Passion of the Artisan Confectioner

A long series of challenges I wrote myself, a story told through gifts and plans

Passion of the Artisan Confectioner.

You, our client contacted us to craft a special custom selection of our wares.  You requested that the range follow several ideals and images and you gave us a series of adjectives to conform to. This is the first set of our designs, in the days following this packages arrival we will send a series of items, chocolates, candies, cigars, wine and other special creations from the mind of our designers.

The terms we were given can be summed up in the following terms:

The sensual erotic, the touch of a lover and the caress of someone who knows you utterly. The feel of their teeth against your neck, her pulse racing as she mewls, begging and pleading for your entering her. The pounding, scratching, biting, moaning, screaming as she drives you to your crescendo and release. Our aim is as always your desires fulfilled and to push not only your partner to the brink but yourself as well. Here in this package are the first four in our collection.

Ebony Passions

 A smooth, rich, dark explosion; it’s creamy, rich filling oozing and trickling down your throat as you suckle at the tip of the swirls. This cream flowing as you feel the taste of honey, coffee, and cream bursting across your tastebuds.

The Ménage et Trios

 The slightly spicy heat of Caribbean passions entwined with a rich, creamy, dutch white chocolate wrapping themselves around each other placing you in the centre of their passionate clinch as they both press themselves aggressively across your tongue. The chilli flaked dark chocolate is bold pounding and relentless in his plundering of your mouth his warmth thrusting  into your very soul as his partner takes a gentle exploration almost nibbling and licking across your centre. Her leaving an impression of feather-light kisses, an aching gentle release of bliss.

The Medieval Maiden

 This selection is dainty and elegant, poised, graceful yet there is a hard core behind her. Unwrapping her delicate Muslin and gossamer garments and you are greeted with a smooth creamy pale squiggle of cream, the light catching and glinting off her jewels of decadent sugar. Sliding into her evokes a contrast of sharp almost bitter salts and sugar blends leaving you feeling a princess dining on the best of the luxurious feasts from long past palaces. When she reaches her crescendo you are assailed with an explosion of honey from the depths of her body oozing trickling over and out of your tongue coating your lips in her release

The Reclusive Author.

 This piece was crafted especially for our special edition box. It is a limited edition, handmade on the orders of the commissioning artist. He is a complex, often confusing figure. His blend of a hard toffee sheathed in a rich caramal. He isn’t sweet or sour, he is this impossibly perfect blend of both.  His outer crust of salt protective and challenging, but when you persevere, hard long sucking, you are rewarded with his inner sweetness and a final earth-shattering release of hot sherbet fizzing into you, his whiteness leaking over your chin.

Yours,

The Artisan Chocolatier.

 

 

 

Of Crystal Glasses and Rich Red Velvet

 

When you came home from work there was a package waiting; impossibly black paper surrounding a box. Inside there was as usual a small card and two bottles. One small, barely a glass worth and the second was a large wine bottle. As before, a sample and the prize.

 

Each was identical in the shape and the label. Gently slicing open the note you see,

 

“This Wine, like our chocolate was selected by our team based both on the terms we were sent and the meal you have selected for your evening. Now To the wine itself; open your sample and relax as you study the bottle. We at Artisan hope it meets your approval.”

 

You sit curled up in your nightdress, sitting in the leather chair you adore so much with the glass in your hand as you stare at the bottle and the descriptive notes of style and tasting on the back.

 

“From the shape of this bottle, the slow swelling of a curve and the delicate adornment’s of label and band, this Wine aims to mimic the love of a good woman; delicate jewels not obstructing the luscious curves and the lines. Once poured, she is a rich, deep, mysterious red with scents of honey, cream, nutmeg and the slow heady smoke of the lightly charred oak cask.

 

Upon taking your first sip, you will be transported to the land of her birth, slowly sinking to a pool of bliss, the feel of her sliding into your mouth almost the gentle probing tongue of a lover, slowly she moves through you, around you, over you. This sensation of warmth engulfing all of you. The hot, wet warmth of her, that delicious tang of sharpness warning of her powers of seduction and befuddling the senses. She moves from toe to foot up your thigh until she reaches your centre, demanding yet gentle she is slow delicate, bursting in you a small giddy, heady explosion of flavours, of everything in her scent and more, this is our gift to you that will be a gift to share with your lover."

