Nina's Nook

The ice meandered across his skin, directed by her whims and his involuntary shudders. Anyone who claims they don't flinch at ice is full of shit he decided. It slowly trailed lower, across chest and stomach, inching closer to his cock. He knew what was coming next, wanted to protest desperately against it but that wasn't permitted. Nor was his focus that sharp, repeatedly snapped to the momentary sear of wax hitting flesh. A spot on the chest. The apex of his hip. Dueling hot and cold. She was escalating and it excited him. Still didn't prepare him for what happened next. He assumed maybe a teasing graze of ice.

That theory was child's play in comparison to what happened next. It was more then the sensation of an ice cube cradling cock, much more. 3 concurrent drips of wax hit delicate skin. He couldn't help himself but it still dripped with regret.

"oooooooooh"

"Lovely"

Maybe she didn't hear him violate the rule. She simply pressed on, in fact she was singing while she did so. It was husky, dripping sensual in both delivery and lyrical context. The ice and wax followed her rhythm. He noticed his body was now starting to lean into it. Subtle. But still pressing for more.

"Oh. MY. Is that for me?"

Her tongue grazed across his bottom lip, enjoying the trail of crimson. She looked beatified while doing so, a true sadist sampling a delicacy. He wanted to explode, every nerve fiber screaming for him to do something, anything! Kiss her, touch her, anything that would provide some type of relief. In spite of the shocking hot and cold sensations, he felt his body responding and stiffening. That was exactly what she wanted and some part of him wanted to give her that despite the raging voice screaming for self-control.

The pesky voice is silenced as her hips press against him. A strong cinnamon leg sliding up his thigh, eventually resting upon hip. His balance shifted, rocking slightly forward into her before settling. Those fucking tacks. The thought never strayed far. It was quieted though by a strong, small hand wrapping around turgid shaft. A few strokes, strong enough to draw a soft whimper.

She was asking about the wax. He carefully weighed his options before answering, knowing flippancy wasn't wise. A flicker of tongue, tasting copper and split skin, reminding him that he had done that to himself. She'd do much worse. He answered honestly due to that fact.

"Shocking, yes, but not beyond tolerance Luna so long as it pleased you..."

The "you" went up in surprised pitch as suddenly his ankle was swept from under him. The first thought was the tacks, but that never came. He had been so focused on the sharp, he had ignored the consequences of the noose. A choked gasp escaped him as it cinched. Moments of disorientation, scrambling to get vertical again. Eyes wide, startled. Defiantly growling. His manhood throbbing, betraying how much he actually enjoyed that. Still, pride insisted on making a display.

His eyes.

They betray him in a way that a lesser man's never would. They snap fiercely. Sparkle with all sorts of unholy ideas for retribution, IF he can just make it to the end of my game.

He won't.

I play to win. Always have.

His words about the wax sooth something in me. Usually one does hot to cold, a cessation of the burning so that the tingle of the skin becomes it's own aphrodisiac. Doing it the other way is more painful. More...harsh. The fact that he responded to it only showed me that he could take it.

That he WOULD take it.

SO it was time to switch the game, thus the sweeping of his ankle.

His face went an interesting shade of pale..and then a burnished red as he realized two very separate things. The first one had to do with the tacks that were no longer located beneath his heels. The second? Well, he had forgotten about the rope. He was NOW remembering it.

I stepped away from him, listening to his low almost inaudible growl of displeasure and smirked.

"Oh. Did I hear a noise, young man?"

Small feet carry me around his shuddering, heavily breathing form.

"I could have sworn we established these rules at the outset."

Nails dug into the skin of his back and scraped lightly. Again. A bit harder. A tic tac toe board of nails scraping flesh, leaving deep red welts behind. Leaning in, tongue tip trailing lightly over abused flesh before I resume my stately stroll around his tied and taut form.

A few moments later, I am facing him once more, my body pressed to his, brown eyes gazing at his furious face.

"Tell me, dear one, are you ticklish? Your answer will decide the next stage of our game so be honest, please. A simple yes or no is all that I require."

"Oh. Did I hear a noise, young man?"

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

He was instantly regretting the growl, that was not an amused expression circling him. A shark whom just tasted a bit of blood. He wanted to twist, to keep watching. Some sort of retribution was imminent.

"I could have sworn we established these rules at the outset."

Nails sunk into flesh. He reflexively sucked inwards as tips descended, skin instantly heating and stinging. Again, this time harder. Multiple directions. Inflammation taking marks from simple lines to puffed welts. His breathing, already ragged from the noose, turned staccato bursts. A repeat growl would result in disaster but it almost slipped regardless. Instead, teeth gnawed on already split lip. Blood again flowed, a larger stream this time. How ironic, Luna had yet to technically make him bleed but it was present.

