Wendy

*
Wandering Wendy
Part Eight in a series by Sir Stephen

After Wendy’s long hard day at the library, she drove home to Eric.  Her vibrator was nearly spent, and so was she.  As she got in the car, she remembered to flip her skirt back so that her bare bottom touched the car seat.  It was hard to concentrate on the road, but she made it home.  Eric was waiting, having gotten off early from his work.  Wendy came in the house flushed with desire, with the juice from her pussy still lining the insides of her thighs like the rain on the storm-side of an Aspen tree. 

Wendy was relieved that Eric had dinner ready; this meant that they would be able to play soon, and perhaps if she was extra good he might let her cum!  How different her sexuality was now compared to before she met Eric!  Then, she had been unable to orgasm; now, she was being kept on the brink of a huge shattering climax for hours by remote control.  Eric didn’t need to ask whether Wendy had been good; he could read it in her eyes, in her hungry “I need to cum now” look.  Eric knew that Wendy was so far into subspace that she would do almost anything now to earn her reward.  Well, not just yet! 

“Undress for me, Wendy,” he ordered, and she immediately stepped out of her dress shoes and ankle socks, then removed her blouse, her underwire bra, and her skirt.  There it was, the little silver egg in its nest of sopping wet crotchrope, humming away at an almost inaudible volume.  Eric popped it out deftly, replaced its battery, and slid it back into position. 
“Remember, slavegirl,” Eric said, “you’re not allowed to cum without my permission!” 
Wendy nodded and said “Yes, Master,” but she was so weak that Eric had to help her to the dinner table. 

Eric tied Wendy’s hair back, and then tied her naked body to the chair with her hands behind her back, wrists-to-opposite-elbows style.  He pulled up her ankles off the floor and attached them to the rungs in such a way as to spread her thighs nicely.  The hard wooden kitchen chair pressed against the knot over her anus, and Wendy squirmed slightly and emitted a delicate moan as Eric worked a rope harness around her breasts, doing more than any bra ever did to “lift and separate” her beautiful mammaries.  Some mild but adjustable nipple clamps completed his treatment of her breasts. 

Eric then blindfolded Wendy with a red silk scarf and began to feed her, her dinner, broccoli and chicken breast baked in a sauce made from cream of chicken soup, some mayonnaise, and a healthy dose of curry.  Eric had already eaten.  After each bite, Wendy was to open her mouth and stick out her tongue indicating her readiness for more.  For the meal itself, Eric fed her without tricks, giving her a little water from time to time and keeping her satisfied.  But dessert was a Popsicle taken fresh from the freezer.  Wendy opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, but the Popsicle was held just out of reach.  Wendy had to lean forward and extend her tongue just to make contact with the tip of the Popsicle, which was then almost immediately withdrawn. 

With a little whimper, Wendy seemed to ask why she was being denied her dessert. Eric said, “Just keep working for it, slavegirl.  I want to see your hungry tongue. Lick all over and it might be right next to you.”  Indeed, Eric was holding the Popsicle so that Wendy could only reach it by rotating her tongue and leaning over to one side and then the other, as far as her chair-bondage could reach.  Finally, Eric said, “No biting, now” and let Wendy pull just the tip of the Popsicle into her mouth. 
“Mmmm” said Wendy, not so much because the treat was good as because she had been allowed to finally suck on it.  Wendy started licking the underside of the Popsicle just where its frenum would be if it were a penis. 

Delicate, almost chaste kisses and licks were bestowed upon the inanimate, sweet, frozen Popsicle in a profusion of dessert-worship.  Kisses that could be given to an older relative were planted on its very tip: short, closed-mouthed, but sweet nonetheless.  Eric observed Wendy’s pretty, full lips pursing and puckering, and enjoyed the sight of her tongue extended like a little girl’s at her first Communion.  At this rate the Popsicle would last about a year, Eric thought, but he continued to pull it away from time to time, leaving Wendy’s mouth questing for its sweet quarry, moving this way and that, and extending her pretty red tongue as far as it would go in every possible direction. 

Dinner concluded, Eric untied Wendy from her chair but kept her blindfold in place.  Wendy was retied, still wearing her vibrating egg and crotchrope, with her hands behind her back in the same position—wrists to elbows—which caused her breasts to stick out quite attractively.  Her ankles were hobbled with a rope about a foot and a half long and her nipple clamps were tightened up a bit. 
“I am going to institute a new rule, Wendy,” said Eric.  “Every time you hear this bell”—and Eric rang a small version of the classic schoolteacher bell with a wooden handle—you are to seek me out wherever I am and attempt to give me a blowjob.  You may have to pursue both me and, just like the Popsicle, even my cock in order to reach your goal.  Even if you hear this bell in your sleep, you are to find me by its sound and try to get my penis inside your pretty mouth.  Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Master,” said Wendy, delighted at the thought of this new game, and hopeful that by giving excellent head she could get the permission which was about all she needed now for a lovely orgasm. 
“Very good,” said Eric, and withdrew to another room silently, leaving Wendy in the kitchen where she had been retied. 