 

Yours,

 

The Artisan

 

 

 

Special Delivery

Today when you rushed home you saw as you expected, a package from the artisan.  For you now at this time, it had become a game, a courtship of sorts. You give him a request for an item and wait, he returns days later with a delivery.

Gently as to slow the moment you tug the bow, the package unravels itself, the elegant bow sliding apart with lace and satin almost sinfully like the opening of some secret delicate flower. Even opening his gifts sent shivers of desire through you.

In this package there was no note, no description other than a single word “touch”.

 Closing your eyes you remove the first garment, a pair of almost sheer stockings, silk and soft, slowly sliding up your milk white legs to your thighs, due to the resting place of the package, each thigh being sucked and engulfed by an eager wet soft mouth.

The next a garter, lace and ribbon which you tie across your thighs.

The next a camisole which again, slick, silk, sliding over soft skin, the material engulfing your sensitive figure with this eager sucking warmth. Your nipple teased into stiff peaks by the contact and as you tighten the last ribbon you realise there is something very special. The internal nipple clamp that you have pulled tight gripping teasing and driving you into desperate whimpering shudders.  But you press on.  You can’t stop.  You wont stop.  You must, but you mustn’t.

The last item, figure hugging hipster cut underwear, sliding fast and hot up the silk and slipped on without thinking, causing you to cry out in shock and delicious pleasure.  The inside of the panties feeling hot, tingling and teasing as you feel and fumble for the box you read the label warning that the panties are impregnated with a serum that upon body contact release a cream to tingle and tease you. Wet and aching with need you follow the instructions finding the ribbon leading from each nipple and tying them as instructed to the small nub in the panties.  As soon as the knot pulls true you realise the terrible magnificent truth. The clamp opening to grip the clit as you can’t and won’t stop this, this sensual, sexual torment. The clamp gripping not hard but not soft and each time you writhe and rock, it’s tugging upon your nipples, which tugs your clit and leaves you tremoring, shaking, mewling, screaming in a puddle of passion and bliss.  

Alone in your armchair recovering from an orgasm brought about from a shadow of a partner, known only by their title and the signature.

  

Artisan

 

The Artisan Visits

by

Ben Hannigan

Instead of the package that usually awaits you, there was a simple letter.  The contents were an order phrased as a request. It held a time and a place to wait, so that how and why you found yourself at eight PM sat in the leather chair you love so much,  curled up. Not in anything sexy, but in your favourite pyjama bottoms and your lover’s hoody. You spend the time racking your brains trying to work out if at any point during your conversations with the artisan you had told them you were ill.

Never the less they knew, hence you were told to curl up in the chair you loved so much; the chair that your partner would curl up in and read to you with you in their lap. Waiting comfortably, not really knowing what you were waiting for and feeling slightly foolish when staring down at the socks your dad had bought you for Christmas. The ones with the eyes and nose of a fox on them, that allowed you to “nom” your partner’s feet when you laid in bed.

Over time you felt the combination of the doctor ordered medication and the hot toddy your lover ordered mingling and making you drowsy, comfortable, and safe, you drift off. When you wake, you wake in the chair, waking only slightly to the feeling of your feet being massaged. Your eyes closed, you snuggle back and enjoy the dream. Warm hands on your feet rubbing gently, and warm moisturising oil rubbed into your pale skin. Then, this masseuse begins to kiss and suck each toe gently before running their teeth across each heel. The shivers and spasms across each leg as they do, that driving you wild and all you can focus on in your bleary state are the drips of wetness running down your thighs and the hot wetness of their mouth.

You feel yourself lifted to the couch, a duvet over you and your lover’s hand masturbating you by rubbing you through the cotton. You’re pushing up into their hand, not knowing who they are and whether or not this is a dream. Their mouth on your neck, feather light kisses across you as you shake and gasp. Their hand moving under the hoody, your nipples caressed as you are moved so you are on top of your dream lover, you head resting on their boobs and feeling the bulge in their silk bottoms. Confused you run your hand over the bulge, its cold, not flesh, but a toy of sorts.

