PURE ORAL SEX
- 3 years ago
- 16
- 0
A Pure Heart free porn video
A Pure Heart
For half a decade, the well-to-do of Bishopsbridge Road had envied Aubainhis slave Cynthia.
With an allowance of a hundred pounds a week, she cooked, kept house, didlaundry and ironed shirts, dressed herself exquisitely, kept in shape, andserviced the sexual and emotional needs of her Master ? who none the less wasnever a terribly nice person.
She had fallen for him as a pretty young blonde in her late twenties, andtheir relationship had died in 2004, leaving her childless with very few prospects.So she sold off whatever trinkets he had given her over the years, except fora small ring and an Edwardian necklace which together would have only got herabout £5,000, and left the fashionable part of town to a small apartmentwhich belonged to her family, south of the river.
Things could have been worse. Not having any current friends, she had pulledherself out of her depression by herself. Tonight now she was going to a party,dressed in a simple black silk cocktail dress, sleeveless, with a daring Vplunge at the neck, the skirt of which stopped above her knee. One could justsee the hint of her lacy black brassiere at the corner of the V and since itwas summer, she had put fake tan on her legs and was wearing a pair of thin-strappedhigh heeled sandals to match the dress. Around her neck was a small chokerof Japanese cultured pearls.
She had looked at her naked 36C breasts in the mirror as she applied her makeupand decided they would still serve. In the bathroom she had taken out her grandfather'sold cutthroat razor, stropped it, and had carefully trimmed away the merestsuspicions of pubic hair around her vagina. Her hand, after over twenty years'practice, was firm and sure. She preferred this old razor in its tortoiseshellhandle to anything else, and the sight of its gleaming blade against the skinnear her soft pink lips made her heart pick up ever so slightly even still.Afterwards, she slid her thumb over her mount of Venus to assure herself shewas as soft there as the day she had been born.
She paid the taxi driver out of her little handbag (a cheap imitation butstylish none the less), walked up the steps, and with delight found she hadreturned to her element. With her easy charm and slightly brittle but self-containedlaugh she greeted the hosts, and then slowly did the rounds of the rooms ofthe large Victorian apartment where the party was held. She kept the namesand relationships of who was friends of whom carefully in her card-file likememory: a little rusty from lack of use she realised, ruefully.
There was that awfully pleasant balding American professor who had spokento her long and earnestly about committment. She smiled to herself as she sawwhere his eyes couldn't help straying. Too bad he was married. A nice couplefrom near where she lived both greeted her extremely warmly and she spent agestalking to them about something that she could no longer remember. And therewas that French guy, himself doing the rooms in his own style. Suave, a hintof beard shadow on his face (had he not shaved before coming, she asked herselfgiggling), dressed in an expensive linen jacket and dark shirt. They had exchangeda few words at the start of the evening. As their paths crossed during theparty, they would look at each other briefly and then by common consent passon. Towards the end of the party, yes! She heard someone coming up from behindher and when she turned, eyes wide open, there he was, smiling his tight politesmile.
?I wondered if you would care to come home with me for a quiet little chat? hemurmured. ?I am by taxi, alas. As are you, I think, yes??
?I'd love to... yes, you can't go anywhere by car any more... which part oftown are you?? So easy! She realised they had marked each other out as soonas they had set eyes on each other.
His apartment, from the moment she stepped into it, breathed Frenchness. Asmall, neat, extremely stylish capsule of Frenchness in an Anglo-Saxon city.She ran her hand over his books and CDs, all neatly arranged. A book lay openon a reading desk. She flipped the cover quickly: Flaubert's ?Un Coeur Simple.? Shesmiled as she saw the start of the second chapter, which she had often readwith wonderment as a schoolgirl: ?Elle avait eu, comme une autre, son histoired'amour.? She had not known in those days, what her story of love would be.To be ?renversee brutalment?, thrown over with brutal force?
She took the glass of whisky and soda from him.
?You speak French as well??
?Only a little, Damien. I can read better than I can speak. You have excellentEnglish.?
?A question of practice. Salut, Cynthia, cheers as you say. You were likea breath of fresh air at the party tonight. I'm glad I met you.?
She felt the sting of the whiskey on her tongue and savoured the slight frissonof pain it gave her.
?This is... Highland Malt I believe??
?Of course. You seem to have a keen sense of taste.?