She was again pressed against his front side, so deliciously warm and supple. He wanted to curse. Scream. All he could do was lick his lip and glare. Ultimately, she controlled his ability to breath. This had a certain truth serum effect, leading to a question about whether he were ticklish.

Fuck.

A few beats of silence. There was no right answer, just different roads.

"Yes."

Giggling.

His answer was everything I wanted and nothing that I didn't. Because I had asked for a simple yes or no, I would have to find each and every spot on my own. I had time. Hell, so did he. We weren't going any where, until it was finished. Until I had learned every single thing I wanted to know.

So, another slow taste of sweet red, my tongue touching his flesh with every evidence of pleasure, and then I step away and lean down to gather up the feather and the rose.

"You KNOW what the feather is for so I will not have to give an explanation, but I assume you are wondering WHY I am holding this lovely rose which is still covered with thorns along it's sinuous stem?"

My husky alto rises near the end of the statement, turning the whole of it into a question. Brown eyes gaze into his as I take one half a step forward and stop to stand hip shot before him, gripping the aforementioned rose in one small hand, hard enough to pierce the flesh of my palm.

"It's for your mouth. You seem to enjoy bleeding. I figured this would help. You also seem to be incapable of remaining silent. I assumed you might need something to keep your attention."

I trail the soft petals up over his form~from groin to belly and from belly to chin. I can feel the wicked smile that stretches my lips so widely but there is nothing I can do about that. After all, he has seen me at play with others and he has played with one far more devious than myself.

I figure he is definitely a big boy. He can take it. My smile says all of that, and more.

"Now then, open your mouth. I will place this so that most of the thorns will not pierce flesh unless you clench your teeth or something else, equally silly. If you make a single noise, your punishment will be to close your mouth over the stem, say to the count of five? My count, not yours. Each noise after will add another five to the count. Agreed? Blink once for yes, twice for no..."

I wait and see just what he will do, next.

Of course he was curious about the rose, acutely aware of the thorns and the potential ramification. Ideally she wasn't going to turn his cock into a vase, though his pessimistic side worried anyway. Mercifully, that was not the case nor was Luna apparently psychic about his paranoia. Soft petal skimmed skin, trailing upwards and grazing chin.

She's grinning, delighted with whatever was next. She was in her element, radiating confidence and sensuality. He wouldn't admit it, not that moment anyway, but he was thrilled to play with her. She was a whole new sick experience regardless of the amount of preparation research he had completed.

She explained that the rose was going to serve as a makeshift bit, preventing him from clenching teeth without consequence. It was punishment for his impulsive growl, a moment of weakness and disobedience. Every transgression thereafter would earn him a five second interval of penance that was decided on her count. Five seconds would be an eternity in other words.

He was to open his mouth for her so she could gently position the stem. Blink out a response instead of speech, once for compliance and twice to decline. Declination wasn't an option. A furious stare was also not on the table though the overwhelming desire. Neither moved, Luna simply staring expectantly at him. Giving him the time to process, decide but it was finite.

Eyes languidly slid shut. Lips parted gently. He was at her whim and desire, not to the voices whom protested in his mind. Simple reality was that he couldn't survive going toe to toe, not with a noose around his neck. He had bought the ticket, now it was time to take the ride.

His agreement loosened the fetters that, until this very moment, had bound me. I hadn't been sure, until just now, that he would allow this to continue. However, once he blinked his compliance and allowed his lips to close gently over the rose's stem, I knew that he was prepared for anything I wanted from him.

Or at least, he thought he was.

Music again. Humming, singing. Snatches of words as the feather begins a slow leisurely glide from arm pit to hip bone. Left side. Right side. Drifting to the beat, the rhythm of the low, husky alto which sets the tone.

I want you to be my sex slave
Anything that I desire
Be one with my feminine
Set my whole body on fire

The feather finds the head of throbbing man hood and and circles, circles. It follows the redness, drifting slightly to touch upon the vein the rides beneath the surface of the skin. Swooping now, along the shaft, before delicately easing down toward the heavy scrotum which dangles between steady thighs like ripe, unpicked apples. More delicate motions. Barely allowing the tip to have full contact.

That's the key.

No full on contact.

Suck my cockiness
Lick my persuasion
Eat my words and then
Swallow your pride down, down

Dropping now, to one knee, before him so that the feather can glide from groin to thigh, from thigh to knee, from knee to shin...and back again. Slowly, ever so slowly. The movement is both at odds and in perfect harmony~ with the words that spill from lush lips.

Place my wants and needs
Over your resistance
And then you come around
You come around
You come around

I sing when I am content. I hum when I am happy. Right now, I am both of those things. As I rise to my feet, the feather retraces it's previous journey. Eventually, it resumes it's slow, soft stroking of his right arm pit. The words are a whisper against his skin.

