Ice Skate Sixty Nine


“Ice skates, Sir? You're going to suspend me from ice skates?” I asked. 

We were in our basement play space. I'd been summoned there by Kyle, my husband and Master, who collared me and instructed me to remove my clothes. I was in the process of stripping when I saw the skates in his hand and heard what he planned to do. 
“Don't look so worried Beth,” he said, “I studied up on the safest way to do it.”

“That’s thoughtful of you Sir,” I said, smiling, admiring his bold eyes and strong features—and the way he got so excited about trying out his latest erotic idea. “And so you decided on ice skates?”

Kyle nodded and motioned me to the easy chair, where I sat, legs extended. He eased my feet into the skates and laced them snugly. They were size six and fit perfectly. 

“I talked with some tops at the last Janus party who swear by them,” he reassured me. “Hanging by the blades distributes your weight evenly and won't stress your feet and ankles the way cuffs do.” He finished with the skates and helped me to the floor. 

“Lie back on the rug,” he said, snap hooking the skate blades to the rings of a spreader bar—which in turn, hooked up to a winch that hung from the high beamed ceiling.

“Eyes closed,” he said, blindfolding me. I could tell from the sound he was turning the handle of the winch, which was raising my limbs with a steady, inch by inch pull. I gasped with shock as my hips, upper body, and shoulders came up off the floor. Blood rushed to my head and my heart leaped around in my chest. I hung upended, arms dangling, legs open, and swinging gently in the faint breeze from the forced air furnace. 
I half-way panicked when I realized that my outstretched hands couldn't reach the floor. Deprived of sight I might have been three feet above it, or a hundred. I couldn't tell which.

“Open,” Kyle ordered. His arms went around me, pulling me close. I knew where I was then. My lips parted as his cock thrust into my mouth. I surrendered—giving myself over to the taste and smell and hardness of him. I stroked him, cupping his balls in my hands, loving the hot furry feel of them as I deep-throated his cock. And then, surprise, he was lapping at my wet swollen labia and thrusting his tongue into my slit.

My heart hammered. 

My senses reeled. 

I imagined what we looked like in our ice skate sixty-nine. Weird, but hot, I thought, as Kyle sucked my clit in that special way he does and the blood pounded through my veins. I moaned, feeling my orgasm build, like a volcano about to erupt. Lights exploded behind my eyes and I came screaming, upside down.

Dorothy Freed is the pseudonym of a San Francisco Bay Area writer. Her stories have appeared in anthologies such as: Cheeky Spanking Stories, Twice the Pleasure, Quick and Dirty Erotica, and Ageless Erotica. Her interest in erotica came about because art imitates life.  She can be contacted at DorothyFreed@aol.com


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