by s.m.

“Wait,” she whispered, and grabbing his tie, led him to the bedroom.

Her bedroom faced the courtyard, with airy windows and a big, Baroque wardrobe.  The bed was against the wall, an old-fashioned brass frame with piles of pillows.  She pulled him towards it, and he followed her, loosening his tie as he walked.

“I have an idea,” he said.

She looked at him, eyebrow raised.  He took off his tie and wrapped it around her head, covering her eyes.

“Are you ok?  Is it too tight?” he asked, tying a knot.

She shook her head.  “No, it’s ok.”  She couldn’t see anything, just a matte blackness.  He took her by the shoulders and walked her backwards until she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs.  She sat, and he pushed her, gently, to lie back against the pillows.

“Give me a minute,” he said, and she could hear him undressing, the rustling as he shook off his shirt, the zip of his fly, his shoes as he kicked them childishly across the room.  She felt him near her, and instinctively she reached for him.  “Careful,” he said.  “Careful with your arm.  It’s ok, I’ll watch out for it.”

He pushed her legs apart and knelt between them, hovering over her on his hands and knees.  She felt his breath above her face and then he kissed her again, and she grabbed for him with her right hand.  He backed away, teasing her, swatting at her hand as she grasped at air, leaning back on his heels and laughing.

“I don’t know if I like this game,” she said.

“You will,” he answered, and put his hands on her breasts, flicking her nipples through the lace of her bra.  He pushed the straps off her shoulders and released her from the navy mesh, tossing her bra carelessly to the floor, quickly, returning to touch her, caressing the fullness of her breasts and pulling at her nipples, leaning in again to kiss them, circling her pink areolas with his tongue.  She reached and found the back of his head and wove her fingers into his hair, moving her body against his.  He shifted his weight to one side and moved a hand to her inner thigh, stroking closer and then closer still to her warm, pulsing clit.

“Paolo,” she cried, releasing his head and reaching down his chest toward his cock.  He backed away again, and she couldn’t tell where he was for a minute–he was gone–then he was back, ripping off her panties and diving between her legs, face first, eating her hard.  She screamed.

“You like it, don’t you?” he said, keeping up his rhythm with his fingers.  “Let me give you something else you’ll like.”  He was moving around again, and she was disoriented; he kept banging her with his fingers but she smelled him near her face, his hot, musky, masculine scent, she felt him over her and then his dick was on her lips, urging her to open her mouth.

She dropped her jaw and reached up to guide him, no longer understanding but just following instinctually.

“Oh, Cesca,” he said as she took him deep.  “Oh yes, baby, yes.  God, that blindfold.”

He pulled out, and she could tell he was still above her, somehow, and she sat up a little.

“Will you hold me?” he asked, and she reached out to where she thought his cock should be, feeling around until she had it in her hand, and it seemed bigger than it had ever felt before, thick and long and throbbing, and she could feel his big vein, the lip of his head, the tautness of his scrotum.  Then she was grasping it and sliding from the base to the tip, one, two, three quick jerks, and he pulled away from her again.

“Not yet,” he said, but she could tell from his voice he was close.  He kissed her clit again, brushing the insides of her thighs with his stubble, and then he hooked her legs over his shoulders and plunged into her, burying his cock to the hilt, and she was dizzy and light-headed as he fucked her relentlessly.  When they had both come he untied the blindfold and they lied panting next to each other.