The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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Put These On For Me . . . free porn video
When she took you to the mall and said she needed to make a quick stop at Victoria’s Secret, you thought she was shopping for herself. Maybe she's teasing you a little, picking out a few things to stir your imagination before your first official date. Perhaps it's a declaration of sorts, a sign of what she has planned for after your date. It's hard to say. You've been chatting online every day for a month now and have even attended a couple of events together, but so far you've been any more intimate than sharing a hug. And here she is, holding out lingerie and $30 thongs and asking you what you think. Since all the blood has drained out of your head the best you can manage to say is “I think you'd look amazing in those,” to which she smiles knowingly in response.
When it comes time to cash out, the woman at the register points out a small problem. Of the six outfits she's picked out, five of them are size Medium, and one of them, a black satin cami and matching panties, is a Large. The cashier offers to replace them in the correct size to which She answers, “Oh those aren't for me, they're for him,” and points at your reddened face.
You try and take the joke like a champ and laugh it off, but after you've walked her back to her car and set up a time for your date, she reached into the bag and hands the outfit to you.
“For our date,” she says, smiling.
You don't think you understand and you tell her you don't, and all the while she keeps smiling as she explains. “To wear under your clothes.” And before you can argue with her she leaves you with a final thought before she drives off. “If you wear THAT for me, I'll wear one of THESE for YOU when we go back to my place.”
The Date
You arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes early and feeling awkward and embarrassed as though people can see through your clothes to the lingerie you're wearing underneath. You temporarily forget about the thong riding up your ass when she arrives looking seductive and beautiful. Unfortunately you're reminded again when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and she whispers in your ear, “While you're in there, take a picture and text it to me, I want to see.”
Standing there in the bathroom stall with your shirt unbuttoned and your pants around your ankles it takes you three tries to take a decent picture with your shaky hands, and you send it to Her cell and return to the table before she has time to respond.
When you get there she looks up from her phone, grinning. She mouths two soundless words at you, ‘So hot!’ and then sets her phone down. It's not until you're both walking back to your car together that you finally build up the nerve to ask, “Why did you ask me to wear this?”
“Two reasons,” she explained. “First, because I love to see a man's body in lingerie and how it humbles him. And second, because if this is going to work between us then I need to know that you'll do what I ask you to, and without questioning it or arguing. So far, you've done very well.”
“It's a little gay though, isn't it?”
She smiled and balked at the suggestion. “How can it be gay if you're doing it to please a woman? Why should men get to have all the fun? Do you know how much time I spent making myself look good for you tonight?”
You shake your head, you haven't a clue.
She tells you, “Almost 3 hours. Shave, shower, wash my hair, dry it, makeup, getting dressed, doing my hair . . . all so you'd want to take me home and fuck me.”
Your pants get tight at the admission that she's interested in you that way, and your face is getting hotter by the second.
“Now,” she says pointedly, “if women are willing to do all that to please a man, why shouldn't men have to do the same?”
“No reason,” you admit. “At least, nothing I can think of.”
“Exactly!”
She grabs you around the waist and pulls you close to her, close enough to feel the heat of your bodies through your clothes, and she grabs your ass with her free hand. Her breath is hot in your ear as she whispers into it, “When you came back from the bathroom, I wanted to throw you down on the table and fuck you in front of everyone, because you made yourself pretty for me. But I want to make you even prettier . . . would you like that?”
You're stammering like an over-sexed adolescent, but you manage to ask, “Prettier how?”
“The same way we do . . . maybe a little makeup, some nice perfume, maybe a pair of stockings?”
She's still holding you close and she allows her fingertips to glance over the mound in your jeans as she backs away and looks up at you, grinning. “How about it, stud? Will you let me make you over a little? If you let me do it I'll give you something very special.”
Her Place
. . . is warm and well decorated. She offers you a glass of wine and leads you to the bathroom where she says the light is best. She unbuttons your shirt, takes it off, then your pants leaving you standing there in her bathroom, dressed in expensive women's underwear. Somehow, this makes you feel more exposed and vulnerable than if you'd been completely naked. The feeling intensifies as she instructs you to sit on the edge of the tub and begins to apply make up to you, your faces mere inches apart as she curls your lashes, details your eyes, and paints your lips to a fire engine red.
“I'm going to go into the other room to get things ready,” she informs you, handing you a small bottle of nail polish. “Feet and fingers,” she instructs you. “Come out when you're ready.”
