Blind Trust — Part Two

From Longing to Divine Release: Literotica by Jasmine Amour

Some of you may remember a previous Literotica piece of mine, Blind Trust — Part One. If you haven’t yet experienced it, I invite you to begin there. It tells the story of a particularly unforgettable encounter with a gentleman I call Mr R; an experience built on silence, sensation, and absolute trust.

For months afterwards, our schedules refused to align. But today, he returned. And what unfolded between us was simply too divine to leave unwritten.

~ ~ ~

When his booking request arrived a few weeks ago, his instructions were disarmingly simple: the door was to remain unlocked, I was to wait for him upon the kitchen counter, and once again, not a single word was to be spoken. The rest, he assured me, would be entirely in his hands. It had been a long time since I anticipated a sequel with such delicious excitement.

The morning began as I lathered up in a nice hot shower and I found myself wondering what was in store for me this time. I toyed with the memories from our last encounter, turning the images over and over again in my mind. My fingers itched to touch him again, and my body ached to be touched in return. My own fantasies were tormenting me into a hazy lustful trance. But it had been two months since we had seen each other. That’s two whole months for him to dream up all manner of new and inventive scenarios to tease and please me with. I just knew it was going to be good.

That morning, beneath the warmth of a lingering shower, my thoughts returned again to what he might have planned. Memories of our last encounter replayed themselves in vivid detail, each sensation, each moment of surrender. My body responded instinctively to the recollection, stirred by a restless longing to feel his presence once more.

Two months had passed since we last met. Two months for anticipation to deepen. Two months for imagination to work its quiet magic. And two months for him to dream up all new and inventive ways to tease and please me.

I knew it was going to be extraordinary.

Later, I waited alone in the apartment, nerves fluttering softly beneath my composed exterior. The silence felt charged, every passing moment stretching the tension further. Then came the chime of my phone. A message from him.

Give me the green light.

My reply was immediate. I'm ready.

Moments later, the doorbell echoed throughout the empty apartment. I rushed to the door to buzz him up.

After unlocking the door, I positioned myself upon the cool marble of the kitchen counter and closed my eyes. The stone beneath me offered no comfort for the warmth of anticipation spreading through my body. My heartbeat echoed loudly in my ears as I listened for the subtle sounds of his arrival.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed my mind. Should I have removed my lingerie? No. He delighted in unveiling me himself, revealing each layer with deliberate patience.

It was already too late to reconsider.

His footsteps were approaching.

The air shifted as he entered the room, his presence unmistakable even before his touch found me. He moved without haste, allowing the silence between us to thicken with expectation. Was he making me wait to test me? I wanted to open my eyes but I knew I should be a good girl. No peeking.

A blindfold was drawn gently across my eyes, shutting out the world and heightening every other sense. Deprived of sight, I became acutely aware of each breath, each subtle movement, each whisper of contact against my skin.

Time itself seemed to soften.

As he leaned over me, I felt the faintest warm breath against my lips, and the lightest brush of his stubble against my flushed cheek. Could he feel my body shaking ever so slightly? Did he notice that I was holding my breath? Was he aware of the effect he had on me?

I heard the fridge door open and close. What was he putting in there? What was he going to do to me? I thought I heard him take off his shirt, but I couldn’t be certain. As he came closer, I thought about reaching out and touching his body to check if he was naked, but I wasn’t sure if that was against the rules. I’d better keep my hands to myself just in case.

I heard him place something on the bench right next to my head. Tick tock, tick tock. Was it a clock? Or a pocket-watch of some kind? What did that mean? What did he want me to do with it? I tried to calm my heartbeat in time with the ticking and tocking… To no avail. It was pounding like a runaway train beating fast along the tracks. There was no slowing it down. Tick tock, tick tock. What did it mean? Was it an exercise in mindfulness? Was the persistent rhythm meant to bring me back to the present moment if I drifted away? Or did he mean to time himself with it? Was he going to carry out each act of pleasure for a set amount of time? Or was something special going to happen when the timer went off? What kind of mental warfare was this? You can’t tell a woman not to talk, but then do things that you know she’s dying to question you about. I smiled to myself as I realised that the curiosity only heightened my arousal. Well played Mr R… Well played.

