake cock jutting up from the belt, and moaning as it penetrates your warm depths.
You fall forward across me, riding me, and between moans, you speak, your mouth close to my ear:
"Nnh... god, I bet you're really close to--nnh--coming. Would you like to--nngh--come, Josh? It's all right; go ahead if--nnhhuh--if you want."
You sit up to see the effect this is having on me. My face is showing a mix of emotions: confusion and disappointment, certainly, but more than those, desire.
Relenting, you place a gentle hand on my cheek. "If you fuck me really well, I might let you out of the belt..." I begin thrusting my hips to meet yours, frantic, frenzied, my own moans of thwarted desire so loud in my ears that I almost don't hear you finish the sentence:
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Page last updated 04-Sep-19 by: Altairboy@aol.com