0 comments/ 21048 views/ 1 favorites Ribbon By: Oscrx Based on a true story. This is something that happened to a friend of mine. With her permission, I wrote it up and posted it here. ------------------------ We finished watching the film, and she took my hand, leading me to the dining room. She made me undress and told me to get onto the table, on all fours. I obeyed. She told me to close my eyes, then I heard Her leave the room. She returned, and told me to open my eyes. She stood there, naked, except for a translucent, black, babydoll nightie. It came just below her bottom, so that you could just see the curves of her buttock past the hem. In Her hand, she was carrying a bundle of black ribbon and scissors. Then, She started by blindfolding me with a piece. Wrapping it around my head, she tied it tightly at the back and snipped of the excess. She bound my ankles together with the same method; wrap, tie, snip. She worked methodically, and proceeded to tie my wrists together. Balancing was rather tricky with my bound limbs, but I wasn't going to let myself flop over. I was in far too much anticipation for what was to come. With my wrists and ankles done, she tied a piece around my breasts. Just covering the nipples, and tied at my back. A little modesty, how thoughtful. Another strand was fastened from the middle of this piece. It stretched down my back, around my bottom, and over my pussy, rejoining the ribbon around my breasts again, but at the front. I admired her work with this ribbon. How much did she have? Another piece bound my thighs together just below my bottom, another in my hair, and finally one round my neck. She made a little collar from it, and attaches a ribbon leash. I smiled at that. I realised that we hadn't said anything for a while. How much time had passed? I had no idea, and didn't care anyway. I was in too much excitement for the infliction of pain i would be receiving shortly. "Open your mouth" She said bluntly. I did. She shoved an apple in there, causing me to gag a little in shock. I restrained myself, and concentrated on calming the burning excitement and sexual tension building up inside me. I needed a release, fast. She did nothing for a few seconds, I imagined she was stepping back to admire her handiwork. It was a very good job, I wish I could've seen myself at that point. Footsteps, as She left the room again. She returned a little while later, no doubt to brew up this feeling inside of me. She knew me too well. I braced myself for the expected flash of pain or a hand or cane across my buttocks. I bit down on the apple a little... But it didn't come. A strange moment of silence followed. Click. A camera shutter. I would have smiled, if not for the apple, as she snapped pictures of me. I did not expect it, not one bit. A few more clicks, the sound altering as she moved around me, capturing different angles. God, I was so hot. Wet probably, I could imagine dripping down my leg at any moment. Snip. She cut the ribbon blindfold off me. I starred at her, and she smiled back, holding up the Polaroid images she had just taken. I smiled back. Polaroid, of course. No embarrassing digital duplicates there... One by one, she placed them on the edge of the table in front of me. I looked hot, I must say. You could see my long, brown hair a little damp with sweat, the few hairs that weren't held back by ribbon clung to my forehead. The front shot made me look like her little plaything, her dress-up doll. From the side, I was either a piece of sadistic art or an expensive footrest. The lighting was dim in the dining room, just the flicker of a candle in the corner that cast such a fascinating light over me. I looked serene, peaceful but also a little angry. A suppressed, smoldering expression. I think it was the frustration of my unfulfilled desires, the frustration that burned between my legs. With the apple jammed in my mouth, I looked like the main dish. A little lamb to the slaughter, a fresh piece of meat at the mercy of my Mistress. If I didn't have the apple, I would be panting like a dog. More snips, and she cut my ankle and wrists bindings. I couldn't wait for her to make me come. She would lead me upstairs, and She would make my night... "Goodnight, Bethan. I'm going to bed now" She whispered. Seeing my pining eyes, she continued. "You may not come. I wish to see you in that position for breakfast" She took one of the Polaroids from the table, my favourite one, and smiled. "A little bedtime reading for me" She switched the light off, and left. My heart sank as she started to ascend the stairs... Wait! She stopped! Oh, thank you so much, you were just teasing. She always teases. She called down to me. "Keep the apple in." I heard her footsteps carry up the staircase, then across to her room. A door closed. I trembled in the darkness, frozen in the same position, on all fours. I listened as she climbed into bed, her room was directly above me. She