Your Whim

Suspended, at your whim. My arms strained, legs taut.

Hanging, exposed and vulnerable to the looks, the words, the touches of others.

The light sting of your hand on my skin, the stroke of your fingers over my leg, every absentminded touch you lay on me each time you pass by- they are what I am focused on. The other hands- on my breasts, on my thighs, on my ass- they do not draw my attention any more- unless you are watching. Then I am all too aware.

The skin of my back, my shoulders, my thighs, all still stings from the flick of your whip, the maze of red welts no longer swollen, but visible, and warm to the touch. My mind has nearly shut down with fatigue- the arousal and fear and excitement and adrenaline of the session before they your guests couple with the thrill of being put on display by you has long worn off. I can only hope that at some point, and soon, you will put me to work on your guests, or approach me with your flogger in hand...or simpy send me to bed.

The minutes slide into each other, a torture in itself to simply wait. Finally, FINALLY, I sense you approach me from behind, rather than see- one arm bands around my waist, the other reaching up to release me. I expect to be placed on the floor, I brace my legs for it- instead you half carry me into the bedroom. Your hands steady me so I don't fall on the floor as the feeling comes back to my legs, then you work your hands over my arms and shoulders. The pain as the numbness fades and the blood returns is fierce- if I could push you away to leave me alone, I would, but I am too busy trying to keep from crying out with the hurt.

I am so relieved when you finally leave me for a bit- I need the peace and quiet for a few minutes as the pins and needles work their way out of my arms and legs. The sounds of your guests leaving is muted. Feeling more vulnerable now, waiting, I find a shirt of yours, pull it on. It still carries your scent, and the smell of the salt air. The hem nearly brushes my knees as I move back to your bed and sit gingerly, quietly.

I hear the thud of your boots on the wooden floor of the hall, louder as you approach. My eyes close briefly against that twist of apprehension- and anticipation- in my belly, and my head lifts as you step through the doorway.

Your eyes nearly glitter, and hotly under your lowered brows.

Suddenly, all trace of fatigue is gone.

"Strip."

I swallow, my eyebrows raise, my chin lifts. But I obey. Knowing you are watching, my hands fumble, just slightly, as I reach down, grasp the material of your shirt just below my hips, draw it upwards. Slowly, feeling the thin fabric slide over my sensitized skin. Up, over my thighs, higher, hesitating just enough to see your eyes darken, then raising it more. Half turning, so that you can see the results of your efforts from earlier in the evening- the thin stripes criss crossing my pale skin, some pink, some redder. And all flaring to vivid life at the heat of your gaze, the caress of the shirt as it slides upwards, the stir of air across my skin as the I draw the shirt over my head. I shake my hair free, letting it swing and settle around my shoulders and down my back as I set your shirt aside.

Your hand flicks in my direction, motioning me to the St Andrews Cross....is there anything more flustering, exciting, then when you have me lock myself into position?

Your hand closes over my wrist to secure the final cuff, my eyes try to read your expression. But all I see is that heat, that amusement. It thrills me.

You are so close that I can feel your body heat, can smell your scent. Your finger tips trail down the inside of each arm, making me shiver, then around over my shoulders, my collar bone.

Faster than I can blink your hands are on my breasts, squeezing, kneading roughly. My already flushed face heats even more, I can feel my nipples harden, tight and aching and begging for your attention against your palms. My eyes close, my head turns away, but your hand lifts to my chin, forcing me back. Your face is close, your voice rough as you make me open my eyes, make me watch you. As you are watching me. Your fingers pull, twist, roll my nipples, pinching. Making me gasp, squirm, arch both into your touch, and away from you.

I can feel my thighs grow damper, my stomach muscles jumping when your knuckles brush over them. Your hands cup my hips, thumbs settling in the hollows of them. You smile, tightly, when I push up against your hands, wanting to coax your fingers downward. But you simply move away, shrugging out of your jacket, flipping up your sleeves.

My eyes are heavy, and wary, as I watch you. Above my head, my fingers itch to touch you, to feel your skin and the texture of your hair. My lips tingle when my gaze drops to your mouth, other parts of me tingle when my gaze roams your body.

You move towards me once more, with a tall, slim tapered candle in your hand. Immediately I shrink back, squirm, tug on the wrist shackles, shaking my head. My voice is almost scratchy, husky, and tinged with an edge of uncertainty, even as I half-laugh.

"Wait, no. You can't mean to....no!" I squirm, not in fear of pain, but in fear of an overload of sensation.

You don't respond, simply stand in front of me, so close that I can nearly feel the texture of your clothes on my skin. Your hand reaches out, lifting the candle, tilting it. My whole arm jerks when the first drops of hot wax land with unerring accuracy on the inside of my wrist.

Steadily you move down the inside of my forearm, each drop gathering the nerves, making them jangle, even as my I am bracing for the next. By the time you scatter wax over the sensitive skin of my inner elbow, my heart is pounding and my breathing is short. Soft whimpers and quiet moans escape, even as I bite down on lip.

It is harder to watch you, to see you move, harder for my mind to deal with anticipation of each hot drip than it would be if I was blindfolded. Watching you, I can't escape. And you know it.

The hot drips on my shoulders make me shudder, it is half torture to watch you raise the candle to my other wrist.