I love it when you eat it
I love it when you eat it
I love it when you eat it


I step back, drift to his left side and allow the feather to trail over his ribs.

"I love a cocky man, much like Rihanna. I think you should really learn the words to that song, you know? Just so you understand."

While he is thinking, focused upon the dip and swirl of the feather along his rib cage? My other hand reaches to scrape sharp nails slowly, almost.gently, along the under side of his ass.

I wonder if he will give me reason to count to five.

In the moment, there seemed to be only 3 things left in the universe. Thorns resting inside lip, feather tormenting flesh and a singing voice, dripping sexuality. Though the delivery made him want to shiver, the ability to concentrate on her voice instead of solely the feather was a godsend. He was fairly sure that while his body hummed, he was not in fact literally doing so. Things change though as feather dipped lower.

He bit down on the stem for a moment to stifle a yelp. Tiny hairs brushing the crown was simply too much in spite of steely resolve. His only hope is that it sounded like a choke sound, easing out a breath to steady himself. Remaining silent was a fucking nightmare! The black little thought started to form, tick, gauging the level of damage possible from her counting. Not good.

She’s singing about pride. His legendary stubborn pride, constantly getting him into situations that wiser folk would avoid. Swallow it down and he’ll come around. The constant tickle of the feather made a compelling argument, it was growing harder and harder to remain silent. Trailing over ribs, causing each breath to rasp slightly.

“…Should really learn the words of that song…”

Get right on it, soon as I spit out this fucking rose. He wondered if a glare conveyed that message. It wouldn’t matter with what happened next. He yelped as fingers raked across backside. Eyes widened as he realized what happened. A grumble, no sense in not expressing his displeasure.

“Fucker….”

Everything stops.

The music. The feather. My cheerfulness.

I could have ignored the whimpering groan. Hell, I had been ignoring all the little heavy inhales and light choking sounds this entire time. But he had to have his say, didn't he? He couldn't just leave me in my happy place.

That...that...fucker.

I drop the feather to the floor and move to stand before him. The words, when they come are cold, devoid of all emotion and husky.

"I am the fucker? Not yet, baby boy, but I will be."

Small feet carry me toward the pile of my toys. I debate for just one moment before grabbing the supple riding crop in one small hand and giving a few experimental swings. This. This will do just fine.

I return to him.

The crop is held out for his inspection. My voice resumes it's husky cadence.

"Now, you will clamp your lips tightly over that stem. VERY tightly. I want to see thorns pierce flesh. And I will pick five places to hit. THAT will be your count of five."

The crop flicks against the crown of his dick, but gently...so utterly gently.

"If I hear a single...fucking....whimper...I will quit. I will walk. I will tell my TWIN that you need a real training, soon. Just one single, solitary sound and I am done."

A low, humorless giggle.

"I don't think you really WANT me to be done, yet. Because you haven't proven a damned thing to yourself or to me. Nevertheless, one sound and it's curtains."

And then I let fly~ the flat of the crop hitting the shaft of his length with a resounding CRACK.

"Spoiled rotten little fucker."

The crop swoops and lands on his upper thigh, leaving a bright red mark behind.

"Asshole."

Feet carry me to the left so that the crop can snake around and land on the curve of his ass cheek.

"Brat."

And all the while, I am listening for his groan, his sigh, his whimper, his yelp. He fucked up...and I want him to know it...and if I have to stop because he couldn't shut up? I will make him pay for it.

Eventually.

I hold off on the last two and pace back to my original position. My eyes latch onto the trickles of blood that are escaping from his lips.

"Now, I can hold off on these last two...and resume or I can give them to you now in the hopes that you don't fuck up. IF you don't fuck up. I take the rose and you will be allowed sound. If I hold off and resume my quieter sort of play and you fuck up again. You have the count of seven...and I had better not hear a single fucking noise. Your choice. Blink once if you prefer to get through the last two now, so that you can make sound. Blink twice if you prefer the second option."

I wait.

The feather floated from hand and her whole energy changed. The line crossed was now the past, his future certain to be a mixture of pain and suffering.

"I am the fucker? Not yet, baby boy, but I will be."

Clearly none previously defied her, at least not to an extent that brash. He even allowed himself a grin, though it was only ventured while she was busy deciding the instrument of his demise.

It's a leather crop apparently, presented for a visual inspection so anticipation would instantly set in. Yep, that'd fucking hurt.

"...clamp your lips tightly over that stem. VERY tightly."

He complied, allowing a flicker of smile before thorns tore into soft flesh.

"I will pick five places to hit. THAT will be your count of five."

Leather flicked across the tip of his cock. His eyes narrowed slightly, biting down harder on the stem to prevent something worse then "Fucker". Crimson meandered down his chin from multiple locations.