She laughed. ?My father would drink nothing else.?
?Ah. Your father. To drink whiskey like that requires a certain dominanceof spirit, no? Have you inherited the trait? Please, may I show you something?It is in another room.?
She raised her eyebrows. ?You have etchings in your bedroom??
He paused in mid-stride and looked back at her. ?Etchings??
She coloured briefly. ?A stale joke... sorry, Damien...?
?It is not my bedroom, I assure you, Cynthia.? Opening an unusualy heavy door;the click of a light switch; he ushered her in before him. She caught her breathand stopped dead.
The walls and ceiling were covered in mirrors. Silver and black were the predominatingtones. At one end of the room a large bed with an elaborate wooden headboard.On the other side, a chest of drawers, on the top of which were arranged objectswhich gave the impression of something between an altar and a bazar stall.Several riding crops... chains... cuffs and belts... small clamps, weights...candles, a large stainless steel dildo standing proudly next to a row of butt-plugs.
Cynthia gulped, feeling the colour rise to her cheeks. ?Oh my goodness!? sheturned round to look at Damien. ?You... er... USE all this stuff??
?Maybe not each night, or, all at the same time, but, you surely guess I do."
She looked at him, eyes wide open, feeling her pulse rise. She quickly drewher glass up and swallowed the rest of her drink, burning down her throat. ?Ithink... I might better... be on my way, Damien...?
?...and I can tell it isn't just only scaring you." He caught her eyesand stared into hers, calmly, blocking her exit by the way he positioned himself.
?Well.... ummm..... this is rather serious stuff, isn't it?? Her best cut-glassBritish accent.
?You dont really want to leave now, do you Cynthia?" She bit her lipand lowered her head, trying to keep her emotions under control. "Serious...it can be very very much fun my dear"
Fun! The last thing she wanted was mere ?fun.? She remembered what her belovedColette had written near the end of her life ?Ces plaisirs... qu'on appellelegerement 'physiques'? These pleasures, which one lightly dismisses as themerely physical. She took a deep breath.
?Are you.... careful??
He reached out and held her chin up. ?For your first time, I am gentle...but don't expect just a vanilla night.?
She looked up at him. ?No, of course not, Damien. Maybe I'd better tell you...? sheexhaled a shaky breath. ?I was... in this kind of dom-sub relationship before....ended last year... I think.... our type can smell each other out... I didn'tsay 'gentle,' Damien. I said, 'careful.'?
His thumb played on her lower lip. ?Ah. You're not a real novice. Funny, youlooked so surprised.?
She smiled a little crooked smile. ?It's a matter of playacting. A real domdoesn't let go... a play one would have let me pass seeing my indignation.?
He lowered his finger down her neck, tracing her skin down to the start ofher brassiere. She exhaled as she felt his finger on her skin. ?Do you knowabout 'safe words,' Damien? You must do of course...? She knew he could feelher heart beating, his hand was touching her above her left breast. It sliddown her body and she felt its warmth over her tummy.
"You wouldn't need safe words Cynthia, I can read the language of yourbody..."
?... I was going to say.... I don't believe in safe words.?
?...and can tell which 'no' is a real stop one." He stepped a littlecloser to her. She shook her head.
?When I give myself, Damien... it's completely...? she smelt the sharp odourof his body.
"I wasn't expecting anything less from you, Cynthia.?
?I only ask one thing, Damien...?
?...yes??
?Never spare me. Never let me come between you and your enjoyment of me, ifthat is what you want.?
?Is this how it is always with you??
She nodded her head, imperceptibly.
?And you give yourself, freely, without reserve??
She nodded again, almost not moving her head. This it had always been. Herideal, her holy spirit, no matter how battered or corrupted, what she stillheld before her as cherished. He saw her eyes brim with tears.
?Then it is my solemn promise to you.? He wiped away some moisture under hereyes and put his finger to his lips. ?By these.?
His hand slid round her side, over the back of her thighs, and up again overher bottom, stopping at the base of her spine. He turned her round again, facingthe room, the bed, and the table. She let herself be guided by him, savouringhis easy mastery. Cynthia felt her heart was racing. She knew that suddenly,against all her better judgement, and against all the odds, she had found aMaster.
?Do you want me... naked, Damien??
He pressed against her back, a hand on her hips. ?I'd rather keep that mysterya little longer, ma soumise.? That word! His submissive, his slave. 'Soumise'sounded so much better, softer, more yielding.
