Happy Birthday Baby

... By Hathor

He was reclining on the chair, an old beat up wing-backed that he'd had forever. He was grateful for the chair's cloth cover, as his skin tends to stick to leather. She stood behind him, and tied the blindfold tightly to his head. "No peeking," she admonished. He just laced his fingers behind his head and relaxed, having complete trust in his new mistress.

She smiled a sly smile. He was so beautiful, so trusting. Her high heels clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she circled his chair, admiring his physique. He worked hard to stay so chiseled. His biceps bulged and flexed as he shifted his hands behind him. His broad shoulders tapered perfectly to a trim, taut waist. His abs made a washboard look flabby, and his pecs stood out in sculpted perfection. Tiny brown nipples poked out from the fine brown hair sprinkled there.

"What're you doing, darlin'," he asked, his aged-whiskey voice a rasp.

"Looking my fill," she said, continuing her perusal. His thighs were hard and powerful, as was the muscle between them. His calves were strong, and even his feet were sexy. She unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it onto his lap, the fine silk a sensuous breath across his aroused flesh as it slithered to the floor.

He started to sit up, to try to put his hands on her and she made a tsk sound. “Uh, uh, uh sweetheart,” she said. “Don’t make me tie your hands.”

The man immediately settled back in his chair; his throbbing member the only part of him moving; bobbing with each breath. The woman chuckled and walked around behind him again; her high heels going click-click-click. She trailed her hands gently across his forearms teasing his fingertips with hers. He itched to put his hands on her, but didn’t want her restraining him. He cocked his head to listen for her breathing, but she was being very quiet. The woman walked around again, click-click-click, trailing her hand across his arm and down his chest. She stopped in front of him again and leaned in to press a light kiss to his lips, bracing her hands on his bare shoulders. When he tried to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, scratching her short nails across the soft hair covering his chest. He hissed her name and his head dropped back.

The woman smiled to herself and unzipped her skirt, the noise loud in the otherwise quiet room. It made a soft thud as it pooled at her feet, and the man’s breathing hitched again. She tossed the skirt onto the man’s legs; the rough wool scratched him gently as it slid to the floor. She approached him again, straddled his thighs and sat on his lap, his erection pressing into her abdomen. She reached around to hug him, pressing her breasts into his chest and moaning a little at the tickle. She pressed open-mouthed kisses across his shoulder and neck, and bit his ear lobe, soothing the bite with her tongue. She wound her hands around his neck and mashed her mouth to his. She threaded her hands into his hair until she met the resistance of his hands. Grabbing his wrists, she brought his hands to her hips and allowed him to hold her.

He raised her up, shifted beneath her, and brought her down roughly on top of him. She rolled her hips slowly, but he would have none of that. He grasped her firmly and raised and lowered her on his iron-hard shaft until he felt her start to tense. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, matching the rhythm of their lower bodies, and her grip tightened on him. A low moan started in the back of her throat, and he swallowed it, relishing its flavor. Of her own accord, the pace quickened her hands tight on his shoulders, her body rising and slamming onto him relentlessly. As her eyes rolled back and the first waves of orgasm hit her, Jon’s arms tightened around her, his legs tensed, and he tore his mouth from hers to scream her name.

“God Rose!”

She kissed him gently as they struggled to control their breathing.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” she said.