Blind Submission: A Raw Encounter

The idea struck me like a bolt of lightning, a perverse impulse I couldn’t quite suppress. It started with a casual glance across the bar, a woman radiating an almost tangible heat, a confidence that bordered on arrogance. She was beautiful, undeniably so, but there was something else, a challenge in her eyes, an invitation to push boundaries. When she approached me, her voice a husky murmur, “Get rid of all your clothes and follow me,” it felt less like a request and more like a command. Obedience, I’d found, often led to unexpected delights. I stripped off my jacket and shirt, tossing them onto the sticky bar top, and followed her without hesitation.

The passage leading to our living room felt both exciting and slightly unnerving. As we moved, she shed her own garments, revealing a pale pink thong that barely concealed her ample curves. Her breasts, full and firm, strained against the fabric, the nipples hard and demanding, practically screaming for attention. I felt a primal surge of arousal, a deep-seated need to possess and dominate.

She led me to my favorite armchair, a plush leather throne that always provided a comfortable backdrop for indulgence. “Sit down, and bend forward slightly,” she instructed, her eyes never leaving mine. As I settled into the chair, the leather molding to my form, a monumental erection seized control of my senses. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Then, she grabbed a jar of pre-heated coconut oil from the microwave and a shoe-box from the counter, returning to the kitchen. She lay down on her back, positioning herself directly beneath my throbbing cock, her head resting on the armrest. It was an intimate, almost predatory stance. Without a word, I reached out and gently caressed her hard nipple, but she abruptly sat up, snatching a roll of duct tape from the shoe-box. With swift, practiced movements, she secured my arms to the armrests, effectively pinning me to the chair. It was a clear declaration of her control, a playful yet dominant assertion of power.

Her touch was hesitant at first, a delicate exploration of my arousal. She began by brushing her fingers lightly against my cock, moving slowly upwards and downwards, teasing the sensitive skin. But her touch quickly escalated, becoming more insistent, more demanding. She curled her fingers around the head, digging her nails into the base of my erection, creating a sensation that bordered on agony. My body responded instinctively, my muscles tensing, my breath quickening.

As I watched her, I noticed her pink thong darkening in the dim light, soaked with her own rising heat. She was burning with desire, just as I was. Her nails continued their relentless assault on my cock, but now, she began to milk me, drawing out a thick, viscous stream of pre-cum. Simultaneously, she opened her mouth, waiting patiently for each drop to fall into her eager maw. Her words, a mixture of pleasure and command, sent shivers down my spine. “Come now, you lovely hard thing,” she purred, “Give me what I want! That’s nice. Oh yes. Another big drop right into my mouth. Mmmmmm… You are so big and so beautiful. Oh, you taste so good. Yes! That is nice. You’re dripping so fast now. Maxx, look at your cock. See how your pre-cum is dripping out and feeding me? Here comes another big drop! Come, give me another drop now, yes… oh, nice! Right on my tongue! I love it when the veins in your cock stand out and become so dark. Oh yes, baby. Your head is so swollen and purple. I love this joystick of yours.”

Her actions were both thrilling and slightly disturbing, a captivating blend of dominance and submission. The dark patch on her thong drew my attention, and I watched as one of her hands slowly descended, disappearing beneath the fabric. A wave of anticipation washed over me as I realized what she was doing. She was going to penetrate herself, mirroring my own arousal.

As she slipped her fingers deep within her pussy, she began to finger-fuck her clitoris, a rhythmic, insistent motion that built an intense pleasure within her. The air crackled with heat and anticipation. We were both so wet, so completely immersed in our shared desire. As she pumped her fingers in and out, she made small circles around her clitoris, repeating the pattern again and again. Her movements were precise, calculated, designed to maximize pleasure. And as she did, the squishing sounds emanating from her body were both intimate and slightly unsettling.

A sudden realization struck me: she wasn’t just looking for pleasure; she was challenging me, pushing me to the limits of my own arousal. She wanted me to witness her vulnerability, her raw desire, and to participate in her dominance. The thought both terrified and thrilled me.

She continued her self-stimulation, her hand a blur as it moved back and forth, deeper and deeper into her pussy. The desire for release consumed me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. Just as I was on the verge of losing control, she pulled her panty to one side, revealing her vulnerable flesh. She slipped her fingers in very deep, determined to reach her orgasm. Her hand moved with frantic speed, ramming two and then three fingers into her pussy, creating a sensation that felt both exquisite and unbearable.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that threatened to shatter my senses. As she continued her frenzied self-stimulation, she reached for a purple Kissing Swan vibrator from the box next to her, plunging it deep inside her pussy and turning it on full power. The vibrations intensified, shaking her entire body. It was an intense, almost violent pleasure, one that left me breathless.

Within seconds, she released, her body freezing mid-thrust. Her face flushed crimson, her muscles tensed, and her legs shot out, curling up at the ends. Her eyes snapped back into their sockets, filled with primal rage. She roared like a wild animal, a desperate attempt to regain control.

I seized the opportunity, unleashing a torrent of cum all over her breasts, her stomach, and even splattering some on her thong. It was a chaotic, uncontrolled release, a testament to the intensity of our shared arousal. The last drops landed on her lips and her cheek, but she didn’t even seem to notice, lost in the throes of her orgasm. We continued to release, lost in our own pleasure, oblivious to the world around us. The sounds of our cries and moans filled the room, a symphony of raw desire.

As the last echoes of our passion faded, there was an uneasy silence, broken only by heavy breathing. It was a strange, unsettling feeling, a sense of both satisfaction and emptiness. Looking around the room, I realized the extent of our abandon. The walls were covered in sweat, the furniture stained with our fluids, and the air thick with the scent of arousal. It had been a night of unbridled pleasure, a descent into the depths of our primal instincts. The experience had left me changed, forever marked by the memory of her touch, her dominance, her captivating presence.

The handjob, I realized, wasn't just about physical pleasure; it was about a complete surrender, a complete loss of control. It was a journey into the heart of desire, a reminder of the raw, untamed instincts that lie dormant within us all. And as I lay there, exhausted and exhilarated, I knew that I would never forget the night I was forced to witness and participate in such an unforgettable display of lust and dominance. It was, without a doubt, the most mind-blowing handjob I had ever experienced.

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