She had to hold very still, lest the finger flogging her nipple catch the skin of her upper breast, which would really fucking hurt, and not in the good way.
I know, its bad enough that I cuffed and chained her standing like that, defenseless to my perverted means and inclinations. As if that wasn’t enough restraint, now Leigh was forced to administer the same to herself, but from within.
It was all part of the mind fuck, and she hates to admit that she loves when the space between ears becomes more engorged with lust than the space between her thighs. But its true. When I push the envelope on a mental, spiritual and verbal level she practically soaks herself.
So, after that excruciating flick that made her scream I…
…what’s that? No, I did not continue to do that repeatedly. Once was enough to not just excite but drive her to Franticville. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t. This is what kept her sharp, focused, alert and constantly on edge.
Sure, I could just have just reared back and repeatedly flicked her nipples raw, which would have allowed her to focus all her energy on one tiny aspect of our play instead of flicking them violently once, then making her wait for if and when it would happen again. One play puts her in short term survival mode, the other in long term defense mode. One puts her on her toes for a few seconds, the other keeps her on them the entire time.
Think about it. Which is worse – knowing steady pain or the anticipation of it’s impending, sharp arrival…or not?
I thought so.
But that didn’t mean they were going to get off Scot free (heh).
“Shhhhhhhhh,” I whispered from behind her, her nude gyrating form a quivering mass of neurology gone mad.
“Hold still. Hold,” I grabbed her right breast fully with my left hand,
“very,” squeezed it firm as if she was going to be milked,
“still,” while I placed the extended pointer finger of my right hand inches above its nipple, so proudly thrust outward as a result of my grip.
Leigh froze, her feet a fidgeted blur of activity against the chains, bracing herself motionless as best she could. The breath from her nose was short, shallow and hinted at her growing anxiety over what she knew was about to..
Down came my pointer finger like a flogger’s tail, thudding against the protruding nipple with a delicious amount of force.
“AEEEEHHHHH!!” Leigh winced, her body lurching violently against the restraints. The tuunngggg of the chains echoed…
“OoohooOhhhOohh” …her breath a vain, feeble and frustrating attempt to…
“EeeeeehhHHHHH” …keep the spit from flying out of her…
“UhhhUHHUHhuuhhUHHH” …clenched teeth as her nipple hardened to an…
“MmmmmmHHMMMM!!! … engorged nub the size of which rivaled the…
“UhhhuhhuhhuhhHHH!!!!” …width of the finger causing it all the discomfort. The irony.
She snorted as if she had been a thoroughbred put away wet and unwashed after a day of wild running. Short, ragged, pulsing gasps punctuated by long, slow, drawn out shrills. It was exquisite to listen to, let alone be able to control the volume and tempo of with just one finger.
I could smell the arousal dripping in rivulets down her leg. The scattered drops of the same painted the hardwood floor with a patina of lust.
She whined, her pouted lips aquiver when my hands changed roles to apply the same attention to her other breast. Her reactions were no less arousing, perhaps even more so in that she knew what was coming. This continued for a few minutes as I alternated each breast with the same sadistic attentions. She seethed and cried, tugged and pulled at the chains, whimpered, moaned, soaked herself and our surroundings with her wetness.
By the time I stopped and began to softly massage her breasts, my fingers feathering across their entirety with the force of a butterfly’s wing, she was a sopping mess.
“Good girl,” I whispered to her slack form. My touches and voice became a port of refuge from the storm of the chains, “such a good girl.”
So it should not have come as a surprise when
My coiled middle fingers exploded from the trigger my thumbs provided. The violent, sudden contact with the ends of each nipple was quick, brutal and done with. And just as before, Leigh screamed.
I told you. It’s not the what you do, but the how. Not how many, but when. Not when you do but when you don’t.
With that I stepped out from behind and took a position aside her. My legs straddled the chain running taut from her left leg to the door frame behind me, a 3″ stainless steel eye hook insuring that it or Leigh were going nowhere. Both my hands surveyed her tight skin from knees to neck and everywhere in between. The left hand enjoyed her thighs, hips, cunt, stomach and breasts, its counterpart her hamstrings, ass cheeks, back and neck.
So soft, so vulnerable, so beautiful. I couldn’t resist leaning in to allow my teeth the same privilege, grazing the sloping skin of her nape and shoulders with an obligatory bite on her very hard nipple.
Leigh cooed at the touches, purred with each stroke. She had been a very good girl and, aside from giving her a much needed chance to catch her breath it was a reward of sorts. Plus, on a purely selfish level, I just fucking love to touch the alabaster velvet her skin is when its so taut.
And besides, I had a very good reason for standing on her left side. This position placed my right hand behind her.
You know, the hand I spank her with.