The Forfeit
By
KR Silkenvoice
We arranged to meet at Sutro Heights Park, a green gem of a place sited on the cliff overlooking the Sunset District of San Francisco. Most people find the park by accident, curiosity driving them to push past the lions guarding the gravel path that looks like a private driveway. The landscaping is luscious and interspersed with benches and bits of statuary. The light has that quality that the Impressionists all tried to catch -- perfect for painting, photography, and picnicing. I waited for him in a sunny spot up on the foundation of the old Sutro mansion, watching the ocean I'd recently flown across, the ocean that had stood between us for three weeks.
He surprised me by slipping his arms around me and burying his face in my hair. I relaxed against him and smiled, basking in his warmth. His kiss was gentle. His lips brushed against my temple, and they were warm, almost chaste. I leaned farther into him, sighing a little, and turned my head so my cheek leaned against his bristly one. His shadow was heavy and it stung deliciously. His chilled fingers sought the warmth of my flesh, sliding themselves beneath my waistband of my skirt. I hissed briefly as his fingers pressed into me like an icy brand.
"Missed you," he said into my ear, and I turned and burrowed further into his embrace, seeking shelter from the cool morning breeze blowing off the Pacific.
"I missed you more," I said and smiled up at him with a bratty expression on my face.
He turned his head and kissed me again, and this time his tongue sought mine. I opened my mouth to him and let myself relax against him, enjoying the cascade of sensations tapping on my nerve-endings. His hand slipped farther down, his fingers just a bit warmer, until the tips touched my panties. With a flick he snapped the elastic, making me jump a little. He chuckled, flicked a finger again. Again the snap of the elastic against my skin, and again, I twitched. With his free hand he pulled me closer and I leaned my forehead into the place where his neck met his shoulder. The scent of him was strong and heady.
He wiggled his hips a little, brushing his hardness against me.
"Three weeks," he groaned into my ear. "I hope Japan was worth it, because I hardly slept for all those erotic dreams I was having."
"Mmmm.... it was amazing." I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first, with tenderness and love, but at some point the erotic energy changed and I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and scraped it between my teeth.
He growled "wench" and swung us both around until my back was pressed against a gnarled old Monterey cypress. He gathered my hands together above my head and with his free hand teased my nipples. Such sensitive nipples. The touch of his fingers electrified me, making me vibrate with jolts of pleasure.
"Fuck!" I gasped against his mouth.
He pulled back and smiled.
"My place or yours?" he asked.
"Neither. Here. I can't wait."
"Here?" His eyes widened.
"Well, not right here, but there is a perfect spot down below here..."
I pulled a hand free and started down the steps. At the bottom, I turned left and walked up a little trail that ran alongside the stone wall of the foundation. In just a moment I located the sheltered spot where trees and shrubs grew thickly enough to cast deep shade.
"Here," I said, leaning my back against the rough stone wall and pulling him toward me by his belt. I had it unbuckled and his pants unfastened in record time. My hands dove down into the open vee and pulled out his cock and balls. His eyes were dark, his face flushed with excitement, and his sex... Oh sweet heavens, it was so full of blood that it bounced with each beat of his heart. The sight of him engorged and bobbing made me dizzy and suddenly I was on my knees with my mouth on him, moaning deliriously.
He leaned his palms against the wall and watched me, his body occasionally arching, his thighs tensing and releasing under my hands. I worked my mouth artfully upon him. I love oral sex. It is its own form of worship, of worshiping the divine spark in my partner. I gave myself up to it, to the sacred joy of it. I was a priestess, and the cock I worshiped with my mouth was a flaming torch, and the thighs before me were sheaves of grain, and the passion-blurred man presiding over me, he was a god, my god.
