“Suck”: SS’s Fantasy Experiment

0019Sweet Soumise is an adventurous young woman living in Paris. She wrote in asking for a monthly dare, and here’s her response to her most recent experiment from Mr. X.

Dear Mr. X,

What a treat to explore this way! I couldn’t wait to close my eyes and picture my favorite fantasy. I love the word you used, “urgent.” But then, the very day you posted my response to the last dare, the unexpected happened here in Paris. For a long time, I couldn’t access my fantasies; my imagination couldn’t find the path back to that sort of excitement. I wanted desperately to feel, but I was numb.

Then, slowly, I found my way back. My heart and my head connected again, and soon after came the rest of me. Thank you for the impetus to find my way back to myself.

In my fantasy, I imagine a beautiful, anonymous place; it’s the lobby of a luxurious hotel. I see the floor stretching out in front of me, the large black and white tiles gleaming. I hear the sound of my heels clicking against the surface. I am on his arm, laughing. It all feels so easy and glamorous. I feel the fabric of his suit jacket, the warm texture rubbing against my fingertips.

We arrive at our room, the door shutting firmly behind us. He tells me to stay where I am, rifles through a bag, and out comes the blindfold. My husband places it over my head, allowing me to adjust my hair around it. It’s one of the last gestures I will have full control over.

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” he says, meaning my clothes, and I feel his hands at the buttons of my coat. He undoes them, and the weight of the coat is lifted from me. He places his hands on my breasts, cupping them gently at first, then with a grip that makes me gasp. “Take this off,” he says in my ear, almost growling, and I am already wet. I remove my top and suddenly he’s behind me, slowly unzipping my skirt. I feel his breath on my neck. The skirt falls to the floor, and I carefully step out of it. I try to kick off my shoes, but he’s already pulling down my underwear. I take a step forward, then another, and now I’ve left everything behind.

I hear another noise, and a soft clink. I know what this is, and elongate my neck instinctively. He moves my hair aside, and I hold still for the collar that’s being secured around my neck. There’s a clicking noise, and I am pulled forward. He’s at the other end of my leash, leading me towards the bed. The leather collar is cool and firm against my skin, and it pushes into the back of my neck as he guides me towards the bed. Suddenly I walk into it, which causes me to bend forward, and then I feel his hands holding me in place. The fabric of his jacket feels coarser now as he pushes me down, keeping me still. I can feel the pressure of his cock through his pants. I moan softly.

“You like that, don’t you?” he says quietly in my ear. I am lost in the sensation of his clothed body pressed against my naked one, and his fingers roughly push into me. I cry out, surprised. “I said, you like that, don’t you?” he repeats, and his fingers push further. I am so, so wet.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yes what?” he prompts, and he begins to pump me with his fingers. I let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry.

“Yes, I like it!” I breathe, barely able to speak. He takes his other hand, moves my face close to his, and kisses me hard. His other hand doesn’t stop its steady pulse against me, and what started as one finger has now become two. It is next to impossible to crawl the length of the bed while he is working his hand inside me, and I fall onto the duvet. He pushes between my legs, and somehow I make it to the top of the bed. He thrusts three fingers inside me, and the loud noise I make is immediately muffled with one of the pillows he’s grabbed. Then he slips his hand out and rubs my wetness down my leg, smoothing it.

There’s a moment of stillness. The only movement is the rhythm of my chest heaving up and down as I lie on my back. Then my respite is over, and he abruptly lifts my legs up, surprising me. He starts giving me little spanks, sometimes intentionally missing and slipping a finger inside me again. I struggle, but he’s managed to get a powerful grip around my ankles, and no matter how much I wriggle, I can’t break free. Then, just as suddenly as he began, he stops, and I feel my leash pulling upwards.

He lifts the duvet up and guides me in, rolling me onto my stomach and climbing on top of me. I sense him reaching above me and hear my leash being tied to the headboard. Once it’s secure, I feel the weight of his body on me, closing me in. “This is where you belong,” he says softly in my ear, and his fingers push their way into my mouth. “Suck,” he commands, and I do.

Because he is on top of me, I cannot move, and this somehow frees me. In this position, trapped in the bed with him surrounding me, I cannot hear, I cannot see, I cannot think. All I know is when he says, “Suck,” I must suck. He lowers the zipper of his pants. I am so wet and open, it makes my desire for him overpowering. I take him into my mouth. He buries his hands in my already tousled hair, slightly massaging me. I rub my clit against the crisp white sheets, moaning around his cock. He lets out a sigh, almost a gasp, and I’m satisfied because he is, too.

