Tied to the Bed and Used

Josh and I have always been insatiable. Since high school, sex with him felt like coming home and setting the world on fire at the same time. He was the first boy who made me feel beautiful instead of embarrassed about my curves—my wide hips, my soft belly, the way my 36DD breasts spilled out of every bra I owned. He’d pin me against his bedroom door after school, hands under my skirt, whispering how much he loved how full and heavy my tits felt in his palms.

We fucked everywhere we could: his car, the woods behind the football field, even once in the laundry room at his parents’ house while they were upstairs watching TV. I’d ride him until my thighs shook, moaning into his neck, loving how he’d growl my name when he came. But over the years, Josh started sharing his deeper fantasies. At first it was just dirty talk during sex—him holding my wrists above my head, pounding into me, murmuring.

“Imagine another cock stretching this tight little pussy while I watch.”

I’d blush so hard my cheeks burned, but I’d get so wet I could hear it with every thrust. He was patient. He never pushed. He’d show me videos of hotwives—curvy girls like me, blindfolded or tied, taking a bigger man while their partner stroked himself in the corner. I started touching myself to those scenes, imagining it was me: my blue eyes hidden behind silk, my brunette hair fanned across the pillow, my huge tits bouncing as a stranger claimed me.

One night, after he’d fucked me slow and deep on our living-room couch, he pulled out and came across my stomach while I rubbed my clit to the edge. As I caught my breath, he asked softly, “Would you ever want to try it for real?”

My heart hammered. I whispered yes. From there it snowballed—role-play with a thick dildo he bought just for the fantasy, him “watching” while I fucked myself and described a faceless bull stretching me. We spent months vetting guys online together, laughing at the weird ones, getting turned on by the rare good ones.

Tom was different. 38, confident, respectful, recent tests, and—God—his cock looked thick and long in the discreet pics he shared. The thought of him bare inside me made my pussy clench every time we talked about it.

I spent the afternoon getting ready, nerves and excitement twisting together in my belly. Josh shaved me himself—slow, careful strokes of the razor over my mound until I was completely smooth, then his tongue teasing my clit until I was dripping onto the towel. He helped me into the black lace thigh-high stockings; the lace tops dug into my soft thighs just enough to remind me how exposed I’d be. Glossy black heels made my legs look endless. No panties, no bra—just a sheer black babydoll that barely held my breasts, the dark areoles visible through the lace, nipples already stiff from anticipation.

He led me to our bed, kissed me until my knees felt weak, then guided my wrists to the headboard. The silk ropes were soft but unyielding as he tied them—secure, but not cutting. I could still wiggle a little, but I was helpless. Then the blindfold: thick black silk sliding over my eyes, plunging me into perfect darkness. My world narrowed to sound and touch. Josh positioned me—legs parted, heels pressing into the mattress, stockings whispering against the sheets.

He kissed my forehead. “I’m right here, baby. Watching. Safe word is red.” Then he moved to the chair. I heard him settle, heard the faint rustle as he unzipped.

Minutes later—maybe ten, maybe twenty, time stretched—the bedroom door opened.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. My heart slammed against my ribs. Then the mattress dipped. A warm hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip. Then lips—firm, experienced—claimed mine in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue tasted faintly of mint. He kissed down my neck, sucking lightly, making me arch.

“You’re fucking stunning,” he said, voice low and rough. Tom.

His mouth was everywhere. Kissing the tops of my breasts through the babydoll, tongue flicking my nipples until the fabric was wet and clinging. Hands slid up my stockings, squeezing the soft flesh of my thighs, thumbs brushing the lace tops. He peeled the babydoll down slowly, letting my heavy tits spill free. I heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Jesus… these are perfect.”

Warm oil drizzled onto my cleavage—slow, teasing rivulets that made me shiver. His big hands spread it, massaging in firm circles, kneading my breasts until they glistened. My nipples ached as he pinched and rolled them, slick with oil. Then he straddled my chest. I felt the heat of his cock first—thick, hard, already leaking—sliding between my oiled tits. He pressed them together, enveloping himself in soft, slippery flesh, and started to thrust.

The sensation was obscene. His shaft glided through the tight channel of my cleavage, veins dragging against my skin, cockhead bumping my chin with every stroke. I parted my lips, tasting salt and pre-cum when he angled higher. The wet, slick sounds filled the room. He fucked my tits harder, grunting, “Squeeze them for me—fuck yes, just like that. These tits were made for this.”

When he finally pulled back, I was panting, pussy throbbing, aching to be filled. He moved lower. Hands spread my thighs wide—stockings stretching, heels scraping the sheets. His breath ghosted my bare mound. “So smooth… so fucking wet for me.” Then his mouth was on me.

His tongue was relentless—broad licks over my folds, then pointed flicks directly on my swollen clit. I bucked against the ropes, moaning loud enough I’m sure the neighbors heard. He sucked my clit hard, slid two thick fingers inside, curling them against my G-spot while his tongue worked me over. He edged me cruelly, pulling away every time I got close, until I was whimpering, “Please… please don’t stop… I need to come…”

Finally he gave it to me. I shattered—back arching, heels digging in, pussy pulsing around his fingers as I cried out, waves crashing through me.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” he said, voice thick with lust.

I felt him settle between my legs, the blunt head of his cock nudging my entrance—bare, hot, impossibly thick. He pushed in slowly. The stretch burned in the best way—bigger than Josh, every inch forcing my walls to yield. I gasped, head tipping back against the pillow. “So tight,” he groaned, sinking deeper until he bottomed out, pubic bone grinding against my clit.

Then he started to move—hard, deep thrusts that rocked the bed. My tits bounced with every slam, oiled skin shining in the low light I couldn’t see. The blindfold made it all sharper: the slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of my soaked pussy taking him, his balls smacking my ass. He fucked me like he owned me—rough, possessive, one hand pinching my nipple, the other rubbing furious circles on my clit.

“Take it, you gorgeous little slut. Feel how much deeper I go than him.”

I came again—harder this time—screaming, pussy clenching and fluttering around his thick shaft, slickness coating us both. He didn’t slow down. He hooked my legs over his shoulders—heels dangling, stockings taut—and pounded even deeper, hitting spots that made stars explode behind my blindfold.

“Gonna fill this pussy,” he growled. His rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic. Then he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot, thick spurts flooding me, pulse after pulse painting my insides. I felt every jet, felt the warmth spreading, felt it start to leak out around his cock as he ground in deep.

He stayed inside me a moment longer, breathing hard, then slowly pulled out. Cum dripped from my stretched, puffy lips, trailing down my ass onto the sheets. I lay there, trembling, blindfolded, wrists still bound, feeling deliciously used.

Josh was there in seconds. The blindfold came off first. I blinked against the soft light, meeting his eyes—dark with arousal and love. He untied the silk ropes, rubbing my wrists gently, then kissed me slow and deep. “You were so fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

He slid into me without a word—my pussy still slick with Tom’s cum and my own wetness. The glide was effortless, filthy, intimate. Josh fucked me slow at first, savoring the mess, then harder as we both climbed again.

“My good girl,” he murmured against my ear. “Taking him bare, letting him fill you while I watched.” I came one last time wrapped around him, pulling him over the edge. He groaned my name and spilled inside me, mixing everything together.

We collapsed in a sweaty, cum-slick tangle, his arms around me, my head on his chest. My body hummed—sore in the best places, marked in ways only we’d understand.

I open my eyes in the bath now, cheeks flushed, fingers still between my legs. The water’s cooling, but I’m burning. Last night was everything I fantasized about and more—raw, overwhelming, perfect.

And God help me… I already want to do it again.