“Stand still,” he says, kneeling beside me.
He breathes deeply, then guides the scissors to where my satin panties meet my hips.Snip. Then again, at the other side.
The fabric flutters to the floor, forming a small, expensive pile at my feet. And exposing my waxed pussy. Slick. Glimmering.
His cock pulses. His tongue finds me. Flicks. Tastes. Nips.
The ultra-high heels holding me upright aren’t enough. I tremble like a San Francisco high-rise during a quake. “Oh my God.”
The teasing stroke of his tongue sends shocks—dangerous, electric—firing through my body.
I nearly fall. But he catches me and places me face down on the bed, my pussy exposed to the cool air, framed by garter straps and silk stockings. I worry absently about whether the seams in the back are still aligned.
He scoots down and continues his fine work with his tongue, tracing a tingling line from between the cheeks of my ass to just near the folds of my pussy.
I’m panting for release as he moves his finger in slow, teasing circles around my puckered hole.
Oh my God.
Then he climbs on top of me, his throbbing cock pressing against my entrance from above.
And then he’s gone, rising off the bed.
I tense in anticipation of what he’s bringing…
I hear him place something on the nightstand. Then I feel something soft and silky dancing across my back.
“What is it?”
“A silk scarf.”
“What are you going to do with it?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“If you like...” Slayer’s voice drifts off and he looks away, shaking his head. “Forget it.”
“Tell me!”
He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to tie one of your hands to the bedpost.”
“Okay,” I breathe, feeling a surge of excitement along with my nerves.
Slayer is nearly three times my size. How could I break free if something dark within him suddenly emerges? If he takes advantage of my bondage?
I tell myself the scarf is silk, not metal.
“If you’d like, I could tie the other one as well,” he says.
Despite my racing mind, I hear my voice say, “Sure.”
I wait patiently as Slayer ties my hands—very, very loosely—to the bedpost.
The mirror captures us: Slayer with his black hair slicked back from his gorgeous face, his silver earring gleaming—the dark devil. And golden-haired me, the virginal sacrifice in white.
His eyes close as he grasps his cock in one hand and strokes himself. With the other, he caresses my sensitive core, though not quite where I need him.
I want his touch more directly—these feather-light teases are driving me wild—and I buck my hips for more.
He’s breathing deeply now. He falls upon me, biting into my neck like a vampire while pressing his cock against my tightest hole.