moaned and gasped as she rubbed herself to orgasm, to my picture, then settled asleep. I remained alone in the darkness and managed to hold back my tears. Ribbon "Chocolate?" he asked. He was leaning forward, a small rectangle of Callebaut chocolate balanced on the tip of one finger. Sarah struggled to say anything, much less "Yes." She nodded and leaned toward his outstretched hand before opening her lips to receive from him. He smiled quietly as she suckled his fingertip to clean it of softened chocolate, her eyes darting between nowhere and his own unblinking blue eyes. When she finished licking his finger, he dropped it to her chest and traced a wet circle around one nipple. "You found the book?" The book. Five different bookstores on four trips over the course of two weeks before she found the book. It was a musty place overseen by a gray man with white and green hair, straight like Andy Warhol's, and tobacco-stained long fingers. J. Robertson Merkin, his card said. Slow Hand, Women Writing Erotica, edited by Michelle Slung. "Yes." "Did you touch the bookseller, as I asked?" "Yes. I made sure to touch his fingers as he handed the book to me." "What happened then?" His questions were simple, direct, and delivered with a kind curiosity that made Sarah both comfortable and wary. Nobody was this kind, this curious, and yet completely safe. She considered his face. It was slightly lined, there was a bare spot in his chin whiskers, and the clarity of his blue eyes was evident even through his wire-framed glasses. He was lean, about her height, maybe twenty years older than her. White hair and beard around a soft and patient smile. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." She stalled. "What thought came to mind when you touched him as I had asked you to do?" "I can't." 'But you must." Yes, she did, really. Sarah gathered some courage, not easy to do in her condition: naked, arms bound behind her back by gold Christmas curling ribbon, and began to squeak an answer, her answer. "I felt my pussy muscles clench. I felt a long thin prick from many years ago. I wanted to throw the book back in his face, but I knew that would mean not seeing you today. And I couldn't stand that, either. I paid for the book and left without another word." "Yes." He watched her eyes wander from her knees to the mirror on the wall above his right shoulder, and to the coffee cup in his hand. "Tell me about the long thin prick from long ago. There's a story there?" "Yes." Fuck, is this all he did, ask questions? For seven months they'd corresponded by Private Message, by email, with phone calls and text messages. So many times he'd talked her through to orgasm and now all he wants to do is ask questions? Dammit. "I was a in my third year of college. We had just finished spring finals and Amy, my roommate, bought pizza for our final lunch together before packing up. I bought two bottles of wine, Two Buck Chuck. It's cheap, you wouldn't know it." "I know Two Buck Chuck. It's misnamed now. Five Buck Chuck doesn't sound as good, though, does it?" "After lunch Amy said she wanted to go look one last time for this book by Anais Nin so sure, I said yes. The bus ride across town took an hour but we finally made it to the old used books and antiques store that she thought would have the book. Just before we got off the bus, Amy said she wanted to play Dare. It's a game we used to play. We'd dare each other to do something outrageous. Took turns making the first dare. It was her turn. " 'I want you to fuck a guy in a public place and I get to choose him.' The fucking wasn't going to be the hard part. I was afraid of her taste. I don't think she liked men. We had been in the bookstore for twenty minutes before she found her book. She was ultra excited, and when she came up to me to show me the book - I was wandering around in the sci-fi aisles - she pointed to an old man wearing a beat-up Army jacket. He had at least a week's beard in patchy places on his face. 'Come on' she said. 'It's him.' "I shook my head no, but she just grinned and said again, 'Come on. Do him or else.' "We walked to the old guy and Amy got his attention. 'Hey, if you can get it up in the next five minutes, my friend here will let you fuck her right here.' I tried to walk away but Amy had blocked the aisle. Old guy just picked up his head and laughed soundlessly. He stared at me, looked me over from head to toe, then he nodded toward a corridor leading further back into the rat's nest of the bookstore, like we should follow. Back among the old Latin grammar books and copies of Homer, he unzipped his pants and dammit, his cock was as hard as could be. "So I pulled up my skirt, backed up to him against the Latin grammar shelves, and he fucked me. Didn't take long, but I came anyway. Amy fingered herself while she watched." "Interesting." He took a sip of coffee and Sarah squirmed. "What happened to the old man's seed?" More moisture soaked into the rolled-up towel between her thighs. "We were on the bus and almost home when I said it to Amy. 