satindesire
Queen of Geeks
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2005
- Posts
- 13,101
He turned the dial of the dimmer, and behind my eyelids the bedroom grew dark. I had closed my eyes because the thick incense smoke burned, making it hard to see in a blurry-blinking sort of way. I could feel him rustling about quietly, and the dark energy behind his purposeful motion made me feel a curling tingle of electricity in my gut.
"Lay down on the bed. Put your arms up above your head where you can leave them comfortably." He was quiet in the way a very serious person can be quiet, a tone that was so matter-of-fact that there was no question if I'd obey or not.
I laid down, my weight made the bedframe squeak, jarringly. I tried not to giggle at it's human-ness. "Feet up." My breasts jiggled under my tank top when I raised my arms, I looked at him to see if he had noticed. He was staring at my chest with the painted-eyeball look of the very aroused.
I opened my eyes completely, to make sure I couldn't accidentally kick him. He took both ankles into one hand, rested my feet on his chest to prop me up, and gathered the material of my pajama pants in his hands. The fabric made a silky scrape as he eased it slowly down, managing it past the rise of my ass. Then I was looking at painted toenails and paper-white feet on his dark golden-amber skin, the soft whorls of curling chest hair trapped between my toes, smoke making the view hazy and dream-like. I was feeling the headspace, floaty and goofy and smiley. Everything was fragmented and disjointed like a puzzle missing pieces.
He left the pajamas crumpled on the floor, and although he was looking at my face, his hands were distantly caressing the backs of my thighs and ass, palming each globe as if trying to measure how large each cheek was. I felt as fertile as the full moon, huge and bursting, over my belly I could see the strain of his erection through the denim jeans. At that moment, I could have given birth to stars, and lay like a pampered lioness swollen with cubs.
Reaching down to the bed, he produced the black nylon rope. He was grinning. "I like the contrast of the rope against your white skin." So low and pleasant, his voice was like a stroke, even better when he trailed the coil across my pregnant belly. "Beautiful little China doll." I was glowing, I could tell, couldn't stop smiling. Leaning over me, his hard on pressed into my belly. He straddled me carefully and adjusted my arms to his liking, uncoiling the rope from it's bundle.
I rubbed myself luxuriously against him, pressing my nose into his torso and inhaling the citrus-spice scent of cologne and skin. His smell made me jump with greedy grabbing lust, I could feel my sex lips open, pouting juicily for penetration. "Distracting me." he muttered, I could hear the smile in his voice so I didn't stop, lifting my ass to grind my naked vulva into his thigh.
He was winding the rope around my wrists, making a beautiful crisscross pattern. Easily holding them with one hand, looking at the design or making sure that it didn't bite my skin, he left a length of the braided nylon long enough for me to ease my arms down should I need to stretch, but too short to reach him. I jerked at the rope in frustration once I realized I couldn't touch him, and he was grinning, arm muscles bunching as he lifted himself off the bed. I sulked, and that swiftly earned a sharp smack on the thigh. I stopped sulking.
"Where's your wooden hairbrush?" Oh fear! My heart started juddering in my chest, he could swing that thing with enough force to lift me off my feet. "In my purse." My voice was shaking and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
He fetched it out, smoothing the hard bristles across my thighs. Gooseflesh rose in tingly waves, making my nipples stand up against the sheer fabric of my tank top. Some minutes passed, just the bristles gently scraping and the soft music as background. I tasted lipstick as I sank teeth into my lips, trying not to whimper with anticipation.
Just as I thought he was going to forgo the intense play, the first smack landed on my lower thigh. The sting was incredible and immediate, the white-dead shock and then pain. Smack! Smack! Smack! Up each thigh, then to the calves, the pain traveled in vicious waves down my legs. I yelped with each smack, jerking in the ropes. Soon the pain blurred into a red fiery burn, the occasional pressure of his hand caressing injured flesh reminding my nerves to respond.
The blows slowed, moved towards my sexflesh. The beatings became sharper as the wetness of my juices made each smack more pronounced. The pain was jarring and hard, I could feel the tension in my muscles as I strained to breathe through. Forcing myself to relax and accept the sensation, forcing myself to ride out the smacks.
Then, his soft mouth fell on my clit, tongue probing the swollen abused lips, parting them to collect the moisture that seeped between my labia. Sucked and kissed and licked, and I was writhing with the intense nerve-confusion of pain and pleasure, humming and giggling and gasping uncontrollably.
The pain faded and I was relaxing, calming, finding myself forgetting the beating and simply concentrating on the sensation of his mouth.
Smack! The hairbrush returned, I screamed and bit down on it immediately, he had to force my thighs apart with his hand to keep them open. I was struggling in earnest now, and he was muttering things, in between each smack his mouth would return to soothe and stimulate. The blurring of fear and desire was so intense that I felt like my heart would spill out of my mouth at any moment. The beatings continued to my thighs and calves again, interrupted by surprise visits of his gentle mouth. I didn't know whether to arch and moan against him or flee.
