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  • Jasmine Lane

Mr B. is Back...

Updated: 3 days ago

Some of you might remember a Literotica blog I wrote a while back called TRUST. It was all about a particularly memorable experience I had with a gentleman called Mr B. For the past couple of months, Mr B and I just couldn’t seem to get our schedules to align. But today, he was finally back for more. What transpired was just too divine to be left unwritten…


I received his booking request a couple of weeks ago. This time, his instructions were simple: I must leave the door unlocked, I was to wait for him once again on the kitchen counter, and it was to be a no-talking-zone. The rest, I just had to leave up to him. Let me tell you, I’ve never looked forward to a sequel quite as much as I looked forward to ‘Trust: Part 2.’


~ ~ ~


This morning as I lathered up in a nice hot shower, I found myself wondering what was in store for me this time. I toyed with the memories from our last encounter, turning the images over and over again in my mind. My fingers itched to touch him again, and my body ached to be touched in return. My own fantasies were tormenting me into a hazy lustful trance. But it had been two months since we had seen each other. That’s two whole months for him to dream up all manner of new and inventive scenarios to tease and please me with. I just knew it was going to be good.


I waited impatiently on the edge of the couch, tapping my heels with nervous anticipation. And then came the chime on my phone… A message from Mr B: “Give me the green light.” I quickly replied, telling him I was ready, and as the doorbell echoed throughout the empty apartment, I rushed to the door to buzz him up.


I unlocked the latch on the door and then laid myself down on the kitchen counter. I heard the second doorbell ring out, signalling that Mr B was now in the lift heading up to my floor. I closed my eyes and waited, my heartbeat pounding and my mind racing. I noticed the feeling of the marble countertop beneath me, cold and hard against my ass and the palms of my hands. It did nothing to steady my excited energy. I wondered if maybe I should have taken off my lingerie. Did he want me to be naked when he entered the room? No, Mr B loves to watch my breasts fall out of my bra. And he delights in peeling off my lace panties inch by inch. He would want to unwrap me himself. And anyway, it was too late now. I could already hear his footsteps in the hall.


It felt like a lifetime before I heard the door creek open. Was he making me wait to test me? I wanted to open my eyes but I knew I should be a good girl; no peeking. I smelt his sexy cologne waft through the room long before I heard him approach me. As he leaned over me, I felt the faintest warm breath against my lips, and the lightest brush of his stubble against my flushed cheek. Could he feel my body shaking ever so slightly? Did he notice that I was holding my breath? Was he aware of the effect he had over me before he even touched me?


He was gone again somewhere in the corner of the room getting organised. I could hear him rummaging through his bag. When he came back, it was to slip a blindfold gently over my eyes. I heard the fridge door open and close. What was he putting in there? What was he going to do to me? I thought I heard him take off his shirt, but I couldn’t be sure. As he came closer, I thought about reaching out and touching his body to check if he was naked, but I wasn’t sure if that was against the rules. I’d better keep my hands to myself just in case.


I heard him place something on the bench right next to my head. Tick tock, tick tock. Was it a clock? Or a pocket-watch of some kind? What did that mean? What did he want me to do with it? I tried to calm my heart-rate in time with the ticking and tocking… To no avail. It was pounding like a runaway train beating fast along the tracks. There was no slowing it down. Tick tock, tick tock. What did it mean? Was it an exercise in mindfulness? Was the persistent rhythm meant to bring me back to the present moment if I drifted away? Or did he mean to time himself with it? Was he going to carry out each act of pleasure for a set amount of time? Or was something special going to happen when the timer went off? What kind of mental warfare was this? You can’t tell a woman not to talk, but then do things that you know she’s dying to question you about. I smiled to myself as I realised that the curiosity only heightened my arousal. Well played Mr B… Well played.


The first touch I felt was ever-so-soft; a fleeting feather across my thigh. It was so light and so subtle, almost as though I had imagined it. Yet that one small movement had the power to awaken my entire body. The next touch grazed delicately against my stomach, sending a jolt of electricity right down to the tips of my toes. And then came more and more touches; a cascade of feathers all over my body; an endless flow of the most blissful caresses. He was careful to pay extra attention to my inner thighs and between my breasts, just the way I liked it. This was one of Mr B’s greatest strengths as a lover; his devotion and attentiveness to each and every crevice and curve of my body; I could be sure he wouldn’t stop until every single cell was humming and purring with pleasure. Did he notice my sharp intake of breath when he brushed against just the right spot? He must have. Because he dutifully went right back to that spot again and again.


My quiet murmurs were growing increasingly difficult to stifle. Just when I thought I was about to break, when I was one second away from ripping off my blindfold, pulling him close to me and taking what I needed, suddenly he withdrew. One moment my whole body was being spoilt with a flurry of caresses, and the next moment there was nothing at all. He had stopped touching me so abruptly that I felt my body surge forward, instinctively reaching out for more. But he was already gone.

