The Texan and I got home from the bar late at night, both a little bit tipsy, and hastily stripped off our clothes, leaving most of them in a pile near the door. Making our way to my stairs through the dark while trying to kiss each other, we bumped into counters and furniture, laughing at ourselves while groping each other with fumbling hands. On the way up the stairs, he whispered, “Get out your blindfolds.” Yesssssss.
|If only Delta knew…
I have two blindfolds – both meant for long plane trips. One of them has little green and white airplanes on it – not very sexy, but it gets the job done. The other looks as though it came straight from an adult toy shop, all black and silky, but I actually took it from a plane. Thanks, Delta!
I grabbed my blindfolds and a couple of pairs of earplugs (hilariously, one of the pairs is actually meant for keeping water out of your ears while swimming – let’s hear it for DIY BDSM) and brought them into bed. We put the earplugs in first, looking hungrily at each other, then slipped the blindfolds over our heads. Suddenly, both of us were plunged into total darkness and muffled sound.
We felt our way around each other with our hands and mouths at first, just wanting to become familiar with the landscapes of each other’s bodies. I remember riding him, lacing my fingers through his, and feeling wonder at the synchronicity of our movement and how connected I felt having only touch to guide us. I remember how warm his body felt as he pressed me against him and tumbled me over so he could fuck me; how he moved my right leg up so it rested against his shoulder. How right before coming, he told me he was taking off the blindfold so he could see me. We threw our blindfolds to the side, looking at each other in the darkness, and I felt his cock throbbing inside of me, filling me with hot spurts of cum.
I remember lying on my back on the bed afterward, feeling not quite finished. Sweating and aching for more, I asked him to put all of his fingers inside of me. He laughed. “All of them?” he asked. Yes, I insisted. “You only get one at a time,” he said. He slid his index finger into my cunt up toward my engorged g-spot, pressed into it for a moment, swirled his finger around it, and then took it out and told me to open my mouth. I eagerly took his finger into my mouth, sucking off a mixture of his spunk and my own juices. “Now two,” he said, sliding his index and middle fingers into me before once again putting them into my mouth. Three, then four. He told me that he loves the way I feel; I told him that I love the way he tastes. He moved his four fingers into me slowly, pushing against an initial tightness to get them all inside. I groaned with satisfaction, moving my cunt against his hand. Once inside the tent (as it were), he was free to make a bit of a come hither motion, filling me with waves of pleasure. I can’t remember if I told him to stop or his hand got tired, but I do remember it feeling damn good.
When we woke in the morning light to see blindfolds and ear plugs tossed haphazardly about, we smiled and kissed each other and snuggled up; I felt very grateful in that moment to have someone both suggestive and open to suggestion in my life.