Today’s fabulous guest blog is another hot fantasy from Gemini, who you might remember recently from this hot piece about putting on a skirt to seduce his best friend. In today’s post, expect femdom, bondage, teasing, submission, and a powerful challenge for any eager submissive: can you please a dominant enough that you’ll earn your release from bondage? Let’s see…
Will I earn my release?
I wait impatiently, naked, blindfolded and kneeling on a comfortable plush sheepskin rug. The deep fibres are a welcome relief, a soft sensation on my feet and legs.
Despite my hands being loosely tied behind my back, I am relaxed, fully aware of my situation.
The room is warm and smells of musk, sweat and sex; I hear the sound of fucking, other people seducing and excitedly murmuring. I hear people pad around, the swish of hands on bodies, kissing, sucking. There are rhythmic wet slaps of flesh on flesh, occasional leather cracks and breathless yelps.
I have been waiting a long time now, my knees are beginning to ache, but despite this discomfort the sensation of being watched fills me with pride and hope. Through the playful noises I hear the distinctive sultry laugh of The Mistress. I pick out her voice in the room as she moves around, surveying, joining in various couplings. I listen for her, full of anticipation, surrounded by the sounds of others’ pleasures. She brings out the most carnal moans from her encounters with the participants in the room. I am alone on my island, surrounded by a symphony of hedonistic lust.
“Enough!” I hear her command. The room falls silent as the humming stops. Anticipation weighs heavy in the air. My mind races. I am nervous but confident that I will at last please her enough to earn my release. I cannot be discarded again, left to the whims of the assembled crowd.
Her footsteps on the wooden floor approach. By the metronomic double tapping and distinctive squeak, I figure she is wearing PVC boots. I visualise her: tall, powerful, the boots black and thigh length but of course I have no way of knowing.
I trace her movement through sound alone; the footsteps circle round me like a shark, a predator watching its prey. I hold my breath and my heart races, unsure of what she is going to do but desperate for her attention and, of course, approval. The clack of her heels and PVC squeak get closer, her pacing methodical and deliberate. Each step raises my heart rate a notch, I swallow hard in anticipation, needing resolution to my submission.
Finally she stops behind me. The silence is broken by her steady, controlled breathing. She runs her hand lightly over my neck, reassuring me, and down the ridge of my spine. Despite the warmth of her palm on my skin, I involuntarily shiver, more through excitement than fear, then feel a sharp tug at the cord as she expertly unties my wrist bindings. I shake my arms to relieve the ache while she rounds me to stand at last in front of my bowed form.
I reach out, groping in the darkness and find her almost a full arm’s length from me, and run my hands up her boots. The material is cool, supple yet tight, confirming the PVC I visualised earlier. This is, after all, her signature attire.
At the top of her cold boots, I find her hot bare thighs. Her skin is soft and toned and I continue up to her hips. I feel her heart beating, pulsing through her skin against my fingertips. Her breathing intensifies with my touch.
I have to lean forward, careful not to topple over, straining a little to reach round to hold her bottom, trying to pull her cheeks to bring her closer to me but she doesn’t move, reminding me that she controls where she stands. She can see I want to feel her. Rocking on my knees, I continue to run my hands over her buttocks and thighs, digging my fingers into her flesh, trying to bring her within reach. I bring one hand inside her thigh and slide gently upwards but her fingers encircle my wrist – chastising – and she guides my touch back to her hips.
She bends over, her boots creaking, and plants a kiss on my forehead. I feel her hot breath against the side of my face followed by her command, whispered into my ear:
“Open for me.”
The puff of air on my earlobe heightens my desire and I comply instantly, my jaw dropping partially and my tongue extended, as if waiting for a communion wafer.
She takes a step forwards, her thigh brushing my shoulder. She grabs my hair with her left hand, forcing my head further backwards so I am looking upwards into the void of the blindfold, then takes one more step, bringing both legs either side of my face. I smell her intoxicating musk, potent with sweat and desire. She bends her knees a fraction, the coarse brush of her pubic hair meeting my nose and mouth. My head is held still between her thighs, blocking out all the other sounds from the room except the blood pulsing through my veins.
She sinks lower, presses her sopping vulva against me, wetting my face with her slickness, holding me firmly in place with her hand knotted through my hair.
As she begins to grind slowly against my face the crowd voices their approval, barely audible as her legs are clamped over my ears. I make out a low rumble of appreciation that fuels my pride. The crowd fades in my darkness as I lose myself in The Mistress. I lap at her greedily, darting my tongue inside her, tasting her fully. Her movement quickens, she covers my face in her wetness.
My hands steady her as her rhythm accelerates, my fingers digging into her cheeks, holding her close to my face. She rocks herself back and forth over my mouth and extended tongue; I swallow what I can of her sweet yet tangy juices but much of it overflows and runs down my chin.
Still gripping my hair, she reaches her other hand down between her legs to rub her clit. She shifts her stance slightly, granting me a brief cooling breath of air and just enough space to move my head. With my tongue I join her fingers briefly on her hood, flick- licking side to side down onto her lips, then broad and flat against her velvet vulva, teasing at the slit. Her breathing gets louder, more staccato and intense, the moans of her pleasure, her raw, primal essence infused with the PVC surrounding me in my darkness. I push my tongue once again inside her, lapping at her crease with reverence. She continues to pull my head suffocatingly close, fucking my face with her cunt, frantically driving herself towards her crashing orgasm with her fingers. Her voice rises, sharp heavy jagged breaths vibrating through her thighs into my skull.
Then her vagina contracts; I feel it violently clenching around my tongue, her legs tremble and her body convulses as she lets out an animalistic gasp. She holds me still for several seconds, keeping my face locked against her with both her hands, pressing my mouth fully against her pulsating sex. Slowly she releases her grip, wiping her dripping pussy against me one last time. I catch my breath, the sudden rush of air a cool contrast on my face.
She tousles my hair, places an affectionate hand on my cheek, then takes a step back. I drop my head and take in gasping breaths of fresh air. My ears adjust to the sounds of the room once again and I can hear the lascivious voices whispering excitedly.
Covered in her vaginal mess, I smile to myself – hoping that I have met her expectations and waiting for her to liberate me. I listen as her ragged breathing slowly comes under control, regaining her composure. She doesn’t move for several contemplative seconds and I am aware of people closing in towards us, their voices now hushed as we await her verdict.
The Mistress announces her decision loudly to the room. Her pronouncement is a crushing blow:
“He is all yours.”