Decadent Delight

Landing strips are no longer in vogue, according to the concierge. 

The air reeks of opulence as the aids guide us through the echoing expanse of the corridor. 

Our door, slightly ajar amidst a sea of sameness, beckons us into a sanctuary reserved for us alone. 

Inside, a chair looms, throne-like in its majesty yet tainted with an eerie familiarity—a fusion of regal and clinical, adorned with stirrups and restraints.

His breath caresses my neck, a ghostly reminder of his presence behind me. 

With a gentle touch, he eases away the luxurious shield of my robe. 

My skin, kissed by the chill of this luxuriant yet sterile chamber, trembles under the weight of anticipation. 

Naked I step towards my fate, the elaborate dental chair beckons. 

As I turn and settle, the chill of the seat greets my skin, eliciting a delicate shiver.

 And when I lift and spread to put my feet in the stirrups his gaze feasts upon me, savoring each languid, luscious motion. 

The moment I recline into the cool embrace of the chair and surrender my feet to the stirrups, a wildness overtakes his expression. 

I witness the transformation, his eyes prowl over me, a predator enthralled by the sight of its next indulgence.

His eye linger on the tiny landing strip. 

He almost looks confused for all of a millisecond and then blatant lust takes over his features.

He navigates the room's expanse, drawing near to tilt my chair back. 

My gaze shifts from the horizon to the ceiling's blank canvas. 

With deliberate motions, he secures my arms to the sides of this regal dental throne, then embraces my legs in the bindings of the stirrups.

Beside my face, he removes his robe and with a stark lack of ceremony places his cock in my mouth. 

I perform as expected.  

As I suck and tongue his semi-hard cock begins to stiffen. 

It isn't long before his hands are roaming all over my body. 

He leans into me and caresses my stomach. 

Running his hand down my body across my landing strip, into my crevice.  

I spread my knees slightly wider. 

My movement is staccato, constricted by the chair bindings forcing his cock deep into my throat. 

I choke.

My choking pushes him farther than he intends, and he promptly removes himself from my mouth along with his hand from my crevice.

He lifts my chin with a featherlight touch, compelling my gaze upward. 

In the chair's embrace, our eyes tentatively intertwine. 

His sensual smile meets my own—a shy reflection, blossoming despite the whispers of self-consciousness within me.

He pivots, striding to the throne's foot where he summons a stool to his command, seating himself with purpose. 

In this moment, vulnerability cloaks me, a garment of unease under his impending scrutiny. 

Despite the meticulous preparations by the aides, who sculpted me to an image of perfection, sans scent or perfume—luxuries forbidden here—doubt shadows my thoughts.

Yet, as his gaze begins its journey, there's a gentleness within, softening the intensity of the moment. 

Lowering himself, he bridges the gap between us.

He embarks on his work with a focus that renders the room charged with an unspoken hedonism.

With deliberate pressure he runs his tongue across my labia from my taint to my hood where he stops and barrels in reaching for my clitoris.  

He repeats this pleasurable pattern three, four times in a row, then he sits back absent-mindedly stroking himself for a moment while admiring the view.

Placing a hand on either side of my inner thigh, he gently uses his thumbs to spread my lips apart. 

His eyes seek mine across the expanse of the chair before he again embarks on a deliberate journey of slow exploration with his tongue intermittently complemented by soft suckles on my pearl. 

The combination of which has my head laid back and eyes closed as I try to tame the moans edging in my throat.  

My back arches in response to his ministrations. 

His hand rests flat upon my belly, holding me exactly where he wants me in his mouth. 

As his tongue enters my wet clenching pussy I have my first orgasm. 

Moans escape my gaping mouth as I arch my bottom forward, giving him more access.

He further obliges as his tongue sensuously laps in and out of my hole while his thumb gently caresses the hood over my pearl.

His fingers lightly brush my landing strip…

My landing strip doesn't seem to bother him at all. 

I wonder why it's considered unacceptable. 

My contemplation is abruptly curtailed as he resumes nibling my clitoris.

The nibbling now combined with his two fingers moving in and out of my pussy bring consistent pleasure.

My breathing is husky, and my back is arched.

 I lift my head. 

His eyes greet mine. 

The sexy knowing in them as inserts his digits deeper, touching a place inside I’ve never been able to reach on my own. 

My head drops back to the padded head rest as I cry out loudly. 

My legs tremble as I cum again.

He doesn’t stop as my body strains against the binds. 

He continues…

Slowly bringing me down. 

When I’m complete, he runs his tongue over my landing strip, then sits back, looking me over from top to bottom as he strokes himself to orgasm.

He cums hard. 

Finishing in his hand. 

He thanks me as he helps me with my robe. 

I just smile and nod.