Too soon, he was pulling me up onto my feet and turning me around to face the wall. He raised my skirt and his searching fingers felt between my legs, delved deep until he found my wetness. I lay against the cold stone, moaning open-mouthed into it, my hips rocking to the rhythm of his cupped fingers. The teasing had become almost unbearable when he drove his fingers into me, up into the hot slippery core of me, and it made me gasp and jolt. He rocked his fingers deeper and his knuckles rubbed against my pubic bone once, twice, three times -- and then I convulsed, my body goaded beyond the limits of sensibility. I cried out, shuddering through a long climax as he urged me to keep coming with his voice and his fingers.
I felt him pressing against me, felt the heat of him against my ass, and he entered me slowly, releasing his breath on a long, low moan. I leaned my forehead against the back of my hand, and as I did so, I glanced at my watch. 9:16am.
He reached around and found my clit, rolling it between his fingers. I yelped and thrust my hips back against him. I heard my voice, heard my self whispering to him, telling him how much I missed the feel of him inside me, begging for him to fuck me, to make me come. And fuck me he did, hard and fast, ramming himself into me while he tormented my clit. My orgasm slapped me like a rogue wave, tumbled me, sightless and breathless, into a realm of sensation. I threw my head back and screamed silently up into the sky.
The feel of me clenching on his cock was all the stimulation he needed. He flattened me into the wall and thrust long and deep, raising me up on my toes and sending a jolt of pain through me.
"Too deep," I wanted to say, but I had no breath, and so I clung to the wall and worked my body around the axis of impalement, milking his cock until he shuddered against me and moaned like a man in pain.
"Never again," he panted into my ear.
"Never again what?"
"Never again will I let you talk me into masturbating to the edge without cumming for three weeks. It was torture."
"Ah sweetie," I said, as I slipped away from him and pulled a packet of wet wipes from my bag. I glanced at my watch. 9:19 am. "It wasn't torture. It was teasing and denial."
He groaned and leaned his back against the stone wall, catching his breath while I cleaned us both up.
"I won, by the way."
"Oh?" he asked.
"I told you that you wouldn't last 5 minutes." I tapped my watch. "You managed three."
He growled and made a clumsy swipe for me.
I laughed. "Are you trying to get out of your forfeit?"
"No, I honor my bets. An hour tied to your bed it is," he said, putting emphasis on the words your bed.
Originally I'd wanted the forfeit to be an hour of play at The Citadel, a great space that serves the kink community in San Francisco, but he'd flatly refused. He enjoyed kinky sex, and while the Citadel has a superbly equipped dungeon, he didn't like performing for an audience. So my bed it was.
"Sweet!" I bounced. "Lets get you back to my place."
He groaned. "Insatiable wench!"
"Hey, I figured after three weeks without sex, edging the whole time, you'd finally be able to keep up with me."
"We'll see."
It was a short drive to my home in Outer Sunset, just a few blocks from Ocean Beach. He teased me as we climbed the stairs to my third floor bedroom, slipping his hands along my legs and up under my skirt. I walked across the gleaming hardwood floor to the french doors and threw them open. The wrought-iron balcony railing afforded a view of the ocean, and the wind caused the sheer curtains to billow. With his help I set my massage table up under the skylight, and then I warmed the massage oil while he stripped down and slipped under the sheet.
I massaged him slowly, anointing his flesh with faintly scented argan oil. From memory I recited the poetry of Rumi and Neruda, sensually guiding the words with their vivid imagery into his mind. I left no inch of him untouched, and when I finished, his body was completely limp -- with the exception of his cock, which I'd brought to full attention.
It took some effort to rouse him up off the massage table, and when he was vertical I had to help guide him over to my bed, where I put him on his back and bound his limbs to the head and foot boards with silken sashes. When I kneeled next to him on the bed his eyes fluttered open. They were warm and lustrous, the pupils dilated. He smiled at me, a slow, sensuous smile that brought my attention to his lips.
I leaned over him, slowly lowering my head until my lips hovered over his.
"I love you," I said, and as I said it I opened myself completely, letting the love flow from me.
"Mmm.... I love you too," he mumbled back almost drowsily, and pursed his mouth for a kiss.
How do you describe a kiss that commingles elements of the sacred and profane: awe and love and passion and desire? It was all there and more as we breathed each other in and let the energy flow between us.
