Buttery new leather with decadently polished brass hardware encircle my neck, wrists, ankles.
I feel more secure already, while at the same time sweetly threatened. I wait, breathing shallow from anticipation, as I stand in front of him.
“On all fours on the bed. Ass facing me.”, he instructs.
It feels wrong to like it so much when his voice hardens, when he just tells me what to do, just assuming I will do it and quickly, pliantly. Why do I do that? I am a hardcore feminist and a strong and powerful person in my own right. But when he leads… I just want to follow.
I scramble up onto the bed on all fours. Naked, except for my leather. At once horrified that he can see me displayed like this, and aching for him to see me displayed like this.
The silence in between actions is always the hardest. It is the single best source of mind fuckery I know. All manner of things might be going on behind me and I would have no way of knowing until it touched me. Until it was too late. Is he watching me? Is he preparing something for me? Is he waiting for some signal my body gives him? Is he considering his options?
He is so silent. I can’t tell what he’s thinking or doing.
It makes my toes curl and my heart race.
He comes around me with a soft pink rope in his hands. Yes, I bought the silly thing. Somehow I thought the pink rope would be unwanted by him, something too feminine to want to use, something that he’d eschew. But he was fine with it, my tiny rebellion gone unnoticed. And now he’s threading it through all the brass rings in my leather. A clever tie that looks loose and ineffectual but the moment I struggle will start to tighten around me, allowing me to restrict my own movements over time.
He has always controlled my mind this way. A clever dance between us where he always seems to know the perfect way to mess with my head for our mutual pleasure. Why has he always been so good at this?
Satisfied with his handiwork, he steps back behind me and gives me a little more silence while he admires what he’s done. And then I hear a rustle. More leather, this time stroking me from behind, soft and diffuse slaps from dozens of small straps.
A flogger. Thumping me lightly, waking my skin up. Sensations running along my skin that are part caress, part preparation, part awakening.
The sensation is mild but sexy and the leather is skin on skin. I make little gasps as the strips connect with my ass, the backs of my thighs. My breasts, too.
A little whistle of air this time. A little more impact. I gasp. It’s nowhere near pain but it’s a surprise each time he connects with me. I never know where I will feel it next. A little firmer still, and each impact leaves a slight sting with it. Makes me want to rub my own behind to make the buzz go away, or perhaps to spread it into my skin like a lotion.
I stay where I’m told. I’m aware of the rope.
Harder, faster the leather strips fly, waking up my ass and thighs. It hits a rhythm that matches my breathing, matches the soft sounds escaping my mouth. We’re in tune, straining together, power flowing between.
He smooths his hands over my pinkened skin. Murmurs sexy dark things to me about my ass. And then I hear him put down the flogger. I can’t help but tense.
More is coming.
The soft leather tongue of the crop slips over my ass. Dips between my thighs and flutters up against my clit. I whine and try to push against it but it moves away before I can get more, before I can get enough.
He laughs behind me. “Whining? Are you whining now?”
I push back against him, unable to form words, silently seeking the stimulation I need.
A thin stripe of pain. It bites, then warms, then tingles.
Another stripe. Then the tongue flaps lightly against me again from underneath, driving me higher, until my clit is pounding and I want, I want, I want.
Another stripe. It’s not too much to take. I couldn’t take forty, but I can take this. The bite is hardest. The warmth comes as a relief. The tingle makes me so itchy I just need him just need just need need why won’t he touch me I need his hands on me.
He laughs at my whines, my gasps, the way my ass seeks him.
Another stripe and then another in rapidfire. I gasp. I’m not sure if I can take this.
But I want to endure. So I force myself to breathe. Breathe and relax my muscles and let the sting shift to other, easier sensations. He chuckles at my breathing, but also pauses – he wants me to endure just as much as I want to.
Once the stripes are done, he lets me collapse on the bed. His palm strokes over me, spreading the pain, easing the sting. My thighs and arms tremble from holding myself up through sensation, through mindfuck.
And then.
Oh lord.
He sets the crop down and climbs on top of me, holding me down, pushing his cock against my tingling ass. Pushing me down into the bed.
I can’t move.
I told him what it does to me when I can’t move. When I can’t move especially because he’s holding me down.
My brain slips up, up, and floats away a little. I know he’s there, and I can feel what he’s doing, but I’m in this cocoon-y place where everything feels amazing and I am living in a fantasy now. Everything has softer edges.
With a growl in my ear, he slides his left hand under me. Unerringly finds my most sensitive spot. And begins a tight, devastating, circular stroke that pulls and pushes my clit under us both. My naked ass under him is sensitive and pink. His jeans rub against it as he grinds his cock against me.
And under me, he is so focused. So determined. This is the most devastating, determined rhythm. There is no escaping this rhythm. He means to drive me up, and then he’s going to tip me over. I can feel his intent in his movements.
I am a moaning, whining mess under him. There aren’t even any words any more, just sounds.
The accuracy. The intent.
My mind is blown. It flies higher as my body tightens under him a little more with every circle.
He’s growling in my ear, talking to me as I moan and whine and make sounds I don’t recognize as human, much less my own.
I cannot move. He controls me.
Tighter. I start to beg. Oh, God, I need him to help me.
“Are you a good girl?” he grates. “Do you deserve to cum?”
I whine in the affirmative, flying too high to be able to do anything other than whine yes or no to questions. My clit is pounding. I need this. I need need needneedneed
He laughs in my ear as I take off.
Freeflight.
