A kiss on the nose. Another on the chin. Then a nip on one earlobe. A soft, full kiss on the mouth, lips parted, his tongue darting into her mouth. Pull back. She knew he was there -- the way the bed shifted tolds her that -- and she could smell soap and the musky scent of his arousal. He was naked, too.
A kiss below her left nipple. A gentle bite on her right nipple. Another bite on the inside of her right elbow.
Meanwhile, he rested one hand on her mons, his palm against her pubic hair. There was just the faintest hint of pressure transmitted down to her clitoris.
Another kiss on her forehead. One finger slipped down and pressed against her labia. They were damp. She knew they were damp.
A kiss on her throat, another, then three kisses across: one collarbone, her sternum, the other collarbone.
The pressure on her mons was a bit heavier now. His finger teased apart her lips and pressed against her soft wet entrance. It slid up the cleft, parting the lips all the way, then brushed lightly, brightly!, against her clit. She felt her labia softly fall back together, touching. His hand was gone, now. The absence of stimulation was an emptiness.
The next kiss was at the bottom of her ribs. He had nestled between her thighs. He blew a raspberry on her tumhis, just above her belly button. She could feel his chest on her crotch. Sweet pressure again.
He slid down to plant another kiss on one hipbone, then the other. He blew gently on her damp sex. His breath was hot and cool at once.
She felt a series of nips on the tender flesh at the inside of her thighs. She couldn't bring her legs together; the restraints prevented that. She could lie there until she came. Until she came as often as she wanted.
Suddenly something hard and smooth between her labia: his tongue swept up, circled her clit, then pulled away. She raised her hips trying to follow it, to maintain contact, but to no use.
He was still on the bed, but not touching her. She whimpered. How long had they been doing this? It seemed forever. Her body tingled. Her nipples ached. She could feel the buzz of arousal between her hips, of horniness.
His fingertips were light against her shins, both legs. They slid up, feathersoft, following her knees and down the outside of her thighs. She wanted that pressure against her clit again. Or something inside her.
He ran his fingertips along her hips, up her sides, then swept up and held her breasts. He cupped them in his hands, squeezed them gently. He delicately bit her nipples. When he leaned forward to do this, she felt the hard length of his cock fall upon her lips. She was pleased to know this teasing excited him. She wiggled her hips just a bit, to bring it closer.
His tongue swirled around one nipple, then the other. The air in the bedroom seemed cold after the warmth of his mouth, and her nipples hardened again.
He shifted his weight, and she thought, "Please fuck me now." But that wasn't why they were here.
He licked the undersides of her breasts, where they hung on her ribs, the flesh that was so cruelly treated by underwire bras. He licked lower, ribs and belly and leg creases. She could feel his breath ruffling her pubic hair. His big hands slid under her ass, gripping her, lifting her to his mouth.
And this was why they were here.
He did not rush to her clit; he did not try to fuck her with his tongue.
But he explored her with his tongue, caressing her. His tongue slipped inside her, filling her momentarily, and then moved on. He smoothed and gentled the soft sensitive skin around her anus. He moved up, and began to...play...with her clit. She was surprised; her boyfriend had always done this like it was a duty: to make a woman come, you had to lick her clit. But he was playful. He circled it with his tongue, pressed down against it, then let it pop free, sliding deliciously as it did.
She thrust her hips against him, eager to come. He let her control it, bucking her clit against his tongue, helping when her rhythm faltered. Finally, she froze, her hips upthrust and he carried her to the end. She came, grunting, and fell to the bed.
Sometime in there, he had slid a finger inside her -- no, two. Oh, no, she thought, it's too soon! I'm too sensitive! She wanted to pull them out, pull them away, and she cursed the restraints. His fingers gently worked inside her, stretching her, filling her. The urgency began to build again, and he slid another finger inside her. She had not thought she could hold three. He fucked her with his hand, and she bucked against it, cursing the restraints, grateful for the restraints.
Somehow she came again. Twice -- twice! She had never come twice except with her vibrators.
She felt the sweat trickling behind her ears and along her ribs. The backs of her knees were sticky. She lay there, waiting. It seemed a long time before he did anything. She felt that after-come sensitivity sagging and hoped he would go on.
She sighed when his slick finger slipped into her asshole. Another finger slipped inside her vagina. He did not try to poke or pry; they rested there, making her feel full.
He licked her once again from back to front. He flicked his tongue against her clit again -- and she began to see these things as colours.
A gentle licking, that was warm orange, and she could relax with that. It was like a tub. The circling and pressing was green; it had some urgency to it, and seemed to rise higher, brighter. It could not stay green, she thought; she needed more. He sucked gently on it, and this was a yellow. As the pressure grew, it was a strident yellow with streaks of blue, of violet, of red. He flicked his tongue against clit, sucked hard -- and orgasm was red-gold and violet.
She did not move while he untied her and removed the blindfold. She lay there slick with sweat, swaddled in warmth and colour.
He stretched himself alongside her. She felt his hard cock poke against her side. She moved herself to touch it.
"Tomorrow," she murmured. "Tomorrow it's your turn."
He kissed her goodnight.