The first date we ever had began at a restaurant. Miranda got there first, ordered a table, and was waiting for me at the bar. I joined her and we chatted and flirted as we waited for our table. She was wearing very tight white jeans and a scoop-necked top. Our conversation was interrupted by the flashing lights and insistent vibration of the “your table is ready” device. As it vibrated and hummed, I wanted nothing more than to shove it between her legs right there at the bar. And they way she looked at it somewhat dreamily suggested to me that she was thinking the same thing.
Our lunch conversation was flirtatious and arousing. When we finished, I took my jacket off and held it in front of me so that I could cover the dark spot on my summer pin cord trousers as we walked through the restaurant. Turns out I didn’t need to do that – all the eyes were on her.
When we got to her place, she said “Give me ten minutes before you come in.” And when I came in, she stood before me completely naked. “Your body is beautiful,” I said. “It’s yours,” she replied, “Do whatever you want.” And I did.
* * *
In this fantasy, she’s “Miranda,” but she has other stage names. Our series of adventures has lasted several years. I have described her as the most carnal woman I have ever known, in or out of the hobby. We have seen each other many times, usually just the two of us, but sometimes with another guy, and sometimes with another woman. We have enjoyed each other plain vanilla, tutti frutti, spumoni, pistachio, and mint chocolate chip. What a treat. My Miranda. Mi cuchura querida.
“Tengo ganas,” she coos from the bed as I erect the St. Andrew’s cross, “Hazme el amor.” I pull aside the thong she’s wearing and kiss her sweet cheeks. “
Me vuelves loco.”
This is Miranda’s first time on the St. Andrew’s cross and I want her to know all of the possibilities it offers. First I suspend her backwards, face to the cross. That way her very fine ass gets all my attention.
I caress her butt, teasing between her cheeks with my fingertip and tongue. Now I brush the black suede strands of a flail across her ass. Miranda shifts her weight from one leg to the other, wiggling her ass. We find a tempo that that we like and it quickly arouses us both. I take a few Italian stokes, my hands on her cheeks, squeezing my cock. And now frottage. And Italian. And frottage. (I have not yet mentioned that Miranda is a squirter, and that we have cautiously spread a few thicknesses of towel on the floor.) Right then, Miranda reaches a wet, squirting orgasm. Her first of many this day. I enjoy her warm sweet honey pouring over my cock.
We take a little break for some Pellegrino and I set out some more toys. A sterling silver letter opener, a silk scarf. I light a large votive candle – I want a pool of molten wax. “I like hot wax,” Miranda smiles. She’s winding the silk cords around her wrists. She stokes my hard cock, kneels for a few minutes, and licks and sucks me.
I tie her to the cross by her wrists and ankles, blindfold her, and kiss her deeply. She waits for her discipline, in silence. I will leave the events that follow to your imagination. Suffice it to say that her body experienced the harsh flail, the gentle scarf, the point of the letter opener, and the dripping wax. And my cock.
She had many orgasms. I had just one, later, when she was again on her knees in front of me. Mine was into her open and hungry mouth. She had another orgasm as I shot all over her face.
* * *
Miranda wrote me afterwards, describing our time together as a “wondrous moment” and “unique experience.” Te adoro, Miranda, corazoncita.
* * *
Monk
Miranda, Monk, and the St. Andrew’s Cross
My Bio Page - Arkansas
