I looked at the base of the bed, hoping to fix her legs in place by further binding them to the legs of the bed. Alas, the bed was so sturdy it lacked legs, resting instead on a solid wooden platform. Is this true of all hotel beds? I wouldn’t know. In the past, I’ve relied heavily on under-the-bed restraints. Which are fun. But which pale in comparison to genuine rope.
So I couldn’t bind Charlotte’s legs further because there were no legs. There were, however, door handles. The bathroom door, for one. A closet door, for another. And I had enough rope to splay Charlotte’s thighs wide, binding her to two doors I thought she might well remove from their hinges if things went well. (Things did go well. But the hinges survived the evening.)
I looked for a plug for the wand. Here is where the room truly fell short. What hotel room in 2021 doesn’t have a single outlet?!? I shimmied Charlotte to the edge of the bed, unplugged the hair dryer, and plugged the wand in to the outlet on the bathroom wall.
Ifi rotated Charlotte bathroom-ward, and pulled her a bit closer toward the bathroom, the wand just reached her cunt.
Last time, I blindfolded her with a pillowcase. [I thought this was true; she tells me it’s not. I believe her.] This time, I brought a bona fide silk blindfold with padding (really, an eye mask). Much more comfortable. Much more effective.
I teased her briefly with the wand, but truth be told, I was fucking hungry for that sweet, responsive pussy. I dove in. Lapping, licking, sucking, fingering, smacking. Fingers everywhere, tongue everywhere, Charlotte was quaking with orgasm after orgasm in no time.
After some minutes of this (five orgasms? ten? I honestly have no clue), I brought the wand out, turned it on, and pressed it against her inner thigh, tracing a line toward her pussy, then pulling back, then approaching again, then pulling back again.
“Let me come!” she said. I ignored her. Commands don’t move me. “I want to come,” she said. My ears perked up a little. But not enough. The teasing continued, as I brought her over and over to the edge, but didn’t let her have what she wanted.
“I need to come,” she said. She sounded genuinely desperate.
“You do?” I asked, the wand dancing toward, away from, toward, away from her clit. Trailing down toward her ass. Up toward her navel. Out toward her spatchcocked thighs.
“Yes!” she said. All breath. Plaintive. Desperate. Needy.
“Are you sure?” I said. She was bucking. Her hips thrusted toward me, her ankle/thigh situation opened wider out than I had imagined possible.
“Yes!” she barked. She didn’t ask any more. She didn’t beg. In fact, I didn’t hear Charlotte any more: all I heard was need. A bundle of dripping, throbbing, aching need.
Finally, I left the wand in place long enough for Charlotte to enjoy her first-ever wand orgasm. And her second. And her third, fourth, fifth.
Somewhere along the line, I affixed a silicone cock to the wand – one about the same size and shape as my own, if a bit purpler, and a bit more durably stiff. I slid it into her, and resumed. Orgasm. Orgasm. Orgasm. I removed the cock and gave her some more, more external, vibration. And orgasms. By now I would guess I had collected two dozen or more orgasms. And I was nowhere near done.
I flipped Charlotte over, first untying her hands, then retying them. Like this (as I showed you in my previous post on this date):
I took some pictures. And some more pictures. I smacked her ass a bit. I placed the wand beneath her pussy, where she couldn’t escape it, and walked to the other side of the bed to feed her my cock.
After some time – five minutes? ten? More? I untied her.
Her legs were jelly-like, she felt an almost ecstatic freedom as her legs straightened, as she separated her ankles from her thighs, extended those pretty, pale legs, for the first time in well over an hour.
“Stand up,” I said. “Wand yourself.”
I watched Charlotte give herself, now, orgasm after orgasm. Facing me. Facing away from me. Standing. Lying on her back. Lying on her belly. She said something about how she could give herself an orgasm at home, without me. And I pointed out that it’s different if she’s doing it a) because I told her to, and b) with me watching. She agreed. And my cock stiffened.
Once again, I thought: “Do we have neighbors?!?!? It must suck to be them.”
I placed her on top of me, my cock sliding into her. Characteristically, my cock softened just a bit. (I wish I could give her the fucking she deserves, the fucking she craves. Even though she had told me that one of her favorite things about the first time we had sex was that I had refused to fuck her, that I had dragged out everything else longer them she imagined possible. But I know she does crave that good fucking, too, and I do wish I could give it to her. Alas. It just isn’t where my cock is, today.)
I flipped her over on her back again. Devoured her some more. Collected orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Too many to count. As in, I’m a grown-ass man who’s good at math. But I just can’t count that high.
Charlotte sucked my cock some more. And some more. And some more. Slower, I asked. Faster. Play with my balls. Go easier on my balls. Good girl. Good girl. Good girl.
She came some more times. And some more.
Finally, finally, finally, I came, in her mouth. She got a towel.
We had some conversation. About life. About some good things I remembered as I started writing this but now forget. About her appetite for cuddling (she loves it). Sex parties (she’s curious). Sex clubs (she’s curious). Things we’ll do together (she’s willing, eager, ready).
We discussed abandonment, the certainty that she will abandon me, that I won’t abandon her.
We cuddled. We kissed. We cuddled. We kissed some more. She’s an enthusiastic, generous, open kisser. I could kiss her wide mouth for hours. I think I did, truth be told.
The time came for me to leave. She didn’t want me to leave her with the (her) magic wand, or with the (her) silicone cock. She had a purse only. No bag big enough to conceal the large, obvious sex toys with which I was leaving her.
In retrospect? I should’ve made this her problem to solve. It would be weeks before we see each other again, and those weeks would pass quicker (more slowly) if she had the toys to occupy her in the absence of my tongue, of my fingers, of my cock.
But I respected her wishes. Which I now regret. And I packed up the wand, the cock, and lots of rope.
We kissed one, two, three more times. And said goodbye.
I left the hotel. It was 1. Or 2. I honestly don’t know. Maybe later. But the city was bustling. Kids were half dressed, fully inebriated, on the street. Cabs were scarce. My face reeked of cunt.
All was as it should be.