This scene grew out of an observation that one reason I dislike most F/M porn is that although I love to fantasise about anal, “pegging”, strap-ons and the like, very often I find that the male genitalia when viewed from behind as he bends over to take it, just isn’t attractive. And, just so you know, I’ve taken a picture of my naked arse from behind in just such a posture, so I know mine doesn’t look any better. I also don’t like most cock bondage because it frankly looks uncomfortable, and that’s not a turn-on for me. So most F/M porn fails me on one or other or both of those points. So I started to think about what might work, and how I would like it done to me. This is what I imagined:
[NB I would easily be either character in this, although I don’t have a purple-coloured cock, and don’t need a strap-on. Speaking of which, I provided links to the cock colours that matched what I imagined – and yes, I couldn’t resist including the name of hers when I saw it.]
She coils blue silk around his ballsack. Not tightly: no restriction, no discomfort. Just control and placement. She looks up from her task, noting the jut of his chin, his tight, pale lips and wishes he would break discipline, just for a moment. Not to punish him, but to meet those dark, molten eyes, like cocoa on a winter’s evening. She wonders if they would match the wobble in his mouth. Would there be a tear forming? She suspects, but cannot see.
He holds his hands behind his back. She pictures them resting so neatly at the top of his arse, nestled where the curve of his buttocks meets the small of his back. So delicate, her boy.
His cock starts to wilt. Her pale hand against his tanned belly, she dips her head. Her scarlet lips to his lavender hue, she engulfs him. His musk lingers, a scent that speaks of desire and possession, hers over him. Just a flutter of the abdomen, a catch in the breath. Her lips tighten, it would be a smile but for the shaft caught between them. She works his length carefully, knowing which points to tease and which to glut, tongue and lips, thumb and forefinger.
Does he whimper as she draws back, his erection fully restored to her satisfaction? She smiles to herself that her control is greater, if just that temptation can break his stoic stance.
Blue, white, red and brown. The ribbon loops a double helix around his cock, to the tip and back down again, and up. She feels his breath shudder in his diaphragm, watches his stomach ripple each time.
“Arms up,” she murmurs. He raises his hands to the ceiling, links his fingers, stretches tall. So beautiful, the curves of his hips, his waist, his chest. So refined, the straightness of his arms. She reaches her arm behind his back, bringing her ear to his side. She hears his pulse racing beneath her, the shallow breaths and the trembling nerves. But he stays where he is, waits for her move.
She passes one end of the ribbon to her stretching arm. She slides around to his back, a ribbon in each hand. She pulls.
His cock presses to his chest, his balls lift underneath it. She ties off the ribbons, loops them once more round his waist, and ties them again at the back.
Her own cock fastens with leather and buckles, standing proud not trussed against her body. Its shade is called “Patriarch”, her private joke in a private game of private power.
“Over the chair arm, now.”
Their eyes meet as he passes her. She was right. There is a tear. But he smiles. He must not speak, but still his lips form, “Thank you”. He bends, the cushions wrapping his cock against his body. His elbows catch his weight. He clasps his hands, rests his forehead on his forearms, spreads his legs, bends his knees.
She admires the broad gulley formed by his legs, the curve of his arse, the pucker of his anus. The absence of anything she doesn’t want right now. Her finger teases the hole to apply lube and ready him. His neat hair forms a dome in her eye line, his smooth back a broad plain. She lubes her cock and follows the gulley to her target. She leans over him, pushes his shoulders down with her hand. Her hips push. He moans.