"If I hear a single...fucking....whimper...I will quit. I will walk. I will tell my TWIN that you need a real training, soon. Just one single, solitary sound and I am done."

She would of walked already if she didn't want this just as bad as he did. It's the same reason that his mouth tasted like copper, scrapped raw and throbbing. He'd pay the price to keep going.

"I don't think you really WANT me to be done, yet."

No shit.

"Because you haven't proven a damned thing to yourself or to me."

Only half true. He did manage to piss her off, that's something.

It was almost like she could feel the snark which resulted in a crop cascading across cock. Breath rasped out through clenched teeth and bleeding lips.

"Spoiled rotten little fucker."

You just realized? The mental banter kept him going. Kept him silent as thigh exploded in searing pain, an instant welt left in it's wake.

She followed by calling him both an asshole and brat. He wasn't going to sit comfortably for at least a day or so. Totally worth calling her a fucker.

Once again standing in front of him, enjoying the sight of blood actively flowing. A choice, complete the last 2 strikes which in exchange allowed him to spit the rose and make sound. His other option? No more immediate pain but a resumption of the feather and a promise of a seven count for insubordination.

Sound meant talking. While she didn't specifically say that he could talk, she also didn't restrict it. He should of been a fucking lawyer.

A singular blink and a smile. Please Luna, hit me more.

The blink says he wants to take the pain now. Probably so that he can run his mouth once the rose is gone. Even though I know how his mind works, I am not too sure that he understands how my mind...works.

No matter.

If he wants to say words~ I will just set new rules. I like setting rules. They make me...very happy.

So then, a few steps back, eyes gazing at his form, debating where the next two strikes should occur. I know that he will not allow a sound to pass his lips. I know that he will relish the pain, a way to focus on the things I haven't done...yet. I need to re-establish my control.

I drop the crop and then fall to my knees.

Then?

I crawl toward him.

Crawling is seductive. Brown girl on the floor, honey brown eyes holding his gaze with my own, full lips curved just so. Hips wiggle in a little tick tock. I reach him, quickly.

Kneel up.

So that plush mouth is directly on the same level as bad boy groin. Mouth opens and engulfs rigid length...sucks the head, like a lollipop.

"Mmmmm."

Draws more of the length, rigid and throbbing into warm wet confines until nose almost nuzzles hair...there....and back...until the head rests on pouty, pretty lips.

Stopping.

Standing.

Grinning.

While my left hand moves to stroke rigid shaft before slipping down to caress heavy scrotum. The right hand?

Nails.

Drag.

Up.

Groin to throat...and this time I draw blood. Four lines of fire.

And still I stroke.

Scene pauses whilst a Wolfling sets up prezzies for her Twin.

First up?

A note attached~

This is just a basic lil house cat but in her tiny soul she holds the keys to mysteries...

See?

"The domesticated cat watches for unpredictable happenings and things that the people in the house can't see.

The cat represents agility in body and spirit and can teach one to develop clearer perceptions. This animal totem is resourceful, strong and fearless. Use it to increase courage and confidence."

Next a painting~

Why?

It is cougar...the way I see you. No lil cat but a big cat. Powerful, graceful. Energetic. Forceful. In tune and in touch with your own personal power and with the ability to look at things with a clear gaze.

And finally...ME

In rose quartz...

cuz I can...

I love you.

Back to the scene

He watches her move back, studying him, debating where to strike on his bare flesh. He bit down slightly on the stem, steadying himself. 2 strokes of the crop until a tiny freedom. It never happened.

She changed the rules.

Again.

She was on her knees, crawling towards him. He was mesmerized, most would be. Slinking, swaying, graceful. Lips curved ever so lightly.

Rising. Mouth and cock level. His brain groaned in anticipation. It physically translated as a shudder. He silently begged no. That was a first.

Everything exploded as lips engulfed skin. She murmured softly around the head, his knees flexing only to be pulled taunt again by a cinching noose. Engulfing more of him, tormenting with expert lips and talented tongue.

Withdrawing.

Rising.

Grinning.

One delicate hand continues to stroke, ministrations that drew continued ragged gasps through bloody lips. His brain was too distracted to worry about her other hand which introduced itself into the equation by raking flesh.

Hard.

He could feel the thin trails of blood, aching to scream, howl, curse. All he could afford was a suppressed whimper, lips torn raw by thorns at this point. He wanted to spit the rose, spit the pooled blood in his mouth. But that was what she expected out of him, defiance in the face of challenge. So he'd continue playing by the rules, no matter what they were or how often she changed them.

His response was EVERYTHING I expected.

Poor boy, isn't sure if he is coming, going, dead, still breathing. Flummoxed. JUST the way I like him. Rising up on tip toe, I gently pry his lips apart and remove my make shift bit from his mouth. The stem is dented, broken, streaked with gore. And though he had whimpered, had shook, I allow my pleasure to show upon my face.

