May/June 2002
by Jerilyn Lovins


I watch as you stand over me, swinging a pair of handcuffs, a grin upon your lips. I can't help but grin back, locking my hands together underneath me, not wanting to appear too eager. You see right through my ruse, your fingers finding the sensitive spot on my side, tickling it mercilessly. As I laugh and squirm, you grab one arm, slapping the cuff over my wrist. I twist away, kicking out with my feet, trying to escape the continuing probe of your fingers. You straddle my thighs, reaching under me for the other hand and drawing it towards you, the cuff clicking into place. I sigh blissfully as you hook the chain of the cuffs to the headboard, my hands stretched over my head. Then I see an evil look come into your eyes, shaking my head, knowing what you intend to do. I start to twist from side to side even as your fingers find all the sensitive spots. The tickling is torture, my laughter so hard I can hardly catch my breath, but still you go on. I cry, "Uncle", I cry, "Yellow, red, blue, purple", giggling all the while. You laugh, your head dipping down to find my neck with your lips. Your bite stops the laughter, my nipples budding tight with the savageness of your teeth. You suckle at my skin, waiting for the moan that you know will come. The sounds escapes my lips and you release your hold on my neck. Your eyes fall to my chest, watching the rise and fall as I regain my breath. Your fingers find my nipples, pinching, tugging, twisting as I arch up with a soft yelp. The pain is sharp, sweet, as your hands cover and squeeze. I can feel your fingers leaving their mark, the bruises that I will see tomorrow in the mirror. Your lips glide over my skin to take the nipple from your hand. Again you bite, you suckle, your teeth grinding over the taut bud. Your hand slips between my legs. I sigh, even as your fingers tangle in the thatch of curls at my mound and you tug at the hairs sharply. My legs spread as you slide down them, as I expose myself to your ministrations. Your hand feels rough as it parts puffy lips, as a finger slides inside. You take no mercy, adding a second and third, not giving me time to get used to them, pushing me over the edge with a curl of your fingers upwards. I cry out, eyes slamming shut, my back arched high, fighting against your fingers as I cum, coating your hand, leaving a puddle on the mattress. You continue, forcing more from my drenched pussy, my legs drawing tight around your arm. My hands clench in the cuffs, I am shaking furiously, in pain, but not wanting you to stop, crying out. You withdraw sore fingers, and stretching out beside me, gently kiss my cheek.

Jerilyn Lovins, copyright 2002