Content notes: bondage, sensory deprivation, impact play, finger fucking
You feel so strangely dizzy. The good kind of dizziness, the kind that might stem from spinning, arms outstretched, squinting into the warm sun and laughing out loud. But it’s dark here, cool and quiet. Your heart flutters, yes, but not from twirling with abandon. Everything here is still, suspended in time — including you. You lay unmoving, yet you vibrate with electricity and anticipation.
The way that you’re strapped and trussed, a soft lamb on my altar, makes even my sure heart skip a beat. You are a vision. You form a silhouette against the clammy stone table, punctuated with rope, leather and buckles. Each tie cinched to perfection, each knot immaculate.
You and I, my pet, we’ve been here before. One can grow accustomed to most anything with enough repeated exposure. I love the care and dedication that conditioning requires, but what I adore in equal measure is keeping you on your toes. Of course, ritual provides an unshakable foundation for connection, heat and passion; but I also thrill at peppering the familiar with minute changes, little inconsistencies, jarring unpredictabilities. In a word: surprises.
Suddenly very aware of your predicament, you begin to writhe and twist against your restraints — not for want of escape, but instead yearning to arch yourself toward whatever it is that comes next. As your body wildly serpentines, you shake your head vigorously in an attempt to loosen the leather blindfold strapped taut across your face. Your senses are dulled: your eyes obscured, hands unable to reach or grasp. All you have to smell and to taste is the cool, dark air. Music, sounds, soft sighs and lustful whispers are being pumped into a large pair of headphones, encompassing your spinning head. They deaden the sounds of the room and immerse you in a buzzing void of my design.
All there is to feel and to be certain of now is the cool of the marble pressing against your back, your legs and your head. The chill it sends through you breeds goosebumps and shortened, excited breath. Every bit of you perks and shivers in its hard embrace, and yet it also grounds you. It gives you something to cling to in the quiet storm of uncertainty you’ve found yourself in.
Soon you feel the vibration of… footsteps, maybe? Then, nothing. Then again, closer. And now, the soft whisper of air along the hairs of your arm. Maybe. Or perhaps you’re imagining it? Your senses are simultaneously dampened and overwhelmed. Reality is a faint blur to you now as the volume in your ears increases noticeably. You begin to realize that it’s been steadily increasing this whole time, or so it seems.
Are you dreaming?
Then, bursting through the stillness, the firm, quick scrape of something against your sternum. Something sharp, but not too sharp. A fingernail, perhaps? Not entirely painful, but sudden and hard enough that the shock and wonder of it engulfs your every cell. It’s fleeting, but the sensation lingers. In the seemingly endless pause thereafter, you’re left unable to focus on anything but the silent question, “What’s next?”
You feel the soft heat of breath across your chest. It’s as though someone or something is hovering, suspended right above you in midair. You feel a pungent cocktail of excitement, fear and hope begin to brew in your cervical spine. You buck, attempting to pitch yourself toward the source of this sweet breeze, desperate to make contact with the warm wetness of a mouth, a tongue, anything.
Contact. You crave it. Any brush, caress, stroke, bump, nudge or strike could send you over the edge into ecstasis. The very notion of the possibility of it causes a cool, tingling sweat to proliferate across your flushed chest, pooling at your collarbone and in your navel, with strident drops tumbling onto the marble slab. Your sweat and the increasing wetness between your legs come together to concoct a symphony of pheromones and desire. You need to touch and be touched. It nearly feels as though your very life depends on it.
Abruptly, the left side of your face is aflame. You gasp and freeze, stunned. Your mind attempts to piece together what has occurred. A slap? A hard, fast slap. By hand, or perhaps an implement? As the well-placed strike lands, you immediately feel a warm tightness radiating outward from your very center. It builds; a slow crescendo that begins to taper and craze as it reaches your chest, your hips and your thighs. You strain, searching for an answer, uncontrollably arching for more, but you find nothing to grasp hold of. And so you wait, suspended at the edge of orgasm, your face still searing and throbbing. You feel lustful and hungry, but you are so, so patient.
As the pain starts to slowly subside, you begin to come back into your awareness, recalling the pinch of your restraints and the brisk air of your surroundings, unable to sense any presence other than your own heaving breath. Your racing heartbeat eventually begins to subside and you are lulled once again into the still silence of your predicament.
Then, all at once, you experience what feels like a strike to your whole being. Three quick, firm slaps, one apiece for the other side of your face; the left side of your chest, right across your aroused nipple; and the soft pillow of your left thigh. Each smack is an exclamation point upon the wants and needs that your body has mapped out for me. This flurry of sensation is followed by the juxtaposition of my hands softly cupping your cheek and then sliding upward to your hair, which you feel me playfully tug and forcefully yank between gentle, soothing strokes. In danger, in pain, in pleasure, you are safe with me.
Art by Laura Lee Benjamin
With a single fingertip, I trace the sweet lines, curves and angles of your darling face. I take my time, dallying at any dimple or mole I fear might go underappreciated, admiring you for all that you are. At long last, my meandering touch meets your lips — two pinkish, sunset clouds loitering in an otherwise starry night. As I softly urge your lips apart, I feel your longing begin to envelop me in a humid embrace. Your tongue swirls about my finger as though you might attempt to devour me entirely, drowning me in saliva and ardor.
As our desires build and meet and coalesce, I swiftly swing my leg up and over to straddle you. You moan softly as you feel my weight pressed against you, grinding and teasing you mercilessly. I can feel the excitement building beneath me, where we intersect. The heat coming from you feels otherworldly, as if I might burn alive, but you, pet, would be more than worth the risk. I place my knee between your thighs and apply firm, upward pressure as I lean in to touch my mouth to yours. Your kiss feels like freedom, like adventure. I friskily bite your lower lip as I pull away, gently tilting the left side of your headphones away for a moment to remind you that you are treasured. With that, I make my way down your beautiful body, planting rough kisses all along the way, covering every inch I can manage with lips and tongue and teeth and adoration. My fingers follow along, scratching, petting and grasping your already sensitive flesh.
After what feels like a lifetime, yet somehow like no time at all, I arrive at the sacred crossroads below your navel. Overwhelmed, I bury my nose in your tidy thicket of pubic hair. I breathe you in and you are perfect. I take a moment to revel in your wanting sighs and your delightful squirming. There aren’t words sufficient to describe the joy that putting you into this state brings me. I am so lucky to be the custodian of your pleasure and your pain, pet.
I inhale you once more, and with that, I descend further still, taking you into my mouth and panting at the taste. You twist beneath me, squealing and calling out. I grip your right thigh and slide my finger down, slowly pushing it into you and curling it upward to drive you wild. I pump into you eagerly but steadily, adding another finger when your body tells me the time is right. I can feel you inching toward the precipice as I lick you and stroke you and marvel at you. Knowing your body as I do, I can tell that it won’t be long now. You’ve earned this, pet.
Leaning into you, I hook my fingers upward even harder as I sense your pleasure evolving, then I hold them still as I feel you tense and throb around me, quivering and screaming with release.
Just perfect.
Now tell me, pet, do you feel dizzy? The good kind of dizziness that stems from spinning, arms outstretched, squinting into the warm sun and laughing out loud?
