I swallow past my nerves. A deep breath, my stomach expanding, pressing against my thighs. I move a little, spreading my knees, my thighs, wider. The new angle taking the pressure off my hips, letting the natural arch of my lower back exaggerate. Under my fingertips and palms I feel the swell of my arse as my muscles flex and shift. Everything, everything feels so suddenly alive. And focused. As if my body lays beneath a magnifier, amplifying sensations.
Mostly of heat. A full, pulsing wet heat of arousal. And an ache, an ache at my very core. A want. A want to lose myself in the act of being used. To lose myself period. To forget. And you have me drowning, waves of want and apprehension dousing my brain in equal measure until I feel I can't breathe. My focus grasping for something, anything to hold. And it is the leather at my wrists that I find.
It was made, not to bind tightly, but to wind seductively. So around my wrists, as tight as you have tied them, the straps are hard and unforgiving. Their hard edge feels sharp against my skin. Just sharp enough for me to notice, for me to grab a hold of. I take a deep breath tethered to the sensation and try to still the war of stimulus, of my nerves.
Pausing your own pursuit of pleasure, you watch as I attempt to relax. As I attempt to right myself in this moment. And then you tease. A flick of your wrist and the ends of two thin strips of leather strike the roundest part of my arse. I hiss, the heat of the contact sharp, a direct contrast to the heat of my want which is full and pervasive. Your wrist flicks again, and you watch me jump. You don't want me comfortable. Not yet. So you pause on your original intention and you tease, stoking already roaring flames until I am almost sobbing with a want for... release. Relief.
My skin, my clit, my cunt... my thoughts. Gods I don't want to think right now. The straps bite again and I am thankful for the distraction. Everything is so full I feel each piece of me is bursting. Waiting for you, for your cock, for your control.
I wait.
And you wait.
And wait.
Until all I have left is to beg. My voice broken, hesitant, a release of a gasp.
"Please."
A whisper. A plea.
I hear you tutt behind me. And I realise that I have broken the first rule. Your hand smooths over my arse, before you spank me. The sharp retort of your palm on my flesh causing me to jump. Your fingers gripping at the flesh of my arse firm enough to bruise, and then you spank me again.
Pausing as you think. You can feel your cock throb with an unfulfilled promise, yet you smile as you tuck your length away back behind your zipper. Your mind already on other things, most notably how beautifully my skin marks under your attention.
Your fingers trace over the raised welts from the strap across my arse. The finger marks from your hand. You can feel the heat in my skin from the leather and your palm. I tremble as the tip of your tongue licks over one and then another. Until the cool of air on wet skin leaves me with goosebumps.
You are tutting again when I feel the chill of the glass plug slide through the lubrication on my skin before the length of it is thrust inside me. My groan at the penetration becomes a gasp as you spank me again before your hand moved to undo the lace that remains around one of my ankles. The leather falling away from me with your practiced fingers. And then you are helping me to my feet. The change in speed is disorientating. The sudden rush of blood from my head, the need for coordination, the loss of context.
I focus on the carpet on my bare feet. It follows me as you lead me deeper into the house, until we are moving down darkened stairs of bare stone. The heat of pleasure dissipating, my apprehension growing with each step. And then I am at the bottom, looking around me.
The room is large. The farthest corners lost in shadow. The plush feel of carpet is here as well, however down here is it rugs, thrown haphazardly across bare flagstones. The lighting is soft, smoothing the sharp edges of shadows. If it was not for the wooden pommel horse and the manacles hanging strategically from the walls, one could confuse it with an unfurnished games room, as opposed to the games room it was.
The decor of earth and leather and bare metal smells of old musk and saddlery. I am hesitant, my forearms flexing against the straps that still bind my wrists at the small of my back. I look to you first before moving deeper into the room. Curious and nervous. Behind me, I hear you on the stairs, moving back up to the distant rectangle of light before you are closing the door. An unnatural, subterranean quiet falling around me, punctuated by the sound of your footsteps back down to where I stand.
I feel myself swallow. My eyes tracing dark fabric laid over the large table off to the left, draping the smaller tables along the wall, the stout metal frames that decorate the bare brick between chains. The chains are everywhere, a delicate web of organised pulleys. I follow their lines as you move around the room, removing covers until everything glints with a shined metal finish.
Clamps.
Collars.
Cuffs.
Crops...
I have seen some of these things before. The tools you used on our first night of meeting. The pretty redhead moaning beneath them. How I had wanted it to be me. And now?
I still want it to be me.
I bite my bottom lip as I watch your hands caress your toys. Your fingertips touching each as a lover, watching for my reaction. My nostrils flare as you touch items familiar to me. The ones burned into my memory. They flare and you nod, a half smile, almost predatory.
"Turn around."
Your voice is soft. Quiet in this too quiet room. My chin dips as I do so. Flexing my arms again when your fingertips start to tug at the leather straps. Your fingers quick, first loosening and then removing the ties completely. The strength in your hands rubbing at the deep red lines before you are easing my dress from my shoulders. One shoulder at a time. Letting it fall. The dress clings, held for a moment by hard nipples before the weight of the fabric peels it from me and I stand naked in the soft light. My feet ringed by cloth.
The chill of the room and my body is primed with arousal and cold. My skin dusted with goosebumps. I am silent as you look and then as you touch. Fondling me gently before pinching at my nipples. First one and then the other at irregular intervals. I don't make a sound until you catch both at the same time, pinching harder than before, tugging them out from my chest in a deliberately slow movement. My breath catching around a gasp when you release them only to do it again. Over and over. Until they are warm and throbbing.
Until my arousal wets the top of my thighs. Your finger tracing through the cream that drips from my cunt so you can bring the taste of me to your mouth. I blush as I watch you, my flavour on your tongue. I can smell it, my arousal heavy in the closed room. It is earthy and sweet. I wonder what I taste like, if it is the same.
I am still blushing as you select a pair of cuffs. They are made from a thick heavy leather, a silver chain shining softly between them. My breath is shallow as I watch you cover the fading red lines on my wrists with your newest choice of restraint. The buckles tightening until they are snug, firm against my skin. The length of the chain lets my hands hang tethered across the flat of my stomach, almost the width of my hips. I flex my hands, balling them into fists, wondering at why I feel more vulnerable in chains, than with my hands bound behind my back.
Perhaps it is the room.
Perhaps it is you.
You are so certain. So sure. You know where everything is. And you move about the room as though you are staging a play. Chains, and pulleys and a rug pulled to the center of the room. You have me stand upon it as you find a hook in shadows high against the ceiling. It makes the sound of a chain pulley as you pull it down to meet us, hooking my wrists before easing my hands above my head.