'I want you to suck that old fucker's cum from my twat.' She didn't blink. She didn't wince. She smiled. "When we got back to the apartment, I sat on our couch and lit a cigarette. Without taking it out of my mouth, I lifted my hips and pulled off my panties and lifted my skirt over my waist. Amy didn't rush over, she took the time to pull off her top and fold it on the table. She pulled down her jeans and folded them. No underwear. Amy. "She slid under me on her back and started to suck on my pussy. She was noisy and eager. I hadn't done it with a girl before but I don't know about her. I pressed down on her face and she started to finger herself through her satiny thin brown bush. After a while she wriggled out and kneeled as if to kiss me. She opened her mouth and showed me the cum and saliva in her mouth. She French kissed me and I swallowed it." "Were you two lovers for long?" Sarah looked away, trying to read a small-print notice affixed to the wall next to the thermostat. "No. We both left school the next day and I never saw her again. It was twenty years ago, more actually." "It seems odd that you'd stop contact so suddenly. Why didn't you two stay in touch?" "She caught me giving her brother a blowjob. He had driven down to take her home on Saturday. His truck was packed with all her stuff. While she went to turn in her keys, he and I had a beer to cool off. When she came back, I was blowing him. She was pissed and they both left without saying anything to me. I think she transferred to a private school for her last two years." "She thought you cheated on her, I suppose. But you remember that old man's cock inside your cunt. Do you remember every cock you've had?" "Yes, no. No, I don't remember them all. Not too many, just some didn't matter." Her shoulders shook as if she'd been force-fed bad milk. He sipped his coffee slowly, holding the cup on his knee between sips. The coffee. Why hadn't he asked for the coffee like he said he had in the past? He said he liked to be given blowjobs while he drank his coffee. They had kissed deeply as soon as the hotel room door had clicked shut and then he'd said, "Please, undress. And then make me some coffee, please." She'd been wet all day, waiting for him to arrive, and her hips were visibly twitching as he kissed her. But then, when she'd brought him his coffee and stood before him naked, begging him with her eyes to signal her to get on her knees before him, he just thanked her and directed her to put her hands behind her back. Then he patiently wrapped her lower arms in the gold Christmas curling ribbon, loosely but still she couldn't move her arms. Then he directed her to sit on the bed. Straddling the corner of the bed, with a rolled up towel beneath her lower lips. Exposed to him while he sat with his right leg draped over his left knee in an easy chair barely two feet from her knees. Wearing loafers and black socks. He unwrapped the chocolate again, and broke off a small rectangle, which he placed on a fingertip. He held it in front of him for two, maybe three minutes. It softened. "Chocolate?" He offered it to her as he had done before, as priest to communicant. Was she penitent? He didn't think so. Again Sarah pulled the chocolate offering from his finger with lips delicately formed. And again she returned to his extended finger and fellated it clean. She sucked at his tip as if it might somehow give up his seed. Her eyes were locked on his face, and he returned the gaze calmly. He lowered his now-clean finger to her other nipple, and wound a tight circle around it before settling back into his chair. The nipple was taut, fiercely proud of the flesh of her rounded breast. Not small, these breasts, but not overly large and definitely fitting to her very much. He knew he would enjoy them later. "And you. Do you remember every pussy?" Her voice was many times more steady than she felt. "Yes. Not so many, perhaps, but each memorable in her own way. They all meant a great deal to me, my past women. As you do." Fuck! How did he do that? He was so calm, moved so slowly, wouldn't crack, and why wasn't he showing any signs of being horny? Or was he? She stared for a moment but then looked away when she felt her pussy lips twitch and her hood spread around her clit. She looked at the clock on the table, next to the coffee cup and the scissors and gold curling ribbon he'd asked her to bring. Four fifteen. She'd been sitting naked in front of him for ninety minutes, answering his questions, aching for a comfortable position that didn't put too much pressure on her wrists behind her, leaking arousal onto the towel between her legs. Ninety minutes and he had barely touched her. Well, her lips when he kissed her, then he'd caressed her ass cheeks as she turned so he could inspect her, and then her arms as he bound her. Then he'd