Created by the author.

Part II: He Tied Me Spread-Eagle on Our Bed and Took His Time

Oh, did you read Part I 👇

[embed]He Couldn’t Control Himself , So He Slipped Under My Blanket and Ate My Pussy My husband had been gone exactly four minutes when Aryan crawled between my legs.medium.com

Raj’s suitcase wheels clicked down the driveway at 8:17 a.m. on Friday. By 8:25 the front door had shut, the car was gone, and the house felt bigger, quieter, and suddenly dangerous in the best way.

Aryan didn’t say a word when he walked into the bedroom. He just looked at me in my thin white tank and nothing else, then reached into the top drawer of Raj’s nightstand and pulled out two soft black fabric cuffs with silver D-rings, the ones he’d ordered weeks ago “just in case.” My stomach flipped.

“On the bed,” he said, voice low. “Arms and legs wide.”

I climbed on without hesitation. The sheets were still cool from the night before. He took my right wrist first, wrapped the cuff twice around it like he had practiced, threaded the strap through the ring, and clipped it to the headboard post. Not tight enough to pinch, loose enough that I could still flex my fingers. He checked the fit, two fingers sliding easily underneath.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

I nodded, already wet.

He did the left wrist the same way, then moved to my ankles. He spread my legs until my thighs burned in the best stretch, cuffed each one, and secured them to the footboard corners.

The position left me completely open, knees slightly bent, pussy on full display. A pillow went under my lower back, tilting my hips up just enough that every future thrust would drag right over that spot inside me. Another small pillow under my head so I could watch.

He stood back for a second, eyes dragging over every inch of me. Then he blindfolded me with his own soft gray t-shirt, knotting it gently behind my head.

The world went dark. Every sound got louder. The rustle of his clothes coming off. The faint click when he set something on the nightstand. His bare feet on the floor.

He climbed onto the bed between my spread thighs. I felt the mattress dip, then the heat of his body hovering over mine without touching. His breath ghosted across my stomach, my breasts, my throat. I shivered.

Two fingers slid through my folds…slow, exploring, gathering wetness. He circled my clit once, twice, then pushed those fingers inside me knuckle-deep and held them there, letting me feel how empty I’ had been without him.

“Already dripping,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And we haven’t even started.”

He lowered his mouth. The first lick was broad and flat, from my entrance all the way up, slow enough that I felt every ridge of his tongue. He did it again. And again.

No rush, just long, lazy strokes that made my hips try to lift even though the cuffs held me down. The restraint made everything sharper. I couldn’t chase his mouth; I could only take what he gave.

He sucked my clit gently, then harder, then eased off again, keeping me right on the edge.

Two fingers curled inside me, stroking that spot in steady, firm presses while his tongue flicked faster. My thighs trembled against the cuffs. I heard the wet sounds .

When the first orgasm hit, it rolled through me in long, pulsing waves. I moaned his name, back arching as much as the restraints allowed. He didn’t stop. He licked me through it, slower now, drinking every drop while I shook.

Only when I was panting did he pull his fingers out. I heard the wet sound of him stroking his cock with my slick. Then the blunt head of him pressed against my entrance.

He pushed in slowly, one thick inch at a time until he bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the hilt. The stretch burned in the sweetest way. I could feel every ridge, every throb. He leaned down, chest brushing my nipples, and kissed the corner of my mouth through the blindfold.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s your stepson’s cock filling the pussy he’s been dreaming about since the last time.”

He started moving…long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in, grinding against my clit at the end of every stroke. The angle from the pillow was perfect.

Every thrust hit that spot inside me with steady, deliberate pressure. Sweat began to bead between my breasts. I could smell us already, my arousal, his skin, the faint trace of his cologne mixed with morning coffee.

He reached down and rubbed my clit in tight circles with two fingers while he fucked me, never breaking rhythm. The dual sensation made my second orgasm build fast and sharp.

I came again, clenching hard around him, a broken cry tearing out of my throat. My walls fluttered and squeezed; I felt him groan against my neck.

He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through it, pace still measured, almost gentle, letting me ride every aftershock. When my breathing slowed, he pulled out completely. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down my slit, spreading my wetness and his precum everywhere, tapping it lightly against my swollen clit.

“Beg for it,” he said, voice rougher now.

“Please,” I gasped. “Aryan, fuck me. I need it.”

He slammed back in on one hard thrust and stayed deep, grinding in tight circles. Then he started fucking me for real…faster, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin getting louder with every stroke. The cuffs rattled against the bedposts.

My tits bounced with each impact and he licked my steel hard nipples with every push. Sweat dripped from his chest onto my stomach. I could hear how soaked I was, the filthy squelch every time he drove in.

He hooked his arms under my knees, lifting and spreading me even wider within the limits of the cuffs and changed the angle. Now every thrust punched right against my front wall. My moans turned into helpless little sobs of pleasure. He was sweating hard, breathing ragged, but he kept the pace brutal and steady.

“Whose pussy is this while your husband’s gone?” he growled against my ear.

“Yours,” I panted. “Fuck…yours, Aryan. It’s yours.”

He reached between us again, thumb on my clit, and rubbed fast. The combination, his thick cock pounding me, his thumb working my clit, the total helplessness of being tied open, pushed me over again.

This orgasm was different. It was deeper and wetter. I felt a hot gush around his cock as I came, soaking the sheets under me. He groaned like he was in pain and fucked me harder through it, chasing his own release.

His rhythm finally broke. He buried himself to the root and came with a long, guttural sound, pulsing hot and thick inside me. I felt every spurt, every twitch. He stayed there, grinding slow and shallow while he emptied himself completely.

For a long minute we just breathed, his forehead against mine, both of us slick with sweat, the cuffs still holding me wide. He kissed me slow and deep, then reached up and untied the blindfold. The light felt too bright. His eyes were dark, soft, and hungry all at once.

He pulled out slowly. I felt his cum start to leak out almost immediately, warm and thick, running down over my ass. He watched it for a second, then used two fingers to push it back inside me, fucking it in and out lazily while I whimpered.

“Gonna keep you like this for a while,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Tied open. Leaking my cum. Ready for the next round whenever I want it.”

He climbed off the bed, walked to the bathroom, and came back with a warm washcloth. He cleaned me gently between my legs, careful, almost tender, then checked each cuff again, rubbing circulation back into my wrists and ankles before unclipping them one by one.

I was shaking, boneless, completely spent.

He pulled me against his chest, kissed the top of my head, and whispered, “We’ve got until Sunday night. I’m not wasting a single hour.”

I smiled against his skin, already feeling the ache between my legs and the deep, satisfied throb that told me I’d be feeling him for days.

And I couldn’t wait for round three.

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