The mouth now on your earlobe, tongue flicking as you shake and gasp, pleading for their touch yet all they do is rest the heel of their palm on your slit over the cotton bottoms. Finally, you get frustrated and your bottoms come off. Still, all it is the rubbing rotation of the heel of the palm, you’re mewling, begging for more.  Finally they oblige, fingers diving into you, plunging in deep, aggressive, rough, hard. They hold you close against their breasts.  You in just a hoody, nursing against their nipple as you feel yourself pounded roughly, aggressively touched, your having your hair stroked with the other hand. You feel their bra come off and the nipple you were teasing through unconscious movement is now bare and guided into your mouth.

The fingers faster and faster, teasing your clit, twisting your clit as you scream.  Their fingers playing you like a piano, knowing each key to hit, each sensitive area to touch, where to tap, where to twist and where to stroke gently.  Laying there, you're orgasming fast, hard, intense as they hold you close. They drive you further and further the contrast between the hand that’s ravishing you and the gentle caress of the other driving you wild. You hear a small gasp as your sucking continues and are shocked yourself by the release of milk that flows over your lips and into your mouth.

Blissfully, greedily, you suck, feeding from them as they drive you through orgasm after orgasm.  The body betraying you by your intense arousal at being treated like a child. Nursing from this dream lover, you are attempting to drain each breast, feeling her moaning, her rough and eager arousal at your actions and she yanks off her knickers. Forcing your legs to spread as she pushes the strap on into you.  She needs this as much as you do now.  This isn’t just her pleasuring you, this is rea,l hot desire whimpering with need. As you feed she’s fucking you; hot,  fast, rough and you both come together in a crescendo of moans, gasps, and swearing in multiple languages.

You focused on their heartbeat and their warmth.  The gentle kisses placed on your throat, their heartbeat and breathing lulling you to sleep, your eyelids heavy,  you feel so warm, so comfortable that you just drift off. Happily allowing sleep to overtake you.   Hours later you wake, still curled up under the duvet, but alone now, relaxed and comfortable. The only proof that it wasn’t a dream is resting by your head, a pair of silky knickers and matching bra in a size that isn’t yours. You pull the panties down off the arm of the sofa and a note falls down into your lap.


“Your visit today was about caring, nurturing, and relaxing you. This is all part of the service of the artisan. Each client is selected and chosen carefully. Everything we offer is done with love.  There is a meal in the oven waiting for you my darling client, the hot water bottle is under your back. I hope I left you comfortable and happy. As much as this service is about spoiling someone else and allowing you to really spoil your lover, we at Artisan feel that the only way for you to spoil someone else and give them the passion they desire, is to have felt it yourself. This is why we send samples in the way we do,  involving you in each aspect of the event you have designed with us. But more than that, this is why we pamper you.

Love

 

The Artisan”

 

                                                       The Artisan Returns

by

Ben Hannigan

 

Again, you were at home: ill, bleary-eyed, coughing, and feeling like death.  Your body dripping with sweat, dizzy spells and long, harsh ,wracking coughs shaking you to your very core. Curled up on the sofa, remote within your reach, drinks next to you, your lover had carried you into the living room so you could get the phone, read and do some work. Three days in and you were going out of your mind.

You knew you were due the next delivery but as aroused as they made you, you were, at this point too ill to care. The last delivery still a delicious memory that haunted your dreams and kept you warm on the days that your partner did the night on-call shift. You laid in that double bed alone, the silk sheets cold and rather than the reassuring thump thump of your partner's heart beat and his low rumbling purr of a snore, there was silence. Eleven thirty five in the morning and you were bored. The repeating daytime televison, the groups of people having screaming arguments about who shagged who, who puked in whose shoes and which of the fat ones had sucked the most family cock grating on you. Trisha, Kyle, Springer: all shows showing the worst the world had to offer.

Then, there was the sound of the buzzer.  You sigh, pushing the duvet off your body, feeling the cold air rushing across your bare thighs before you hear the familiar sound of a key slid into the lock, you relax and sit. A woman comes in. You recognise her, but in your medicated state, drowsy and tired you don’t get the name out before she reaches you. Her mouth on yours; hot, wet ,kissing you deeply. Her tongue silky, soft, and pulsing as she explores you. She lifts you into her arms; she’s toned, strong, and able to carry you up the stairs. You don’t know where you are being taken but you know that protesting will stop the hot searing kisses.