guided her onto the bed before settling back into the easy chair and sipped his coffee agonizingly slowly. "What do you need, Sarah? From me?" Jeez, why didn't he just ask her to explain something easy, like Hawking's theory of black holes or why some people voted for complete idiots for President? Why this? What DID she need? Was she supposed to know? Think, Sarah. Stay in the moment, that's it. Stay in the moment. He stood up into the small space between them. Sarah looked up into his face like a child staring at the full moon. Wonderment and questions raced from her eyes across her cheeks. "What do you need?" he repeated. He offered her another small bite of chocolate, but she shook her head no. He ate it unceremoniously. She could see the outline of his hardened prick beneath his gray slacks, made more obvious by a small dark spot in the fabric. It was inches from her face. Sarah tried to lick her lips, but her tongue was made of sandpaper. He slid a finger along his lips and then offered the finger to Sarah. She kissed the tip and then slowly pulled it into her mouth. "What do you need from me, Sarah?" he whispered. Tears formed and began to trickle down her nose. She just shook her head from side to side but wouldn't let go of his finger tip. "I understand. This makes you nervous, I make you nervous. Maybe I've asked too much of you." He stepped to the side and pulled his finger from between her lips. "But I need to hear it from you, my dear." His words hit her soul in the same calm pattern she'd felt when he first said hello at the airport earlier in the afternoon. It wasn't a demand and yet it felt like an order. What to say? How to say it? He knew everything about her now. Did he still want her, or was this his way of letting her down gently? If she couldn't say it, would he just leave and go back home? Sarah forced some words past her lips. "I need...I need you..." He watched patiently as she suffered through each syllable. "I need you..." she paused again and lowered her head "I need you to tell me you want me, that I'm beautiful and that you want me to serve you." He smiled. "Do you want to serve me?" "Yes, yes I do. Please." "Very good" He stepped close to her, leaned into her face and kissed her mouth with the pressure of a butterfly landing on sore feet. She felt his finger tracing along her thigh toward her pulsing slit. He pushed the finger ever so little into her slit and pulled it back. "Is this what you need, Sarah?" He'd stopped the butterfly kiss only long enough to ask and then he returned to caressing her lips with his mouth and her slit with his finger. Sarah groaned and forced her tongue into his mouth and began to greedily explore him. "What do you need, Sarah, from me?" "I need you to fuck me however you wish, to use all of me to drain out your hunger and then rest before using me again. I need you to know that I am yours for your needs and not for mine." He pulled his finger from her wetness and offered it to her lips. She cleaned it quickly, never taking her eyes from him. Had she screwed up? What would he say? Her body was shaking from need. "Very good then. You will have all of that, and more, I promise." "Kiss me again, please." He touched the underside of her chin and lifted slightly. He raised his head in a signal to rise. She scootched herself off the corner of the bed and he pulled her into his chest before kissing her. With unbridled ardor. He stroked the curve of her ass and slid a finger down her crack, across her tighter opening and into the heat that was her leaking core. He pulled her tighter as she shuddered against his shoulder. "Now, let's undo this binding. You'll want to shower before we get dinner." "Yes, sir. I'd like that." Ribbon and Rope The bedroom seemed the same as it always had; everything was exactly where it had been every other time she had been there. Yet when he ushered her inside, it felt different somehow, filled with a sparkling sensuality. There was no soft candlelight, only the bold incandescent bulbs in the boring overhead lamp. She didn't hear any music or notice any incense or see at first anything new at all. The reason for her undeniably excited feeling evaded her until she looked again at him; it was he who was glowing, his eyes radiant with anticipation, his hand gently on her shoulder nearly trembling with the effort to restrain himself. She had to smile at his pure joy, a smile that relaxed her and simultaneously alerted her ... some new game was about to start. With a knowing wink, he suggested that she go into the bathroom and do whatever she thought necessary "to be ready" and then to come back again totally nude. After a moment's hesitation of tilted head wondering, she obeyed, returning a few minutes later. He had dimmed the lights only enough to reduce the glare, and had put on sensual symphonic music that was barely audible yet exactly appropriate. She saw a new full-length adjustable mirror