Valentines With Dark Hair

4 min read

photo: SexArt

Part Three: Bittersweet

It was a wonderful drive back to Middlebury. Our hands occasionally touched on the center console and I felt like a teenager in love. Mrs. Bladedigger was anxious to meet to go over the details of Mr. Paul and his band’s upcoming performance and we were not ones to keep her waiting. We arrived home and were greeted with much joy by the Mrs.

“Congratulations!” she said to Mr. Paul, shaking his hand. “And thanks of course to the both of you for pulling this off. Celebrations are in order,” she continued. “Would you be so kind as to get us a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge?” She was talking to me but her gaze never left Mr. Paul.

I fetched a bottle of 2004 Nely Marlette and grabbed three glasses. We sat and drank and talked. It was shaping up to be a lovely afternoon. I was feeling a little tipsy — but I wasn’t sure if I was just drunk on my man, who was carrying himself like you’d expect a gorgeous but polite gentleman would.

“Would you put on some music?” Mrs. Bladedigger asked me. I went over to the stereo and selected something to suit the mood: Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here.

“Now let’s see what we can do for a little fun,” she said. I was told to go fetch some hors d’oeuvres from the kitchen, which I did happily. When I came back our guest was completely naked, cuffed to a chair using heavy leather studded cuffs. His package was bound with a cock ring and clothespins placed on his nipples. He was fully erect and glistening.

Just when I felt like I had him to myself! I guess not, I thought. I nearly dropped the tray. Anyway, the Mrs.’ games were always fun and surprising. I wondered what she had planned.

She sat in a chair opposite him, only a couple of feet away, and told me to have a seat beside him. She slid her right fist over his turgid cock while tickling his bulging balls with her left index finger.

As the scratchy record played, the music beginning to intensify, he freaked out, shivers going through his body as he involuntarily spasmed. But the cuffs held him in place.

Each time he shuddered she pulled her hand away. The next treatment was her fingers massaging his gorgeous balls. With her left hand upside down on his head and shaft, she tickled his sack with her right hand. His breathing became really heavy so she stopped. As the guitar began sweetly wailing she repeated her procedure, pulling away and stopping each time he tensed up and neared orgasm.

The drums kicked in and she started again, and then stopped, staring silently into his eyes. Finally, he spurted his creamy white cum down the shaft of his cock, accumulating at the base in a glorious pool. With one finger she teased the bottom side of his scrotum. He continued to drip more cum all over himself as she played with him. There seemed like an endless supply!

She made a fist again and stroked him once more, sending shivers up his spine. He began writhing and twitching and amazingly his cock would not go limp. She knew exactly how to play with him, as the song played… Remember when you were young; you shone like the sun…

Again she massaged his balls with two hands’ worth of fingers; then making a fist once again like a glass turned upside down, she began stroking him harder, much harder than before, until he spilled his cum again, dripping out and down the length of his cock. I had not seen it or experienced it before, but I’d read about male multiple orgasms; a man could experience many releases of semen without necessarily having a full orgasm. A line of it stuck from the tip to his belly and she scooped it up, licking her fingers. She smeared the rest all over his abdomen and chest, even up to his nipples, which were extremely sensitive.

She stroked him hard once again and then stopped. Then she resumed, this time using a circular motion and gently tapping his balls with the other hand. The music shifted to the ominous Welcome to the Machine and she was sure not done, stroking his cock and pinching his nipples, removing and then reattaching the clothespins. She spat at and on his cock for lubrication. She would stop every once in a while and his still hard cock would shimmy back and forth in all its magnificence. She massaged the inside of his thighs too, smearing his juice all over. She would stop for what seemed like breathless minutes but were instead only hard seconds as his cock twitched. She just stared deeply into his eyes, helpless as he was. Not a word was spoken.

Then she stroked him in more earnest with a firmer grip and he came again a third time! His love spilled out onto her fingers which she just used as further lubrication to keep stroking him. All he could do is look at her and his cock and wonder if and when this sweet torture was ever going to end.

I had to flip the record over and then Have a Cigar played. I noticed that with each orgasm her strokes became more firm, and with his fourth shot, she began to tickle his cock with all of her fingers, almost mocking him. Wish You Were Here played and she stroked him feverishly while she underhand slapped his balls. This went on for minutes and finally, he lurched forward and began crying, almost as if in pain, so hard was he coming!

Shine On You Crazy Diamond part 2 began as his fifth and ultimate orgasm did, which was seemingly the only real one, the others just a prelude to what she knew she could do to him. He squirmed, writhed and howled like a poor animal. Whimpering, she continued to stroke him mercilessly. Ahhhh, oooohh, he whined. He winced like he’d been cut, shot, stabbed.

I was just in complete awe. The fact remained she had never displayed her dominance to me in such a way, told me there was so much about the Mrs. I didn’t know, but was now revealed in all its stark reality. Like a seemingly cruel deity, she had shown both of us who was in charge. I knew then that he could never be mine and I could never be his; the lady had him in her grasp, which was total.

He finally became smaller in her hand but she didn’t stop. He sounded like he was crying.

The music faded and the record arm automatically returned to its holder.

“Help Mr. Paul to dress,” she told me, “and take him home.”

We didn’t say a word on the drive, didn’t touch. I dropped him off at his place. We were both without words. Why couldn’t I say anything to him? Why couldn’t he speak to me? My heart sank into complete despair. I could never make him feel the way Mrs. Bladedigger just did. I wanted to scream but I didn’t have the voice.

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