 

The bathroom: you're set down, the tiles cold on your bare feet.  She's treating you like a child, but yet not, as her kisses are not the type a parent gives. The shower heating up, the noise like heavy rain against a window pane as you are nudged into lifting your arms.  Stripping you, it is soft and gentle like a mother to her child but again, the frank appreciation of your form isn’t. The way that tongue for a split second swirls over your nipple, her breath hot, sending shivers down your spine. You wriggling as she suckles, the movement releasing your pajama bottoms. You realise now from the kiss that she is the visitor from before which means you know who the artisan is but you don’t want to cry out the name, don’t want to ruin the game.

 

Shes slowly sliding your panties down your legs now, you’re suddenly embarrassed your legs aren’t shaved, your thatch certainly isn’t either. Hell you didn’t shower this morning, too ill to stand. Her tongue nevertheless trailing down into your box, that warm breath tracing a line from nipple to nipple, to belly button, to slit, 'till finally, with an air of inevitable sensual teasing, she arrives at your clit, engulfing you, consuming you, completely sucking you in between those impossibly ruby lips. You feel yourself being used as a lollipop, being devoured and melting like that ice lolly as she consumes you. Each swirling motion sending shudders down your spine as she reaches your centre.

Suddenly, rather than wool and heavy cotton rubbing against your bare skin, you feel the rough teasing scratch of lace. Looking down she has slipped off the uniform shirt; the nurse's uniform the ruse used to borrow the key from security to enter the flat. The bottom half too had changed. Rather than the feel of her capris, a semi soft polyester that carried only the slightest hint they were ensconcing the warm flesh of her legs, you felt the heat radiating from her skin, your cold skin almost draining her, leeching the heat from her. She moves, pressing closer as she licks back up, the tongue rough but not scratching. It’s a really hot really damp caress sliding up your bottom. You’re seeing stars as she hits your rosebud. Moving up your back with nibbles and nips across your sides and anywhere else she chooses to bite she ends up at your throat. Sucking hard, fast, rough, marking you, she feels like a nightshade, draining you with this warming orgasmic pleasure erupting from the artery she is suckling. You can feel the velvet of her underwear, the warmth of her skin, her nipples, feather light brushing your back as she moves.

She is still feeding, still sucking, though hasn’t drawn blood as she moves, spinning around you, the soft velvet grinding against your wet centre, her nipples on yours. Both hard like nibs of frozen chocolate, solid but with a creamy feel. The velvet slowly dragging down your legs as you remain tangled, the stinging pressure of her hand fisted in your hair and her finger on your nipples as your cunts meet. The wetness spreading as you feel the contrast between her aching hot body and the icy coolness of the tiled wall on your bottom.

You’re moved again into the shower, pinned against a new set of tiles as she revives her assault; the tiles behind your back warm from the shower and slick with the condensation. You aren’t sticking to them this time. Her feel changes too. Rather than the soft  feel of her skin almost sticking with the sweat its now simply gliding over your body as she touches you. The soap in her hands being worked into a lather on your body; her hands covered with this sweet scented foam which is being worked into every crevice of your body. As you look down your body is disappearing behind a layer of this white honey scented lather; her hands caressing your breasts and stroking, pulling massaging as she covers your body, her mouth still sucking at your throat. Your front done she works the soap suds into your slit grinding, rubbing, fast and hard, she pulls you into her arms your slick body slides over hers as she washes your back; massaging, teasing, not hard but not so soft you miss each movement. Going lower, her hands grip your ass and rub the soap into you. She runs her finger up and down your crease pressing deeply rubbing at your rosebud. The fingers slick with the soap slide in your body not resisting. As you feel her touch all you can here are your own howling moans, its like your detached from the experience as two fingers attack your arse as she works her other hands fingers into your wet slit.

As you fall limp against the wall breathing heavily she moves the shower head, the pounding pressure of this jet of water on your nipples driving you to whimpering for more, for anything. She obliges stretching your cheeks exposing your wet eager rosebud to this pounding water. It sending shivers through your skin, the hot blasting jet moving to your wet cunny and pounding you The pressure on your clit is so intense you're screaming, begging for more, more kisses, more touches, more everything. 

