Senses and Scents

♦ Crush’s arse needed a good seeing-to, that’s for sure. But I’m being a tease. Sadly no pegging or even spanking, no, I needed to slather it in emollient. The new summer weather is not so kind to him.

Whilst I could have just pulled down his trousers, slapped it on and sent him off to play, I had other plans too. We had a new pair of toys to try out and I felt like fucking.

It was when his trousers reached his knees and kept going that he knew something was up. Playful, he started a fake struggle, but I easily pulled the trousers from his legs. He’d been topless before, so now he was naked. And so was I. I squirted the cooling emollient onto his bare bottom and began to slowly, sensually rub it in. I massaged his arse and he practically purred his content.

When he was suitably moisturised, I got out the new black satin blindfold and the little black feather brush I’d been sent. I fixed the ribbon blindfold around Crush’s head as snugly as I could, well aware that it was more of a ‘sensual’ blindfold than a functional one and that he could see out by his nose bridge. When he was as sightless as I could make him, I took the feather stick and started to dance it over his skin.

After his back and bum, I rolled him over, paying careful attention to brushing the feathers over his chest, thighs and semi-erect cock. Of course, he liked the cock the best, but soon wanted even stronger sensations. Taking a gorgeous purple bottle of ylang ylang and patchouli massage oil from my drawer, I poured a thin line of the liquid on him from chest to cock.

I straddled his legs and leant forward, pushing my breasts and belly against his skin, smearing the massage oil across us both. Slowly I rubbed my body against his, writhing on top of him and covering us in scented slickness. He loves it when I straddle him and rub my body on his and this was even better. I’m certain the blindfold allowed him a sneak peek of my glistening breasts and my wriggling, but no matter.

I could feel his smooth, hard body and particularly his now-rigid cock as I glided over him, both of us getting tense and frenzied. His hands were on my arse, gripping and scratching as my pussy slid over him. God, I wanted to fuck him right there and then.

But I had to be good. After all, I knew I’d like the feather experience more than he would and I had a job to do.

He made it hard, of course, whispering dirty things at me, but he relented. He sat me up and tied the blindfold around my head. As expected, I had a gap I could peek through. He ran the feathers lightly over my back, being particularly teasing with the base of my spine and the nape of my neck.

It felt surprisingly sexy. I shivered and it felt supremely sensual, making my pussy tingle with the sensation. His sudden hand on my chest pushed me gently but firmly backwards and I lay back into the pillows. Taking my arms one by one, he fixed them to the headboard with our softer cuffs. I was firmly held in place and all-but-blind to him.

He played the feather stick around my breasts and stomach and then over my thighs and pussy. It felt soft, like the light brush of skin on skin. It was fantastic to be held by the cuffs and his body, my sight limited and my sensations focused. I could feel every stroke of the feather and the scent of patchouli caught me.

Crush knelt between my legs and dropped the feather, now using his hands to stroke my body. I felt at the peak of arousal, my nerves singing and finely tuned. He began to rub his erection over the folds of my pussy, massaging the damp flesh and teasing me with hints of entry.

I lifted my legs to allow him better access and he slowly pushed his way inside me. He felt glorious. He moved agonisingly, slow stroke upon slow stroke. I was stupidly aroused and he felt indescribable, the slow movements a change from our usual rough fucking.

Within moments I felt on the edge of orgasm, but the feeling was unusual. He kept his movements slow and changed the angle often, so that I wasn’t pushed over the edge but stayed balanced, feeling the rapture of the start of an orgasm but never quite peaking. if it sounds torturous, it wasn’t. This wasn’t like the frustrating of being close to coming but not quite able to get there, this was being there but being there indefinitely, the quick explosion of orgasm drawn out over the longest time.

I could have done it all night.

But I didn’t. Sooner or later, I suppose Crush would have to have his fun, after all. As I rolled and writhed, drowning in senses and scents, secure in my cuffs, I felt the tell-tale signs of his orgasm. He told me later it was “kind of suppressed”, but still felt great. He continued to move inside me afterwards until my heightened sensation faded and then pulled out.

I was keen for more, though, and he was keen to give it to me. He wanted to hear more moans from me and so I suggested he take the Salsa bullet from the desk and use it on me. He did so, starting on the cha-cha-cha mode which recently helped inspire an erotic story submission and then switching to a steady buzz.

He swirled the tip of the vibrator around my clitoris in circles, taking direction now and again for slower or more pressure or faster. The build was slow, but steady and I relished the fact that my hands were tied for once. I get picky about my clitoris and I like to take over, but now I couldn’t, I was forced to relax and wait for my orgasm to be given to me. With one hand, Crush pinned my legs.

The build began to reach its peak and I pulled hard at my restraints, needing to spread out the tension in my body. I came and howled loudly, not caring for our open windows, thrashing on my cuffs and my held-down legs like a martyr on the rack.

When we were done with play time, Crush lay next to me, holding me as I lay still cuffed and blindfolded. Slowly the cuffs were removed, then my full sight was returned to me and finally I took Crush in my arms with a kiss.

Today I go about my work and my banal day, but the breeze plays on me like a feather and I still catch the scent of ylang ylang and patchouli on my skin and drift into memories of the sensory overload that was my evening. ♦

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