Desire courses through me at his naughty words, and I nod my head, unsure if I should respond verbally.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘Yes, sir,’” he says, his voice menacing along the shell of my ear as I feel his hard body behind me.
“Yes, sir,” I croak out.
“I knew you were a good girl. So good, you didn’t notice my hands traveling up your skin.”
My eyes close, and I realize his large hands are covering my stomach over my shirt. Normally, I’d be slapping or punching by now, but instead my body relaxes, and I fight the urge to lean into his touch. How is he doing this? Is it because his identity is a mystery?
His pinkie moves down to the hem of my shirt and glides along the bare flesh of my abdomen as I suck in a breath.
“You like that,” he says, sounding slightly surprised, and I nod, unsure if that was an invitation to answer or move. He bunches the fabric, allowing his warm skin to hover over my flesh. The heat coming off his hand has me wound up in anticipation, and I arch toward his palm. “Don’t move,” he says as he pulls his hand away from my skin.
He steps back, and my disappointment is palpable. This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to someone’s touch instead of dreading it. Normally, if a guy tries to touch me, I’m too in my head, worried about my reaction. But being restrained, giving over control to this man, has me craving his touch.
There’s movement behind me, and it sounds like he’s opening a cabinet, but I dare not look. When he approaches me seconds later, I hear the thwack of what sounds like a whip, and I try to relax my shoulders. Is he going to hurt me?
“This is a riding crop,” he says close to my neck. Moments later, I feel something hard traveling up the outside of my thigh and along my backside. It takes everything in me not to react, not to move, but I can feel my panties growing wetter. I try to clench my thighs together, but it’s impossible with my bindings. I have this overwhelming need to please him, to obey and make him proud.
“You’re wet. I bet you’re soaking your little white cotton panties just thinking about what it would feel like if I touched you there. My fingers teasing your opening while my tongueflicks at your clit until you’re begging me to stretch you with my cock.”
A small whimper escapes my throat at his dirty words. No one has ever talked to me this way, and I can feel my arousal pooling between my legs.
The tip of the riding crop moves slowly up my inner thigh. When it reaches my crotch, he rubs it back and forth, using the stiff handle to separate my lips through my panties, and the friction against my center feels illicit. A wave of arousal courses through me, causing my hips to rock against the implement.
“How bad does this good little girl want to come? Tell me.”
“I… I need to… I need it. Please… Please, sir.”
He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and then the riding crop is gone, and I’m thrusting my hips against nothing but air. Is this my punishment? Is he going to keep teasing me, making me yearn for his touch before denying me the very thing I’ve rejected from every guy I’ve been with, yet somehow crave from him?
Is it the teasing? Normally guys rush right in, trying to grab every part of me they can, but he’s drawing this out. Only focusing on me, not his pleasure. Is that why it’s different? Is it because I don’t know who he is? I can’t see the way he reacts, can’t read his emotions, and yet for some reason I’ve never wanted to please a person more.
Fingers glide up the outsides of my legs as he slips his hands under my skirt before wrapping them around my hips, pressing me back until my butt pushes against his front. Is he… hard? Oh, sweet cheese and rice, heishard, and it’s impressive.
The hard plastic of his mask grazes my ear as he speaks. “If I untie you, are you going to hit me?”
“No.” My voice is husky with desire.
He bends down to loosen the cuffs on my ankles, allowing me to step out. My hands are still secured to the cross when Ifeel his fingers travel up the backs of my thighs before he reaches up and pulls my skirt and panties down in one quick motion. Kneeling on the floor, he nudges my legs apart again and secures my ankles back to the cross. Everything happens so quickly, I barely have time to process it.
His hands wrap around my waist, his fingers easily touching as he encircles my back and stomach. Gosh, he has big hands. But I don’t have time to dwell on that thought as he continues stroking his fingers up my stomach, under my shirt, until they’re pushing under the cups of my bra.
I should be embarrassed at the moan that escapes me, but surprisingly I’m not. This is easily the most sensual thing that has ever happened to me, and I cannot contain my lust as he cups my breasts over my bra, squeezing them, pulling the cups down before he pauses.
“You’re pierced?”
“Is that a question?” I ask, my voice breathy and unsure.
“You surprise me, pet. Who did you let touch you here?” He delicately traces a nipple as he tortuously moves the barbell back and forth.
“I… uh… oh frick…” I moan as he continues teasing me, making it hard to concentrate.
“Answer me, pet.”
“I went to a tattoo parlor hoping that I could trick my body into letting someone touch me there. Since it was a professional piercer, not someone trying to get in my pants, I was hoping that I’d have a different reaction. And it worked, he made it through unharmed.” He continues playing with my nipples. When he dips one hand between my thighs, I gasp.
“So fucking ready for me. So fucking needy for me. Once I uncuff your wrists, raise your hands over your head and keep them there. No matter what I do, you don’t move. Is that clear?”
