Sunday comics.

Daddy.

Hello, pet.

Do you see this bracelet? This collar? This attractively polished little lock? The key I hold between My fingers as they caress and tug you by the lobe of your ear?

Make no mistake, pet. When the candle has been struck, the bracelet applied, your obedience is Mine and shall remain so for as long and as enduring as I care to retain it. you are Mine. you will serve.

Because Daddy loves you.

When you feel the weight of the leather on My arm, smell its scent, hear its creaking as I draw you close to Me, you will just begin to know the weight of My love, My embrace, the protection I shall enshroud you with. My strength, My perseverance, My virtue, My word is as law to you. you are Mine. you will serve.

Because you love Daddy.

The raiment I deign to cover your body with, or none at all. The food I deign to fill your body with, or none at all. The drink I deign to moisten your mouth with, or none at all. The people I deign you to uncover yourself to, or none at all. The discipline I deign to administer unto your bare flesh, or none at all. The use of your body I deign to make of you, or none at all. The bedding I deign to reward you with, or none at all. you are Mine. you will serve.

you will serve and know wholeness in the servitude. you will serve and find satisfaction and joy and pleasure only in My satisfaction and joy and pleasure. If I deign to grant you orgasms, it shall be for My pleasure to do so. If I deign to bare your pert little ass in the public square for an attitude adjustment before the populace, it shall be for My pleasure to do so.

you are My possession, you are My pleasure, you are My greatest responsibility. Inside My arms you will find the security you crave, the very cover of My shadow in the candlelight will giving you both contentment and hunger to please and to serve Me. It will pleasure you to serve Me, but only because I permit it so. It will satisfy you to serve Me, but only because I permit it so.

your pleasure is only yours if and unless I grant it to you to be.



But you needn't be afraid, pet, for I am a just and fair Daddy. My care for you is without boundary or restraint, although you yourself will know both. you will give yourself to Me, you will yield yourself to Me, you will know happiness and ecstacy from the touch of My hand, My lash, My kissing lips, My chains, My thick cock which you will adore and satisfy at My whim. you will be taken at any moment. you will be pushed to your pathetic, parted knees. you will be blissfully tortured and torturingly embraced.

you will obey Me, and you will anticipate My desires effectively. you will know My Discipline should you waver. My Discipline may be as terrible as a look from My eye and as beautiful as your suspended body to be lashed with leather to the applause of collected guests. you will honour your position and My love when I deign to show you at an event. you are the vessel for My enjoyment. you will always maintain yourself in accord with My instructions, and My instructions shall always be in your best interests. you will be graceful, elegant, and wanton in accord with My wishes.

And if I should deem it appropriate and desirable to randomly hoist you over My knee, stand you nude and sniffling in a corner, bend you over a park bench for a thrashing, command you to polish the boots of My comrades, see you serve My associates and Myself as we enjoy a game of poker, fellate any or all of them as I instruct you so, you will comply in the joyful knowledge that you are pleasing Me.

you live to please me.

Daddy will change you forever. Change you like no other.

And sometimes, Daddy will tell you what you need to hear. But only because Daddy loves you.

Black leather afternoon.

Last Saturday afternoon found me enjoying a beer as I leaned against the brick wall of my local pansexual playground, Goodhandy's. My leather shirt creaked comfortably as I shook my head in admiration while watching Derek spin. His muscles strained under the thick red ropes, the knots around his boots securing his weight to the pulley dangling high above the stage. Also weighty and dangling was his dick, clearly aroused by the work his Top had been putting him through. Tony knew exactly what he was doing.

Suddenly my weekend entertainments seemed miles away from the upscale condominiums of horny, longhaired, blonde Catholic women with big tits.

With my new friend, Bootblack Boy, the Fates found me enjoying the 2009 Leather Sir/Leather Boy Canada competition. I hadn't been to this club since last summer, when I attended one of its playparties, but this afternoon was all about the guys in black.

I arrived just as the competition was ending, the muscular and tattooed jocks strutting and bending over for the smirking panel of seasoned leathermen. Sipping my beer, I enjoyed reading the colours on the vests surrounding me, and it took me back to the days when I lived in Boston and was the token straight guy when Diva and me hung out with the all-women T-Bears MC. The competition over, guests were treated to an extraordinary shibari demonstration by expert Tony Buff and his partner Derek Da Silva that can only be described as suspension bondage gymnastics. Tony handled his ropes fluidly, coiling them in decorative knots around Derek's thick biceps and chest, followed by loops around his boots from which he would balance his weight. But rather than move into a bdsm scene, the demonstration showed impressed onlookers how the bondage allowed for varieties of movement as Derek twisted himself prone, into sitting positions, spinning, and various other postures with twisted leg and bent knee that revaled how an imaginative Top could easily have access to any angle of his body at any time.