standing in the room and a smaller mirror on the dresser. In this one she saw his reflection, caught again that sly, mischievous wink as he examined her body to his satisfaction through the mirror's perspective. He opened the top dresser drawer and withdrew two black velvet bags, one that nearly filled the drawer and the other small enough to fit into her small purse. From the large one he pulled out yard after yard after yard of rope that turned out to be easily over a hundred feet of braided cotton, perhaps one-third inch in diameter. She had seen such rope many times at Home Depot and Lowe's but never had given it a thought. This rope had been washed thoroughly then uniformly dyed from its original white to a royal blue, a fabric sapphire – one of her favorite colors. It was evident that he relished the attention she paid to the rope and to him as he laid it out on the floor and inspected it for any possible rough areas, tangles or flaws. Finding none he located the precise center and folded the rope in half, making a basketball-sized loop. He then motioned to her with his fingers, his smile, his eyes, his body, to approach him. She couldn't resist pretending not to understand, to play coy and slightly evasive. The hunger in his eyes intensified when she glided over to him, stopping teasingly a few inches away. While she had obviously suspected the rope would be used around her, she had no idea how it would be done or how it would feel. He placed the loop over her head, letting it drape on either side of her breasts like a scarf so she could adjust to the feeling. It felt exactly like incredibly long rolled-up cotton balls. Soon afterward he grabbed the rope above her breasts, as one would with a neck tie, and pulled her to him, pressing her full length against his, kissing her passionately as he ground his pelvis, his already-hard-ness, against her willing flesh. It took her breath away, and nearly stole his resolve to play with the props he had so recently arranged. How tempting it was to throw everything aside now and to make love! Instead, he steeled himself to push her away, despite her soft moan of longing when he did so. When he stood up straight and tall, she knew she was to do so also, and the playing began. With the center of the rope around her neck, that left two strands each about fifty feet long, therefore when he twisted the rope ends three times directly between her base of her breasts, it took at least a minute of adjusting to keep the ends from knotting up. She remained quite still for this and realized that she would be basically a mannequin for perhaps an hour if not more; however, there could be no happier mannequin than she. He instructed her to hold the twisted rope in her left hand to keep it in place, and to use her right hand to lift her long hair up, away from the "collar" of the rope. His fingertips almost tickling her, he caressed her skin as he moved around her, gently pulling the rope ends to her spine between her shoulder blades. There he twisted them twice, and with one hand held that twist in place while he pulled the yards upon yards of cotton rope through the back of the collar, looped each strand once around it, mirroring his design, then returned the rope to her shoulder blades. With both hands now he wrapped each strand outward twice around what would become the highest circle of rope on her torso in order to secure it. In this way, although the loop around her neck would support all the rope below, the balanced pull from her back would remove the strain on her neck. Each flowing strand that was down her back he draped over her shoulders a few inches from the collar and along the outer edge of her breasts. Now standing in front of her again, with careful, tantalizingly slow movements he threaded the strands around the highest circle as he did in the back, with two twists but pointing toward the center. He then crisscrossed them inside the base of the front tri-twist and again below it. The foundation of the rope dress was completed and she could relax her arms to her sides. Taking a break, he embraced her, caressed her with and through the rope, insured that no place was too tight, that it was evenly just tight enough to stay in place no matter how she moved, to support her and hold her with the exact pressure needed in every location. Already she felt special, more beautiful even before the corseting began. More than a Paris supermodel, she was getting a perfectly custom-made outfit designed just for her, a one of a kind, never to be seen before or after, work of art that accented her best features. In a sense she felt that wherever the rope touched became her most beloved feature, felt more beautiful the more it molded itself to her. He made the inanimate rope come to life, or rather, to bring her to a new sense of life. Positioning both her arms behind her head and holding up her hair, he relatively quickly aligned the two long strands