I straddled him, and as I lowered myself onto him, as I worked the wedge of him into me, I felt myself splitting open on so many levels: physically, emotionally, spiritually. A prayer came to my lips unbidden, and as I sat unmoving upon him, I slowly recited from the Songs of Solomon, "Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits."
His eyes opened, and he watched me, and his expression transformed from uncertain to transcendent in a few heartbeats. He felt it, I knew, that sense of the sacred that seemed to pervade our joining, and he responded with his own verse from the Songs, "O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret place of the steep pathway, let me see your form, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely."
I leaned forward, moving my hands so they pressed into his upper arms, so the weight of my upper body restrained him further, and my eyes holding his gaze, I put my inner muscles to work. I sat unmoving astride his immobile body and yet we moved together, our PC muscles undulating. His cock twitched within the fist I made of my pussy, and it was intense, oh so intense!
We maintained the stillness as long as we could, but eventually his thigh muscles were clenching and releasing and I was swaying. I brought my hands up to my nipples and with one tweak I went off like a fireworks display, keening louder and louder. He convulsed under me, his entire body straining, pulling at the sashes that bound him to the head and foot boards. He lifted his head up off the pillow, his eyes wide and wondrous, and then his face contorted and his hips raised, lifting us both up off the bed. The power of his orgasm awed me, blew through me like the breath of God, and left me tingling with profound joy.
I untied his arms before I curled up next to him, drowsy and sated in a way that was soul-deep. My love for him and what we'd shared radiated from within. I felt like a small sun had been born inside me.
"We should do that more often," I whispered into his ear.
"Peace, woman," he gasped in response. "There is only so much the human body can take."
I smiled ruefully and nodded my head against his shoulder. I wondered briefly how many people really experienced the Divine in sex, then drifted off to sleep with the sounds of San Francisco wafting in from the balcony.
By
KR Silkenvoice
We arranged to meet at Sutro Heights Park, a green gem of a place sited on the cliff overlooking the Sunset District of San Francisco. Most people find the park by accident, curiosity driving them to push past the lions guarding the gravel path that looks like a private driveway. The landscaping is luscious and interspersed with benches and bits of statuary. The light has that quality that the Impressionists all tried to catch -- perfect for painting, photography, and picnicing. I waited for him in a sunny spot up on the foundation of the old Sutro mansion, watching the ocean I'd recently flown across, the ocean that had stood between us for three weeks.
He surprised me by slipping his arms around me and burying his face in my hair. I relaxed against him and smiled, basking in his warmth. His kiss was gentle. His lips brushed against my temple, and they were warm, almost chaste. I leaned farther into him, sighing a little, and turned my head so my cheek leaned against his bristly one. His shadow was heavy and it stung deliciously. His chilled fingers sought the warmth of my flesh, sliding themselves beneath my waistband of my skirt. I hissed briefly as his fingers pressed into me like an icy brand.
"Missed you," he said into my ear, and I turned and burrowed further into his embrace, seeking shelter from the cool morning breeze blowing off the Pacific.
"I missed you more," I said and smiled up at him with a bratty expression on my face.
He turned his head and kissed me again, and this time his tongue sought mine. I opened my mouth to him and let myself relax against him, enjoying the cascade of sensations tapping on my nerve-endings. His hand slipped farther down, his fingers just a bit warmer, until the tips touched my panties. With a flick he snapped the elastic, making me jump a little. He chuckled, flicked a finger again. Again the snap of the elastic against my skin, and again, I twitched. With his free hand he pulled me closer and I leaned my forehead into the place where his neck met his shoulder. The scent of him was strong and heady.
He wiggled his hips a little, brushing his hardness against me.
"Three weeks," he groaned into my ear. "I hope Japan was worth it, because I hardly slept for all those erotic dreams I was having."
"Mmmm.... it was amazing." I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first, with tenderness and love, but at some point the erotic energy changed and I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and scraped it between my teeth.
