He has unlocked the cellar and lit several candles. My bare feet cool on the dark slate floor, He pu
He has unlocked the cellar and lit several candles. My bare feet cool on the dark slate floor, He pulls my leashed collar firmly leading me to the large Bordeaux casks, resting full, on their sides, down the room’s center. There are many rows of large Hungarian, French, and American oak barrels, each one ruby-stained indicating their contents. W/we stop at an end barrel. He steps around to the other side, pulling my leash. “Down.” I drape my torso over the barrel, ending on tippy toes to keep part of myself grounded, to balance. He knots the leash to a steel loop embedded in the cellar floor. Hard damp wood curves into my belly, presses against my swollen breasts. He lifts the hem of my dress to my waist, pats my bottom several times. He presses His rough fingers into my crotch through the silky fabric and makes lude comments about how easily I am excited; about licking His fingers; about my ass in the air… . He lashes my wrists with coarse rope and ties each length away, “…spread eagle, face down, over a barrel and exposed… .” Why did I ever think He was kidding about this? The summer dress He purchased and gifted me the day before suddenly made sense. Long, semi-sheer in places, buttoned bodice, thin straps, lace accents… . I felt Him securing my ankles; opening my legs, same uncomfortable rope and tight pull as my arms. Slowly, cold water - no, steel - yes, steel, ran along one hip, then the other, as His knife sliced my panties and exposed my bare bottom. The cork went in snug, easy. It felt like His finger: warm, organic, cylindrical, filling. With every swat to my ass, He wiggled and toyed with the long-necked cork until my cunt ran streams of earthy-sweet pussy lubrication down the barrel to the floor. I’d been breathing so hard, drool escaped my mouth as easily as embarassing gasps and moans for Him to be done and just make me cum. …but that was not His plan. -- source link