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Chaos In Paradise

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Chaos In Paradise by Lizbeth Dusseau

In this futuristic fantasy, Teagan wanders from the crude, chaotic anarchy of the South to the pristine Utopian north, a place that promises peace and justice. She unwittingly falls in love with a man who befriends her in her new home, and she’s swept into the beauty and treachery of this master's domain, a world with a menacing dark side as lust-filled as her homeland. Surrender is inevitable. Little does she know, however, that Keven is no commoner, but a titled nobleman and high priest. When she discovers his true identity, she tries to flee, but can’t. He has her bound by a love and a desire for the extremes of sexual pleasure he offers.


His hand moves up my naked thigh, under the dress finding me wet when he reaches the tangle of brown hair. I open my mouth, letting his tongue do to me what his fingers are doing to me below. Three of them act like a cock, shards of sensations tingle me, like ice does against my skin or hot wax or leather. He pulls out of me when he thinks I’m about to cum.
Moving over top, he straddles my hips with his leather-clad thighs, pulling the dress above my snatch and over my belly that ripples with the sensation of him overpowering me.
“Hands over your head,” I hear him whisper in such desperate softness he woos the compliance from me. My arms reach high to the sand on the beach above, feeling the finely ground pebbles as they sift through my fingers.
“You’ll bind them,” I whisper back, and he shushes me, more occupied in lifting the cotton off my body, exposing the two hillocks of flesh with their pert pink mountain-peak nipples. The massage of his palms sends another spasm downward to where his leather crotch burrows against my pubic mound and I thrust back shooting energy to raise his cock. I feel it harden inside his pants, and with every move that hard thing dances on my ticklish clit.
“Bind me,” I declare as my body thrashes under him. If I turn my head, I can see the rope lying beside me unused. There’s a mocking sneer on his full lips and his eyes are sumptuously seducing, as he holds my satisfaction one step away. He tears the dress from my body altogether and here I am utterly naked being abused by this wickedness I spawn in him. He wouldn’t be so evil if it weren’t for me, but he likes this evil as much as I do.
He slips the rope over my hands, pulling it tight so the rough jute cuts daringly into my thin wrists. I’m about to cum into his crotch. Then my belly heaves as he holds my bound hands above my head and moves down on my chest, acting as though he’s in me. My cunt aches for the stiff erection, but he leaves me with that ache, content that I’m getting only pieces of satisfaction one at a time.
“Cum on me,” he murmurs as his warm breath tickles my ear and the soft spot behind it, and down my neck. I giggle and whine as though I’m frantic, and so I am. “Cum on me,” he repeats, as sudden surges force my cunt to pulsate on his leather britches. The clitoris spasms and my hips buck. He confines me so I can hardly move, as though he swallows me and my cum within him. And then all the little joys of ending shower down from my shoulders to my crotch like the spray of the ocean raining after it crashes on the rocks.
“Close your eyes,” he speaks again and his body pulls off my mine. I’m in a good peaceful spot, but I feel his heat making demands on us both. He secures my hands, tying the rope to some rock or fallen limb above my head so I can’t pull them free. Then stuffing my dress into my open mouth, I’m hopelessly silenced. There will be no cooing words from my lips. I smell the redolence of body sweat and sex juice and perfumed oil I use on my thighs—all clinging to the fabric of my gag.
My legs go over his shoulders as he descends on me, his dick knocking at the soppy door of my cunt, teasing the entrance to spark another orgasmic wave—here when I thought they all passed away.
I lurch forward as though that will require his molten organ to strike home. I want to see his eyes, but he secures my blindness with another command, “Keep them closed.”
A second later, he moves with ease inside me, hitting the end of my channel with his penis head. This position strains my thighs causing them to ache pulled so widely asunder and high above me. Drawing the head of his cock in and out of me, the massage on the prickly folds at the gateway sends shudder after shudder. I keep it all within, I cannot cry and I cannot see and I can hardly move. As he shoots, my cunt clutches his organ and squeezes down hard until this blissful radiance vibrates out of my crotch. His reply—a low murmur of satiation—brings my second wave of joy. Then all the discomfort of my legs eases away as he withdraws and I relax into the sandy surface of the crumbled blanket beneath us.
“Open your eyes,” he says, while tenderly running his fingers over my eyelids. I’m still gagged, though at least now I can see his face, and the azure eyes that stare lovingly into mine.
“I suppose you want me to beat your buttocks and ream your ass,” he says.
I want him to do everything, but I can’t tell him so with my dress stuffed inside my mouth. He tickles my stretched taut underarms. If I could only laugh and twist, but he won’t allow that. I think I’ll begin another orgasm with this treatment, but then he frees my mouth and unties the jute.
As my arms surround his shoulders and my breasts press to his chest, we kiss, remaining silent—sharing the blanket while ocean waves crash somewhere beyond us in the dark.

Out of chaos comes order
out of order—chaos
One will not exist without the other close at hand

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