Broadcast Babe

You are more than happy to assist me in donning this intricate lingerie, that is more harness than lace. The tangle of straps are untwisted with care so you can slide them up my naked body to cover tender bits and trace pliant curves. Once the straps are smoothed by your thorough inspection and lingering grazes, I look like an urban roadmap to pleasure. Specific interconnections can be tugged to stimulate something a distance away, so you try every variation as I respond with various arousals. When your own libido is further stimulated, the process of removing the fetish wear is much quicker. Often the urgency of your desire mandates leaving it in place and re-routing the boundaries to accommodate your access and further post-coital exploits.

Your gaze is unmoving. We have locked eyes with the intensity of a Blink Last challenge from our youth. Despite the available allure of my thinly veiled breasts, you have something to prove to me… and yourself. You claim your love is for my mind and wit, not the luscious flesh that sits so prominently on my chest. I must admit, most men become weak in the knees when even a hint of their plumpness can be viewed at the edge of my low necklines. I use their desirability to gain a modicum of control over the desires that drive me to dress so immodestly. Their power is simply a destabilization of yours. Yet as I pretend to peer into your soul, leveraging your dilated pupils for a closer look, I can feel a tingling in their tips as if they sense your thirst and ability to send me into a bliss trance as they are suckled. It must be hard-wired into our psyches for survival, going back to the beginning when nourishment from such globes was all we were seeking. Never had children, but I’ve been told I would make a splendid mother. I wonder now if that was a veiled come-on with no other reference than an out-of-the-womb need/mandate. The tingles have moved to my loins as I feel their juicing response to my wandering thoughts and the intensity of your dark eyes, unflinching from winning this bit of foreplay. I want your mouth on them, devouring all you can, toying with the swelling nubs as you trace their perimeter and nibble to hear me gasp from the discomfort. The gratification is sexual, but not as much as it is an inherent need to supply you with thrills to foster your gratitude… and reciprocation. The other offerings you can bestow upon me… deep into me… with an urgency… will render me dizzy with delirium. Losing control of my mind to become pure animal feelings, is the exquisite release we both require for a moment of respite from all this tiresome rationale for our naturally triggered reflexes. I blink first, surrendering on purpose. Relinquish?

The jewelry is part tracking device and hidden panoramic camera. You have cobbled it together as a surveillance experiment for creating content for our OnlyFans page. Early tests have the surreal quality of a drug-fueled frenzy as I ride you in a sexual straddle, to record the volume of my breasts coming in and out of view as I grind and undulate for the dilated pupils of your mesmerized cum face. If you massage my breasts, your hands stabilize the action somewhat and can capture the moments of blissful suckling you so enjoy. Our best videos utilize a series of mirrors we face. You have curated a collection with an auteur’s eye for balance among the multiple wide angle views. As you take me from behind, we find it is better standing than on all fours, as that becomes a call for Dramamine from the relentless sway of the hanging necklace. The mirrors also vitalize our performance as we monitor and tailor it for a slow affectionate build or a less-than-tender union toward a gratified culmination. Obviously, this new adornment toy has us rehearsing almost non-stop as we plot and scheme on all variations of a happy ending. You have expressed curiosity at utilizing the camera to capture my insatiable wanderings with others in our our open relationship… and to feed your voyeurism remotely.