Hers
You follow the flickering candlelight to her bedroom and find Her sitting on her bed sipping wine. Upon seeing you, she sits the glass down on her nightstand and rises, looking you up and down in all your splendid emasculation. “You're beautiful,” she says, but you're so overwhelmed by how amazing she looks wearing one of the outfits you purchased together that you barely hear her.
She points to her dresser and says, “Top drawer.”
You go to it, open it, and find a large dildo secured in a harness beside a small bottle of sex lube. You look back at her and she nods, “Bring them both to me.”
It's long, thick with artificial veins, and threatening, but you bring it to her anyway, and she exchanges it with a smile as she steps into it and pulls it up over her hips like underwear until it's standing out like a weapon. You're not sure what she intends to do with it exactly, but its presence makes you afraid and your body begins to tremble. She sits back down onto the bed and simultaneously lowers you to your knees simply by pointing to the floor between her feet.
She squirts a shot of lube into an open palm and begins stroking it over the dildo jutting from between her legs in a closed fist. “How do you feel about a blowjob on the first date?” she asked coyly.
Confused, you shrug and say, “A blowjob would be great, I guess . . .”
She smiles, “Good, I'm glad you feel that way. Go ahead, let's see what you can do.”
It takes you a minute, but then she sees that you don't understand so she explains it to you patiently. “First you suck mine, and then I'll suck yours.”
You're unable to move, crippled by fear and uncertainty, and she takes it all away with a simple question, “Don't you want me to blow you?”
Ridiculously, your answer is just as simple, “Yes, I do.”
She nods and smiles as she places one hand on the back of your head and begins guiding you towards the 8” phallus aimed at your face. “Good, I want to blow you too. First I want you to pretend that you're me and I'm you, and I want you to suck my cock exactly how you want me to suck yours.”
When the tip of the thing strapped to her reaches your lips, you're surprised to find it tastes like strawberries, maybe cherries, but pleasant nonetheless. And as though she can read your thoughts, she alleviates your worries with a single phrase, “Remember, it's not gay if you're doing it to a woman and getting her off . . . you want to make me feel good, don't you?”
You do, more than ever before. “Yes, I do.”
She strokes your face with one hand while the other applies pressure to the back of your head as your lips part and you take her into your mouth. And though you know she can't actually feel it the way a man can, she responds as though she can and does. She lets out a moan and tilts her head back as her legs wrap around your ribcage, trapping you as she shuffles her hips closer to the edge of the bed while pulling you in closer with her feet.
“Good boy,” you hear her say.
You look up to find her looking down at you, and her hand begins pushing you into her and pulling you back, an action you're experiencing for the first time from the receiving end. Her body is twisting and writhing along with her moans, almost as though she can feel what you're doing with your mouth, and the more effort you put in the more she seems to enjoy it.
As you begin to fall into a rhythm and your eyes close she snaps you back into the moment. “Look at me,” she said sharply. Then, after you've complied with the demand, she resumes fucking your mouth and strokes your head approvingly. “Good boy, that's a good boy.”
After a while of seeming to come close to climaxing and then falling off, she decides you've done enough and withdraws from your mouth with the strangest compliment you've ever received from a woman, thus sealing your destiny. “That was so fucking hot I almost came . . . several times.”
She's pulled you to your feet and shoved you on the bed and straddled your chest before you realized it was happening. And the rubber cock in your mouth again distracts you so that you don't even notice as she ties your wrists together with rope and lashes them to one of the bed posts. Then you feel the familiar adjustments made by someone positioning themselves into the 69 position. But before you can complain about the rubber cock being shoved into your mouth for the third time, her hot breath is on your exposed stomach and her fingertips are tracing the lines of the expensive panties you forgot you were wearing, and all resistance simply vanishes. You gladly take her cock back into your mouth as she takes yours into hers, and perform all the acrobatics with your mouth that you want her to repeat on you . . . and she does not disappoint.
Just as you begin to approach climax though, she backs off. As you double your efforts, she backs off further still, and stops.
The cock is yanked out of your mouth as she reverses her position once again, and settles down over your hips. You look down to see her yanking the crotch of the harness aside and she begins to settle down onto you, and you feel yourself enter her, warm, wet, and inviting. You're inside of her now, and she continues to maintain total control; how far, how deep, how fast . . . all the way She wants it.
