Ulysses and Sophia part 14
Ulysses lay sprawled across the plush pink wool rug, the synthetic fibers prickling his skin as he stared up at the spinning titanium blades of the ceiling fan. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence of the office, mixing with the musky scent of sweat and sex that still hung heavy in the air. He let out a long, ragged breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to process the absolute chaos of the last few hours. This certainly wasn’t what he expected when he clocked in for his shift at the department store this morning. He had anticipated stocking shelves and managing inventory, not being tied to coat racks and subjected to vibrators.
He shifted his weight, his body aching in places he didn’t know existed. He had always fantasized about a mistress taking control, imagining the sting of a hand against his ass and the psychological thrill of submission. But experiencing it in reality was a completely different beast. The fantasy was safe, clean, and controlled by his own mind. The reality was messy, overwhelming, and intense. His mind flashed back to the most excruciatingly pleasurable moment: three vibrators humming inside him at their highest setting, the plastic noise drowning out his own gasps. He remembered the way Sophia had pushed them deeper with two fingers, her manicured nails grazing his rim, forcing him to take more than he thought he could. Then came the boob job, her soft flesh engulfing him, followed by the wicked wiggle of her tongue against his tip.
A small smile tugged at his lips despite his exhaustion as he recalled the yoga session. Watching Sophia move from pose to pose had been mesmerizing. She was fluid, like water, her body bending in ways that seemed impossible. He tried not to objectify women as a rule, but Sophia made it difficult. She looked like a feast—a spread of grapes, crusty bread, roasted turkey, sizzling steak, and bright oranges and apples all laid out on a table waiting to be devoured.
His mind began to wander, drifting into the dangerous territory of future desires. He pictured Sophia sitting heavy upon his back, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slapping his ass hard, commanding him to crawl like a horse. The thought made his cock twitch against his thigh. He imagined her using him as furniture, a footstool or a chair while she read a book or surfed the web, idly rubbing his hair or butt as if he were a pet. Then his thoughts darkened further. He saw himself tied to a St. Andrew's Cross or perhaps the coat rack again, helpless as she wielded a martinet. He had heard of the whip—small leather tails attached to a wooden or fiberglass handle. They said it felt like a swarm of bees, stinging without causing real damage, leaving behind only small, red stripes that could safely be used even on the most sensitive areas.
Six minutes passed in a blur of daydreams before the door clicked open. Sophia walked back into the office, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. In her hand, she held a sapphire blue bungee cord, the elastic material gleaming under the light.
"Raise your hands high above your head," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.
Ulysses obeyed, lifting his arms until his muscles stretched. Sophia dragged a chair from behind the desk, climbing onto it with careful grace. She reached up, hooking one end of the bungee cord around the titanium rod that secured the ceiling fan to the ceiling. The fan whirred above them, the four flower-shaped lights in the center casting a soft glow. She tugged the cord, testing the tension until it was stretched to its limit, then hopped down from the chair and wrapped it around his wrists, securing him to the fan. He tensed for a moment, surprised that the heavy fan held firm and didn't come crashing down on them
She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist possessively. Even through her clothes, he could feel the press of her breasts against his back, warm and firm.
"You’re all mine, baby," she whispered against his neck, her breath hot.
She slid around to face him, a playful glint in her eyes. The music of her own rhythm seemed to start in her head as she began to dance. She wiggled her hips, bobbed her shoulders, and slid her hands over her body in a hypnotic display. Her fingers found the buttons of her shirt, undoing them one by one until the fabric slipped to the floor. Next came the bra, freeing her breasts with the slightest jiggle. She shimmied out of her black pants and jacket, letting them pool around her ankles. Finally, she hooked her thumbs into her pink panties with the yellow stars, sliding them down her legs until she stood completely naked before him.
Ulysses watched, mesmerized, as she stepped closer. She pressed her body against his, her soft skin molding to his hard frame. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
"I'm gonna fuck you standing up," she breathed.. Sophia wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself off the ground. He groaned as she rubbed her slit against his cock, teasing him with her wetness, grinding her hips against his hardness.
Finally, she positioned him at her entrance and sank down, engulfing him in her reproductive tunnel. Ulysses moaned loudly, his head falling back as he felt her wet heat surround him. He was deep inside her, touching the entrance to her womb. Sophia suppressed her own moan, clearly experienced in controlling her pleasure, but her grip on his shoulders tightened.
She began to move, pulling back and then pushing forward, fucking him with a steady, insistent rhythm. To further torment him, she raked her fingernails down his pectorals and across his back, the sharp sting mixing with the pleasure of her inner walls.
Three and a half minutes passed in a haze of sensation. Sophia deliberately maintained a moderate pace, refusing to let either of them orgasm too quickly. Every time he was fully inside her, she clenched her inner muscles, milking his shaft and intensifying the stimulation until he saw stars.
The pressure built to an unbearable peak. Ulysses cried out, "Sophia, you're so wet!" as his body seized up. He felt her ovum seemingly sucking at his penis, drawing him deeper.
Sophia let out a guttural moan in response. "Ulysses, your spunk is filling my womb. It feels like lava, but it doesn't burn!"