I've remarked before about how impressed I am with the gay community when it comes to the leather scene. The het kinksters in my region have a strong crossover with the goth crowd, and often it seems as though that playspace has more to do with music and fashion and emo posturing than with down 'n dirty, old guard, straightforward (sorry...) fetish power exchange. Even before the hot on-the-job training I enjoyed while working the bdsm clubs, I remember cutting my teeth on Larry Townsend's Leatherman's Handbook as my primer for leathersex. God knows that Townsend's detailed descriptions about power, protocol, and the various forms of S&M got me off just fine, the fact he wrote about man-to-man sex regardless. It didn't take much to adjust the gender specifications and still get a lot out of it.

And speaking of 'adjusting gender specifications,' I have to say that my new friend is really very cool. Bootblack Boy is a early40s transman (FtM) with an expertise in (wait for it...) bootblacking, and we share common interest in over-the-knee spanking play. He's relaxed, open-minded, informed, and playful. Thank you, Fetlife.

I haven't witnessed proper bootblacking technique since dating the Tomboy, and that was only because she's in the Canadian Forces. I've been intrigued with this nuance of the kink community for some time... and, for that matter, have been intrigued with transgendered dudes (an extension of my dyketyke tendencies, mayhaps?)... so it'll be interesting to see what happens. Boy and I agree that straightforward (dammit again, sorry...) OTK play almost seems like a 'too-vanilla' subtext for most in the broader kink scene, so I'm pondering and pondering.

The post-Leather Sir Canada schmoozing was fun and relaxed. Before Boy and I left for coffee and a chat about engineers, Rangers, and my new pair of Snap-On steeltoes, it was a treat to shake hands with Mr. International Leather Sir 2008 Raul Mendez II, who had come up from Florida. Miss Toronto Leather 2001, a very cool woman with a very hot vibe, bought me a Jager shot while we discussed kink-community networking. And it's always a treat to be around good-natured, sex-positive people no matter what sexybits bring them to orgasm.

Boy and me hooking up at the club? Boy, Morgan, and me hooking up together at some fetish night? He and I have already talked about the possibility of his genderqueer ass across my lap, and God knows I also miss tugging down Morgan's panties. Hrm.

But really, it was just another snowy Saturday afternoon in Toronto.

Ho hum.

Le Salon de Punition avec Alise et Vivienne: une fantaisie.

A slow and gentle snow whisked against the panes as I awaited you.

Beaumonde, long my family's manservant, had seen to it that the crystal was filled with one of the estate's finer vintages, that the fire was suitably roaring, the bedding properly turned, the glass oil lanterns suitably filled. I smiled as I stood at the window, observing the chestnut mares weave your carriage through the snowy and dormant garden. It had taken more than a little intrigue to arrange for this night.

"The evening's pets have arrived, Beaumonde," I purred over my shoulder. "Do straighten my waistcoat and then attend to them." He nodded, only the barest amount of powder from his wig sifting into the air as he did so. Having first refilled me, I savoured the wine on my lips as he departed with a quiet bow.

I heard the door in the foyer open, and tried to decide whose giggle it was I heard. You both had been to my home before, but never before together, and while your own family estates were leagues apart from one another, I knew that our common interest would make for a most neighbourly, if scandalous, evening.

I listened to your approach up the stairs, my back to the door as Beaumonde opened it. I continued enjoying the sight of the soft snow, the smile on my face likely reflected on the glass. All of our eyes met through our reflections upon the glistening pane when my manservant opened the parlour. Our eyes laughed together, only your shoes creaking the wooden floor and the crackling fire filling our ears.

"The ladies madame Alise and mademoiselle Vivienne, sir."

I turned, my smile unflinching. "Thank you, Beaumonde. The wine, if you please, and then you may retire to the ballroom unless and until summoned for."

"Sir," he repeated, and served you wine from the silver platter that the king himself had bestowed upon my uncle so many years before. Bowing first to me and then, perhaps for a moment too long, before each of you, he closed the door behind him and finally, we were alone together. No more pretenses, no more deceits in Paris, no unchaste smiles reserved from public view by the flurring of a fan or lace kerchief. The three of us alone in the parlour, far from the capital. At last.