Likewise, when she begins to climax, though you're not far behind her She unceremoniously pulls you out of her and frog hops onto your chest, and it's your mouth that finishes her off while your erection throbs into the empty air for a minute before taking a dying gasp and begins to dwindle downwards for a nap on your new panties.
You can taste yourself in her, something you've never wanted or wondered about, but looking up at her heaving chest and feeling her grind and thrust down on your mouth you just go with it, despite your internal fears of suffocation and the fact that you're tied to a bed, practically defenseless.
Now . . . YOUR turn.
She’s sliding down your body, kissing your chest and stomach as she descends, her tongue and fingers skimming over your body with the precision of a watchmaker while providing the marvel of a master illusionist. Flaccid disappointment melts into fear that you may climax before she even touches you in that place . . . once again you are levelled by a wave of shame and confusion mixed with exhilaration and new sexuality.
Now she's skipped over the place you hoped that her mouth would linger and she's kneeling between you legs with your legs spread and your ankles resting on her shoulders as she inches forward on her knees until the hard tip of her cock is probing you.
Two fingers slip inside of you, lathered in lube, and then the tip begins to move in small concentric circles, each coming closer to Her ultimate target. At the same time she takes you in her free hand and begins to stroke you within a tiny but powerful fist.
Minutes pass as you linger at the brink, until you finally realize that it's intentional and she acknowledges the realization with, “Do you want me to let you cum?”
“God yes! PLEASE!”
The tip of her cock finds home and enters you, but just barely. “How bad do you want to cum?”
Your reply is beyond interpretation at “Fuck PLEASE!”
At that, she gives you another inch of her strap on and pins you down with both hands as your body begins to buck. “I'll make you a deal . . . “ she gives you another inch of the strap on, withdraws nearly all the way, and reintroduces it again. “I'll fuck your ass until I cum, and if you can hold out until I finish I'll give you the best blowjob of your life. And . . . I'll swallow.”
Despite your pain and shame, you feel yourself get harder, and she notices. But there's still one question lingering in your brain. “What if I cum first?”
“Then" she answered, “I'll make you lick my fingers clean while I fuck you until you can't sit down for a week.”
Less than a minute after you agree to her terms you are swallowing your own semen with mascara running down your cheeks as she lays into you like a piece of raw meat. A week later after you haven't heard from you're texting her, begging for another chance, to which she replied, “Friday at 9. Wear the outfit I bought for you and get ready for me.”
Your response seals your dynamic, “Yes Mistress, and thank You.”
Krissy
When it comes time to cash out, the woman at the register points out a small problem. Of the six outfits she's picked out, five of them are size Medium, and one of them, a black satin cami and matching panties, is a Large. The cashier offers to replace them in the correct size to which She answers, “Oh those aren't for me, they're for him,” and points at your reddened face.
You try and take the joke like a champ and laugh it off, but after you've walked her back to her car and set up a time for your date, she reached into the bag and hands the outfit to you.
“For our date,” she says, smiling.
You don't think you understand and you tell her you don't, and all the while she keeps smiling as she explains. “To wear under your clothes.” And before you can argue with her she leaves you with a final thought before she drives off. “If you wear THAT for me, I'll wear one of THESE for YOU when we go back to my place.”
The Date
You arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes early and feeling awkward and embarrassed as though people can see through your clothes to the lingerie you're wearing underneath. You temporarily forget about the thong riding up your ass when she arrives looking seductive and beautiful. Unfortunately you're reminded again when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and she whispers in your ear, “While you're in there, take a picture and text it to me, I want to see.”
Standing there in the bathroom stall with your shirt unbuttoned and your pants around your ankles it takes you three tries to take a decent picture with your shaky hands, and you send it to Her cell and return to the table before she has time to respond.
When you get there she looks up from her phone, grinning. She mouths two soundless words at you, ‘So hot!’ and then sets her phone down. It's not until you're both walking back to your car together that you finally build up the nerve to ask, “Why did you ask me to wear this?”
“Two reasons,” she explained. “First, because I love to see a man's body in lingerie and how it humbles him. And second, because if this is going to work between us then I need to know that you'll do what I ask you to, and without questioning it or arguing. So far, you've done very well.”
“It's a little gay though, isn't it?”
She smiled and balked at the suggestion. “How can it be gay if you're doing it to please a woman? Why should men get to have all the fun? Do you know how much time I spent making myself look good for you tonight?”