Sometimes you resort to a brutish behavior, as if I have ever denied or held back my affections like a willful tease. These are your baser fantasies to rev your libido and perceived power over me. Cuffing me to an iron bed with a twin mattress, comes after I am stripped down to lingerie. I am roughly splayed for your perusal and access. You yank my thong to cleave me into discomfort, then fiddle with my tenders to make me squirm in protest. You want feisty, I can supply it, as I push back for maximum pleasure. The thong gives way and you assault the swollen folds with a voracious thirst, threatening me with tentative teeth, yet a tongue that slithers greedily deep. I cry out to enhance your little passion play and arch upwards with the leverage I have left. Your fly is already open to accommodate the throbbing growth that overflows the gap. Shoving the warmth against me as you lick your lips and fingers, you taunt me with rough bumps to jolt my helpless circumstances. Smearing my juices up my torso, you grab my lace bra to expose my tender fully-aroused nipples to your snarling lips, then rip the fabric to toss away. You feed and nurse like a starved animal, threatening me with feral growls. I whimper and faux-plead for a release, both from the cuffs and my escalating arousal. You pull back to admire your clumsy handiwork and shimmy your jeans halfway down your thighs to unfurl yourself from them. As is your crazed role in this sex drama of your design, there is no finesse as you pierce my oozing portal, just gratification from the constricted tightness of my slippery tunnel. I cry out as if shocked by pain, but there is only pleasure as you shift into its familiar territory of the same. Your old rhythms return like a programmed habit and you smile at your triumph. Remnants of the charade remain as you pepper me with demands to confess my need for more… deeper relentless probes only you can supply. I resist, making you all that more insistent to force my breathless moans into words of gratitude. When you loft one stockinged leg upwards to improve the angle of pumping and stretch me wider open for your grinding thrusts, I surrender with a babbling proclamation of yesses to thank you for my subjugation. We cum together in a confusion of role-playing and falsehoods, nonetheless running the gauntlet from wild exhilaration to the contented drowsiness of recovery and affectionate murmurs. You withdraw, soft and small again, but leave me cuffed to compensate for your body’s need to recoup and the promise of another go around.

I slip into the restaurant bathroom to text you a quick selfie. You have no idea that underneath my heavy turtleneck sweater and wide cut trousers, this is waiting for you. When I return to our booth, fully re-dressed in my unassuming garb, you finally cease talking about yourself… and steer the conversation towards the finer points of seduction.

Your obsessive suctioning of my flesh will likely leave a mark, as a reminder you were there. Likely an unconscious accident, I wonder if It is a humble brag about the intimacy we shared, the access I granted because of the bliss you engendered. Possibly a warning to others that dare tread on your property… you have been here first to plant a possessive flag. Maybe more magnanimous in a sharing sense as a helpful trail head marker to reveal my appetites for such encroachment. There will also be bite marks to describe your hunger for me. Those will disappear under clothing tomorrow, but I will showcase this with a revealing decollete and no apologies for your high school regression… or my choice of younger men to make 'savage' love to me. I will caress it to trigger tingles to my skin in remembering the decidedly graduate level studies we indulged in throughout the evening. When questioned or shamed by less sexually gratified friends, I will reply with a smile of bravado and a trembling breathy murmur of your name.

This was taken moments before a powerful gust of wind pulled me aloft for a few frightening moments of airborne terror. The ground crew was able to wrangle me back to earth… while the photographer kept shooting my gravity-defying fashion antics.

