Cold air rushes across my body. I try to open my eyes, only to find that I cannot see. I try to move my arms, my feet, my hands. I cannot. My mouth, too, cannot move, stretched around a ball.
A hand. On my breast. Circling softly, slowly towards my nipple. I can feel that my nipple has already tightened, the skin gathering under this phantom hand. I tell myself that it's the cold that has my skin drawing together, but I could not tell you whether or not I was lying to myself.
Slowly, so slowly, I wait, dreading for the hand to finally reach my nipple. It is the longest moment of my life as I try to convince myself that I do not want this hand to touch the most sensitive part of my breast. Closer, closer. . . closer still.
THWACK!
Bright, hot pain. I scream fruitlessly into whatever gag I am wearing.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Three more strikes, and my back is arching off the bed, my body trying desperately to escape the unexpected pain. The pain awakens me entirely and I realize what I had missed before in my dream-like state: my hands and elbows are bound behind me, pulling my shoulders back uncomfortably and pushing out, I'm sure, my breasts obscenely; my legs are tied towards the end of the bed, leaving my legs spread and the rest of me exposed; there is fabric over my eyes and some sort of ball gag holding my jaw open; and I am completely naked.
Panicked and fully awake, I scream despite my gag. I pull desperately at my hands and legs, even though the pain is almost unbearable as I pull against the ropes restraining me.
Several more strikes rain down on me, this time on both of my breasts. Even though my brain has already determined that it's no use, my body continues to struggle, trying to escape the pain.
"Stop it," a voice says so quietly I almost don't hear it. Instantly, my body stills, every sense attuned for what comes next. "You need to be still, or you'll hurt yourself." The voice, definitely a man, chuckles to himself, "That's my job now," as I once again feel his hands on my breasts.
He cups one in each large hand, squeezing them like I have often seen people squeezing loaves of bread to determine their freshness. "These are mine now," he says, and I can feel his lips on my left breast while his hand continues to fondle my right. Much like he did with his hand, I can feel him slowly circle his way towards my nipple, dragging his tongue and leaving wet kisses as he goes.
Anticipation and dread curl in my stomach. He moves slowly, giving me time to fully feel his tongue and his lips on each spot of my breasts before trailing to the next spot. So enraptured am I by what he is doing to my left breast, I almost forget about the hand on my right. Just as his lips would have finally touched my nipple, he stops. I know he is still close because I can feel his breath on my nipple and, almost against my will, my chest arches even further away from my bound hands, reaching for his touch.
Chest heaving, I cannot believe what I am doing. This man has gagged me, blindfolded me, gagged me, hit me, and I am straining for his touch. What is wrong with me? A whimper escapes the gag and I could not tell you whether it was desperation for my situation, or desperation for him to finally touch my nipple as tenderly as he has been touching the rest of my breast.
After what seems like ages and, yet, only seconds, he suddenly envelops my nipple into his mouth, sucking it hard into the hot, wet recess of his mouth.. I should feel disgusted, enraged, violated. And I am, but, I also want more. My body wants more, and as I once again lift my chest towards him, a bright, hot ball begins to form in my stomach. He releases my left breast and bring his arm around and under me, between my back and arms. His hand seems to span my entire upper back as he pulls me further into his mouth.
His other hand comes to rest on my stomach and hip, grabbing at the flesh there. I'm once again struck by how large his hands are. How small I am. I feel covered and conquered.
Almost as quickly as he took my breast, he lets go, only to blow softly on the wet tip. The contrast is immediate as my nipple tightens even further in response. A shiver works its way down my spine and I feel my pussy clenching, aching to be filled. This man, this phantom, this ghost, hasn't even touched me below my waist and yet my body is already aching for him. This isn't right. This is wrong. I don't know who he is, and while it's pretty obvious what he wants from me, I don't know just how much of me he wants to take.