He growled "wench" and swung us both around until my back was pressed against a gnarled old Monterey cypress. He gathered my hands together above my head and with his free hand teased my nipples. Such sensitive nipples. The touch of his fingers electrified me, making me vibrate with jolts of pleasure.
"Fuck!" I gasped against his mouth.
He pulled back and smiled.
"My place or yours?" he asked.
"Neither. Here. I can't wait."
"Here?" His eyes widened.
"Well, not right here, but there is a perfect spot down below here..."
I pulled a hand free and started down the steps. At the bottom, I turned left and walked up a little trail that ran alongside the stone wall of the foundation. In just a moment I located the sheltered spot where trees and shrubs grew thickly enough to cast deep shade.
"Here," I said, leaning my back against the rough stone wall and pulling him toward me by his belt. I had it unbuckled and his pants unfastened in record time. My hands dove down into the open vee and pulled out his cock and balls. His eyes were dark, his face flushed with excitement, and his sex... Oh sweet heavens, it was so full of blood that it bounced with each beat of his heart. The sight of him engorged and bobbing made me dizzy and suddenly I was on my knees with my mouth on him, moaning deliriously.
He leaned his palms against the wall and watched me, his body occasionally arching, his thighs tensing and releasing under my hands. I worked my mouth artfully upon him. I love oral sex. It is its own form of worship, of worshiping the divine spark in my partner. I gave myself up to it, to the sacred joy of it. I was a priestess, and the cock I worshiped with my mouth was a flaming torch, and the thighs before me were sheaves of grain, and the passion-blurred man presiding over me, he was a god, my god.
Too soon, he was pulling me up onto my feet and turning me around to face the wall. He raised my skirt and his searching fingers felt between my legs, delved deep until he found my wetness. I lay against the cold stone, moaning open-mouthed into it, my hips rocking to the rhythm of his cupped fingers. The teasing had become almost unbearable when he drove his fingers into me, up into the hot slippery core of me, and it made me gasp and jolt. He rocked his fingers deeper and his knuckles rubbed against my pubic bone once, twice, three times -- and then I convulsed, my body goaded beyond the limits of sensibility. I cried out, shuddering through a long climax as he urged me to keep coming with his voice and his fingers.
I felt him pressing against me, felt the heat of him against my ass, and he entered me slowly, releasing his breath on a long, low moan. I leaned my forehead against the back of my hand, and as I did so, I glanced at my watch. 9:16am.
He reached around and found my clit, rolling it between his fingers. I yelped and thrust my hips back against him. I heard my voice, heard my self whispering to him, telling him how much I missed the feel of him inside me, begging for him to fuck me, to make me come. And fuck me he did, hard and fast, ramming himself into me while he tormented my clit. My orgasm slapped me like a rogue wave, tumbled me, sightless and breathless, into a realm of sensation. I threw my head back and screamed silently up into the sky.
The feel of me clenching on his cock was all the stimulation he needed. He flattened me into the wall and thrust long and deep, raising me up on my toes and sending a jolt of pain through me.
"Too deep," I wanted to say, but I had no breath, and so I clung to the wall and worked my body around the axis of impalement, milking his cock until he shuddered against me and moaned like a man in pain.
"Never again," he panted into my ear.
"Never again what?"
"Never again will I let you talk me into masturbating to the edge without cumming for three weeks. It was torture."
"Ah sweetie," I said, as I slipped away from him and pulled a packet of wet wipes from my bag. I glanced at my watch. 9:19 am. "It wasn't torture. It was teasing and denial."
He groaned and leaned his back against the stone wall, catching his breath while I cleaned us both up.
"I won, by the way."
"Oh?" he asked.
"I told you that you wouldn't last 5 minutes." I tapped my watch. "You managed three."
He growled and made a clumsy swipe for me.
I laughed. "Are you trying to get out of your forfeit?"
"No, I honor my bets. An hour tied to your bed it is," he said, putting emphasis on the words your bed.
