A cool breeze drifts across his chest, chilling his skin, but bringing no relief to the fire within. His eyes dart from side to side, a futile attempt to penetrate the gloom in the room. A nervous bead of sweat begins to form on his brow, then slides tantalizingly down his temple and to his ear. He instinctively moves his hand to wipe it away, but instantly the motion is jerked to a stop, leather straps biting into his wrists. Tilting his head to the side he feels the smooth satin sheets gently brush his face. "How long will she make me wait?" he wonders.
She gazes upon his naked form, arms and legs extended to the corners of the bed where her bonds hold firm. Smiling as she sees him try to use his hand, appreciating he has been there long enough to forget he was bound. Desire builds within her as the lines of his stomach rise and fall in the dim light of the room. But this is her game and her rules. He will be desperate before she begins, and mad with lust before he's allowed to finish
Click, clack, click, clack. He jerks his head towards the sound, gaze desperately searching for the object of his desire. He longs to see that porcelain skin set starkly against black leather. Boots blacker than the darkest nights rising high up her calf. Milky white thighs, begging to be tasted. Will they be exposed to him, or wrapped in gossamer thin spider-webbed stockings? He feels himself stiffening at the mere thought.
Two steps towards the bed, but knowing she is out of view, she pauses. A whisper soft chuckle tickles her throat as she grins in the darkness as he tries to see her. What wonderful machinations are running through his head, she ponders. Then her attention is drawn to that which defines him as a man, and her smile widens, as she sees him growing before him. "Good, my pet" she thinks, "already anticipating I see."
She paces deliberately towards the top of the bed, knowing he can't angle his head to see her there, but making certain to tap the spiked heels of her boots against the hardwood floors with each step. Click, clack, click, clack. "She draws nearer, but where is she," he whispers to himself, not wanting to be heard. He longs to see her, to feel her, to taste her, with every fiber of his being. "But it won't be that simple," he knowingly muses. The sound echoes through the quiet room, breaking the near silence that had been only partially filled with his breathing and the rustling of sheets beneath him.
Circling just beyond his sight, she drifts closer to him, wafting the scent of her lilac lotion towards him before disappearing behind the headboard. Inhaling deeply, he greedily draws in every molecule of the wonderful smell cascading through his nostrils. "She is so close", he thinks, unaware of the full effect of her signature scent on him.
Looking down upon him, her gaze drifts past his muscular chest, down his tightened stomach and to his, now fully erect, penis. Bending around the headboard, breath hot in his ear, "Time to play" succulently spills from her lips. Before he can turn to see her face, lightning fast hands press fabric to his eyes plunging him into near blackness.
"Damnit!" he yells, shattering the silence and instantly filling him with regret. Knowingly, he bites his lip, as he will pay for that. No sooner had the thought formed, then he feels the sting biting into his side, her crop cracking through the air and snipping into his flesh. Grunting, he makes no complaint. This was his doing.
"Now, now, my dear. We shall have none of that, unless you wish me to leave you here," she cooed.
Sheepishly he answers, "No mistress, my humblest apologies. Please do with me as you will." The skin of his ribs still stinging, his ears primed again for any sound with sight taken from him, he hears the sound of sharp scraping and a telltale "whoosh".
The matchhead blooms into flame in her hand, and she drops the box of matches to the floor with a clatter. Reaching down to the bedside table, she slides open the drawer and withdraws a well-used blood red candle. Pressing tip to wick the flame dances to its new home, reflecting in her intense hazel eyes. Blowing softly, she extinguishes the match, smoke twirling off its end.
With the smell of expired sulfur wafting past him, his nose confirms what his ears suspected. "If she lit a match," he thinks, "then maybe she has lit..." Suddenly, hot, searing pain shoots up from the gentle droplets pinging upon his stomach. Sharp, searing sensations ripple through his stomach as he feels the wax fall to his chilled skin. As more drops land, the pain riots through his abdomen, while simultaneously sparking his desire to another level. "Now I know why she left the window open..." he muses. Muscles rippling against the intensity of the pain flashing pleasure through him, the splatter of the next waterfall of wax resounds with an audible splatter as the next barrage cascades upon his bare skin.
Leaning forward, her small but heaving breasts strain against her corset, threatening to burst free. "Oh, if you could see, my pet..." she thinks, amused, as her hand tilts. Flame brightening with the greater exposure of the wick, the next red stream pours down upon his upper pelvis. As the next wave of rapturous agony rips through his groin, involuntary jerking his hips forward. Against his ankles, the leather strains, but holds firm, squeaking against the sweat now coating his legs.
"Hmm... too hot my pet?" She rhetorically asks, seeing the sweat now glistening upon his taught, toned thighs. She hungrily leans forward, wanting to run her tongue across his bear skin, tasting the salty goodness, but she checks herself. Instead she inverts the candle above his pecs, splashing wax across his chest.
Skin on fire and the breeze that once chilled him offering no release, he revels in the perfect discomfort, feeling himself harden more than he felt possible. But, as the minutes elongate before him, he realizes he missed something. A sound, in the darkness. Something like a tinging against hollow metal, perhaps.
Cursing slightly under her breath, she steadies her hand, muting any sound their contents breached. Perfectly motionless, her willowy frame silhouetted against the light of the window, she fixes her gaze upon his face. His firmly set jaw clenched against what she has inflicted, she feels confident her surprise has not been discovered. Slowly extending her arms forward, hovering just above the head of his manhood, she rotates her wrists smoothly downward. He feels something almost brushing against him, but what is it? And what is that sou... Completing her motion the bowl empties its contents, cubes of ice pouring forth onto his groin.
Riotous frigidity rockets through him faster than electricity. The sudden freezing cold spreading across his balls, encompassing him, ricocheting through his entire body. Despite his best attempts, he can't hold back the yelp that escapes his lips. All it is met with is the soft, satisfied chuckle of his mistress as she simply watches, bemused.
Setting the bowl on the floor, the metallic sound ringing in the silence, she watches as every fibrous muscle in his well sculpted body tightens against the wintry blast deposited on his groin. She gently stirs the pile of ice to avoid any chance of frostbite to his now constricted scrotum. His still solid shaft ascends from the icy mound like a mountainous peak breaking through the clouds. She could provide him some measure of relief now, but where would be the fun be in that. Instead, she watches him writhe in pleasurable agony until the ice begins to melt.
With the slight thawing between his legs, the severity of the chill begins to lessen for him, but the stark cold still sharpens his desire to a spectacular clarity. Even without the blindfold, all his eyes would see is the pulsing hunger emanating from within. So fixated between his tepid nethers and burning lust, he almost didn't notice the subtle change in pressure on the bed, first to the left or his waist, and then the right.
