Trepidation. I can't see a thing, can't do a thing. Here I am, tied spread-eagle, my arms in a y above my head, legs spread almost painfully apart by the spreader bar. I lean slightly to the left, feel the pull of the rope cuff at my wrist, the chafe, the encasement. The blindfold is tied securely, the lights dimmed. I don't know what is going to happen, fear making all my nerves taut. I can't tell what he's doing, my top. All I can feel on my skin right now is a faint breeze, made more powerful by the fact that there's nothing else to distract me.
He drags one fingernail down the length of my spine, making me shiver. I feel him behind me, suddenly up against me. He's kissing, licking, biting my neck, taking time to lick gently right behind my ear. He laughs softly at my small whimpers and holds my head firm, so now I can't move at all. He has me exactly where he wants me. He continues to lick and suck, running his nails along the sensitive flesh, down my collar bones. A hand rests lightly at my neck, only a bit of pressure. A bit of fear. He has all of the power right now.
His hand sweeps down the length of my neck and chest to cup and gently knead one breast, while the other runs down the length of my arm, from the sensitive wrist skin below the rope down the inside of my arm, finally resting on the other breast. He gently rubs my nipples and my hips rock, betraying my arousal. I am so ashamed at the way my body betrays me, how it loves being used as a toy. I've had so many fantasies over the years of this happening, of being owned and used by a top. Now they're happening and that old shame is bubbling to the surface. I thought I had ditched that, when I left my Catholicism behind me. I am glad he can't see my blush, that I can look down demurely, that I don't have to look him in the eye.
He continues playing with my nipples, my hips thrusting uselessly. I want him to stop, to take me already, use me and be done. The attention is too much, how he touches every part of my body, running his fingers through my scalp, his hand along my side, then rubbing my stomach which is tense with fear and lust. I want it to stop, I want it to go on forever.
I'm so lost in the feeling of one hand that I gasp in surprise as a hard whack of a hand against my butt. Just as I've figured out the rhythm of his spanks, he changes it. I have no idea what's coming next. My breath is coming rapidly as the feeling washes away all others.
Suddenly, it stops and he steps away. The uncertainty is almost more arousal than the spanking. He leaves me there and silently I wait, schooling myself to stay still. The time seems much longer than the few minutes he was away, and my mind is running with all of the possibilities of what he might do next.
The ice down my spine makes me gasp. I suppose I had been hoping for the knife, my favorite toy, which mingles the fear, the uncertainty, and the sensation so perfectly. Instead, the cold takes me by surprise. I gasp as he runs a larger chunk of ice down my neck and back. My nipples tighten painfully as he rubs them with the chunk of ice then fingers the taut nipples. His hands are roving, moving across my soft skin, the ice water trickling through my pubic hair, down my thighs as his hands continue their tease. He stop just short of actually touching my clit, my pussy. Each time he comes near, I whimper and fight my bonds, trying to get closer.
He leans in close, whispering in my ear. "You are such a slut, aren't you? Already wet and loose. Already wanting. My horny little slut. Now tell me, what do you want me to do?"
I think of the quick answer, the easy way out.
