Connie shudders less violently this time, whimpering happily as the final sparks of her intense climax smolder deep within her. Lost in the darkness of the blindfold, she is vaguely aware of Aaron crawling up her body, then tastes herself as he kisses her deeply. Instinctively, she tries to wrap her arms around him, but is thwarted once again by the chains connecting her wrist cuffs to the posts of the headboard. She does, however, have free movement of her legs - at least for now - so she tightly wraps her thighs around him instead.
Eventually, the kiss - and the gentle fondling of her chest - ends, somewhat to Connie's disappointment. Aaron extricates himself from the grip of her thighs and removes the blindfold. Even the bedroom's dim candlelight at first seems extremely bright to her, especially as her partner slips off the bed and out of her field of vision, allowing the full light of the candles scattered around the bedroom to shine upon her. One of the candles heats an oil diffuser on a nearby dresser, so as her eyes slowly adjust to the "bright" light, she breathes deeply, enjoying the sweet scent of oranges from the heated oil yet fully aware of her own musky scent in the air.
Her eyes finally adjusted to the lighting, the young submissive slowly looks around the bedroom, but her companion is nowhere to be seen. Being left alone while bound is not unusual, and typically means that Aaron is preparing the next part of an evening's play session. So she relaxes, listening to the soft hum of the furnace, savoring the feel of the comforter underneath her bare body, gently tugging at her bonds to test how little slack she has been granted. As the wetness trickling from deep within cools upon her skin, she rubs her thighs together, warming the sweet fluid and wishing his tongue was still licking within her feminine folds.
Wondering how much time has passed, Connie looks toward the clock - but it has been purposely turned to face away from her. Her watch is atop one of the dressers, but it is too far away to read the time. Since time obviously has no meaning when one cannot judge the rate of its passing, the young woman closes her eyes once more, focuses her concentration, and begins to count her own heartbeats.
Five hundred forty-seven heartbeats later, she loses count. Opening her eyes again, she notices that the candles have all burned a little lower. She considers calling out for her partner, but then realizes that this is likely a test, or perhaps a lesson, in her gradual development in the realm of bondage play.
Feeling the muscles of her arms starting to ache with stiffness, she struggles - feebly, but it is fortunately enough to provide some relief, especially to her shoulders. Even without knowing how much time has really passed, she is certain that she has never before been left alone in bondage for quite so long. That realization creates a minor sense of fear, but she is able to ward off the desire to struggle in earnest and call for the dominant. Struggling would be natural, she reasons - a logical result of the "fight or flight" instinct - but would perhaps be a sign of disrespect for the loving dominant. Calling for him, however, would be a personal defeat, a painful demonstration that she is not mentally strong and perhaps not worthy of being his submissive.
So Connie closes her eyes once more and permits her mind to wander. Almost immediately, a picture forms in her mind. She imagines Aaron returning, fully nude, his cock long and hard as it bobs like a symphonic conductor's wand with every step. As the images of his climbing upon the bed and mounting her play out in her mind's eye, she can practically feel his fleshy sword sheath itself within her. Her soft sigh is loud in her own ears as she imagines his hands at either side of her head, his face above hers, their eyes permanently locked together as he makes love to her, slowly, respectfully, romantically. Her legs instinctively wrap around his imagined body, her hips counterthrusting in accordance with the images in her mind, her breathing and heartbeat both slowly quickening in sympathetic response.
Opening her eyes at last, she wills her body still once again. Simply thinking about being wonderfully filled has caused her wetness to increase and trickle from her once more, which is slightly embarrassing for her. She quickly looks around the bedroom, hoping that he has not returned to watch the imagined primal dance, but again finds herself completely alone. With a sigh of both relief and disappointment, she closes her eyes and struggles again in her bonds, this time with a little more passion, trying to work the renewed stiffness out of her muscles.
Connie screams with surprise, her eyes snapping open rapidly from being struck across the chest. Aaron has silently entered the bedroom, and now holds a long-tailed whip while wearing nothing but a mischievous smile. Reaching over to the nightstand, he retrieves the blindfold and reapplies it to the beautiful submissive despite her protests.
Another strike across the chest silences the willing captive. Several more less-than-gentle strikes befall her, and soon have her struggling a little before the whipping ends... for the moment. Listening attentively, the restrained beauty "follows" the dominant with her ears. Hearing the rattling of chains, she is almost certain that her legs will soon be restricted, and soon they are as ankle cuffs are applied and attached with chains to the posts at the foot of the bed.
Cautiously, Connie tests the new restraints, finding that they hold her quite securely with rather little slack. Certain that Aaron is standing back and watching her, she struggles a little more, mindful of the "show" she is presenting for him and hoping that it will dissuade him from using the whip upon her again. As she strains against her bonds, she feels her wetness growing, both from her own efforts and from the eyes caressing her.
Yet another startled scream escapes Connie's lips as the whip is brought down fiercely between her legs, reinvigorating her struggles. After a short pause, however, the whip descends gently and repeatedly, treating her to a soft, rhythmic, erotic whipping. Soon, instead of struggling in her bonds, she writhes in her bonds; instead of screams escaping her lips, soft moans escape her lips; instead of dreading each fall of the whip, she welcomes each fall of the whip. The submissive's hips lewdly thrust upward toward the whip, perfectly matching the solid rhythm the dominant has set. Each strike of the whip splatters the sweet fluids flowing from her, but she no longer cares.
As the sensual flogging continues, the submissive's body essentially severs all connections with her conscious mind, causing her to experience the entire scene as if she is having an out-of-body experience. The passion sparking within her, the feel and sound of the soft strikes of the whip, the sound of the chains limiting her movements, the feel of the soft comforter beneath her, the well-worn leather surrounding her ankles and wrists, the splattering of her natural lubrication, the scent of the heated oil, the sound of her own moans and heavy breathing, the quickening pace of her heartbeat, the scent of her own sexuality - everything she hears and feels seems disjointed, disconnected, distant yet internalized, even though she subconsciously knows that they are each an integral facet of her current experience. Yet she is very consciously aware that the release she desperately seeks simply will not come as long as she is pleasantly teased at this level. She yearns for more to achieve another wonderful climax.
She asks for it.
She is ignored; the erotic whipping continues at the same pace.
