She was dreaming again. She knew because she'd never be willingly manacled in some dungeon-like room, left in the dark. She knew because she'd never willingly stand naked, awaiting some man's pleasure. She'd had this dream before, many times.
She wasn't sure who he was. He came cloaked in shadow and shrouded in mystery. She didn't recognize that soft, deep voice that rubbed like velvet up and down her spine. She didn't recognize those hands that slid like silk lovingly across her naked flesh. She didn't recognize the submissiveness in herself, this shadow-side that only came out in her deepest, darkest fantasies.
She moaned aloud. The soft sound echoed throughout the blackness. She couldn't see, strained to hear. Would he come for her soon, or would he leave her to hang by herself? She was stretched to her full height, arms overhead, braced on her tip-toes. The floor was rough and cold beneath her feet. There was a slight, cool breeze that played across soft flesh. She shivered, and, at least in her mind, she could admit that she wasn't sure whether it was the air, or anticipation.
She'd never known a more attentive lover than this dream. He seduced her with caresses, with her own helplessness. It seemed that was part of the attraction, wasn't it, the inability to protest, to move away. After all, how could one resist giving into those dark desires if the choice was taken away?
Ah, there, footsteps, she was certain. She froze, straining to hear. They came inexorably closer, softly breathing across the rough-hewn floor. She remained motionless. A caress of breath came, across the delicate flesh of her nape, stirring the hairs to life. She shivered. A warm, velvet tongue stroked behind one ear. She gasped. A sultry voice purred in her ear. "I've missed you, my sweet."
She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. It was the same every time, and her body grew warm with anticipation, her sex growing moist with response. Even as she tried to see behind her, a silken blindfold shrouded her eyes. "Just in case," he murmured. Another scrap of silk was caressed over smooth shoulders, eliciting a sigh. She gave herself up to sensation. It was pointless to fight a dream, wasn't it?
The silk brushed lower, over full breasts. She could feel her nipples tighten, seeming to reach out for the elusive cloth. The silk dipped even lower, draping over the slight mound of her abdomen, ends trailing along her thighs and, when she twitched, between her legs. She pushed her body forward, trying to catch the cloth, to draw it along her body, but it was pulled abruptly back. She let out a sob at the loss,
A moment later, she could feel the silk caressing her back, spanning her hips, down her buttocks, through her legs, only to begin again when she began to whimper. It seemed this play went on for hours, yet she knew better than to demand more. The first time she'd tried, she was left dangling there in her prison for hours before she awoke, aching with need.
She was on the verge of crying out, begging, when velvet lips began to trace the silk's path, warm caresses in the wake of cold. The sensations ran rampant through her, the contrast a shock to her system. She whimpered again, and she could feel his chuckle against her skin. Warm tongue darted out to taste her, teasingly caressing one nipple, only to draw away again. This time she did cry out, torn between drawing away and pushing toward those maddening touches.
Her body was on fire by the time his hands began trailing across her flesh, seeking, massaging, toying with her. As his mouth worked across her breasts, his hands moved lower, massaging her lower back, digging into her hips, slipping between the cleft of her rear until she was squirming with need, with desire. A voice called out in myriad tones of "please," and it was her own. She pushed against those hands, so warm, as one reached to touch her inner thighs. She was moving against her chains, head tipped back. She could feel the liquid of her desire beginning to drip down the insides of her legs. His hand teased her, pushing slightly inside of her, but not nearly enough. She strained her arms, trying frantically to impale herself on him. Those deft fingers retreated, and she whimpered at the loss.
She couldn't hear him, couldn't feel him. She had no idea where his hands, his breath, his mouth would be next, and it was a delicious kind of expectation. She felt his lips moving across her belly, and she gasped. His tongue darted out to toy with her belly button, pushing in and out with a seductive rhythm. She was so hot, and she couldn't breathe for wanting. The room itself seemed an inferno, with the devil himself playing merciless games with her needy flesh. His tongue dipped lower, sliding seductively across the indent of her hip, then slowly – oh, so slowly – drawing inward to caress her inner thighs. His breath ran across her until she was shaking with more need than she'd ever known. She could feel that tongue dancing snake-like across sensitive skin, probing her swollen folds. She almost screamed when he finally flicked the tip across her clit before sliding down her cleft.
She spread her legs as wide as she was able, pushing against him. He was driving her mad with his undulating tongue. Teeth were drawn across her receptive flesh, and she did scream, then, a breathless yell. Teeth tugged, pulled, while velvety lips surrounded her nub, drawing it into his mouth in a smooth, sucking motion. She was moaning, hoarse sounds she didn't even recognize. He pulled away too soon, much too soon. She sobbed and writhed, searching.
