She was quite clear from the start about what she expected from the evening. She had come to his studio because she needed to orgasm. He appeared hesitant, but the moment she saw the blindfold in his hands, she knew he wanted to play.
“It’s okay, isn’t it?” he said, showing her the thick band of black velvet that glistened in the lamplight like a wet pelt.
She nodded, fully aware her answer would mean nothing to him. He did as he pleased. She closed her eyes and, as she felt the caress of the fabric across her face, her world turned black. Not just dark or obscured, but deep, velvety black. The blindfold obliterated her world. Its swathe was so wide that not a glimmer or a hope of light crept in underneath. No shadows played at the periphery of her vision. Only dark. Solid, immovable, graphite black.
Immediately her other senses compensated for the loss of her sight. Blood roared through her ears to the rhythm that her heart pounded against the wall of her chest. B-dum, b-dum, b-dum, picking up pace as her excitement blossomed. Her nostrils filled with the scent of her body and then the more exotic scent of his. He stood behind her, tying the ends of the blindfold, and she felt his body heat washing over her back. The blindfold tightened across her brow, her pulse quickened further. His breath whispered across the side of her throat.
“There,” he said quietly. “Stand still for me.”
Without her sight, her balance drifted. Standing still in the absence of visual reference points took concentration. She imagined she was tilting in one direction but if she corrected it, she found herself tilting the other way. Relief came with the touch of his hands on her shoulders. He spun her slowly until they were facing one another. The floorboards creaked under their feet as they moved together in silent ritual.
He didn’t speak or ask anything of her but she nodded to give him permission to carry on. This time she would follow his lead, trusting him to bring her to the place she needed to reach. His hands left her shoulders and she sensed that his body was in motion, while remaining close. He was bending. His joints, his knees she thought, creaked and clicked and the touch of his fingers on her ankles confirmed that he’d knelt.
He held the back of her leg, raising her foot, while using his other hand to slide off her shoe. She wobbled and gripped his shoulder for balance. His skin was hot through the thin cotton of his shirt. He caught his breath, softly, but she heard it. He placed her foot back on the floor and turned his attention to her other shoe. His touch was firm and her other shoe was swiftly discarded. High inside her, muscles clenched in expectation, starting up an acute but welcome throb for which there was only one antidote.
As he stood, she let her hand drop from his shoulder. His breath felt warm against her chest, her cheeks, her forehead. As he moved, the rustle of his clothing painted an image of him in her mind’s eye. He started to undo her blouse. The button holes were cut a little small, making the plastic buttons squeak as he eased each one through. She held her breath for what seemed like forever, wishing he would simply rip the garment away and send the buttons skittering across the floor.
“Breathe,” he whispered, and he bit her earlobe. She yelped, filling her lungs with the musky scent of him.
His hands slid inside her blouse and up to her shoulders. He ran them down her arms, pushing her blouse off and letting it drop to the floor behind her. The air was cool against the skin of her torso and upper arms. Her nipples pebbled within the confines of her bra. She sucked in her stomach, somehow aware of his eyes upon her – perhaps alerted by the quickening of his breath that they’d reached a new stage of the game.
He scraped a fingernail up the outer contour of her shoulder and diagonally across her collar bone. Goosebumps blossomed in its wake. She trembled as the sharp sensation traversed her breasts and ran down the centre of her stomach. At the waistband of her skirt, he placed his hand flat against her skin. It was warm, hot even, and his touch made her feel light-headed. She cleared her throat.
“Too slow?” His voice was a breathy whisper.
She shook her head. “No. Perfect,” she tried to say but the second word hardly made it out of her mouth.
With one swift movement, he undid her skirt fastening and pushed it down over her hips. She gasped at the feel of the soft silk slipping down her calves and the rustle of the material as it pooled at her feet. He put a hand under one elbow and steered her forward, to step away from the discarded clothes. In just her underwear, she now felt vulnerable and it pleased her immensely.
“I want you sitting on the chair,” he said.
She allowed herself to be moved and as she took the few faltering steps across the room, she became instantly aware of her own juices spreading between her thighs. She took a deep breath to catch the scent of her musk.
“You smell good,” he said, always so aware of what she was doing, thinking, feeling.
When her leg stumbled against the sharp wooden edge of the chair, she let him guide her slowly into a sitting position. The wooden seat was cold and hard beneath her buttocks, sending a shiver up through her. The chair creaked slightly as she moved to get comfortable.
The room was silent. She sat still and waited for him to begin. He would decide on something that would give her pleasure. Seeing her writhe and moan and come, would give him the pleasure he craved. Controlling her gave him the pleasure he needed. He was in charge but she would be satisfied.