When his hands finally reached me, their touch was calm, assured, a quiet promise of everything yet to come. The first touch was ever-so-soft; a fleeting feather across my thigh. It was so light and so subtle, almost as though I had imagined it. Yet that one small movement had the power to awaken my entire body. The next touch grazed delicately against my stomach, sending a jolt of electricity right down to the tips of my toes. And then came more and more touches; a cascade of feathers all over my body; an endless flow of the most blissful caresses. He was careful to pay extra attention to my inner thighs and between my breasts, just the way I liked it. This was one of Mr R’s greatest strengths as a lover; his devotion and attentiveness to each and every crevice and curve of my body. I could be sure he wouldn’t stop until every single cell was humming and purring with pleasure. Did he notice my sharp intake of breath when he brushed against just the right spot? He must have. Because he dutifully went right back there again and again.

My quiet murmurs were growing increasingly difficult to stifle. Just when I thought I was about to break, when I was one second away from ripping off my blindfold, pulling him close to me and taking what I needed, suddenly he withdrew. One moment my whole body was being spoilt with a flurry of caresses, and the next moment there was nothing at all. He had stopped touching me so abruptly that I felt my body surge forward, instinctively reaching out for more. But he was already gone.

It was then that I heard the fridge door open once more. I felt something cold and wet against my lips. I opened my mouth obediently as he slipped the most decadent dessert inside. A chocolate coated strawberry! My mouth watered as I savoured it, bit by bit. He kissed me then, deeply and passionately, our tongues gliding over one another as we shared what was left of the delicious melted chocolate. When not a drop of chocolate remained, he indulged me once again, this time with a slice of banana coated in heavenly white chocolate. I sucked gently, enjoying every bit of its sticky sweetness. He traced my lips with his finger, painting them with melted white chocolate. As I licked my lips I giggled at the mental picture of the white creamy goodness dripping down my chin. I see the visual you were going for there, you naughty man!

Next, I felt the familiar bristles of a paintbrush, one of Mr R’s signature tools of seduction. With diligent concentration, he gently traced over every exposed inch of my body from the bottom to the top. I gasped sharply, as he meticulously painted over each individual rib, deliberately pausing at the crevice just beneath my breasts before stroking back and forth in that spot over and over again. As with all of our past sessions, I could already tell this one was going to be long and leisurely and all about him selflessly catering to my every desire. My body responded to each and every stroke, as I once again marvelled at the patience of this man.

He grasped my hands and pulled me to a seated position, reaching around with expert precision to unclasp my bra. As, it tumbled to the floor, I revelled in the sensation of the cool air on my bare breasts. I could swear I felt his eyes on my naked skin, hungrily drinking me in. His fingertips were clutching at my lace-adorned hips, and I lifted my bum eagerly so that he could slip off my panties. I felt his warm hands encircle my ankles one by one, as he placed my feet on opposite kitchen stools. He nudged my knees apart and as I opened to him, I could once again feel the intensity of his eyes, this time staring intently at my pussy. I shuddered at that undeniable mix of excitement and vulnerability.

It was then that I heard the distinct buzzing of a vibrator. I tried to brace myself for what was to come, but I was nervous that it would all be too much; that I might quickly lose control. My pussy fluttered with anticipation and I could feel my clit growing hot and swollen. But as he trailed the vibrator across my collarbones, my nipples and between my cleavage, I began to realise that it was his intention to make me wait even longer for my sweet release. I was torn between a sense of torment at being denied my final satisfaction, but also a sense of trust, because I knew it would eventually come. For now, all I could do was enjoy the aching rhythm of vibrations and submit to his absolute conquest of my body, knowing that in his own time, when we were both ready, he would take me to that orgasmic, euphoric place like he had done so many times before.

