Father's Day

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My head felt thick, like maybe someone had stuffed it with cotton then wrapped a tight strap around the middle. It was uncomfortable, but it didn't quite qualify as painful. Also, it was dark--pitch black, actually--and for some reason my eyelids wouldn't open no matter how hard I strained.

More awake now, I realized that there really was something tied tightly around my head, which is the reason why I couldn't open my eyes. I tried to bring my hand to my face, to pry it off, but I couldn't. Something had my wrist, both wrists actually, holding them in place over my head. Panicked now, I tried to sit up. My ankles were also secured. I felt something soft--my bed--under my hips, but I was effectively immobile, restrained spread eagle.

"Cathy!" I yelled. "Cathy, are you okay? Cathy, where are you!?!" I called frantically.

Try as I might, I couldn't remember how I got like this. I thrashed and pulled at my bonds, but they were hard, unyielding. The bed, a solid wood four poster monstrosity that Cathy had picked up at an estate sale years ago, barely moved despite the fact that I weighed over 200 pounds and was in decent shape. A cool hand covered my mouth.

"Calm down, sweetie, it's alright," I heard my wife's lilting voice sing into my ear. "If you keep it up, the neighbors will talk."

I fell back against the bed, chest heaving. "Cathy, what's going on?"

She chuckled. "Nothing, honey. Why do you ask?"

I flexed my arm, pulling against whatever was holding my wrist. "I'm not sure, but I don't think I went to sleep pinned to the bedposts."

"Oh those," she giggled. "Happy Father's Day," she called, her voice trailing away.

Where was she going? I strained to listen, heard her footsteps leave the room. Cabinets opened and closed, drawers slammed shut, and by the time she returned I'd managed to slow my breathing, but I wasn't exactly calm.

"Honey, where are the kids?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"At my parents'. They picked them up earlier."

"Earlier? What time is it?" I asked, puzzled.

"Almost 1:00 in the afternoon," she said, and a cork popped nearby.

1:00 in the afternoon? How the hell had I slept until 1:00 in the afternoon? On a good day I was up at 7:00am, on a bad one 8:30am.

"I guess those Tylenol PM were stronger than we thought, huh?" she asked, anticipating my question. "Good thing, too, otherwise I have no idea how I was going to get your present ready."

I'd come home sore last night and she'd suggested that I take something a little stronger. She even drew me a bath, and between that and the pills I was falling asleep walking to bed.

Cathy and I had been married 12 years this May. We had two children, a boy, 4, and a girl, 8. Before the kids we'd been as adventurous as any other couple, but things had definitely gotten stagnant after we became parents. Apparently, Cathy had decided it was time to change that.

She traced a finger over my lips, running it along the edges, letting it travel down my chin, along my neck, across my chest. She made slow, lazy circles around my nipples, tangling her finger in my chest hair, flicking my nipple hard enough that I winced. My cock was throbbing now, rock hard.

Her hand continued down, moving over my stomach, settling on my balls. She squeezed and tugged and I tried to press myself against her. She laughed softly but continued, fondling, massaging, until I was leaking precum.

When she let go it felt like I'd been slapped. I lifted my head, hoping to at least hear where she'd gone. About to call out I felt her settle on me, her legs straddling my waist.

She was naked, and she was turned on. Her crotch was moist already, and as she slid down to settle against my shaft I could feel her heat. She teased me; there was no way I could enter her without her putting me inside. Laying there, her body covering me, she kissed me deeply, letting her pussy press against my cock while her tongue snaked inside my mouth.

I sucked hard on her tongue, trying to urge her to mount me, but she held the kiss for an impossibly long time. When she finally broke it, instead of moving down and letting me enter her she moved up, dragging her now dripping pussy over my body. She continued to move up until she was over my face, the juice from her pussy dripping onto my lips.

"Come on, Keith," she coaxed. "Make it worth my while."

Like she really had to ask. I loved the taste of her, could lick between her legs for hours. Maybe part of it was psychological. Cathy was a redhead--a strawberry blonde really--and I swear her pussy juice was a sweet as fruit and as thick as honey.

When she was like this, and it had been a long time since she last was, she literally flowed like someone had turned on a faucet; it was amazing. She juiced constantly, soaking the chair, the bed, whatever clothes she might be wearing.