He opened a drawer in one of his cabinets and she wondered if he’d put something there earlier. He always had a plan when they played. He knew in advance how he was going to make her come. She didn’t. She heard noises that meant nothing to her and then sensed him coming closer again.
“This will hurt,” he said.
Where? she wondered. But she knew better than to ask. She would find out soon enough… and she did.
He tugged the cup of her bra down, then briefly squeezed her nipple between thumb and forefinger. A second later, he snapped a nipple clamp into position. Her breath hissed at the sudden shock. Her internal muscles clenched with delight. The same tug-pinch-snap followed on the other side and she let out a long sigh. She felt a desperate urge to touch them, to tug on the tiny metal clamps to intensify the sensation.
“Cuff me,” she whispered.
He laughed and went back to the cabinet, returning a moment later to secure her wrists together at the back of the chair with an old and trusted pair of leather cuffs. Now there was no danger that she’d touch herself. Her pleasure was totally his to orchestrate, his to draw out, foreshorten, deny as he pleased. He cuffed her ankles to the chair legs, forcing her legs wide apart. Then he pulled her hips forward until her bottom was balanced on the very edge of the wooden seat. He ripped her knickers at the sides and tossed the scrap of torn black silk aside.
She whimpered with discomfort and the desire to feel his hand between her legs. Pain was blossoming from her nipples and her outer thighs were stretched taut. Her pussy pulsed with the need for attention. She needed to be filled, stretched and pounded.
He knew her need and he couldn’t be hurried. She sensed his eyes upon her, roving across her bound contours. He would be greedily drinking in the signs of how turned on she was. A tremor in her leg. A faint flush of pink across her cheeks and chest. Her nipples white where the clamps held them tight. The glistening wetness between her legs, so exposed that her juices were pooling on the chair. Her breathing became more rapid the longer she waited. The anticipation of what he would do next made her heart hammer and in her dark world, she became hypersensitive to touch and taste, sound and smell.
The creak of a floorboard made her smile. He was on the move, silently to give her no clues, but the building told her what he was up to. He was fetching something from his cabinet. Her insides fizzed and she bit on her lip to anchor herself with a tangible sensation. Adrenalin poured into her blood. Her muscles tightened in expectation of the touch of his hand, the bite of leather or the sting of bamboo.
It was none of those.
What she felt instead, against the soft flesh of her inner thigh, was hard, cold and smooth. She knew it for what it was. Glass. A pure green glass dildo. Bigger than his cock, though his was bigger than most men’s. She loved her green glass. She whimpered as he ran its blunt and rounded end along the crease at the top of her thigh.
“Tell me how much you want this,” he said. He rolled the smooth glass over her clit, causing a starburst of pleasure to radiate through her body. Her back arched.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Please, fuck me with it.” Even she could hear the desperation in her voice.
He took the glass away momentarily, forcing a sob from her, but then he relented and she felt it pressing and pushing between her lips. She was so wet that it slipped inside easily, stretching her open. She followed the sob with a sharp cry as pain and pleasure collided inside her. He pushed it up higher still and her world turned green. She was tossed on an emerald sea. Her muscles clenched against the intrusion but she was smooth and slick inside and when he gave another thrust she was powerless to resist as it ploughed deeper into her.
He pulled it out. She tried to hold it in. He pushed it back in and she tried to fight against it. His long hard thrusts set her trembling and then he added an extra dimension by pulling in turn on the clamps on her nipples. Her hips flexed and her back twisted but she couldn’t escape. She wanted to slow things down, to savour each push and every withdrawal, but he went faster, pushed deeper, fucking her with the green glass dildo until…
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“What if I say no? What if I tell you you can’t?”
He pulled the dildo all the way out and she was left, gasping with need.
“Please,” she whispered.
He didn’t say anything but roughly yanked the clamps from her nipples. Blood flooded back and with it, exquisite pain. She writhed on the chair, pulling at her wrist restraints, gritting her teeth against the agony.
He placed a hand firmly on her hips and pressed down to hold her still. She quietened beneath his hold, panting, pain still searing her chest. He placed a single finger on her clit and slowly circled it around, gently at first, letting the pressure build. Her legs bucked against the chair. An orgasm bubbled up inside her and burst, turning pain to pleasure that rolled through her in great emerald waves. The dildo was pushed up inside her once more and she clenched against it. She cried out his name and abandoned herself to what he was doing with the green glass.
After a time, he uncuffed her wrists, released her ankles and then, finally, removed the blindfold. She blinked up at him and saw he was smiling.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he said.
She looked down. He was naked and he was hard.
“Can I?” she said.
He nodded and she took his cock into her mouth. He stroked her hair and leaned forward.
“Perfect babe, perfect,” he said.
Now it was time for him to take his own pleasure…