I believe this was always your plan when you invited your old college roommate to visit our summer home for a week’s stay. You both claim you were each other’s best wingman. Inhabiting a small dorm room on campus, you were obviously privy to witnessing each other’s antics… and developed a taste for sharing to celebrate each other’s good fortunes. To hear the stories, you two were notorious in your pursuits and satisfactions, ‘entertaining the ladies’ with first-time threesomes or the thrill of being observed by an invested voyeur. He is charming and almost as handsome as you are. I would soon realize he had a slight size advantage that gives him an undeniable alpha energy that you seem to admire. After a delightful day at the shore, you suggest I take a quick nap to revive my energies while you two prepare dinner. I drift off blissfully, knowing I’ll be awakened when it’s time. I feel a warm hand stroking my cheek, then kisses nuzzling my neck to rouse me from my dreams. I relax under the familiar weight of your body against mine and murmur of my desires to have you inside me. “He’s watching…” “All the better.” I drift in and out of what could be a persistent dream, as my breasts are caressed and I spread my thighs to receive your entry. I finally open my eyes to see you across the room, gazing with a lustful interest at my exquisite impaling. I gasp, more from the sensual sensations than the realization you and your roommate are revisiting familiar behaviors… sharing again. I am already moaning from his finesse my body is responding to reflexively, so seeing you in such a bliss state adds to my runaway arousal. Your past mutual exploits spring vividly to mind, even as I am gloriously stretched by his girth. He is masterful and likely a sight to behold as he instinctually understands my body as it begins to quiver. Likewise, he is hyper-mindful that you are in attendance and I am a precious gift deserving his best performance yet… as well as a spectacular orgasm. His kisses are as deep as his lower probe, setting a syncopated rhythm of thrusts to own me. You offer your expertise… and perhaps peccadillos you want to see visited upon me… suggesting my breasts are the key to my most exhilarated cumming. His kisses glide to my nipples and become devouring to compliment his throbbing magnificence filling me so relentlessly. I moan his name, then yours in a perpetual blur of gratitude for my circumstances… and a glorious loss of my coherence in the frenzy of going over the edge. I sense his awe with my body’s fireworks and, as his orgasm is triggered to add his blast of energy to the union. Mid-climax it is evident his jet fuel compounds my response to what seems never-ending. You join us couch-side to offer caresses and kisses and to feed on the preternatural power dynamic. I hear your voices in a faraway place coming nearer as I come back to full consciousness. I am still pinned beneath him at your insistence that my multiples are worth riding out. You are nursing my fingers to goose and soothe the continuing aftershocks, as you both watch, mesmerized. He endures my clenching around him, reporting on the delights of my tight juicy sleeve. “You told me, but I had no idea, you lucky bastard.” “Just as exciting to watch your magic make her cum so hard.… such a treasure.” “This isn’t over, I deserve my turn in the shadows, while you two…” I chime in, “Yes, please… and I vote for a threesome, so no one sits on the sidelines. Especially curious about being double-teamed… we can film it… to watch later, together…” We all fall silent and slowly start smiling as the logistical rewards are considered. Another unexpected jolt rocks my body. Hard to tell if it’s the tail end of this encounter … or purely anticipation for the next.

The matching wrist and thigh cuffs hint at attaching me to a restraining structure, so you can control my pleasure with your singular blitz upon me. I will not be allowed to reciprocate until my initial orgasm has been delivered. You know I will be insatiably rabid with the need to return the pleasures you gifted me. The returns on your investment will certainly pay off with my desire to prolong the sexual heights you have triggered. Your requests and demands, outside of the usual sensual box, will not be questioned or denied, in my mission to keep pace with your appetites and feed my insatiable nature.

On occasion, I will pull my old showgirl headdress out of the closet to entertain you with a striptease. We first met at the casino showroom I was working in Vegas. You were a high roller with front row seats and enough of a bankroll to qualify for the VIP treatment. I was a favorite of yours, invited for drinks in the lounge where you would ask about my hopes and dreams, laced with intimate innuendos about any interest I might have in sneaking into your hotel room. That denoument was strictly forbidden, but it didn't stop you from asking in a politely veiled manner. I suppose you were tweaking your ego for a self-pleasuring scenarios later. Once we we were married and you had taken me away to a life of luxury and the tempting of men like himself, you confessed to indulging yourself as I suspected. The striptease part of the seduction is no longer needed after all these years. Just the headdress is required for a salute from your lap to recreate one of your endless fantasy situations. Tonight I will have the time to slowly stroll toward you with a provocative sway to my hips, naked as the day I was born, except for the hairdresser. Your eyes light up with the memories flooding back, so when I straddle your excitement to give you the once forbdden, full contact, grinding lap dance… we will both cum in the flurry and frenzy of my feathery cake hat.

