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“So, what are your thoughts?”
I didn’t say anything for long moments. We’d been through this information so often. I knew the upsides and downsides. I’d read every bit of literature I could find. Even knowing my answer, the answer I’d come to weeks ago, I couldn’t quite say it yet.
“Do you want this Master?”
He pulled back a bit from his seat next to me on the couch and faced directly towards me. The intensity of his expression mixed with total tenderness made my breath catch a bit. Gently he cupped my face with one hand, fingers in my hair and his thumb brushing over my cheek.
“Baby, this is your decision. I can’t make it for you.”
I looked away, leaning into his hand, nuzzling it before responding, with my eyes closed. “But you want me to say yes.”
Silence. Then a deep breath. Almost shuddering. “Yeah. Yeah Siren. I want you to say yes.” His use of my sub name made me melt inside.
Without opening my eyes, I leaned in and found his lips. A kiss of desperately needed connection and support. I felt like my entire heart was pouring out of me and into him. My lips still brushing his, I whispered, “Yes. Let’s do it.” With a growling groan he pulled me to him, onto his lap, claiming my lips in a devastatingly passionate kiss and I knew I’d made the right choice.
Bound to a St. Andrew’s Cross, I was nude but for an underbust corset and some black stockings with a rose pattern. I felt horribly exposed. My breasts felt horribly exposed. With my eyes cast down I could see them. They looked almost as sore as they felt. Some overall swelling with an ever deepening blush nearer the areolas. The nipples themselves looked a bit… raw. Very red, somewhat roughened. Almost chapped. Watching his hand rise and cup my breast from underneath, his thumb brushed butterfly light over my left nipple. I whimpered at the sensitivity.
“Pretty sore?” he asked.
As he cupped the other breast, playing gently with both nipples, brushing back and forth, squeezing gently, I started a slow writhe of pain and arousal under his hands. “Yes… sore. And … ah … sensitive. Really sensitive.”
He released both breasts and turned away. I slumped into the rope, breathing a bit heavily. He turned back with something in his hands, a small glass jar with a home made looking label. I couldn’t read what it said as he opened it. “Well, I got something that may help. A friend of mine Janet, I think I’ve mentioned her to you, she makes custom skin care products. I told her what we were doing and she made this stuff up.”
Holding the jar up I could read the label. “Nipple Cream: Soothing Lotion for Nursing Women”. My eyes widened at the thought of someone else knowing about this but I stifled the momentary embarrassment.
“Let’s see. It has lanolin, shea butter. Chamomile, I guess that is supposed to be soothing. Fenugreek, I’ve heard of that. Bunch of other things. She said it should help the soreness and maybe even with production. I hope it tastes good!” The last was with a small smirk and I chuckled with him.
He scooped out a small amount of the off-white cream onto one finger. About the size of a pea. Very slowly he began rubbing it into first one nipple and then the other. I moaned. Both at the feel of his fingers and the cream. It caused a mild but immediate cooling sensation, almost like mint, and it felt silky going on. It didn’t eliminate the soreness entirely but it certainly felt wonderful and provided the first relief I’d felt in days.
With my eyes closed I relaxed into the sensations. His fingers firmly massaging my entire breast, working from the outside towards the centre. The feel of him using two fingers above my areolas and a thumb below, pulling and stretching to the tip and then finishing with a small squeeze of the nipple. Over and over, a rhythm I had gotten used to over the past weeks.
I gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth. Not like other men. He engulfed the whole nipple, areola, and even an inch of flesh around it. So deep into his mouth that the tip must have been at the back of his tongue. I could feel his low moans of appreciation rumble through my chest as he worked one breast with his mouth, the other with his hand.
As he switched sides I could antalya escort feel his other hand between my legs, fingers testing my wetness, stroking my labia, his thumb circling my clit. I felt my hips buck forward into him and I was yanking at the bonds. Not to escape. Escape was the last thing on my mind. But because I couldn’t help struggling, the sensations were so intense.
He worked two fingers into me, a small, lovely stretch, and began to slowly fuck me with them. In time with the suckling at my breasts. I was floating away to that rhythm, the two feelings melding together into one, connected, somehow the same. Moaning and whimpering words of submission and encouragement I couldn’t understand myself, I rocked with him, bound as much by his mouth and fingers as by the ropes.
Another switch and he paused, making my eyes open, looking directly into his. He smiled at me. “This ends when you cum pet.” Continuing, I knew I was in for a long session and didn’t mind in the least.
“Master, Phil, can you come here please?”
My voice sounded odd in my own ears. Pitched high, tense sounding. Almost afraid.
I didn’t look up as he entered the room. I just continued to stare down at myself, at my nipple between my fingers. Saturday afternoon, both of us relaxing. He’d been in the office, working on something, me reading curled up on the couch in the living room. Over the last 6 weeks I’d gotten into the habit of relaxing topless. Stroking my breasts, working the nipples, as I read or messed around on my laptop. It had long since ceased to feel strange. It’s just what I did. For days at a time I mostly forgot why I was doing this. It had become a habit, a comforting one, but one I didn’t think about too much anymore.