?Please try to call me 'ton Maitre,' Cynthia. It is my language, and it speaksto me as it were, under the skin, you understand??
She smiled and nodded again. ?Oui, Mon Maitre.?
She supposed that now he had become her Maitre that she should henceforthaddress him in the polite plural form of ?Vous? when they spoke his language.She felt his hands wander over the silk of her dress, cupping her breasts.He knows exactly what I'm wearing under this dress, she thought wildly. Sherealised that his trick was that as he moved through time, he caught what wasto be and savoured it so that every moment was doubly precious: once in anticipation,and then in the reality of it. Did he think back and regret, she wondered.
He turned her to the table. She saw all the familiar objects on the table...riding crop... cuffs... chains... she felt a light kiss on her neck as he brushedher long hair to one side and took off her necklace. His hands went to hershoulders, and then slowly with infinite care, she felt him slide her zip.It went down, revealing the catch of her bra, opening out slightly to him,showing him the pale white of her back and the indentation of her spine runningdown the centre. She felt her skin crawl with goosepimples and realised hewas watching her reaction from the mirror in front of her. She saw her dressfall to the waist, catching in her arms at her sides. The strapless black brawas a black bar across her body.
?You are of a rare beauty and a fine elegance, Cynthia.?
She turned to him slightly and smiled. ?You're very kind Damien... you know...these French gallanteries can turn my head completely??
?Kind? You don't know a thing yet.? And he loosened her dress and let it fall,shimmering down her legs and ending in a pool of silk at her feet. He turnedher away from the table. ?Stay.?
The bed.... she looked at the bed and her thighs clenched involuntarily. This,she realised, was going to be the bed on which he would take her and play withher. It looked innocuous enough.
Something dropped over her field of vision. A black velvet blindfold! Sheraised her head to enable him to fit it to her better, and he tied it firmlyover her eyes, ensuring her blonde hair didn't get in the way of the knot.She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she felt him brush the hairoff her neck and plant a kiss at the top of her spine. Her nipples felt hard,and her tummy was beginning to churn and her vision was utterly black. Nota chink of light. She realised this was an extremely well-made blindfold.
She felt him turn her round, and his lips on hers. She opened her lips forhim and his hands began to caress her smooth almost naked body. Her brassiere...was quickly undone and she felt it fall at her feet. His hands slid down hersides, over her ribs, and eased into the waistband of her panties... she feltas if her pussy was on fire... he followed her panties, tracing a line justat the top of her thighs where the panties ended. She felt his finger, so close,and yet... ahhh... back to the waistband, pulling it out in front, she wassure he was looking inside and she felt his fingers slip in, touching her bareshaved pussy.
?You have shaved, for long, soumise??
?Since I was sixteen, Maitre.?
?Let me see.? She felt her panties pulled down and his breath on her body. ?Youare very meticulous.?
?Yes, Maitre.
?It is a compliment.? Her panties were pulled down her thighs... she feltthem slip down her long legs to the floor.
She was pushed backwards, and she let herself be moved by him, already trustinghim to look after her. She felt the high bed against the back of her knees;a kiss on her lips, her nipple tweaked, and then she was pushed back brutally,landing with a sprawling bounce on the bed!
She cried out, and he came on her after her, quickly, grabbing her ankle andraising it... ?Mmmm... good taste in footwear, soumise. I was watching youin them all evening.? Her shoe was undone. Then the other. ?I will have thepleasure again, I hope. Now. Knees bent a little, legs apart.?
?Yes, Maitre.?
?You are truly delicious. I am now going to prepare you for my repast. Raiseyour arms over your head.?
She obeyed and felt him fasten soft cuffs to her slender wrists as she shiveredin anticipation. Her wrists were attached to the headboard, raising her breasts.
In her blindness every other sense was heightened. She heard him walk aroundthe room a little, start to slide off his clothes; the clink of a belt. Timeseemed to slow to a crawl, she could feel the seconds slipping away, so helplesslyexposed to a man she hardly knew. She heard the slight swish of a riding cropwhich brought her back to the present. He caressed her left thigh with theleather tip, sliding it over her skin, a small slap! Against her inside thigh.
?You know what this means...?
She gasped. She felt the crop leave her skin and come back down, harder inthe same place.
?Open wider.?
