tagBDSMDrop

Drop

byarbenitre©

Ah, that shape. Full and rounded underneath. So heavy that it pulls and stretches the top until it leaves nearly a point there and, if it settles on a ledge, the bottom flattens and presses the middle outward to my eye. The nipple raised and pointing just upward.

A tear. Liquid need. That would course over the curve of delicate cheekbone and deliver a hint of salinity to the corner of your red mouth. That's what it appears when you stand before me with arms outstretched, allowing free rein to your breasts. And the sway as one then another perfect shape wends its way to the dimple to be licked away by the merest tip of tongue or perchance to plink and glisten upon those persuading mounds.

Sobs don't wrack your body, but they undulate those marvelous breasts and as I watch, the collected moisturings from your eyes and the skies above round the curve to fall and splay over your legs and precisely polished toes. And you taste another and one more as I gaze upon another shudder.

Should I reach out and wipe the humidity from your translucent skin or pinch the stiffened teat and shake the water free of its adherence? Or shall I simply enjoy the runnels as they traverse your beauty?

A bead of perspiration that trickles down your side gives me fascination and delight. It catches the moonlight just so and the prismatic effect gives a tiny rainbow to the softened curve. Want encased. Embodied by dew, imbued with all you desire at this moment.

Winds ever so slowly the length of your torso, haltingly gathering to pendant shape before pressing forth to the next draw. Somewhere past your waist, it mingles with tears and mist and other beads of sudor to wash your trembling legs.

Would I ease that angst? Smooth the quaking muscles and ease the disquiet from your thought? Tenderly finger the open self you present and alleviate the velleity? Or survey the scene with rising interest and growing lust as I do now?

Ah, the drips are as rain drizzling over my heart and salving my soul with cool mist. Far from slaking the conflagration beneath my detachment, the haar comes like fuel and causes such anguish that I fear eructation of the pent beast within. I feel the shiver of your body in my own and know the agony of your torment as mine.

Will there come dribbles with the lashes?

Sanguinous driplets of ecstasy? Tingling droplets from the sides of your teardrop breasts and heart smoothed bottom? The leather raises such delicate strands of reddened skin I wonder that the flesh is so enflamed with heat and wetness pumping just beneath the veneer of skin. And the way it takes you from the shivering heights that profess to take you through orgasm and beyond without further touch. Suddenly you come back to me and hang there by the merest thread. Before I will once again take you to that celestial ledge. How will you know when there has been enough? When there is no more need to refrain from the crashing abyss? When you can take no more. When the please ripped from you hasn't the strength to resist the wind.

Auogh, the feelings you stirred inside me when I called to tell of our plans for the night. The morning call, just before walking into the office. What did you wear? What do you have planned? Will you have time at lunch?

The deepening of your voice as you answer. A hope dress. Wished you might call. Nothing. Need it. Need more. Yes. Will and want to see you. And I heard you hold your breath. For an hour or minutes through the phone.

Time at lunch to buy a rain poncho. I told you how the park looks in the moonlight and the warm fug of almost rain. Like the clouds descended into the trees and given over to frenzied mating. An exceptional tree, like a lover and friend all to its own. With a branch placed as an arm around the shoulders of a fallen petal. A bough for your ties. Your fingertips could trace the bark of his limb as your toes caress the grass at his feet.

And the poncho that concealed your bound hands as we stalked the darkness to his welcome was designed with snaps that came undone and moved the vinyl sheeting to the side and above your bared being. And there, held in my hands and my vision, you squirm in luscious need and discomposed attraction and encapsulate emotions mizzling your form.

As I stare into the phone, I hear the catch of your breath and the yearning to say no. Just this once, this time. From now on and forgive and forget the craving. Shake in your sleep with the convulsions and fevers of passion and never release the pent concupiscence. Never again feel the loss of body and self and hope and control and sinew. Never again shift in your seat and groan with the aches of too well used muscle and soul.

And in those moments that your breath wouldn't come. As I described tying you to my brother willow and taking from the earth a switch, a part of him, to tease your heart from your chest with, I fell to the darkness you find yourself in now. The silence flayed my self as surely as the rod will open your flawless integument and incredible derriere.

My very thoughts became lost and fomented within my own wooden staff. When you asked in that wavering whisper if you had to, I could have poured my very spirit out over the phone. Pumped forth my very existence. Aouoh the misery and pleasure of telling you how you want it and hearing the timidity and lust and trepidation and need expressed in that simple syllable "yes".

My day was spent in visions and daydreams. Rock hard anticipation and when your text came "I got it." I could only picture the nylon sheathing wafting against your smooth legs as you glide through the fog and woods like an apparition of pure desire. I could have doubled over from the pangs of throbbing ardency.

And now here you stand, bared before me, doused and clammy with need, want, hope, and utter bliss. A rapture we share, here in the vaporous night. The screams of liberation and recrudescence contained in the beclouded forest and foreverafter held in our selves.

A thrum that quickens through your body as you recognize the nearing. The culmination of the teasing and torture. The times that my tongue found your very edge and took you along it, further and further to your falling. Always stopping just before you took flight. And the length and hardness that prodded your self to flower and blossom, sometimes thrusting and pounding, sometimes sliding and pressing. And always the willow switch to bring you crashing back to your torment. The muscles ache in your arms and your stomach where you've held on and been denied for too long before the final bursting you know to be close. You know because your hope fails.

And the liquid that cleanses my essential depravity slides from my flesh to mingle with your own fluids to form emotive puddles for our feet and later our bodies to lie in. Ahhh my love, when later comes laden with poignancy and waterlogged with love, you'll spread your wearied arms and press me to you with all the last of your strength. Leaving not even enough to voice to me your delight. Hardly enough to pull in another breath and release a soufflé of euphoria.

I'll bring you from the tree to your knees before me, pushing my hardness between your lips. When my need is too far gone to hold me to the earth any longer, I'll lie in the pool of our making and set you down upon my length. Move you to your deliverance again and again. Beyond counting and beyond your strength. And when I've lost myself within your bliss, when your breath gives not even a whisper, when you so want to say them all, I'll kiss it away. There is no voice to your suffering, but...

I'll know, love. I'll know.

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