It was then that I heard the fridge door open once more. I felt something cold and wet against my lips. I opened my mouth obediently as he slipped the most decadent dessert inside. A chocolate coated strawberry! My mouth watered as I savoured it, bit by bit. He kissed me then, deeply and passionately, our tongues gliding over one another as we shared what was left of the delicious melted chocolate. When not a drop of chocolate remained, he indulged me once again, this time with a slice of banana coated in heavenly white chocolate. I sucked gently, enjoying every bit of its sticky sweetness. He traced my lips with his finger, painting them with melted white chocolate. As I licked my lips I giggled at the mental picture of the white creamy goodness dripping down my chin. I see the visual you were going for there Mr B, you naughty man!


Next, I felt the familiar bristles of a paintbrush, one of Mr B’s signature tools of seduction. With diligent concentration, he gently traced over every exposed inch of my body from the bottom to the top. I gasped sharply, as he meticulously painted over each individual rib, deliberately pausing at the crevice just beneath my breasts before stroking back and forth in that spot over and over again. As with all of our past sessions, I could already tell this one was going to be long and leisurely and all about him selflessly seeing to my every whim. My body responded to each and every stroke, as I once again marvelled at the patience of this man.


He grasped my hands and pulled me to a seated position, reaching around with expert precision to unclasp my bra. As, it tumbled to the floor, I revelled in the sensation of the cool air on my bare breasts. I could swear I felt his eyes on my naked skin, hungrily drinking me in. His fingertips were clutching at my lace-adorned hips, and I lifted my bum eagerly so that he could slip off my panties. I felt his warm hands encircle my ankles one by one, as he placed my feet on opposite kitchen stools. He nudged my knees apart and as I opened to him, I could once again feel the intensity of his eyes, this time staring intently at my pussy. I shuddered with that undeniable mix of excitement and vulnerability.


It was then that I heard the distinct buzzing of a vibrator. I tried to brace myself for what was to come, but I was nervous that it would all be too much and that I might quickly lose control. My pussy fluttered with anticipation and I could feel my clit growing hot and swollen. But as he trailed the vibrator across my collarbones, my nipples and between my cleavage, I began to realise that it was his intention to make me wait even longer for that sweet release between my thighs. I was torn between a sense of torment at being denied my final satisfaction, but also a sense of trust, because I knew it would eventually come. For now, all I could do was enjoy the aching rhythm of vibrations and submit to his absolute conquest of my body, knowing that in his own time, when we were both ready, he would take me to that orgasmic, euphoric place like he had done so many times before.


Once again, I heard the fridge door open. More chocolate-covered fruit? No, not this time. I could hear him shaking a can. Whipped cream! It had to be! I felt the light foamy bubbles dance against my nipples, covering them in a tuft of cream as soft as a cloud. When his warm mouth closed over my nipple, he gently sucked away every last trace. And then he kept right on sucking, just for good measure. He teased and tantalised my nipples until they formed tight little buds, and I squirmed and wriggled in delight. And when he engulfed a strip of fluffy whipped cream off my stomach, he brought his lips to mine so that I could have a taste. Mmm, hold on a sec… That’s chocolate-flavoured; like chocolate mousse in a can. Even better than whipped cream! I could always count on Mr B to be full of surprises.


I heard the kitchen tap running. My skin tingled as he wiped my body down with a cool wet towel. After the sticky chocolate mousse was no more, I impatiently waited for the next touch, my damp skin poised for a new unexpected sensation. But just like that, it was over again. He left my body lying alone on the countertop, practically begging for more. With each passing second, I longed for him to return to his blissful assault of my senses. It was just like Mr B to give me a small slice of what I crave, but to withhold the rest until I was beyond the point of unrestrained lust. He knew just how to drive me crazy and I couldn’t get enough of it. When he returned, he moved the ticking clock closer to my ear. I had hardly noticed it for a while, amongst the thrill of our little games. It had been hard to hear over the charged atmosphere and the thick heady eroticism that hung in the air between us. But there it was. Still here. Ticking away.


I heard him digging through his bag again, and then another sound… The sound of metal-on-metal. Like chains? Or handcuffs maybe? And then I felt it, the most exquisite sensation on my inner forearm. It felt like a set of finely pointed metal fingertips, lightly scratching in the most delicate way. The tiny tickling flickers sent shivers down my spine, and I could feel the goosebumps instantly erupt across my skin. He gently drew these metal claws across my skin in persistent patterns, leaving a trail of arousal in their path. How was he creating such a chilling sensation? Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to ever stop. The feeling of those cold metal nails running over my thighs, my ribs, my breasts; it had me in the throes of pleasure, and I could hardly contain my muted moans.


And suddenly it was over. Once again, he gave me just a little, yet never quite enough. These games we played were all about the chase. He moved around the counter and stood behind my head, and as he gently lifted me by the nape of my neck, he rearranged my hair to drape over the edge of the countertop like a cascading waterfall. I wonder what that was all about. But then I knew. I felt the handfuls of oil pressed firmly against my breasts, coating me with a warm luxurious silkiness. Coconut, I think? Yes, definitely coconut oil. I would recognise that smell anywhere. With slow deliberate strokes, he massaged the velvety oil into my skin. My soft curves yielded under his palms as I sunk deeper into relaxation. Please don’t forget my feet, I thought to myself. You know how I adore foot massages. Like he could read my mind, he began to rub and knead my feet, and I silently willed him to stay there for an eternity.


