The aroma of Helen's special perfume preceded her into the dimly lit bedroom. The scent penetrated my nostrils; Tabu, her special perfume, the one she only wore on special occasions. Not when she just planned to have sex. She wore it only when she intended to be naughty. By association, a mere whiff of that particular odor was enough to give me an instant, raging hard on.
I was half asleep, dozing in bed, when my erection woke me up. Even asleep, the decadent aroma of her perfume got my organ going, and my rigid pecker woke me up completely. I hadn't expected this.
I sat up on the bed. Helen stood, at the door to our bathroom wearing a black, see through negligee. She is a smashing five foot, strawberry blonde, with large, C cup size breasts.
She glided over to the bed. The tip of my cock bounced against her flank as she sidled on to our queen size bed. She did not even pretend to get under the covers.
My arms encircled her body squeezing her to my body. I felt her succulent breasts, crushed against my chest. My lips sought hers. I found her mouth open and waiting. My lips sought her neck, and my nose poked at the angle of her jaw.
The perfume was stronger here. It flowed into my nose, a river of fire driven into my brain. She knelt on the bed; I felt her breath blowing softly on my ear.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too."
I knelt on the bed too, my thigh touching hers. My arms encircled her body, my hands slid over the translucent silky fabric of her negligee. Our lips, once again, locked in a mouth to mouth battle. Her tongue played a game of tag with mine. I heard the throaty sound of her breath, rasping in and out of her neck; in the dim light I saw the outline of her heavy breasts, rising and dropping unevenly, in time with her breathing. She was driving me nuts with desire.
I pulled her negligee over her head; I kept my shorts on. I just loved to have her naked in front, or beside me, while I remain fully dressed or, as in this case, with my shorts on. Of course, Helen hates to be naked while I am not. She never said why but I know that it makes her feel subservient, submissive, and she does not really like that. I fully expected her to reach for my underwear to pull it off right away, as was her custom.
Today it would be different.
Not only she did not reach for my shorts but, turning away from me, she melted her nude form into my arms. Her face turned, her lips sought my neck as our bodies, intertwined, curled around each other like snakes. My teeth bit the soft skin of her neck; I was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath, and the slow hiss, when she exhaled.
My hands slid to her breasts, admiring the solid, soft, heft of them, the smooth skin, the pebbled areolas and, when I lightly pinched her nipples, the muted squeal of pleasure from her throat.
I knew she loved to have her breasts, and nipples, played with, even roughly. Indeed, this was the only area of her body where she allowed me to express, with a lot of restraint, my sadistic tendencies.
I squeezed her nipples harder.
She whimpered; her hands rose to hold mine against her globes. This is what Tabu meant, this was Helen being naughty.
My hands held, each, a soft, tender breast, between their splayed fingers, with Helen's hands, on top, keeping them there. I squeezed the firm flesh, enjoying how it felt under my grip.
"Harder," her throaty voice whispered in my ears.
I squeezed them harder, my fingers digging deep into the meat of her orbs.
"My nipples," she said, "pinch my nipples."
I pinched both nipples hard.
Her squeal now held some pain in it, in addition to her pleasure.
She continued to roll, one way and the other, in my arms. I felt her ragged breathing between my arms. I pinched her nipples even harder.
She squealed again, louder, but her hands remained, poised on mine, and she did not ask me to stop.
She knelt, between my spread thighs; my cock, poking out of my shorts, stroked her lower back. I could feel the cheeks of her ass, against the inside of my thighs. The thought of her gorgeous, firm butt, so close to my rod caused, as it always did, my cock to bounce against her spine.
Her hands squeezed mine.
"Pinch harder," she asked, her voice so gravelly it was almost unintelligible.
I pinched her nipples, as hard as I could.
She screamed. I felt her thighs opening and closing, like scissors. I heard her whimpers, short, staccato bursts of sound, quivering with desire.
"Harder," she almost screamed this time.
I could not pinch them any harder, between my thumb and index. She squealed again. It wasn't enough.
Her face turned towards me. She hid her face against my chest, her hands still holding mine against her breasts. Her breathing was so ragged I almost thought she was crying.
"Hurt me," she begged, "hurt them more."
I squeezed them, as hard as I could, but did not release them. When her squeal of pain and pleasure had died down, I said:
I twisted her nipples in a sudden, violent jerk.
Her scream was fabulous.
Her hands released mine and I saw them dive on to her pussy. My iron hard cock bounced against her skin, ready to burst. I heard a slurping sound from her sodden cunt, as her fingers went in. It was time, I thought, for the main event.
Her hands worked at her snatch with feverish intensity. She squirmed in my arms, whimpering in need.
"More!" she said, "give me more."
I twisted her nipples again, harder. She screamed again.
"Harder dammit!" she gasped. "Please, please, more."
I released her nipples.
"I can't do more with just my hands," I said.
She turned around, her breasts floating in front of me, her tortured nipples standing at attention on her areolas.
"Then use something!"
She lay on her back, her hands violently masturbating her pussy, her thighs closing over them rhythmically, with a whimper of raw need each time.
I thought for a second. I remembered a recent gift, one of those small multipurpose tools, the ones that fold on themselves and have screwdrivers, scissors and, what was germane at this time, a small set of pliers. It had been sitting on my dresser drawer for a while.
I opened the drawer, took it out, unfolded it and showed it to my wife. The light from the master bathroom ran across her face and I believe I saw her blanch when she saw the little pliers.
She removed her hands from her pussy, her thighs continued to scissor open and closed. She extended her arms on top of her head, crossing them at the wrists, holding the bars of the headboard.
"Tie my hands," she asked, "hurry."
On the wall, there was hanger where two of her caps hung. In addition, there was a scarf I'd brought her as a gift from a trip. I used that scarf to tie her wrists together, and to the headboard.
She squirmed on the bed all the time, pleading with need.
I straddled her thighs which moved under me, like the tentacles of an octopus. Her head thrashed from side to side.
I held one of her breasts in one hand. She stopped squirming.
I violently crushed her nipple with the pliers.
With a glorious scream she began to buckle under me. I still held her nipple, crushed between the jaws of the tool, when she began to roll her body again. The jaws bit deeply on the skin of her nipple, as well as pulling on it hard, as she rolled away from me. She continued to buckle under me, her hands opening and closing, her eyes, open, unseeing. I heard her heels, banging against the mattress. This was the most massive orgasm I'd ever witnessed from her. She began to come down from it, and I still had not released her nipple.
Her lips made a guttural noise. I thought she was choking on her own spit at first.
"Otherrrr!" she finally managed to say.
I was glad to oblige.
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