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“Please! Stop!”
“As soon as you guess.”
“A feather?”
“Good.” He rewards me with a kiss, but it’s over way too soon. I’m hungry for his lips, his mouth, his tongue.
He drags something new lightly across my skin, something so weightless I can barely feel it. Whatever it is trails up the length of my leg and across my inner thigh, purposely skirting the edge of my sex to trail over my stomach, then around the other side of my vagina and down the other leg. I shiver as goose bumps rise on my skin. Then he draws it upward, circling my areola with it until I’m squirming again, but this time I’m not trying to get away. This time I want…more, but of what I don’t know. I try to focus on guessing the object. I’ve about determined that it’s string when he pulls it taut and scrapes it over my erect nipple roughly, making a twanging noise and sending shock waves to my core. He moves to my other nipple, flicking my hard nipple back and forth with it, and I can’t help but moan. It’s unbelievably erotic. I try to place what it could be, but to be honest, I’m having a little bit of trouble concentrating.
“A rubber band?” That would explain the twang, and my lust-clouded brain can’t come up with anything better.
He scrapes it back across my other nipple, making me gasp.
“Close,” he says. “But no. It’s dental floss. Two minutes of punishment to offset that two-minute massage.”
“You don’t have to sound so gleeful about it,” I grumble, but the thought of his punishments, which seem to be designed to arouse me more than hurt me, intrigues me almost more than the massage.
He doesn’t touch me for a minute, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, struggling to get my footing. I wait in silence, feeling exposed but more turned on than I’ve ever been before.
The pinch to my nipples is a shock, completely catching me off guard, but it’s as if there’s a conduit straight from my nipples directly to my pussy, which pulses in response. I feel his fingers on my breast then, and on my nipple, and then something is tightening around the erect point, exerting a consistent and oh-so-erotic pressure. He moves to my other breast, but the slight compression of my nipple doesn’t lessen.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask.
“Tying the floss around your nipples,” he says, “to keep you aroused.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem.” My voice sounds strangled to my own ears, and he laughs softly.
A few seconds later, something silky soft sweeps across my inner thighs. This one’s easy. “A brush.”
“Correct. A makeup brush.”
Like the feather, the brush tickles erotically as he trails it over my skin and my body’s straining, trying to escape whatever trajectory it’s on, which is apparently what he wants, because he continues until I’m pulling on the restraints and begging him to stop.
“It doesn’t count unless you say red. So go ahead and beg all you want, sweetheart.”
I clamp my lips together and he chuckles, tormenting me for several more long minutes. When he finally stops, I’m wriggling as much from the heat thrumming through my veins as from him tickling me.
The next sensation has me gasping, as he slashes the sharp point of a knife across my belly, and I swear he’s cut me.
“Red!” I scream.
He stops immediately, pulling the blindfold from my eyes, and I’m staring into his eyes, which are clouded with concern mixed with confusion.
“Fuck, McKenzie. I’m sorry. I thought you could handle the blindfold.”
“It’s not the blindfold. Blood makes me squeamish. I-I don’t want you to cut me.”
“Cut you! Is that what you think I did?”
“Yes. It was a knife, right?”
“No, sweetheart. It was this.” He holds up an innocent-looking wooden chopstick. “Have you been cut before?”
“No, it’s not that. Oh God. I’m sorry. I…I overreacted. I couldn’t see and my imagination took over and I panicked.”
He cups my cheek in his hand. “That’s part of the point of sensation play. The heightened sense of awareness enhances the pleasure. But in a sense, it’s also a mindfuck, which is part of the power exchange, and part of the pleasure. You have to put your trust in me unequivocally, even when your mind is telling you otherwise. Just because something seems to be one thing, that doesn’t mean it is. You don’t always know what you think you know.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I feel like an idiot for freaking out. And totally bummed about prematurely ending what was turning out to be a very erotic game.
