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Anything you want!

"Anything you want," she said.


"Anything? How about if I want to do something kinky?"


"I don't mind," she confirmed, "Although I don't really like being hurt. Pain doesn't turn me on at all."


"But you don't mind giving a bit of pain, do you? You keep on about men needing a good spanking!"


She laughed at that. "I've never actually tried it," she admitted. "I do quite like the idea!"


"Well you're not spanking me." He was definite about that.


"What a pity," she said, still laughing. "I ought to try it with someone one day. I think I'd really like to do it properly."


"What do you mean 'properly'? Either you do it, or you don't. What's 'properly'?"


"Oh, you know. Have him so he can't get away until I've finished. Give him a good hard spanking until his backside is bright red. Maybe gag him, so he can't make a noise and I can just do it to him until I've had enough."


"You are kinky," he said disapprovingly. "You're not doing anything like that to me."


"No," she said, with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice. "I know. That's why I said anything you want. What would you really like to do?"


He hesitated. 


"Come on," she said smiling at him, "There must be something that particularly excites you, something you've never done but you would really like to."


"Well..." Still he hesitated.


"Oh do come on," she said, stamping her foot impatiently. "Surely you're not shy? You can't be afraid to tell me. There's hardly anything we haven't talked about."


"I'm not sure I'd like it," he explained.


"You'll never know if you don't try it," she told him. "And if you don't tell me, then there's no chance you're even going to half try it."


"OK. I want a woman to sit on me."


She shrugged. "That's not so bad," she said, "But I don't really understand how that's exciting."


"No," he blushed and stammered. "I think I'd like a woman sitting right on me, on my face, so I was right under her, looking up at her. So I couldn't get her off until she wanted to get off."


He was not looking at her. He stared at the floor, somewhat embarrassed and not knowing how she would react.


"That's no problem," she said softly. "The trouble is that you would push me off easily if I sat on you."


"I don't think I would," he replied, still looking down at the floor, "You're quite heavy and..."


She slapped him playfully. "Are you calling me fat?" she said with mock anger.


"No, no, of course not. It's just you're not exactly skinny, and if your whole weight was on me and I was flat on my back, I don't think I could push you off."


"You could if you really tried," she said positively. "When you really wanted to, you would have no trouble at all. Unless..."


"Unless what?" he prompted her.


"Unless I tied you up. Comfortably, of course. Just enough so you couldn't push me off."


He laughed. "You only want me tied up so you can spank me!"


"No," she was a little indignant. "I wouldn't do that. I'll only sit on you, like you want. I said I'd do anything you want, and I don't mind this at all. It would be fun."


He turned away.


"Don't you trust me?" she asked, an edge of real annoyance in her voice.


"Of course I trust you."


"Well then? Let's do it."

"Really?" There was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. 


"Of course. My bed is the best place. Comfortable but not too soft, and easy to tie you on to it."


She took him by the hand and led him upstairs into her bedroom.


"Ready?" she asked.


"Look, I'm really not sure..."


"Make up your mind. Either you want my body on top of you, or you don't. It's your choice."


"I do," he said enthusiastically, then his enthusiasm wavered. "But you don't actually need to tie me to the bed, do you?"


"I suppose not," she agreed. "You said you didn't want to be able to push me off you. I could just tie your wrists to your legs and maybe tie your ankles together. I don't think you could push me off if you were tied like that."


She rummaged in a wardrobe and produced some old scarves. "These would be perfect," she said. "Get your clothes off. We can't do this with you fully dressed."


"You could do it without me taking all my clothes off," he objected.


She shook her head. "It wouldn't feel right," she told him. "You wouldn't feel right either. You like this because I'll be in control and you'll be helpless and vulnerable underneath me. It will be so much better if you are completely naked, won't it?"


"That's not the only reason I like it," he pointed out. "You know I like to kiss you down there, and this is like that but sort of better. I think."


"That's an added bonus," she said with a grin, then she looked serious. "So are you getting your clothes off or not?"


He undressed, a little nervously. She knotted one of the scarves around his right wrist and tied it securely to his thigh, then did the same with the other wrist.


"All right?" she asked. "Now lie on the bed."


With some difficulty, he manoeuvred himself onto the bed. She promptly tied his ankles together.


"Feeling helpless?" she asked cheerily.


"Absolutely!" he confirmed, trying to sit up. She pushed him down flat on his back.


"The question is," she asked thoughtfully, "Whether I should wear any clothes when I sit on you."


She looked at him closely, expecting an answer and seeing he was having difficulty in finding one.


"I have some very sexy clothes," she reminded him. "You really like the feel of some of my underwear, don't you? How would you like that pressed against your face while I sit on you?"


"You have some beautiful clothes," he agreed. "I love the silky ones, and the lacy ones, and those leather ones are very exciting."


"I can see just how much you like them," she said, reaching towards his groin and tweaking his hardness playfully. He arched his back, pushing upwards towards her.


