My eyelids flutter uselessly behind the blindfold. But even without my sight, I know who is there. You are across from me, your silken black curls tangled over your perky breasts. Our hands are both tied well over our heads, taut, but not enough that we are straining. We smiled secretly at each other as the men tied us up. Belly to belly, breast to breast, we await their attention. As they circle us, each pocket in their cargo pants holding a new sensation, a different pain, and a deeper delight.
But the play between us will be as intense as anything they do to us. For with every touch they give us we will push together, a melding of our pain into the mutual pleasure of each other’s bodies. I feel your hardened nipples brush across my soft breasts, in tandem with your audible exhalation of breath. I wonder what was just done to you, but I do not wonder for long, because soon I feel the pinpricks rolling across my skin and dance under the neural-stimulation wheel myself.
Our legs brush, which is inevitable the way we are tied together. We were so helpful in this process, making sure we were going to be brushing against each other with every movement, knowing that would only heighten the pleasure. Now I almost wonder what we got ourselves into. The pin pricks tickle down my legs and I try to dance away from it, but I am brought up short by soft silky rope and the slight weight of you. I am full up against you now; I feel every inch of your body, from the softness of your breasts to the tickle of your inky pubic hair, pressed up against my close-shaved mound. Our silken legs meld together. I revel in the light womanly scent of you and breath deeply of it. I regain my balance slowly, liking the feel of you against me.
Afterward, as our bodies come apart, I feel a sharp sting against my nipples, and you echoing my soft squeal. The stinging flutters from breast to breast, sharp stings in a fan like shape. Our nipples become even tighter under their attention, blood-engorged rosebuds of sensation. We continue to make soft noises as the wheel continues to play over both of our bodies. Our breathing is becoming erratic, little sounds erupting without thought.
I wonder how I look to you. You asked to watch, rather than be blindfolded; now I envy you that demand, for I want to watch you. But the crowd surrounding us in the small loft frightened me, so I hid behind my blindfold. I can imagine what we look like to them though, my soft pale golden body, tied up so close to yours. Long tumbling auburn hair pulled into a messy knot so that they have free access to my back. Tied up so close to your black and white starkness. Your hair tickles across my chest again, because you just brushed your hair forward over your breasts, an inky cascade of impudence.
The stinging goes away from my breasts, but I hear your sharp inhalation. The wheel has stopped as well, and I feel fingernails scratching in one long stroke from ankle all the way to my wrist; I moan and lean into the hand, making the scratch just that much harder. A low rumble, like a purr, emanates from my throat. It ends on a sharp inhale as I feel a zillion little stings between my thighs, tapping from side to side, rapidly raising a whip-fire blush on my tender skin. The fingernails raise another four stripes of pleasure up my other side. I writhe, brushing up against you until the sensation fades, and then I rock back on my feet to take the weight off of my wrists and the hands on their braces. I can almost feel them as they turn their attention to you.