My bow felt deliciously tawdry, an elegant ritual that almost contrasted with the purpose of our fair salon. Your returning curtsies seemed equally naughty, like a flash of ankle under a virgin's pannier. The fire glistened upon the buckles of my shoes as I stepped forward, taking each of your hands for a tender kiss. Your faces were clearly flushed already.

"Candide, then?" I asked you, Alise. "You expressed such admiration for Voltaire, and I'm afraid even saucier works are difficult to come by in Marseilles. I suspect his adventures, and Miss Cunegund's torments, shall keep us aptly entertained... whilst the mademoiselle bares herself from her lovely petticoats."

From deep downstairs, the quiet echo of the harpsichord daintily filled the house as Beaumonde began playing a Spanish sonata. Soler, whose compositions were deemed plebian by the less than sensual, enriched my sense of bawdiness for the evening. Beaumonde played him rythmically.

Our affair unfolded charmingly, the two of you elegant ladies and me. With superb wine and cordial conversation, we discussed the affairs of the day, matters of art and state, religion and poetry, and all the while catching knowing and flirtacious glances to one another. Madame Alise, you looked resplendent in your silken corsetry of emerald hue, your luxurious golden locks cascading upon your bare shoulders like mythic fleece from a Mediterannean island. And you, naughty Vivienne, your dark curls tried vainly to hide your blushing face as your beating heart thundered under your peach chemise. Even Alise indulged in the occasional leer toward you, and I myself enjoyed watching the licking of her painted lips when she would discretely glance upon your heaving bosom, dear Vivienne.

And then the churchtower struck ten and all fell silent and ominous between us.

Beaumond's playing continued unabated, gentle and ethereal, elsewhere in the house, but the echoing chimes resounded through the icy trees and windswept fields outside. The agreed hour had come, and the three of us knew perfectly well what would follow, as arranged from the many secret notes we had shared over the weeks before. I stood, reached for the bookcase, and handed you, Alise, the volume bound in soft, red deerskin. Your smile was scandalous.

"But first, monsieur, the basket, oui?" you asked. I nodded with a grin. Poor Vivienne only sat still, her breath quickening. Her eyes blinked in anticipation.

You stood and located the wicker chest on the floor beside the fire. From inside, you withdrew the thick, burgundy Oriental ropes, soft and heavy velvet, tassled with small bells of ivory and silver, and stood with them before tender Vivienne. She raised herself, and you assisted her in the gentle removal of her bodices and skirts, revealing her intimate chemise. She blushed all the more, and knowing the game, you then bound her wrists with the ropes fashioned by hands from mysterious China. I sat on the chaise beside the window, where I have always sat for the torment of my pets.

You gently eased tender Vivienne across my lap. Her hands dangled to the floor, bound at the wrists. Once placed, you bound her ankles as well, assuring that her balance was so slightly off.

"Please read, darling Alise," I softly spoke to you, my hands resting on Vivienne's back. You smiled, sipped the wine, sat near the fire, eased the volume open, and began.

"The baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for his castle had not only a gate, but even windows, and his great hall was hung with tapestry. He used to hunt with his mastiffs and spaniels instead of greyhounds, and his groom served him for huntsman..."

I pet your hair, sweet Vivienne, my attentions to you as you lay upon my legs. Your curls sifted across the rings on my fingers as my free hand gently caressed your exposed ankles. That hand soon began slowly drawing your hem upward, your milky calves revealed, the rear of your knees, those magnificently tender thighs graced to you by Our Lord God, and finally...

"My lady baroness was a person of no small consideration, and then she did the honors of the house with a dignity that commanded universal respect. Her daughter was about seventeen years of age, fresh colored, comely, plump, and desirable..."

"Oh, Vivienne," I softly whispered. "How blessed by heaven you are. Such a derriere deserves painful and yearning praise by cloisters of frustrated monks from all over fair France."

The winter wind whisked more ice and snow upon the leaded windowpanes as I raised my hand and administered the first strike of the evening. The seam of your saucily exposed round bottom was met with four firm fingers and a flattened palm, the sharp crispness of its smack only matched by the snapping wet logs in the fire. You shook, cried out, and were still. Alise paused, perhaps to look up from her vellum pages before returning to read aloud. I am certain that I witnessed a grin.

"The baron’s son seemed to be a youth in every respect worthy of the father he sprung from. Candide thought Miss Cunegund excessively handsome, though he never had the courage to tell her so..."

