The Spectacle of Whips and Chains
A girl made a sandwich for me Saturday before last. A roast beef sandwich, bisected diagonally such that it formed two individual slices, white wonder bread layered with mayonnaise, mustard and Swiss. Such a simple act, I know, but it spoke volumes. We met the nice couple, Jack-n-Jill, for a few pre-game drinks before heading back to their cozy space on the UES, where Jill fixed me that sandwich as we settled in. “No one’s made me a sandwich before,” I said. “Aside from Leslie and a few blood relatives.” There was that one girl, though, who came over to my pad and made soup for me when I was sick.
Jack’s ten years older than me, full of stories about his misspent youth, with a shaved scalp that compensates for his receding hairline. He’s one of the few white men I’ve met who looks decent this way. Jill’s sharp-nosed, rail-thin and definitely sexy yet she’s one of those women who has a somewhat conservative public persona and is thus hard to picture in the sack. But she snorts sometimes when she giggles, a girly sort of habit I find endearing. The casual observer wouldn’t realize the nice couple is into bondage, Jill the willing sub and Jack the eager dom. They are into, among other things, Shibari, Japanese rope bondage. Jack spoke of elaborate scenes they had carried out in the past that had left him physically and mentally exhausted.
After we had sat around for a while talking and nibbling from the snack tray, Jack disappeared for a moment and returned to the room with a bagful of goodies. Leather cuffs for the girls, complete with fuzzy linings. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing dangerous,” he assured us. I aided Leslie with the cuffs and Jill put a dog collar around Leslie’s neck. Then Jack led Jill off to the little hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom. He soon came back and fetched Leslie. Intrigued by all the giggling and carrying on back there, I stood and walked over to have a look at what was going on. Jill was there swaying, thonged backside facing me, each wrist chained to a hook in the ceiling via her leather cuffs. Her skin was softly radiant, sepia-toned in the glow of the candlelight that highlighted her delicate curvature. “This is a game we call ‘touch’,” said Jack.
I drew closer, smiling and framing the scene in my mind’s eye as Leslie toyed with Jill. Leslie kissed her, sucked on her pink eraser-tip nipples, and finally dropped to her knees, stretching Jill’s thong downward a bit to probe at the goods with her tongue. Jack produced a leather paddle lined with fuzz on one side and handed it to Leslie, who was giggling and reluctant at first but made good use of the thing. She teased Jill’s ass with the fuzzy side and then flipped it over to deliver a few hard, jiggly smacks that caused Jill to gibber like a schoolgirl. Les soon scampered off to the bathroom, Jack left to uncork another bottle of wine and I found myself standing in front of the chained Jill, sort of trying to figure out what to do next. She grinned at me, biting her lower lip, dark locks of hair tumbling over her eyes, and in that instant the mature woman I had met over a month ago melted away, replaced by this helpless, expectant nymph. And so I grabbed her ass roughly and pushed my tongue into her mouth. Grinding into her. Tasting her nipples. Going round to stand behind her and pressing my palm between her legs. Then using the notches of her pelvic bone as leverage and pushing against her tight rear end, erection straining against the fabric of my pants. Soon it was Leslie’s turn to be chained to the ceiling, and once we had her secured she did a little jig, almost swinging from the hooks while giggling at the novelty of it all. I immediately went to work with the paddle. “That’s for nagging me about doing the dishes,” I said after a particularly solid smack.
In the bedroom the game of “touch” gave way to the game of “taste”. Jill reclined on the bed, wrists chained securely to the frame, as Leslie straddled her face. Jack and I stood there grinning and making jocular asides as the girls 69ed in front of us. I clambered onto the bed to get a taste of Jill, admiring her neat and shaved pussy between the forays of my tongue. When Leslie’s turn at the chains came she was, of course, squealing with delight and flopping about like the catch of the day. She finally settled down a bit and I ended up brandishing my cock in Leslie’s face as Jill tongued Leslie’s twat from the other side of the bed, Jack pumping his wife from behind.
I didn’t catch the name of the third game. It must have been something along the lines of “chain the bitch to the table and fuck her until she begs for mercy.” Something like that. While setting up the scene Jack was prancing about like a mischievous and priapic Pan. Jack bent Jill over the metal-topped serving table in the dining room while Leslie and I looked on in fascination. It was all amusing to watch but by then the spectacle of whips and chains had become too contrived for me. Those chains bound me somehow, and the metal left me cold. Not that I haven’t gotten off watching this stuff go down before, but that night I longed for the messy tangle of spontaneous coupling.
And so we settled once more into the living room and lounged around naked. It wasn’t long before Les was blowing me and Jill, gazing intently at my twitching erection, came over to offer the assistance of her expert tongue. The two girls were soon on their backs getting fucked, heads facing in opposite directions. I pounded Leslie and then slowed to grind against her. “You guys look really hot doing that,” Jill purred. I leaned over to plant a deep kiss on her mouth, marveling at the joyous sensory overload of mingling tongues with one woman while fucking another. As if for cinematic effect, Jack and I sprayed our partners with jizz, and after a brief rest we were at it again. The girls were on their knees administering withering oral assaults. Jack left Jill’s mouth unoccupied for a moment and I pivoted to let her have a go at me. She gobbled me up, cupping my balls, working the shaft with her hand, alternating between hand and mouth, and making the little satisfied smacking sounds that accompany a damned fine blowjob. Then she mounted Jack on the sofa. I took Leslie from behind and positioned her between Jack’s legs so she could lick at the both of them. The second orgasm came on stronger and I felt as if I’d have to lash myself to Leslie’s hips to avoid being carried off by the powerful surf that was upon me. Jill twisted around to place a hand against my chest.
“What’s that for?” I asked once I had snapped to.
She smiled. “I wanted to feel your heartbeat.”
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