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."