Caressing your tender skin, shameful Vivienne, brought such swelling under my breeches. How I adore the feel of the breach between your budding cheeks. Whilst my striking palm continued to rain tender torment upon you, I became doubtless that my pike could be felt stabbing upward to your covered navel. Was it the fire that brought droplets to my brow? Had I too much wine already? Between strikes, both fierce and fluttering, your warm and curvaceous bottom became my north star, guiding me toward pleasures deep withn my breast as I exposed and explored you in a fashion only known to the rudest of Versailles ladies.

"As Miss Cunegund had a great disposition for the sciences, she observed with the utmost attention to her experiments. Quite pensive and filled with the desire of knowledge, she imagined she might be a sufficing reason for young Candide, and he for her. When she happened to meet the young man, she blushed, and he blushed also. She wished him a good morning in a flattering tone..."

I smiled to beautiful Alise as she read on, and enjoyed the sparkle in her seductive eyes as she shared my visual pleasure in your lovely arse, Vivienne. I smirked as I listened to her alluring throat dry itself in the warmth of the room, and for witnessing our activities, and paused to taste my wine when she did the same to aid her voice. But you, raven-haired vixen, not so virtuous Vivienne, you hung unsteadily tense and firm across my knees as you awaited my next blow. When it came, fast and harsher than before, raining haughty evil upon your mother's baby's skin, you could not help yourself but raise your head high in your exquisite distress to look straight into Madame Alise's conspiratorial face as you screamed aloud. You continued to cry out as my hand became a savage blur, your head shaking from one side to another as I held you tightly. Your whimpering, sniffling screams, your pants and sudden gasps for merciful air, your tearful pleas resounded throughout my parlour to little avail. There was even the briefest pause from the far ballroom as Beaumonde likely heard you as well.

"The next day, as they were rising from dinner, Cunegund and Candide slipped behind the screen. The miss dropped her handkerchief, the young man picked it up. She innocently took hold of his hand, and he as innocently kissed hers with a warmth, a sensibility, a grace, and their lips met. Their eyes sparkled. Their knees trembled. Their hands strayed..."

I caught my breath as I paused. I wiped my brow with a kerchief. I slowly caressed your burning seam. Your flesh is aflame with loving punishment.

In an act of the utmost rudeness and manly daring, an act which would scandalize the lot of your entire family history were it to become known in the streets, I then teased your nethermost flower, obedient Vivienne, your petals, and from which withdrew a lustful fingertip of Venus' own nectar from your most secret of jewels. Lifting the offending finger to my gaze, I admired the gloss upon my flesh with lamplight. With a gentle moan from deep within me, I then committed the most profane act of indulgence to paint the very underside of your tender chin with this, your own elixir. Can you not feel how your torment entices you to sin? Can you not love the incubus who escorts you into your desired perdition? Your womanhood is as a moonlit field on a warm early May morning, though your dew is not the fruit of kisses or love notes or poems from unrequited farmboys, but from the firmness of my punishing hand feeling, striking, opening, taunting, probing, and using your ladyship's exquisite and beautiful derriere for my own pestilent pleasure.

With a soft caress, I eased the discomfort upon your fiery flesh, for by now your skin glowed like the smouldering coals beside Alise. I eased you to the floor as she lowered the book to her lap, and the three of us smiled to one another in a tender silence. You raised your wrists to me with a pleading look in your eyes, and I undid the magnificent Peking bonds. I permitted you to withdraw the ropes from your ankles by yourself, and you seemed to enjoy this moment of return to your more courtly, more respectable sense of presence. Offering you my hand, we stood together, and only then did we share a kiss.

Alise waited, enjoying the lovliness. I motioned my eyes toward her, and as I sipped the wine from the crystalware, you carried the ropes back to her. Even in your crumpled chemise, smarting with the sting of my love, you were as regal as any lady of His Majesty's court.

But you too knew the next step in our salon, in our game. As if on cue, your eyes met with Alise's just as the churchtower in the village began to strike the eleventh hour. With a smirk upon your face and a flutter of your dark eyes, you held the burgundy ropes before our panting reader of Voltaire.

"Madame Alise," you whispered as you reached for her wrist. "Monsieur believes it is now my turn to be reading aloud."



© 2009. All rights to text reserved. Portions quoted from Voltaire's Candide, public domain.

A night out for the toys.

When the stunning blonde brought me my dinner, I laughed to myself as I realized the contrast between my dining venues of late. Continuing on my solo, Pride 2008 quest for my city's sensual and erotic treats, just recently I found myself enjoying an awesome barbecue hosted by the Black Eagle, perhaps this city's most infamous gay leatherbar. It didn't distress me that I was in the Eagle, and yet tonight, I felt just slightly weird (in a perfectly amusing way) that I was actually dining in a Hooters. I mean, Hooters... it's just so fratboy.