I am easily subdued by pinning one arm behind my back and bending me back to put our weight on top of it. I don't struggle as your hand finds a welcoming place between my thighs to stroke the dewy juncture with exploratory caresses. When the juiciness is confirmed you do not hesitate to plunge your long slender fingers into the depths beyond those swelling lips. My surrendering gasp becomes a wanton moaning for a deeper incursion and my promises of reciprocation. You finger the strap of my black lace teddy as you oblige my desires, but yours are to make me cum with your dexterity and finesse. Maybe hear my pleas for a swift release, and deny me the premature gratification to edge me to a crazed wanton so I fully understand that you are in control of my pleasures. My anxious whimpers and ragged breaths implore you and secretly know the orgasm will be that much more exponential if I surrender to your pacing. You taunt me with lewd words concerning my neediness and slutty demeanor, which escalates that exact behavior. This excites you further to experience this normally docile mate, now turned sexually feral. Your stiffening between us betrays your agenda and weakness for just such a partner… and I cleverly indulge you that fantasy. Exploiting your growing physical reflexes for my purposes, I invite your penetration to relieve yourself within, promising a snug fit and an insatiable hunger to increase the thrills you're seeking. The twitch is the telltale consent I need to further my taunting.

You sleepily stumble downstairs and find me perched on the edge of the kitchen table, sipping coffee, naked. Asking “What’s for breakfast?”, I part my legs to answer your question. Dropping to your knees, you whisper “lt is the most important meal of the day…” We both agree with soulful moans as you fortify yourself and I murmur my encouragements, “Truly, the breakfast of champions.”

Despite countering with the Nimzo-Indian Defense, you know I will be no match in our game of foreplay. It is the illusion of delayed gratification, to sit across from you, buck naked, murmuring of my faux aggression to finally beat you in chess. You could throw the game and be on with it, taking me in your arms and carrying me to our bedroom. On this occasion, you are enjoying my sexual play with defiant taunting. I have pinned your Knight to the King, instead of fighting for the center with pawns. Putting pressure on your structural integrity, surprises you, and you whistle with admiration, then sit back down to examine the board for your next move. Mine is to spread my thighs and drape one calf over the armrest of my chair, doing my level best to distract you. I meet your eyes as my fingers delve the glistening there. I barely react at the intrusion, except to bite my lip and gasp from the solid shiver I feel. You move a pawn absent-mindedly, but think better of it. I smile at your hesitation and knead my oozing entry. You pretend to be concentrating, but your gaze is no longer on the board. I am drawing you in with a more sensual gambit, as my fingers fiddle to encourage my subtle squirming. My lips part as I breathily whisper, “Your move…” Knowing this a critical turning point you reach for your King to confront my Queen with an unsanctioned move on the board. You crawl round the ruined game to observe my fingers’ gambit up close. I am moaning seductively from my self-inflicted pleasures. Stroking my calf, you work your way up my thigh as my second knuckle disappears within me. The pattern of your breathing has become elevated as your index finger joins mine to poke about and open me to your mouth. You look up into my heavy-lidded eyes to gauge my reaction. When your long slithering tongue breeches my swelling tenders, my gasping “Yes! Deeper!” gives you the answer and my demands. I am rewarded by your ability to follow orders as my fingers slip away to give you room to maneuver. Your index finger takes on the duties of gently kneading my tender nub while you suckle. Your other hand travels to my rump to pull me into the action of your invested burrowing. My moans are louder because of it as I plead for your more profound penetration. I hear the chess pieces being wiped from the board to the floor, so you can lay me across the checkered surface for that purpose. Taking me with a swift incursion, I am rendered to silence momentarily, while your gruff sounds of elation fill the room. I wrap my ankles around you to force you as deep as possible. I clench to trap you in this perfect filling place, but your reflexive thrusting sets up a compelling rhythm to join in with my acquiescence. The friction is exquisite and I am soon quivering on the verge of a release. You are synchronized and kiss me with your cold tongue that tastes of me. Our detonation in unison is a mutual capitulation ringing with curses and joyful howling. As we slowly recover, still connected, my stilettos slip from my limp feet with a soft thud on the carpet. Check and mate.

