His tongue was on my clit. Again and again the warm, wet roughness of it flicked across that button of flesh, making me rise higher and higher into a familiar plane of excitement. I was moaning and groaning with a pleasure that began to feel like an aching agony of wanting to cum. Ron knew how to make me cum. He knew me like a book he'd written himself. He could make me cum fast or slow, tease me for a half an hour or make me shudder with an orgasm within minutes, however he chose. Every sound I made, every movement of my body as I tensed or relaxed, told him how close I was to cuming. nnHe loves hearing me scream in the catharsis of my orgasm, but he didn't really need me to tell him I was getting close. Very close. I could feel the blood surging in my cunt, hot and throbbing. I couldn't ignore how swollen and hard my clit felt as he ran his tongue over it again and again. My heart was racing and I wanted to grind my pelvis into his face to push myself over the brink into release. nnSuddenly though, with a shock to my system, Ron stopped. Stopped cold. I sank back and tried to catch my breath, tried to calm the racing in my mind, the confusion of the moment, sensations at cross purposes.nnLet me explain. Ron has been my lover for almost six months now and I am still constantly enthralled with the man. We enjoy pushing our boundaries sexually and are always trying something new to surprise and delight one another. Trust is so complete between us that we are accustomed to saying "Yes" to almost any suggestion. nn"Can I tie you up?