"Put it on."
A flash of black flying through the air, and then, there in my hands, a blind fold. Play time. Mmmm yes, I so love play time.
Lickety split, I covered my eyes, making sure I couldn't peek, turning my head, this way and that, trying to peer beneath the fold of fabric and failing. I wouldn't want to be caught cheating.
"Kneel."
I carefully kneel, my knees pressed painfully into the hardwood, my ankles crossing behind me in an attempt to take the pressure off them. I hate kneeling on the hardwood floor. I growl a little, daring to snarl. He laughs at that and I almost flinch to hear it.
"Put your forehead on the floor."
I gasp and lean forward from the hips, placing my forehead on the floor as ordered.
"Get your ass up."
A moan escapes my lips as my ass rises. I feel my labia open and the air is a cool caress on my hot, wet cunt. I hate this. I want this.
I hear the crop whistling through the air for a moment. This is for my benefit, a signal, so that even while I am blind, I can know what is coming and make ready to take it or stop the game. I'm ready. I hate this. I need this. I bite back the word yes, since I have not been asked to speak.
Silence, and then a rustling. I hear the rough drag of rope as it is pulled from it's coil and straightened. My hair is suddenly in his hands, my head pulled bow tight back. Rope loops around my neck and is then crossed between my breasts, around my waist, a length on either side looped around my wrists, and then around my ankles.
Play time. A very dangerous game. I hate this. I need it. I brace my body and wait.
He stands behind me, ankles touching my ankles, pressing in with them just enough so that I have a sense of being held in position. He blows, hard, so that I feel his warm breath on my pussy and ass.
"Are you wet, pet?"
Of course I'm wet. He can see that. He can surely smell the musk of me, standing as he is, right in front of my spread cunt in all it's glory. I hate this game.
"Yes."
He bends and runs two fingers from my clit up, plunging his fingers in roughly before confirming.
"Yes, you are. How many would you like, pet?"
He means strokes. He means how many times do I want him to bring the crop down on my bare ass and pussy. He means for me to decide my own price
I whimper. I want to know what I'm buying. Sometimes strokes earn me special treats. Sometimes strokes are measures of time. I'm almost afraid to ask, but if I don't, I will name what I am willing to pay without knowing what I'm paying for.
"What will each stroke earn me, and to what end." I risk the question.
"A half second, pet. Each stroke will earn you a half second."
Still no answer as to what end. I wonder how much these questions are costing me, since nothing comes for free in this game.
"To what end?"