denial

Her palm was on my ass quickly, smacking it with rough, rapid hits. “What the hell are these?” she asked as she tugged on my panties. They were white, cotton, something of a bikini cut.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to gasp out as she hit my ass a few more times, “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“These are completely unacceptable.” She was hitting even harder, “did you think I would like this?” She managed to contain a chuckle, trying to keep up the fearsome role she had taken on.

“I didn’t know!” I cried out and tugged on the scarf that held my wrists together and to the headboard. My head was starting to swim. After two months abroad, it had been a while since someone had done this to me. I was sinking into that space already. My thoughts were getting a lot simpler, my voice had a new quality to it.

She smiled and reached around on the floor for a minute before coming up with something I couldn’t see from my position. “I like lace,” she said calmly as she started to slice my panties off of me with the scissors she had just gotten, “but I don’t like thongs.”

I moaned as she pulled them off and the air touched my cunt, its wetness betraying my pouts as I said, “I have lace panties.” Another moan came as she traced a finger down my slit before going to pull my jeans back up. “What are you…?”

“Maybe if you’d have worn them, I’d keep going,” she chuckled as I groaned in protest.

I realized I was probably going to have to beg.

It’s his. And you can’t see it.

It doesn’t matter that she wishes you could. Or that she’s hoping he’ll spread his middle and ring fingers, opening her lips to you as an invitation. Or that she’s been looking at you with that same coy smile all day, letting thoughts of you taking that which he has hidden from you tumble around her mind.

You wonder if she’s wet under that hand. Part of you already knows the answer to that. You wonder what she tastes like. That you don’t know the answer to. He won’t grant you the privilege of that knowledge.

She’s surrendered herself to him this way out of her own free will. He chooses who sees her, who touches her, who tastes her, who fucks her. And he chooses who she gets to see, touch, taste and fuck. Judging by the hand going over her eyes, he can tell what you’re doing with her mind. And you can tell that you’ve clearly overstayed your welcome in there.

I’ve been fantasizing lately about being invited over by a gorgeous couple and taken into their bedroom. They know I want to fuck, I know they want to fuck, we wind up in the bedroom, I think we’re all going to fuck.

She goes to adjust the lighting and sits down on the bed and starts removing her stockings. He steps over to me and undresses me as I pull his shirt off. She walks over to us with a roll of tape and he takes it from her. He wraps my wrists, then my ankles, then covers my mouth.

Then they lay me down at the foot of the bed and fuck each other at the head of it so I can watch.

I guess I should be careful what I wish for. Or not.

Ivy

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