Finally, when I was spent and gasping, he released my wrists from the rope and gave me water, holding my shaking and limp body against him tenderly, supporting the bottle because my own hand was unresponsive and weak. I fell asleep curled against him, and woke the next morning sore and swollen, glowing with memories, and love.
"Lay down on the bed. Put your arms up above your head where you can leave them comfortably." He was quiet in the way a very serious person can be quiet, a tone that was so matter-of-fact that there was no question if I'd obey or not.
I laid down, my weight made the bedframe squeak, jarringly. I tried not to giggle at it's human-ness. "Feet up." My breasts jiggled under my tank top when I raised my arms, I looked at him to see if he had noticed. He was staring at my chest with the painted-eyeball look of the very aroused.
I opened my eyes completely, to make sure I couldn't accidentally kick him. He took both ankles into one hand, rested my feet on his chest to prop me up, and gathered the material of my pajama pants in his hands. The fabric made a silky scrape as he eased it slowly down, managing it past the rise of my ass. Then I was looking at painted toenails and paper-white feet on his dark golden-amber skin, the soft whorls of curling chest hair trapped between my toes, smoke making the view hazy and dream-like. I was feeling the headspace, floaty and goofy and smiley. Everything was fragmented and disjointed like a puzzle missing pieces.
He left the pajamas crumpled on the floor, and although he was looking at my face, his hands were distantly caressing the backs of my thighs and ass, palming each globe as if trying to measure how large each cheek was. I felt as fertile as the full moon, huge and bursting, over my belly I could see the strain of his erection through the denim jeans. At that moment, I could have given birth to stars, and lay like a pampered lioness swollen with cubs.
Reaching down to the bed, he produced the black nylon rope. He was grinning. "I like the contrast of the rope against your white skin." So low and pleasant, his voice was like a stroke, even better when he trailed the coil across my pregnant belly. "Beautiful little China doll." I was glowing, I could tell, couldn't stop smiling. Leaning over me, his hard on pressed into my belly. He straddled me carefully and adjusted my arms to his liking, uncoiling the rope from it's bundle.
I rubbed myself luxuriously against him, pressing my nose into his torso and inhaling the citrus-spice scent of cologne and skin. His smell made me jump with greedy grabbing lust, I could feel my sex lips open, pouting juicily for penetration. "Distracting me." he muttered, I could hear the smile in his voice so I didn't stop, lifting my ass to grind my naked vulva into his thigh.
He was winding the rope around my wrists, making a beautiful crisscross pattern. Easily holding them with one hand, looking at the design or making sure that it didn't bite my skin, he left a length of the braided nylon long enough for me to ease my arms down should I need to stretch, but too short to reach him. I jerked at the rope in frustration once I realized I couldn't touch him, and he was grinning, arm muscles bunching as he lifted himself off the bed. I sulked, and that swiftly earned a sharp smack on the thigh. I stopped sulking.
"Where's your wooden hairbrush?" Oh fear! My heart started juddering in my chest, he could swing that thing with enough force to lift me off my feet. "In my purse." My voice was shaking and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
He fetched it out, smoothing the hard bristles across my thighs. Gooseflesh rose in tingly waves, making my nipples stand up against the sheer fabric of my tank top. Some minutes passed, just the bristles gently scraping and the soft music as background. I tasted lipstick as I sank teeth into my lips, trying not to whimper with anticipation.
Just as I thought he was going to forgo the intense play, the first smack landed on my lower thigh. The sting was incredible and immediate, the white-dead shock and then pain. Smack! Smack! Smack! Up each thigh, then to the calves, the pain traveled in vicious waves down my legs. I yelped with each smack, jerking in the ropes. Soon the pain blurred into a red fiery burn, the occasional pressure of his hand caressing injured flesh reminding my nerves to respond.
The blows slowed, moved towards my sexflesh. The beatings became sharper as the wetness of my juices made each smack more pronounced. The pain was jarring and hard, I could feel the tension in my muscles as I strained to breathe through. Forcing myself to relax and accept the sensation, forcing myself to ride out the smacks.
Then, his soft mouth fell on my clit, tongue probing the swollen abused lips, parting them to collect the moisture that seeped between my labia. Sucked and kissed and licked, and I was writhing with the intense nerve-confusion of pain and pleasure, humming and giggling and gasping uncontrollably.
The pain faded and I was relaxing, calming, finding myself forgetting the beating and simply concentrating on the sensation of his mouth.
Smack! The hairbrush returned, I screamed and bit down on it immediately, he had to force my thighs apart with his hand to keep them open. I was struggling in earnest now, and he was muttering things, in between each smack his mouth would return to soothe and stimulate. The blurring of fear and desire was so intense that I felt like my heart would spill out of my mouth at any moment. The beatings continued to my thighs and calves again, interrupted by surprise visits of his gentle mouth. I didn't know whether to arch and moan against him or flee.
Finally, when I was spent and gasping, he released my wrists from the rope and gave me water, holding my shaking and limp body against him tenderly, supporting the bottle because my own hand was unresponsive and weak. I fell asleep curled against him, and woke the next morning sore and swollen, glowing with memories, and love.
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