He hadn't done the brat thing. I was proud of him for that.

Pressing close, I allow my tongue to taste the streams, rivulets, coursing from his lips. Deep red, slightly sweet. A lovely bouquet. An excellent vintage. The best wine bottle ever made by man.

"Very good. I would have sworn you would have broke and ran by now."

My voice is low, slow, patient, tender.

"Except for the whimper, you managed to be quiet so your punishment is at an end....but...I am bored with all of this now. So...."

I allow the words to trail off as my hands continue their caresses of shaft, of heft, of heavy scrotum. My eyes drill into his, watching. Gauging. Debating the next little piece of this game. I feel a pulse, a jerk. Heavy length begging for something else. Maybe the lips wrapped around the head had been too much?

No matter. As long as he understands that in this race, he is designed to be the loser. I don't have to follow my rules. HE does. Fingertips rise to loosen the rope that holds him captive to the ceiling hook. I no longer want him standing. Flat on his back. THAT is what I want.

SO the rope is removed, small hands checking for chafing while delicately tracing the red welts 'round throat and wrists. An idea then. Finger points to the massage table which has magically appeared to our immediate left, already sporting lovely lengths of white shibari rope.

"There. On your back."

No point in waiting to see if he will move. He will. Instead, I turn away and grab the two floggers. One has only 15 knotted tails. The other is upwards of 22, only half of them knotted with bits of sharp shiny attached. YES.

I also grab another piece of red rope. I want to wind it round his length...tight....and give him sensations until he begs. And I can last...as long as he does.

Turning to face him, I show him the new toys.

"The floggers are for chest and belly and thighs...and feet. The rope is for wrapping that lovely penis you have there...binding it~you know, just a bit of CBT~ so you don't go soft. And guess what? You can make all the noise you want...as long as it's begging, whimpering, crying or telling me just how hot I am."

I smile, a wicked grin meant to put him as far off his stride as possible.

"I like hearing about how hot I am...."

I move forward then and stretch to press a soft kiss to his battered mouth.

"Get comfy. This is gonna take a while."

Finally she took that fucking rose from his mouth. Everything burned and throbbed, seeping wounds turning to trails down chin. She licked ever so slowly, softly. Savoring. Enjoying her prize, the vitality he had spilled for her.

"Very good. I would have sworn you would have broke and ran by now."

Raw lips pulled back to reveal a flash of crimson stained teeth. A twist on his usual devil may care grin.

"....but...I am bored with all of this now. So...."

She's on tiptoes, loosening bindings from first the ceiling hook then from around his wrists and neck. The first completely unfettered breath felt like a gift. He was starting to see things from her perspective. Fuck. Fingertips skimmed welts across neck and wrists and the internal bickering silenced.

He turned to look even before she spoke, gaze obediently following outstretched finger to the table.

"There. On your back."

She turned back towards her selection of toys, both knowing his compliance was not in question. Behaving himself, though contrary to every belief he held, simply was his only option. It was a different challenge, that's how he rationalized it. It was complete bullshit. He wanted this. Every unflinching inch.

2 different floggers, neither particularly pleasant though one of those mean fuckers had barbs. A flashing glint confirmed his suspicion, the barbs were metal and not rubber. Fuck that's gonna hurt. Red shibari rope to bind his cock, making sure his arousal wouldn't be in question. She did make good on her word to allow him speech if he survived the prior challenge. Of course there were stipulations though none drew any form of protest.

"I like hearing about how hot I am...."

Supple lips caressed brutalized ones. Everything preceding that moment was validated, vindicated. The tenderness before violence once against crested and scrambled every nerve ending.

"Get comfy. This is gonna take a while."

Honey brown eyes focus on lean body as he stretches out, relaxing against the solidity of the massage table that cradles his length. Not that I don't want to rush into the next bit of play BUT...rushing accomplishes nothing and only means that I will have to redo something or fix something else, later.

And I really hate that.

Finally though, I meander over and lay both floggers upon his belly. My left hand resumes it's stroke of rigid cock flesh, small strong fingers clasping and caressing the shaft with a delicate rhythm while I debate which way to start. The pulse I feel in the palm of my hand, decides for me.

Soft, silken rope is grabbed. A loop is made and placed just at the base of throbbing manhood. The first wrap is made before the rope's leading edge is tugged down to divide the heavy scrotum into two neat halves. Another loop, circling heavy sack and then leading edge brought back up to circle the shaft, again. Two more tight wraps before tying the whole of it, off.

I insert one small finger into the rope, wiggling it to make sure that my tying and wrapping will not cut off circulation. The vein hidden beneath silken red pulses in time with my finger's movements. Oh, he definitely has PLENTY of circulation.

