Pure, Unadulterated Desire.

18 May

Your ropes snake and coil against my skin. You are dragging them over my burning flesh ever so slowly, waking me up with their texture, letting me know what will soon encircle me and hold me emphatically to your will.

My nipples perk up immediately, hardening into delicious pebbles as your fingers lightly brush across their sensitive tips. A wicked smile comes to your lips and I yearn to taste it upon your lips.

Your movements are slow and deliberate, and I know I must be patient if I am to be granted release at any point in the evening. You take your time and continue to teach me how to come present and enjoy both that which is happening and that which will come to pass with the utmost fullness.

My cunt is dripping wetness out of my silken folds and onto my inner thighs. My hips want to buck, but I know I must be a good girl and that the time for motion will come after the time for stillness.

There is an exquisite magic in the air, and our exchange feels as a sacred ritual. You have all of me—body, mind and soul—already, and things are just beginning.

You grasp my left breast firmly in your hand, and a moan escapes my lips. There is no hesitation in your touch. You release my breast from your grip only to bind rope tightly around, engorging it with blood.

You watch me, tightening the rope until you see the shimmering of pain across my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head, squirming in my body, both relishing and cursing the first moments. They are always the most difficult for me because I fight so hard against the sensations and I find it difficult to keep eye contact as my body surrenders.

I fall deeper still into your care and under the intoxicating spell of pain and pleasure, despite my attempt to pull away. You are quick to grab my chin and turn my face back to center. “Open your eyes, girl,” you say. “You will have time enough to journey later.”

My eyes flash open in an instant. I know better than to ignore your commands when I can help it. I meet your gaze and the pulsing in my cunt turns into a stronger throbbing. My hips jump as you flick my clit with your fingers, adding an extra jolt of electricity to my circuit.

“That’s it, girl. Trust this. Trust yourself. Trust me.” You tighten the ropes till I cannot help but gasp. With that, you make one final tug urging the ropes tighter still before tying off the knot. You slice the rope with your blade, and rest it on my chest a moment.

The air is filled with heat. And my breathing quickens. It is not long before my right breast is similarly bound. Both turn from pink to red to a deep red purple. They don’t need any extra coaxing, but you trace ice cubes around my areolas before running them over my rock hard nipples. I moan and giggle, and try to slither away even though there is nowhere to go.

“You’re a squirmy one tonight, are you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I say.

Your words are a reminder to keep my eyes open and I catch yours just as you say, “I suppose we’ll need to fix that then, won’t we?”

All the while you have been dancing a pair of clover clamps through your fingers. My breasts are aching already, and I am fearful enough of those damn clamps sans rope. You sense my fear, and run your fingers through my hair to soothe me.

“I’m always careful with you, love,” you say, and I recognize the words as my own and nod.

You thrust the chain of the clamps in front of my lips and I kiss automatically, showing my respect for you and the tools you choose. Twenty seconds later and both nipples are forcibly in the grip of the metal clamps. I am grateful for the soft rubber pads inside the clovers, but they have a deep bite nonetheless.

Before I’m aware what it is that I’m doing, I’ve picked up the chain that was cold against my skin in a feeble attempt to lessen the pressure on my poor swollen breasts.

“Does my toy want something?”

I look up doe-eyed, realizing that I’ve been caught meddling where my fingers didn’t belong.

“Oh, it’s quite alright if you want to put the chain in your mouth. Go right ahead.”

You smile. I hesitate.

“Do it. Now, girl.”

And I taste the metallic chain on my tongue, holding it fast with my teeth through the added ripples of pain. I grimace. Then I cry out, and incoherent syllables tumble from my busy mouth.

“If you are so eager to speak, love, we’ll have to get that chain out of the way.”

You bend over me, and place a soft kiss upon my lips. “Let’s give you a pretty little necklace, shall we?”

And with that, you seize the chain and slip it over my head. My nipples feel as if they’re being ripped from my body. I moan and kick and scream.

“I can’t…” I whimper.

You slap me swiftly across the cheek. “Don’t give me that, girl. You can and will take anything and everything I choose to give you. Nod if you understand, and say thank you like a good girl.”

The nodding yanks on the clamps, of course, and as I say my first thank you of the evening, two lone tears fall from my eye. You kiss them away, and brush my hair out of my face.

“You are safe in my embrace, darling. And I will not let any harm come to you. Remember that.”

I shiver and you nudge my legs apart and utter a simple, “Up.”

I cringe at the idea, but lift them. You help them skyward and fasten my ankles with rope, above and behind me, to the headboard of the four poster bed, taking care to make sure that they are spread as wide as they will go and then some.

My hands are confused, and you know how much I loathe loose ends where bondage is involved. I push them out before you, pleading with my eyes.

You laugh. “I didn’t forget, love. Up above your head now.”

This time it doesn’t even matter that my breasts shake and the clovers bite deeper—I adore the surrender that comes when you take my hands away. I squirm and struggle a bit nonetheless, and you are firm with me. You cross my wrists and bind them tightly together and then to the headboard.

“Such a pretty toy,” you say, adding a large blue ball gag to my adornments.

My juices are forming a sizable puddle of wetness on the sheets, and I can do nothing about it. I am completely exposed and you smile at your handiwork, taking a moment to run your fingers along all the rope before caressing my flesh.

“What shall I do with you now, love? Shall we play?” You tease, for you are already three steps ahead.

I feel a cool finger at my ass, and I bear down accepting the gentle loosening and the lube. It is always a gift—and I try to do my best to welcome it as such.

“That’s a good girl.”

You withdraw your finger after a few moments and I feel something larger pushing up against me.

“Open,” you say, and with that you push the plug inward until it passes my sphincter and I tighten instinctively around the base of it.

So much is burning. The pain is all beginning to swirl together. I scan my body, as you taught me, running my awareness over every square inch of my flesh from head-to-toe, to stay present with all that is happening and to differentiate all that I am feeling. As I get to my ass, I realize how awfully large the plug feels inside of me.

“Count to ten, girl,” you say.

I start counting slowly, and the numbers come out muffled but distinct through the gag. With each, you squeeze a bulb, adding air to the plug inside of me. You kiss my belly and trail nibbles and kisses along my thighs until the counting (and inflation) is done. I feel as if I am being torn open, and take care to breathe as deeply as I can through my nose.

“I think you’ve earned a treat, dear. But you are not to cum. Not yet.”

My eyes go wide as I see the Magic Wand in your hand. You turn it to high with a simple flick of the switch and position it right over my clit.
I’m tempted to scream “I can’t…” but I settle for moans. My hips are moving (though awkwardly because of the way you have me positioned and restrained). I can’t tell if I am moving toward the vibrations or away. I want both at once.

You grab my chin in your other hand. “Look at me. Do you wish to cum, girl?”

I nod eagerly. You pull your hand away.

“Beg, then.”

And a cascade of sing-song noises flow out of me from behind the ball gag. I am getting covered with drool. It glistens in the candlelight.

“You may cum on the count of five, girl. Not a second sooner,” you say.
With that, you begin counting. “One… Two… Three… Four… Five. Cum for me, girl. Give everything.”

At that very moment, you take the clover off my right tit, and then my left. The blinding pain fuels the fire of my orgasm all the more and I soar, moaning, screaming and crying all at once.

You pull the wand away and take my burning, crushed nipples into your mouth, sucking the life back into them, encouraging blood flow and soothing the pain.

Out of nowhere, you smack my ass and I jump to attention.

“Shall we continue, girl?”

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14 Responses to “Pure, Unadulterated Desire.”

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