She lowered herself onto my face and I felt the warmth of her pussy on my lips and chin. Her fine, wispy pubic hair was matted to her pussy lips and her thighs felt hard and muscular on either side of my face. Obediently I let slither out, taking a long, slow lick along the length of her slit. I was rewarded for my efforts with a long contented sigh. I licked harder, forcing my tongue between her lips; she pressed against it, trying to mount it.

She spread her legs wider and grabbed my head, pressing her wet spreading pussy harder against my mouth. Restrained like this I was totally under her control, able only to do what she let me. I sucked greedily, drinking her, my cock stiffening painfully as I was bathed in her smell and her liquid. I worked my jaw until I was able to trap her swollen pussy lip between my teeth and chewed gently. She squealed lustily and ground harder against me.

This total lack of personal control was a huge turn on for me. I'm a big man--6'2", 225 lbs--and I'm not what you'd call a suit and tie. I own my own construction company, specialize in additions and decks, and I still get my hands dirty. The fact that I could barely move and couldn't see anything had me so hard that I'm surprised I hadn't shot yet.

I was so lost in the action that it took me a moment to realize that there was a hand on my cock. I froze. I could feel Kathy's feet pressed against my torso, knew there was no way that she could grab my cock in the position she was in. I tried to speak but my mouth was full of pussy.

"Careful, Keith," she murmured. "We don't want you to get hurt."

We? Whose we? The hand on my cock pumped my shaft several times and I relaxed. My mind raced; who else was here? Whoever it was knew what they were doing. Fingers danced along my cock until I was moaning into Cathy's pussy, my balls tightening painfully under the steady manipulation. I licked and sucked Cathy harder, struggling to make her feel as good as I felt.

I froze again when I felt something hard move against the underside of my sac. It was flat and wide, and the person between my legs was moving it slowly, carefully. There was something familiar about the motion; I couldn't help thinking that I should recognize it, even though I was certain that it was out of place.

Oh shit! It struck me--I knew what it was feeling was. I was being shaved! While my wife rode my face, some one had a razor down at my crotch. Sweat broke out on my forehead as I tried to spread my legs, give them all the room they needed. I softened slightly and they stopped, fondling me until I was hard and throbbing again.

I suppose I was as hairy as the next guy--not so much that I looked like a walking rug, but enough to tell that I'd been through puberty. I had a "goodie trail"; you know, that line of hair that starts at the belly button and ends at the cock. My pubic hair was dark and coarse, much stiffer than the hair on my face or even on my head, but whoever was shaving me seemed to know what they were doing. I hardly felt a thing.

Kathy finally crawled off my face and I gasped, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of air. I felt abandoned, despite the almost mechanical scraping between my legs that reinforced that I definitely wasn't alone.

I heard Cathy giggle, then she took my nipple between her lips and sucked hungrily. My nipples had always been my most sensitive spot. I arched my back, remembering that her pussy had dragged across my chest and realizing that she had to be tasting herself. I was sure there was now a generous amount of precum mixing with the shaving cream.

Apparently I also had hair on my shaft because I felt the razor make its way over that as well. If I could have gathered my thoughts I would have been trembling with fear at the thought of a blade being so close, but Cathy increased her assault on my chest and I was too busy focusing on the explosions that were buffeting my loins, starting from my nipples, pebble-sized and throbbing, and radiating down through my crotch. I felt like a spectator in all this, unable to control my responses or my reactions.

Suddenly I was alone, no one touching me anywhere, my cock shaking painfully when I moved.

"Please," I begged. "Don't leave me like this!"

I heard muted laughter. I strained against the shackles, arching my back, longing for a touch. I thrust my hips in the air hoping to make contact with someone.

Finally I felt small, strong hands press my hips against the bed. They were definitely not my wife's; Cathy was closer to my size, with large hands and a gentle touch that could make me melt in minutes. These hands felt daintier but yet more insistent, more urgent.

I felt lips brush my sac, latching on and sucking my balls into a hot, tight mouth. I bucked; something made the breath warm, the touch electric. Freshly shaved, my balls tingled in the mouth, gradual at first but increasingly getting stronger. As I was sucked and licked I began to pant, my cock twitching uncontrollably.

The mouth kissed its way up my shaft until it had my cock head trapped between its lips. Sucking in hard small teeth grazed the tip, and a hand grabbed my balls and squeezed. I spread my legs and moaned, unable to form words or beg for release. The person must have been able to feel how close I was because all contact was broken abruptly, leaving me sputtering on the bed.

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Disclaimer:

This story is a work fiction. None of the characters or events herein are based on real people, either living or dead.

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