The Balcony

That particular time we had a tiny apartment. It was adequate, with a small, very private balcony, enclosed by a wrought iron railing, and gave on to a harbour full of sailboats, cafes, and sundry other commercial operations. There was often music in the square, and off to the other side a late night arcade whose bells rang till about 1 a.m.. We could sit on the balcony drinking a bottle of wine in hot night air, and observe the holiday-makers milling around down below. It was busy, yet we were very private.

With Chantal, I tended to travel with small lengths of rope. One night began with my tying just one of her ankles to one of the metal rails. She was sitting on a plastic chair, sipping her wine, her sandals piled against each other on the mat of the balcony. I took one of her ankles and tied it to the base of a rail. She smiled and sipped. I adjusted her chair, and tied the other ankle, about four feet apart. Four feet is the right distance; a fit woman can sustain a three or four foot spread for quite some time, especially if she has other means of support. Her calf-length skirt had slid up her thighs, but fell back down when I moved behind her and lifted her up by the shoulders, easing her into a position at the railing where she could lean over it or rest her elbows on it. She was wearing a pink – fuchsia – tank top; in the relatively bright light cast by the many lamps and signs down below her nipples were hard, casting their own little dotted shadows. She asked me what my plans were. I lifted the back of her skirt, rolled it around itself at the waist at the back, and took off my belt. I smacked once. She did an excellent job of containing her cry of pain; I hadn’t hit that hard. I continued. Again. Again. I was in the shadow, and she was in varying degrees of half light or more.

I filled her wine glass, and caressed her ass, which had begun to glow. My fingers moved down her cunt, which was streaming. She pinched her own nipples, her eyes half-lidded with the transport of her sensations. Two of my fingers slid up inside her, then out and around her clit, firm and swollen. My wet fingers moved to her ass, and pushed in past her cheeks, one of them sinking into her ass.

I began again to take my belt to her buttocks. Not in a frenzy, but in firm, stinging, irregular strokes. She was starting to writhe against the balcony, half with the stinging pain, half with the pleasure, and if it was possible to have another half, it would have been the thrill of her exhibition. Or her imagined exhibition, since no one really could tell what we was going on, although they might speculate that Chantal was dancing, or putting on some sort of demonstration. When I next stood beside her, and passed her a glass of wine to share with me, my hand on her exposed buttocks detected significant heat. Her cunt had spread its wetness down her thighs; she was also sweating. My fingers slid into her cunt, and played with her clit till she came. I enjoyed her orgasm immensely, not because it signaled the end of our activities, but because it was one of her quirks that her first orgasm was really just a tease, even though it seemed powerful. After cumming once, she was almost always overtaken with a more intense need to cum again.

I untied her ankles, and she trembled to keep her balance, holding firmly onto the railing. I sat back on the chair in the shadow of balcony, she knelt between my legs, and took out my hard cock. I slid my bare foot between her legs, rubbing her cunt with the top of my foot while she sucked. I told her to use her hand to hold my foot in place, so that she fucked my foot while she sucked. I love the feeling of my cock in her mouth when she cums; it nearly always triggers my own orgasm. This is what happened tonight. She was sipping down my precum, and sucking more and more feverishly as she approached her second, and favorite orgasm. Even when she had three or four orgasms in a night, there was no question her second one was the most intense and most sustained. Half way through her orgasm I shot my cum into her mouth. She was moaning, whimpering with her own orgasm, taking my cock deep. I jerked into her. When we were finished she gasped for breath, on all fours, her back heaving. In the light, the half-light, half-shadow, she looked primal and primitive, gleaming and breathing. Something out of myth.