Being more of an ass- than a tit-man, I was still pleasantly surprised to see a variety of bodytypes among the servers. Fully expecting to see a room full of Pamela Anderson clones, I was happy to see my expectations dashed. Some lovely bums indeed. I still feel as though there's something vaguely heterosexist about Hooters, but then again... how much more alarming was it really when compared to the average stripclub?

From there, I was off to the famous Northbound Leather fetish wear emporium for their annual Pride Meet & Greet social. A relaxed evening of wine and hors d'oeuvres among a pansexual crowd of the city's fetish elite awaited me, where I enjoyed meeting old and new friends. Also attending was Canadian fetish performer Maxine X, due to appear on the third season of Webdreams, to offer autographs and her latest DVDs when she wasn't dry-humping the stunning Northbound associate Jen.

I enjoyed the open bar as Northbound manager David and I discussed the nature of the erotica business as he helped me select some new gear for myself. To our left, a couple found themselves testing a new flogger as she delectably bent forward to a rack of latex skirts, her partner gently lashing her behind. Behind us, a cluster of guys from various regional gay leather associations were having a blast as one of them, clad in leather boxers and sporting a full-faced leather doberman hood, rough-housed with a pair of very real Jack Russell terriers. The little pups seemed horribly confused.

The evening was more of a party than a playparty, but that didn't stop one talented Top guy from an intense rope bondage scene with his bottom. Kneeling on the concrete floor, the lashed gentleman relaxed silently as his Top, and his Top's friends, took turns supervising his presence among the crowd of minglers and nibblers.

Outside, the Lady Victoria Windsor demonstrated her skill with a bullwhip, removing cigarettes from the lips of the willing and unafraid. One or two of the leatherboys decided that it would be amusing to see how her tools would feel upon themselves, and each walked away with a smarting look in the eye.

I was with The Grrl the last time I did some shopping at Northbound. That's almost a lifetime ago now, but it felt excellent to be among the local scene again. Recently, Lanie, a new friend, has expressed interest in attending a local fetish night together, and while I doubt we'd progress anywhere past being just-friends, I'm looking forward to perhaps sharing some interesting experiences in the coming weeks.




thumbs personal collection, Switch Swingers

Shayne goes to class.

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Half-hitches down her arms.

Our lives become so busy, sometimes it feels like forever between moments of walking on the street together, arms entwined around our backs. It felt good to be together.

We had already shopped for lingerie for her, where she teased me with views of her breasts while comparing various elegant tops. A sumptuous a la carte dinner of oysters, sliced pork in brandied white sauce with sangria, and completed with banana crepes with chocolate and ice cream followed. At home, small glasses of Frangelico awaited us, along with my collection of rope.

She changed when we got home, and reappeared in her lovely striped black teddy with gloves, fishnets, and her high, hard leather boots featuring an endless ladder of silver hooks. I mused how perfect her ensemble was for when we visit the New York clubs during our coming vacation. I mused how perfect her delightful ass looked as the teddy draped her skin.

We began playfully, me smirking as I experimented with various ways to bind her wrists. The white ropes looked striking against her gloves, and it wasn't long before I knew her leather boots would looked even more so after her ankles would be bound. Bringing a wooden chair into our playspace, she mewled her disapproval for placing her virtually bare bottom against the hard, cold wood. I was unconcerned, and knew that discomfort would soon be greatly overshadowed for her.

After securing her ankles with coils finished with square knots, I brought her arms downward and against the frame of the chair, her palms inward and almost under its seat. Half-hitches down the lengths of her arms secured her in place as she spoke of how much fun she was having. The knots looked delicious against her skin. I blindfolded her.

She gasped tenderly as she felt my kisses on her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her face. My tiny bites and soft whispers had her shaking. Her legs had parted and I learned that no panties could be found under her teddy, and saw the clear and moist evidence testifying to how much fun she was having. Her inner thighs were wet, either sides of her legs connected by spiderwebs of glistening juice. She shot her head backward and sucked a lungful of air when my fingers began to softly explore her tender, reddening pussy.

Repeated knots in the center of another length of silky rope made for a perfectly enjoyable gag, but when I first moistened the center knot with her juice and slipped the knot into her mouth, it was just that much more fun. In this condition, bound in the chair and tasting her own arousal while being deprived of sight, her hearing assailed by the strains of the Berlin Philharmonic, she was now my toy.


