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My chest rises and falls with each deep breath and I can’t help but squirm when I’ve taken seven and have yet to feel him.
I shift against my bindings and an impatient sound tumbles out of me. His hot breath fans my lips and I freeze, desperate for his kiss. A muted buzz reaches my ears and my brows draw together.
The bottom of my negligee lifts and I gasp loudly when a foreign sensation lands directly on my clit. It’s vibrating and…softly sucking the sensitive flesh. Inarticulate sounds escape me as he holds the mystery device over the perfect spot.
“Don’t hold back, Kyra,” he says, breathing the words against my soaking center.
How close is he?
“I want to hear what I’m doing to you. Color?” he asks, adjusting his angle slightly.
My hips thrust into the feeling, and his throaty chuckle amplifies the building waves. “Green, green,” I stutter, clearing my parched throat. “More, please,” I beg.
“Anything for you,” he murmurs, switching to a higher setting.
I cry out, racing to the finish line. A pleasurable heat coils in my core with the repetitive pull and release motion ravaging my clit. I rest my head against the pillar and my muscles tense, bracing for what I know will be the best orgasm I’ve ever had.
“Give it to me, Kyra,” he demands. “Come for me.”
He presses the sucking mouth flush against my pussy and I scream as the waves break, crashing exquisitely throughout my body as he turns down the vibrations, stretching the feeling until it’s a divine ache that pounds inside my slick, empty channel to the beat of my heart.
The buzzing stills and he removes the device, leaving me wet and exposed.
“Damn, your cunt is perfect,” he says hoarsely.
Somehow I know his body is blocking the view. I tell myself it’s the reason his breath is still fanning my soaking lips, but the depraved part of my mind imagines him talking himself down from licking me, tasting what he did to me.
He finally drops the hem of my dress and I jerk when the feather returns to my legs, trailing down the space between my thighs, back up, and lingering just below my wetness, the taunting touch almost too much.
The feeling disappears too soon. Always too soon. And his footsteps fade again as he returns to the table.
His hands are on my ankles, undoing the tie what seems like a second later, my wrists after that, and without the support, I can barely stand. The skin that’s now free of the bonds tingles as I wait.
“Keep breathing, little girl. I need another before we end our fun.”
My pussy throbs. I’m too sensitive.
I whimper as he twists a ribbon around one of my wrists, gently guiding me forward. He stops me a few steps later and spins me. I wobble and my other hand darts out, gripping his bare forearm to steady myself.
He sucks in a breath and I quickly remove my hand, awaiting my next instruction.
“Sit,” he says, and I hesitantly bend my knees, my butt eventually landing on the cool leather of the lounge chair. “Lie down.”
I do as I’m told, shifting further on and lifting my legs, then lowering my head.
“You’re doing beautifully, Kyra,” he says, and I preen under his praise.
He still holds my left hand loosely with the ribbon and he lifts it above my head, leaning over my body to secure my arm to the wooden frame. He wraps the other around my left ankle, wrapping it around and lifting my leg before fastening my ankle to the wooden post at bottom end of the chaise.
He shuffles past me, returning a moment later to cradle my other foot with another ribbon, placing it flat on the floor beside me.
“Hold your ankle,” he says.
I frown at his request, but reach down, the awkward angle parting my thighs wide and exposing that still sensitive and dripping part of me.
He ties my hand and ankle together on the floor in line with my hip. It’s not too tight and the stretch is surprisingly open, not uncomfortable like I expected.
“Color?” he asks.
