Author's Note: This is the second and concluding part of a series on light domination. It features bondage, control and lesbian d/s, but no pain or humiliation. If the themes featured in this story don't offend you, read on and enjoy.
It would be nice if you read the first part for context, but in case you are in a hurry and are champing at the bit, here is an executive summary of the action so far:
Abigail is haunted by erotic dreams of submission and bondage. She follows her destiny to the Blindfold, an establishment that caters to more extreme sexual tastes. There she meets the owner, Alex, and ends the night in his arms. That night, she begins to learn her true sexual self, a self that she had suspected but never truly understood. In this part, her journey of sensual discovery continues.
*****
I leaned forward with my palms against the wall as the warm water from the shower drummed against my back and then flowed over the curves of my bottom and down my legs. It has been three months since that night when I met Alex at the Blindfold, a night which ended in his apartment, my naked body twitching and jerking in his arms as he claimed my eager flesh. He travels during the week to other cities on the West Coast where the Blindfold has grown into a lucrative franchise, but every weekend he returns home. And every weekend since that first encounter, I have been waiting.
It has become something of a ritual. Every Friday evening, I would rush from work to his apartment, let myself in with the spare key that he had given me and prepare to receive him. I would strip out of my work clothes and run myself a warm bath. I would wallow in the scented water like a seal, scrubbing every inch of my body, washing every nook and cranny until my skin was in serious risk of wrinkling. I wanted to be squeaky clean for him, sweet smelling and sweet tasting. I wanted him to eat me alive. I wanted him to want to eat me alive.
That first night, he had fucked me senseless, his throbbing flesh plunging in and out of my tormented pussy after I had exploded in his mouth, drenching his lips in my juices. After we were both replete, our bodies briefly sated, he had wrapped me in his arms and gently rocked me to sleep. I hadn't slept so peacefully in weeks. The dreams that had haunted my nights had been exorcized. My body – so exquisitely taken ... so deliciously fucked – was finally at peace.
I had woken up to sunlight streaming in through the huge plate glass windows and to the warmth of his eyes upon me. There was a tenderness in them which made my heart lurch. It was only then that I realized how relieved I was. Just before I had drifted off to sleep, my mind, which had been floating happily on a cloud of orgasmic bliss, had been touched by a nagging doubt. Would he, I wondered, be as happy to see me in the morning as he had been, during the night, to play with my eager pliant body? My doubts had evaporated in the sunshine of his smile.
I nuzzled his neck with my lips, happier than I ever remembered being. As I stretched my body languorously, purring like a kitten that was so gorged on cream that her whiskers were painted white, he slapped my bottom playfully to coax me out of bed. I pouted in mock protest before clambering out.
Later that morning, as we showered together, he had gently rinsed the sweat of our mutual passion off my body with his soapy hands. I had been incredibly aroused – by the sight of his naked flesh and by his hands drifting lightly over my skin. But he had denied me any respite. His lips did not touch mine, which were dry with longing despite my tongue snaking out again and again to lick them wet. He had not allowed me to touch him, quietly intercepting my restless hands as they reached for his body.
After he had washed the detritus of our lovemaking off my flesh, he gently lowered me into the marble bathtub, with my neck resting on a soft towel that he had flung over one end and my legs wide apart, the insides of my knees hooked over the sides of the tub. He didn't answer the question in my eyes, but smiled at me reassuringly as he knelt between my parted thighs.
I flinched at the feel of the cold metal against my soft flesh as he began to carefully clip the soft curls of my pubes with a pair of scissors. Delicate clouds of golden hair clung to the silvery surface of the scissors like spun silk before floating down lazily to softly carpet the gleaming marble surface of the bathtub. I found what he was doing unbearably arousing. I felt like a favorite slave being "served" by her master on an indulgent whim, the master kneeling between her legs in an ironic and no doubt passing act of submission.
As he ran the water briefly, the soft curls on the floor of the bathtub exploded into a whirlpool of gold before disappearing. His fingers returned to my mound, wet with foam. As he began to gently work the foam into my skin, my pussy began to froth, the fire in my loins stoked ever higher by that delicate touch. If his fingers were exquisite torture, the soft swipe of the naked blade on my skin was worse.
His fingers delicately stretched each tiny swathe of skin before caressing it with the finely honed metal, stripping it of its golden fur, leaving me more naked than I had ever been. I could barely cope with the flood of sensation – with the delicious proximity of that naked blade to my vulnerable flesh; the frisson of fear that made me shudder delicately as the metal roamed over my sensitive skin; the unbearable intimacy of being completely denuded and the vision of my pussy, swollen, open, defenseless, glistening with the liquid gathered between my lips.
It was all I could do to stay still. My body was taut as a bowstring, my head thrown back, my neck impossibly stretched, the muscles of my thighs standing out like cords, my hands gripping the marble edge of the bathtub so hard that the knuckles showed white. He paused in his task to whisper, his voice tight with concern, "Be still, my pet. I don't want to hurt you."
