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“You’ll be uncomfortable for the next—well, I’ll decide how long.” He forces himself against me and slinks down to reach my feet. I can feel his sturdy fingers handling my ankles. Whatever he does, when he lets go, I can’t move.
“Tell me you want this, Isabelle?” he grunts.
Too late for me to say no, but somehow his question reflects who this man is. Clayton will never ask or force me to do anything against my will.
“Yes,” I answer loud and clear.
“I don’t hold back, so you know.”
“Have I ever asked you to?”
My legs are raised even before I finish my sentence. My wrists and ankles are raked as my body weighs me down. With nothing under my back, I’m now hanging horizontally in mid-air, completely helpless. This isn’t part of what I wrote in my letter.
Clayton caresses my face, touching my clothes. His handling is feeble. I don’t think he’s going to tear it off.
No, he’s not, because he’s going to cut my uniform instead. With the crisscross sound of the scissors, without even seeing it, I know my uniform is no more. Top to bottom, I’m now only in my underwear.
Clayton’s hand rubs my cleavage while the other removes my blindfold. The light from the candles shines on his V-shaped torso. That white underwear is impossibly tight and hides nothing.
I gasp, not only from the hanging position I’m subjected to but from the vibe he’s giving me—sexual, carnal, and unstoppable.
He turns around, revealing his well-sculpted back. Better still, he then bends down, leaving me short-winded as I witness his ass jutting out to me. Following his movement, I realize he’s picking up a bar from the floor.
Now,that bar—was my request.
“Welcome to your fantasy,” he announces, rubbing the metal rod against my inner thigh.
I pulse, and he flicks his finger under my underwear.
Jesus… I’m so sensitive I clench hard like a sea clam protecting its pearl.
“You’re wet already.”
I have been since he blindfolded me!
Clayton secures the cuff at each end of the telescopic spreader bar onto my ankles. I move, and I’m stunned by how responsive the bar is.
“Remember, once you go wide, you can only go wider,” he murmurs as his lips explore my shivering legs.
My body droops, snatching a painful moan out of my throat. He keeps me that way and puts the scissors to good use once again, cutting my bra and panties.
Satisfaction mars his face. After letting his fingers travel the length of my body as if testing its readiness, he then pours oil all over it. He spreads his fingers and palms, lathering every inch of my skin with the oil, once in a while poking his finger inside my pussy.
“Clayton!” I scream.
My body droops even more.
He ducks to bypass the bar, then inserts himself in between my thighs. I pulse, and the bar extends, spreading my legs wider.
“Oh, Baby Belle.” He feasts on my struggle. He trails his finger along the metal bar as if reminding me that every action will draw a reaction. Then he imposes even more torture by pressing his cock onto my opening. He’s still underwear-clad, but it doesn’t mean I can’t feel what I’m up against.
Wild desire shrouds him as he pats my buttocks, kneading them slightly. With his hands still on my ass, he then lifts my body from sagging dismally.
“Ugh…” I pant, and my wrists and ankles are yanked slightly as one of his hands lets me go.
I’ve never been with a man like this. It’s painful, overly arousing, but at the same time, it highlights my complete trust in him. And he doesn’t let me down. Just before the pain turns into malignant torture, he pulls something from above, securing a loop around my waist like a girdle. This man isn’t just well versed with female body, he’s proficient in balancing pain and pleasure, and his timing is impeccable.
Now he can let me go completely without leaving me in grievous pain. I surmise that he wants me to last.