“Ring!”  From the living room came the sound of the silver bell, and Wendy came after it, in slow hobbled wandering steps but with her mouth and ears open, hoping to catch the sound of the bell again, or any sound that would tell her exactly where her lover was.  Eric slipped behind her, gave a loud but harmless smack to her bare bottom with his right hand, said “Good girl!” and retreated soundlessly to the bedroom, leaving Wendy moving helplessly about in the living room, mouth open, desperately seeking a cock to suck on. 

“Ring” the bell came softer now, having been rung gently, and having to travel through two closed doors.  Wendy had to negotiate the doors with her hands behind her back, and came tottering into the bedroom hoping that she had guessed right as to where the bell was.  Eric flicked the side of the bell with his finger, rather than user its clapper again, and produced a tiny ringing sound that reassured Wendy enormously.  Immediately, she came on, this time voicing her hunger, saying “Pretty, pretty please with sugar on it, Master, may I pleeease pull your beautiful big cock into my unworthy mouth and kiss it and suck it and make it happy for you?” 

“Ring” the bell said in answer.  Eric had by now disrobed and was seated in the comfortable, upholstered chair next to the bed.  Wendy came directly towards his position and knelt just where she needed to be.  Eric playfully slapped the sides of her face with his fully-erect member and asked “Is this what you’ve been looking for, slave?” Wendy nodded and said, “Yes, Master, may I please, please at least kiss it for you?” “Ring!” came her answer, but when Wendy bent down, like a girl bobbing for apples in a barrel, she came up dry—Eric had pulled his penis away just like the Popsicle.  Wendy had to quest for it, and was repeatedly spanked by his cock on her cheeks or her chin or even her ears. 

All things pass, of course, and even the patience of a good Master has its limits.  As frustrated as Wendy was, Eric was beginning to get almost as impatient as her pretty mouth rooted around—as a newborn baby’s does looking for its mother’s breast, even before it can open its eyes to track her.  For her part, Wendy had almost totally reverted to a baby.  Her empty mouth and its need to be filled made even the knot at her behind and the egg over her clitoris fade into the background.  She shut her mouth for a moment in sheer consternation.  She could smell Eric’s arousal—her blindfold made her more aware of her other senses—but she could not clamp her mouth on it! 

Where was that beautiful, long, hard cock that she needed to suck on?  “Aaaah! There it is!” Wendy thought as she finally felt the bare tip of Eric’s circumcised penis pressing against the very center of her closed lips.  Immediately it was inside her, being laved and loved, bathed and blessed, suckled and slurped, teased and tongued, cajoled and coddled, and washed and worshipped. 

Eric shut his own eyes, enjoying not just this moment but the moments still ahead, the times when he would wake up horny and just ring a bell for his slavegirl, with no need to speak, and enjoying, also, almost without realizing it, the orgasms he would be able to give Wendy as soon as she finished, this time and always, orgasms that would feel almost as good to him as his own, as this huge one coming right now like an earthquake, even now, like the first rumbles of a force that will open the world at its surface and expose its insides, like this, this this this. 

Eric came in gushes that overwhelmed Wendy’s ability to swallow them.  The first she managed, but the second and third spilled out of her mouth, wetting her chin and flowing down her neck to her sternum.  “Thank you, Master, for cumming in my mouth,” she said, with no small expectation of a reward. 

Eric sat for a moment, sated and at peace with existence.  Then he got up, brought Wendy to her feet, and undid the bondage holding her arms behind her back.  He rubbed her elbows and wrists to reestablish their circulation, and undid the hobble between her ankles.  Eric tied a second silk scarf, with a knot in its middle, as a gag for Wendy to chew on.  Eric then pulled back the sheets from the bed, stacked two pillows in its exact middle, and said, “Up you go, with your ass on the pillows, slavegirl.”  In short order, Eric was tightening Wendy in a taut spread-eagle, with her pelvis elevated some eight inches off of the mattress.  “Are you comfortable, slave?”  He asked.  “Yesh, fank ew, aaster,” Wendy replied, in a delightful example of gag-talk.  Still blindfolded, and now gagged, Wendy relaxed into her bondage with the complete assurance of what was to cum. 

