He turns his head like a confused dog, forcing me to say it out loud.
“I have my VCH done.”
Like a cartoon, the masked man turns his head the other way.
“Ughh!” This man is infuriating! “My vertical clitoral hood is pierced, okay?!”
I shuffle onto my elbows, hoping that I am done and ready to be released, when he swiftly presses the battery-operated item back between my legs. It vibrates… right there! I try tosquirm away. His free hand lands on my shoulder, pressing down just enough to say, “stay” without actually speaking. I’m overwhelmed, likely in shock. Confusion soon mingles with pleasure. Questionable feelings racing through me.
It was as if this was a game for him, chasing my movements, as I fidget and attempt to move away from the vibrating device.
“Fuck.” Oh, that felt good. Wait, this is wrong. “Stop.” My resolve is weak. My pleas come out shaky and frayed at the edges.
The puzzling man won’t let up. In fact, he presses the end of the device firmly into my bundle of nerves. Despite the contraption being above my underwear and tights, it vibrates deliciously. My protests soon transform into moans. It feels insanely good. The balls of my piercing rattle in a frenzy from the metal detector, and I know my clit is becoming engorged Without a doubt, my panties were wet… my hips instinctively begin to buck in a rhythm that drives me closer.
Although this soundless shadow is covered, I know his breathing is coming heavier by the way his chest rises and falls. If this was meant as a form of torture, clearly, I was the masochist that unknowingly agreed to the terms. This man is restrained. Determined. Patient. Brodi never seemed to have the time to wait for me to cum. He often commented that I “took too long,” so he always came first. By the time it was my turn, he complained that he was too tired to satisfy me.
This masked stranger is dragging me to the very edge while silently communicating, as long as it takes.’ My legs shake and muscles ache, but he never lets up. Concentrating on the task at hand, I try to ignore how my hair must look… how I might be sweating, or how this whole thing is insane.
However, I didn’t feel rushed. He wasn’t judging me based on my ability to cross the finish line, but some cardinal need we both share. He holds right there, not changing a thing, untilI just can’t combat what’s happening any longer. My hands claw and grab at the couch, desperate for anything to keep me grounded. I broke with a scream.
The enigmatic man watches me, waiting until each wave of pleasure runs through me, before removing the gadget. I swear I could hear him panting as I came down from my high.
I was a mess, and I can confirm by my reflection in his mirrored goggles upon his face. My hair was in fact frizzy, while the eyeliner I applied earlier made me look more like a raccoon at this point.
He stands, keeping his gaze trained on me while he removes his gloves. His pants are thick and look to be military grade, but I can still make out the faint outline of his erection.
Suddenly, I become self-conscious of how heavily I am breathing as I stare…, unsure what was to come of me.
Dropping his gloves, he methodically pushes up his sleeves, just enough to reveal corded forearms. Tiny cuts and bruises on his massive hands. His physique, quite similar to Eamon’s, especially his hands. Could this man in front of me be Eamon? I wasn’t entirely sure. He drops a pillow to the floor and bows in front of me like before.
I’m still coming down from my orgasmic high, too intrigued to object.
Still lying horizontally on the couch, he opens my thighs. His big hands move to my center, massaging the fabric that covers me, before pulling up and out. The tights run, creating a hole, it rips an entry straight at my crotch.
All rational thoughts sidelined, I am panting… unable to get enough air. Dizzy with need, still wanting more of what this mysterious man had to offer, but sex? I… I don’t think I can.
He swings my legs off the side of the couch, wrist still affixed to the leg of the furniture. My feet hit the floor. He taps his combat boot between my shoes, instructing me to open.
I look up at his concealed face. The tinted goggles hold only my reflection. I’m disheveled, needy, unhinged... silently I obey, opening my legs for him. I’m exposed. With torn tights, only a thin layer of fabric covers my throbbing pussy.
His head falls forward. I hold my breath. He inhales deeply.
I wonder if he can pick up on how hard my heart is working, because I’ve never had a partner dothatto me before. A gasp escapes me as his thick finger hooks the side of my panties, exposing me to the cool air. Was I going into cardiac arrest, because the pounding in my chest was beginning to hurt. All at once, his solid tongue presses against my wet heat. He must have lifted the lower part of his mask, just enough to perform the task. All without revealing an inch of his face. Only I was on display, regarded, and vulnerable. The second stroke of his tongue travels from my ass to my clit with the perfect amount of pressure before he pulls away.
I strain to watch as the masked stranger grips the handle of the sleek, plastic detector and places it just in front of my entrance. He pauses. I can’t see his eyes, but he seems to be looking back at me, poised just above my opening… waiting. Is he asking for consent? I temporarily forget how to breathe, let alone think.
Finally, I take a shaky breath and speak, “Don’t stop.”
Without hesitation, he pushes the thick device into me, to the hilt.
I can feel the top of his fist on the handle, pressing against my lips. I swallow. When my lips part, a moan tumbles from me in response to the full, intense invasion.
He pulls it from me painfully slow, before shoving it back in. Heavy breaths fill the space. It was solid. The mask stranger, unyielding. But I want… no, I need more! I didn’t want to think, only feel in this moment.
“Please,” I beg between fervent moans. I flourish in a realm between pain and pleasure.
Brodi only ever chased his own release despite my earnest pleas for a spanking, here or there, he never did more for me. He was the very definition of vanilla.