You shake your head, you haven't a clue.
She tells you, “Almost 3 hours. Shave, shower, wash my hair, dry it, makeup, getting dressed, doing my hair . . . all so you'd want to take me home and fuck me.”
Your pants get tight at the admission that she's interested in you that way, and your face is getting hotter by the second.
“Now,” she says pointedly, “if women are willing to do all that to please a man, why shouldn't men have to do the same?”
“No reason,” you admit. “At least, nothing I can think of.”
“Exactly!”
She grabs you around the waist and pulls you close to her, close enough to feel the heat of your bodies through your clothes, and she grabs your ass with her free hand. Her breath is hot in your ear as she whispers into it, “When you came back from the bathroom, I wanted to throw you down on the table and fuck you in front of everyone, because you made yourself pretty for me. But I want to make you even prettier . . . would you like that?”
You're stammering like an over-sexed adolescent, but you manage to ask, “Prettier how?”
“The same way we do . . . maybe a little makeup, some nice perfume, maybe a pair of stockings?”
She's still holding you close and she allows her fingertips to glance over the mound in your jeans as she backs away and looks up at you, grinning. “How about it, stud? Will you let me make you over a little? If you let me do it I'll give you something very special.”
Her Place
. . . is warm and well decorated. She offers you a glass of wine and leads you to the bathroom where she says the light is best. She unbuttons your shirt, takes it off, then your pants leaving you standing there in her bathroom, dressed in expensive women's underwear. Somehow, this makes you feel more exposed and vulnerable than if you'd been completely naked. The feeling intensifies as she instructs you to sit on the edge of the tub and begins to apply make up to you, your faces mere inches apart as she curls your lashes, details your eyes, and paints your lips to a fire engine red.
“I'm going to go into the other room to get things ready,” she informs you, handing you a small bottle of nail polish. “Feet and fingers,” she instructs you. “Come out when you're ready.”
Hers
You follow the flickering candlelight to her bedroom and find Her sitting on her bed sipping wine. Upon seeing you, she sits the glass down on her nightstand and rises, looking you up and down in all your splendid emasculation. “You're beautiful,” she says, but you're so overwhelmed by how amazing she looks wearing one of the outfits you purchased together that you barely hear her.
She points to her dresser and says, “Top drawer.”
You go to it, open it, and find a large dildo secured in a harness beside a small bottle of sex lube. You look back at her and she nods, “Bring them both to me.”
It's long, thick with artificial veins, and threatening, but you bring it to her anyway, and she exchanges it with a smile as she steps into it and pulls it up over her hips like underwear until it's standing out like a weapon. You're not sure what she intends to do with it exactly, but its presence makes you afraid and your body begins to tremble. She sits back down onto the bed and simultaneously lowers you to your knees simply by pointing to the floor between her feet.
She squirts a shot of lube into an open palm and begins stroking it over the dildo jutting from between her legs in a closed fist. “How do you feel about a blowjob on the first date?” she asked coyly.
Confused, you shrug and say, “A blowjob would be great, I guess . . .”
She smiles, “Good, I'm glad you feel that way. Go ahead, let's see what you can do.”
It takes you a minute, but then she sees that you don't understand so she explains it to you patiently. “First you suck mine, and then I'll suck yours.”
You're unable to move, crippled by fear and uncertainty, and she takes it all away with a simple question, “Don't you want me to blow you?”
Ridiculously, your answer is just as simple, “Yes, I do.”
She nods and smiles as she places one hand on the back of your head and begins guiding you towards the 8” phallus aimed at your face. “Good, I want to blow you too. First I want you to pretend that you're me and I'm you, and I want you to suck my cock exactly how you want me to suck yours.”
When the tip of the thing strapped to her reaches your lips, you're surprised to find it tastes like strawberries, maybe cherries, but pleasant nonetheless. And as though she can read your thoughts, she alleviates your worries with a single phrase, “Remember, it's not gay if you're doing it to a woman and getting her off . . . you want to make me feel good, don't you?”
You do, more than ever before. “Yes, I do.”
She strokes your face with one hand while the other applies pressure to the back of your head as your lips part and you take her into your mouth. And though you know she can't actually feel it the way a man can, she responds as though she can and does. She lets out a moan and tilts her head back as her legs wrap around your ribcage, trapping you as she shuffles her hips closer to the edge of the bed while pulling you in closer with her feet.