As she begins to card your hair you relax into her in the post orgasm bliss, just focusing on those hands running through your hair and smiling.

You are led out of the shower and wrapped into her embrace your tingling clean bodies touching before she towels you down. The towel is definitely not yours, the soft Egyptian cotton wrapping you in warmth, it's hot, been on the rack and she’s is taunting you with it, teasing you, the towel stimulating you again, the delicious contrast between her rough twists of your nipples and the soft warmth of the cotton that she is gripping through. Working you faster, rougher, harder as you moan into her mouth. You're dried, spoiled and pampered collapsing into her arms and then pulled down to the sofa again stopping only to grab a hairbrush and clean pjs.

Melting as she brushes your hair, you’re purring. she’s brushing you, drying the hair that reaching down just touching the top of your bottom. She's done with the brush now and she places it somewhere secure within reach. As she is carding the comb through your hair you feel the brush slipping into your wet cunny. Gasping moaning into her embrace as she combs your hair. The feel of the brush she is masturbating you with taking you back to your teenage years. Those nights laid on that single bed looking up to the ceiling to the posters of rock bands, into those staring eyes as you brought yourself to climax with that brush. This time though it isn’t harsh, isn’t frenzied, it is gentle, slow, she’s spinning and rolling the brush and holding you close, your content yet primed to explode, your toes curled in the duvet as you again begin to scream. You want to scream the name you know but you mustn’t spoil the game. The comb finished with and forgotten her hand grips, tweaking your clit gently as she brings you to that precipice that you have visited so many times today. The toy is removed and you hear a voice whisper “Come for me, Now.”

With how primed you are, with where you are, you can't do anything. But as you explode all you can focus on is that tongue snaking across your ear, your moaning, shaking, screaming as pulse after pulse wracks your body with spasms. Finally succumbing to exhaustion you pass out in her arms with her caresses comforting you. When you wake you are dressed and curled into her. You try to ask why but your voice doesn’t work. Laughing, she replies to these unasked questions.

“I am the artisan yes, I have been organising this for the man we both love, arranging this, I found you the company, the company is what I do, I organise gifts, parties, deliveries, however this one, this project had a much more personal touch, I have fallen for you as much as I have him, you know that. I want you and him and I decided impulsively to fly to see him and you as the crescendo to this evening. The outfit I have a match to it, after you give him the chocolate, the wine, the meal and show him the outfit that is gonna be hidden under your fur coat, you will lead him to the bedroom where he will find me bound to the bed by ribbons, his final present the two of us to unwrap.”

You blush and giggle kissing the lover you know so well; have made come and been given orgasms by but have never until these past few days touched or even seen. She flew to you for this game, she’s staring at you hoping you don’t hate her and you nod blushing. You find yourself speaking, voice sore from screaming, “He doesn’t get back from work till the fourteenth, he won't know what hit him. Till then, my own artisan.” You kiss her hard, fast, rough, tugging at her bottom lip with your lips a wicked shiver through your body as you hear and feel her desire. “It’s the ninth today and I am off work sick so you have me all to yourself till then.” Sliding your hand onto her mound she mimics you, losing yourselves in each other, in skin on skin, in pure naked desire, lust and love. Making up for lost time, not virgins to each other. Oh no, you know each other well from your time online, but this is more intense, more vivid, like the jump from black and white to pure glorious IMAX in one fell swoop.

 

 

The Artisan Tryst

 

I can feel her breath on mine, feel her warmth as she slumbers next to me. My client, my lover, lies waiting for the day to break in my arms. She is soft, delicate and beautiful. I am the artisan. I flew to meet two people I have known for three long years. And yet, some would say I do not know them at all. All I know is their typing, their use of language and the occasional voice from a video clip.

 

I decided to fly over and turned it into a game, we enjoy games this little trio, our sex life a web of games and playing. Different clothes, different characters, and different places: from schoolyard to the bathroom of a museum. All these places, ages, and times, but all us.

 

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind.  Ever since the start we knew, we knew we were playing with fire.  My darling, the woman asleep in my arms, didn’t know it was me till I let slip in a letter her pet name, the one that I only use in the throes of orgasm. Since then we have been playing a game, both too caught up in this flame to stop.

