Pouting lips are evocative for me. I can't resist imagining whether they somehow match, reflect or imitate the owner's labia in their plumpness, shape or tendency to protrude when aroused. Sometimes the labia minora can be reticent and slim in repose, but with a bit of stimulation they grow plump and pouty like an erection, pushing out invitingly.
When Cheryl showed up to our appointment, she arrived late beyond fashionably late; more like late in the stood-up range. Fortunately, I had the impression that she might be coming by car, and this particular bit of East London has just about enough parking spots for a small village in Cornwall. Slightly flustered, pink from rushing in the heat of a warm spring day (a few of which we had before the monsoon of 2012 began in earnest), she stalked into the hotel lobby in impressively high heels, tight jeans and a flowing, loose top that both emphasised and obscured her figure, depending on how the fabric swirled around her.
We strolled down the street in search of somewhere to have a cool drink, and as she relaxed a faintly serious expression fell across Cheryl's face. Her mouth settled into a pout - the slight uplift of her upper lip resting on the soft plumpness of the lower, which she would gently bite with her front teeth when listening, looking at me as if assessing...
Later, days later, I think, this expression and the slight downward curve of her mouth lingered in my mind. Thinking about our evening, wondering if she had any bruises that had lasted for a day or two, the image of her lips, the slight pout, mingled with the recollection of her plump labia, softly pinched between two strands of rope passed on either side in between her legs and up the cleft of the buttocks. The knot resting on top of the clit supplied additional stimulation while the rope was woven around the torso, squeezing tighter by increments.
She bit her lip softly when I drew the soft cotton rope over her shoulders and brought it together in a knot on top of her sternum. I was wondering whether to remove her knickers, by now drenched with her juices, but decided against it. Cheryl seemed far too certain that I would be easily tempted.
Her labia minora pushed out like an erection, the peach and pink silk of her knickers not really disguising this when I arranged the strands of rope to hug them close.
I took my time. Eventually, she knelt on the bed, bent forward and I tied her hands behind her back, attaching them to the rope bodice - out of the way, but almost close enough for her to try pushing them down to protect her buttocks when I started spanking her with the flat of my palm - softly at first, then gradually building intensity and force from gentle taps to resounding smacks.
She wiggled, groaned and got fully acquainted with the sensation. After a while I would undo the knots and invite her to remove her knickers.
That's when the plump fullness of her pussy would be on full display.
I untied Cheryl just enough to rearrange her limbs. Lying on her back with legs spread and ankles attached to wrists attached to the knot between her breasts, she closed her eyes and mouthed a quiet "yes" every time I added another lubricated finger inside her.
Cheryl, you may recall, wanted fingers. Lots of them. She enjoys the bulge and stretch of fingers pushing against the tight confines of her cunt.
Lifting herself up towards me, she seemed only to want more, even though she already had two thumbs and an impressive collection of slimmer, longer fingers crowding inside her.
After a while I loosened the ropes and just tied her hands behind her back so she could lift herself up towards me while I fucked her with curving fingers pressing against her G-spot with a force to match the urgency of her movements.
At this point, I was following, enjoying the hungry determination of her need for one more orgasm...
Finally, some noise. Until then I had mistakenly thought that Cheryl was a quiet girl.
Not so much.
After I unwrapped the last of the rope we relaxed, the sweat cooling on our skin in the warm room. At some point her hands found my cock...
I sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread. Cheryl knelt in front of me naked but for the black stockings, her small, strong hands glistening. At this point I ached to come. She had rope marks on her wrists, chest. A dab of lube smeared on top of her thigh caught the light when she shifted, and I leaned back to take in the full view of her.
At that moment, just about to tip over the edge I found myself struggling to hold back, to hang on to this almost-there sensation just a little bit longer. Cheryl cocked her hips, the pout of her labia on shameless display in front of me. I resisted the slick urging of her hands... but not for very long.