She cried out, more from the shock of it and parted her legs, knowing herpink pussy was wet and gleaming.
?That is much better. I think it is time.?
?Yes, Maitre.? She could feel the trace of tears under her blindfold. It wasas if over eighteen months of waiting had suddenly come to an end. She couldalmost taste the amazing gift that her Master was about to bestow on her.
The crop touched her open pussy, she felt the roughness of the shank of itagainst her lips, and then she felt a little pat on the top of her slit. Shejumped, and she heard him chuckle. ?Wait... ma soumise... you must learn tobe more patient...? The tip ran up her tummy and brushed over it gently. Shedrew her tummy in and felt him pat her navel. ?So eager to please. Relax yourstomach, Cynthia. You do have a truly splendid body.?
A slightly harder tap over her tummy. She winced a little, but this time sheexpected it. She felt the crop wander back down her body, lazily. This wasthe prelude, the foreplay. He knew exactly how cruel he was. She wondered ifshe would be able to take the pain when it really started. Her pussy was wideopen. Ah! Another tap over her exposed pussy. She gasped. It stung! She felthim lift the crop and it was somewhere out there in the blackness for manylong seconds as her legs shifted minutely on the bed, open wide in front ofhim, the muscles in her thighs clenched and unclenched, her pussy was so sensitiveshe could feel a small draft of air passing over her lips....
There was a whistling in the air and then the thick sound of an object splatteringagainst something soft and moist. She heard herself screaming with her mouthwide open at the same time as her body registered the blow. The pain shot upher body, over her hips, it was so bitter it almost made her retch. Her legsclosed against the crop as she continued to scream. She curled her legs up,pressing the crop into her. She felt him push the back of her knees with onehand and pull the crop out, roughly.
?Stop it!? he cried, and thrashed her over the back of her legs.
This second blow brought her back to her senses. She slumped back from therisen position she had found herself in, muscles loosening.
?Thank you, Maitre? she mumbled. God, she felt so sick with the pain!
?You will take another, now. Back open.?
Whimpering, she opened her legs a little. Every movement was agony.
?More.?
She tried again. Her treacherous thighs would not part for her. She felt himtap the inside of her thigh, patiently, gently.
?More.?
Her body reacted to his gentle ministration. ?Thank you, Maitre? she whispered. ?Mybody.... I can't help it...?
The second blow was just as terrible as the first. She waited, legs open.Then there was the awful whistling sound, and finally the impact. She buckedand writhed on the bed in front of him but this time her legs stayed wide apart.As she howled and pulled at her wrist ties, she felt the crop land over oneof her breasts, catching the fleshy part on the side. Another... this timeright over the tip of her hard nipple. Time and space had ceased to exist forher. She felt the blows land on her other breast like great flashes of lighttoo bright in darkness. Her breasts, her belly, her thighs. The crop was hardon them. She pushed her body up to him, giving herself to him. She pushed herbreasts up to him when he was beating her breasts, her stomach up when he wasbeating her stomach, and her pussy out and open when she felt the blows landingthere. He played her like a well-trained animal. At the same time there wasthis unearthly screaming and the pulling of the soft cuffs aganist her tenderwrists.
An eon of time passed. She realised that the woman tied to the bed had stoppedhowling, and that she was simply lying there, bathed in her own sweat, sobbinggently. She felt his weight on the bed beside her. His lips over hers. Sheopened her mouth and his tongue slid in. Their tongues met, his thusting hardinto her.
His hand caressed her body... her breasts, her stomach, every place wherehe had hurt her. She felt his lips over her nipples. They were sore, so sore!His gentleness was like a mockery. He knew that every touch he made sent herinto more pain, and yet he insisted on stroking her and kissing her as if hisfingers and mouth were really gentle. She groaned, and she didn't know if itwas from pain or pleasure. His hand fastened over her bare pussy and held it.The same pussy she had so carefully shaved the previous afternoon! His blowshad made her pussy as sensitive as a young girl's.
"T'es mienne Cynthia" he whispered. She shivered at the words ashe claimed her.
?Oui, Mon Maitre.... rien ne Vous est refuse." Nothing is refused you.She suddenly understood that this had always been a part of her life even whenshe had been a little girl, her delicate body made of some precious matter.To be someone's, someone proud and cruel, and to give him everything, not torefuse him anything. His fingers parted her intimate lips, and she felt herselfgiving to him. Her pussy was utterly soaked and she felt his finger pushinginto it, deep... my god, deeper than a finger could go! The pain and the excitementof it drew a long groan from her and she pushed her thighs up for him. Thefirst time he had entered her!