 

Since the ninth we have been wearing each other out, but also exploring each other in ways that slide outside of the sexual. Watching films together, moving together across the kitchen, gliding around each other like we had done this forever,  each and every thing we did as a couple was punctuated with playful kisses, caresses, and gropes.

 

Then almost all too soon it was the fourteenth. We had a lazy morning tidying and organising the house. A light breakfast in continental style, cooking together our lunch of a simple Waldorf salad and we were ready; ready to begin preparing everything for the night of debauchery ahead.

 

The food prep done and laid out so the cooking could be done in a relaxed rhythm so that the details didn’t distract from the evening.  The wine opened at four thirty to allow it time to breath, I began to dress her slowly, reapplying the creams and serums that would keep her body howling and on edge throughout the evening. The white silk engulfing her thighs, the material warm, sucking her in. The garter pulled tight enough to pinch lightly, tingling. The ribbons trailing as I looped them into the clitoral clamps. The silk teddy slipped on and fastened at the back as I slid her aching nipples into the clamps before running the ribbons down into the clamps and I pulled the ribbons tight, far tighter than my squiggle of cream ever dared. To finish the ensemble, I reached around and pulling her hair up and out of the way.  I attached the purple and black choker that was my gift to her around her gentle throat. The pressure arousing and comforting her as her heart beat faster. My breath on her neck teasing, I then ushered her to her feet. Each movement both agony and ecstasy. Each step she takes, yanks hard on her clit. Each step she takes pulls across her nipples, each step she takes tightens the collar just for a second and I watch her eyes cross in this strange mix of pain and arousal. All the while those creams working hard at driving her to fever pitch

 

As I watched her practicing moving without dropping to the floor in shock at the stimulation, I coughed lightly. It is time to prepare me. We walked together into the room prepared, fortunately we had laid the bed and done all the heavy work before the robing because I couldn’t waste the time, enjoyable though it would have been in retrieving the gibbering puddle of bliss and reforming her into my lover.

 

The silk black sheets luxurious on my skin as I lay down. I was made comfortable, the velvet covered pillow slid under my head, a wonderful contrast. The silk was cool, comforting, sliding across my buttocks and back. It was like water, but the water on the very top of a glass - that delicate semi-skin that is pierced with a touch - this is what was gently engulfing my body beneath me. The pillow, the rich decadent velvet had leached every strip of warmth from the area around it. The feeling on my neck was fire, and yet it was a tame fire that wore it's heat like fur, pulsing with my heartbeat the warm softness of a fresh towel or that soft skin of a kitten unencumbered by the weight of the world.

 

As my mind drifted into whimsy the first of many silken snakes slid across my body, binding though not tightly my breasts. This warmth, this strip of heaven gliding across my skin slowly moving towards its target. The first thing I registered was the feel of this soft slick warmth across my cheek as I was gagged with a delicate bow tied behind my head. All I could taste now with each breath was the sweat from my lovers body.

 

“Oh that evil evil woman” I mumbled through the gag.  Driven to distraction by the scent and taste of my lovers slit pressed against my lips. This taunting tease driving me to madness. Where I expect a throbbing pool of hot wetness, soft like velvet engulfing my tongue, my nose and my efforts evoking screaming, mewling howls and declarations of my place in the pantheon, instead taunted by the taste of her wetness with none of her heat, her softness but none of the enveloping softness pulling me deeper. This I knew was my revenge exacted upon me. Her driving me wild, just as I had her.

 

As I knew this was what was to come, I felt filled; filled by someone I knew not to be there. I knew this by the lack of any sound other than her tuneless musical mumblings, small ditties filling the air with noise, the happiness at her lovers imminent return electric in the air. The toys filling me I recognised from description, from the depths of my imagination and from a promise given to me over the airwaves years ago.

 

She answered the question in the air, “Yes they are exact copies, yes they are accurate as we have been.” I moan into the gag at this feeling, my cunny and my rosebud spread and split wantonly, eagerly, for and by the same man as my lover and the number I became focused on over the years, privately training my body in order to please all of him. Ten inches and for my first time, I blushed hotly as she began the whisper of her actions; chaining, binding the toys together so they slid with each movement I made. She bound my hands to the headboard and taking the choker I had worn for the previous three years bound the ends to the d ring in the centre the ring I hang the property of tag. I am theirs, as they are mine.