The duvet lifts up from the bottom, and I feel myself slowly exposed. The air cools me, hits the slickness of my legs. This is not an unfamiliar sensation, and I revel in being mostly covered at the top and forced to reveal myself at the bottom. I continue sucking my husband’s cock, and then, in shock, I pull back. The sensation is familiar because he’s pulled the covers back other times, usually right before a spanking. But he is here above me now, so how…?

I feel him move down and cup his hands around my face. This will be the only moment where I can see. He slides the blindfold up, still cupping my face so I have no peripheral vision. I can only see him. “It’s okay,” he says, and it is. I take a shaky breath and let it out. He smiles at me, puts the blindfold back in place, and kisses me. It’s a soft, sweet kiss at first, but then he presses his lips against mine firmly. He pushes a finger into my mouth and continues to kiss me around it as I suck, which drives me wild. The duvet, which had remained still, is lifted up again, and I feel hands, different hands, against my legs. I breathe in sharply, but my husband holds my head in place, and I keep sucking. He pushes another finger into my mouth as I feel fingers below push into me.

I have never experienced more than one person at a time, and the effect is truly mind-blowing. I am flipped onto my back, my husband’s hands running up and down my curves, stopping to play with my nipples. Other hands rub my clit vigorously, making me gasp and moan. My husband kisses me, and his tongue seeks out mine. My body catches the rhythm from below and now the whole bed is shaking. He shifts and now his cock is at my mouth again. I moan in an exquisite state of agony; the hands below are working me furiously, and I want to come more than anything.

I am being worked over in the best sense. I cannot think of anything except getting off. The pressure builds inside of me, and I feel a heat emanating from deep within. I jerk my body around the hand sliding in and out of me, and whoever it belongs to changes the rhythm to match my bucking hips. My husband lets out a groan and I know it means he can’t take it anymore, either. As I violently come, he pulls out of my mouth and aims for the space between my breasts. The hot liquid spurts onto me, rolling across my chest. My orgasm melts away slowly, still causing me to quiver and shake. My husband continues to come onto me, and I smile at the sounds he makes, happy to have pleased him with my reactions. I feel the hands below slide down my legs, and a mouth kisses me softly, briefly, on the tip of my clit. My hips rise and fall again, and another orgasm, smaller but still enough to rock me, builds and releases. Then the lips brush my neck, then footsteps, then nothing. I hear the door open and close. Whoever he was, he is gone.

It’s just my husband and I now. I want to talk, I want to laugh, I want to stay in this bed forever. For the moment I simply lean against his chest, and sigh as his glides his hand absent-mindedly up and down my arm. I feel myself drift off to sleep. I smile as I imagine waking up and remembering everything that happened, and realizing that no, it wasn’t a dream. This bliss was real.
* * *

There really was never any question about where I’d leave the dare. I consider this as I walk up to the green door of a very well known English-language bookshop. Once inside, I climb the stairs. I notice no one is playing the piano.

At the top of the stairs, I turn left. I was last here three weeks ago, the night I met my friend for dinner. I’d told him a few salacious details of what I’d been up to recently, and mentioned this dare. “You should hide it at the bookshop!” he laughed. I considered the idea. Where else was I going to put this little fantasy of mine? We were sitting at the restaurant’s window, and I looked out it then, in the shop’s direction.

That night we walked across the bridge towards the Metro, like we always do. I admired the reflections from the lights on the black water of the Seine as we heard sirens. We crossed the cobblestoned streets and heard even more sirens. What’s going on? we asked each other. Neither of us had an answer.

We were almost at the Metro. Near Châtelet, a man stopped us as sirens continued to wail all around. He asked us if we knew what had happened. An attack, he said. Much worse than what happened in January. I looked at my friend as the man left. What kind of an attack?

Now, three weeks later, I go over all this for the millionth time. I look at the old books in front of me. Is anyone from downstairs watching me on a security camera as I take the folded pieces of paper from my bag? My eyes rest on a book of poems by Paul Verlaine. I like the illustration of a woman on the spine. I flip through to see how much I understand. A bit. I take the papers, which I’ve folded like a letter, and press them next to the book. Then I return the book to the shelf. I’m slightly alarmed by how visible my dare is. I wonder how long it will take anyone to notice it.

When I leave the shop, the sun is shining. I tilt my face towards the light. It has not been a good three weeks. But I have my imagination and I have Paris. And I’m going to continue to make the most of both.





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