My thighs begin to throb, my knees to ache. Shoulders stretched to feel like they will separate me at the breastbone, I must also keep my head thrown back, neck presented, soon that, too, will show me it’s delicious pain.
In all this time I have never understood how Master knows just when to call to me. I find myself pondering this each time as I wait. I remain as still as stone, my mind begging for his voice, eyes locked at the camera lens in the corner above and behind me. My pigtails brush my calves lightly, as they swing in time with my pulse. There is a small rush that comes through my soul, like one moment of fear. I know it does not show physically, but somehow he can sense it.
“Continue.” His voice is like velvet in my ears, deep round tones with a hint of salt. His accent speaks to me of subways and steaming grates, I’ve never seen. The small hairs all over my body stand at attention at the sound of it, my pussy moistens. Slowly, I am to drop my bottom to the floor, without releasing my ankles I must bring my breasts, also, the marble .As I place my shoulders and left cheek, against the cold stone, crossing my ankles as I release them, I bring my wrists together behind my back and let them rest.
Soon I will see The Shoes. Soundless on soft soles, they come in, two pairs of plain black loafers, men’s. As always I find myself wishing I could tell shoe sizes, for any other seed of information, because within moments I am blindfolded. At the same time I feel the leather lace between my wrists and ankles. Next will be the lifting, a set of hands at my shoulders, another at my hips, with a single movement I am shifted. I have no idea what The Shoes place me on. Something smooth, warm, and flat, I imagine a serving trey, myself being delivered for him to devour.
In the darkness behind my blindfold I wait. My skin, on fire from want of sensation, picks up the even slightest movement in the air as I am carried. The feeling of floating both relaxes and excites me, because I know what is to come. I feel myself lowering, but softly, I know we must be moving downstairs, although try as I might I have never been able to feel the steps. It is so much more like traveling down a river than being carried; the movements are so smooth. As always I find myself wondering about The Shoes, and how it is they move this way, I imagine them as dancers.
I am set down. My only clue to this is the absence of movement. In a few moments I will again be lifted, my wrists and ankles then unbound, temporarily, as I am repositioned. They bring me to a chair of some sort and redo my binds lashing my arms at the wrists, forearms, and biceps. My legs are opened, and lashed at the ankle, calf and thigh. The leather pulled just tight enough to bite into my skin. My head is pulled back; a single tie running across my forehead completes my immobility.
The Shoes are no longer moving near me, I only know this from experience, but they are still here, silent witnesses to my master’s pleasures. I sit, blind, waiting, never knowing how long it will be. My nipples harden, my breath grows shallow, and I again feel the small hairs all over me stand. Master knows the large part of my addiction is the anticipation; he pays me respect in this with the laws that bring me to him.
In the darkness behind my blindfold, I dream his face. The clean chestnut brown of his eyes, and the piercing way he uses them to rip into me. The soft look of his full lips contrasting with the hard words he forms with them. The relative smallness of his ears coupled with the intense way he listens. In my world of blackness my covered eyes release a single tear. The only thing I hate about pink is that innocence means I will not see him. This thought brings an exquisite stab into my heart.
Before that pain fades I hear his voice against my left ear, so close his lips brush the outer ridge. “Innocence” one word, but his tongue pulls on the consonants making it three, with a deep hiss trailing behind them. The very same moment his hands come to my breasts from behind cupping them, pressing me against the back of the chair, and disappearing just as suddenly.
For a truly indefinite amount of time I am victim to a barrage of such assaults, peppered in intervals of silence. My sight stolen from me, I have only my ears to lend clues to the direction of the next attack. But Master is blessed with a grace that leaves no mark upon the ear, and I am left blind to his movements.
His grace illustrated in a single movement I feel at once the pressure of the tool and the motor bringing it to life. This instant pleasure, having followed almost immediately the removal of his hands encircling my neck sends me spinning toward the first wave of climax. Just as my breath catches and a rush of fluid moves through my sex, the source of my joy is stolen from me, and I am left biting my lower lip and trying to stifle a whimper.
“Innocence” he says again, taunting me. I hear his fingers snap and a moment later I feel the binds keeping me pressed to the chair loosening. The Shoes, again, this time one at each side, are opening my restraints and pulling me to my feet. Leading me a few feet to the left, a hand at the back of my neck, held with fingertips pressing behind my ears gives pressure telling me when to stop. I feel my arms being lifted, but from behind, pulling them straight back and lashing my wrists to hold the angle. Moments later I feel a bar press across my waist, the hand at my neck pulls slightly communicating I must step back as the bar comes toward me. Three steps and I am lifted my hip bones placed against the bar so that my weight is split between it and my wrists. My ankles are then spread, and lashed as well, to what I can only guess is the base of the bar. My mind sees this device as being similar to gymnasts’ uneven bars. I love this tool. The pain from being hung by my wrists, the feeling of suspension, the cold metal chilling the front of my legs, all of these things haunt my dreams.
As I hang there, enjoying the position and the anticipation, my heart races. Before I fully get a chance to appreciate this feeling, the skin at my bum is met with the cold steel of his scissor. I feel its strength as it draws its line up toward the small of my back. I feel the fabric of the dress splitting against the blades, the combination of this and everything leading up to it forces my orgasm. I ride the wave of it as it travels up my body as though following the path my Master has set for it. Without warning my cunt surges and I feel a rush of fluid release and begin to trickle down my thighs.
I feel his lips brush the small of my back as he speaks against it, “Good girl.”
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