And then I felt something different. Mid-paragraph in my reading my eyes stopped, unseeing. A tingle. A distantly recognized feeling from many years before at the very tip of my nipple. My entire body froze at that sensation and without moving another muscle I looked down at the nipple between my fingers.
He came into my range of vision and the look on his face was puzzled. Obviously nothing was wrong with me but my voice had indicated something to him. It was highly out of character to call him to me like that.
“Look. It worked. It worked.”
His gaze focused on the nipple and then his eyes widened. There on the very tip, a small, almost invisible droplet. A shade yellower than butter it hung there, too tiny to be affected by gravity but hugely significant for both of us.
He dropped to his knees before me, unable to look away, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Lisa, it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.” Bracing himself on the couch on either side of my hips he leaned in towards me. And then slowly, delicately, licked the tiny drop from my nipple. With his eyes closed he seemed to be savouring the flavour. I couldn’t imagine that he could actually taste anything from such a tiny amount, but it didn’t matter. He was relishing the idea, the concept of it, as much as anything else.
I reached out and with my hands in his hair, pulled him to me. Eagerly he took my nipple, suckling hard, almost roughly. I felt a few more tingles and knew that for the first time ever he was nursing from me. It felt amazing. It was too new to be arousing yet, but I knew it would be. Sex, intimacy, sharing… a new door was opening for us, something I’d never had with anyone else.
I got home, starting to feel a bit frantic. Sloppily dropping my purse and jacket in the front hall, I kicked off my shoes. Living room, nope. Kitchen, nope. I rushed down the hall to his office. There he was. Thank God he’s home.
His back to me, broad shoulders hunched a bit as he concentrated on the screen before him. I distractedly hoped that it’s nothing important. Because I needed him, badly. Right now.
I dropped to my hands and knees and he must have heard the hissing sound of my stocking against the carpet, because he swivelled towards me, smiling at the sight of me. Kneeling up before him my breasts felt hot and swollen. It had started to hurt. I’d gotten desperate him from an overly long day. It was a new feeling for me, this dependence. Like nothing I had ever felt before.
Kneeling up before kemer escort my Master, my hands open on my thighs, legs spread wide. I couldn’t keep my eyes off his lips, imagining where I wanted them, and I could feel myself begin to leak, soaking through my bra and shirt. I couldn’t help blushing a bit at how obviously desperate I was.
“Please Master, please. I need you.”
Without saying anything he reached down for me and pulled me up to him. The chair armless, purposefully, and I straddled his legs. I held his shoulders as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt, unhooked my bra, and spread the cloth aside.
They looked hard. The blue veins obvious, the tips swollen looking, very red. With beads of milk on them, that slowly dripped down over the undersides of my breasts. I was shaking with this need, a whole body tremble, different yet in many ways the same as a more typical sexual need.
He took my wrists in one hand, holding them at the base of my back, and used them to arch me towards him. Just looking for a moment, and then with the other hand stroked the skin, so very very warm, with the backs of two fingers. I shivered and watched my nipples tighten further in anticipation. With his tongue he teased me, licking gently, tasting, and the beads formed faster. Not quite squirting but an obvious flow. I started moaning with arousal and pain and the promise of relief.
Finally he took me in his mouth. And he knew how to do it. Not the lip and tip sucking. Instead he pulled me deep into him, to the back of his throat, using his tongue, compressing and stroking more than suction. The intensity of the pain spiked for a few moments and I whimpered, squirming against him. And then it happened, the sudden let down and instant relief.
He raised me up momentarily, and his cock is there, hard and throbbing against me. Still nursing me, he pushed the crotch of my panties aside and I sank myself down onto him. All at once, I cried out at the feeling of him filling me so completely as he swallowed over and over and over.
I jumped as he slammed into the bedroom. Dressed for work he’d arrived home late. I was already in bed, covers pulled up under my arms and my computer on my lap, catching up on Youtube news.
“Master – .”
“God damn it!”
He strode across the room, whipping his jacket into the chair, his entire body radiating anger. Even knowing it wasn’t directed at me, I still squirmed a bit inside.
“That weaselly fucker – .”
At my sharp voice he stopped and looked at me for the first time since entering the room.
“Do you know what that asshole -.”
I interrupted him again. “It doesn’t matter. Shhhh. Come here.”
He stopped, taking a few deep breaths and watched me as I laid my laptop on the side table. Reaching out my hand to him I let the covers fall, revealing my large, very filled breasts with the nipples already half hard at the sight of him.
“Just come here,” I repeated softly.
