My breath shudders out of me. A half sob.
“Would that be okay?”
I’m too limp to speak. I nod against the cross.
“I don’t have to use my fingers if you don’t want me to.”
I make a non-committal noise. His hand slides along my midriff, covering my belly in such a way that his fingers brush the soft swell of fat under my belly button.
“I could just stroke you here.” His voice is a deep rumble, barely audible. The sound, combined with the reverent touch above my mons, is fine whiskey in my veins. Intoxicating. I could close my eyes under the blindfold and drift away.
His fingers press a little closer to my sex, sinking deeper to rub my pelvic bone. The movement makes my insides quiver. “Do you like that, little bird? Is it working?”
My sex is a ripe fruit, bruised and aching, cracking open, dripping nectar. His touch is so good.
It’s not enough.
I push into his hand.
“Ah, ah.” His hand retreats. “You’re not in control.”
I bite back a curse.
“You want to come for me?” Now his hand is at my lower back, fingers trailing across my ass. Making me unbearably wet. “You want me to touch your sweet little pussy, make you squirt?”
I don’t move or speak, too focused on the sensations his touch awakens. He blows on my ear, and I moan.
“You’re beautiful like this, little bird. And you’re getting closer. I can tell. The way you quiver. The little furrow in your brow. You don’t have to work for it. It’s right here for you.”
I tip my head back, seeking contact with his chest. It feels so good to be bound like this, safe and secure between his body and the cross. It feels like being held.
Something tickles my sex. Not his fingers—something else. I scrunch my nose and squirm.
“You don’t like that?”
What the fuck is it? I screw up my face and shake my head, rubbing it against his shirt.
“No feathers. Got it.”
The tickling tendrils disappear.
“What about this?”
Something soft and silky brushes against my belly. Fur.
What, did he stuff his pockets with a bunch of sensory implements before using the crop on me?
I like the fur sensation better than the feather, but when he rubs it lower, he avoids my pussy and strokes the tops of my thighs instead.
I grumble deep in my throat.
“Too soft?” His chuckle makes me want to purr and scream. “All right. My little bird likes it rough.” The fur disappears, and his gloved fingers are back, ghosting over my labia.
Finally!
“If you were my sub, I’d give you my fingers or maybe my knee. Make you grind yourself on me to get relief.”
I hum. That sounds awesome.
