I felt her tongue trace my entire anal area, and between desperate moans, I ground myself against her face, seeking more contact. Another sudden slap caught me by surprise, making metense up instinctively. I let out a frustrated sound the moment she pulled away.
"Don't move," she commanded softly. "I'm forgiving you for moving during the spanking... but now, stay still. I'll be right back."
"Yes," I whispered. I noticed the lights dimming, and it wasn't long before I felt her presence again. Her husky voice echoed in my ear as she set a bottle of sparkling wine on the table beside me.
"I'm going to tie your feet to the table," she informed me. My legs were bound with soft rope, forced wider than was strictly comfortable. "Hands behind you."
Instead of feeling the rope directly on my wrists, she rigged it like suspenders, passing it over my nipples and twisting it around each arm until my wrists were secured. It wasn't painful, but intensely erotic; everywhere the rope rubbed, my body responded with a wave of goosebumps. She circled the table and stopped in front of me, tilting my chin up to plant a lingering peck on my lips.
"Are you feeling okay? Is your safe word still cinnamon?" she asked.
"Yes, Kels... I'm good. And the word is cinnamon," I confirmed. Her hands drummed against the table, and I shivered with the desire to feel those fingers inside me. The linen of her trousers brushed my thighs as she hooked her fingertips into the waistband of my panties, pulling the lace aside.
"Damn," she breathed. Her fingers brushed my clitoris, and I heard the sharp intake of her breath. "I should pay to have wine made specifically to match your taste."
Kelsey pressed her body against mine, circling my entrance. I could feel the buttons of her pants rubbing against my thighs with every breath I took, trying to concentrate so I wouldn't come prematurely.
Suddenly, she penetrated me with a dildo, and a hoarse moan escaped my throat. She wound my hair into her fist and pulled back; my back arched, which only increased the pressure of the ropes against my nipples and wrists.
"Holy shit," was all I could choke out between indecipherable sounds. Mentally, I was begging her to let me come. My legs were shaking, and I knew she could feel it.
She moved away for a moment, heading toward the kitchen. When she returned, she was holding a small, straight-edged knife. "Do you have any emotional attachment to these panties? Can I cut them?" she inquired.
"You can," I panted.
I felt another slap on my butt, causing an involuntary contraction. I expected her to shred the fabric, but instead, I felt the terrifyingly cold edge of the blade against my labia. I was a mass of goosebumps. She tapped the flat of the blade three times precisely against my clitoris; three times I thought I was going to explode, but they were only false alarms.
The elastic of my panties rubbed against my vulva as she used the tip of the knife to open a slit right in the middle. Once the fabric was breached, her fingers moved over my excitement without any modesty.
My moans were no longer restrained. Two fingers pushed deep inside me. "I'm going to tear every pair of panties you own just to hear you moan like that," she declared.
Again, she pulled my hair, and I let out a long, broken moan. Her tongue ran down my spine, her teeth sinking into my shoulder without breaking the perfect rhythm of her fingers.
"Fuck me," I begged, the effort to remember my place almost too much to bear. Her thrusts grew stronger, but the moment I contracted my pelvic muscles in an attempt to peak, she stopped completely.
"No coming. No moaning. We're not done yet. Breathe," Kelsey commanded, her voice sounding like a gavel in the quiet room.
She pulled the ropes binding my wrists, and the tension rippled up through the lines, pressing against my nipples with agonizing precision. I tried to obey, but my breathing was jagged and uneven; every fiber of my being was screaming for release. Without a word or a second of hesitation, she shed her trousers, letting them fall in a heap on the floor before me.
"Do you have a problem with vibrators? Or can I use a strap-on?" she asked, her gaze fixed on me with clinical, predatory interest.
My consent was almost inaudible, a mere breath in the quiet room. Kelsey stopped directly in front of me, crouching so our eyes were level. She held the bottle of sparkling wine, taking a long, deliberate sip without ever breaking eye contact.
I thought of her mouth on mine, and because she was so close and I was being stimulated in so many ways, my lips parted as if to moan. I had to scold myself a thousand times to ensure no sound escaped.
She ran her hand over my face, patting my cheeks twice with a firm, possessive rhythm. She returned to her position and, after a splash of cold liquid hit me, her tongue took over my clitoris. I vibrated; my legs shook with a life of their own. I couldn't hold back the tide rising inside me.
"What did we say about coming?" Kelsey asked, her voice a low velvet warning. The cold glass of the bottle was pressed firmly against my heat, and a frustrated sigh escaped me. "Calm down..." she murmured. Her fingers trailed down my back, adjusting the ropes so they grated even harder against my nipples.
"Fuck you," I snapped. The frustration boiled over, and I regretted it the second the words left my lips.
"Don't be upset. I promised you wouldn't get to see the city..." she said, her voice eerily calm. I could have punched her for bringing me to the brink only to stop, yet I had never felt so alive, so electrified. "I promised that because you won't be able to walk after I’m through with you."
Before I could formulate a response, a hard slap stung my rear, instantly transforming my anger back into raw excitement. I let out a low, drawn-out moan.
"Please..." I begged, not knowing where her touch would land next.
"Will you be quiet and obey me now?" she challenged. I nodded frantically. Kelsey’s green eyes burned into mine. "We never discussed slapping your face. But I wanted to punish you so badly for that mouth of yours..."