I am bellowing but no sound is heard, except for the wet squishy slurps of the in-and-out pace of your masterful thrusts. Each one seems deeper as my tight juicy sleeve accepts the barrage of glorious intrusions. Each sends a pre-orgasmic shiver through my body, now anxiously anticipating the next push to supply a compounding effect to propel us closer to cumming. Your words question my bliss and acceptance, but there is no intention to wait for an answer as the next probe sends a wave of endorphins surging through my being. Suddenly there is a low growl, coming from deep in my core, soft but soon to become a damning scream of wanton desire as you connect on some profound level with my reflexes. Though pinned beneath you like a helpless butterfly, the fierce trembling of surrender subsumes me and I am orbiting in another sphere of colors and endless time. There is a floating among the fireworks of my synapses as the contentment rushes over me like a relentless tsunami. You are kissing me with gratitude as I come back into a full understanding of where I am. Your mutual release has obviously been enjoyed recently as the throbbing within in me is purely sense memory. You babble about my sweet tight envelopment of your pride and joy and how over-the-top sexy I am. An aftershock of my body’s making grips you into giddiness and a new tumbling of affectionate words and kisses are bestowed. You stay in place to experience the next round, content to suckle my breasts thirstily. Your focused efforts goose my reactive flesh with the tingling pain of their tender state. My whimpers are of arousal to your nursing and escalating devouring obsession. A chain reaction of your faint twitchy throbbing within surprises us both, but no objections are heard to continuing down this unprecedented path.

I’ve been waiting for your return since last night’s fireworks. The fireworks we watched together from this very belfry while you delivered the fireworks between us. The spectacle outside certainly contributed to our synchronous spectacular orgasm. We howled with wanton abandon, knowing our explosive screams of bliss would be drowned out by the explosion of the bright gunpowder illuminating the night sky. Midway through the evening’s entertainment, my expectations were far exceeded when we were spotted by random spectators that witnessed flashes of our escalation to a culminating climax from below. They stood gap-mouthed, preferring the exhibition of our rocking bodies moving at a paced rhythm as you relentlessly thrust deeper and deeper from behind. So thrilled to be observed, I had the presence of mind to wave to our audience, but was soon quickly rendered senseless and delirious by my runaway arousal… the profound pounding… and the periodic lightning exposing the details of my writhing body. No one left, mesmerized by watching us cum with no shame or guilt as we had chosen the bell tower for the view and location for such an explosive detonation.

Blow the fife and pound the drums for our country’s semiquincentennial birthday celebration. May we live together long enough in peace to celebrate another 250 years!

Your sci-fi peccadillo is easily satisfied with a minimum of costuming. The silver mylar boots left over from Halloween will be enough to represent the genre you sexually crave. Once you see the metallic halter that drapes my pert breasts, your Star Trek uniform twitches in a convincing show of approval. Shiny reflective hologram disc earrings add the final touch to distract you from the tacky git-up. Your imagination is strong and capable of filling in a much richer scenario. You reverently approach me with your tri-coder to scan my thong, front and back, deducing I am an alien sex robot from the beeps it emits. Slipping the business end of the device inside my thong, you reset it to ‘stun’. It activates just enough of a vibration to trigger my reaction and compliance to my programming. I moan realistically, as any good sex-bot worth its weight in transistors would and request an inspection of my breasts, to be sure they meet the specs you’re expecting. Lifting the flimsy chain mail, you are surprised by my jogwheel pasties, meant as dialable controls for levels of aggression and exhilaration. I hint there is an adjustable slide bar between my thighs to fine tune the juicy levels and aperture of my fleshlight-like entry portal. You are so thrilled with my attention to detail, you can’t stop kissing my breasts, twisting the pasties to intensify my moans from whimpers… and a cradling of your balls with an increasing expertise. You command me to show you the present juicy levels of my tightened sex sleeve. by removing the thong… provocatively. You sit down to enjoy the unveiling, and once unhitched, I raise my calf to your shoulder, so you can inspect it up close enough to kiss. You indulge yourself with my familiar flavor, congratulating my sex-bot self for intuitively knowing your favorite taste. At this point, most of the premise is dropped as you are overcome with desire and urgency to inhabit me. I become less robotic and more human, needing my own desires gratified with a good old 20th century orgasm. You are inside me and pumping me passionately in moments. We will cum swiftly and return throughout the day for follow-ups… as long as I’m sporting the sexy ‘cloaking device’ that compels you to boldly go where no man has gone before… in your mind.