This in itself was another contrast between Wendy today and her life before Eric.  In bed with her previous lovers, Wendy was always wondering whether they could possibly make her cum.  This speculation became more real and present to her than the actuality of the moment, and she lost her physical sensations in a wash of dis-associations.  Now, with Eric, she knew that he would make her cum, in his own good time, and in his own way.  Eric had the magic touch, and Wendy was able to relax into this assurance.  The blindfold and gag helped by focusing her mind on her sensations and by freeing her from the need to comment or even think. 

Eric took out a brand-new featherduster and began tickling Wendy’s toes with it.  Unsure just what she was feeling, Wendy curled her toes in delight.  “Mmmrph?” she asked, and Eric said, “Shhhh… just enjoy.”  Eric moved the feather duster up Wendy’s legs, avoiding the insides of her thighs, which were so wet that the feathers would get soppy from just one stroke.  Eric removed Wendy’s nipple clamps and sucked briefly on each breast, soothing them from the pain of the blood flowing back where the clamps had been, and then dusted them as well.  Wendy’s sides, from her hips to her underarms, then got lightly dusted and Wendy started to giggle. 

While still dusting her sides and inducing her merriment, Eric got out a pinwheel anaesthesiometer and started rolling it from the top of one pelvic bone to the other, across her pretty belly just below the navel.  This was a medical instrument designed to test whether a local anesthetic has taken effect – a steel wheel with spokes attached to a handle.  Again, Wendy asked what was going on with another “Mmmrph?” sound, somewhat more urgent this time.  Again, Eric declined to let her know what was happening to her.  The pinwheel went back and forth, lower and lower, now grazing the top of her pubic mound, and then going up and down between her labia majora and her upper thighs, on that magical, smooth patch of female flesh between one heaven and another. 

Then the pinwheel went still further down, crossing the forward curved of Wendy’s gluteous maximi, pressed appealingly forward by the tension pressing her body down against the two pillows.  This time, Wendy’s sounds were more accepting, as a long “Mmmmmm!” escaped her sodden silken gag.  Eric discarded the duster and picked up a second pinwheel – he had gone to a medical supply store – and soon each of Wendy’s wet inner thighs was getting “pricklies” run up and down its length, from just above the knee to her pretty pelvis.  Wendy got more agitated and started bucking, not to escape the tiny pinpricks of minimal pain, but in an involuntary reaction to a confusing but exciting stimulus.  Her pussy got even wetter, if possible, and the pillows were soaked. 

Eric ran the pinwheels down her shins rapidly and began using them to stroke the soles of her feet.  “Mmmmph!” Wendy said, in a tone that was clearly not a complaint.  Again and again the pinwheels traced a line, in tandem, from Wendy’s heels to her toes.  In the tender flesh of the arch of each foot, the pinwheels felt like a thousand tiny bites, each gone in an instant only to be replaced by another.  “Mmmmph!” she said again, apropos of nothing in particular. 

Finally Eric set aside his toys and began rubbing Wendy’s’ feet.  “Hmmmm” she said.  Still rubbing her left foot with his thumb pressed against the bottom of the ball of her big toe, Eric began sucking on the toes of Wendy’s right foot.  Strange behavior for a top, perhaps, but Wendy had particularly pretty feet, and Eric no longer saw himself cast in the rigid role of a Master.  He ran his tongue between her toes, and took each one inside his mouth as a child licks a piece of candy that he wants to enjoy for a long time.  “Aummmm,” Wendy said, in a descending note that whimperingly said that she wasn’t sure she could stand such pleasure, that she didn’t know that such pleasure existed.  Here she was, a blindfolded and bound love-slave, and her lover was pleasuring her in ways she would not even have known how to ask for.  Eric licked her foot from heel to toe several times, kissed her big toe in farewell, and then switched feet, repeating the process.  ‘

As Eric started laving her left foot, Wendy’s pussy demanded to know why it wasn’t receiving all this oral attention.  After all, nothing else would get her off!  Wendy started bucking in her bondage again, whimpering that the tease was too great.  In his best wicked-witch-of-the-West voice, Eric said “All in good time, my pretty.  All in good time.”  He completed her left foot in no more of a hurry than the right, and then began kissing and licking his way up both legs at a maddeningly slow pace.  He paused at the underside of each knee to get in some long slow salty licks, and then confronted her thighs, two rivers of pussyjuice flowing from a single source.  “Emm! Mmm!” Wendy said, as Eric began navigating these watercourses upstream.  Still unhurried, Eric enjoyed the gradually increasing flavor of the two streams as he kissed and licked his way higher.  Higher and higher, and now he was nearing the tops of her thighs.  First one side, and then the other, and Wendy was bucking so hard that, despite the extreme tightness of her bondage, she was elevating her pelvis several inches at a time. 