with the top circle, leaving no gaps, as he encircled her ribcage again. At her back he secured each strand to the one above by weaving it once, initially at the edge of her back on either side, In the front he did the same weaving action, again on the far ends of her rib cage, under the outer sides of her breasts. Row after row he continued to mummify her torso, weaving the rope strands to the row above, yet each time a little more toward the center than the one above. Oddly, with each layer of rope encircling her, holding her, she felt a blossoming sense of freedom and capability, of sexually heightened awareness. Every time he placed the rope around her, his fingers quickly or lingeringly grazed over some part of her increasingly attuned flesh, this time her forearm or another time her hip or her breast. He gave the appearance of not having noticed that he had touched her, but both of them knew every bit of his movement was well choreographed. Likewise, every time he had to weave the rope, he pulled the seemingly endless yards through annoyingly slowly, in part to prevent pinching or burning her with the rope, but moreover to play with her mind as much as to entice and tease her body. At the smallest part of her waist the weaving reached nearly to her navel and thus created a V-shape under her breasts and on her upper back. Continuing a few more inches over her hips, he inversed the pattern and thereby ended with an hourglass design in the front and back. To the lowest level of rope circumscribing her body, he wove the last strands in such a way to hang not only securely in place but also to loosely drape over each ass cheek. Her rope dress was complete. Strangely enough, she did in fact feel like she was fully attired in a dress. Those two bits of rope ends that dangled nearly to her ankles felt to her like the whoosh of a fully-skirted evening gown. The corset-like dress helped her to stand in a tall, confident posture and accented her now thinner waist and pronounced breasts. She felt covered from neck to ankle despite being only really covered in her mid torso. The illusion was so strong within her that when she looked in the full-length mirror she was shocked to see all her areas of nakedness. Regardless, the vibrant contrast of the brilliant blue against her skin plus the softness of the cotton entwined authoritatively around her filled her with awe to see such artwork in the reflection. When he held her, caressed her, the ropes massaged her skin and muscles, invigorated her while soothing her. Most amazing of all was how comfortable it felt; she knew she could easily and enjoyably wear her new dress for the whole day! There was no denying the arousal she felt from the rope around her, embracing her. She felt her heat rise, her mound swell with desire. She longed for him to touch her more, to add more, to ... anything! He sat on the corner of the bed to watch her radiant pleasure in the dress, and it was only when she saw that he held the smaller velvet bag in his hand that she came out of her private enchantment and back into the adventure they shared. From this bag he pulled out a large roll of shimmering silver ribbon, about a half an inch wide and perhaps as long as the rope. He let her feel the silkiness of the identical top and bottom, and the suppleness of the soft edges. They both smiled happily because, above all else, this was simply fun! He unwound the entire roll and, as with the rope, made a loop at the center. Motioning again for her to stand ready for the addition of the ribbon, she automatically raised her hands to her head to hold her hair up. It confused her when he lowered them then asked her to hold about a foot's length of that loop with both hands in front of her. Sometimes he would tell her to use only her right or her left hand while he worked, but at no time was she to wrinkle it, or drop it, or let it touch her body. Nor was she to touch herself no matter what he did, despite how tempting it was for her to do so, how ready she was. Telling her she couldn't touch herself made her want to do so all the more. He began by kneeling in front of her, under her slightly raised hands with the long loop, and with his face directly in front of her pubic area he started to weave each ribbon end through the coils of rope. Her buttery smooth naked mound barely inches from his teasing lips, she could feel his warm breath on it as he exhaled somewhat more huskily than he had earlier. His presence there increased her excitement, her heat, her scent of sex. His dexterous hands sometimes faltered from the effect of his rising need – he was as ready for her as she was for him – but he steadily continued his task of dressing her in both ribbon and rope. The silver ribbon for him was like a paint brush in the patterns he drew in the canvas of the solid layer of blue rope. He traced it along the hourglass design in the front of her corset, and laid it against her