Easy for you to say, I thought. But I struggled to quiet my aching body as the blade continued to slide smoothly, delicately over my skin. When he was done, he set the razor aside and began to work a generous dollop of moisturizer into my flesh. The cream felt soothing, but also unbearably arousing. I had never gone bare before, so the sensations that coursed through my loins took me completely by surprise. I could have never imagined in my wildest dreams that my pussy would become so much more sensitive when stripped bare. As my hips jerked helplessly under his teasing fingers, there was a knowing smile on his lips and a new hunger in his eyes, which made me shiver with anticipation.
"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered, his eyes riveted to my cunt, "so smooth, so innocent – like some exotic flower."
"Take it," I groaned, my body now shuddering with desire, "Take me."
He didn't. He scooped me up and carried me to his bed, lowering me softly on the sheets. He just looked at me for a long time, his eyes bursting with tenderness and a hunger so intense that it scorched my skin. How can he want me so badly, I wondered, and yet show such restraint? But he did. He teased me mercilessly, taking me to the brink again and again before easing me back from the edge, until I was babbling incoherently, pleading ... begging for release.
"Why do you tease me so?" I whimpered, brokenly.
"Because that is what you really want," he replied, "and because I love to hear you moan my name."
That is when he had decided to break for lunch. I don't remember what I ate or whether I ate anything at all. He had worked his way slowly, methodically through his meal, occasionally smiling at me as he sipped his wine, as though there were nothing out of the ordinary in what we were doing. Or maybe for him, a naked woman squirming opposite him at his dining table, her pussy bubbling with need, her thighs soaked with her juices, her eyes pleading for release wasn't out of the ordinary. I fidgeted my way through what was the longest meal of my life with all the patience I could muster in the hope that surely, in the afterglow of lunch, he would be more merciful than he had been all morning.
By the time we dressed for dinner, that hope had evaporated. My pussy was so sensitive from constant relentless stimulation that I could barely endure the feel of my silk panties against my wet folds and my throbbing clit. The moment I pulled the fabric against my swollen flesh, it darkened, soaked through with my juices. I slipped on the maroon cocktail dress, which he had produced miraculously from his wardrobe and accompanied him to the swank downtown restaurant where he had made reservations.
To all appearances, he was the perfect gentleman - attentive, thoughtful, considerate. I was a seething mass of jelly poised just this side of an orgasm which, I was sure, when it came ... if it came, would never end. My eyes would not focus on the menu and my fingers were trembling around the stem of my wineglass. He didn't make it any easier. He seemed faintly amused by my obvious discomfort and leaned forward occasionally to cover my hand softly with his or brush my knee with his fingertips. Each touch was like a bolt of electricity that made me shake. He smiled into my pleading eyes.
On the way back home in his limousine, he had gently gathered me into his arms, planting soft kisses on the top of my head as my body was racked with the tremors of a need that had long escaped my control. His hand had slid up my damp thigh and softly cupped my wet panty covered mound. No words were necessary. My blind desperate hunger for him was obvious to both of us. I buried my face in his neck as my thighs clenched, opening and closing around the hand buried in my crotch. Just before we pulled up beneath his building, he withdrew his hand and gently wrapped his fingers – damp, almost dripping – around my throat.
He tilted my face up and just gazed into my eyes for a long moment. The scent of my arousal was driving me insane. My lips parted in a soft moan as his head dipped down.
"You are so wet, baby ... so hungry," he whispered against my lips. The soft flutter of his breath against my mouth was infinitely more intimate than a kiss and I shuddered.
My legs felt wobbly as I walked through the lobby towards the elevator. He supported me with an arm around my waist. I blushed as I walked past the footman, acutely conscious of my throat glistening with the evidence of my need. As I felt his eyes upon me, I guessed that he for one had no doubt that when that elevator ends its journey, I was going to be fucked. I only wished I could be as sure. He continued to hold me in the elevator and during the short walk to the door of his apartment. Once he had the door open, he scooped me up and carried me to his bedroom.
I don't remember when I lost the dress, when my cum soaked panties were peeled off my flesh, when I was finally naked and spread-eagled on the bed. My memories of what ensued have been blotted out by the orgasm that followed which when it came was so explosive that it felt like the death of a star. By the time he let me cum, I had lost my voice. My throat was bursting from the moans, the strangled cries, the silent pleas that were trapped in it. My hunger was leaking out of my body as tears from the corners of my eyes. He held me in the soft circle of his arms as I exploded, drinking in my silent scream with his lips. He was right ... This was what I wanted – a wait that seemed endless and then a release like the birth of a new world.
That night set the pattern for the nights that followed. He would arrive on a Friday evening and wrap my waiting body in his arms. He would then torment my flesh for two days until I would despair of ever cumming and my eyes, frantic with need, would be glued to the face of the clock ticking with terrifying inevitability the minutes before he would have to leave to catch his flight out of town. Just before my anxiety turned to mind numbing panic, he would finish me and set my body finally, gloriously free.
He would then plunder me again and again, wrenching orgasm after orgasm from my hapless flesh. He would dress quietly, efficiently as he gazed down on my body on the bed twitching and jerking in the aftermath of my release, my limbs seemingly turned into liquid from pleasure that I could barely absorb. He would brush back my blonde locks and plant a soft kiss on my sweat stained forehead before letting himself out. And I would be left with that soft imprint and the memories of being utterly mercilessly ravaged ... until the passing of another week when it would begin again.
