Here I am, standing in a pitch black space, darkness enveloping me. There is a honey colored wooden chair in the distance before me with a spotlight over it. Where the light comes from, I can't discern. I slowly approach the point where the circle of light hits the floor and the chair stands in its center.
In the chair sits a man, a man I know. He is sitting in the chair with his hands tied behind his back, and, instead of the usual navy Konoha hitai-ite, a black blindfold around his eyes, hiding their endless mystery from me.
His navy blue shirt is shredded to pieces, exposing his bare chest, gleaming in the spotlight. His navy cargo pants are bunched down around his ankles in a crumpled pile over his feet. I can see only his pale thighs and narrow shins. His nearly transparent white boxers delicately clothe his midsection, all but revealing his man parts.
Despite this, his head is not hanging down in shame, as most would in this kind of situation; nor is he sitting with his chin up, expectantly waiting for someone to arrive and rescue him. Instead, he sits facing straight forward, perfectly silent, as if it were the most normal position for him in which to be.
I kneel before him, as a mere mortal would before a solemn god, or a sacred statue. His gaze is fixed past me, as if he sees through the blindfold and is peering beyond the blackness into a distant world transcending myself and him. I look up at him with such reverence and admiration, such lust and desire. I can't help but find his stoicism intriguing. He seems an untouchable being, yet here he is, vulnerably bound to a chair with no way of knowing who I am or what my intentions are.
I reluctantly reach out my hand to touch his thigh, trembling as my fingers are, because I don't want him to recoil in fear. To my pleasant surprise, the tension in his leg instantly relaxes as he lets out the softest of sighs. I resume stroking him gently with my fingertips, and his body shifts slightly in the chair. He says nothing, but his breathing becomes more rhythmic, like the dreamy sound of ocean waves splashing against the cove.
My hands wander closer and closer to the region where I can feel heat radiating from his boxers. The pulse in my fingertips quickens, and I can taste my heartbeat in my throat. I have wanted to do this to him for so long… Now he can not physically stop me from it, although he could say something against it, in which case I would cease immediately.
He sits, still silent, this time cautiously turning his head left and right, as if he were making sure that no one is watching us. I open his boxers and fondle his flaccid member. He shivers in response, but still doesn't say or do nothing indicating that he wants me to stop. So I continued.
Taking his flesh in my hand, I lean toward him and put it in my mouth. A sharp and anxious inhale, a slow and relieved exhale escapes his lips as I orally worship him. I feel him growing as I swirl my tongue around his manhood. He instinctually rocks his hips back and forth and contentedly moans as I hungrily suck his deliciously hardened cock.
My hand falls from where I was caressing his thigh and my fingers find their way inside of my hot, wet, swollen woman parts. The sound of his breath, the movement of his pelvis, the fact that he was bound and succumbing to my administrations, and the fact that he was my sensei all add to my heightened sense of pleasure. It is communion with the divine. I feel as though I have mortalized a god.