skin to accent the ropes of her bodice. Wrapping them around the rope as slowly as before, he could be more sensuous. The light weight of the ribbon allowed him to playfully spank her with bundles of it, or by applying slight resistance on one side of her body, drag it oh so lightly across her eager mound. Frequently, the edge of the ribbon slid over her breasts, giving her a dull scratch on her erect, little-raspberry nipples that made her all the more squirmy. She fought with more focus to stand still for her designer outfitting session. In addition to adding color, he wove the ribbon in ways that both covered her and opened her. Laying the ribbon beside the ropes around her breasts accented their suppleness even more, and then another weaving of ribbon pulled the outside layers of ribbon and rope toward her back. He breasts seemed all the more exposed because more of her shoulders and back were covered. Once the upper portion was completed, he entwined the ribbon again into the coils around her ribcage, his time in the back. Again he traced around the hourglass design, the ribbon accenting her narrowed waist, making her seem more vulnerable despite the strength the rope imparted. At the lowest circle around her hips, he paused with his breath on her ass, his presence there causing her to nearly cry out for him to touch her, lick her, take her. Instead he eventually secured the last several feet of ribbon as he had done with the rope, so it stayed in place just within the lowest circle, dangling down over her ass cheeks. Believing him to be finished, she involuntarily started to move, but he stopped her, letting her know that he had something else to do. He told her to spread her legs a bit further, and then he reached between her inner thighs, tantalizing her honed senses with nothing more than the softest touch of the coarse hair on his arms, letting his forearm linger temptingly. Her slightest movement to rub against him, to ease her lust, failed because he would withdraw his arm precisely the same amount. When he then grabbed the loop of ribbon from her hands, she was totally surprised – she had forgotten entirely that she had held it. He pulled the ribbon between her legs, insuring that it lay flat along and under her mound and up her ass cheeks. Wedging them in her crack, he pulled up somewhat harder than she expected and wove the looped ribbon held at the base of her spine with the draping ribbon ends and secured it all to the rope. By design or accident, all the ends of the rope and ribbon were now level with each other, cascading from her ass neatly and uniformly. After her gasp when he pulled the ribbon taut against her skin, she realized the not-too-tight pressure caused her every movement to create intensified arousal. Each breath meant the ribbon pulled just enough against her mound to excite her, make her want to rub her legs together or reach her hand down to rub her clit into the orgasm she deeply craved. Also, each change in her posture, no matter how slight, pulled one or both ribbons between her ass cheeks, providing teasing touch and exposing her openings. He stood, stretched quickly in what he hoped appeared to be a nonchalant manner, and then stepped back in praise of his creation. He made minor adjustments to improve the visual effect, but mostly he wanted to touch the fabric and the woman beneath it. He asked her to turn this way and that, and to admire in the mirror the effect of the blue rope, the silver ribbon, and herself. He treasured her joy, her increased radiance, and the knowledge that posing for him meant erotic stimulation for her as well as for him. He told her to pose in certain positions just for the effect it would have on her erotic appetite. He knew she ached for sexual fulfillment. Likewise, she could very plainly see that he ached for her. Just as he had done before their rope play began, he motioned to her with his fingers, his smile, his eyes, his body, to approach him. This time she didn't hesitate at all but instead jumped directly to him, one leg wrapped around his, her mouth hungrily on him in an instant. Ribbon Girl Real story.....hubby and I's first date memorialized.) Even though we had only met a couple of weeks before I already felt like I'd known him for an eternity. Tomorrow was his birthday so I decided to plan a little surprise for him. He'd told me the night before that he had the day off because of a dentist apt and he should be back home by 11. So I started planning out just what I'd do in my head. We both loved the Grateful Dead and one verse of one of their songs always stuck out in my head, "must have been the roses...roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair." Except for the fact that mine was long and blonde. I came up with a brilliant idea as I rummaged through my dresser drawer. I found 3 spools of ribbon that I had planned to use for something else, but at that moment I changed my mind. The next