Aahhh! As she pushed up, he withdrew!
?You have to learn patience, ma soumise. And learn that although I am pleasingyou, it is also to please myself.?
?Yes Mon Maitre...?
?...a lesson to be learnt, is it not?? His finger entered her again, easily.
?Yesss... oh yesss.... please...?
A second finger joined the first, opening her out more and making the painmadder, mingling with the pleasure of feeling something inside her pussy again.
?Oh my god.... Maitre... you're going to make me cum!?
The fingers withdrew. She felt the sudden emptyness.
?Will you cum, for me??
?Yesss!?
?I want you to dedicate your first cum to me. To be beautiful as you cum.Will you do this??
?Oh yes, Maitre... this and every single other one in my life! Pleeeeaseeee...?
?So.? The fingers thrust back in, hard, twisting inside her. She gasped inshock and felt the wave rising all over her hips, her tummy.... her breasts...she was breathing hard and her body felt as if she was submerging into therushing torrent.
The wave broke. She spasmed and twisted on the bed, her nipples and pussysharp as knives in the rush of her orgasm. His fingers continued to press andtwist inside her although she squirmed her thighs together. She felt his hardbreathing and realised that they had after all shared.
Did hours pass? She was aware only of his comforting presence at the sideof the bed, his occasional soft kiss over her mouth. Slowly, they fell intowhat she realised was a leavetaking ritual. At first, talking, to bring themto the world of the city dweller and the factual.
?Yes, you have inherited the trait from your father after all... the receptivepart. You hate the pain, don't you, my soumise??
?Yes, Mon Maitre. I hate it... and yet...?
?You are drawn to it.?
?The before and the after... not the during.?
?Surement. But without the during, the before and after have no meaning, eh??
?So few understand...?
His warm hand on her shoulder, reasuring. ?I understand. Let me wash yourinjuries.?
Of course, it stung, and she was glad she was still chained up although hewas careful. A while later, he undid her cuffs, but she still lay with herarms up, as if the cuffs were still there. He had to help her to sit up, andgently help to ease her back into her clothes. Ouch! Her breasts hurt! Andso did her pussy! The raw edge had gone away, dulled by the passing of timeand whatever medicine he had put on her. Her necklace. He fastened her shoeson, lovingly. She realised just as he had undressed her, he had put her backtogether, like a doll.
?I will call you a taxi. Do you want to drink??
She nodded. ?Yes please, Maitre... would a cup of tea be...?
?Ah! Tea! I shall make you an infusion, ma soumise. No, kindly do not removeyour blindfold. Your senses are keener when you do not see.?
It was only at the last minute, when he was about to open the door, that hereleased her blindfold. She blinked, and saw him standing in front of her ina bathrobe (yes, his stubble had grown!) He leaned forward and wiped her eyes.
?They are not red because you do not rub them under the blindfold? he whispered.
?Which one of us thanks the other?? she asked, quickly.
He smiled and kissed her cheek. She kissed him back. That lovely French gesture.She turned her head and they kissed on the other cheek.
?It is mutual. You will return to me, soon, oui??
?Of course... when...?
?Whenever. It is your privilege. You and I have access to each other.?
?Oui, Mon Maitre, always.?
He gave her bottom a small slap she she walked away. Ah yes, that other Frenchgesture!
Back in her apartment, in her bedroom, she took off and put away her clothes,her necklace, and cleaned away her makeup. Moving slowly and softly, she puton her cotton nightgown with the golden sun embroidered on the front of itwhich she had laid out on her coverlet. She sat kneeling on the bed. Therewas an absolute silence around her. She rasped a match and lit the incenseburner beside her bed.
The smell of evening primrose oil pervaded Cynthia's room. She flared hernostrils, inhaling the scent with a mystical sensuality; then lay flat intothe bed and closed her eyes. Her lips smiled. The movement of her heart sloweddown, beat by beat, each time more indistinct, gentler, like a fountain runninglow, like an echo fading away; and when she at last slept, she dreamt she kneltbelow her Master as he opened his bathrobe and pulled out his gigantic cockfor her above her face.
Bree
- 20.09.2021
- 7
- 0
