Writhing

The rope held her pinned, restricting her movement. Lightly biting into her wrists, her waist, her ankles. A constant pressure, leaving her her spread open and exposed on the smooth silk sheet that covered the table. Every breath was shallow. Each exhale was an intense struggle as she desperately awaited touch, for his touch. The blindfold robbed her of her sight, leaving her plunged into black, sightless excitement. Noise canceling headphones rested over her ears. A dizzying constant assault of static, of white noise that stole her sense of time. Drowning out everything. No sound. No sight. Just the rope. The silk. The anticipation of what was to come next. It left her writhing, soaked. Waiting. Wanting.

It was all too much while somehow at the same time it was nowhere near enough.

Her skin, lost of other senses, screamed. She could feel single hair stood on end. She could feel her nipples stiffened. Not painful. Not numb. Just there. Two firm points, craving attention as they stood for him. Blood pulsed. Heavy, thick, red through her veins. Each pump of her heart sending a slow throb that directed everything towards that special spot deep in her stomach. Leading to a building, desperate ache.

Then. A faint feel of movement. She could sense the shift in the air bristle her skin as he came closer. A slight breeze of movement. A soft, ticklish caress across her stomach. A finger, tracing the nape of her neck. Shivers. Reaching, sliding downwards. Tracing the shape of her breast. Electric. Her ribs next, wandering towards her naval. Intense. Her body, responding in the only way that it can. Need. She loves the tender touch, the lightness, the kindness in the way he teased her. Soft. Loving. Intimate.

As quickly as it arrived, it was gone, vanished from her senses. A single breath left her throat. Missing it. Then, leather. Thin, soft, rough strands. The ends of a flogger. Draping. Teasing over her skin. Many little fingers, spreading themselves across her. From one intense tease to a hundred. All tracing, all moving, all just as electric as they kissed her body. A shiver tore through her. Immediate. Little prickles of energy that shot in all directions as they lapped at her . Each strand, a feather light brush, just enough contact to make her shake, the goosebumps it raised, she could feel them all rising in response. Her breath froze. Her body tensed. Arching, her back, her waist, struggling against the sensation, unable to run, locked by the restraint, desperately pleading for more. It floated on her. Danced. Sparking a wave that came straight from the ball in the pit of her stomach.Creeping, building out and flooding her body whole with a rising arousal, a thirst for more.

Then it came. The first impact. A sudden, sharp thwack. Not hard enough to bruise. Not meant for a welt. But enough. Just enough to rip her from the daze. A rush. Her hips bucked against the ropes. A cry lodged in her throat. For that brief second. Before the impact. She realized she had missed it. The feeling. The anticipation. It was blindsiding. Instant arousal. Different from moments ago. Hot. Fast. The leather ends, moved to lap down her inner thigh. Back to kissing, teasing. Cool and soft against her now heavily flushed skin. She tensed. Every muscle screaming. Waiting. Now. Ready for the next one, the next heavy slap.

He pulled the flogger back. She expected another lash. Another jolt. More sparks. Instead, the ends were back. Her breast now. Tracing. Slow. Agonizing. Up her side, brushing one firm nipple. Downwards next, across her hip. Then back towards her thigh. Briefly, caressing her lips, swelling with pleasure on their way. A cruel evil tease. She squirmed. Desperately trying to twist her hips. Wanting the impact. The sharp stinging feeling she loved so much Needing the release of the build up, the tension he was making. He was forcing her to prepare. To brace for something that may or may not come. The anticipation. It was driving her mad. She’s lost in it, dying for it.

A sudden, ice cold drop. A single bead of water landed. It was sharp. Intense. Landing on her stomach. Another. Then another. The cold felt like it stabbed her. Against the warm heat of the flogger's last slap against her skin where the blood was rushed in reaction to the impact . It’s unbearable. Her body quivered. Shaking. Violently. Against the ropes. Against the padded table lined with silk. Against the tail ends that still tickled and teased. Involuntary tremor, rippled through her body. So many sensations, all designed to keep her guessing, all built to make her writhe. The feeling, starting from that spot deep behind her pelvis. Spreading. Flooding out into every limb. The heavy ache between her legs intensified. Deep. A heavy throbbing pulse that came in waves. Demanding to be met. Needing to release.

Suddenly. Nothing. The flogger. Gone. The cold drops. Disappeared. No sensation. Time felt suspended. Stretching. She was left writhing, longing for more..

