Orla's face was pressed deep into the silk covered mattress as the sound of her labored breaths filled the small room. She knew that struggling was futile but, that didn't stop her from tugging at the cable ties that encircled her wrists and ankles. The sensation of being watched tickled at the back of her neck and sent a jolt of excitement through her core. Warm, calloused hands traced their way up her spine to the base of her head, Orla almost purred before one of the hands coiled itself in her tangle of auburn hair, lightly manipulating her head to turn to the side.
"Are you pleased there little love?" Came the gentle voice of the man above her as his free hand roamed the naked expanse of her back.
She made a small noise of affirmation which made the man's grip tighten on her scalp,
"That is not an answer pet, are you pleased to be tied to my bed? So exposed and vulnerable under my gaze, under my touch. Does it make you feel good? Does it make you feel seen?"
Orla shuddered at the barrage of questions, yes it made her feel good and yes it made her feel seen. She had rarely felt such pleasure from such simple touches, from such simple words.
She choked out a pitiful, "Yes, oh god y-yes."
The man hummed and she could sense his smile, that smile that had made her melt not 2 months previously when she had finally built up the courage to approach him after the Post-Colonial Literature course they both attended. Her desperation for his touch grew, his hands continued their gentle exploration along the long expanse of her back and, much to her disappointment, he released his grip on her hair allowing it to fall over her face.
"Cillian, please don't tease me, why do you always tease me?" She questioned, arching her back as much as the restraints would allow as his fingers brushed past her ass to her thighs.
He chuckled in response at her wanton gesture. "I just can't help myself little love, it's too easy to get you all worked up."
He leant over her bound form, pressing his body weight onto her. "I love to watch you squirm and beg for it, look how needy you get from just a few, soft strokes."
He easily slid a hand beneath her and roughly stuck 2 girthy fingers into her quivering pussy. Orla gasped, taken aback by the sudden gesture before pushing back onto his fingers. He quickly withdrew his digits, pushed her hair from her face and pressed his fingers past her lips and into her eager mouth. Orla sucked her juices from him and swirled her tongue around the tips.
Cillian shuddered, "Fuck I love when you do that, how does it taste pet? How does your sweet little pussy taste?"
Orla didn't answer, she didn't need to, she just continued her oral attack on Cillian's fingers before he pulled them from her mouth with a small pop. The room was dim, lit only by a handful of candles sat atop a small corner dresser but, that only added to her experience, sight was not a necessity. Cillian lifted himself from her and took in the sight before him. His eyes skimmed her every curve, every line and dimple. Even in the dark her beauty shone and it made those months of awkward eye contact across amphitheaters so, very worth it.
Orla whined from the lack of physical contact, a low childish sound ending in a high pitched squeal once Cillian's hand made sharp contact with her ass. The sound of the smack reverberated in the claustrophobic space.
"Are you going to cause trouble for me? Hmm? Are you going to act like a needy little slut the whole evening?" He questioned, standing from the bed to cross the room.
Orla hid her face, "No, no I'll be good I promise." The words tumbled from her lips as she raised her hips as high as the restraints would allow. "See? I know how to behave daddy."
Cillian smiled at the nickname despite himself. For all of the weeks that they had been casually fucking, this was the first time he had gotten a nickname.
"Daddy huh? I like that." He opened the first drawer of his dresser and rummaged around until his hand closed over the handle of his trusty flogger.
It was nothing special, just a simple black, faux leather handle with tendrils of the same material that hung. Cillian ran his fingers through the tendrils as they slipped through them like a waterfall.