I can feel the grin that curves my mouth upward.

"Red looks GOOD on you, punkin."

Small feet carry me to the bottom of the table. Slim fingers pluck white rope from eye bolts and proceed to tie his ankles into immobility. Leaning forward as I finish the last knot, I allow my mouth to engulf the large toe on his left foot, suckling the digit as if it were my own personal mini penis.

"Yum...."

My voice has resumed it's own cheerful cadence. That low, husky, whiskey and cigarette tone that means I am having a blast. I know he can hear it. Hell, I can and he has had more than enough time to get used to my ways.

I continue to move, fingers trailing over firm, masculine flesh as I make my way toward the top of the massage table and the two pieces of rope dangling there. My hands position his arms, moving them so that they are bent at the elbows and placed with care just above his head. More wrapping, more knots. Full lips slip over an extended pointer finger, tongue tip swirling over the tip.

Long moments later, I am back where I started and he is tied to the table like a perfect present. Gloriously nude and hard and ready. I allow my grin to widen as I take up each flogger and allow my hands to get the heft of them. Wrists circle, checking the falls, watching the tails move until I can judge how far I need to stand away to give him the full benefit of my lesson.

Two steps back, wrists moving now with precision. Under hand...

*SNAP*
*CRACK*

Each flogger hits belly flesh. Wrists circles, tails fall away.

Over hand.

*CRACK*
*Snap*

Tails hit sternum and blood seeps from small open wound.

I find myself moving closer and then further away, making the falls land in different spots~just the tips or the entire length. The thud and snap of sound becomes the rhythm by which I indulge my self.

Hands move, wrists circle and circle, independent of thought. And I am singing again. Low humming letters and softly lilted words. Rihanna and Mariah all mixed up together.

And I am happy.

She placed the flogger upon his stomach, turning him into a human table. Normal circumstances would of drawn a flippant comment. Something about NOT being the heir to the coffee table fortune. Nothing surfaced beyond the thought tho, his self control indeed getting better with age and practice. Plus a delicate hand stroking heated flesh certainly provided adequate distraction, a diversion so compelling that even the Pope would be tempted.

The soft shibari rope tickled mildly and the grazing of fingertips did nothing but serve compliment. He was tempted to raise his head, admire her work and application skills. The weight of the floggers reminded him of what lay ahead and his knowledge of how she hated disobedience. Other then the throb of aching cock and the occasional shivered flesh, he remained still to be bound ala Gulliver's Travels.

She grins, calls him pumkin. He allows a small smile and a murmured thank you. Pumkin. He could get used to that...

His ankle's are the next recipient of the rope treatment. Minimal movement granted. No ability to shy away from strikes. Lips on his left great toe. Suckling, a small nibble. He'd crawl across shards at that moment for more which suddenly made the floggers seemed less daunting. Strange how the mind will prioritize pleasure over survival under proper circumstance.

Wrists are bound next. A lilting hum escapes her lips as she works, one whom truly enjoys their job. Arm's flexed at a 45* angle, placed gently above his head. Lips wrap around left index finger. He sighed softly in pleasure. Such delicious sensations before seared flesh and welt marks became the status quo.

Delicate hands remove the floggers from his chest, testing weight and rotational speed. A breath inhaled in those last few seconds, preparing for an explosion across midsection. One step. Two steps. Mere seconds stretch into eternity.

Reality exploded. Leather made contact with skin and he suppressed a yelp. His stomach is on fire. Skin howls. All is forgotten as the second strike lands. A overhand swing so the down force is greater. Heat radiated across sternum causing a flush up to his cheeks.

Fuck Luna.....

In spite of the pain, it's a pleading noise. It's the insane act of asking for the unknown because the desire simply too strong. He'd follow her to the depths of Hell in that moment if it was her desire. Any pain inflicted, blood shed would be an honor and tribute to her. Not many people would understand a sensation like that, it certainly ran counter instinctive to basic Fight or Flight. But neither of them were "normal" nor was their mutual social circles, they were a group that thrived on the unconventional. To them, this was bliss, pure and simple.

I can honestly say (with every evidence of truth) that nothing is hotter to me than a body~any body~ tied down and taking the pain that I need to give like a lascivious kiss. The fact that this particular body functions almost like an extension of my own just makes the relief that much more immediate.

It's amazing. Even more, it's a blessing.

The floggers have found their own sort of rhythm, one that doesn't really require me to do more than rotate my wrists and aim for the places I want to give a bit of thud/sting/smack. My eyes are narrowed, not against the brightness of this particular picture, but in concentration. I have to watch him, have to study his threshold. Have to know just when and where and how to push, to make more, to make BIGGER.

His whisper in the silence makes my heart throb but my words, when I speak them, are teasing, low, laughing, almost...sweet.