"No chance," she said, slapping his erection away from her. "We're not here to do that. We're here to investigate facesitting."


She stood up and went to the drawers in the corner of the room.


"Which ones?" she asked him.


"I like all of them," he told her.


"All of them?"


"As long as you're inside them, they're all beautiful," he said.


"We'll start," she told him, "With my leotard."


She waved them at him. He watched as she undressed completely and then put on the leotard that she had just shown him. She jumped onto the bed and knelt astride him.


"Here we go," she said, and sat firmly over his mouth and nose, her thighs either side of his head keeping him steady and unable to move.


He was unable to breathe. It was instant, and he was not ready for it. In that single movement she had totally cut off his air and replaced it with her resilient flesh under the thin covering of her leotard.


He struggled frantically. This was not what he had expected. He had anticipated being unable to breathe, briefly, while girl in leotard was sitting on him, but was completely unprepared for total airlessness without any warning or preliminary.


She pressed down on him, effectively controlling his struggles and preventing him from moving. He was far underneath her; too far, for her liking. After less than a minute she raised herself, and heard his gasping, desperate breathing.


"How was that?" she asked. "I think I sat on you quite well."


"I couldn't breathe at all," he spluttered. "I nearly died."


"Don't be silly," she told him. "I was only on top of you for a few seconds. Anyway, I think I got the position wrong. It wasn't much fun for me at all. I need to try a different angle."


Before he could say anything else, she pressed down again. This time she leaned forward, positioning herself so that his mouth and nose pressed much further forward on her than last time.


Leotard-clad girl gave a small sigh of pleasure and satisfaction. This was much better. He was wriggling as much as he could with her weight on him, once again unable to breathe and this time she was hurting his nose.


She eased herself backwards and forwards, rocking gently on him and enjoying the mild physical stimulation that pressing on him was giving her. Yes, she thought, I could do this for hours. He had given up trying to wriggle from under her. As she rocked, he was able to snatch small gulps of air from under her. It was neither pleasant nor comfortable, but it was survivable. He heard her little sighs of pleasure and thought that surely she soon would give that shuddering groan of climax she always reached when he had been kissing her down there. He waited patiently, completely unaware that the subtle differences of being on top rather than on her back and wearing this leotard, however flimsy the barrier between her and him actually was, meant that she would not reach that point. She enjoyed it; it felt nice; it was arousing. It was not, and never would be orgasmic. She continued for twenty minutes. Finally she raised herself once more and looked down at him.


"You all right under there?" she enquired.


"OK, I think," he said bravely now that she had finished. "I think you've bruised my face."


"Oh that's no problem," she told him. "I'll turn round now, so it will be softer for you." By the time he had realised what she had just said, she had turned and her buttocks had descended on his face. He felt himself drowning in a sea of flesh and silkiness. His nose seemed to disappear between the cleft of her buttocks, yet he could breathe without too much difficulty.


"That's not comfortable," she commented. She raised herself a fraction and reached down with her hands, taking one of her buttocks in each and easing them wider apart. She twisted around on top of him until she found a position in which she felt happier, then let her weight down on him and let go of her buttocks. She was not particularly large as she had pointed out earlier, but it felt to him as though her buttocks slapped together onto his face like two almighty pillows with the force of a hydraulic press behind them. He could not speak; he could not breathe through his mouth, but through his nose he could sniff enough air from around and from under the fleshy mass pressing on him to keep him alive.


"Oooh. That feels really nice." What was she doing? It took him a moment before he realised that she must have one hand down the bottom of her leotard. He felt a slight movement, then as her muscles tensed so did her buttocks, crushing in on his face and totally blocking his air supply once more. Again he panicked. It lasted twenty of thirty seconds, and then she relaxed. He was ready, more than ready, for all of this to stop. He wished he had never mentioned any of it. Now she had done it, and tried both ways round at various angles, she would be getting off him and it would be over. He relaxed, and reflected that it was an interesting experience, bizarrely enjoyable in an uncomfortable sort of way, but one that he would probably not ask her to repeat. At that moment her buttocks tensed again, and he could feel the movements of her fingers on her front. Once more he was airless for somewhere between twenty and thirty seconds before she relaxed again.


"Mmmm," she sighed. "This is wonderful. I really could do this all night." An hour later she finally climbed from him. She took off her leotard and stood by the drawers in the corner of the room.


"What are you doing? Let me go now," he demanded. She turned in surprise. "What?" "Let me go," he repeated. "We've done it. We've done facesitting. Now let me go."


"Done it?" She seemed puzzled. "We've done it with my black, tank leotard, but when I asked you, you said you wanted it with all my clothes. You said you liked them all."


She slipped on white gym leotard. "That's ridiculous," he protested. "I just said I liked them all."


"I'm pleased you like them," she told him, "Because I have dozens of leotards."


"I think," she said as she advanced towards him once more, "We might be here for a long time, a very long time."

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