She reached up and released the catches that held the cuffs on his wrists to the hooks overhead, easing his arms down and rubbing his shoulders. She pulled him back, turned him to face her, and told him to stretch.
She stepped back and watched the play of muscles under his skin as he stretched his shoulders, chest, hips and legs. He could feel her eyes on him as he moved, bringing the blood back to his almost numb hands and as he bounced on the balls of his feet, stretching his calf muscles and relieving the tension in his outer quads.
He rolled his neck and she was reminded of a boxer before a fight, watching his cock bounce against her stomach was truly delightful... excitement rolled through her, bringing a shudder.
She would definitely enjoy every inch of him before the night was through. She took him by both hands and led him into the room where he worked out... To the weight bench that she had been thinking about most of the day. She sat him on it, and left him there in the dark, quiet, coolness to await her return.
She took her time in his bedroom, she knew that it bothered him to think of what she might be looking at in there, if she looked in his cabinets or his drawers, knowing that he couldn't say a word. He wondered what else was in the bag and began to imagine all sorts of things she could do to him.
He trembled with a mix of fear and desire, a mixture that brought his blood to sing like nothing else. He sat, with his hands on his lap, naked on the leather bench, feeling the cool texture on his recently so hot ass. Remembering how it felt when she took him and used him, his cock longed to pump inside her, to blow the load that seemed enormous.
He could hear sounds now, from his room, the sound of the linen closet, and a zipper, and then she walked past the room, and into his kitchen. He could hear her pouring herself another glass of wine, and then he just heard glass clinking and what sounded like ice water. He hoped fervently that she would not put the ice on him again, it was already cold in this room, he broke out in goosebumps thinking about it.
Imagining her pouring ice water on his cock made it go down a little, he wanted to touch it, to warm it, to comfort his cock, but he knew better than to touch himself. He satisfied himself with just stretching his pinkie finger over and nudging the side of his balls, but he couldn't seem to stop here, he reached over and just cupped himself lightly then quickly slid his hand back onto his thigh.
He hadn't heard her walk to the door, he had been so immersed in his fear of the cold water that he had stopped paying attention. She stood there and watched him fight with himself, with his urges, then she cleared her throat and asked him why his finger was so close to his balls, asked him if he was trying to touch himself. He hung his head, and lied. He said it was an accident, and she frowned. Admission and embarrassment was one thing, lies were another.
She walked briskly over, sat down the things that were in her hands and stood directly in front of him. She stood there, inches from his face, not touching him. Her knees on either side of his knees, but even though the satin brushed his bare skin, her skin did not.
She stood there and looked down at him, then stepped backwards. He leaned in as though he wanted her touch, he felt so bad for lying, he wanted to make it up to her, he was afraid of her, what she would do about the lie.
He dropped his chin down further, until it touched his chest. "Mistress?" he said.. "Yes." She said.... "I'm sorry I lied", he whispered.
She reached out fast, and grabbed the back of his head, pulling his hair and tilting his head up. If he wasn't blindfolded he would have seen the anger in her eyes, would have seen how close she was to smacking him. "What did you say boy?, Speak up boy....." she growled at him. Her grip on his hair tightened and he gasped at the pain of it, and the pleasure. "I'm sorry" he grunted. "For??" she said...
