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I feel her breath against my ear first, then the gentle pressure of her lips on my neck. She knows all my weak spots now, knows exactly how to drive me crazy. Her hands slide down my chest, teasing but never staying in one place too long. When her teeth graze my earlobe, a whimper escapes me—a sound I would’ve been mortified to make a year ago but now freely surrender.
“Are you my good boy, Andrew?” she whispers, her voice a silken caress that shoots straight to my groin.
“Have mercy on me, Viv,” I groan, my cock straining painfully against the confines of my jeans, desperate for any friction, any relief. “I’m your good boy and you know it.” I tried to be a bad boy. Let’s admit it; I sucked at it. I leave that for the cool dark romance characters.
She continues her exquisite torture, hands exploring my chest, my shoulders, my arms, but deliberately avoiding where I need her most. The contrast of her soft lips and teasing tongue with the hard edge of her teeth sends me spiraling toward a place where nothing exists but sensation.
“You know,” she says conversationally, as if she isn’t driving me to the brink of insanity, “you still owe me for that night by the riverbank. When you left me hanging.”
I twist in the chair, seeking contact that isn’t there. “When are you ever going to let that go? I’ve given you plenty of orgasms since then,” I protest, my voice embarrassingly close to begging. We’ve actually completed my bucket list and did some more.
“Never,” she replies with a smugness that’s obvious even through the blindfold. “Because I know that one was going to be mind-shattering, and you denied me.”
“Cariad, you can’t be serious—”
My words cut off in a strangled gasp as her hand cups my cock through my jeans. I instinctively thrust upward, seeking more pressure, but she withdraws immediately and slaps my face—not hard, but with enough force to startle me.
“You’re not allowed to seek your pleasure,” she scolds. “You’re only allowed to take what I give.”
I like dominant Vivian a lot.
Her hands return, moving tantalizingly close to my aching erection before sliding down my thighs. She repeats the pattern, up and down, always avoiding my cock. All the while, she whispers filthy promises in my ear—things she wants to do to me, things she wants me to do to her, kinks she wants to explore.
“Do you like being blindfolded, Andy?” she asks, her fingertips tracing patterns on my inner thigh, so close to my cock I could cry. “Do you like giving up control to me?”
“Yes,” I gasp, beyond pride, beyond pretense. “God, yes.”
Her hands finally move to the waistband of my jeans, and my breathing hitches audibly. Her fingers undo the button, followed by the achingly slow drag of the zipper being lowered tooth by tooth. The sound of it is obscenely loud in the quiet cabin.
“Get your buns up,” she commands, tapping my hip, and I comply immediately, lifting so she can tug my jeans down to my ankles.
“Good boy,” she praises, pressing a kiss to my cheek that makes me flush with pleasure.
When her palm finally—finally—presses against my erection through my boxers, I nearly sob with relief. “It’s all for you,” I tell her, words tumbling out without filter. “My cock is yours, Viv. Use it however you want.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she teases. “You might not have the stamina for what I’d do with it.”
I’m about to ask what she means when her hand squeezes me through the thin cotton, and coherent thought evaporates like morning dew. She strokes me, pressure perfect, pace maddening, her other hand playing with my pierced nipples through my shirt. Between the sensory deprivation of the blindfold and her expert touches, I’m racing toward an orgasm embarrassingly fast.
“Viv,” I warn, voice strained. “If you keep—I’m going to—”
But she doesn’t stop. Instead, she leans in close, her breath hot against my ear as she whispers the dirtiest, filthiest things she’s ever said to me—how she thinks about my cock when we’re apart, how wet she gets just hearing my voice over the phone, how she’s going to ride me until neither of us can walk straight.
It’s too much. The combination of her touch, her words, and the restraints push me over the edge. I come violently, hips jerking as my ankles push against the ropes, a strangled cry ripping from my throat as I spill into my boxers like a teenager. The orgasm seems to go on forever, waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain.
As I slump in the chair, boneless and panting, the rustle of fabric catches my attention, the soft whisper of clothes being removed. Even through the post-orgasmic haze, curiosity stirs within me. What is she doing now?
Then, her hands come up to my face, fingers brushing against my temples as she slowly removes the blindfold. I blink rapidly, eyes adjusting to the soft candlelight after the imposed darkness. As my vision clears, my breath catches in my throat. Vivian stands before me, completely naked, her skin glowing golden in the flickering light. My spent cock twitches back to life at the sight, a fresh surge of desire flooding my veins despite having climaxed just moments ago.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, drinking in every inch of her like a man dying of thirst.
My eyes trace the curves I know by heart but never tire of seeing—the swell of her heavy breasts with those perfect nipples that harden under my gaze; the softness of her stomach that she’s sometimes self-conscious about but I love caressing; the flare of her hips that fit my hands like they were made for me; the strong thighs that have crushed my ears on countless, blissful occasions.
“You’re...” Words fail me as I strain against the handcuffs, desperate to touch her. My boxers are sticky and uncomfortable, but I couldn’t care less. All that matters is the forest nymph standing before me, confident and powerful in her nakedness.
A slow smile spreads across her face as she watches me struggle. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me, knows the power she wields. My cock tents my soiled boxers again, fully hard now as if I hadn’t just had one of the most intense orgasms of my life.
“Oh my god, wait. I’m only just noticing it, but did I make a good girl go fully bad? You’ve never done this to me before,” I ask, unable to stop the pleased groan that escapes me. It’s an echo of my ridiculous bucket list fantasy from a year ago, but there’s no shame in it now, only shared history and mutual desire (and some mistakes along the way, but who kept track of that?).