A sharp, deep bite. Teeth. Hot. Breath moist around it. Sinking into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Unprepared, unexpected. She melted. Instantly. Chest pushing outwards as a moan ripped through her throat. Swallowed by it. She loved his mouth. Hot. Wet. Working its way up her thigh. A slow, intentional torture. He kissed. He Bit. He Licked. Comes agonizingly close to her pussy with each pass. Never quite reaching it. Her hips bucked. Desperate. Needing. Fighting. Trying to meet his mouth. To force him to take what she so willingly offered. The ropes held her firm. Just enough slack to wiggle. To keep the blood flowing. To give a false impression she was free. Not enough to get what she needed, not enough to slide her hips to that mouth. It was driving her absolutely wild.

Again, his tongue grazed her labia. Another flash. Immediate. Shot through her. A moan, rubles from her mouth. Straight down her spine and landing right there in her clit. She felt his breath, against her skin. The frustration as he pulled away again. The absence of his touch. Then. Another heat. His tongue made another appearance. Spread wide in the crease between her thigh and her pussy. A slow, sensual lick. She was burning up. White lights plagued her vision with each unexpected taste.

Another. This time it blitzed her quick. Straight. From bottom to top. Ending with that miserable light brush near her clit. Just off the hood. He intentionally missed it. Forcing a scream from the tension. She is struggling now. Needing him. Fighting against the restraints. Uncaring if the rough jute cut into her skin. Uncaring if she tore herself apart. She’s desperate.

Another impact. The flogger. Out of nowhere. A sharp crack against the same thigh he had just been kissing moments ago. The surprise made her yelp. A warm gush soaking from her. Pooling between her cheeks. A warm, welcome sensation. She tensed for another. Her body now screaming for it, prepared, ready so it won't be caught off guard this time. She was met with surprise instead. His tongue. Slow. Deliberate. Licked between her legs. Tracing slowly, dancing circles around her soeked and wanting entrance. Making its way up, lightly playing at her labia and dipping back down into the fold, swirling. The pace was so slow, so intentionally slow.

She wanted nothing more than to grab his hair. To force him downwards, to make him beg for air, for him to slide his tongue into her. To just bury himself in her. Then he moved upwards again. Desperate for him to make contact with her clit. The way he always did. Just up to the left of the hood. He knew her body. In ways no one had. And it was killing her. He knew exactly how to keep her on edge. How to torture her with pleasure. She felt him brush her clit. Hard. Jumping from its hood. Screaming to him that she was here. Wanting. Eager.

A cry of disappointment. Frustration. Heartbreak. Ripped from her as he circled around it. Keeping the perfect distance to keep her on edge, writhing more. Just as he pulled back off. Leaving her suspended. Leaving her hating him as another thwack came ringing down. This time across her lips. Thwack. Light, just right. A million little sparks. A million little flashes of white in her eyelids. Soaked. Warmth, enveloping the sparks.

Then, his mouth. Finally, on her clit. Not lightly. Not teasing. Sucking. Hard. Relentless. His tongue, a force, plunging, swirling, devouring. A hand, large, rough, reached. Grabbed at her breast. Five large fingers holding, digging into the flesh. Claiming. Owning. Her nipple pinched, rolled, twisted between them as he groped at her. The pressure built. Two points of contact. Overwhelming. Her clit, that exposed desperate bundle of nerve. His tongue, milking. The nipple, screaming. Every sensation from before, the tickle of leather, the sharp sting of the flogger, the ice cold drops of water. It all met in those one moment. Amplified. Lifting her higher. Her body quivered. Shook. Violently. Her mind was under attacked. Blurring. Losing control. The coming orgasm, a wild tidal wave. Building. Crashing against her.

Then he pulled back. Right as it broke. Right as she saw the stars forming under the blindfold. Ripped away. The scream died in her throat. Murder. She wanted to kill him. To tear him apart.

He was gone. Disappeared. Her breast, missing, yearning the warmth of his hands, the forceful pawing at her breast.

She caught it in the next second. His scent. He’s Close. He was circling back to her head.

A tongue. Wet. Slick. Covered with her. Still holding the thick grool right before he stole her pleasure from her. Forced itself into her mouth.Pushing past her lips. A kiss. Deep. Violating. Consuming. Anger. Desire. Raging. Her hands flew. Trying to grab his face. To pull him closer. Restraints. Locking her in place, denying her. Holding her back. The resistance. It drove her mad. Sucking at his tongue, tasting what he was doing to her. She writhed. Fingers, tracing again. Starting at her navel, headed towards the waterfall between her legs. Sucking in on his face, desperate to not let him leave. Needing his mouth on hers as his fingers wandered, pressure increasing. Begging that this time he was headed to finish the job he started, consumed by it. Writhing in pleasure.