Eric reached one of his favorite spots, the smooth, flat strips of femininity, which lay between her legs and the outer edges of her labia.  Now Eric lapped away like an animal drinking milk, only more slowly, moving neither to the left nor to the right, from bottom to top.  Left side, right side.  Eric was getting a fantastic olfactory dose of Wendy’s pussy as he went from one side to another.  He began just grazing her pussy with his nose as he crossed over, a light touch that nearly sent Wendy into outer space.  Left side, right side.  Eric had to hold Wendy’s hipbones down so that her bucking didn’t interfere with his licking.  But Eric was getting too aroused himself to keep doing this forever. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of teasing, Eric reached up to pinch and twist Wendy’s nipples, and sent his tongue into the cave of her pussy like a spelunker without a flashlight.  His mouth filled with her pussyjuice, a bittersweet concoction that made his partial erection complete.  He probed her pussy, then began the vertical licks again with the flat of his tongue, with a touch that became lighter as he reached her clitoris, so that only the merest whisper of a touch flicked her clitoris and continued on to its hood.  “Aumrgh! Mmmrph!” said Wendy, in an untranslatable language that Eric understood completely.  Nevertheless he continued to touch her clitoral area with only the lightest possible flicks, causing Wendy no end of difficulty as she blindly strove to push her pussy against his tongue, as she had blindly sought his cock with her mouth before. 

Eric enjoyed keeping Wendy in this state.  He knew he could make her cum anytime he wanted to, in seconds, and he knew that then she would need to rest and relax, and that he would have to stop licking her delicious fountain of juices.  He kept her there for a criminally long time, long enough to infuriate Wendy had she been able to even think about it.  Instead, Wendy existed in a protracted moment that had no past and no future other than the orgasm, which was just out of reach, just barely beyond her.  Did minutes pass?  Did hours?  Did days?  Wendy would not have known. 

In a sudden decision, Eric pulled Wendy’s clitoris into his mouth all at once and began furiously circling it with the tip of his tongue.  Wendy entered into a sort of mental chute that plunged her pussy-first into another level of existence.  The world disappeared, to be replaced by a bundle of nerve fibers firing like a blinding light in the darkness.  Wendy became a single point in a world of no dimensions, a quantum universe where existence itself winked as being became non-being and non-being became being like the strobe flashing across a techno-metal dance floor.

Time did not stop; it simply ceased to be.  The usual endless succession of  “no's” was replaced with a single experience blended from the three ecstasies of time: past, present, and future.  The unity of Wendy the subjective person with the universe of objective things became a palpable sensation, which arrived as a sort of combination of taste and color, washing in waves over her frantically bucking limbs and belly, and crashing like surf against the shore of her cerebellum. 

Wendy came, and in coming she also went, and in going she also came.  She was no longer a person with a name, but she was more herself than she had ever been.  She continued to orgasm, as Eric went clockwise, then counterclockwise, then up and down, and then sideways, across the tiny, erect knob of female sensitivity that continued to explode like a big bang, creating a universe and erasing whatever had existed before.  Pussy juice and sweat flew off of her body like quasars and galaxies, and still there was more.  Eric pulled her clitoris as far into his mouth as he could, and he licked its underside like a tiny cock, paying attention as well to the smooth area just beneath it with side-to-side and up-and-down movements that were almost like the gestures of a congregation prostrating itself repeatedly before the divine. 

Wendy came.  Again, did moment’s pass, or minutes, or hours or days?  This time even Eric could not have answered.  Present at the birth of a new universe, he could not have said whether time had simply passed or had instead been created incidentally, as a sort of afterthought of the generative process. Wendy came, and continued to cum, and Eric drank her juices and was covered with the excess.  His chin, his neck, his chest, and his belly were awash in Wendy, and still she came. 

But all things end, and the scalar fields which measure the stability of the natural laws of the universe bear down upon all existing things until some measure of consistency is brought to bear upon the experience of being.  Only in a few tiny locales were the insides still out and the outsides still in as the almost infinite precipitate of quarks condensed into a mundaneity of atoms and molecules and cells.  And the living cells were arranged in an organism, a female mammal tied with rope to a bed by her soulmate, gagged and blindfolded with silk, but bound more by love and affection than by other substance. 

“Mmmmmmmngh!” she managed, as Eric released her clitoris and began covering her body with tiny, closed-mouth, devout kisses.  “Unnngh!” she said as he began her release, untying first her feet, then her hands, then her breast-ropes, and then finally removing her blindfold and gag. 
As the gag came out, Wendy had just enough presence of mind to say “Thank you, Master, for making me cum!” as the two fell into each other’s arms and began the slow, gentle, tentative caresses and clutches which were to lead to another, and another, and another intimate embrace, this time without restraints, but, equally, without restraint. 

story continues in Wendy

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