She received my caresses, my kisses, still. She received my nails gently scratching across the top of her chest, and downward as I cupped and stroked and pinched her breasts. Bites on her earlobes. The occasional dribble of Frangelico on the knot in her mouth, or slowly dribbling on her skin. My hands grasping and smacking her thighs. Her teddy being tugged from her bottom as she sat in the chair, the material set aside and draped into the chair frame in such a way that I could enjoy teasing the soft seam of her ass with my fingers. A fourth length of rope coiled around her breasts, held in place with her own teeth. The wooden clamps at the edges of her breasts. The tiniest, cute marks they left when removed. Her squirmings. Her yielding. Her shaken spasms when I deigned to flick a gentle fingertip across her engorged clit. How puffy her labia had become for me.

My leather slapper, loud and insistent when meeting naked flesh, teased her drenched inner thighs into opening ever wider. Her leather boots creaked against the ropes securing them. Her folds opened like an orchid, and they widened even more after experiencing the slapper's kisses upon them. Her juices drenched the black leather, and I smirked as I dried my tool by brushing it against her face. She had been brought to the edge and pushed away from it several times by now, and was desperate to have a release.

You need permission, she was told. Her impertinence, normally a natural and endearing trait in her, lasted very, very briefly as she tried to remain silent. But her orgasm was at stake, and she knew it, although she hasn't yet discovered the full extent of my wrath when pushed by too much impertinence.

Slowly, she began to ask for permission to cum, but forgot something most necessary. Repeating her words back to her, she received a sound smack on her thigh from the slapper with each word that came from my mouth.

"May. I. Please. Cum," I repeated to her, adding with a final and firmer smack, "What?" Her breathed deeply, embracing another important step in her submission. She finished the request properly.

"Sir," she whimpered. "May I please cum, Sir?"

Rewarded with a kiss, I then pressed the slapper against her folds, swirling it slowly, alternating with gentle and rapid smacks, until she quickly began straining against her bonds and shaking uncontrollably. I held her head to my chest as I stood beside her, feeling her gasps against my skin, continuing to use the slapper on her flesh until she was spent.

A repast. I remove the gag, and bring the crystalware to her lips and give her a generous mouthful of Frangelico. She swallows gratefully. I increase the volume for the Philharmonic, adjust her bonds so that she kneels on the chair now, and toss the teddy's material over her spine to reveal her ass in its sensual completeness. For my own entertainment, I proceed to spank her firmly, patting and caressing her between rounds of echoing slaps. She's moaning now, and her juices have soaked her legs. Her rosebud is crinkling as she yelps.


The slapper against her ass echoes even louder, and her skin is reddening. By the time I move to the small wooden paddle, she's about as tender as she's experienced yet, and even the slightest smack has her quivering. My toy is ready for me to finish our little game.

By now, her boots must be straining her ankles, so they're removed as are their bonds. I replace the ropes with a handsomely thick set of leather restraints that will snugly and comfortably keeps her ankles close together. I untie her arms from the chair, and reaching for the decorative chain around her neck, set her on her knees on the pillow on the floor. The blindfold is still on. She knows the pillow rests right before my seat. I am certain that her instinct has clued in her in to what will be coming next.

Grasping the chain, I sit down and relax, tugging her gently and silently downward. My tip of my hard cock brushes against her face, and I'm reaching for my own crystalware and sipping liqueur as her licking moves on to hungry, sloppy, wet sucking. Her mouth engulfs me, and she whimpers as I urge her on with softspoken commands to service me. Her gloved hand is holding my sac and pumping me as she fills her mouth with my thickness and swabs me with her saliva. Her enthusiasm shows me how much fun she's had thus far, and how deeply her need to submit rests in her otherwise sarcastic soul. I'm feeling the back of her throat as she bobs her head, her lips tightening around me, her tongue coiling around the head as she sucks. I enjoy my drink, the strains of the contralto and bass as the opera proceeds, and I enjoy the wet, naughty slurping that my lover is making between my legs. I'm caressing her head, spiraling strands of her short hair between my fingers as I feel my abdomen tighten, and she knows that I'm about to cum. When I do, I hear the metal clasps to her ankle restraints, her muffled moans, her suckling, and feel her accepting my essence with passion.

She continues nursing on me for a while, and soon her head is in my lap. We caress. I tell her how I love her. She tells me how she loves me, and how she enjoys how I taste. The Berlin Philharmonic concludes the allegro.