"You like this, hmm? Knowing that all of my attention is focused on you? You thrive under these sorts of conditions, punkin. I can tell. With each and every strike, your flesh glistens, you harden, you flush...you ache. It must be so...lovely."

Small steps carry me away from his upper body. Hands allow flogger falls to trail lightly over engorged cock, over straining thighs and bare feet. Down one side, turning the table corners, up the other. And always the soft stroking tickle of leather over taut flesh until finally I step back and start again.

SNAP
*crack*

Underhand strikes which land just at the top of his right thigh. The bits of shiny sharp pierce flesh but it becomes almost an after thought. I am busily debating the next strike and the next, building toward something.

CRACK
*snap*

Overhand now, coming down with all the power I have to bear, directing the falls toward middle of his thighs, covering both of them in solid blows. I watch as his body reacts, mindless in it's attempts to alleviate the sharp stinging thud.

"Very nice, punkin...so...nice."

Back to that rhythm, the one that draws me ever inward and upward, each touch, each crash, each strike~ dragging us closer to the point where the only return is the one where blood and various other fluids commingle, collide.

Pleasure.


"Talk to me, love...what..."

Wrists twitch, rotate, drag leather over flesh before a swinging swat is given.

"do..."

Another rotation, a new spot found, falls strike harder...

"you..."

Leather trails over abused flesh...softly, so very, very softly.

want? Tell me."

Narrator. Tormentor. Vixen. Demoness. Savior.

It's stunning how every word seemed tailored without the bulk of hyperbole. It took a unique creature to bear this mantle and make it look effortless. It spoke volumes to her skill and his respect for it, not merely because she has him trussed up like a carcass to be filleted and cleaned.

Though that did admittedly help.

No, it was her views on mutual interests. It was a new challenge, a different game. Bella let him spew obscenity and carry on. Luna, far from it. While any pleasure he received was a bonus, that wasn't the point. He was a canvas. An experiment. Which actions brought out which reaction. What made him pant. Whimper. Keen. Curse. What caused hips to rise & shift in futile attempts at relief.

The blows that landed across thighs was apparently some sort of endurance event. Skin reddened, howled, welted in attempt to cushion raw flesh. Muscles clearly tensed beneath skin, self-preservation screaming a loud retreat. While the rope prevented retreat, resistance was diminishing regardless of restraint. Every searing nerve, every thin seeping cut caused an explosive release of epinephrine & norepinephrine. Soon every synapse was flooded, heart rate slammed and body flushed even where he hadn't been struck. It was the high that made one agree to just about anything in that moment. The penultimate game of risk vs reward, playing systemic shock against greater pleasures.

He heard her words through thickened thoughts. What did he want? It wasn't one specific thing at that moment. It was just a need for more. Whatever it was, regardless of pain or repercussion. He expressed as such.

"More. Please more. Anything. Any-fucking-thing. Whatever pleases you Luna. But more."

He licked his lips, desperately trying to crane his neck in an attempt to watch. Eager for whatever was next. Needing it as badly as the oxygen in his lungs. The only thing that mattered in that moment was Luna's whim.

'Well, that was unexpected.'

The thought came and went~ a flash fire of words brought to a shuddering halt by the sheer lascivious glaze that overwhelmed my flesh and made me forget, for just a moment, what it is that I am trying to accomplish. I shook it off~that bit of heat and want, buried it beneath very hard earned control~ and took a step back from him.

"More? That is not exactly informative, punkin. That just tells me that you are a very greedy young man."

Turning away from him, I retreat to the area that held the few toys I had gotten together. Long moments are spent cleaning my floggers~ wiping the faint traces of blood off of each and every sharp, pretty piece attached to the various falls. It isn't that I am trying to lessen the excitement, not at all. It is more a need to find my own center so that I can help him find HIS.

Finally, I am finished.


"I think you need help getting your words in order, punkin."

Short curvy body sways ever nearer, until I am standing just to the side of the table he is tied to.

"So, I am going to help."

Slim fingers find the first slip knot and undo it, tugging the silken rope away from the taut flesh that, until now, has been safely bound and controlled. Strong fingers replace the rope, stroking hardened length from crown to base. The motion is repetitive, almost soothing, and I can see him attempting to focus beyond the buzzing synapses and sizzling flesh.

"Breathe in."

I wait for it...and when he does? I slam my empty hand across his mouth and nose~palm covering his mobile grin, thumb and middle finger gripping his nostrils tight. Leaning in, I whisper into his ear.

"Now. Think."

My other hand continues it's stroking, up and down, while applying gentle squeezes periodically along a throbbing shaft. Honey brown eyes focus upon his face~ noting the color, the red of exertion, of not breathing. When I can sense his struggle, I release his mouth and nose.

"Breathe."