morning I went by my favorite little French bakery/restaurant, La Madelines and bought 2 chocolate croissants and another pastry. All three desserts sinfully delicious. And made it to his place just after he walked in the door. I'd dressed my favorite little black dress. "Happy Birthday," I said as he opened the door. While he was finishing a phone call, I put my plan into action. I slid the slinky little dress off of my body and took the 3 spools of ribbon out of my purse. Starting with the red ribbon I started to roll it out over my body. First over both shoulders and around my neck then down around my arms and stomach and across my abdomen. Slowly I let it curl around my hips and thighs, in and out between both legs and then spiraling down to my feet. Criss-crossing it over my body. I did the same thing with the green ribbon and purple ribbon. He watched in silence a wicked smile forming across his lips. When I was done with all three spools of ribbon I tied them together in a bow. I noticed he'd hung up the phone already and I smiled and told him. "I'm your present but you have to open me with your teeth ONLY," I said teasingly. I quivered for a moment as I felt the heat and desire I had for him began to flame up in my body. Looking down at myself noticing that my nipples were already starting to get hard, knowing that I was already wet for him. "Allright", he replied as he told me to lie down on the pallet he'd made on the floor. I smiled and eagerly did so. I'd been waiting for this moment for so long. This was the first time we were going to be together. He laid between my legs slowing kissing his way up them. Nipping and licking my thighs softly, he started untying the bow with his teeth that was located around my knees. I lifted them for him and he smiled. Watching his mouth work at unraveling all three colors of ribbon from my body. "Gawd this man was good", I thought silently to myself. He started to edge closer to my open shaven sex and I really started to squirm. My mind started to slip away but he continued to unwrap his present with his skillful mouth and teeth and it wasn't long until the ribbons were lying in a pile beside me. My body was on fire. I moaned softly begging for him to touch me. Every nerve in me was on edge. He began very slowly teasing my outer lips with his tongue, lapping at them, outlining them. Ever so softly brushing the tip against my clit, which had already pushed itself forth. My sexual core. He wiggled closer against me and suddenly plunged his tongue into me. I gasped and began to run my fingers through his hair. "Ooooooooh Gawd," I moaned. His tongue began to dance inside of me. Starting to seek the juices that were beginning to pour out of my body. Then he took my pearl between his teeth and began to flick his tongue back and forth ever so quickly over it. It felt like a soft fish's tail moving back and forth over my most sensitive place. My hips pushed forward involuntarily and a low groan escaped my lips. He smiled up at me and told me to enjoy myself. I began to beg him to use his fingers on me if only just one. And he told me "No, I'm going to use just my tongue." Well I soon found out his mouth was the only instrument of pleasure he needed to use on me as I began to sing my song of orgasm. Eagerly and hungrily he buried his tongue into me again. I squirmed and quivered bucking my hips up against him. Aching for him. My whole body craving him. I felt it curling up inside of me pressing against my inner walls. And I closed my eyes and began to let go. Feeling rivers of cum begin to flow from my body. "Where did this angel come from," my mind kept asking me. My body began to respond to the rhythm of his tongue. Pulsing and pushing against him as he devoured me whole. Lapping around my lips and then back against my clit and slowly pushing his tongue in and out of my hot boiling sex. I wondered how long he could keep this up. Time seemed to be at a stand still ever since he started to unwrap me. Groaning louder I lifted my hips again, begging him not to stop. "Do anything to me, Just don't stop." Little voices started telling me that this man was definitely the one and to not let him out of my sight. I started writhing and shaking uncontrollably as I began to have my hardest orgasm yet. I could feel my juices steadily flowing from my cunt. He held tight to my thighs as I bucked and shook furiously. Drinking and sipping from me as if my juices were a stream and he was a man who hadn't drank a drop in years. When he finally pulled away, I was as limp as a puddle and lying in a puddle of my juices there on the pallet. I smiled looking up at him and asked him if he was still hungry pointing to the pastries that I'd brought. And he nodded and we took a small break to eat them. They were so sweet. My eyes ran over his body up and down knowing that I was still very hungry...very hungry for only one thing, Him. He would be my dessert. Soon.