All the way down, slowly, steadily. That first shock of that liquid heat, the near tickle as it slowly cools, each consecutive one bringing a reaction. Over my collarbone, then dripping down, directly between my breasts. My eyes meet yours, my lips part on a gasp as in my peripheral vision I see the taper angle, the flame rising higher, seconds before the wax strikes, rolls,cools over the inner swells of my breasts. Bracing myself for the sting and flashing burn on my nipples, but you move, teasing. Over my belly, the plane of each hip, the sensitive tops of my thighs. Driving me crazy, making me writhe and pull on the shackles. Then your hands, stroking over my skin roughly, rolling, scraping the beads of wax off my skin, rousing me even more. Feeling your hands linger, sometimes gently, usually not so. Racing over me at other times, everywhere at once. The room filling with my moans and whimpers and soft sounds of pleasured distress, my harsh breathing, and yours.

Suddenly unlocked, my hands free to stroke over you now as you bend to release my ankles. Tugging your shirt free, sliding my hands over your hot skin, frantic to touch and feel. Impatient when you fumble for just a second, then suddenly scooped up, the room spinning.

Dumped unceremoniously on the bed, and I don't even have time to stretch my legs out- your arms are under the backs of my knees, your chest pressing into me, pushing my knees against my shoulders. And you are there, sliding against me, your cock hard and throbbing and hot and then *in*. Filling me so deep, buried fully. You withdraw slightly, then shove, hard, pushing in again. Keeping me curled into that ball, folded tight as you fill me again and again, sending me rocketing higher and higher. Every inch of me tingling, my legs shaking, muscles quivering. Feeling that burning deep inside, low in my hips, spreading up and down and every which way.

So close, right on that razor edge, my eyes open to see you, your face so intense, set and hard and right above mine. Hearing your growl, feeling your hips pound against me....making me yell. LOUD. Yell, and cry out, thrusting up against you, bucking up from the bed, my head lifting, tossing, tipping back, my nails biting into your shoulders, then raking down your back in mindless pleasure.

Still you hammer into me, demanding more. Your hands shift slightly, your hips angle, and you set me off again. My bucking all over the bed throws us both off...my feet hit the mattress, I am shoving upwards and away and completely lost in pleasure and half falling off the side of the bed. Breathless, panting, Your hand wraps in my hair, tugs me, your hand on my shoulder pushing me onto the floor.

In no condition to think, to question, my arms shaking and my muscles still jumping, I half crawl forward a foot or two when you pull on my hair. Getting my balance on hands and knees, then moving forward. Your foot shoves against my knees just enough that I turn, now angled to the door. I feel my hair fall from your hand and back around my shoulders, sliding over my arms, nearly brushing the floor when I lower my head and gulp in a breath. Your foot shoves against my ass, you growl out an order. And on hands and knees, weak and shaky, I am crawling before you, out the door, down the hallway. Your foot shoves me along, your hand on my ass, and the lash of the flogger driving me forward. You stand aside at the back door, opening it. The night air is much cooler, making me shiver, making me aware of my wet thighs, wetter sex. The wood of the deck bites into my hands, echoing with the thud of my knees and the louder strike of your boots behind me. All the way across the deck you drive me, to the railing that overlooks your property, and the residences nearby. I can hear the bark of a dog in a neighboring yard, not so far away is the sound of a backyard barbecue in fullswing, the tang of beer and smoke hangs in the air, carrying the laughter and shouts and conversation with it. I have barely kneeled up when your hands link the shackles of my wrists together behind my back.

Your cock is hard, shoving against my mouth already, your hands in my hair tipping my head back. I glance up at you, lick my lips, then take you in.....

Moaning, tasting you, and myself. Licking, sucking eagerly, drawing you deeper into my hot wet mouth, feeling you pulse against my tongue. Your hands tightening against my scalp, then sliding through my hair, fisting it, guiding my head up and down as you thrust into my mouth.

My lips tingling, already swollen, damp. The thick, hard length of you filling my mouth, sliding deep,then that harder thrust that drives you down my throat, makes me gag just slightly. My mouth riding over you, my head bobbing in time to your thrusts. Glancing up, your teeth bared and set, the harsh sounds coming from you now, the muffled moans from me.

God, your taste...rich and heavy in my mouth, musky and slightly wild and mixed with mine. The smell of our sex, and that scent uniquely you fills my head, drives me up a little more.

I use my teeth, my tongue, sucking, licking, nibbling as much as I am able as you fuck my mouth. My hair tumbling down my back, wrapped around your hands. My own hands bound behind me, forced to accept what you feed me, forced to take all of you.

The thick head of your cock pushing through my lips, shoving past my tongue, against the roof of my mouth, down my throat. Swallowing around you, my throat squeezing, rippling. Feeling you tighten, the tensing of your hands, the jackhammer of your hips. The long low growl, then the stream of curses, and your hands, pulling me down, hard. Forcing you deep, deeper, farther into my throat, that first hot stream striking my throat. Gagging once, twice, trying frantically to pull my head back even as I swallow the first time, but not able to get free...so taking it all. Each long, hot pulse in my mouth, swallowed down, with some difficulty. My mouth tightening against you as I swallow, adding to the pressure.

Feeling you relax, only slightly, I manage to tip my head enough to see your face, to watch you as I clean you, to watch your own head tip back for a second, before you look down at me. And growl, and grin.