Originally I'd wanted the forfeit to be an hour of play at The Citadel, a great space that serves the kink community in San Francisco, but he'd flatly refused. He enjoyed kinky sex, and while the Citadel has a superbly equipped dungeon, he didn't like performing for an audience. So my bed it was.
"Sweet!" I bounced. "Lets get you back to my place."
He groaned. "Insatiable wench!"
"Hey, I figured after three weeks without sex, edging the whole time, you'd finally be able to keep up with me."
"We'll see."
***
It was a short drive to my home in Outer Sunset, just a few blocks from Ocean Beach. He teased me as we climbed the stairs to my third floor bedroom, slipping his hands along my legs and up under my skirt. I walked across the gleaming hardwood floor to the french doors and threw them open. The wrought-iron balcony railing afforded a view of the ocean, and the wind caused the sheer curtains to billow. With his help I set my massage table up under the skylight, and then I warmed the massage oil while he stripped down and slipped under the sheet.
I massaged him slowly, anointing his flesh with faintly scented argan oil. From memory I recited the poetry of Rumi and Neruda, sensually guiding the words with their vivid imagery into his mind. I left no inch of him untouched, and when I finished, his body was completely limp -- with the exception of his cock, which I'd brought to full attention.
It took some effort to rouse him up off the massage table, and when he was vertical I had to help guide him over to my bed, where I put him on his back and bound his limbs to the head and foot boards with silken sashes. When I kneeled next to him on the bed his eyes fluttered open. They were warm and lustrous, the pupils dilated. He smiled at me, a slow, sensuous smile that brought my attention to his lips.
I leaned over him, slowly lowering my head until my lips hovered over his.
"I love you," I said, and as I said it I opened myself completely, letting the love flow from me.
"Mmm.... I love you too," he mumbled back almost drowsily, and pursed his mouth for a kiss.
How do you describe a kiss that commingles elements of the sacred and profane: awe and love and passion and desire? It was all there and more as we breathed each other in and let the energy flow between us.
I straddled him, and as I lowered myself onto him, as I worked the wedge of him into me, I felt myself splitting open on so many levels: physically, emotionally, spiritually. A prayer came to my lips unbidden, and as I sat unmoving upon him, I slowly recited from the Songs of Solomon, "Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits."
His eyes opened, and he watched me, and his expression transformed from uncertain to transcendent in a few heartbeats. He felt it, I knew, that sense of the sacred that seemed to pervade our joining, and he responded with his own verse from the Songs, "O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret place of the steep pathway, let me see your form, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely."
I leaned forward, moving my hands so they pressed into his upper arms, so the weight of my upper body restrained him further, and my eyes holding his gaze, I put my inner muscles to work. I sat unmoving astride his immobile body and yet we moved together, our PC muscles undulating. His cock twitched within the fist I made of my pussy, and it was intense, oh so intense!
We maintained the stillness as long as we could, but eventually his thigh muscles were clenching and releasing and I was swaying. I brought my hands up to my nipples and with one tweak I went off like a fireworks display, keening louder and louder. He convulsed under me, his entire body straining, pulling at the sashes that bound him to the head and foot boards. He lifted his head up off the pillow, his eyes wide and wondrous, and then his face contorted and his hips raised, lifting us both up off the bed. The power of his orgasm awed me, blew through me like the breath of God, and left me tingling with profound joy.
I untied his arms before I curled up next to him, drowsy and sated in a way that was soul-deep. My love for him and what we'd shared radiated from within. I felt like a small sun had been born inside me.
"We should do that more often," I whispered into his ear.
"Peace, woman," he gasped in response. "There is only so much the human body can take."
I smiled ruefully and nodded my head against his shoulder. I wondered briefly how many people really experienced the Divine in sex, then drifted off to sleep with the sounds of San Francisco wafting in from the balcony.
In addition to hosting her weekly Silken on Sex Podcast, Kayar Silkenvoice writes erotica for online and print publishers and produces erotic audio recordings. In 2009 she released the album AudioSensual Erotic Shorts on both Amazon and iTunes. Kayar's passion is sexual exploration. Join her on SilkenOnSex.com
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