“Babygirl.” His voice, always a deep tenor, fell to a low bass. My nipples tightened and my pussy warmed in response. “Close your eyes.”
My lashes fluttered against my skin. The world went black. A soft cloth covered my eyes. I turned towards him.
“Shhhh, this is to help you feel instead of think.”
“Give me your wrist.”
“Now the other.”
With each gentle command, he secured another limb to the bed. The rope was soft but unyielding. If I pulled against it, marks would be left. I have no doubt he was counting on that.
My legs were spread. Cool air kissed wet folds. Goosebumps pebbled my skin.
“You’re already worked up, and I’ve barely even touched you.”
“I-” My response was cut off by a wad of cloth stuffed into my mouth. The scent of my desire and lotion filled my senses. He’d used my panties as a gag.
Warmth flooded my exposed cunt. I arched my pelvis forward, a silent plea for his touch.
“You greedy girl. We’ll get there – when I’m ready, not when you’re ready.”
I mumbled something garbled and incoherent around the gag.
“If you can’t behave, I’ll put the earplugs in and take away sound, too.”
Any protest I had died in my throat.
“Here are the rules, Babygirl. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. And don’t come until I say so.”
I choked back a whimper. I nodded in what I thought was his direction.
“Good. Let’s begin.”
I had a sense that the lights were dimmed.
A low melody began to play. Violins, I believe. Maybe a cello?
Before I could analyze the sounds, warm liquid dribbled across my chest and down my stomach. I hissed around the soft cloth. The music no longer seemed very important.
His firm hands, hotter than the oil, began to move across my skin. He palmed each breast, swirling his fingers around sensitive nipples, pinching and tweaking them until they stood at attention, lusty soldiers in his erotic war games. He blazed a trail across the full underside, creating tremors through my body.
My stomach is often forgotten on the typical trip from tit to cunt. Not this day.
He spanned my waist with his hands, his thumbs stroking the soft flesh. Massaging and kneading my abdomen, he tickled my ribs, almost daring me to react with a squawk or muted laugh. I ground my teeth into the gag to control my reaction. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I broke a rule.
As he moved further down my torso, I began to shake. My pelvis, above my vulva, so unused to touch, was a sea of sensitive nerve-endings, and he was the captain. He tapped and stroked, plucked and tickled the thin skin above my hip bones. Tears poured down my cheeks. I would not use my body to beg for more.
Just as I thought he’d venture further, he stopped.
My nostrils flared as I finally took in air I hadn’t realized I’d been denied. I felt his hands run down the length of my arm to fists I hadn’t known were clenched. The oil on his fingers soothed my skin.
“I thought we’d get marks today.”
How hard had I pulled against my bonds? How had I not felt it?
Any remaining thoughts vanished when I felt a light touch on the sole of my foot. One stroke. Then another. It was a test. Could I remain still? My breathing came in puffs and huffs, growing louder as he tortured my feet. I would not give in.
When I thought I could take no more, he changed the game again.
A line of dribbled warmth fell up one leg and down the other. I relaxed against the bed as he began to work the fine bones in my ankles. First one. Then the other. He moved up my calf, using his knuckles and his fingertips. First one, then the other.
He spent several minutes stroking the sensitive skin behind each knee. I curled my toes and clenched my fists.
The large muscles in my thighs received plenty of attention. I almost forgot this was supposed to be sensual as I melted into a boneless puddle.
I released a small sigh of pleasure.
Pinch. Pinch. I choked as his fingers clamped down over my nipples. My forgotten, neglected pussy reacted immediately.
He must have seen the dewy moisture for himself. I heard a dark chuckle somewhere down below.
Finally, I thought, finally he’ll touch me where I need it most. I quivered with anticipation.
I felt his palm against my neck, where my pulse throbbed. He massaged my neck before wrapping firm hands around my throat. My cunt spasmed. His body hovered over mine, his masculine heat and smell covering every inch of me, although the only touch was that of his hands squeezing with gentle pressure. The scent of desire wafted in the air between us.
“I know what you want. But should I let you have it?”
I held still, a rabbit caught in a snare. One wrong move, and his inner-sadist might decide to leave me there to stew, untouched and unsatisfied.
“Okay, I’ll give you a little treat. But remember, no orgasms.”
Even with my feet bound, he managed to spread my thighs apart, my knees bent and splayed sideways. Not the most comfortable position but when I felt his weight settle on the bed, I forgot any discomfort.
With a single finger, he began to trace the curves of my vulva. My fleshy mound. The creases between my pussy and thighs.
Every touch caused my clit to throb a little more.
He spread the oil over every fold, gently probing and parting each one. He ignored my clit and its hood but ran a fingertip up and down my opening. Then he started again: mound, crease, fold, slit. And again. Then again.
Sweat plastered my hair against my face. My breathing became rapid and rhythmic. Clenched fists and curled toes meant marks to be savored later.
And still he ignored the sensitive bud, now fully engorged, pulsing and throbbing, almost begging for attention.
“Should I stop now?”
It was a trick. If I answered, and broke a rule, he would. Instead, I trembled.
“Or should I give you what you want?”
Please, God, please do, I begged in my mind.
I felt the barest touch against my clit. Almost imperceptible. It became stronger. Sparks began to fly through my body. I was lit on fire with the slightest touch.
The oil made his movements easy. Small circles. Tiny. Barely any movement. He increased the pressure. My entire core was burning for release.
“Should I? Shouldn’t I?” His movements mirrored his words. Stop. Start. “Should I? Shouldn’t I?” Stop. Start.
A whimper escaped. I tried desperately to swallow the sound.
Too late. I’d been heard.
“Thank you, Babygirl, for helping me make my decision.” His voice was gentle, but I wasn’t fooled. The movement against my clit had stopped, but the tip of his finger never moved.
The pulse in my clit was an insistent knock. My need for release didn’t abate as we waited, together – captive and captor.
What would he do? Could he really leave me here? I knew tantric massage wasn’t just about the happy ending but this? This was unbearable.
His fingers began to fly across my body.
“Come for me, Babygirl. Now!” At his quiet command and sure touch, I exploded into a million pieces. Fluids gushed from my body. I screamed around the gag, now soaked. My back arched forward, pulling the bonds from all four corners.
With cool control, he forced several more orgasms from my body before finally releasing me from my pleasurable torture.
I wish I could tell you how he unbound my hands and feet, cuddled me in his arms, gave me water, and soothed me. I wish I could, but my mind flew apart with my body. I floated in space afterwards. The only thing I remember is a murmured, “Good girl” before I slipped into a deep sleep.
This post was sponsored by Karma Tantric Massage London. Oh, and I wish this really happened. For now, it’s only a figment of my imagination.