Teasing the Senses
Blindfold. Bound. Feather. Flogger
Greta steps out of the bathroom hesitantly, clenching her towel to her chest. Her body shivers with anticipation and cold in the drafty room. She has already disobeyed him multiple times today.
"Did I tell you to put a towel on?" She immediately drops it in response and he motions for her to come to him. She obeys, not wanting to anger him further.
When he says, "On your knees," she complies straightaway. His foot taps the inside of her knee and she spreads her thighs wider. She glances up and is met with smoldering eyes -- dangerous and full of lust. "Head down... good girl. Stay." She takes a deep breath and bites her lip, swallowing angry remarks.
He leaves the room and she wonders how long he plans on leaving her there, but she doesn't dare break her position. When he returns, she resists the temptation to look up at him. The clink of metal by the bed makes her cringe and she tenses as his footsteps near.
He cups her chin gently, tilting it up to meet his steely gaze. "You're going to be sore tonight." With the casualness in his voice, he could've been telling her the time, but the message... threat... promise sends a shiver straight to her core, the muscles at the apex of her thighs clenching in a most delicious way.
She takes hold of his hand when it enters her field of vision and he helps her to her feet before leading her gently to the bed. These gentlemanlike actions don't fool her, but she feels herself being pulled under his spell if only for a moment.
"Center of the bed, arms above your head." She hesitates, understanding his intentions as he gathers the chains and moves toward the headboard. "I don't like to wait, Greta."
She obeys, scooting herself to the middle of the bed and raising her arms so that her hands barely clear the top of her head. When he snaps his fingers she offers him her wrist, keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling high above her.
He slowly makes his way to the opposite side of the bed, never taking his hungry eyes off her. After both arms are shackled, he slides a silky mask over her eyes. She opens her mouth to protest. Having her movement restricted was one thing, but for some reason the loss of one of her senses scares her.
"Don't you like the blindfold, pet?" She shakes her head in a small jerk, almost unperceivable. "You like to know what's coming don't you?" Her nod is equally unconfident. His footsteps retreat and she squirms uncomfortably, anticipating his next move.
His hands appear on either side of her head, brushing her hair back behind her ears. The gentle touch is disarming and she melts beneath him. That is, until she feels something other than his fingers touch her ears. He leans in, inserting the ear buds and it tickles her neck when he breaths,
"Now you really won't know what's coming." She pulls at the restraints, knowing that taking out her frustration verbally would be a bad idea.
"Stay still. That's an order." His voice is so smooth and sexy despite the command it carries. With that, music erupts in her ears, cutting her completely off from the bedroom where she is tethered.
A haunting voice, acapella and beautiful, is soon joined by others in an ethereal choir. The ghostly melody drags Greta towards another world entirely, calming her breathing and relaxing her entire body.
Something soft brushes her breast and she jumps back to reality for a moment, only to be pulled back by the mesmerizing music as the feather dances across her body. She can feel the pressure inside her building with the song even though he's hardly touched her.
The soft, sensual torture device traces her jaw, her collar bone. It tickles her ribs before crossing her body at her hips, which she raises in invitation. The feather disappears until she relaxes again and it reappears at her ankle, making its way up the inside of her leg. When it touches her overly sensitive sex, she jolts.
Down the opposite leg. Swirling around her toes. Back up the other side. Circles on her stomach. It takes all her will power to keep from writhing beneath his exquisite torment. Meanwhile the music swells with more angelic voices overlapping and intertwining.
His hands. Their strength vastly opposes the delicate caress of the feather. A moan escapes her lips as her breasts are molded by robust, fervent hands. His mouth is on her neck, surely leaving marks where he's pulled the blood to the surface. She cries out as he pinches her sensitive buds while simultaneously biting her ear.