Their orgasms crashed over them simultaneously, a tidal wave of sensation that lasted for a full minute. When the spasms finally subsided, Sophia unwrapped her legs from his waist and slid off of him. She lowered herself to the rug, her knees weak, and rolled over onto her side. She tucked her hands under her butt, curling up slightly. Ulysses slumped against the tension of the bungee cord, his arms still overhead, utterly worn out from the steamy round of sex.
He shifted his weight, his body aching in places he didn’t know existed. He had always fantasized about a mistress taking control, imagining the sting of a hand against his ass and the psychological thrill of submission. But experiencing it in reality was a completely different beast. The fantasy was safe, clean, and controlled by his own mind. The reality was messy, overwhelming, and intense. His mind flashed back to the most excruciatingly pleasurable moment: three vibrators humming inside him at their highest setting, the plastic noise drowning out his own gasps. He remembered the way Sophia had pushed them deeper with two fingers, her manicured nails grazing his rim, forcing him to take more than he thought he could. Then came the boob job, her soft flesh engulfing him, followed by the wicked wiggle of her tongue against his tip.
A small smile tugged at his lips despite his exhaustion as he recalled the yoga session. Watching Sophia move from pose to pose had been mesmerizing. She was fluid, like water, her body bending in ways that seemed impossible. He tried not to objectify women as a rule, but Sophia made it difficult. She looked like a feast—a spread of grapes, crusty bread, roasted turkey, sizzling steak, and bright oranges and apples all laid out on a table waiting to be devoured.
His mind began to wander, drifting into the dangerous territory of future desires. He pictured Sophia sitting heavy upon his back, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slapping his ass hard, commanding him to crawl like a horse. The thought made his cock twitch against his thigh. He imagined her using him as furniture, a footstool or a chair while she read a book or surfed the web, idly rubbing his hair or butt as if he were a pet. Then his thoughts darkened further. He saw himself tied to a St. Andrew's Cross or perhaps the coat rack again, helpless as she wielded a martinet. He had heard of the whip—small leather tails attached to a wooden or fiberglass handle. They said it felt like a swarm of bees, stinging without causing real damage, leaving behind only small, red stripes that could safely be used even on the most sensitive areas.
Six minutes passed in a blur of daydreams before the door clicked open. Sophia walked back into the office, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. In her hand, she held a sapphire blue bungee cord, the elastic material gleaming under the light.
"Raise your hands high above your head," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.
Ulysses obeyed, lifting his arms until his muscles stretched. Sophia dragged a chair from behind the desk, climbing onto it with careful grace. She reached up, hooking one end of the bungee cord around the titanium rod that secured the ceiling fan to the ceiling. The fan whirred above them, the four flower-shaped lights in the center casting a soft glow. She tugged the cord, testing the tension until it was stretched to its limit, then hopped down from the chair and wrapped it around his wrists, securing him to the fan. He tensed for a moment, surprised that the heavy fan held firm and didn't come crashing down on them
She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist possessively. Even through her clothes, he could feel the press of her breasts against his back, warm and firm.
"You’re all mine, baby," she whispered against his neck, her breath hot.
She slid around to face him, a playful glint in her eyes. The music of her own rhythm seemed to start in her head as she began to dance. She wiggled her hips, bobbed her shoulders, and slid her hands over her body in a hypnotic display. Her fingers found the buttons of her shirt, undoing them one by one until the fabric slipped to the floor. Next came the bra, freeing her breasts with the slightest jiggle. She shimmied out of her black pants and jacket, letting them pool around her ankles. Finally, she hooked her thumbs into her pink panties with the yellow stars, sliding them down her legs until she stood completely naked before him.
Ulysses watched, mesmerized, as she stepped closer. She pressed her body against his, her soft skin molding to his hard frame. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
"I'm gonna fuck you standing up," she breathed.. Sophia wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself off the ground. He groaned as she rubbed her slit against his cock, teasing him with her wetness, grinding her hips against his hardness.
Finally, she positioned him at her entrance and sank down, engulfing him in her reproductive tunnel. Ulysses moaned loudly, his head falling back as he felt her wet heat surround him. He was deep inside her, touching the entrance to her womb. Sophia suppressed her own moan, clearly experienced in controlling her pleasure, but her grip on his shoulders tightened.
She began to move, pulling back and then pushing forward, fucking him with a steady, insistent rhythm. To further torment him, she raked her fingernails down his pectorals and across his back, the sharp sting mixing with the pleasure of her inner walls.
Three and a half minutes passed in a haze of sensation. Sophia deliberately maintained a moderate pace, refusing to let either of them orgasm too quickly. Every time he was fully inside her, she clenched her inner muscles, milking his shaft and intensifying the stimulation until he saw stars.
The pressure built to an unbearable peak. Ulysses cried out, "Sophia, you're so wet!" as his body seized up. He felt her ovum seemingly sucking at his penis, drawing him deeper.
Sophia let out a guttural moan in response. "Ulysses, your spunk is filling my womb. It feels like lava, but it doesn't burn!"
Their orgasms crashed over them simultaneously, a tidal wave of sensation that lasted for a full minute. When the spasms finally subsided, Sophia unwrapped her legs from his waist and slid off of him. She lowered herself to the rug, her knees weak, and rolled over onto her side. She tucked her hands under her butt, curling up slightly. Ulysses slumped against the tension of the bungee cord, his arms still overhead, utterly worn out from the steamy round of sex.
31-35, M