At first, a brief moment of nothing, darkness, the sensation of floating in space. Then your nerves begin doing their job, telling you about the world around you. Bands of soft, silken robes bound around your arms and ankles hold you tightly, securely down to a wooden table. You can almost feel the living warmth against your skin, a growing warmth... then you realize that warmth is coming from your own skin as blood rushes to the long, thick belt marks that criss-cross your back. Your skin reports next, nipples peaking against the lazy currents of air that drape across your exposed front. Only your eyes report nothing, the blackness of the inside of the eyemask that I draped over your face an almost infinite inky pool. You feel amazing.
You turn your nerves into a two-way street, giving direction to a body that had been laying there, basking in its completely uncontrol, thrilled with the futility of doing anything new. You flex your muscles, pulling at the ropes bound in six-inch bands around your wrists, pinned up and above your head. Far from feeling powerless, you feel strong, marveling at the pressure you can put on these ropes, feeling like if you just let out a little roar and a pull you could snap the table in two.
You feel a thrill as a finger traces the line of your lowest rib, causing you to suck in your breath. It's so gentle, and firm, you feel like it's drawing your bones into place, rather than following their existing curves. It runs up to your sternum, then across to your breast, tracing a languid circle, spiraling up to your nipple, and so almost touching it, before spiraling back down. Every time it traces up, you hope, pray, believe that it will finally touch your nipple, which is now aching from this diabolical combination of too much and not enough sensation. You start twisting, hoping you can trick the hand into a misstep, into grazing your nipple, into giving you that sensation you so desperately want... but the hand is deft, and skips lightly away. It starts to squeeze, pulling lightly at the flesh of your breath, then finally closing over the entire thing, your nipple pushing hard against the flesh of a palm.
You feel a moment of pure relief, a thrumming in your stomach as you're finally getting the titillation that you wanted, the barest moment of satisfaction, before you realize that actually being touched is so much worse than almost being touched. The circles being traced on your breasts get tighter, little Mercurian orbits around your nipples that dip, up, flick, slide and oh-so-lightly pinch. Each brush against your nipple is torture, feeling like a hook in your gut connected to your clit, phantom touches that make your clit throb and ache for stimulation. You start losing control, and thrashing with every stroke, the movement of air against your open, wet slit torture. You consider, just for a moment, crying out and begging for what you want.
A dim part of your brain realizes that the things happening to your nipples couldn't be done by just a hand, that there is a mouth there, tongue flourishing and trilling in ways designed to bring you just short of actually feeling satisfied. The mouth moves, and begins on your other nipple, leaving the first one slippery and wet, and you feel a finger just tracing a simple line from the base to the tip of your nipple again, and again, and again as the mouth gently sucks, pulls, bites and tugs on your other one. You feel a hand on your belly button, and it's slowly melting downwards, over your abdomen, across the surface of your mound, making you shake and buck, trying to force it where you want it, to finally give you a taste of satisfaction.
It diverts to the side, flowing like water onto the inside your thigh, stroking, squeezing, running up high enough that you're sure the heat of your open vulva is burning its surface, but then sliding back down. All the while the play on your nipples has slowed, a gentle building rhythm that occasionally sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating from your breasts.
You feel the hand on your thigh move up, up, and this time, oh god, this time it doesn't stop. It nestles into the cleft between your lips and your thigh, massaging deeply into the tissue, making your clit feel a deep, slow throb that you've never experienced before. This mixes and combines with the sensation coming from your nipple, creating torrents and ripples of tension and release in your abdomen, your breathing becoming ragged, your body losing control but being so far away from the climax it desperately needs. You feel a pain in your knees and realize you've been straining hard against the ropes holding you down, trying to open yourself wider, inviting, begging for something to come in and fill you, satisfy you and end this marathon of teasing.
The hand perches lightly on your mound, and then dives down your slit, running a finger on either side of your clit, down the wet slicks between your inner and outer lips. You seize in pleasure, noticing that your nipples are now getting pinched, bitten, and played with more roughly than before. You arch your back as much as you are able to, trying to grind yourself against the hand, to get it to plunge inside of you or push firmly on your clit, but you're tied down and can't move, so it keeps teasing, deftly. They stroke faster, tantalizingly squeezing on either side of your clit ever so lightly, causing radiating pleasure that threatens to take control of you. You don't think you've ever been this wet and engorged before, your body desperately trying to grind more pleasure out of the hands and mouth that are giving you so much, but keeping so much more from you. Finally a finger moves on top of your clit, stroking it ever so lightly, drawing quick circles around the hood, taunting, teasing...
You realize your body is vibrating, and you can't stop it. Then, suddenly, everything stops. You lay there, trembling, trying to squeeze your thighs together and buck trying to do whatever you can. The shaking subsides, and you lay there, panting sucking in oxygen like you have just resurfaced from the water. You notice the darkness again, and the tingling that is all over your body. Then you feel a breath on your thigh, and hands tracing up your hip-bones. Your legs have been untied, and you spread them as wide as you can, inviting that mouth to tongue you deeply, rub you viciously, just let you, fuck, let you cum!