Breath gasped and that hand returns to it's previous position. I wonder if he's thinking now?

"Bet you wish you had better words, hmm?"

The first thing out his mouth were not words, oh no, but a giggling laughter. It landed somewhere between a mercury addled lunatic and your average asylum inpatient. What a deliciously dangerous game they were engaged in and how it struck him just so. Composure returned within moments and he scrambled to explain himself, that the laughter was not of disrespect but one of full on masochistic pleasure.

"Apologies Luna, I mean no insult with my fit just now. I guess asphyxia appears to tickles both my masochist and funny bones equally. That is a mind numbing trick...."

Speech stopped and a sharp breath inhaled as thumb stroked throbbing crown of cock. It illustrated his point well.

"Mmmmm, yeah. Your delicate strokes and the lack of oxygen is just....delightful. My therapist isn't going to like hearing about this. Thank god I pay them to fix this kinda shit."

A grin, always a grin. He had few limits but many desires and it was time to express them. It was that or potentially pass out playing this new game/punishment. Win win. Focus. Luna's patience was finite and he was already tip toeing the damn line.

"What do I want? I want to taste you Luna. Every fucking inch of your skin. There is not a surface that I don't desire to map with lips, tongue and teeth. I want to try and steal your breath with my kiss. I want to make you squirm and provide a glimpse of how you twist me. I don't think there is much I could do that you haven't experienced but that sure doesn't discourage me. I want to leave such a mark, maybe even a permanent one, that every person after me know's that something happened. Even more then that, I want to see what your limit is. Fuck that's exciting."

He started giggling at the thought, amazed at how much coherent speech came through considering the stimulation of his cock. He clearly adored her, loved every moment of their game. She was going to kick his ass. That's what he wanted. All seemed right in the universe.

His laughter startled an answering giggle out of me before I could control it. I knew, even before he rushed to explain himself, what the cause was. The fact that he cut his maniacal laughter off as quickly as he did made doubly sure that I understood what I had managed to do.

I had prodded awake his inner pain slut and that mother fucker was giddy.

My head tilted slightly, aiming to hear his words beneath the husky giggles that escaped on every other syllable. So intent was I on paying attention to what he was saying that my hand stopped it's steady stroking, and instead settled lightly at the base of his shaft.

His ridiculous little smirk made me want to kiss him and beat him, all at once. No wonder Twin liked him when he was on the edge and pleading, begging, poking, cajoling. I liked it, too. However, this was a different game and my strengths were not the same as hers. I knew it and so I focused on him, making myself listen to his request.

"What do I want? I want to taste you, Luna. Every fucking inch of your skin. There is not a surface that I don't desire to map with lips, tongue and teeth. I want to try and steal your breath with my kiss. I want to make you squirm and provide a glimpse of how you twist me. I don't think there is much I could do that you haven't experienced but that sure doesn't discourage me. I want to leave such a mark, maybe even a permanent one, that every person after me know's that something happened. Even more then that, I want to see what your limit is. Fuck that's exciting."

I had known, deep in my center, I had known. After all, I had offered it to him...in private discourse, once upon a time. Part of me yearned to allow him his due. But that part was MUCH smaller than the part that was in command. The part that was in command? Felt like that sort of thing had to be earned...and he had not, as yet, proved he could do what I would need him to do~if our positions were reversed. And anyway, I had plans of my own now...and he had JUST the appendage I needed for that particular want.

"Do you now?"

My words were a husky purr in the silence of the room. My hand resumed it's artful stroking, even as I stretched one leg up and over his thighs, balancing precariously on the opposite foot.

"Maybe, we can work on that next, hmm?"

Hand stilled, stroked upward to plant itself upon his chest so that I could finish pulling myself above him. It took a few minutes. His body was longer than my own and I am short but eventually~I was straddling him~boy shorts now fairly damp with sweat and other fluids. Small hands rose to unhook my bra so that the heavy globes were free to bounce and cool off. Those same small hands drifted around to cradle the roundness in the palms, offering them like little delicious treats for his delectation.

I leaned in, my hands moving from breasts to chest and then I leaned down, so that my mouth hovered just over his. I whispered my query against the smile he still hadn't managed to rid himself of.

"Tell me punkin, wouldn't you like it if I rid myself of these panties and rode you into a screaming orgasm? I know I would...matter of fact, I think I will. DO you think you can hold off on cumming? Are you willing to make a bet on it? If I ride you the way I do...and you don't get off...then next time, it's your turn...but if you come...then I can just leave you here to think on what you did wrong...What do you say, hmm?"

My left hand wandered south and adjusted my panties, pulling them to the side so that the wet slit slipped effortlessly over the taut skin of his shaft, up and down, a slow rocking movement that coated his entire length...with me. And I waited, very patiently, once more in complete control...to see what he would say.