Emily couldn’t believe it when a perfect 10 asked her to show him the ropes.
On a good night, I’d say I’m a seven. If I make the effort, I can sometimes be an eight. But there was this one time when I swear I was a nine. And guess what? I pulled a 10.
His name was Justin. He had longish bleached blonde hair, like Chris Hemsworth, blue eyes and firm surfer-boy muscles. I met him at a fetish club, at a Halloween Ball. I was dressed as a doll in a Victorian-style dress and black satin corset pulled as tight as I could get it, and with my natural curves the way they were (that is, ample) the end result was (literally) breathtaking. I had long stripy stockings, patent Mary Janes, red cheeks and lips and my dark hair in ringlets. I was my own fantasy. And it seemed that I was his, too.
At first I couldn’t get my head round the fact he was chatting me up. He sidled up to me as I stood by the bar. Started with a chat-up line, moved on to a compliment, and then invited himself back to mine. He was new to all this, he said. He wanted me to show him the ropes. Pun intended. I’m a shy person, but that night I wasn’t a person but a doll, and he wanted to play.
Back at mine, we were naked within minutes of getting through the front door. He’d never snorted a line off someone’s cleavage, so it had to be done. He’d never been tied up, so I grabbed some tights from a drawer and bound his wrists to the headboard. And he’d never been dominated…
Up until that point, it had just been fun. But something changed in his face when I moved to position my wet and naked pussy over his rubbered-up dick, looking down at him. Suddenly, he wasn’t the cocky, good-looking-and-don’t-I-know-it charmer he’d been a minute earlier. There was a kind of awe there. I was really taking him somewhere he’d never been before.
I used another pair of tights to bind his eyes, too, and then picked up a lit candle from the bedside table and poured a couple of sizzling drops onto his torso. His back arched and he gasped, his mouth opening wide, and I dived on it, driving my tongue deep into his mouth and grinding down suddenly on his cock until I’d taken it in completely. And then I squeezed and bucked my hips and watched his face contort. I ached when I saw the effect I had on him; I’d never known anyone react so strongly to my every move. When I flattened myself down on him hard and writhed against him he moaned and sighed and cried, “fucking hell…”. When I sat back up, still gripping him firmly inside me, and poured more searing wax up and down his body, even dripping a little onto the exposed base of his cock, I watched him jump and squirm, but also smile, like he couldn’t believe how he was feeling. I’d never felt so powerful as he swelled and jerked inside me and I ended it by riding him until we both came as loudly as porn stars.
The next morning he looked even more beautiful, with his hair mussed up and his face all sticky and flushed. He obviously didn’t want to leave and literally backed out of the front door as he proferred his number and asked to see me again. But I didn’t want to. It was so perfect, just the way it was.
I’ve never been so stupendously lucky since, but I certainly now believe that everyone gets a chance at a 10 at least once in their lives!