Once again, I heard the fridge door open. More chocolate-covered fruit? No, not this time. I could hear him shaking a can. Whipped cream! It had to be! I felt the light foamy bubbles dance against my nipples, covering them in a tuft of cream as soft as a cloud. When his warm mouth closed over my nipple, he gently sucked away every last trace. And then he kept right on sucking, just for good measure. He teased and tantalised my nipples until they formed tight little buds, and I squirmed and wriggled in delight. And when he engulfed a strip of fluffy whipped cream off my stomach, he brought his lips to mine so I could have a taste. Mmm, hold on a sec… That’s chocolate-flavoured; like chocolate mousse in a can. Even better than whipped cream! I could always count on Mr R to be full of surprises.

I heard the kitchen tap running. My skin tingled as he wiped my body down with a cool wet towel. After the sticky chocolate mousse was no more, I impatiently waited for the next touch, my damp skin poised for a new unexpected sensation. But just like that, it was over again. He left my body lying alone on the countertop, practically begging for more. With each passing second, I longed for him to return to his blissful assault of my senses. It was just like Mr R to give me a small slice of what I crave, but to withhold the rest until I was beyond being capable of restraint. He knew just how to drive me crazy and I couldn’t get enough of it. When he returned, he moved the ticking clock closer to my ear. I had hardly noticed it for a while, amongst the thrill of our little games. But there it was. Still here. Still ticking away. An unanswered question, and unfinished thought.

I heard him rummaging through his bag, and then another sound… The sound of metal-on-metal. Like chains? Or handcuffs maybe? And then I felt it, the most exquisite sensation on my inner forearm. It felt like a set of finely pointed metal fingertips, lightly scratching in the most delicate way. The tiny tickling flickers sent shivers down my spine, and I could feel the goosebumps instantly erupt across my skin. He gently drew these metal claws across my skin in persistent patterns, leaving a trail of arousal in their path. How was he creating such a chilling sensation? Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to stop. The feeling of those cold metal nails running over my thighs, my ribs, my breasts; it had me in the throes of pleasure, and I could hardly contain my moans.

And suddenly it was over. Once again, he gave me just a little, yet never quite enough. These games we played were all about the chase. He moved around the counter and stood behind my head, and as he gently lifted me by the nape of my neck, he rearranged my hair to drape over the edge of the countertop like a cascading waterfall. I wonder what that was all about. But then I knew. I felt the handfuls of oil pressed firmly against my breasts, coating me with a warm luxurious silkiness. Coconut, I think? Yes, definitely coconut oil. I would recognise that smell anywhere. With slow deliberate strokes, he massaged the velvety oil into my skin. My soft curves yielded under his palms as I sunk deeper into relaxation. Please don’t forget my feet, I thought to myself. You know how I adore foot massages. Like he could read my mind, he began to rub and knead my feet, and I silently willed him to stay there for all eternity.

With slippery circular motions, he stroked the sensitive creases of my inner thighs, ever-so-close to my pussy, yet oh so very far. He was careful not to actually brush past my clitoris, almost as though he wanted me to know that it wasn’t time for him to grant me that just yet. Actually, come to think of it, he hadn’t touched my pussy at all today, not even once this whole time. Is that what the clock was for? Was it a timer? Was I not allowed any pussy play until he decreed that I had waited long enough?

Just when I thought I had solved the mystery of the ticking clock, he seized my wrist and guided my hand to my clit. With his hand over mine, he played the puppet master, while I played with myself. I was growing wetter by the second and that warm tingly feeling began to grow. But then just as quickly as it had begun, he pulled my hand away and denied me once again. He lifted my fingers to his mouth and savoured every last drop of my sweetness with enthusiasm. Then once again, he led my hand back to my pussy. He let me play a little more, and then he licked and sucked my fingers until he’d had his fill. Again and again he let me play, and again and again he made me stop while he satisfied his appetite. Each time he withdrew my touch, I would throb and pulsate for more. My pussy was engorged and pounding with impatient need. I couldn’t take it anymore. I yanked my fingers from his mouth and furiously began pleasuring myself again. That nice, obedient, good-girl Jasmine was gone. I wanted it now and I was going to take it. He gently slapped my hand away, and I brooded in the brattiest fashion. I guess that was all I was allowed to have for now. I pouted in quiet resignation. He once again returned to massaging my body, rubbing away the knots and kinks, until my short-lived petulance was quickly forgotten.

