[ Blind ] - Chris/JC
Feb. 24th, 2004 07:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymEarly morning porn!
[ Blind ] Chris/JC. NC17. Chris, JC and a blindfold.
In the silence, you're overwhelmingly aware of several things. How dark and quiet it is when one of your senses is taken away. How sharp the leather seems to bite into you, chafing your wrists mildly. How the carpet feels beneath your knees and legs, the nap prickly against your skin.
"You should see how you look."
His voice floats to you, slides inside your ears and down into your brain. You feel the words, the tone, slip down to twine around your nervous system. It's a warm, comforting feeling; makes the blackness around you a little lighter.
You don't generally like blindfolds, but he insisted this time, and now you're glad. You miss seeing his smile and his eyes, but it makes everything feel more intense. More intimate.
It's hard to stay here on your knees, knowing he's somewhere in the room – you think maybe in front of you, from where his voice started – but not right here by you. Then again, it's not really your choice, is it?
"You should see yourself," he says again, voice deeper. Thicker. You strain briefly against the blindfold, against the bindings around your wrists before relaxing. You want to touch, feel, see. Instead you listen, mind offering possibilities to go with the soft rustlings and grunts. Maybe he's jacking himself? Staring at you, hard and bound and wanting, and pleasuring himself? Maybe he's sliding his hands over his chest, fingers teasing his nipples while he thinks about teasing you the same way? The sounds turn slick, wet, and you wonder if he's spread open, fingering himself. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out head-to-toe, and he laughs softly.
"Please," you hear yourself say faintly.
"Not yet." The slick sounds increase in speed and volume, and your body tightens, throbs hungrily. However he's touching himself – if he really even is – you want that. You want his hands on you, weight pressing you into the mattress, mouth hot and wet against yours, against your skin. "Can you come just listening to me?" You shake your head; you think maybe, but you don't know for sure. Never assume; that's the one lesson above all that you've learned from this. "Are you sure?"
You nod this time.
But maybe.
Maybe?
"Listen closely. I think you can." His voice is low, thick, seductive. You close your eyes beneath the blindfold and breathe slowly, deep, willing yourself to relax. You're already hard, excited, hungry for sensation. For pleasure. You'll take yours through his, since that's what he seems to want.
His breath is the first thing you notice. His breathing. It's not deep and even, like yours. It's harsher, faster, falling and rising in a cadence. Behind the darkness you picture him, long lean body sprawled out on the huge chair. He's naked, skin flushed with his own want. Head back, exposing his throat. You love to bite him, to leave blush-red marks on smooth, pale skin. You think about biting him and hear his chuckle.
"Too bad you can't see me. I have my fingers around my cock, just stroking. Very lightly. My other hand is behind my balls, one finger inside me. Feels good; I like fingering myself."
You strain forward again. You can almost see it, that small muscle opening for him, closing around his finger when it slides in and out. He's slick with lube or spit, or maybe both, and his finger morphs into your cock, and then into his cock, fucking into you. Pressing you open and holding you that way, as he teases you, drawing out almost all the way, just the head of his cock forcing the ring to stay open, wanting. You groan and hear his echo you and wish you could move, that you could turn over and offer yourself to him.
You could, but you've been told to say here, on your knees.
"Almost," he growls, and you can hear it in that short, clipped word, in the way he grunts and pants through it. Your thighs are tense, your whole body held rigid. Your cock throbs in time with each beat of your heart. "Close—"
Soft sounds, and you wonder, wish, hope he'll come and untie you, let you touch and soothe the hunger raging through you. Louder sounds nearer you, flesh-on-flesh and rough breathing, and you shudder with the effort of keeping still, your hips wanting to fuck, to move, to bury you deep into him or just into your hand.
Wet heat takes you by surprise, though it maybe shouldn't, from the hoarse, deep grunt that comes just before it. Splatters on your chest, your face, your mouth, and then you're coming too, heat zigzagging lightning hot and bright through you, turning you molten hot, completely liquid.
You pant through it, licking at his taste on your lips. Afterward he's there, kneeling, sitting, something, right in front of you. Pulling you close and kissing you while his fingers undo the knots on the leather holding your wrists.
"Perfect," he whispers. "Just perfect. So beautiful. Loved it. Loved you." Each word is spread with kisses, stained with darkness.
He leaves the blindfold on, even after you're unbound.