“Good boy,” you hear her say.
You look up to find her looking down at you, and her hand begins pushing you into her and pulling you back, an action you're experiencing for the first time from the receiving end. Her body is twisting and writhing along with her moans, almost as though she can feel what you're doing with your mouth, and the more effort you put in the more she seems to enjoy it.
As you begin to fall into a rhythm and your eyes close she snaps you back into the moment. “Look at me,” she said sharply. Then, after you've complied with the demand, she resumes fucking your mouth and strokes your head approvingly. “Good boy, that's a good boy.”
After a while of seeming to come close to climaxing and then falling off, she decides you've done enough and withdraws from your mouth with the strangest compliment you've ever received from a woman, thus sealing your destiny. “That was so fucking hot I almost came . . . several times.”
She's pulled you to your feet and shoved you on the bed and straddled your chest before you realized it was happening. And the rubber cock in your mouth again distracts you so that you don't even notice as she ties your wrists together with rope and lashes them to one of the bed posts. Then you feel the familiar adjustments made by someone positioning themselves into the 69 position. But before you can complain about the rubber cock being shoved into your mouth for the third time, her hot breath is on your exposed stomach and her fingertips are tracing the lines of the expensive panties you forgot you were wearing, and all resistance simply vanishes. You gladly take her cock back into your mouth as she takes yours into hers, and perform all the acrobatics with your mouth that you want her to repeat on you . . . and she does not disappoint.
Just as you begin to approach climax though, she backs off. As you double your efforts, she backs off further still, and stops.
The cock is yanked out of your mouth as she reverses her position once again, and settles down over your hips. You look down to see her yanking the crotch of the harness aside and she begins to settle down onto you, and you feel yourself enter her, warm, wet, and inviting. You're inside of her now, and she continues to maintain total control; how far, how deep, how fast . . . all the way She wants it.
Likewise, when she begins to climax, though you're not far behind her She unceremoniously pulls you out of her and frog hops onto your chest, and it's your mouth that finishes her off while your erection throbs into the empty air for a minute before taking a dying gasp and begins to dwindle downwards for a nap on your new panties.
You can taste yourself in her, something you've never wanted or wondered about, but looking up at her heaving chest and feeling her grind and thrust down on your mouth you just go with it, despite your internal fears of suffocation and the fact that you're tied to a bed, practically defenseless.
Now . . . YOUR turn.
She’s sliding down your body, kissing your chest and stomach as she descends, her tongue and fingers skimming over your body with the precision of a watchmaker while providing the marvel of a master illusionist. Flaccid disappointment melts into fear that you may climax before she even touches you in that place . . . once again you are levelled by a wave of shame and confusion mixed with exhilaration and new sexuality.
Now she's skipped over the place you hoped that her mouth would linger and she's kneeling between you legs with your legs spread and your ankles resting on her shoulders as she inches forward on her knees until the hard tip of her cock is probing you.
Two fingers slip inside of you, lathered in lube, and then the tip begins to move in small concentric circles, each coming closer to Her ultimate target. At the same time she takes you in her free hand and begins to stroke you within a tiny but powerful fist.
Minutes pass as you linger at the brink, until you finally realize that it's intentional and she acknowledges the realization with, “Do you want me to let you cum?”
“God yes! PLEASE!”
The tip of her cock finds home and enters you, but just barely. “How bad do you want to cum?”
Your reply is beyond interpretation at “Fuck PLEASE!”
At that, she gives you another inch of her strap on and pins you down with both hands as your body begins to buck. “I'll make you a deal . . . “ she gives you another inch of the strap on, withdraws nearly all the way, and reintroduces it again. “I'll fuck your ass until I cum, and if you can hold out until I finish I'll give you the best blowjob of your life. And . . . I'll swallow.”
Despite your pain and shame, you feel yourself get harder, and she notices. But there's still one question lingering in your brain. “What if I cum first?”
“Then" she answered, “I'll make you lick my fingers clean while I fuck you until you can't sit down for a week.”
Less than a minute after you agree to her terms you are swallowing your own semen with mascara running down your cheeks as she lays into you like a piece of raw meat. A week later after you haven't heard from you're texting her, begging for another chance, to which she replied, “Friday at 9. Wear the outfit I bought for you and get ready for me.”
Your response seals your dynamic, “Yes Mistress, and thank You.”
Krissy
Clover
- 24.07.2022
- 33
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