I was so lost in a deep hypnosis of relaxation that I barely noticed when one of my arms fell down and draped over the edge of the bench. In fact, I don’t think I would’ve noticed at all if it wasn’t for the fact that my hand grazed against something hard and silky. I fondled it again curiously, and manoeuvred it around in my palm. I felt the heavy weight of it in my hand. I stroked its length, the coconut oil sliding deliciously up and down. Was this allowed? Should I keep touching him?... I wasn’t sure...

He moved away, and I was worried that I had displeased him. Had I broken the rules? Was he going to punish me? I secretly hoped so, just the tiniest bit. But then through the edges of the blindfold I saw the light pour in. He had opened the curtains and I knew what that meant. It was finally time for the grand finale. Just as I had last time we met, I wondered if there were people watching us from the adjacent apartments. And just like last time, I couldn’t have cared less. Let them watch!

He spread my legs wider and I willed him to bury his head between them. There’s nothing I wanted more in that moment, than for him to cover my pussy lips with his hot wet mouth. And then he spoke, for the first time today I heard his deep manly voice. “Your pussy is so lovely Jasmine.” When he says these words, I can feel how much he really means it, and it drives me wild with wanton greed. I needed him now. I needed that release. Screw the timer! Screw the rules! I needed it now!

As soft and as patient as ever, he flicked and finessed his tongue against my clit, gradually building in both pressure and tempo. He moved his lips and swirled his tongue in the same expert way that he kissed me, deeply and thoroughly, with all the passion of a man hazy and dizzy with lust. His slow sensual strokes began to grow in intensity, progressively becoming more and more urgent. He began to alternate between rolling his tongue against my creamy lips, and then gently sucking my swollen throbbing clit. I tried in vain to hold on, but it was far more than I could handle. My body tensed as I approached climax, and I began to convulse and quiver uncontrollably. As I came hard, my back arched against the countertop. The coconut oil beneath me, mixed with my hot sweaty body, had me sliding back and forth across the bench, a helpless bystander to the most powerful orgasm. Just when I needed it most, I felt his big warm hands grip my forearms and pull me back down firmly against the bench, grounding me as I rode what was left of the wave.

As the final ripples tore through my body, I tried to catch my breath. It was only then that I noticed that the one resounding sound I could hear was the tick tocking of the clock beside my ear. As I tried desperately to calm my racing heartbeat, I found the steady rhythm of the clock to be an immense source of comfort in my most dishevelled state. And suddenly the purpose of the clock made perfect sense. He meant for it to be the calm in the storm; the reassurance I needed, when I was naked and blindfolded and at my most emotionally vulnerable. Mr R appreciated how much an orgasm like that demanded; he understood that I was offering up a part of myself by putting such trust in him and abandoning all control. And so he gave me this small gift; an anchor to ground myself when I was most in need of comfort. I should have known all along that the clock was just another one of Mr R’s thoughtful gestures. When I was with him, I was always in safe hands.

Speaking of his hands, they were stroking me tenderly now, once again slowly melting the coconut oil into my skin. His fingers seemed to mould effortlessly to every curve of my body. A warm peaceful glow washed over me like a blanket; a calming and soothing embrace as I floated comfortably back down to reality.

When at last the blindfold was removed, the world returned slowly. Light, space, reality itself seeming strangely distant. His gaze met mine, steady and knowing, and for a moment words felt unnecessary.

The silence between us spoke everything.

What followed was softer; a gentle return from the intensity we had shared. Time resumed its natural pace as we rested together, the atmosphere lingering with warmth and quiet satisfaction. The connection between us remained palpable, an unspoken understanding of the trust we had once again explored.

After some time has passed and it felt natural to break the silence, I looked at him affectionately, a fond smile gracing my lips. And although it was a terrible understatement, I said the only thing I could think of to say: “You really outdid yourself, Mr R.”

Eventually, he departed as quietly as he had arrived. And though the apartment returned to stillness, the memory of the experience remained; a lingering echo of sensation, devotion, and surrender.

Some encounters fade with time.

Others stay with you.

This was unmistakably the latter.