With a deep breath he did, pausing only to kick off his shoes. I scootched down on the bed, half reclining against the pillows and pulled him to me. With his body between my legs, he laid his head on my belly, his lips at my swollen nipple. His hand spread across my breast, grasping gently, and although he was a grown man, his hands large, with his beard and stubble lightly abrading my skin, it reminded me poignantly of nursing my children, comfort given and received with my body.
He latched on and after a few seconds I could feel it start to flow between us. I heard him swallowing and with a deep sigh his body relaxed completely into me. Pulling my legs up around him, I clasped him to me with my whole body, hands stroking his head, neck, shoulders. Soothing the tension and angst from him.
It took about an hour for him to drain me, both sides. By then the trials of work were the last things on his mind.
It has been hours. No, probably not, it just feels like hours. Bound to the bed, hips raised on a pillow, writhing, pulling, pleading, begging. I’ve lost track of everything. I don’t feel human. I can’t think. There must be words, the right words, but I can’t find them. I can’t think konyaaltı escort in words any more. Just need. I need so much. I need both and so many times, uncountable times, he hasn’t given either to me.
My eyes are closed and everything is white. He’s between my legs. He’s been there forever. I can feel his fingers, seeming never to stop, never to slow, a constant pulsing pressure inside, at that spot. It’s past pleasure, past pain, just pure sensation. I can feel his breath on me, tormenting me, and sometimes his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He gets me there, stops. Gets me there again and stops. And that’s just below.
His other hand, petting my breasts. So full, they hurt, they ache. Like everything else. Stroking the skin, he feels how firm they are, how hard. Around and around, over the tops, the ticklishly sensitive sides, the soft virgin skin underneath. But not my nipples. If he’d touch them, just for a moment, I know the flow would start. Give me even a tiny bit of relief, but he doesn’t. He knows how to touch with the tips of his fingers, how to grasp so gently, enough to make me swell up and fill for him but not enough to start the dripping. Orgasm denial, nursing denial, it’s all the same for him. As long as it makes me more desperate, more aroused, makes me need him more then it’s all fair play.
He’s above me. I’m so spaced out I don’t know how he got there. Suddenly he is over me, covering my whole body with his, filling my eyes and every other sense. I can feel my body buck under him but I’m not controlling it any more. I’m panting, short, hard, sharp breaths. Sometimes a whimper or groan. I can feel my lips moving, trying to form words but nothing is coming out except these animal sounds.
With one hand in my hair, holding my face towards his, his other is between us. I can feel him rubbing the head of his cock up and down me. Parting the folds, pushing in just a fraction of an inch, then up to my clit, rubbing over it. I’m in a frenzy. Circling my hips, try to grab him with my pussy. Thrusting my breasts up, trying to rub them against his chest. But he won’t let me. He holds himself back from me, the only points of contact the hand in my hair and the tip of his cock.
“Pleeeaaasse!” The word bursts from me explosively, a wail, almost a drawn out sob.
He smiles a little at me and starts pushing his hard cock in. So slowly. Painfully slowly. Letting me feel every inch of it, obviously savouring the feel of my tight flesh shuddering around him.
“There you go. Good girl. Doesn’t that feel good? Is that what you want? Is that better?”
I nod frantically but it’s a lie. It’s not what I want. I want to cum. I want to be nursed. I need to explode; I need to be drained. But he knows this. Of course he knows it. He’s created this animal desperation in me and intends to enjoy every second of it.
He fucks me slowly, watching my face as he does. Watching the edge first recede and then start to build again. Working me with his cock, finding all those spots, pushing those buttons, feeling me rise beneath him. And with one hand he grasps the base of my painfully swollen breast. Squeezing in time with his thrusts, making it fill for him, waiting for the perfect moment.
And then I’m there. He’s sped up, just a bit, but it’s enough, and I’m right there. Ready. I can’t speak, I can’t move, I’m practically not breathing any more. For moments, for forever, I hang there, waiting, wanting, needing. Utterly powerless to tip over or back down.
A pause, a stillness, then he thrusts hard into me, all the way, owning me with his cock and growls out, “Cum pet, cum for me. Cum for Master, for your One.”
And I do. My orgasm rips through me with devastating intensity. If feel like I’m breaking apart, shattering. And at the same time, the relief I need for my breasts, as much as I needed it for my pussy arrives. Spontaneously, without his touch, the flow starts dripping and then spurting. I can feel it tingling through both nipples, my breasts, somehow the same as my orgasm.
It sprays up against his chest, on his nipples, down back to me. Each stream is tiny but there are so many, all at once. He can feel it on him, looking down he sees it, soaking us, dripping over my ribs, and he’s there with me. Not wilfully, but he can’t stop. He’s at and over the edge before he knows it, joining me. Our orgasms rip through us, joining us, both crying out the others name.
Finishing he collapses against me, feeling my milk, his milk, between us and starts licking it slowly from my body, feeling ownership and love.
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