Black six-inch spike heels. Black silk thigh highs. Black crotch less panties. Black garter belt. Black leather corset. Riding crop.
You enter the room and see me dressed as I am. Intimidating. Dominant. I bid you strip every stitch of clothing from your body, and abruptly leave you to your privacy. After but moments I reenter the room, knowing you’re devoid of any coverings. As I have left none in the room for you to find.
I approach you and without a single word tie each of your hands in turn, to a length of silken rope on opposing walls. I circle you, dragging the riding crop along your tender flesh.
After several circles I move from you, putting a finger to lips, stopping the question I know is there. “NO talking. None.” I strut over to an armchair and sitting, I cross my legs slowly and merely gaze at you. Knowingly making you uncomfortable.
Watching you squirm, I uncross and re-cross my legs. You wet your lips and I smile a knowing smile. I tap the riding crop against my thigh and look to be contemplating your fate for the night.
I uncross my legs and spread them, leaning my elbows on my knees. Your eyes are fixed to my sweet spot. I know, as this was my intention. I smile wickedly at you and watch as your eyes grow wide, your lips part and your flaccid member become rigid.
I move back in the chair and prop my legs on either arm. Giving you quite the view. I take the riding crop in hand and draw it up and down my thighs, slowly, drawing your eyes along with it.
Your breathing, and mine, quicken. I draw the crop up one thigh and up my mound to my stomach. Whap, I slap the crop lightly against my mound. Whap, again. Whap. With each slap to my mound you jerk. I know you like it.
Whap, whap, whap, in quick succession. I can see you straining at the binds. I close my eyes and lick my blood red lips. I rub the handle of my crop along my cleft. You know what’s next. Slowly I circle my clit with the handle of my crop. Now you’re getting antsy. I give you a crooked smile and rim my moist opening.
You stare as inch by inch slowly disappears inside me, until the six inches of braided leather handle are gone. Painfully, for you, I slide it in and out. Your hips moving with every stroke.
You’re panting now. I remove the crop from my moistness and can see your disappointment. It’s written all over your face. I slowly lower my feet to the floor, rise and approach you. “You didn’t utter a sound. Good boy.”
Slowly I smooth the crop up and down your chest, circling your nipples. I look into your eyes and flick my eyebrows up quickly. Looking down at my work I slide the crop slowly down the center line of your chest, until it’s just barely touching the very tip of your straining manhood.
Breaking contact, I move the crop lower. I bring the head of the crop up first one thigh and then the other. Making you squirm. Smiling to myself, I bring it up under your balls. Lifting first one and then the other, then letting them drop.
You groan, as quietly as you can. Breaking contact, I look up and smile, “make all the noise you want lover boy, but no words. The more noise the better.” I wink and you close your eyes, groaning loudly.
Gazing back down, I stroke the crop up and down the length of you. You match each stroke of the crop until I pull it away. With a grunt of disapproval, I giggle and move around behind you.
You crane your neck awkwardly trying to see what I’m up to back here. Whap. (That’s what.) I push a finger against your chin until you face front again. Whap, whap, whap. I caress the area gently before moving onto the other cheek.