That he certainly did. That's the great thing about being a mistress, I get spoiled, he tries hard, he is out to impress, he is making all the effort it needs to get exactly where we both want to be. But this isn't about the location, although that does help, this is about the time we spend together, and the fun we have.
I had asked him to be ready for me, showered, naked with a towel around him, blindfolded and sitting on the sofa in front of the roaring open fire. The champagne was to be on ice with the soft music playing in the background.
I entered the room and he was sitting exactly where I had told him. He was clean, hard and nervous. I hadn't told him what I wanted of him, or what I was going to do to him, it was all very new to him. In the 27 years he had been married he had never been blindfolded, tied or pampered, so his nerves were palpable.
As he sat waiting for me, his blindfold covering his eyes and his shyness, the towel covering his hardening cock, he was breathless with anticipation. I entered the room, walked over to him and whispered 'Good boy' in his ear. I walked away, poured myself a glass of champagne and watched him for a while. His breath was coming in shallow, rapid gasps.
He was handsome, tanned, a great body, and an almost perfect cock (is there such a thing as a perfect one?). How could I tell? I stood in front of him and lifted the towel, looking at the form as it sprang to attention, released from its confines.
I was still fully clothed at this point so I put my glass down and moved into the other room to prepare myself. Although he couldn't see me I wanted him to feel every inch of me and have his mind paint the picture for him. He appreciated the power of the mind when it came to sex, and as this was his first experience of a blindfold, I wanted every last detail to be perfect.
I dressed in a black basque, lace trim with suspenders attached. I attached my black lace top stockings, and slipped my toes into the 7 inch black and silver shoes, with fine stiletto heels. The thick carpet dampened the sound of my approach, so he took a sharp intake of breath as I came back into the room and kissed the back of his neck. I raked my nails down his chest and brought the champagne glass to his lips. He gulped hungrily on the fizz, wanting the alcohol induced courage to continue, and not knowing when he would drink again that evening.
I moved around to face him again and brought his hands across to feel my body, to feel the lace, the stockings, the flesh of my breasts bulging from the cups. He opened his mouth to speak and I held my finger to his lips. I didn't want a sound from him. I dropped to my knees and, after taking a mouthful of champagne, I slid my lips around his erection and held him there. The bubbles of the liquid were tingling against his sensitive skin, he moaned, and moved his hands to my head. I took them away, I needed no physical encouragement to do what I wanted to him. I swallowed the liquid, flicked my tongue over the head of his cock and stood up.
He clearly wasn't going to be able to keep his hands to himself so I led him to the bed, firmly tying his hands and feet to each of the posts. I stood back to admire my handiwork. He looked magnificent. Tied, helpless, breathless, hard and excited. I took another drink and waited. He was frustrated with the silence, not knowing what I was going to do next, or where I was. I sat and looked at him, all the while increasing his feelings of frustration. He was aching for me to touch him, to continue with the taster he had of my mouth around him, to touch him, to talk to him, to make him cum, but I wasn't planning on rushing anything.
His long arms were tied tight but his fingers were free, thankfully at exactly the right height to slide between my pussy lips. I stood astride his hand and directed his fingers towards the wetness. He gasped when he felt how aroused I was. I gasped from that first touch, the touch I'd been waiting weeks to feel. I moved away and a moan of disappointment escaped his lips. I knelt and sucked his fingers clean, tasting myself, savouring every drop. I stood up and repeated the move, letting him sink his fingers deeper into me this time. As I stood with his fingers gently rubbing my clit and sliding into me, moving around in a blind, but skillful, fumble, I released my breasts from the basque, setting them free from the confines of the lace. I moved away from his hand and saw the liquid glistening on his fingers. Leaning over I put my breast and nipple into his fingers, feeling them slide around, covered in my juice. When both nipples were moist I climbed onto the bed and, like a mother waiting for her new born to latch on, touched his lips with the hard bud. He immediately sucked it into his mouth, hard. The sensation was intense, leaning over him, my pendulous breasts in his face, my nipple in his mouth, loving his inability to grasp them as he wanted, the frustration as his wrists strained on the fabric bonds, trying to touch them. I moved across to my other nipple, and he continued to suck hard like a hungry baby. I dipped my fingers back inside myself and slid them into his mouth along with my breast and he sucked even harder, trying to get every last drop of my cunt juice into his mouth.
I pulled away and climbed off the bed, a louder moan of disappointment escaping his lips. I stood and drank more champagne, all the while watching his now twitching cock drip pre-cum from the tip. I knelt on the bed and poured some of my drink over his cock and balls, cooling the heat emanating from them. His cock leapt in surprise, and I could see his balls contract slightly. I love watching a helpless man and his involuntary muscle spasms. I watched as the liquid found a natural path around his muscles and traced itself down his side and between his open legs towards the bed. Kneeling between his legs I followed the wetness with my long nail, my finger sliding up and down beneath his balls, then circling each sack and pulling on them. I gently scraped my nail down the underside of his cock, and tickled the tip. I stroked my finger over the end and brought it to my mouth, tasting his juice, I couldn't wait to taste every part of him, but I had to resist. I wanted to feel him inside me, my mouth and my pussy, but I had to resist. The anticipation was killing him, and it was killing me too, but I had to resist.
A game is not a game if it finishes early! :)