she looked so vulnerable, and that heightened her sexiness in My eyes.
The bedroom was quite dark overall, the only light coming from the two once-tall pillar candles upon the dresser, the candles burnt down to about half of their original height, thus testifying to just how long I had been tormenting My loving slave. I thought for a moment of how she had struck a match in the darkness, then lit each candle, blowing out the flame of the match before it could scorch her small succulent fingers. How long ago had that been? I had lost all sense of time in the interim, as I was not wearing My watch and the unexpected loss of electricity to the entire neighborhood prevented the alarm clock's analog hands from moving.
At that moment, My sweet slave was upon the massive bed, her wrists and ankles encased within thick leather cuffs lined with soft rabbit fur. Each limb was extended toward the nearest oak bedpost, attached by a lengthy heavy chain to a secure bolt placed near the base of the bedpost, yet she had just enough slack to allow her to pull at her bonds, to enjoy a very limited range of movement as I enjoyed making her squirm and cry out. Those sounds – so sweet, sultry, sirenic sounds I so thoroughly enjoyed hearing from her – had been muffled almost since the beginning of the evening's scene by the penis gag which violated her mouth. The hood covering the majority of her face also prevented her from seeing Me and what I was about to do to her, adding to her aura of vulnerability. The daintiness of her thin bejeweled collar was rendered obscene by the large D-ring at its front, the same D-ring through which ran the chain connecting the weighted clamps which tortured her proud, sensitive nipples.
In the candlelight, I sat beside her upon the bed. I gently stroked her stomach, dipping a fingertip playfully into her navel, as My gaze traveled up and down her small frame. I had ceased pussywhipping her quite some time ago, yet her loins still bore a redness – now somewhat faded – signaling the power of the heavy flogger I had used upon her. My hand slipped subtly toward her punished sex, My fingers pressing into her just a little, just enough to cause My beautiful slave to whimper around the fake phallus filling her small mouth, just enough to cause the willing captive to squirm from My touch. Certainly, she could not see My smile, but she certainly knew Me well enough after all these years to know that I was smiling at her reaction to My touch upon her reddened skin.
My fingers continued the southward journey, ultimately reaching the feminine folds within which I had sheathed Myself so many times, upon which I had feasted merrily so many more times than I could ever hope to count. Following the pussywhipping, about a dozen clothespins had tortured her labia, swaying with her every subtle movement in reaction to the pain in her most special of places. But now, My fingers glided over the multiple square-shaped indentations in her most pliable skin, and My wonderful wife cried out around the fake phallus once again, her body instinctively attempting to jerk quickly away yet encountering the loving resistance of her secured bonds. The dozen clothespins atop each breast remained in place, however, swaying with the movement of her breasts as her body reacted to My touches, My reigniting of the pain at the base of her torso, and her every movement – no matter how slight – produced another muffled sound escaping around the fake phallus lodged within her small mouth, another muffled sound which further hardened My own phallus.
Not surprisingly, My fingers encountered a telltale wetness, seeping slowly from between the tortured labia. I was a little surprised, even after all these years, that My loving slave could find some eroticism in the various ways I could torture her body, the multiple methods I could employ to hurt her with My deep, intense love.
Slowly, I gathered some of the sweet nectar upon My fingers and spread it upon her sex, ultimately using the liquid love to strum her clitoris more easily, more quickly, and cause the willing captive to struggle and cry out from both pain and pleasure.
she was truly vulnerable: naked, sightless, practically voiceless, unable to free herself, her feminine swells prickling with clamps and clothespins, her feminine folds throbbing from the phantom memories of other clothespins, her body wracked by a cocktail of pleasure and pain. her vulnerability only enhanced her beauty, only brought U/us ever closer to create a single loving entity in the semi-darkness of a candlelit bedroom in a sleepy suburb.