Red burgundy sheets

I guess I wasn't in control after all.

Estella's bed was insanely comfortable. It had a billowy pillow top mattress which was a good two feet thick which sat on a deep wooden frame made from materials that could only be considered expensive if you knew anything about furniture. I did not know much about furniture at all. I know quite a few losers who are self proclaimed furniture whores, who subscribe to a mountain of catalogues from Ethan Allen and all those ridiculous lifestyle stores. They gaspingly adopt the Pottery Barn lifestyle with their matching armoires and Thomas McKnight prints and make me sick to my core. I lost the urge to learn that behavior a long time ago, maybe it had something to do with the fact that my grandfather spent most of his adult life sleeping in metal bunk in a metal room on a metal ship and Feng Shui doesn't like metal so it was not good enough for the old guy fuck em. Also, even though I'd experienced the nicest of sophisticated design shit in LA over the years, my fascination with both the book and the movie Fight Club and it's early indoctrination about how the things you own eventually own you make me vomit profusely at the idea of being that guy.

I do love a comfortable bed though, and women need little projects on a day to day basis to stop them going insane over the fact that they're not pregnant again this month, so sometimes the fancy nest is one of those. Estella's little project on that hot smoggy day in Mexico City after work back in the innocent days of the summer of 2001 was my body. I love my body and it's the greatest instrument I've ever had the pleasure of using. Lying flat on my back strung out like a horizontal Jesus I had each extremity that ended in digits fastened to strategically placed Mexico city Police Department issue handcuffs. With my whole torso toned and extended, I must have looked fantastic in the failing afternoon light streaming through the bedroom curtain covered windows.

If you ever get the privilege of fucking a woman who has a tendency to prefer deep burgundy colored bed coverings, keep in the back of your mind that these sheets tend to stain less covered in blood. It was not me lying on that bed that day, chained like one of Calvin Klein's personal fantasies. I was able to drift in and out of being in the unselected state of Estella's death grip. At that moment she was the carving knife wielding, satin panty wearing, smoldering sex lips having, faux torture queen. I had what could have been an eleventh rib removal gash on my side spewing just a little dollop of blood onto the bed. I could easily drift in and out of the terror fantasy until it was all brought home by feeling of her legs on either side of me. That skin on skin feeling brought me back, her smoothness brought me back. Her skin felt like how you'd imagine that new Neutrogena girl's breasts might.

I still had the pillow case over my head and I was trying to work out what was going on in the land of those who could see in her bedroom. Just loose enough to taunt me with the prospect of escape, the handcuffs clinked as I adjusted. She must have been on her knees straddling my chest because she brought her bare ass down and winded me in retribution.

"Stop squirming and you will not die", she spat out as she grinded vaginal opening and anus across my bare chest secretly issueing forth an unknown quantity of pheromones.

When thinking of her accent, I can still hear in my mind how she put her English together. That could well be something that amazes me and me alone.

I must not have ceased my movements fast enough because, and as I now discovered she was sitting on my chest backwards facing my legs, she made a broad stroke across my groin and slapped my still erect cock. It only hurt slightly, like a wakeup call at three am when you're sitting in bed waiting for the wakeup call. What was important was that my dick resumed it's rigid stance immediately and she grabbed and pumped it a little.

She sighed and yelled dissapointingly, "I don't think this thing understands that it is my prisoner". She'd resumed her younger pre-teen voice.

Still feeling her weight on me, and still restrained with each limb I lay there and felt her moving around, playing with something, and then I felt the soft fabric of what must have been her hand covered in the satin of her now removed panties. Her free hand grabbed my balls and lifted them up, and then she wrapped her panties around my dick, and tied it around once more time. She then tightened it around my shaft under my balls suspending them just above where they'd normally sit like a bridle.

I could feel her knees sliding up my side and her shins lay across my biceps. She leaned back and pulled the pillow case up so that is was just across the bridge of my nose. I still could not see up but sitting squatting over my chin was her naked rear end, which I could see looking down over my body.

I loved her smell.

"your tongue is out now Mr. President"

She lowered her pussy onto my face and proceeded to reverse fuck my mouth using my dick as some sort of video game controller. With one hand she was holding her self improvised panty-reins, and with the other smothering my pre-cum and lubrication mixed with her spit over my exposed helmet.

By this time her body had pushed the pillow case off my head completely and I easily found her clitoris with my tongue. I angled my head so my nose was nuzzling just inside the outer lips of her vagina. I wanted to bite her clitoris, possibly to attempt to retake control of the situation, but in my current state I was not sure what she would do if I reversed the pleasure to pain balance too far.

She came twice in that position in the space of a few minutes grunting like a female body builder trying to out bench me. After that I sensed that she was bored with it for the moment and there was a visible shift in attention.

"oooh, you are still bleeding, let me fix that"

Deliberately she angled her head down where I was still leaking blood, although not so profusely as before. Ramming her crotch back onto my face harder she put her lips over the wound on my side. She then started sucking the blood out of my body while jerking my dick up and down with her panties.

I can assure you that my tongue spent one hundred percent of this time as far into her pussy as I could extend it. I was desperately searching her insides, tasting every inche and feeling everything as deep as possible.

I loved her taste.

Between breathing stops I was trying to suck enough juices from her in the vain hope that she'd climax vaginally from my enormous tongue fuck. Back then my ego was probably out of proportion with reality, which is not suprising because it definitely is now.

With a mouth full of blood and her pussy smothering my face she must have known by the way she controlled the up and down motion of my dick wrapped in her underwear that I was about to climax. She abrupted moved forward and placed her mouth over my dick. Then in the most amazing display that only a gay David Blaine could have accomplished, proceeded to put my entire shaft in her mouth and throat until my balls held captive by her panties were all I could see of my dick. Using the back of her throat she milked my head three times and I almost blacked out as I sent forth a weeks worth of cum directly into her throat. She kept pumping up and down until she was convinced that I was spent and licked all around my dick. She then looked at me, in my face, hard eye to eye contact.

Still restrained and despite just having experienced the most mind blowing orgasm ever, I wondered where exactly the cum had gone too. As she at grinned at me with a face that took her all the way back to her innocence again, flawed only in the fact that she still had blood from my side on her cheek, she softly said.

"I love you."

As amazing as all of the things I have done and all the depravity I have seen in the world, at that moment I realized just how fucking sick I am.