The chains like ice on my aroused body, scratching their way gently down my skin as a lover would with their nail. In a twisted mimicry of the ribbons of her camisole the first to a nipple clamp adorning ornamenting each breast, those two then joined with a chain stretching across both peaks, then the clitoral clamp with a chain splitting my breasts, resting down the centre of my body. The constant shifting wriggles of my body now creating soft cold caresses.

 

Standing back to survey her creation she hrmmmed and hummmmed for a while before grinning lightly, then dashed off to her  toy chest. As she got there she collapsed and from the corner of my eye, I saw my lover brought to her knees by the fireball of an orgasm her excited bounce had caused her, the clamps tugged hard taking her already overtaxed body to a level of stimulation she just couldn’t handle. Still totally focused on an order her mistress had given; yes still with me bound, gagged and tied my submissive was mine. She crawled over the box, searching for her target.

 

“Perfect”! she returned to me walking much more gingerly, now stopping only to tie my feet mimicking my arms. Me spreadeagled, rocking onto the toys furiously, her descent into the little depth driving me over the edge of passion.  As I came down, hips still shaking, flicking upwards into the toy I watched her slowly wrapping me like the present I was. The bow perfectly centred on my tummy it crossing both cheeks and shoulders. She stroked my legs slowly, gently setting up the tube of water for me so I was not discomforted by the wait. Setting up the television she clicked play on the remote which lay just out of my reach.

 

“The TV will go off about five minutes before we are ready, that is your warning.”

 

I nod my thanks as best I can, even when dominant, my love is always a gentle caring figure.  About to leave the room, she caresses me with her eyes - a lustful, almost leer over my form as I gasp and plead for more.  More kisses,  more touches,  gods anything! As I rock my hips trying to force the toys deeper, she returns pushing the toys in just half an inch more as I sighed with relief. Giving the chains a playful tug she finally does what she returned for, my eyes not focusing on anything but the TV images, I feel a soft woollen blanket over me as she leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek, “Rest well my artisan, you will need it I suspect.”

 

The final part of our plan now complete, the surprise gift laid on their bed wrapped in heavy thick velvet drapes. I was warm, even cozy if you ignored the bondage and being kept in a state of arousal with the toys. As the door shut I heard a click and the DVD changed. Far from the Disney adaptation of Robin Hood I had been watching before, I was left staring at my lover's face smiling at me and a warning to relax and enjoy the show.

 

This video was different, very different.  It was both of my lovers in many positions, places, styles. This wasn’t just cold dispassionate porn, no this was full colour lust. They knew each other so well, they played and fit together so well. I was so honoured to watch such intimate moments. This was porn with cuddling and shared come-downs. This wasn’t faked. This was love  -  deep, deep, love.  So deep that none of us ever forgot our burning love for each other. This was a torture but it was torture in that it was the extremes of desire, love and passion and the knowledge that soon, I would be joining with them. As I was coming, I kept thinking I need them to come soon.

 

I registered the aroused gasping moans of happy luxury as my lover slipped into my mink coat, lovingly passed down from my grandmother to “be shared with those you love, dressing well flatters them and gives them you in your best. Also," the old woman who long had been the black sheep of the family whispering, “being devoured whilst lying on fur is divine. The contrast between the fur and the heat is breathtaking.” A statement I have tested and thoroughly agree with. The passion, the burning sensation, the burning pure animal desire as you sink into the loving embrace of the coat.

 

I heard a key slide into the lock as I watched my lovers share that moment that is better than anything else on earth as two become one mind, one body and I joined them. Them on screen, me in the bed they were convulsing in. My body limp and my mind hazy as I heard his shocked “Wow, Lucy! Gods you look amazing.” before I knew from the thump he was pinned, pressed against the door. Soon my time would come, soon our Valentine's game will be complete. I drifted off,;warm happy desired, content. Waiting like a lazy cat curled up on the bed, my heart racing, waiting for their meal to end and for their sampling of the dessert.