For once, you don't protest.
~fin~
[ Blind ] Chris/JC. NC17. Chris, JC and a blindfold.
In the silence, you're overwhelmingly aware of several things. How dark and quiet it is when one of your senses is taken away. How sharp the leather seems to bite into you, chafing your wrists mildly. How the carpet feels beneath your knees and legs, the nap prickly against your skin.
"You should see how you look."
His voice floats to you, slides inside your ears and down into your brain. You feel the words, the tone, slip down to twine around your nervous system. It's a warm, comforting feeling; makes the blackness around you a little lighter.
You don't generally like blindfolds, but he insisted this time, and now you're glad. You miss seeing his smile and his eyes, but it makes everything feel more intense. More intimate.
It's hard to stay here on your knees, knowing he's somewhere in the room – you think maybe in front of you, from where his voice started – but not right here by you. Then again, it's not really your choice, is it?
"You should see yourself," he says again, voice deeper. Thicker. You strain briefly against the blindfold, against the bindings around your wrists before relaxing. You want to touch, feel, see. Instead you listen, mind offering possibilities to go with the soft rustlings and grunts. Maybe he's jacking himself? Staring at you, hard and bound and wanting, and pleasuring himself? Maybe he's sliding his hands over his chest, fingers teasing his nipples while he thinks about teasing you the same way? The sounds turn slick, wet, and you wonder if he's spread open, fingering himself. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out head-to-toe, and he laughs softly.
"Please," you hear yourself say faintly.
"Not yet." The slick sounds increase in speed and volume, and your body tightens, throbs hungrily. However he's touching himself – if he really even is – you want that. You want his hands on you, weight pressing you into the mattress, mouth hot and wet against yours, against your skin. "Can you come just listening to me?" You shake your head; you think maybe, but you don't know for sure. Never assume; that's the one lesson above all that you've learned from this. "Are you sure?"
You nod this time.
But maybe.
Maybe?
"Listen closely. I think you can." His voice is low, thick, seductive. You close your eyes beneath the blindfold and breathe slowly, deep, willing yourself to relax. You're already hard, excited, hungry for sensation. For pleasure. You'll take yours through his, since that's what he seems to want.
His breath is the first thing you notice. His breathing. It's not deep and even, like yours. It's harsher, faster, falling and rising in a cadence. Behind the darkness you picture him, long lean body sprawled out on the huge chair. He's naked, skin flushed with his own want. Head back, exposing his throat. You love to bite him, to leave blush-red marks on smooth, pale skin. You think about biting him and hear his chuckle.
"Too bad you can't see me. I have my fingers around my cock, just stroking. Very lightly. My other hand is behind my balls, one finger inside me. Feels good; I like fingering myself."
You strain forward again. You can almost see it, that small muscle opening for him, closing around his finger when it slides in and out. He's slick with lube or spit, or maybe both, and his finger morphs into your cock, and then into his cock, fucking into you. Pressing you open and holding you that way, as he teases you, drawing out almost all the way, just the head of his cock forcing the ring to stay open, wanting. You groan and hear his echo you and wish you could move, that you could turn over and offer yourself to him.
You could, but you've been told to say here, on your knees.
"Almost," he growls, and you can hear it in that short, clipped word, in the way he grunts and pants through it. Your thighs are tense, your whole body held rigid. Your cock throbs in time with each beat of your heart. "Close—"
Soft sounds, and you wonder, wish, hope he'll come and untie you, let you touch and soothe the hunger raging through you. Louder sounds nearer you, flesh-on-flesh and rough breathing, and you shudder with the effort of keeping still, your hips wanting to fuck, to move, to bury you deep into him or just into your hand.
Wet heat takes you by surprise, though it maybe shouldn't, from the hoarse, deep grunt that comes just before it. Splatters on your chest, your face, your mouth, and then you're coming too, heat zigzagging lightning hot and bright through you, turning you molten hot, completely liquid.
You pant through it, licking at his taste on your lips. Afterward he's there, kneeling, sitting, something, right in front of you. Pulling you close and kissing you while his fingers undo the knots on the leather holding your wrists.
"Perfect," he whispers. "Just perfect. So beautiful. Loved it. Loved you." Each word is spread with kisses, stained with darkness.
He leaves the blindfold on, even after you're unbound.
For once, you don't protest.
~fin~