With slippery circular motions, he stroked the sensitive creases of my inner thighs, ever-so-close to my pussy, yet oh so very far. He was careful not to actually brush past my clitoris, almost as though he wanted me to know that it wasn’t time for him to grant me that just yet. Actually, come to think of it, he hadn’t touched my pussy at all today, not even once this whole time. Is that what the clock was for? Was it a timer? Was I not allowed any pleasure between my legs until he decreed that I had waited long enough?


Just when I thought I had solved the mystery of the ticking clock, he seized my wrist and guided my hand to my clit. With his hand over mine, he played the puppet master, while I played with myself. I was growing wetter by the second and that warm tingly feeling began to grow. But then just as quickly as it had begun, he pulled my hand away and denied me once again. He lifted my fingers to his mouth and savoured every last drop of my juices with enthusiasm. Then once again, he led my hand back to my pussy. He let me play a little more, and then he licked and sucked my fingers until he’d had his fill. Again and again he let me play, and again and again he made me stop while he satisfied his appetite. Each time he withdrew my touch, I would throb and pulsate for more. My pussy was engorged and pounding with impatient need. I couldn’t take it anymore. I yanked my fingers from his mouth and furiously began pleasuring myself again. That nice, obedient, good-girl Jasmine was gone. I wanted it now and I was going to take it. He gently slapped my hand away, and I brooded in the brattiest fashion. I guess that was all I was allowed to have for now. He once again returned to massaging my body, rubbing away the knots and kinks, until my short-lived petulance was quickly forgotten.


I was so lost in a deep hypnosis of relaxation that I barely noticed when one of my arms fell down and draped over the edge of the bench. In fact, I don’t think I would’ve noticed at all if it wasn’t for the fact that my hand grazed against something hard and silky. I fondled it again, and manoeuvred it around in my palm. I felt the heavy weight of it in my hand. I stroked its length, the coconut oil sliding deliciously up and down. Was this allowed? Should I keep touching him? I wasn’t sure.


He moved away, and I was worried that I had displeased him. Had I broken the rules? Was he going to punish me? I secretly hoped so, just the tiniest bit. But then through the edges of the blindfold I saw the light pour in. He had opened the curtains and I knew what that meant. It was finally time for the grand finale. Just as I had last time we met, I wondered if there were people watching us from the adjacent apartments. And just like last time, I couldn’t have cared less. Let them watch!


He spread my legs wider and I willed him to bury his head between them. There’s nothing I wanted more in that moment, than for him cover my pussy lips with his hot wet mouth. And then he spoke, for the first time today I heard his deep manly voice. “Your pussy is so lovely Jenna.” When he says these words, I can feel how much he really means it, and it drives me wild with wanton greed. I needed him now. I needed that release. Screw the timer! Screw the rules! I needed it now!


As soft and as patient as ever, he flicked and finessed his tongue against my clit, gradually building in both pressure and tempo. He moved his lips and swirled his tongue in the same expert way that he kissed me, deeply and thoroughly, with all the passion of a man hazy and dizzy with lust. His slow sensual strokes began to grow in intensity, progressively becoming more and more urgent. He began to alternate between rolling his tongue against by creamy lips, and then gently sucking my swollen throbbing clit. As I tried in vain to hold on, it was far more than I could handle. My body tensed as I approached climax, and I began to convulse and quiver uncontrollably. As I came hard, my back arched against the countertop. The coconut oil beneath me, mixed with my hot sweaty body, had me sliding back and forth across the bench, a helpless bystander to the most powerful orgasm. Just when I needed it most, I felt his big warm hands grip my forearms and pull me back down firmly against the bench, grounding me as I rode what was left of the wave.


As the final ripples tore through my body, I tried to catch my breath. It was only then that I noticed that the one resounding sound I could hear was the tick tocking of the clock beside my ear. As I tried desperately to calm my racing heartbeat, I found the steady rhythm of the clock to be an immense source of comfort in my most dishevelled state. And suddenly the purpose of the clock made perfect sense. He meant for it to be the calm in the storm; the reassurance I needed, when I was naked and blindfolded and at my most emotionally vulnerable. Mr B appreciated how much an orgasm like that demanded; he understood that I was offering up a part of myself by putting such trust in him and abandoning all control. And so he gave me this one gift; an anchor to ground myself when I was most in need of comfort. I should have known all along that the clock was just another one of Mr B’s thoughtful gestures. When I was with him, I was always in safe hands.


His hands were stroking me tenderly now, once again slowly melting the coconut oil into my skin. His fingers seemed to mould effortlessly to every curve of my body. A warm peaceful glow washed over me like a blanket; a calming and soothing embrace as I floated comfortably back down to reality. When I was ready, I finally slipped the blindfold off, opened my eyes and looked at him affectionately, a fond smile gracing my lips. And although it was a terrible understatement, I said the only thing I could think of to say: “You really outdid yourself Mr B.”





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